This story is completely fictional and any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental. The story also contains explicit sexual acts between males, so be warned!
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Copyright 2013 by Macout Mann. All rights reserved.
IT STARTED IN A PARK
by Macout Mann
Chapter 18
Prints
Hunter Bronson welcomed Sammie as his new roommate, and they quickly agreed that if either needed to use the room for private purposes they were free to do so. Just let the other guy know in advance or put a large red rubber band on the doorknob, so that no embarrassing encounters occurred. Hunter was completely relaxed around Sammie and had no problem being nude when roommates might normally be naked around each other. He, like Sammie, slept in the raw.
Sammie was a bit reticent to show himself to Hunter at first, but he gradually relaxed, and they kidded each other about Sammie's frequent hard ons. "My brother is always lusting after me, so I'm used to seeing a hard dick," Hunter grinned.
Hunter wouldn't admit it, but he was not a total stranger to male on male sex. But that was just the result of intellectual curiosity. After all, why wouldn't he want to know what his gay brother was experiencing?
In class, Sammie encountered Clarissa Estes for the first time. She had been the sole darling of the art department faculty until Sammie came along. Now a junior she was in Sammie's printmaking class. Classic stuck up bitch, very pretty, expecting everybody to grovel at her feet. Obviously she and Sammie didn't get along.
He also got to know George Mason, a fellow sophomore art major, whom during first year he'd just seen around. In print class they really hit it off. George had admired Sammie's portrait in last year's exhibit and was anxious to get to know him. George thought that Sam might also be gay and was anxious to check him out.
There are various ways to make prints. Stone lithography is the one being taught at Sparta. The process is based on the fact that oil and water don't mix.
In simplest terms the artist uses an oily medium to paint his picture on a flat limestone surface. The stone is then immersed in water. The water adheres to everything but the oily image. When the stone in pressed into a sheet of paper, the image transfers to the paper. Simple, eh?
Actually offset printing, the way most newspapers and magazines are printed these days, is a form of lithography. But art prints are much more complicated to create, especially those in several colors, and that's the reason they are real art and made in limited quantities, five hundred or less. The fewer there are, the more precious the print. In a genuine limited edition each print is signed in pencil by the artist together with the print number and the quantity of the edition. "Sam Caldwell 5/50" would indicate that this is the fifth print in a total of fifty created by Sam Caldwell. If a print becomes valuable, the lower numbered prints generally sell at a premium.
Sammie was obviously very excited by the prospect of selling his prints and was looking forward to every class. He also used some of his bank account money to buy the stuff he needed to make prints back at the dorm. He intended to do a set of at least four for the Cleveland gallery, so he could work on one at class and another in his and Hunter's room. Hunter was also enthusiastic.
Hunter was the first to employ the red rubber band. He got with a very attractive freshman girl. Robbed the cradle, he did.
"Sam, you may not remember me from last year. I'm George Mason. Care to have coffee?"
Sammie in a short year had gone from a Columbus Queer Punching Bag to at least a Some-kind-o'-Man on Campus. "Sure," he replied, "I don't have another class for an hour."
George was not the hot s.o.b that Sammie was becoming, but he was not unattractive. He was about Sammie's height, had peach skin, auburn hair, regular features, and a winning smile.
"Gosh, I wish I had your talent." George gushed, after they had been served.
"Shit, I aint all that good," Sammie said. He had learned that the language he'd learned in the construction trade could serve him well on campus. Gave him an up-from-the-ghetto image.
The conversation continued. "Small talk," they call it. Finally George asked, "What do you like to for fun?"
"Fuck around."
"What d'ya mean?"
"If you don't know, we've wasted a fucking half hour. If you do, I'm at Beauregard 315. Come by about four."
At four o'clock Hunter was doing homework. Sammie was putting together his print rig. There was a knock on the door. Sammie was surprised to see that George was on the other side.
"Hey man," Sammie called to Hunter, "I know what we'd agreed, but..."
"No sweat," Hunter laughed, "I'm off to the library."
"So you did know," Sammie said.
"I want your dick," George answered, "...down my throat or up my ass."
In the next half hour for the first time Sammie realized that he was really a top. He relished controlling the situation. Sure he sucked George off, but he commanded the situation. He rammed his tool into George's anus and was thrilled when George shrieked his joy at receiving Sammie's huge load up his chute. "Let's do it again...soon," George pleaded.
Over the year, Sammie and Hunter became the workout buddies. Sure, he and Vernon continued to get together, but Vernon's duties were a lot heavier now that he was an Assistant Prof. Sammie and Jim continued to get together every weekend. "Uncle Sam" became a favorite "uncle" of Jim's boys. Christian became prouder and prouder of his favorite advisee. Sammie continued to excel academically.
Sammie's first print was stunning. A worker, who could have been Jim, was setting a stud in place assisted by a younger man, who could have been Sammie himself. In the background a third man observed. All were bare chested, the features of their bodies beautifully defined. The sun beat down upon the scene so realistically that you could almost feel the sweat pouring from their bodies. Their jeans all reflected manliness, yet the whole scene reflected no hint of suggestiveness. When it was revealed, the class spontaneously applauded almost in unison.
"How did you get it to look so realistic, Sam?" one student asked.
"I do construction during the summer," Sammie proudly answered.
Clarissa's was an architectural study of University Tower. George's a tennis match.
Once again Sammie spent a week at home and a week with Merritt at Christmastime. He told his folks about the opportunity he had to sell his prints. His father couldn't understand how something Sammie drew could possibly be worth money. When he returned to Sparta he spent spare time—what little he had—painting a portrait of his parents from a photograph. He thought they might appreciate his talent if he gave that to them.
He did continue to make time for Vernon and Jim. Although Jim's boys called him "Uncle," he felt more and more like Jim was the father he wished he had had. Jim, like Sammie, was from the working class. They understood each other. And they had developed a relationship that was much, much deeper than a purely sexual liaison.
And Sammie and George developed a close friendship. George was from Chicago's North Shore, son of a banker, graduate of the fabled New Trier High School. His and Sammie's backgrounds could not have been more different. But both had been bullied as children, George not so severely as Sammie had been; but George admired the way Sammie had overcome adversity, he loved Sammie's earthiness, and above all he worshipped Sammie's unbelievable talent.
When they were together, George relished the feeling of Sammie's prong plunging in and out of his receptive ass. They would first lie together, each enjoying tracing his hands over the shapes of the other's body and each tasting the leaking shaft of the other. Then more often than not Sammie would become the aggressor, giving George the pleasure that the Midwest patrician most desired by ultimately filling him with Georgia-boy cum.
By the time Spring Break came, Sammie had completed his set of four prints. He was to go to Cleveland to show the first copies to Hyrum Gunther, the gallery owner. At the last minute, Christian decided to accompany him. Christian didn't think Gunther would take advantage of Sammie, but he wanted to make sure. They flew to Cleveland Monday and stayed at Christian's parents' home. Christian's mother received Sam warmly and gave him some good professional advice.
Gunther was overwhelmed by the quality of the prints. He asked if Sammie could produce a hundred sets. Sammie assured him that he could. Gunther proposed to offer the first ten copies of each as sets. The remainder could be sold individually, but if the first ten sets were sold, then ten more sets would be reserved. And so on.
Sammie signed the prints that he had brought, designating each image as one of one hundred.
Before Christian and Sammie could get back to Georgia, Gunther was on the telephone to a friend of his at "Newsweek" magazine. Before the next week ended, a correspondent was in Sparta to interview Sammie and his faculty advisor, Dr. Ballard. Christian told the interviewer that Sam Caldwell was a remarkable native talent. That he and his colleagues had discovered Sam, but had done little but refine the flair Sam already possessed. Sammie was appropriately depreciative. He said that he just loved to draw and paint.
An edition of "Newsweek" in late Spring featured a picture of Sam Caldwell and a picture of one of Sammie's prints in a "back of the book" section along with an article on Hyrum Gunther's discovery of a remarkably talented new American artist only nineteen year's old. His prints would be offered for sale beginning in June. The article praised the "genuineness of the depictions."
The "Newsweek" spread led to articles in the University Daily, the "Lambda" (a name going back to the days when the university was a military school), and the Atlanta "Constitution." Sammie was a campus celebrity. People he had never known congratulated him.
Clarissa Estes was frosted. She had chosen to do two university buildings in hopes of selling her prints locally and thus enhancing her reputation with the faculty. Sam Caldwell now had a national following.
Actually, Sammie's entire output was sold before the end of summer. Hyrum Gunther had further consigned prints to friends who had galleries in New York, Chicago, San Francisco, and Denver. The newly opened Trinity Gallery in Atlanta also requested sets and were sent ten, which sold almost immediately.
Sammie was richer than he could have ever hoped to be.