Frederic S. Miller Museum of Art. 4 By Bald Hairy Man
This is a story for adult men. It depicts gay sex. If this offends or bothers you, DO NOT READ IT. It is a fantasy and is not a sex manual, or a discussion of safe sex. If you have comments send them to winarch47@yahoo.com
Saul only worked part time with Rufus. He was hired when Rufus had special needs. Saul's day job was working with an organization focusing on stolen art. A major part of this focused on looted and stolen works dating from World War II. He also had been dealing with looted Mid-Eastern art and with central American ancient art. A war tends to encourage large scale looting. I told him about my problems and Dave's investigation.
I discovered a lot about art thieves and crime. I had assumed stealing art was a specialty. Some thieves would go after antiquities, others would steal things on commission. A wealthy collector would desire an object and you would steal it for him. Some collectors were greedy and wanted more, even though there was no conceivable need for more. Eighty-year-old billionaires were still grasping for more even though there was no way to spend their wealth other than on a spectacular coffin. That was the only thing they would need for their immediate future.
Saul thought our people were hybrid type thieves. There were some professional art thieves. They seemed to have employed local amateurs who would have been happier if they were robbing a McDonalds. The original scheme was to take modest paintings from the back storage rooms of small museums. Sally Belle's family wanted money not art. They started in our storage rooms and branched out to other museums. They accidentally discovered Rebecca's collection. I suspected Sally Belle's family and paying gambling debts had been the introduction to suspect characters.
Saul told me that that was similar to the Hitler era looting. While some was stolen by sophisticated thieves, others stole because they liked to steal things. Hitler's antisemitism gave then the green light for state supported thievery. I gave Saul Dan's number and said they might like to exchange information.
I flew back home and discovered all was well. At one time I believed the museum would be desperate for my return so I could resolve major problems that needed my masterful guidance. As always, that didn't happen. All was well. My lecture was discussed in a column in the Times. That impressed the younger members of the staff.
Tim told me that several of Rebecca's paintings needed immediate attention by conservator. Some had been shoved into a closet that was under a leak. We had a small conservator staff of four. Elizabeth Goodhue, the senior conservator joined Tim and me to discuss the problems.
In her preliminary survey of one damaged painting, Elizabeth discovered the remains of a signature on a damaged painting. Rebecca told us the painting had been slashed by her brother as a child when he was playing pirate. A local artist had repaired the painting. It was put away and had been forgotten since the 1930s. An inventory of the time listed it as an English landscape by one of the most prolific painters of all time, Unknown.
Roger was a painter. His paintings were mostly abstract expressions of his estrangement from his family. They were more therapy than art. He became interested in the damaged paintings. He sat in on meetings and became increasingly interested. Roger rediscovered art as his skills at restoration emerged. His new skill at restoration seemed to reactivate some of the damaged parts of his brain. He wasn't a patient anymore.
Elizabeth's Ph.D. had been on 19th century pastoral paintings. She smelled a whiff of Constable. She had also spent a summer in England, and thought she remembered the church in the corner of the painting. We brought in additional specialists.
The painting was a promised gift to the museum, but that potential discovery was important to Rebecca. It reinforced her confidence in our abilities. I thought a Constable was the least likely painter to interest Roger. He began researching the family records. Research was mental therapy for him, and he began to respond better to the physical therapy.
While Elizabeth had a hunch about it, she would have checked it out with or without the hunch. After a month of tests and investigations, the painting was identified as a long-lost Constable. It had been last recorded in a San Francisco art gallery just before the earthquake and fire of 1906. Roger discovered Rebecca's grandfather bought it as a Christmas present for his wife in 1905.
The fate of paintings in the earthquake was insignificant compared to the damage. The gallery and its records were gone. No one knew it was missing since it was hanging in the dining room a thousand miles away. It remained there until Rebecca's brother damaged it.
Rebecca's grandparents had good taste and had collected major American works for forty years. While a good painting is a good painting, a good painting by a well-known artist is even better. In modern America, a collection of fine paintings is good, but a tale of forgotten treasure, burglaries and attempted murder is even better. Our attendance grew dramatically.
While Freddy and Ellen took care of fund raising, I was working ten-to-twelve-hour days. I was feeling well except for my shoulder, and working was far preferable to bed rest or therapy. I was at work by ten and home by seven or eight.
The museum got great publicity for finding the painting, and we gave regular updates on the restoration process. Theodor van der Wall, was hired to restore the painting. Teddy was young but was known for his work on English landscapes. Biff had moved to an apartment, so Teddy moved into the carriage house.
Teddy and Roger got along well, very well. Teddy had been in poor relationship with a controlling man. Teddy liked daddy types. He was an only child and Roger was the brother he never had. I was surprised that they saw me as their daddy, or more correctly, their suspect, but fun uncle. Teddy had been a sex toy for a domineering man. That man was all top and never sucked. From Teddy's description the man was ill.
Teddy felt liberated with Roger and me. A week or so after Teddy moved in, he was on the way to the shower when he saw me doing a fancy dance on Roger's cock. Teddy got the rear view that showed every inch of Roger's tool slipping into my hole and me all but dancing on it.
We didn't notice him until he muttered, "Damn that's pretty!"
"You can join us or watch," Roger said.
"I don't want to complicate things," Teddy said.
"Rett and I like variety. You've got a nice one, Rett will love it," Roger said. "Lie down next to me. That makes it easier to switch saddles."
Teddy got on the bed. "I'm afraid I will shoot off," he said.
"That's why we are here," I said. I made an unexpectedly graceful switch from Roger's to Teddy's cock. Teddy's cock was long and thin, with a large head. It was a good fit, and I was fully impaled.
"It's so warm. I didn't think it would be this good!" Teddy moaned. "Am I trespassing?"
"Rett and I are friends. It's play, not love," Roger said. "It may not be love, but there is a lot of affection."
"A lot of cock and a lot of affection is a good combination," I said.
"Do I have to take your cocks?" Teddy asked.
"Only if you want too," Roger said.
"It's odd to be fucking a guy and having a normal conversation," Teddy said. "I was used to drama and anxiety. We're just talking."
"You are nice and hard, so we are not just talking," I said.
Teddy laughed. "I've never shot off in a guy before," he said in a whisper.
I tightened my sphincter and bounced more vigorously.
"Oh shit!" Teddy cried, "I'm shooting."
I could feel him twitch and squirt. When he stopped shooting, I got up and skewered myself on Roger's cock. Teddy moved so he had a close-up view of his cum dripping for my ass as Roger's cock slid into me.
"Your sperm is going to have some company really soon," I said to Teddy.
Seconds later Roger shot off. Teddy could see Roger's cock twitch as he shot volley after volley into my ass. We broke apart after Roger stopped shooting.
"That was beautiful. I didn't know I could feel so much," Teddy said. "Is there any chance we could do this every day?"
"I have a little confession to make," Roger said. "Rett and I are a bit oversexed. Daily fornication is fine with us."
"Do you get to fuck me?" Teddy asked.
"You let us know if and when you want to open your ass for us," I said. All was well. Teddy and I had a good conversation. Rape and fucking were closely related in Teddy's mind. I told him, that when I took Roger and his cock, it was a prostate massage. It was beautiful and exciting for me and for him.
"How did you know that?" he asked.
"A rock-hard erection was my clue!" I said. "When men are nude, cocks can't have a secret erection. That embarrasses some men. You can't hide it. I could feel your cock twitching, and your sperm flooding my ass. I shared your orgasm. You should be proud of it."
Painting restoration is a slow a tedious process. Roger's paintings were large abstracts splashes of paint. After the brain injury, slow and tedious processes were fine for him. He had a light touch, was careful and delicate in every interaction with the painting. He uncovered a flock of birds in the sky. This had been covered in a "restoration" that seemed to have been done in the 1890s.
There was one new problem. The discovery of the Constable started a rumor that we had missed some masterpieces when we moved the best pictures to the museum. Rebecca's home was still crammed with masterpieces according to the rumor. Of course, that was rubbish. We are a regional museum, but our staff is first rate. The world is loaded with art history majors desperate to get a job in the field. We can choose from multiple well or over-qualified professionals. There is no chance they would miss a major work. Our potential Constable was found in the attic, damaged, and covered in seventy years of dirt and cobwebs. It was immediately removed from the house to the museum. We increased the security of Rebecca's home.
I had a surprise visitor at the museum. Randy Winter was the first director's son. He was thirty-five or so. I was shocked, since his father was gay, and I had no idea he had a son. He told me his mother had recently died and he discovered she was had been a crossdresser. Rudolph had an affair with him and neither he, nor she realized her female organs were still functional.
That sounds like a nightmarish porn movie plot. The pregnancy reactivated her female characteristics. She and her parents loved Randy. Rudolph had a good relationship with his son and his mother. She recently had a heart attack and had died.
Randy had found a briefcase his mother had of Rudolph's documents relating to the museum while his father was the director. His father spent much of his time keeping his sister, Sally Belle, from interfering with the museum. She had artists make copies of some of her husband's paintings that she hoped to substitute for the originals. The copies were grotesque.
Sally Belle also planned to sell the originals when Freddy was away. She connected with some underworld characters. Rudolph foiled that plot. A quick review of the files indicated scores of leads. There was a medical report done for Randy's mother that indicated Randolph's death was suspicious. I had the papers scanned and sent to Dan. That evening Dan sent me a two-word text message, "Holy Shit."
My secretary, Miss Thomas, was new, ultra-efficient, and supplied by Dan's office. As I talked with Randy, she did a complete search on his background to make sure he was who he said he was. He master's degree in biology. He had been a Park Service Ranger but had been let go during federal cutbacks. He was unemployed. He was okay and not a plant.
Before he left, he asked if there was a motel nearby. I said I had a guest room, and he looked relieved. At my house, I introduced him to Randy and Teddy. The gay radar was in full operation, and they hit it off. After dinner I went to my study and found multiple e-mails from Dan's office. Dan mentioned the phrase "missing link" several times. The plotting had started six years earlier than we had thought.
I found out a lot more about Randolph Sr. He was an underfunded playboy who lived on the edge. He was a party boy who had insignificant jobs. When Sally Belle got him the job as director of the museum, no one expected him to succeed. Surprising everyone, he loved the job, and did well. He had been an art history major in college. He wasn't interested in art history, but it was the easiest major he could find. He loved the museum. That was exactly what Sally Belle didn't want. She wanted the museum to fail, so the money her husband was wasting on the museum could be spent on her.
Randy was a butch gay man. He was not a bar-fly butch man. He was a hike through the woods and camp out man. He degree focused on botany, with strong emphasis on ecology. He got along well with Roger and Teddy. Randy was what Teddy's former partner pretended to be. Randy told me that Randy's cock was long, thick enough, and he tended to massage rather than fuck.
Of course, they joined me in the shower regularly and all was well. Since Randy had lived the life of a hermit, and Teddy had been a sex slave, Roger and I had a lot of reeducating to do. It was a labor of lust infused love. I realized I had become the horny uncle for them.
I thought of myself as a young man, but no one else did. Everyone knew of the murder attempt, my bad arm, and my slight limp. Driving was a problem. While my left arm was fine, the right was not. It worked some, but it needed to be in the exact right place, or it didn't. I couldn't depend on it. Ralph, one of our janitors, became a chauffeur. He was a vet and had been a taxi driver after his discharge. Ralph was told his friends he was my bodyguard.
All was well except for the next disaster. Ellen was murdered. Her murder was a total shock and surprise. It was like a lightning strike on a clear day. She was on the way to a Museum Patrons' luncheon and was shot by a sniper. It was in downtown, and it took a while to find where the shot came from. The bullet came from the same rifle that was used on me. I felt as I was in a scene from Groundhog Day. Events repeated in a loop.
It got national attention since husband-wife assassinations were a rarity, and Ellen photographed beautifully. I was annoyed that being intelligent and generous was barely mentioned. They did mention that she was a gifted spokesperson for the museum.
There was an outbreak of anonymous donations to the museum in her honor by her former lovers. They knew of my arrangement with her, and some sent notes. Biff knew many of the men she knew. He was the back up when she was between relationships.
Biff invited me to spend a few days at a friend's house in the Adirondacks. He said I needed to get away from the museum to relax. He told me the museum staff needed a rest so they could get back to normal. I agreed and I took a copter to the Adirondack hideaway.
It was the home of William Smith, a publishing tycoon. His publishing company included radio, television, and on-line web sites. When we met, we got along well. Ellen had good taste in men. She had been the bridge between the death of Smith's first wife and his marriage to his second wife. Ellen had good taste in second wives too. Robert Fankenfort was another guest. He had been close to Ellen.
We had a good dinner; interesting conversation and I went to bed early a little after nine. I was shocked when I woke up at nine-thirty the next morning.
I dressed. Biff and Robert were waiting for me. I apologized for over-sleeping.
"I would hate for you to think I am an oversensitive man, but I suspect that sleeping for twelve hours might be an indicator that you needed sleep," Biff said. We all laughed and had breakfast. Biff knew me well. Robert was ten years younger than me. He owned a popular men's sportswear company. He obviously exercised. He told me he was trailer trash that hit the big time. "She domesticated me," He explained. "She had a knack of taking care of the rough edges," he said. The day was quiet.no one bothered me. I was a warm pleasant day in the mountains. I fell asleep several times but by the evening I was feeling more like my old self.
I didn't realize I was back to normal until Biff and Robert were naked and in bed with me. Biff and I were in the sixty-nine position, and Robert slipped his larger than I expected cock into my backside. I was relaxed and open, and his cock was a near perfect fit. Savoring Biff's precum while a Robert's cock worked my ass was lovely. He was gentle and not in a rush. He switched places with Biff a few times.
On the second rotations, I felt Robert ejaculate. I had a slow-motion orgasm into Biff's mouth and fell asleep again. When I woke in the morning, they had showered, and Biff's cock was in the position of honor up my ass and Robert was nursing my cock. I shot off when Biff shot rear loaded me. I was still excited and sucked Robert to a beautiful, ball draining orgasm.
I returned to the museum in the afternoon, and I felt good. Weeks later Biff said he had told Robert that my ass reminded him of Ellen's vagina. Robert wanted a sexual trip down memory lane. I told him that was odd. He told me that I was the first man Robert ever fucked and sucked. I provided the first load he swallowed. The fond old feelings of being a sex crazed slut came back to me. I felt normal again.
Freddy was devastated by Ellen's death. He was sure Sally Belle was responsible. He knew she was difficult and nasty woman. He hadn't realized she was psychotic.
In The Importance of being Earnest, Lady Bracknell said, losing one parent is a tragedy, losing both suggests carelessness. One shooting is bad, two shootings more than doubles the evidence. The snipper fucked up. The day of Ellen's murder had been windy at the sniper's lair. A cigarette butt and a wad of gum blew under an air conditioning cooling tower. It amazes me that a miniscule amount of DNA can identify a man. Ellen's murder refreshed the case. Dan didn't tell me who the DNA tests identified, but he said the F.B.I, and European police agencies were most interested.
The murder ended Freddy and Ellen's fund-raising campaign. That responsibility would revert to me. fund raising was not my strong suite. Roger's oldest sister, Louise came to the rescue. She was fully supportive of giving her aunt's collection to the museum. She had married very well and had no need for additional money. She and Rebecca went to see Freddy. I have no idea how they did it, but Louise took over Ellen's role. Louise moved into Rebecca's mansion.
Ellen was a beauty. Louise was elegant, educated, and demure. She had secretly helped Roger financially as necessary and stood up to her father. Her husband had died several years earlier. He was a member of a wealthy family and had been fantastically successful on his own. She wanted a job, and Freddy had a vacancy. She had a conventional life, and a little danger attracted her. Roger told me that she was goal oriented and would do whatever was needed to achieve her goal.