Date: Sat, 1 Nov 2014 13:36:29 -0700
From: Macout Mann <macoutmann@yahoo.com>
Subject: Sam Caldwell's Further Adventures

This story contains explicit sexual activity between men.  Please read no
further if you are offended by such or if you are a minor.

Please also donate to nifty.org to keep stories like this one coming to you
free of charge.

And please let me know your reaction to the story.  It means a lot to hear
from readers.  Write me at macoutmann@yahoo.com.


                        SAM CALDWELL'S FURTHER ADVENTURES

                                by Macout Mann



AUTHOR'S NOTE

A while ago, I published a story titled "It Started in a Park," which was
largely about a boy named Sammie Caldwell.  I had a number of requests to
write a sequel.  This is it.

To fully appreciate this story, I suggest that you read or reread "It
Started in a Park."  Many of the characters reappear, and "Sam Caldwell"
doesn't always provide ample background.

I hope that the sequel proves as popular as the original story.



                                 CHAPTER 1

                                A New Sammie


Ten years have passed since Christian had finally let Sam fuck him.  That
had been after the glorious celebration of Sam's graduation from Sparta.

Now Sam is living in Atlanta.  At the Habersham.  He owns the apartment
directly above Merritt's.

Merritt has progressed from Principal Second Violin to Associate
Concertmaster of the Atlanta Symphony, which, as he said, was no big thing.
He does get more pay and is seated up front right behind the concertmaster,
but he seldom gets to sit in the first chair and tune the orchestra.
Unlike in some other major orchestras, the concertmaster has not fancied
himself another Heifetz or Perlman.  He doesn't go off to solo with
provincial orchestras, when a rising younger performer could play the piece
as well or better for less money.  Semiakovski is always on hand during the
regular season, unless he is ill or there is a family crisis.

Merritt doesn't hustle anymore.  For one thing his age has caught up with
him.  Most of his wealthy johns now want younger.  For another, he has
invested his "ill-gotten gains" wisely.

Sam does hustle occasionally.  For kicks.  He sure doesn't need the money.
He has become one of the most famous illustrators in America, often
compared to Norman Rockwell or Tasha Tudor.  He does do the occasional
portrait, set of prints, or scenes in oil, like his picture of Jim Hart as
helmsman of a pirate ship fighting a storm.  That oil now is in the
collection of the Whitney Museum.

Jim Hart and his family still live in Sparta, as does Christian Ballard,
Vernon Ramsay, and Captain Worthington, who since his retirement has become
increasingly inactive.

Christian now heads of the Art Department at the university.  Malcolm
Pritchard retired last year.  It is rare for a historian rather than a
practicing artist to achieve such a post, but Christian is respected by
everyone, and during his tenure has built the Art History program into one
of the country's best.

Vernon has not achieved any Einsteinian breakthroughs in Physics, but has
continued to publish so as not to perish.  He has always been more
interested in his and other guys' dicks than in Quantum Mechanics or String
Theory anyway.  And he and Christian often come to Atlanta for concerts and
for Sam and Merritt.  Sam also often visits Sparta both to get together
with Christian and Vernon and to see the Harts.

Jim Hart has started his own construction company.  It is very small and
specializes in home renovation.  It doesn't make a lot of money, but it
does keep the family solvent.  He usually provides employment for three or
four other guys.  Buck is usually one of them, and he and Jim satisfy each
other's needs.

Sam is still closer to the Harts than to his own family.  Jim's three sons
are now 18, 17, and 14.  All three are strikingly handsome, and Sam often
has used them as models, especially Win, the oldest.  Win's college fund
has grown over the years so he won't drown in debt when he graduates.  The
other two boys seem destined to join Jim in construction.

His own family?  He had come out to everyone not too long after graduating.
His father said he always knew he was a "fucking queer."  Wanted nothing to
do with him. After coming to the commencement, his mother was more
understanding.  She still keeps up with Myra Hart, but seldom sees Sam.
Sam had offered to buy them a nicer home, either in Columbus or Atlanta,
but his dad refused to accept anything from him.  He has provided a credit
card to his mom, with which she buys groceries, clothing, and other
necessities.  His dad has never questioned the source of the largesse.



Right now it's a steamy June day in Atlanta.  Sam and Christian are at
Hartsfield Airport.  Sam is to make a speech at Case Western, a colloquy on
art as a vocation.  Christian is on his way to visit his parents.  The two
men are waiting in the departure lounge for their flight to Cleveland to be
called.

"Remember when you and I first flew up to Cleveland?" Christian asks.

"Sure do," Sam answers.  "First time I'd been on an airplane.

"And I'll always remember the first time I flew by myself.  Right after I
graduated.  Went up to Cleveland to meet with Hyrum Gunther about my future
as an artist.  I was scared shitless.  If I hadn't been so nervous, I
could've become a mile higher.  This cute flight attendant seemed to pay a
lot of attention to me.  One time he leaned over and said `If you need to
use the restroom, it's in the back.  Unlocked.'  I didn't understand what
he was up to."

"Too bad," Christian responds.  "I've never had the opportunity.

"What happened when you got to Cleveland?  When you and I went, we stayed
with my folks."

"I had made reservations at the Ritz Carleton.  Right down town.  Called
Hyrum first thing the next morning and he met me for breakfast.  He said
there was no need for me to pay for the hotel.  I could stay at his place.
So I checked out, and he drove me to his gallery.  You know where it is, in
the fifteen hundred block of Euclid Avenue.  Seemed like most everything in
Cleveland is on Euclid Avenue.  We met in his office until lunch.  Then he
told the young guy out front that he probably wouldn't be back.  To call
him at home if he was needed.

"We had pizza at a nearby pizzeria and then headed west.  Hyrum lived at
Winton Place."

"I know the folks have visited him often, but I never knew where he lived,"
Christian says.  "Tallest condo in the area at one time, maybe still
is. Over in Lakewood.  Pretty posh."

"Yeah, he said it was built in 1967, and he got in on the ground floor,
although he lived on the 20th," Sam laughs.

"As we were parking," he continues, "Hyrum said, `I forgot to mention I
only have one bedroom.  But it has a big bed.'  I told him there was no
need to soil more than one set of sheets anyway.  He thought that was
pretty funny."

"Hmm," Christian says, "I never knew Hyrum was gay, though I'm not
surprised."

"I guess I was, sort of.  But when it hit me, I wasn't all that turned on.
He's never been in the best of shape.  Five-seven and over two hundred
pounds, none of it muscle.  I'd been with older fat dudes before though.
Didn't really bother me.

"Anyhow, as soon as we got up to his apartment, he reached for my
jewels. Said, `I just love young cocks.  Not kiddo cocks, ones like yours
that can fill my throat and my ass with cream.'

"He stripped me off right there in the living room and gave me about the
best head I'd ever had.  Then he got naked and led me to his `big bed.'  It
was only a queen, but there was plenty of room for me to fuck the shit out
of him."



As their plane winged its way to Cleveland Hopkins International, Christian
wanted to know more about Sam's visit.  They were on the two-seat side of
the plane, so they could talk pretty openly.  "Did Hyrum give you the help
you came for?" Christian asked.

"Oh yes," Sam answered.  "Right after we'd gotten together, he resumed the
conversation we'd started in his office.  He was questioning me about what
I really wanted to do career-wise.  I told him I liked everything I'd done.
He probed.  He wanted to know what my very favorite thing was.  Finally I
said that I really liked the scenes I'd painted of Win at the swimming hole
and of Jim on the pirate ship, but doing the prints was great too.  He
said, `So illustration's really your thing,' and let the matter drop.

"He took me to dinner at Pier W.  That's still my favorite place to eat in
Cleveland."

"One of my favorites too," Christian said.

"When we came back to his place, we went to bed...but not to sleep."

"I can imagine."

"Before we did go to sleep, he said his clerk back at the gallery was going
to be jealous and that maybe I could help smooth things over tomorrow.  So
the next morning, he told the clerk that he'd take over for him.  He wanted
Johnathon to get to know me.

"So Johnathon came back to the office.  I introduced myself.  He was maybe
a couple of years older than I was.  Good looking blonde dude.  `So you're
getting with Mr. G?' he asked.  I said that didn't seem to be a big secret.
I asked if he minded.  He said he didn't, but usually they got together
each evening after the gallery closed.  I told him I didn't think anybody
would interrupt us now, if he was interested.  He was.  He liked to give
and to receive, so after closing time he got his fondest wish with both me
and Hyrum.

"In the meantime Hyrum told me he had shown my work to an agent in New
York.  The agent had said that if I was interested in illustration that
she'd like to talk to me.  So I cancelled my return trip to Atlanta, and
the next day caught a flight to LaGuardia."



Their plane touches down at Hopkins International on time.  The university
is putting Sam up at Glidden House, a nearby hotel, so they share a cab and
on the way drop Christian off at his folks' house in Shaker Heights.
Christian agrees to join Sam later that evening.

Sam has a cocktail party for the program's participants, then dinner with
the prof who is to introduce him.  He arrives back at Glidden House to find
Christian waiting.  In Sam's room they waste no time.

"Aren't you sorry you waited four years to feel this thing?"  Sam never
stops teasing Christian about his professorial ethics.

"Yes, but to this day I've never messed around with a student," Christian
replies for the thousandth time.

Christian isn't the physical specimen that Vernon still is, but his body is
nothing to be ashamed of.  Sam still works out whenever he can.  They climb
onto the Glidden House's very elegant comforter, and Christian gives Sam's
dick a more than adequate spit bath.  He relishes the feeling of Sam's
moistened pole slipping into his anus and pounding him relentlessly.  Just
the way Christian likes it.  It's about ten minutes before he feels Sam's
spunk splashing up his colon.

"Damn, you fuck good," Christian whispers.

As they cuddle together in the afterglow, Christian says, "You never told
me about your first trip to New York."

"Well," Sam replies, "It would've been a lot better if you'd been along.
But it worked out o.k.

"Hyrum suggested I stay at the New York Hilton.  Said it was near the
agent's office and not as expensive as the fancier midtown hotels.  When I
finally got there from La Guardia, they couldn't find my reservation.  Sent
me to talk to the manager on duty, who finally took pity on me and gave me
a room.

"Things didn't go much better when I went to see the agent the next
morning.  I was green as hell.  Had no idea about how to sell myself.  I
had brought my portfolio, and she liked what she saw but couldn't see any
connection to any projects that were in the works.  Finally she said that
children's books were getting more down to earth.  `Since authors like Judy
Blume introduced sexual awareness into her books, more and more juvenile
books, even for pre-teens, are dealing with real problems,' she said.
`Madeline Singleton is doing one about a thirteen-year-old boy in a small
town who gets involved with a drug dealer.'

"I had a sketch pad in my portfolio.  `You mean...' I said, as I quickly
drew a boy that looked very much like Win in a run-down small town setting
and handed it to her.

"`Why yes,' she said.  `That's exactly what I mean.'  She wanted to show my
sketch to someone at Random House.  Said it might take them a couple of
days to decide to interview me.  Asked if I could stay in town that long.
I told her I could, but that I had a buddy who lived in Connecticut, and
I'd like to see if I could visit him.

"She had suddenly become much more solicitous, and even let me use her
phone to call Hunter.  He said to come ahead, and I did.

"Turned out that Hunter's folks were in Europe for three weeks, so he and
Sean, his kid brother, were alone.  Alone, that is, except for Hunter's
fiancée.  She was one gorgeous gal.  I spent the next two nights at the
Bronsons in Greenwich.  The first night the four of us had dinner at the
Bronson's country club.  Hunter and his girl dropped Sean and me back at
their house, and they went to visit one of her girlfriends.

"Sean said that Hunter had wanted to give us some time alone.  `He's told
me all about you,' he said, and he led me straight upstairs.

"`Yeah,' I said.  `He told me you were gay too.'

"`So what are we waiting for?' he asked.  I felt his hand on my groin and I
responded in kind.  Hunter once told me that if I visited him, I could fuck
his brother, and I did.

"The next afternoon, Janet Harrison, the agent, called and said I needed to
be back in New York the next day.  She wanted me first to sign an agency
agreement, then we'd go over to Random House.

"I took the first train back the next morning.  I learned from the art
director at Random House that Madeline Singleton had to approve her
illustrators and that she had first asked Bob Taylor to do her book, but
then didn't think his drawings were suitable.  There were to be eight
pictures in the book.  As he was talking, his secretary told him that
Ms. Singleton had arrived.

"She looked at my portfolio and interviewed me at length.  Then she read me
the passage from the book that was to be the subject of the first
illustration.  It described a meeting between the book's thirteen-year-old
protagonist and an older boy, who was involved with drugs.  I told her that
I could give her a preliminary sketch, if she would give me a few minutes
and asked her to read the passage to me again so I could envision the
background.

"When I showed her the sketch, she said, `Yes.  That's the feeling I want.
Can you send us a completed watercolor?'  And that's how I got my first job
as an illustrator."

"Unbelievable," Christian said.  "Well, I need to get back to the folk's
place.  Have a good seminar, and I'll see you back in Georgia....but first
I've got to taste that dick again."