Date: Sat, 6 Dec 2014 11:11:51 -0800
From: Macout Mann <macoutmann@yahoo.com>
Subject: Sam Caldwell's Further Adventures 11

This story contains explicit sexual activity between men.  Please read no
further if you are offended by such or if you are a minor.  Any resemblance
to actual persons or activities depicted is purely coincidental, but actual
places and events are mentioned to add a sense of reality to the story.

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 LATER ADVENTURES

                                 by Macout Mann



                                   Chapter 11

                                So Much Going On


Sam does have buyer's remorse back in Atlanta. He telephones his mother.
"How is David doing?" he asks.

"I was wrong to doubt you," his mother replies.  "He comes every day and
does what you said he'd do."

"Anyway," Sam says, "I'm sending you a new kind of telephone.  You can call
me anytime and it won't cost a dime."  (If she only knew).



Meanwhile Sam finishes the portrait of Aris.  It is spectacular.  There is
an unstated rule that oils are not photographed without the owner's
permission.  Sam argues to himself that he still owns the picture, and he
photographs it.  He thinks maybe one day he can paint another figure in a
similar pose, perhaps in a Roman Amphitheatre.  Dare he think it might be
Win....or David?

Marios Kanteres declares that the picture is equal to a Michelangelo.  It
is certainly the best thing that Sam has ever done.  Marios has it
elaborately framed and it is appropriately unveiled in the bower, before it
is permanently hung in the library of the Kanteres' home.



The symphony season begins.  Sam had become a subscriber, when he moved to
Atlanta, purely because of his friendship with Merritt Jensen.  Over the
years he has come to be a fan of the music and a patron as well as a
subscriber.  Knowing that Win was going to be at Tech, he bought two season
tickets this year and has invited Win to join him for the opening concert.
Nothing too heavy.  After the obligatory season-opening rendition of the
National Anthem, the orchestra plays a Mozart overture followed by the
Grieg Piano Concerto with a handsome young twenty-something as soloist, and
after intermission the warhorse of warhorses, Beethoven's Fifth.
Dah-dah-dah-dum.  Win is suitably impressed, and Sam is reminded of Win's
parents' reaction to the first Thanksgiving concert he took them to back at
Sparta.

After the concert, they go to Sam's place, where he tells Win that they
will be joined by Merritt.  He had called Win's attention to the assistant
concertmaster at the concert.

"Merritt likes to mess around too, and he'll be hot for your bod," Sam
says.  "But don't feel you have to do anything," he adds.  "He's about ten
years older than me."

"I recognized him," Win says.  "He was at your college graduation."

"Good memory.  He and Dr. Ballard were friends back in Cleveland, when they
were kids. That's how I first got to know him."

"Is Dr. Ballard gay too?" Win asks.

"Yeah.  So's Dr. Ramsay."

"So Dad's been messing with you and them.  That's how he got to be friends
with college professors!" Win exclaims.

"Not for me to say," Sam answers.

Fortunately for Sam, Merritt arrives at that very moment.  Win immediately
notices that despite being in his forties, he is in great shape, and when
they shake hands Win is made aware of how powerful a violinist's fingers
have to be.

"I see why you've been hiding his young man from me," Merritt grins.

"I haven't been hiding him," Sam responds.  "There's just not been any
occasion for you to get together."

"I'd sure like to get together with him tonight," Merritt says.

"Down, tiger," Sam admonishes.

Win just laughs.  "So Sam's told you I'm gay?" he asks.

"No, but I figure he wouldn't take such an interest in anyone who wasn't,"
Merritt giggles.

"Well that's not true," Win responds.  "My bothers are both straight, and
Sam's wonderful with them too."

Sam goes to fix drinks, and Merritt takes a seat next to Win on the sofa.
His hand immediately finds its way to Wins thigh.  "You are all right with
this?" he asks.

"You bet," Win answers.

The three of them sip highballs and discuss the concert.  Win is fascinated
as Merritt explains some of the aspects of the music that Win had missed.
Then, Merritt says to no one in particular, "Well, after that hard night's
work, I need to get off or get somebody off."

Win responds by rubbing his crotch suggestively.  Sam takes that to mean
what it does.  He stands and starts to remove his suit."

"Which of us you want up your ass?" Sam asks Merritt.

"The young one, of course," Merritt answers.  "I'll take you down my
throat."

It's late.  There is minimal making out.  Merritt is thrilled by the
college boy's vigorous thrusts.  Sam is more than satisfied by Merritt's
expert manipulation of his lips and tongue.  Afterward, Win treats Merritt
to an equally satisfying blowjob and has enough youthful jism left to
deposit a second load down Sam's throat.  A satisfying evening all around.



Later in the season, both Christian Ballard and Vernon Ramsay will make a
couple of trips from Sparta for major concerts.  They will spend the night
at the Habersham.  And Win will make a fifth participant in what might best
be called an orgy.  Although Win is Jim's son, he is not Christian's
student, so Christian has no scruples.



More immediately, however, Sam has to turn his attention to Curt Abramson's
book.  Curt has decided that further discussion is warranted and comes to
Atlanta, bringing the latest completed chapters with him.  Sam offers to
have him stay at the Habersham, and Curt accepts.

Sam decides to have a little fun with Curt, and paints a front-on picture
of the hero, Guy Roberts, shirtless and with his jeans bunched at his
knees.  He has a massive hard-on of course.  And Sam leaves it on his easel
for Curt to discover.

Curt doesn't see the picture right away.  He has arrived just at cocktail
time, so he and Sam sit in the living room with martinis and first discuss
Curt's flight.  Then the conversation turns to the book.  The publisher has
market-tested a number of titles, and the one that seems to get the best
reaction is "Skeleton of Steel."  Also, the publisher wants to have a full
page illustration on every fourth page, beginning at Page 3.  This would
mean roughly fifty illustrations for a two-hundred page novel, which is
what Sam had figured.

For his previous books, Sam is known to have required that his
illustrations relate to the text on the facing page.  "Nothing upsets a
bright kid more than reading something and then looking at a picture that's
about something that's already happened or hasn't happened yet," he had
said.

"I know your contract gives you complete control over the content of the
illustrations," Curt says, "and we're willing to honor that, but sometimes
the illustration and the text might not match.  Of course our readers will
be adults and not kids.  So that shouldn't matter so much.

"Or, we can give you a word count which accurately predicts what text will
fall on which page, and you can select what to draw, so that the proper
text will be on each facing page."

"Or," Sam responds, "the publisher can put my chosen illustrations where
they belong.

"I can understand the thinking of the publisher.  The way they want to do
it, a reader can thumb through the pages and get the gist of the story from
the pictures every fourth page.  That's the way most children's picture
books are put together.  But as you've pointed out, this is not a
children's book.

"Or, he continues, "we can agree that you can't honor the contract. I'll
bill you for my time thus far and let you find another illustrator, no hard
feelings."

"Shit no!" Curt replies.  "Everyone definitely wants you to do the book."

They drive a few blocks to Lenox Square, where they enjoy a meal at one of
the area's finer restaurants.  They continue their discussion, and finally
agree that Curt will propose that Sam's first illustration, Guy on the beam
gazing at the scene below, will be on the page facing Page 1, and that Sam
will attempt to do illustrations appropriate to the pages the publisher
wants them on. But if he can't, the pattern will not always be followed.
The illustration will always be placed on the page that relates to the text
being illustrated.  If the publisher will not agree to that, Sam will break
the contract.  Curt is convinced that's the best deal he can get.

Upon returning to Sam's pad, Curt notices the studio for the first time.
Then he sees what's on the easel.

"What the fuck's that?" Curt exclaims.

"I thought we'd put that on Page 3," Sam laughs.

"What a dick!" Chuck cries.  "Yours?"

Sam claws his crotch.  "There's one way to find out," he says.  "You told
me you were bi."

"A hunk like you's willing to fuck around with the likes of me?"

"You got the equipment, don't ya?"  A mouth, a dick, and an ass is all it
takes."

Curt practically leaps over to grab Sam's sausage.  He unzips him, pulls
out his stiffening pride and joy, and ravenously gobbles it into his mouth.
This Sam wasn't expecting.

They spend the night doing what comes naturally.  Sam manages to give Curt
four loads.  Takes one.  Next morning Curt flies back to Chicago much more
anxious for the publisher to accept his agreement with Sam than before
their encounter.



Not long afterward, Win is relaxing with Sam at the Habersham.  Midterms
are over, and Win had wanted to get away from campus.  He'd taken MARTA
from Tech to Buckhead for the first time.  Unexpectedly Aris shows up.

"Oh, I should have called," Aris apologizes.  "I'll come back later."

"You're the guy in the oil painting!" Win cries.

"He is indeed," Sam tells Win.  Then to Aris he says, "No, come on in.
This is Win, my nephew--not a real one, but the son of one of my very best
friends--and he's at Georgia Tech.  We've been waiting for cocktail time,
and I guess it's here."

"Now that I think about it, I believe I've also seen a portrait of you,
Win."

"You have indeed," Sam remembers.  "It now hangs in Win's room at Tech."

Win explains how he happened to see Aris' portrait, and says he couldn't
believe how great it was.

"Sam is a great painter," Aris responds.

"But I can tell he didn't exaggerate how georgeous your body is," Win says.

"Is that an invitation for me to undress?" Aris laughs.  "I will....if you
will."

"Take it easy, boy," Sam grins.  "Right now it's the cocktail hour."

"Hell," Aris teases, "I can drink naked."  He tugs at the slider of his
zipper.

"You can do most things naked," Sam retorts.

Win gets the picture.  So does Aris, as Win caresses his wiener through his
Wranglers.

After another half-hour of conversation, Sam says, "I was going to make
pizza, but I have the feeling some of us had rather have an appetizer."

This time Aris pulls his slider all the way down and unbuttons the
seductively fitted black jeans he's wearing.  "I want an appetizer, and I
want one from 'Win Dickie.'"  A play on the name of a popular Southern
supermarket chain, Winn Dixie.

Holding his ample tool in his fist, Aris continues.  "You see, it's just
like the one in the picture."

Win hasn't been reticent.  He also reveals his equipment to both his
companions and now walks over to more closely examine Aris'.  They pull off
each other's shirts, and soon are rolling on the floor as they strip each
other.  Sam looks on with amusement.

Win and Aris spend several minutes enjoying each other's well-developed
bodies, rubbing, licking, and kissing.  It is surely lust at first sight.
Finally they settle into a passionate sixty-nine, while Sam, the "old man"
in the group, casually disrobes.

Sam joins the other two on the floor and begins to pleasure each of them
equally with both fingers and lips.  But then he slips his dick into Aris'
ass, and all three men are simultaneously being sublimely stimulated.

They enjoy their appetizer until well after nine.  Aris, Win, and Sam all
give and get multiple doses of each other's cream.  Then instead of pizza,
Sam settles on ham sandwiches and chips.  That's plenty after such a big
appetizer.



So summer moves into fall in Atlanta, and the chill of winter is not far
away.