Date: Thu, 20 Nov 2014 11:06:34 -0800
From: Macout Mann <macoutmann@yahoo.com>
Subject: Sam Caldwell's Further Adventures 6

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 FURTHER ADVENTURES

                             by Macout Mann



                               Chapter 6

                                 Aris


Back in Atlanta, one of the messages on Sam's answering machine is from a
Marios Kanteres.  The message says that the caller wants to discuss having
Sam do a portrait of his son.

The prefix on the callback number indicates that the caller probably also
lives in Buckhead.  Sam checks the phonebook and Kanteres does have a
published number, and sure enough he lives on West Paces Ferry Road, where
the lots are five acres or more and the smallest houses are more than five
thousand square feet.  Sam smells money, and returns the call.

"This is the Kanteres residence," a mature male voice answers.

"This is Sam Caldwell," Sam says.  "I'm returning Mr. Kanteres' call."

"Mr. Marios or Mr. Aris?" the voice inquires.

"Marios."

"I will inform him that you have called.  If he in fact did call you, you
may expect him to call back shortly."  The line goes dead.

To say Sam is frosted is to put it mildly, and when the phone rings five
minutes later he suspects it will be Kanteres.

"This is the Caldwell residence," he says.

"Marios Kanteres," a thickly accented voice responds.

"Yes," Sam says.

"This is Mr. Caldwell?"

"It is.  Please state your business."

"I sense you were annoyed by my servant, Mr. Caldwell.  I apologize.
Please understand that I get many, many unwanted calls.  We have devised
this method to avoid them.  Sometimes Benjamin is less than polite.  Again,
please accept my apology."

The explanation does little to soothe Sam's feelings.

"You wanted to talk about a portrait of your son, I believe.  You should
know that I seldom do portraits."

"But the ones that you do do are very fine," Kanteres responds.  "As you
know Atlanta is hosting the Olympics in 1996.  That's four years away, but
my son, Aris, is sure to be representing the United States in discus.  I
want a life-sized picture of him in action with his discus."

"You realize that you're talking about ten-thousand dollars at least," Sam
said.

"Money is no object," Kanteres says.

"So you want him in uniform ready to hurl the discus with a crowded stadium
in the background?"

"Oh no!"  Kanteres becomes very animated.  "We are Greek.  I want him posed
as if he were in the ancient games."

"You mean you want him in a classical setting in the nude?"  Sam was
incredulous.

"Precisely.  That is the way the ancients competed."

Sam waited several seconds before responding.  "I would like to meet with
your son and see if I feel that I can do him justice," he said.

Kanteres agrees, and an appointment is made for Aris meet Sam at the
Habersham.



"Mr. Caldwell?"  It was the doorman.

"Yes."

"A Mr. Kanteres says he's expected."

"Please send him up."

When Sam opened his door, he was overwhelmed.  Standing in the hall was
Adonis.  Over six feet tall, black hair, deep sparkling eyes, olive
complexion, bright smile.  Dressed in a Mediterranean Blue polo that clings
to his beautifully developed chest and impeccably tailored black designer
jeans.  Sam can't believe what he is seeing.  The vision before him is
about five years younger that he is and also carries a discus.

"Hi, guy," Aris says.  He extends his hand and Sam grabs it firmly.

"I was expecting somebody with an accent," Sam grins.

"Oh, I'm an all-American-boy," Aris laughs.  "Mom and Dad were born in
Greece, and Dad does milk his accent.  Thinks it helps him in his
import-export business."

Sam leads Aris into his apartment and says, "So you want to be painted, do
you?"

"Not as bad as my dad wants me to be," Aris continues to laugh.  "He says
you want to check me out or something."

"I just want to see what yall have in mind.  You mind stripping for me?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Aris smirks.  He makes short work of it.
Besides his Adidas the polo and jeans are the only garments he has on.

"God, you've got a beautiful bod," Sam says.

"I try to stay in shape.  I can see you do too."

"Can you show me the poses yall are thinking about?" Sam asks.

"Sure thing."

Aris grabs his discus and demonstrates how he prepares to throw it.  In the
process his dick stiffens as well.

"So are you wanting to paint me hard or soft?" he giggles.

"It's your dad's nickel.  I guess he gets to say."

"Oh, he'd say the ancients weren't nearly as hung up about erections as we
are these days."

"Let me make a few sketches," Sam says, picking up his pad for the first
time.

It isn't something he needs to do; but when he encounters a new subject,
Sam always likes to see how comfortable he is in transferring to paper or
canvas what he is seeing in the flesh.  He draws Aris' beautiful form from
several angles, while his dick responds to what he is admiring.  When Sam
lays his pad aside, his dick is clearly straining against his jeans.

Aris wastes no time.  Through the fabric of Sam's jeans, he cups the hard
tool in his huge palm.

"Seems like you are as interested in me as I am in you," Aris says.

"Not always a good idea to mix business and pleasure," Sam replies.

"Not always any reason not to," Aris grins.

Sam can't resist touching Aris' gorgeous chest.  Aris answers by slipping
Sam's t shirt over his head and unleashing his jewels from their denim
prison.

"Dad had you investigated," Aris says.  "We were ninety-nine percent sure
you were gay.  But we had no idea you were so well endowed."

Aris again does not waste time.  He falls to his knees and tastes Sam's
sausage.  It's like he's a starving refugee.  Sam rewards with him with
ample protein.

Aris doesn't ask Sam to reciprocate and Sam is glad.  He would go down on
Aris--and sure as hell he will--but he doesn't like tit for tat.  Instead,
with both of them still naked, he says, "Pleasure done, back to business.

"We'll need to paint you out of doors to get the hues and the shadows
right.  That means it has to be done while the weather's good, since you'll
be bare assed."

"There's a place we can do it out behind our house," Aris suggests.  "And
there's a nice bower right there for other things," he leers.

"Well I'm pretty free right now," Sam tells him.  "Have your dad give me a
call and we'll work out the details."

They both get dressed and Sam asks where Aris parked.

"I let your doorman have my car," Aris says.

"Then I'd better go down with you.  Otherwise you're sure to get ripped
off."

When they reach the lobby, Sam tells the doorman to put Mr. Kanteres'
parking fee on his tab.  As he gets in the car, Aris still slips the
doorman a twenty, saying that he expects to be back often.

As Sam turns back to the elevator he encounters Merritt.

"Who was that hunk?" Merritt drools.

"A soon-to-be subject of a Caldwell portrait," Sam leers obscenely.

"I gotta have a piece of that," Merritt says.

"We'll see."

Aris' father is quick to call.  Sam says that normally he'd have his agent
handle the details, but that he needs to get to work as soon as possible.
After assuring Kanteres that the agent will still get her full commission,
he offers to do the job for twelve thousand, six payable in advance, the
remainder when the picture is delivered.  He says that he is sure there
will have to be some further negotiation over the background after he has
painted Aris' figure, hence the higher fee.

Kanteres agrees.

Sam also brings up the question of whether Aris should be painted hard or
soft.

"For modern sensibilities, soft would be better," Aris' father answers.
"Of course you may have to guess what he looks like soft," he laughingly
adds.

Actually, although Sam just hustles for fun these days, from what he has
heard, he suspects that before it's all over, Marios Kanteres' dick will be
shoved up his ass more than once.  Hence the extra cash.



On a Tuesday afternoon in August, Sam arrives at the Kanteres' home, just a
few doors down from the Georgia Governors' Mansion.  He is greeted by
Mrs. Kanteres, who has as heavy an accent as her husband.  She leads him to
a wide lawn behind the house.  It is ideal for posing Aris.  Not
particularly private, but at least it can't be seen from the road.  And
nearby there is a secluded bower of grape vines just like Aris had said.

Sam scopes out the position of the afternoon sun and he is setting up his
easel to take best advantage of the light, when Aris appears.  He is
wearing a short robe and nothing else.  He quickly strips, and reveals that
his oil-coated body is glistening, another ancient touch.

They decide that he will pose as though he is on the point of releasing the
discus.  To maintain that position will be very stressful, so they also
decide to `play by ear' how long the sessions will last.  Aris is confident
he can pose for an hour at a time, but after forty-five minutes he calls a
halt.  They then decide the plan on forty-five minute sessions each Tuesday
and Thursday.  Sam says that it might take six `sittings.'

Aris, still naked, leads Sam into the privacy of the grape arbor, where Sam
is surprised to see a blanket spread on the grass, a bottle of Ouzo, the
traditional Greek liqueur, glasses, and a cutting board containing feta
cheese and Greek olives.  "Thought we could use some refreshment after the
`sitting,'" Aris says.

Sam has known what to expect, so he has worn only a sleeveless t shirt and
shorts, which Aris peels off in short order.  Aris' dick did remain flaccid
during the session, but now it is totally rigid.  "You've got such a nice
bod," he tells Sam.

They lay back on the blanket, munch the goodies, sip the Ouzo, and discuss
how the `sitting' went.  Sam is the first to move to the real purpose of
their tete-a-tete.  His hand cups one of Aris' pecs and gently squeezes.

"You are one beautiful motherfucker," he declares.  "I'm so glad you like
guys."

His hands wander over Aris' body, then his lips and tongue trace the path
his fingers have followed.  He nibbles the treasure trail that crosses
Aris' gut, and then kisses the knob at the end of his flagpole.

"Taste me, baby," Aris says.

No sooner said than done.

"I forgot to bring any lube," Aris pants.  "I want you in my ass."

"All in good time," Sam gurgles.



Sam finishes the third "sitting" with Aris the following Tuesday.  The
Olympian has found that twisting around on tiptoe with a two pound disc in
an outstretched arm is more tiring that he first thought it would be.  So
the sessions have been reduced to a half hour.  Still Sam is making great
progress, and their bouts in the bower are all that either can ask for.
Lube has been provided and both asses have been filled with life-giving
cream.

Soon after Sam gets home the phone rings.  It is Win.

"Hey Buddy, how is my favorite `nephew?'"

"Well, I'm here," Win answers.  "Reporting as ordered."

"Let's get together tomorrow for dinner," Sam suggests.  "I'll pick you up
at your dorm."