Date: Mon, 27 Feb 2017 15:35:23 -0500
From: Bear Pup <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Beaux Thibodaux 7

Please see original story
(www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/) for warnings and
copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex
between adult and young-adult men, some of them related to one another. Go
away if any of that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my
characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of
future stories. Donate to Nifty **TODAY** at donate.nifty.org/donate.html
to keep the cum coming.

*****

"Oh my, Kevin. Oh my. Will I get that good, Onc- Kevin? Am I g-gonna get
or-r-r-orgasms like that there?" I laughed. "Yep, and let me tell you,
Beaux, it's a hell of a lot better that it looks and sounds!" Beaux
gulped. "I, um, I'll have to work to that, me. I'd surely die of that." We
looked into each other's eyes and smiled.

*****

Beaux Thibodaux 7: Fine, Fine Art

By Bear Pup

M/T; sexuality;

"Okay, then, sport. Let's get you cleaned up."

My heart was racing but I did everything I could to stay as casual and
matter-of-fact as possible, overruling the parts of my brain screaming
about every aspect of this situation. This was for Beaux. If I got all
blushy and crazy, that is what he'd learn, it's what sex would be for him:
something shameful and wrong. I'd seen far too many people, gay and
straight, destroyed by that concept and the guilt and self-loathing that
comes with it.

Beaux had been raised in the extreme version of that. Even the slightest
excuse could reinforce the monstrous ideas that had been branded into
him. If I could keep it closer to the other end, that sex was private but
healthy, normal and fun, maybe (just maybe) I could repay some of the
damage my own sister had inflicted on this poor, innocent kid.

I grabbed him forearm to forearm and pulled him upright, then to his
feet. I smiled and just turned, natural as rain, and walked to the
bathroom. My acting ability was never great, and I knew more than a few
moments would launch into intense blushing, stuttering and stammering as I
inevitably lost the battle with my own upbringing.

So instead, I chattered away. "There are a dozen ways to clean up
after. Frankly, I prefer to have a shower. Don't worry about the cum-rag. I
know you rinsed out your undies and wiped the bed down, but it's really not
necessary. It dries fine. Just make sure it's in the wash Wednesday morning
or just tell Barrrrrr...." Oops. Beaux had come to a screeching, cartoonish
stop.

I turned and his eyes were the size of saucers. "Breathe, Beaux. You're
gonna pass out on me, buddy."

He went from holding his breath to hyperventilating more quickly that I
thought possible. "He's gonna know! He does LAUNDRY! He's, he, he...!"

I reached out and grabbed his shoulder and shook him. "Beaux! Look at me,
Beaux. Barry is a guy. I am a guy. Outside of a few ignorant fanatics,
every adult man went through this as a teen. Every guy, *every one* knows
that other guys jack off. And all of them know that the worst is the age
you are, when the need is almost a thirst it's so strong. Remember that the
reason Dr Martin and I were worried and upset was because we thought you
WEREN'T jacking off. Relax. Relax and we'll talk about it the shower."

He had calmed slightly and I got the water running and rinsed myself
quickly. And I'm not ashamed to admit that it was partially to use the
not-yet-warm water to keep my prick in check. I stepped out and grabbed a
towel and nudged Beaux in.

"Oh, and Beaux, as long as you're not in a public shower like a gym, a
shower is a great place to piss or jack off. Nothing to clean up." I think
I heard something like squeak. "Once you're clean, we'll sit down and talk
some more. Bring your towel with you."

I went back to the sitting area of Beaux's room. I draped the towel over
the chair-seat and sat down, crossing one knee over the other and doing
nothing to hide my junk. I wasn't really sure how long I could keep the
casual-Kevin thing going before I cracked, but I'd damn sure try. I saw
Beaux's reflection in the fireplace glass as he peeked around to be sure
(a) that I wasn't looking and (b) that I was still naked and (c) what to do
with the towel.

If my casual act was as solid as Beaux's, I should just give it up. He
looked like a rabbit at a fox convention. But to his eternal credit, he
draped the towel and sat down, using the enviable cross-legs-tucked-under
pose achievable only by youths and yogis. I studiously did not look at his
crotch (much), but he was certainly fluffed.

"Okay, I'll give you plenty more ideas and suggestions over the next week,
and you can come and ask me anything. But I want to start with frequency."
His brow furrowed in concentration. "Most guys my age jerk off a few times
a week. That is a VERY bad plan for men your age. Your body is pumping a
constant stream of hormones to spur and guide your growth, and a side
effect of that is a nearly insatiable need to cum, and cum often." Somehow,
seeing him blush made it a lot easy to maintain my own composure.

"Don't pass up a chance to jack out a load if it's private and
convenient. It's good for your body and good for your development and it
feels fucking fantastic. Let's see. Sixteen. Okay, I beat off every
morning, every night before bed. If I got home from school before my sister
and parents, I dropped a load then as well." Beaux's eyes had got steadily
larger.

"I did a lot of hiking and fishing, summers and weekends. Then, pretty well
all bets were off and I'd whack off until my dick was sore. No one had told
me about lube, so it wasn't uncommon for me to be walking funny, trying not
to chafe, after a weekend camping and hiking alone." His mouth was now
hanging open, and his face was roughly the colour of his tonsils.

"So, questions so far?"

He gawped for a minute. "You, um, y-y-you mean I can do THAT more than
once? Every DAY?!?"

I laughed, "Yep, and I want you to. How often did you normally, you know,
relieve yourself?"

"Oh, Lord, Kevin. Once or twice a week, most! Only when I couldn't stand it
no longer!"

I let my voice get a little stern, "Well that stops now. Twice a day,
minimum, but I don't need a full report. I trust you to keep count. You're
good with math, so I'm pretty sure you can count to two?" He saw the smile
on my face and returned it, even laughing a little. Nervous and hesitant,
but a laugh nonetheless.

"Next question."

"Um, K-Kevin, um, what do nor... what do guys think about when they, you
know?"

And with that, I utterly lost the Battle of the Blush. "Anything
sexy. We'll talk about some 'advanced subjects' later," mental note: How do
you define or explain kink? "For now, it's healthy to think about having
sex or sexual situations with others your own age, or just the beauty of
the human body. Whatever gets your motor running."

"Am, um, am I supposed to think of boys or girls."

And the blush goes to DEFCON 3. "I can't tell you that, Beaux. Most guys
(no one really knows the percentage) prefer women to men, and fantasise
accordingly. Obviously, I fantasise about men. I think most guys your age
eventually think a little about both, since you probably don't know where
your tastes will end up. I know I jacked off to thoughts of girls
sometimes, even though I knew early on that I was more attracted to, well,
men."

"When you're you know, what do you think of them doing?"

"I won't lie, but I also am not going to tell you. I like some things,
other people like other things."

"But how can I make up fantasies about, you know, girls when I d-don, um
don't know...?" His voice trailed off and I stopped like he'd hit me in the
forehead with a brick. He was right.

"Beaux, you're right as always. And I feel stupid for not thinking of
that. Let me think a minute." I had dozens of books about sexuality, but
there were mainly about being gay and such, and none of them had
pictures. Well, (DEFCON 4 blush), none of them that I could survive
*showing and explaining* to Beaux had pictures. Is it possible to blush and
blanch at the same time? Four of the books up there were a pair of
large-format Tom of Finland portfolios, a magnificent retrospective of Paul
Cadmus (the fucking cover had a crop from 'The Fleet's In!'), and 'The
Golden Age of Muscle Mags'. If any of my books showed a {shudder} pussy, it
would be in a clinical way, certainly not jack-off material!

With a rush of relief, I recalled that the Nelson Museum (a true treasure
of Kansas City) was holding an exhibit that I'd meant to see anyway, "Art
of the Human Form Throughout History". They had worked with several
European museums to put it together along with their own extensive
collection, and it would tour to other museums over the next several
years. It was a major coup to have it start here.

"Tomorrow, Beaux, we'll solve that and I know exactly how." His eyes got
huge and this horrified look came over him. I laughed hard. "NO! Beaux,
stop it! I'm taking you to an art museum, Beaux, not to see live women (or
men) nekkid!" He relaxed like a popped balloon, grinning with
embarrassment.

The timer went off on the oven (Thank you, God!) and I moved to stand. I
fully intended to get dressed again when Beaux asked, "You don't wear
clothes around your house, do you, Kevin?"

I froze, once again kicking myself in the ass for that fucking 'no lying'
promise. Shit, shit, SHIT! Okay, let's try evasive manoeuvres. "I always
wear clothes when there are other people, well, other people who aren't
very, um, close."

"Do you wear clothes when Barry is around? That's what he meant by Bathroom
Day, isn't it? That he cleans nekkid?" This back-bayou boy was way too
smart and had way too good a memory. I sighed.

"Yes, Barry cleans in the nude most days."

"Why not today?"

"Beaux, with the discussion I knew we would end up in, I didn't think I
could take explaining that as well. In fact, Barry was really miffed that I
asked him to dress. Also, nudity is a very tense subject for most Americans
and I didn't want to throw that at you as well."

"So you're close to Barry and he's nekkid when he cleans?"

"Exactly."

 "And do you get dressed when it's just him and you?" Blush to DEFCON 5;
scramble interceptors. FUCK!

"No, Beaux, I'm usually naked when Barry cleans. We are not, well, intimate
but we are very comfortable around each other."

"But you're getting dressed now?" Beaux's voice was measured, giving no
hint at the thought behind it.

"I didn't want you to be uncomfortable Beaux."

"So," and I felt the jaws of the trap seconds before it snapped, "I'm not
as close as Barry? You're not comfortable around me? You have to be dressed
if I'm here?"

My brain... left. Bye-bye. No one home. Please come back later.

Well, fuck it.

"No, I don't have to, Beaux. I'll probably be embarrassed since we haven't
known each other that long, but I'll stay this way of you want. You can
dress or not as you see fit."

"Okay, Kevin. So it's my call?"

"Yes, but with a condition. Even if you want me in clothes, you need to
know that you might get peeks, or more than peeks, if I don't know your
around."

Finally, Beaux broke out in a genuine smile. "That's okay, Kevin, I don't
mind at all." I could have died as he looked me up and down. "This day has
been an education and no mistake, Kevin. I think I'll put shorts on cuz,
frankly, those parts are getting a bit chilly, truth told." I sighed and
lunged for my own boxers, but decided to forget the rest. I bundled them
into a ball and dumped them in the hamper.

As we made our way upstairs, Beaux looked at me and asked, "How will Barry
knows whose clothes belong where?"

"Actually, I've wondered that for years. Even when I have someone over who
is, well, exactly my size and even wears the same style clothes, Barry
always, *always* gets mine in my closet and theirs wherever they've
unpacked," usually my bedroom, but I wasn't QUITE ready to go there yet.

"Huh. I'll ask him, me."

I opened the oven and a truly incredible smell emerged. Beaux stomach now
sounded like a bear fight in an echo chamber and the look of dismay on his
face when I popped in the bread and just removed the lid before closing the
oven was priceless. I cranked up the heat so both bread and lasagne would
crisp as I listened to the Symphony in the Key of Starving broadcasting
from my new ward's tummy. I placated him slightly with a salad and
creamy-garlic dressing, but that was demolished in seconds.

When the lasagne and bread were ready, I got the deliciously-evil thought
of just opening the door and telling Beaux it had to rest for 30 minutes
whilst the aromas of cheese and oregano and fresh bread stole through the
house. I looked at his utterly tense posture with eyes glittering with a
mix of sapphire and emerald and decided on self-preservation instead. I
dished up a large slab of the gooey, steaming meal and broke off about a
third of the loaf and handed them across.

I simply snickered and poured milk as Beaux did the Molten Cheese Agony
Dance as the lasagne flash-steamed his mouth, then blew exaggerated streams
of air across my own laden fork until it assumed a marginally sub-lethal
temperature. If Beaux even noticed, I couldn't tell. Instead of waiting for
him to finish, I plated another equally-huge serving plus bread and let it
sit to the side, then pushed it across when he started swabbing up the
sauce with the bread. I then just sat back and looked at this beautiful,
tragic man-child who'd so utterly transformed my world in a few short days.

We read for a while in the library before hitting the sack. When Beaux came
upstairs the next morning, there could be no mistaking the
transformation. He had a relaxed, luxuriant smile, bright, sparkling blue
eyes and a rolling gait that screamed recently-drained teen nuts.

I just smiled and went about the assembly of a guilty pleasure -- fried egg
sandwiches. So simple and mundane, but truly bliss. Two slices of buttered
white toast, a slice of humble America cheese, a fried egg. The concept
bastardised and corrupted by modern fast food. The yoke erupted liquid gold
and the cheese melted and blended perfectly. I ate three; Beaux ate 206 or
thereabouts. I added, 'buy egg farm; new cow can live there too' to my
mental list.

Since the Nelson didn't open until ten, I took Beaux on a wandering drive
through the Ward Parkway neighbourhoods, watching the wonder in his eyes,
then to the Plaza lined with glitter shops and glittering people on a
beautiful Sunday afternoon. The magnificent fountain at the entrance; I
made a note to return here and sped a day walking it with Beaux. We have a
quick lunch from a hot-dog vendor who was amused when Beaux came back
twice.

The Nelson (technically the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art) is a magnificent
collection, and a beautiful setting as well. It would be well over a later
decade before the hyper-modern Bloch extension would open, but the original
had (and has) a grandeur all its own. Like the building, its collection was
a miracle of timing. The Nelson opened in 1930, at the dawn of the Great
Depression. One of the primary benefactors had donated cash (and a lot of
it) instead of art, so the curators were able to build the collection from
scratch in the fire-sale frenzy of art sales in that horrible period of
worldwide economic collapse. The result was nothing short of breathtaking.

I went for two sections before the new exhibition, the Great Masters
(European) and Asian (before it was split into various
regions). Caravaggio, Gauguin, Degas; beauty personified and Beaux was
spellbound. Sculpture from Greece and Rome alongside Rodin and
Michelangelo, showing every facet of the human form (both females and males
in exquisite and thought-provoking detail); Beaux was transfixed. Hindu
gods and goddesses in every pose (and most sexual acts); a sailor would
have blushed but Beaux just stared.

On to the exhibit. Moschino's sculpture of Altalanta and Meleager, stilted
but showing love and the human form. Goya, Klimt, Picasso; the exotic range
of the female form. Matisse whose women have always looked to me like guys
with Lee-Press-On tits. Modigliani who could make anything look sensual and
inviting and whose women could get *me* hard. There were perhaps two
hundred pieces, all European or American.

One of a man from behind by Lesser that was breathtaking (in several
ways). A Greek cup with two youths that left nothing to the (gay)
imagination. A stunning Enckell. An incomparable marble Anaximander
alongside one of Rodin's studies for The Burghers. A Rubens depicting
Ganymede. A Henry Scott Tuke with innocent naked lads in and out of a
boat. Near the end, I was shocked to find a series of nude male
photographs: An Eakins showing his pan-like The Piper. Even two pieces by
Mapplethorpe, each of a nude man from behind, every muscle (above the crack
-- it was still Kansas City) rendered to perfection. Beaux was in a slow
and thoughtful mood throughout.

"Let's head out, son." Beaux's eyes shot to mine in remorse. I paraphrased
another Kansas City talent, Robert Heinlein, "You need to ration art,
Beaux; you can drown in it otherwise."

Beaux nodded slowly, seriously, and we made our way back to the car.

As we drove off, Beaux's thoughtful voice came back, "Kevin, all the
beauty. Why do people keep it covered or break it?" In one section, we
discussed the mutilation of a number of Roman pieces by later owners,
genitalia hacked off with chisels. "Who could do that, Oncle?"

"Sex is incredibly powerful force, and has been throughout the existence of
our species. Anything that powerful scares some people. They want to
control it or supress it or strip its power by making it dirty and
shameful. I don't understand it either, but I'm part of it. You saw me
blush at some of that art. Even though it was beautiful beyond words, it
still embarrassed me. Even as some of it excited me, that embarrassed me
even more."

Beaux simply nodded, but his posture was... intriguing. When he shifted, it
became obvious. The Nelson, like the zoo, had been an effective
outing. Beaux was sporting a rod that would scare a fisherman. Considering
the narrowed eyes and dreamy grin I saw reflected in the car window, Beaux
would certainly not have to wonder what to think about tonight... actually,
I thought as he squirmed a little, what to think about ten seconds after
his bedroom door shut when we got home.

<eof>

Quick Question: Do you like the direction this is heading? Too slow? Too
fast? Too much? Not enough? Your thoughts and ideas are important to me.
orson.cadell@gmail.com

*****

Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
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