Date: Sun, 29 Dec 2013 19:20:31 -0800 (PST)
From: Macout Mann <macoutmann@yahoo.com>
Subject: IT STARTED IN A PARK 20

This story is completely fictional and any resemblance to actual persons or
events is purely coincidental.  The story also contains explicit sexual
acts between males, so be warned!

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Copyright 2013 by Macout Mann.  All rights reserved.



			   IT STARTED IN A PARK

			      by Macout Mann



				Chapter 20

				 Moving On


Christian thought Sammie's new set of prints was unbelievable.  Each of the
six showed a different aspect of honky-tonk life.  One, a solitary guy at
the bar nursing a beer.  Two, two guys in a booth in spirited if drunken
conversation.  Three, a couple dancing, bodies pressed together, his hand
cupping her ass.  Four, two guys at a bar teasing a gal whose bosom is
about to fall out of her blouse.  Five, two men on the verge of a fist
fight.  Six, a gal alone on the dance floor lusting for company.  The
sketches Sammie made on his only visit with Jim really captured the reality
of what was going on, and his realization of those sketches demonstrated
again his powerful ability to observe.  The light that flowed through the
pictures was the yellow of incandescence filtered by cigarette smoke.  The
other predominant colors were the browns of the bar, the walls, and the
floor.  The highlights were provided by the blues of men's oft washed jeans
and the pinks, greens, and purples of the girls' sexy attire.

Sammie signed and numbered all six hundred and six prints.  "1/101" of each
he kept for himself.  The first ones to be offered for sale would be the
"2" of the set.  He had each of the first prints framed, double matted in
mustard and brown, and sent to his mother.  "Take care of these pictures,
even if you don't like them," the enclosed note said.  "Ones like them are
selling for $125 each."

He was sure what his father's reaction would be.  "How the fuck does that
kid know what goes on in a goddamed honky-tonk?  Fuck college anyway."



Hunter had graduated.  "I just know you're goanna be up East after you
graduate, and Connecticut is right next to New York and right down from
Boston," he said.  "You've absolutely got to come by and see me.  You can
even fuck my little brother."

Of course Sammie chose George to room with him their last year together.

At the beginning of the new academic year, Captain Worthington also
retired, replaced by a new, prim, by-the-book son-of-a-bitch that neither
the other officers nor the midshipmen respected.  But Rick chose to
continue to live in his townhouse and to remain friends with Christian and
his other faculty chums.

Christian's innovations in the Art History course offerings had proved so
popular that a second instructor in Art History was to be hired.

An article by Vernon was published in the prestigious journal, "Theoretical
and Mathematical Physics," which put him a step up toward becoming a
tenured Associate Professor.

A new one-hundred unit apartment complex was being built, and the developer
had hired Jim as a foreman on the project.

Hyrum Gunther had also succeeded in getting a mention of Sammie's oils in
"New Art Examiner" magazine along with a cut of the pirate picture.  This
resulted in a couple of portrait commissions from old-money Atlantans.

All was right with the world.  The academic year progressed, and
Commencement once again was at hand.

Sammie wanted his parents to come see him graduate.  He sent bus tickets
and had reserved a hotel room.  His father said he didn't want them snooty
college people making fun of him, and he refused to go.  His mother told
him he was being ridiculous and said she was going whether he did or not.
Myra Hart then told Sammie that she and Jim had room to put up Sammie's
mother, and it was agreed that Mrs. Caldwell would stay with them.  That
arrangement worked out very well.

Even Merritt came over from Atlanta for the festivities.

At many American universities, especially in the South, following the
Commencement Ceremony many parents give parties to honor their graduates.
Other graduates, faculty, and a variety of friends may be invited; and
folks travel from party to party all afternoon and on into the evening.

Christian chose to be "in loco parentis" and invited the entire art
faculty, many of Sammie's classmates and their parents, and of course,
those that had meant most to Sammie for the last four years, even his three
"nephews."  Fortunately his apartment had a large patio to accommodate the
host of guests.

When the crowd seemed at its peak, Christian called for order.  Included in
the assemblage was Malcolm Pritchard, Rick Worthington, Jim and his family,
Vernon, Merritt, Sammie's mother of course, graduates, and a number of
other faculty, including the swimming coach and Dr. Shelburne, who had
corrected Sammie's lisp.

"I guess it's sort of `not done' for a faculty member—a student's
advisor even—to give a party like this...and I guess many of us feel you
should be giving us the party, Sam."  There was much laughter.  "But I am
proud, together with several of my good friends, to honor this afternoon a
really remarkable young man, Sam Caldwell.

"Sam and I did arrive at Sparta at the same time, I as an uneasy new
faculty member, he as an awkward, inept entering freshman.  We didn't meet
at first under the best of circumstances.  But then I remember seeing an
early example of his work.  I was entranced by his unbelievable talent.  As
his faculty advisor I have had the enviable pleasure of helping him get the
most out of his college experience and with the aid of mutual friends
helping him develop personally to his full potential.

"There have been bumps along the way, but I can't think of anything that
should have been done differently.  And I am proud to say that mostly
through his own effort and with his unparalleled artistic ability, Sam is
on the verge today of becoming one of America's premier visual artists."

There was applause, and Sam Caldwell was pushed to the fore.

"I see Professor Rumsfeld, my speech teacher over there," he began.  "I
remember him telling us `never succumb to the temptation, when asked to say
a few words.'  I am anyway, and I'm probably going to start crying too.

"I can't say how much Professor Ballard's—Christian's—friendship and
support has meant to me.  His advice about courses to take—that sort of
thing—you expect that, but he went the extra mile in so many ways.  I
was a scrawny, unkempt, down-and-out kid with an awful lisp four years ago.
I see Dr. Gladys Shelburne over there.  Thanks so much for being here,
doctor.  She worked with me to cure my lisp.  But it was Christian here who
put me in touch with her and made it possible for her to work with me.

"It was Christian here who showed my art to his mother, whom many of you
know is a nationally known painter in her own right.  She in turn made it
possible for my work to be seen by Hyrum Gunther, who had enough faith in
it to put it in his gallery and consign it elsewhere.  So that now almost a
thousand of my prints have been sold coast to coast.  He has sold several
of my other works and made possible commissions that I could never have
received, if it hadn't been for Christian.

"Christian mentioned `the aid of mutual friends.'  Friends like Merritt
Jensen of the Atlanta Symphony who's here today.  Friends like Dr. Vernon
Ramsay of our Physics Faculty.  You might say Vernon is a physical fitness
nut.  When he took me under his wing, I was such a weakling I couldn't even
lift a box of cereal.  He showed me the value of taking care of myself and
developing the stamina to accomplish what I've done here.  And he has made
me come to know what real friendship can be.

"And then there is the Hart family.  Jim, his wife Myra, and their three
sons.  Win, the oldest, is also an artist's model.  He's eight now.  All
three of them call me `uncle,' but..."  Sam walked over to Jim and put his
arm over Jim's shoulder.  "...but," he continued, "I feel like they should
call me `brother,' because I love this man like a father.  When I first met
him, I...I was a miserable nothing.  Jim Hart and his family taught me that
I am somebody.  And I'll be grateful as long as I live."  And with that Sam
Caldwell began to sob.  And the crowd broke into furious applause.  And
Sam's mother came over and hugged him.

"I'm so sorry, son," she said.  "We never understood."



Before the last guests departed many hands were shaken, many good wishes
exchanged.  The Harts and Mrs. Caldwell were the last to go, leaving
Vernon, Merritt, Christian, and Sam.  Sam's equilibrium was fully restored.

"Well, I'm just glad you didn't tell them about all the other shit we did,"
Vernon laughed.

"Christian?"  The inflection in Sam's vice suggested a question.

"Yes?"

Vernon almost laughed aloud.  He was sure he knew what was coming.

"Christian, now will you let me fuck you?"


				  THE END


TO MY READERS: Thanks so much for staying with me to the end.  Unlike with
most of my stories, I had no idea where it was going when I began it.
After the first chapter was written it lay in a file for several months
before I took on a second, and only after Sammie was introduced did it take
on a direction.  So I would particularly like to hear what you thought of
the finished story.  And as I have become very fond of the character of
Sam, I'd like to know if you would be interested in his further exploits.
Please write me at macoutmann@yahoo.com.

Thanks for your previous responses.  And please don't forget to contribute
to nifty.org.