He’d been a model for an art class I took, and I came to appreciate his beauty there, though nothing much passed between us.
He loved the way I drew his sensual muscularity and gave it a uniquely shadowed kiss of adoration.
One day he left this photo of himself in a card to thank me for giving him one of my sketches. If it was a come on, it was a very quiet one. The note simply said, “One gift deserves another. Thank you.”
I was stunned at the deeply arousing, erotic beauty before me in this visual of him, never having felt that way about a man. But one look, and I knew exactly what I would do in this captured moment, were I there with him.
I would slip in behind him, shed my clothes and ask him to let me explore. I would rest my growing shaft between the perfect mounds of his rear cheeks, and allow it to move as it wished as I touched every other part of him.
I would bite his shoulder and sensually tweak his nipples until he began to drip below, my hips moving more intentionally as the heat rose. And every now and then I would reach under and stroke him to stir up every possible ounce of this slippery virile gift.
I would nip at his ear and whisper that right now, he was mine for the taking, and I would hear the near silent agreement in a soft sigh from his willing throat.
I would kneel behind him and nip and sip and taste and devour him about his nethers, smacking his glutes if he pressed back too soon, suckling his balls to coax more pre-cum to seep. Lapping said dripped slickness and keeping it on the tip of my tongue to paint his taut rim, then using fingers deeply to open him up for the ride we, by now, were both praying for. And before the next move, I would bind his tool’s base to keep him from erupting before my say-so.
I would kneel, my legs mirroring, just astride of his, my swollen cockhead perched at his anal prayer’s entrance. I would press his face to the floor, drive my shaft to lodge itself within his moaning grasp, fist his hair and begin to thrust inward with a neverending bent to reach bottom.
I would pound him mercilessly with a savage hunger that only male animals rutting can bear. And as I reached nearer to my vibrating peak, seeing colors of lust before me yet unknown, It would feel like my entire pelvis was buried inside of his, yet I could feel him crying out for more.
When in this vision, I roared to the stars and back, emptying buckets of nouveau lust into his deepest darkest corners, I found myself in my solo manhandling, spewing that very same blasted seed all over my bared chest and startled chin.
In the aftermath, I thought to share this vision with him in some detailed writing, or through another erotic drawing.
But in the end, I opted for a private modeling session - to show, not tell, him what no words or hand could paint.