Chapter Sixteen Comfortable and Confident 8 страница

“This…” I gasped, my eyes closed. “Touching, kissing…” I paused, bringing my eyes to meet his in the mirror. “Sex.”

“Ah, it’s easy to know what to do with sex,” he stated in a quicker tone, his sensuality easing off a small fraction and lecturing tone coming through. He countered the serious nature and started to kiss down my neck, as if demonstrating his point. “You just do it.”

“But where did you learn?”

He didn’t answer me at first, too involved with my neck. He was sucking on that spot again, his breathing quickening and matching my pace. His hands moved away from my cock to my waist again, and I could feel him start a grinding rhythm against my backside. I pressed into him and let my head roll back onto his shoulder. He continued to kiss me and I opened my eyes for a brief moment, my sight centering on the bookshelves Gerard kept lining one of his walls.

“Did you learn from books?” I suddenly asked, no longer completely distracted.

“Hmmm?” he asked, then proceeded to kiss and press into me harder.

“Sex,” I panted, pushing the word forward in my mouth quickly. “Did you learn about it in books?”

Maybe if I had coherent thoughts, and Gerard and I weren’t in the middle of a passionate embrace, the question wouldn’t have sounded so stupid. He laughed at first, his breath tickling my skin, but when he locked eyes with me in the mirror and saw that I was serious, he answered a declarative “No!”

“Then where?” I pressed, slightly affronted. Gerard met my gaze tenderly in the mirror once again, running one of his artistic fingers down the side of my face. Our grinding was officially put to an end, and now he was just up against me to converse, and probably teach me something else.

“Sex is something so natural, so pleasurable, so basic…” he went on, stroking my face more with each adjective added. “A human is born to know how to have sex. We are given hormones, passion, and then tempted with beautiful people.” He paused, kissed the side of my face, temptation presenting itself. “I will not have books in my house that tell me how I should be a human. I know how to be a human, and being an artist is a special breed of the species. Artists have a better appreciation for the body than most people, and therefore, have a higher appreciation of when bodies come together to be one. Artists are born with sex in their blood. Everything I know about sex I’ve been born with, or is self-taught, as it should be.”

“Really?” I gawked, the ideology behind everything unknown to me. “How can you self teach something like that?”

“Through practice,” he hissed adroitly, and then proceeded to start another exercise in precision through kisses on my neck.

I nodded; practice made sense. I had been doing a lot by that point, but I still didn’t feel like I was any better. I knew a lot more, a hell of a lot more, but I had no idea where I was going. I wanted a book, a guideline to tell me if I was at least embarking down the right path, and how much farther I had to go. I was used to an artificial environment that was high school and told me how to be that specific human being they churned out each and every year. I may have been an artist, but they had taught me for so long that even if sex was in my blood, that I had to deny it. I was used to denial and repression. It was hard to unlearn that, but as I did, I needed something else to guide me along. I needed to learn to unravel in the same way I had been put together. If they had to teach us everything about our bodies in sex-ed classes, why not have other classes, other books, and other lessons to teach people how to go beyond getting a condom on?

“Practice makes perfect,” he added, just as his tongue began to surge against my skin.

“But how will I know if it’s perfect? There’s no book to tell me how…”

“Haven’t you learned anything from being here?” Gerard stopped kissing and touching me abruptly. He placed his hands on my waist and stared into me from the bathroom mirror. His eyebrows were raised, questioning. “You never need a book to tell you you’re right.”

“Then what are those art ones for? And all the other ones you have?”

“Most of those art books are of collections. They’re just pictures. The others merely display techniques, tell me about them, and then move on. They don’t tell me if I’m right or wrong. They just tell me to paint.”

I paused to think, while Gerard looked at me through the glass. I thought about our lessons and the techniques he would employ. He would open up his books every once in a while, where we would pour over them and absorb each and every art piece. But he was right – the words right or wrong never passed through our lips. I liked Andy Warhol’s work, but Gerard didn’t. He thought Warhol was too fake and simplistic, whereas I thought it was quite the opposite, and he was innovative. We discussed why each of us thought that way, gave examples and proof through pictures, and then we moved on. We didn’t argue for ages over who was more valid in their opinion. It was just there and we accepted it. We just painted.

And here, I supposed, we were just going to have sex.

“I’m not here to tell you if you’re right or wrong. I’m just here to let you practice on.”

Gerard was still talking, and I found when his voice didn’t bring me back into reality, his lips against my own did. He tipped my head back as he ran a stray hand along my jaw, and we engaged in another act that I had definitely had enough practice on. More couldn’t hurt, though. You could never get enough art, Gerard had told me. I was starting to assume that it applied to this too.

Why should art be any different from this? I found myself asking, as Gerard slipped his tongue into my mouth. Art was all around us, and he used it in his lessons. He was teaching me about sex now, but I realized something. Though he couldn’t be right or wrong, there still needed to be something giving him the backbone and the knowledge to be a teacher. You had to learn in order for that to take place, and I wanted to know where that came from. You couldn’t just wake up one day and commit yourself to teaching without any kind of credentials before, I told myself, but then again, this was Gerard I was talking about. He may have fallen from the sky and obtained everything in one simple day.

“And what about you?” I asked when the kiss had ended.

“I’m still learning just as much as you are,” he replied, though not entirely answering my question. I could tell this was about as much information as I was going to get out of him however, at least, for tonight. “You’re never too old to stop learning, Frank. And you’re never too young to start.”

“I don’t know if I’m doing anything right,” I confessed, rolling my eyes at my own embarrassment.

“It’s not about doing anything right. It’s about doing what feels good.”

Keeping his eyes on me in the mirror, his hands relocated to my hips, and slowly began to inch their way down my pubic bone. I bit my lip, feeling the warm pads of his fingers linger over my skin, and just knowing what was coming next. He was proving to be quite a distraction tonight.

“Does that feel good?” he whispered into my ear.

“Yes,” I answered, just as hushed, and felt his hand go over myself again.

“Then this is all you need to follow,” he stated with finality, and I was afraid he would stop his actions when he stopped talking. Luckily, none of them were paused.

“Some people have different interests. Some like pain, leather, chains, role-playing, feet, and many people at once. But they know what’s right for them, and they’ve known it all along. It’s an urge inside and it’s imperative that people listen. Some people do, some people don’t – and they don’t have sex. Then again, there are some people who do listen and find out they just don’t like sex at all.” Gerard cocked his head to the side, making a disgusted face. “God, I don’t know how they live.”

“Me either.”

My breathing was still hitched under his touch, and we brought our lips together to kiss. I could feel his growing erection against my thighs and butt, but he wasn’t grinding into me. I pressed into him a little, only to have him continue the focus on our mouths working together. He took one hand away and positioned his hand on my neck to deepen our kiss. We still needed practice here, apparently.

“But Gerard,” I paused for a second, breaking away. “What do you like? What are you into?” I clasped the hand that was on my neck and brought it down to my side so we couldn’t get sidetracked again. I waited, and prayed his desire wouldn’t be something weird.

“Whatever you’re into.” He went to kiss me, but I placed my other hand out and caught his lips, making him continue talking before distracting me again. He sighed, giving me a coy grin as he gave in.

“I like experimenting. Trying new things. Teaching you…” he went in to kiss me again, but I was not satisfied with his answer, and apparently he had a whole list of desires that he kept drawing from. “There are a lot of things I like about sex, and there are a lot that I haven’t even experienced yet. But there is a bliss in inexperience that I haven’t quite been able to find anywhere else. Sometimes the best part about sex is relearning how your body and someone else’s works. And even better, how they work together.” He gave me a look through the mirror, his eyebrows raised in a question before he even went for what he was after.

“All right,” I said, nodding, finally satisfied. We both leaned in mutually and our lips connected again. I was about to turn around so we could be face to face to embrace and my neck would stop hurting, but then I remembered something.

The birdseed. I didn’t know how Gerard could stand running his hands up and down my torso when I was still covered in the small black flecks.

“I have to have a shower, Gerard,” I stated with more determination. Gerard only moved his lips to another locale.

“That’s no fun.”

“Yeah, but I still have to have one,” I countered, referring to the seed yet again. He laughed, but didn’t say anything for a while. He just continued to kiss my neck, tongue coming out of his mouth and tracing along my shoulder blades, trying to provide a distraction.

Fuck, I let myself be distracted.

“It’s those mundane everyday activities that drag the fun out of life,” Gerard suddenly stated, notable tone to his voice. My eyes had been closed, breathing sharp and shallow, and I almost hadn’t heard him. He removed his hands from my pubic area, moving them up my chest and locking them in the centre. We both breathed in hard as he brought my body closer to his, folding me into his skin.

“We do those mundane tasks because we have to, not because we want to.” When he emphasized those two words, he brought his lips and body into me, closer than I thought possible. “And we waste time on these things, day in and day out. I timed myself once,” he paused, for once not adding a sexual edge to his words. He opened his eyes, glancing at the mirror and checking to see if I was actually listening. My eyelids fluttered as he kissed and touched my sensitive spots, making me look like I was in a completely other zone. He stopped his actions then, hands now just resting solidly against my heaving chest, assuring that I would pay full attention.

We were not practicing right now. I was learning. He still gave me some kind of contact, his hot breath on my neck and his fingers on my chest providing some kind of physical stimulation while his words worked on my mind. It was times like these where I was sure that Gerard never shut up, and where I never wanted him to.

“I was in college when I did this experiment. I don’t like that word though – experiment. Too sciencey. I prefer to use the term experience, because that’s all life is: a big jumbled mess of experiences overlapping each other and mixing together to form different situations, different colours. It’s an abstract painting. Even modern art, if you will. We all know that life most days is bullshit.”

He chuckled, his hot breath hitting my throat with a light edge. He looked at me from the mirror, smiling. I remembered the day we broke the beer bottles, the amber liquid spilling away, its stench filling the room and my childhood disappearing as we made modern art. I smiled back, though it hurt a little. I thought I was growing up so much when we had done that – too much even, in that one day. Now it was weeks later and I had advanced years, lifetimes even. Or at least it felt that way.

After our brief reminiscing, Gerard continued his story, placing a kiss on my neck before his lips twisted with words. “I timed how long it took me to walk to each of my classes, to do my dishes, cleaning, piss around in the cafeteria with some acquaintances. Little things like that. And do you know what I realized?”

He barely paused, shooting me a quick glance and not giving me a chance to answer as he leaped on to his next point. “I came to the conclusion that I was wasting my life. I realized that by the end of the week, I had spent almost a day doing menial tasks. Twenty four hours, Frank!” He waved one of his arms on my chest, causing us both to bounce and bound with his comical outrage. He sighed and chuckled at my sudden shock, drawing the hand back down to a calming stroke against my skin.

“I could have been painting during that time, writing, drawing, reading - anything creative, really. But instead I was caught in a repetitive vortex. What’s the point of doing something, if you’ll just have to do it again?” He sighed and gave a mock shrug, but I could sense the serious state behind the question.

I thought for a moment about his words. He made a point, though I was pretty sure he was over exaggerating his numbers. His reasoning started to make sense in my mind about why he always made me do the dishes at his place, and why he never cleaned his paint brushes. He didn’t want to waste time – and essentially his life – doing small tasks. So he just got me to waste my own. I chortled, realizing his selfishness with that matter, until I discovered that something had changed. He didn’t make me clean his brushes or his dishes anymore. Ever since we had started our art lessons, he had been relying on my maid-like qualities less and less. He didn’t want me to clean; he didn’t want me to waste my life anymore. I was an artist, or at least becoming one then. Their lives were too important to waste. It had just taken him awhile to realize that, and even me a little while to accept the offer of actual life, instead of just being alive.

I glanced to his green eyes through the looking glass, both of ours lighting up. He was trying to save me, in a way, and was still doing it right then. But there was something I was missing.

“What does this have to do with me wanting to take a shower?” I cut in, screwing up my brows.

“Ah,” he breathed, glad to see that I was paying attention, even as his hands were massaging my chest again. “That’s the tricky thing. Though we want to be clean, the society also tells us that we need to be. And bathing is one of those mundane things. It’s boring. It’s dull. It’s repetitive. And we have to do it every day. ”

He sighed, blinking slowly, then looking down at me mischievously. He raised his bushy eyebrows and leaned down into my neck for a quick kiss, his teeth coming into contact against my skin. I could see the real reason of why he followed me in here coming through and I smiled, knowing where it was going.

“Some things are worth doing again and again, though. Like sex,” he added, pausing and leaving me to draw my own conclusion. He bobbed his head down and began to kiss my shoulder this time, biting slightly. It made my eyes roll back into my head as a groan escaped from my throat. That, apparently, was all the answer Gerard needed.

He removed his arms from my waist and his mouth from my skin at a leisurely pace, going over to the shower stall and turning it on. I nearly fell backwards when he moved, my barrier I had been melting into now removed. He had been standing there and talking for so long that when the time came to actually have a shower, I had almost forgotten one was in the room. Everything around us when we were together just didn’t seem to exist as much as we did in that very moment.

The water dripping on the tiles inside the small stall made me jump back into reality. The sound whirred and trickled into my ears, seeming so mundane (like Gerard had said), but so exciting as I drew my eyes over to him.

He was standing casually by the door and sticking his hand inside the jet stream, letting the clear liquid fall around his dancing fingers as he made sure the water was a good enough temperature. All of a sudden, he extended his arm back to his side, drawing his whole body into the small, already steam-filled booth. Clouds of mist filtered outside, making my skin feel clammy as I watched his naked body become coated by small water rivulets. Gerard had been right; what he was suggesting was no longer a banal occurrence. It was fucking exhilarating.

I had never taken a bath or shower with anyone else before. Even as a little child, I was always alone in the gigantic white tub, having no siblings or no cousins in my direct age group to share the sudsy water with. I had heard of some parents joining their kid in the water, but I was so relieved my parents had never done that. As far as I was concerned, their clothing was a permanent feature of their body. It was weird even thinking about it, honestly. I was always alone when I bathed, just like when I was naked. I had liked and preferred it that way, but now Gerard was challenging my previously conceived ideas.

I didn’t really mind.

I bit my lip as I saw him inside the stall, the water rushing down over his body. His stomach was round and hung over his waist a bit, the constant water current from the nozzle causing the flesh to ripple where it made first contact. The water had attacked the top of his head first, his smooth, feathery, dark hair becoming chunked and separated into extremely wet and still-dry patches. Once his hair was fully damp, it was so jet black and shiny it looked like motor oil on top of his head, contrasting with the white skin that was blinding in the areas that never saw the sun. The hair clung to his face, falling down in front of his eyes and looking like obscure spider webs, constantly moving against the rushing stream.

He ran his hands over his chest, dotted with fine curled hair, but relatively bare, and through his top mane, instinctively flipping it back. He placed his head under the shower spout, closed his eyes, and opened his mouth, letting the water pool and fall off to the side of his chin, never swallowing any of it. He appeared to be off in his own little world, the shower consuming him whole as I watched, not doing much of anything else.

Finally, he cracked open his eyes, and gave a sly smile as he gazed over at me, still standing awkwardly in awe. The inept feelings of being naked I had first possessed were coming back to me, but they were easily hushed away by Gerard’s devious grin, and the size of my erection in front of me. Gerard’s sultry and husky tone as he uttered a low, “I’m waiting,” also helped significantly.

I gingerly stepped forward onto the tiles, shaking off my worries as I rolled my shoulders back. He knocked the door open for me as I stepped inside the shower with him, trying to make sure too much water didn’t pool in the bathroom. Gerard didn’t seem to care about the state of his floors or his neighbors down below however, grabbing my shoulder and pulling me to his wet mouth to meet with a kiss.

Our lips slid all over the place more than usual because of the jet stream above us adding a slippery quality to our skin. Gerard’s hands glided like the water down my body, over the small of my back, before gripping my ass lightly as he pressed our hips together. My hands reached around his thick middle and went to the back of his wet hairline, the strands feeling like octopus tentacles. I could feel the layers of dirt, sweat, and birdseed start to fall off of my body, only to be replaced by Gerard.

We kissed under the falling water for the longest time, saliva and water blending into one entity, before Gerard pulled our bodies apart. He looked me up and down, smile visible through the steam of gushing current in between us. I struggled to keep my eyes open for very long as my own bangs fell before them, steam and liquid blurring my vision, but I could feel everything that was going on. I knew we were going to have sex again.

His hands were around my waist, moving up my chest and removing any other form of dirt and grime from my physique with his fingers before he dropped to his knees in the shower. He was right over the drain, causing the water to form thinly at the bottom. His hands explored in between my thighs, pushing my legs apart a bit so he could fit himself in between. I obliged, feeling his warmer than the water mouth wrap around me. I tried to find something to grab onto, my knees feeling weak as the hot steam around us extracted the strength from my nerves. Gerard’s head was being pummeled by the water rush, his hair pushed apart and scalp forming where the water concentrated. He didn’t let it stop him however, his hand gripping my ass and thighs for support as he licked, sucked, and tongued me in his mouth. He had only given me a blowjob an hour earlier and I couldn’t believe he was doing it again.

I knew that teenage boys were always horny and I really agreed with that assumption. We really did think about sex every eight seconds. But God, I didn’t think we were supposed to actually follow up on those thoughts every time. It felt like all Gerard and I were doing was having sex (albeit handjobs, blowjobs, or actual sex), with brief interludes of conversation. We were going at it like bunnies; bunnies that had been injected with an extra dose of hormones, and in his case, maybe Viagra too. Though it was strange and something I was not used to (or had even heard about), I wasn’t complaining. My body was complying, my cock at full attention inside his mouth, and I was moaning right along with it.

The thin layer of water at the bottom had begun to grow rapidly, and each time Gerard shifted his weight on his knees, loud sucking noises echoed in the stall, other than the ones he was making with his mouth.

It was somewhat awkward giving a blowjob in the shower. Gerard’s hair was in his face now, the water was pooling around him at the bottom and falling down from his thick bangs, constantly making it a tad harder to breathe (since he couldn’t use his mouth, after all) and I was taking a while to come. I had just climaxed an hour earlier; I really didn’t have that much in me this time, and though I was now completely hard, it was going to take a little more than a few sucks to get me off.

Eventually Gerard replaced his mouth with his hand and proceeded to kiss his way up to my face. He leaned me away from the shower nozzle, against one of the tile walls, our tongues mingling together, both of us panting from exertion and harder breathing capabilities. His hand didn’t stay on my cock for long as he traced it down to my balls and then my hole, easing his fingers into me with surprising relaxation. I was getting better at this action too, though both Gerard and I agreed that I still needed practice.

He positioned himself at my opening, his hands on my waist and creeping around my backside to hold me up with surprising strength as he entered. I wrapped my legs around him once he was all the way inside, no longer touching the tile floor and giving my trust to him completely. He held onto me tightly, his nails making small crescent patterns in my skin that the water could not wash away as easily as the dirt covering our bodies. I pushed my head over his shoulder and breathed the hot mist of the shower in deeply, both of us cringing from the awkward positioning.

It was getting easier and easier for him to enter me without being in as much discomfort, but we had never done this standing up before. It was a hard thing to do, let alone when there weren’t buckets of water being poured on top of both of us. I could feel my fingers and toes getting pruney, and they weren’t even touching the water that much anymore. Though we were both in slightly more pain than usual, or than was needed, it didn’t seem to matter. The setting of the shower, with its warm mist and water flooding both of us as pleasure managed to seep its way in, made up for it.

Gerard held me up against the wall as he thrust into me faster than usual. The slow, intimate pace was harder to maintain when both his arms and legs were ready to give out. I leaned into his body, my face buried into his neck, biting his shoulder periodically in lieu of the finger he used to have inside my mouth. We both gasped and choked as he hit my prostate, taking some water into our lungs. Gerard managed to keep hitting the same spot over and over again, almost dropping me at one point. He apologized profusely as he leaned us both against the shower wall, the tile grating my back as we moved in unison. I held on tight as he continued to thrust up, my orgasm mounting inside of me.

I was brave enough to let go of his shoulder as we progressed, pumping my own cock this time because his arms were too busy supporting me as he worked on pleasure for himself. I came first in between our wet bodies, my breathing short and fast. Feeling me clench around him sent Gerard over the edge a few minutes later, moaning into my shoulder louder than the rippling water around us. He was now completely weak from his orgasm and his exertion of holding me up, and he let both of our bodies slink down to the shower floor slowly. He spread us out and blocked the drain, starting another thin layer of water to form on the bottom. He switched our positioning so he was against the wall, and I was cradled in his lap, his cock no longer inside of me. I was a bit sore and achy when I sat on his thighs, but I was doing okay. He reached up and shut the water off completely as I got comfortable, and the cacophony of the emptying drain echoed in the stall. Coming back down, he drew our damp foreheads together, kissing me hard between pants. We sat in the wet mess for a long time, just catching our breaths.

“See,” he panted hard, tossing his wet hair back. I was still on his lap, but our foreheads were no longer drawn together, my head resting on his shoulder instead. I looked up at him as he began to talk, watching as a single droplet of water ran down and fell off his pointy nose, onto his chest. I leaned forward and licked the spot instinctively, earning a smile from him.

“All for art.”

--

I have a small story to share, most people probably won’t care, but since it has something remotely related to this story, I thought I’d say something.

I went to see MCR at the London show in Ontario last Saturday and I was lucky enough to meet Frank and talk to him for like, all of three seconds, lol. My friend Veronica thosefangs had given me some small plastic doves when I saw her last, and I brought some with me to the show to give to the members. I gave two to Frank, telling him they were turtle doves [the idea of turtle doves comes into the story later on]. He looked at me a little weird, but he said he liked them and put them in his pocket.

Yeah. I just thought I would share because now, in real life, Frank is the Dove Keeper.;P

 

Chapter Eighteen
Art & Age [2]

 

We dried off together using Gerard’s large, orange, fluffy towels. Despite the fact that Gerard hated to do meaningless tasks, his towels smelt so good and were so soft, I swore he must have washed them every day. Or maybe Vivian did; she seemed to be a mom just as much as a best friend to the artist, constantly bringing him food and probably doing his laundry. Gerard obviously didn’t have a washer in his place, and I doubted, with the state that the super kept the building in, that they had a (working) machine in the basement.

I found it slightly funny that a grown man still had people taking care of him, but enforced luxuries were minor complications he didn’t need. He never asked Vivian to bring food; in fact, he always rolled his eyes at his best friend when she showed up with her Tupperware containers filled with leftovers. He never asked to be helped because he was content on his own, even if his towels didn’t smell like a mountain stream, or he didn’t have a tuna casserole to eat. If people were willing to help, on the other hand, he was more than willing to let them.

I shook my head to get the heavy wetness off of my hair, while Gerard dabbed at himself daintily. He twisted the towel along his back, blotting his sides and hips before he turned his attention to me. He insisted on drying me off most of the time, pulling the towel around my head, almost wrapping me up like an infant. It felt weird at first, but just like Gerard let other people take care of him, I let him do the same to me. He was so delicate with the soft item against my body, barely touching me, only enough to get the film of water off my clammy skin, and sending warm shivers of care all through my nerves.