Date: Sun, 15 Apr 2018 11:22:07 -0700
From: vereinington@secmail.pro
Subject: The Art of the Boy (Gay / Adult Youth)

The following story is fictional. None of the events, characters,
businesses or cities are real. Please do not read if you are under 18 or
if the content is illegal in your jurisdiction. Email me if you liked the
story or want to comment at vereinington@secmail.pro

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THE ART OF THE BOY

I scrolled through the pictures I'd taken that afternoon on the large
monitor in my studio. Kirsten's 12-year-old son, Chance, had been the
subject of my photo shoot. Kirsten alternately grunted her approval or
quietly whispered "nice," as the black and white images appeared for her
approval. Chance had been a good model - obediently following instructions
and showing little resistance when I told him he would be posing nude.  Of
course, the kid already knew this would be a naked photo shoot. His mother
had shown him a couple of my books and a glowing profile the Times had
written during my last exhibition in Chelsea two years ago.

Kirsten was excited about me shooting Chance for my latest body of work.
Adriano, the director at the gallery that represented my photography, had
introduced her to me six months earlier as a "serious collector." Kirsten
was a tall, dark haired Norwegian, a former model in her mid-thirties
married to some older billionaire hedge-fund exec or something like that,
and she had been burning up his money buying contemporary art and
photography.

For the past several years, my work had consisted exclusively of huge
black and white photographs of naked young men, mostly older teens or guys
in their earliest twenties.  My last show had included three photographs
of a 15-year-old, Will, who was the youngest model I'd shot in the nude.
Will was a tall, reed-thin French boy with porcelain skin and a long
uncircumcised cock.  His real name was Guillaume, but he told everyone to
call him Will. He was a friend and roommate of one of the 19-year-old
models I had shot. I photographed every inch of Will's body, but I chose
to display three demure photos of him covering his groin with his hand or
leg for my exhibition. Some of my models over 18 would be photographed
with erections or their hands on other boy's cocks; that would be out of
the question for Will.

Will's curly golden hair and thin, noble nose made him attractive to both
men and women. It was a pity I had to hide his best asset from the public:
his elegant, hairless penis, unmarked by vein or blemish. I knew he
shaved, but his skin was so fine that he looked like a boy who hadn't yet
entered puberty. When Will got hard, his foreskin retracted to reveal a
plump cockhead almost as pale as the rest of his skin. His cock pointed
straight out from his groin without a bend or slant. I sucked him after
our second photo shoot but he was an impatient lover and took over with
his own hand so he could get off faster.  Nevertheless, he let me lick his
cum covered lower abdomen after he spurted.

Shaking off my memories of Will, I continued scrolling through the
pictures I'd taken of 12-year-old Chance that afternoon. For my current
body of work, I'd been having my models pose in shallow pools of black
viscous liquid which was actually cornstarch, water and black dye. The
black liquid would stick to the boys' skin but pull off in stretchy
ribbons leaving no trace of dye or color on their bodies. The first few
photos showed Chance lying nude on his stomach in about an inch of the
reflective black liquid, his spine slightly arched down to emphasize his
firm round buttocks. A few of the photos in this pose showed his hairless
scrotum peeking from between his legs. I wouldn't print those images for
the exhibition, but I'd certainly archive them. Later in the shoot I had
Chance sit in the liquid and bring his right leg up to hide his groin
area, though a few of the photos accidentally showed his 3 1/2" cut penis
when he put his leg down. Despite having a European mother, Chance was
circumcised, probably owing to his American father. A few of the images
I'd taken showed Chance kneeling in the liquid looking straight up, the
camera held above him in such a way that his head blocked the view of his
genital area.

Though the camera only caught brief glances of Chance's youthful boyhood
pride, I'd had plenty of opportunities to observe it close up as I set up
shots or he changed positions while he complied with my instructions. He
was just entering puberty - tiny, straight hairs were budding on his lower
pubic region just above the base of his penis, though his balls and the
rest of his body was smooth and hair free.

Earlier in the day, when Kirsten and Chance had arrived at my studio (a
converted loft in the Bowery) I sat them down and explained my concept.
Kirsten seemed enthusiastic about the idea but Chance just listened
silently, his thick, dark hair almost covering his eyes. He was one of the
most beautiful boys I had ever seen. His mother's good looks and his
father's money had combined to make a stunning figure. His piercing, large
blue eyes were framed by long dark eyelashes on his upper and lower lids,
and his small, upturned nose was straight and well proportioned. His pink
lips were large for a boy, but he would not be mistaken for a girl due to
his strong jawline and square shoulders. His thin arms and legs were just
getting muscle tone, and had lengthened along with his torso as he knocked
on the door of adolescence.

I made sure Chance knew what he was getting into. "So your Mom told you
that you'd be posing without clothes, right?  And you're OK with that."

"Yeah, she showed me some of your books. I know what I'm getting into,"
Chance answered.  His voice was at that stage where it's just about to
break. It's deeper than a little boy's voice, but still retains a
smoothness that will be lost in full blown adolescence. It was simply
sexy.

When Kirsten had told me she would be showing my books to Chance, I got a
little thrill; the books contained not only ample male nudity, but
pictures of erections and mild sexual play. I wish I could have seen
Chance's reaction as he leafed past pictures of naked hard youth, their
hands on other guys' hard cocks. I couldn't ask, but I wondered what the
conversation had been between mother and son as they looked at the books.
Did he ask her if he would have to get a boner or touch another guy? I had
told Kirsten that I was only going to take modest, tasteful pictures of
Chance and would not be displaying any frontal nudity or genitals, nor
have him pose with other boys.

I had first seen Chance at the gallery opening of a young street artist a
few weeks earlier. I spotted his stunning figure clear across a crowded
floor, then realized he was with Kirsten, whom I had known for several
months since she started buying my work from Adriano. I told the group I
was talking to that I needed another drink and made a path through the art
patrons towards the boy and Kirsten. "And who's this fine young man?" I
asked her after kissing her on both cheeks. Chance was wearing expensive
black jeans and a white dress shirt, but ratty Nikes with yellow neon
trim.

"This is my son Chance. I'm trying to introduce him to culture," she said
with a laugh. "Chance, this is Teddy Christian, a famous photographer."

"Well, I don't know about that..." I said as I shook Chance's delicate
hand, his long slim fingers completely engulfed in my palm. "My pictures
might be well-known, but I'm not."

"Nice to meet you," Chance replied. He sized me up and down quickly with
his eyes. My gaydar immediately started chirping. I had gotten into the
photography business as a model myself, posing for fashion and male erotic
photographers like Bruce Webber and Howard Roffman when I was in my late
teens and early twenties. Now at 38, I'd managed to keep my physique and
looks through a combination of cross fit training and intensive grooming.
I had maintained a full head of golden brown hair, which I wore long on
top and in the front, and closely cropped on the sides and back. To be
honest, it was a lot of work trying to stay attractive, but the main
collectors of my photography were rich gay men, and buying from a good
looking artist never hurt sales.

Kirsten and I talked about the paintings at that night's gallery opening,
and she asked my opinion of the artist and his work. I was honest with her
and told her his was too derivative to really make an impact on the art
world. From that, she asked me what I was working on, and I described my
recent work: the black viscous liquids and naked male bodies, white skin
and dark, oozing spirits which addressed the duality of the human
condition. That's the sort of talk collectors liked to hear. They wanted
to know there was more behind the art than just what was on the surface.
In reality, I just liked looking at and and taking pictures of young naked
guys.

"Have you ever photographed women?" Kirsten asked. "You know, I used to
model," she said with a mock-teasing tone in here voice.

We both laughed at the absurdity of her comment, but I played along.
"There are plenty of photographers who specialize in women," I said. "I'm
afraid I'd have nothing to add to that subject."

Chance, who had been silently observing his mother and me interacting
finally spoke his first words since shaking my hand. "My mom has been
trying to get me to model..."

"Yes, but his father doesn't think that fits into Chance's 'life path',"
Kirsten interrupted. "His dad thinks the only reason someone would go into
modeling is for the money, which, honestly, for most models doesn't amount
to much anyway."

"What about modeling for art?" I asked, looking directly at Kirsten. She
glanced at Chance but didn't say anything further about the subject.

A few days later I got a call in my studio. It was Kirsten. "Adriano gave
me your number," she said. "I had to promise him I wouldn't buy anything
from you directly," she laughed.

"I talked to Chance about modeling 'for art' and he's into the idea."

I wondered if she'd had to talk the boy into the idea, hoping to
vicariously re-live her days in the modeling business, or whether he'd
been enthusiastic about participating in a photo shoot where he would have
to disrobe.

That conversation had led to today's photo session. Kirsten sat in a chair
toward the back of my studio as I photographed Chance, doing something on
her iPad and trying to act like she was not paying attention, but I knew
she was keenly aware of every move Chance and I made. I was half hard in
my trousers the entire afternoon. Between shots, Chance would stand facing
me, the studio lights illuminating his flat stomach and v-shaped lower
abdomen which pointed toward his alluring cock, just starting to grow into
its adult size. His tiny, light brown nipples and dark mop of unruly hair
were offset by his flawless skin.  It was February, so Chance hadn't been
in the sun for months, but there remained the ghost of a tan line in the
shape of the low slung board shorts he wore last summer. Chance barely
said a word during the entire photo shoot aside from simple affirmations
as I directed him to change poses.

After the photo shoot while Chance showered and got dressed Kirsten and I
reviewed the photos and picked several possibilities for my upcoming show.
When they had left I cleaned up the black goop, then sat at my work desk
and looked at the photos again. I pulled my pants and underwear to my
ankles and let my erection spring free. I zoomed in on a photo I had
caught of Chance just standing and turning toward the camera, his penis
and balls in full view. I zoomed in to look at the tiny hairs above his
cock, then zoomed out to look at his entire body.  His eyes had been
locked on the lens of my camera which gave him an unintended sultry look.
I stroked my erection until I released ropes of pent up cum onto the floor
below my desk. I desperately wanted to get together with the boy, but I
was too cautious to let my cock make those decisions.

Two weeks later my phone rang. I didn't recognize the number, but it was
local so I answered. I heard Chance's voice.

"Teddy, this is Chance Kessler. You photographed me a couple weeks ago."
he explained.

"I know who you are!" I laughed.

"I found your number on my mom's phone," he continued. "I was wondering if
you needed more modeling."

My heart jumped. "Certainly! You were a really engaging model," I gushed.
"Have you told your mother you want to do another photo shoot?" I asked.

"No, I was hoping you could call her and arrange it," answered Chance.

After our conversation I called Kirsten. "I've been developing my concept
for the exhibition and was wondering if Chance might be up for some more
photos." I described to her my more recent photos shoots. I'd replaced the
black liquid from my earlier shoots, and was now photographing my nude
models against a black backdrop called Duveteyne, which soaked up all the
light and made it appear as if the figures were floating in black space. I
had also covered some pedestals in the same black material, and used those
to create compositions with the male body which looked eerie and
beautiful.

The next Sunday afternoon, Chance arrived at my studio for our planned
photo shoot accompanied by a young woman I didn't know. Chance was wearing
a dark blue down puffer jacket, camel-colored slim jeans and a pair of
Chuck Taylor basketball shoes that looked brand new. The bulky jacket
amplified his long skinny legs.

"Where's your mom?" I asked.

"She had to go to our summer house. This is my mom's assistant Beth,"
Chance explained. Beth was an attractive, petite woman in yoga pants and a
gray pea coat who looked like she was in her early thirties. I wondered
how much Kirsten was regretting not being able to relive her modeling days
vicariously through her son.

"It's OK, Beth, you can leave," Chance commanded.

"Your mom wanted me to supervise you during the photo shoot," Beth replied
without conviction.

"You got me here safely. Go have a coffee and I'll call you to pick me up
when it's done," Chance said, like a boss telling a secretary to take his
clothes to the dry-cleaner.

After inquiring how long the shoot would take ("Three hours or so," I
informed her), Beth left. I would later learn that Beth had originally
been Chance's au pair, and when Chance had grown to the age that it was
embarrassing to have a nanny, Kirsten made Beth a "personal assistant,"
whose duties were pretty much the same as a nanny's.

I explained to Chance what we would be doing in this photo shoot and how
it would differ from the last.

"I'm glad I don't have to get wet," he said. "It wasn't that bad, but I'd
rather stay dry." The wet and dry talk caused unspoken dirty thoughts to
run through my mind.

I asked Chance to get in frame so I could adjust the lighting and focus.
Three weeks earlier at his first photo shoot, Chance had been fully
clothed but barefoot while I tinkered with my settings, after which he had
gone to my studio bathroom, undressed and returned to the work area in a
robe.

But today, Chance sat on my studio floor and took off his shoes and socks,
then stood up and started undoing his fly. I was about to stop him but
quickly quashed that impulse. I watched him fully disrobe and fold each
piece of clothing until he stood nude, folding his boxer briefs and
placing them on the stack of his other clothing atop a folding chair.

"OK, Chance, I want you to stand in the middle of the black backdrop," I
instructed. "Back up about a foot. That's Good." I snapped a few shots to
dial in the multiple flash units that were triggered by my camera. Chance
stood and faced the camera fully nude.

"What is this black stuff?" Chance asked gesturing to the floor and
backdrop. "It feels like velvet paper."

I explained what Duveteyne was and how it soaked up light.

"That's pretty cool. Would regular velvet work?"

Unlike last time, Chance had turned into a regular chatterbox.

"I suppose it would," I answered. "But it would probably wrinkle and the
light would reflect off the bumps."

I directed Chance in a variety of poses, my camera clicking three and four
shots at a time. I had Chance standing, then sitting, then reclining, then
with his back to the camera, trying to maintain a sense of modesty by
having him cover his groin with his hand or crossed leg. Chance talked the
entire time, often removing his hands to gesture while he was speaking. I
got a lot of good accidental full-frontal shots.

After telling me about his lacrosse team, his tennis coach, his favorite
multi-player video game called Fortnight, and a boy named Reymonde (he
pronounced it rayMOND) who had been kicked out of his school for feeling a
girls tits without her permission, Chance finally got to the point.

"Hey Teddy, how come I don't get to pose with any other guys?"

I hoped Chance didn't see the surprise on my face. I started to formulate
an answer, but he interrupted me.

"And how come you won't take pictures of me with a boner?"

"Well..." I said, stalling while a dozen thoughts ran through my mind. "I
didn't know if you'd like that sort of thing.  Also, if a model is under
18 years old, there are a lot of things that are proscribed by law."

"Prescribed by law?" he asked, puzzled.

"No, pro-scribed. It means prohibited," I explained.

"Oh, I wish it was pre-scribed by law." It was a 12-year-old's attempt at
a bad joke.

"Look, Chance," I said. "I'd love to take pictures of you with an erection
and with other guys. But I could get into serious trouble if I were to do
that."

"What if you didn't show the pictures to anyone?" Chance pleaded. "How
would anyone ever find out? You don't have to put them in your art show."

Wow, I thought to myself. This kid is doing the hard sell to get me to
take dirty pictures of him. I realized that this whole photo shoot was
Chance's attempt to get a little sex action going in his life. My gaydar
must have been dialed in that day I met him.

"So you really want to get a hard-on in front of me, and you want to touch
other guys' cocks?" I probed. I used the word "cock" to drive home the
seriousness of what he was asking. I wasn't going to sugarcoat it by
calling it a dink or wang or whatever slang word a 12-year-old might use.

"Uh huh," he nodded.

Chance's face displayed a mixture of anticipation and hope. I was powerless.

"Ok," I said with mock exasperation. "So get hard. Or do you want help,
like some of my other models?"

"Help, please," he said, thrusting his groin in my direction. I noticed it
was already inflating of its own accord.

I quickly slipped out of my shoes so as not to damage the Duveteyne and
approached Chance. I knelt in front of him and took his cock with my right
hand and his balls with my left. Chance reacted with a strong intake of
breath then put his hands on the back of my head as I caressed him. I
don't know if he was signaling me, but it felt like he wanted me to suck
him, so I did.

His cock was a little over four inches so deep throating him was easy and
comfortable. My nose touched his lower abdomen above his wispy,
just-emerging pubic hair.  His tight ball sack had pulled up into his
body; I caressed his velvety pouch and felt his cherry-tomato-sized
testicles.

Chance leaned forward over me and started to pull my shirt up from the
back. I stopped sucking him to remove my top.

"I want to see you naked," Chance uttered. He was trying to sound sexy but
his voice cracked. It was adorable.

I removed my shirt, my socks and my trousers. I tried to be enticing
without overdoing it as I peeled my clothing off. When I got down to my
striped boxer briefs, I traced the outline of my erection so Chance could
see what was in store.  Chance grabbed his own cock and started pumping
frantically. I pulled my underwear down and off. My seven-inch hard-on
sprang up.

"Whoa, hold on!" I said. "Let's take it easy for a little bit." I knelt
back down in front of Chance and continued my blow job, grabbing his
smooth ass and pulling him into my mouth as far as he could go, in deep,
then out to the point where his cock was almost all the way past my lips,
then pulling him back in.

"I want to try sucking you," Chance said after two or three minutes.

I let him pull out. "OK. Have you ever sucked a cock before?" I asked.

"I sucked my friend Casper's dick when we were eight, but it was only for
a couple seconds," he answered.

"So you've got experience," I said, trying to sound earnest. I wanted to
build his confidence.

I stood up and Chance knelt in front of me. He grabbed my hard cock and
guided it toward his mouth. Before taking me in he licked my head, which
had been covered in a smear of pre-cum, then put his lips over the first
two inches of my cock. His warm, wet mouth was a contrast to the cool air
of the studio. His head began to move back and forth as he worked on my
hard dick. Then he pulled my cock out of his mouth and rubbed it on his
face. I got the feeling this kid was familiar with gay porn.

I looked down at Chance. His dark straight hair covered his forehead. His
deep blue eyes, framed by long dark lashes, examined my cock which he
gripped in his right hand. He pulled me back into his mouth and looked up
at my face. I smiled and put my hand on his head gently as he continued
the blow job. I looked down past his face to his developing pectoral
muscles peaked by tiny nipples. Below that, his flat, tight stomach heaved
as he sucked me. The V shape of his abdomen led to his hard dick, which
pointed straight up at me. This 12-year-old liked sucking cock.

After several minutes I asked him if there were other things he wanted to
try. "I want to try fucking sometime, but I don't think I'm ready for that
yet," he said honestly.

"Top or bottom?" I asked.

He looked at me with a puzzled look, then I saw the recognition register
on his face.

"Oh... I want to try both, I guess," he answered.

"Ok, let's save that for another time," I said, secretly giddy that we
were already talking about future plans.

"Why don't we lie down on the couch. I''m tired of standing," I suggested.

My studio had a George Nelson daybed covered in gray tweed fabric. I
pulled off the back rest which left a twin-bed sized mattress. I told
Chance to lie down on his stomach.

Propped up on his elbows, Chance looked back at me as I sat on the edge of
the daybed. His head peeked over his square shoulders, and his spine
dropped down his inwardly arched back, then rose again as it met his two
perky buttocks. I began rubbing his butt gently with both hands, exploring
his crack with my left hand. He wiggled his ass and ground his pelvis into
the cushion. I knelt in and thrust my face between his butt cheeks, and
started tonguing his hairless ass and taint. Chance started cooing with
satisfaction. He lifted his mid section off the bed and I took his hard
member in my hand, caressing his small shaft and taut ball sack as my
tongue thrust gently at his hole. Chance was not an experienced lover, and
my manipulations took him by surprise. With little warning, his 4 1/2 inch
cock stated spasming in my hand and he spewed a few clear jets of boygasm
onto the tweed fabric beneath his lower abdomen. He rolled onto his side
and breathed heavily, a spent look on his face.

"You OK?" I asked because I didn't know what else to say.

"Yes," Chance said, expelling lungful of air as the word came out of his
mouth.

Six months after my first encounter with Chance, my new exhibition opened
in one of the largest galleries in Chelsea. Immediately there was
controversy about two of the photos in the exhibition - not the three coy
nudes of Chance that I had included in the show, but two pictures of
Chance, wearing clothes, posing with a nude male model. In one photo,
Chance is shirtless, barefoot and in jeans sitting on his haunches in the
foreground of the composition as a fully nude 19-year-old young man stands
several paces behind him. Chance looks directly at the camera with an
innocent, untroubled look as the naked guy behind him faces the camera,
his soft, large cock fully in view over Chance's bare shoulder. In the
other photo, Chance is pulling a t-shirt over his head as the 19-year-old
nude guy walks out of frame, his muscular ass and back in full view of the
camera.

The subtext of the photos that troubled some critics and viewers was that
Chance and the young man had just had sex. In reality, they had not even
touched each other during the photo shoot, though after the session Chance
and I had made love.

Chance continued to model for me through his early teens. When he was 14,
his mother found out about our relationship when she went snooping through
his text messages. Though there was nothing explicit in the texts, Kirsten
was able to infer the extent of our friendship. She called me.

"What's going on with you and Chance?" she asked as soon as I picked up
the phone.

"He's one of my best models, and I'm training him to use a camera," I
answered, trying to sound nonchalant. "You know that." I knew that Kirsten
knew what was going on beyond that.

"Do you care about him?" She asked.

"Yes, I really do," I said.

"If I ever find out you hurt him in any way, I'm going to come down on you
like a January snowstorm," she said. I wondered if that was a Norwegian
saying, like "ton of bricks."

"I would never hurt Chance," I said. "I really do care about him."

"Ok," Kirsten paused. "If anyone finds out, I'm going to make you two move
to Arkansas and get married."

I didn't know if I was to take that threat seriously. There had recently
been stories in the media about how kids as young as 14 could get married
in the southern US with their parents' consent. It usually happened when a
young girl got pregnant, even if it was a legal adult who had impregnated
her.  I'd never heard about minor males getting married to older men, but
I suppose it might work...  The thought of marrying Chance held a sort of
appeal.

Three months after that conversation, Kirsten split from her husband. It
was a contentious divorce. Hundreds of millions of dollars were at stake,
and in the furor surrounding the split-up Chance was seldom taken into
consideration.  Both parents used him agains the other, but neither seemed
to really care what happened to him. I was livid when Chance would
describe the actions and words of his mother and father.

Chance started spending more time at my place to the point that he had
moved a lot of his clothes into the loft and would leave for school in the
morning directly from my front door. Neither parent seemed to have a
problem with it. Chance had been working as my photographic assistant on
shoots (he especially liked the ones where young guys got naked and hard)
and had even accompanied me on a trip to Europe during his winter break.

As of now, Chance is my de-facto partner. He spends most of his time with
me, and is becoming an accomplished photographer in his own right. He's
kept his grades up - Kirsten even has his math tutor come to my place
twice a week after school. I go to almost all of Chance's lacross games
and I am know by his friends as his "Uncle Teddy." We'll see what happens
in the future - I'll keep you posted.