The Portrait

Isaac drove through the rural country side looking at it like it was his first time, as if he didn't really know it, looking for that image, that special arrangement in the landscape that captured his eye. That landscape that he could frame in his mind; that would capture something of the region he could sketch, to put on paper, and ultimately put on canvas, adding hue, tone, shadow, line, bringing out an image as his eyes saw it. This was the first time in the last ten years he had not traveled abroad, creating landscapes, capturing landmarks, old buildings from a time when man had the conceit to think he and his world were the center of the universe, when they didn't even know their own world, and Isaac had painted them, in his own style, with bold rich color and strong contrasting shadows. He even from time to time did portraits of some of the local people, mostly women in traditional dress.

He had been teaching at the university for the last seven years, since he was twenty-seven, after spending five years traveling Europe, Russia and the Middle East, sketching and painting, developing his style, his approach to line and color, as he spent his inheritance, stretching it out by living in hostels, camping in tents in fields or the woods, or just tossing his sleeping bag on the ground by his easel and lying on his back staring up at the night sky until sleep overtook him. For the first six years of his academic career he traveled back during his summers to those familiar settings and he explored new ones, going to China and the south Pacific, but this year was different. His mother wasn't doing well and he thought he should stay close in case he was needed, so he decided to travel through the region he thought of as home. Southern Alabama and North Florida, traveling through the rolling hills of farms, pine tree forests planted in monotonous rows, of low swampy regions running along the rivers that cut through the land.

He'd been on the road for a couple of days when he saw it. He had drove up a steep incline after crossing over a creek and came to the top of the hill when he spied the scene. An old abandoned barn, its boards weathered dark sienna, never having received paint and its roof, an old rusted tin construction that was missing a few panels along one lower section sat among several old oaks, their branches spreading out wide and thick. There were a couple of smaller outbuildings, one leaning over, appearing to defy gravity. Behind it all stood the concrete shell of a silo, its walls once white now a faded out gray, the color of the concrete bleeding through the worn thin paint. Isaac pulled over and surveyed the site. He stood there knowing this would be his first work for the summer. Getting back into his car he drove on down the rural narrow two lane highway until he came to a farm house, with its own barns, silos and outbuildings, all old, in disrepair, but still functioning. He drove down the drive to the rear yard and found a man working on his truck. Explaining what he wanted the old farmer told him who owned the property and offered to call for him. Soon he had the owner's permission and was on his way to the nearest hotel to find a room. Luckily Interstate 65 was close and there was an exit with a hotel, service station and a fast food restaurant. Within a couple of hours he was returning to the site of the old barn.

For several hours he sketched from one position then another, looking for that one view that gave him the composition he wanted; then he set to sketching the scene before him in detail. He worked tirelessly, while the hot summer beat down on him, the humidity making the air thick and stifling and the constant buzz of insects, the constant need to fan the gnats slowed his progress, but didn't deter him. He knew the region, grew up in it, knew how it worked, and he knew how to work at its pace. It was why he had heard the tractor coming down the road but didn't consider it until he heard it stop. The noise of a tractor was too common to take notice.

He turned and looked back at the road, where his Jeep sat parked in the ditch and saw the old John Deere tractor, a model from the days before cabs, and air conditioning and electronic controls and stereos. He saw the farmer climb down and come to the fence, saw him climb effortless over the old barb wire fence and begin his slow ambling walk toward where Isaac was set up. Isaac first noticed how he was dressed; a ball cap, a sleeveless shirt, its tail hanging out flapping over his jeans. His shoes looked like old work boots but it was hard to tell with him walking in the tall grass. As he got closer, Isaac could see how dirty he was from his labors, how his cap was filthy, frayed along the brim, how his shirt had had its sleeves torn from the shoulders, the opening showing the frayed edges, and his jeans were smeared with dirt and grease, frayed at one knee, the opening dark, too far away to see the skin exposed through it.

When the farmer was about thirty yards away he called out, giving a small low wave with one hand.

"Hey, you that artist from the university?"

"Yes. Are you the owner?"

"That would be my mother" he replied as he got close enough for Isaac to really see him. He looked to be mid-twenties, average height, lean, the way his shirt hung from his shoulders and billowed around his waist in the slight breeze. His face was rough looking, his beard looking to have a few days growth, the skin tanned. Definitely not the soft boyish face of the students he saw during the two semesters he taught each year. His shirt was unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest, revealing his tanned smooth chest. He wasn't cute, but he was attractive and it made Isaac suck in a breath and hold it a second, telling himself to behave himself, to not let his roaming eyes get him in trouble. When the farmer was a few steps away he reached out a hand to shake with Isaac.

"I'm Ross."

"Isaac. So your mother owns this place?"

"Yeah, she inherited it from her grandfather several years ago. It ain't the best land; won't grow shit, so we let it sit idle while she tries to figure out what she wants to do with it."

"I guess there are not a lot of options out here."

"Tell me about it. If we were close to a city, well..." then Isaac could see that look, of someone stuck in a place he didn't really like, someone looking for something else. "So what makes you want to paint this busted down ole barn?" Ross asked when he brought his attention back to Isaac. Isaac laughed and looked at Ross shaking his head.

"I don't know, sometimes I just see some landscape, some group of buildings and just want to capture them on canvas."

"I see" Ross replied, and Isaac sensed he did understand. They talked a few more minutes, about Isaac's teaching art and his traveling in summers to paint and Ross told him how he was trying to make it on the family farm, admitting he thought it was the only thing he could do well. When their talk wound down to an awkward silence, Ross looked across the old over grown pasture, then back at Isaac.

"Well, I guess I should leave you alone and let you get back to your painting." Ross turned to walk away but stopped and turned back to Isaac. "Hey where are you staying if you'll need a couple of days to do this painting?"

"I got a room at a hotel at one of the exits on 65."

"Oh yeah, that's not far, but there ain't shit over there to get something to eat at; why don't ya come to my folk's house later today. You can get something decent to eat and mom can answer any questions you may have on this ole place."

Isaac hesitated a moment, thinking he didn't really need the history of the place to paint it, but the offer was genuine, and something told him to accept.

"That sounds really nice; where do they live?"

Isaac arrived at the mid-sixties ranch house right at five thirty, knowing how an early dinner was common practice and to be late an insult. He was greeted at the door by Ross, who brought him through the foyer running between a formal dining and living room, neither of which appeared to have seen much use, and into the back of the house into a darkly paneled den, a large fireplace prominent in one wall. Ross introduced Isaac to his father and mother; Ray and Sally. Sally had them sit down while she finished her preparations of their dinner.

Conservations were forced, Isaac not having much in common with Ray and Sally but the meal was good and they were genuine in their friendly hospitality. As they sat around the dining table, finished with desert, just talking casually Isaac shown them some of his sketches and photos of some of his work he had done in the past. Sally asked if he did portraits.

"Not really; I mean, I've had the classes, and in my travels I would do one of someone I thought was interesting, dressed in some traditional costume, but it is not something I do regularly." He hadn't lied but he hadn't told the whole truth. He struggled with drawing portraits. Not portraits of women, those he had no trouble studying his model, putting on canvas what he was seeing with his eyes. But men it was a problem. He would see the man in front of him; see his masculine form and see some beauty in him that brought up feelings that blurred his vision, messed with his objectivity. He loved the male form, but it was in ways far beyond art. He had never had a serious relationship, but he had had many flings, many a summer romance in Italy, France or some other country. But he didn't sketch them; didn't paint them.

"Well, I was wondering, would you paint Ross? I've always wanted one done, something other than the typical photo portrait, ya know what I mean" Sally asked.

Isaac was stumped for a moment; then he cleared his throat. "Well, I don't know...you see I'm not the best at portraits" he replied.

"Oh I think you're just being modest. You're work looks really good to me; don't you think so Ray?"

"Yeah...It looks good" Ray responded, Isaac knowing a man who doesn't question his wife when he sees one. They went back and forth for a while, with Isaac looking over at Ross, his shaggy brown hair dropping across his forehead, and the way he grinned at Isaac, knowing his mother was making him uncomfortable. Isaac made a comment about how long it'd take and he doubted Ross would want to sit still that long.

"I'll do it. I'll sit for it, if it is what mom wants" Ross said all of sudden after not saying much during the whole conversation.

"Don't you worry Isaac, we'll pay ya for it and Ross here says he'll sit still long enough for you to do it, so that settles it."

The next morning, as the sun rose in the east, Isaac was sitting in the high grass watching the light move over the old barn and silo, watching how the shadows shifted, moved, the colors change, and he began to paint. He tried to stay focused on his work but the idea of doing Ross' portrait kept intruding, disturbing his calm, as he wondered how he would get through the sessions. Ross had told him they would do them at his house as soon as he was completed with his landscape. He even suggested Isaac stay at his house, but Isaac, in a moment of clarity, said he couldn't do that and would keep his room at the hotel. He kept asking himself if he could keep his mind focused on Ross' body in an artistic fashion and paint the portrait or was he in for a long ordeal of daydreaming, fantasizing, or masturbating in his hotel room every night until his dick was sore.

His attention span improved as the morning wore on and he had exhausted himself on thoughts of Ross and finally gotten serious with his painting. It was nearing noon when he saw Ross' pickup pull up and park in front of his Jeep. Ross came toward him carrying something, which he quickly realized was some sort of lunch. Ross came up and told Isaac his mom sent lunch and to come over to one of the oaks so they could sit in the shade. Isaac brought his small camp chair and sat in the shade of the oak, where the grass wasn't as tall. He found the lunch sent to be unbelievable and he ate hardily as Ross sat on the ground close by asking questions about the university, questions about the curriculums and what it was like on campus. After a few minutes, Ross grabbed the waist band of his shirt and pulled it up over his head and off. Isaac had watched, holding his breath, as Ross' torso came into view. He was so lean, his stomach and chest so smooth and tanned from outdoor work, and when he had raised his arms Isaac saw how Ross had thick dark brown hair in each arm pit. Ross tossed the shirt on the ground behind him and laid back, putting his cap over his face to shield his eyes.

"Damn I am exhausted. One of dad's calves got sick and we were up till three this morning" Ross stated as he laid there. Isaac sat, staring for what he knew to be far too long. He looked at the long slim torso, the damp arm pit hair, the thin trail of hair from his navel to the waist band of his jeans that fit snug to his narrow waist. He looked at Ross' long legs in the tight legs of his jeans, and he looked at the bulge in the crotch. As he stared, Ross reached over and adjusted his crotch and Isaac held his breath watching as the long fingers moved the bulge in the tight confines of the jeans. 'How in the hell am I going to do his portrait' he wondered at that moment, and how he wanted to reach down and touch him, do things that Ross would probably beat the shit out of him if he tried. He struggled to finish his lunch as he sat there looking at the body of Ross, feeling frustrated.

When he was finished they moved back to the easel with Isaac getting settled back in his place while he and Ross discussed getting started the next evening on his portrait. Isaac worked the rest of the day sporadically as he struggled to stay focused, unable to keep thoughts from surfacing of Ross and the challenge that lay ahead of him.

Isaac went back to the old barn the next morning and painted until he finally got to a stopping point; a place in his painting he was satisfied with the results. He spent the rest of the day riding around the area, grabbing a late lunch in a nearby town. He got back to his hotel room around five, gathered his art supplies and headed to Ray and Sally's for dinner. He would follow Ross afterwards to his house.

Ross lived in the old farmhouse that had been built by his great great-grandfather and lived in by different family members up till the late 1980's where it sat vacant until Ross took it over and renovated it. Isaac was surprised to see how nice the old house had been renovated, how manicured the lawn and surrounding landscape. They pulled to the rear and were soon entering through a back door at a screen porch. Inside they went into a modern kitchen and living area, where Ross opened the refrigerator asking Isaac if he wanted a beer.

Drinks in hand, Ross led Isaac to the living room at the front of the house where he had set up the room for Isaac. The furniture on one side of the room was moved to the dining room and a tarp was lying on the floor. The opposite wall had an old antique sofa that had been refurbished positioned at the wall with a large painting hanging over it. Isaac couldn't help but ask about the painting and Ross just smiled and said an old friend from high school had done it, and that he lived in California now.

Isaac set up his easel and got his paints, pencils and other supplies all set up while Ross went to change into some better clothes. Ross came back into the living room wearing a white dress shirt open at the collar with his tanned skin contrasting sharply with the bright white fabric. He had combed his hair but a lock refused to stay in place and kept dropping across his forehead.

Isaac sketched for nearly two hours trying to get the proportions right, and he kept making Ross shift positions in an effort to get the best angle, but he wasn't satisfied with his results so far. He got frustrated and told Ross he had to stop a moment to recompose himself, that he was struggling for some reason.

"I can't get your body proportions right for some reason" Isaac told him

"Should I stand up and let you sketch me that way?"

"No, I just need to iron out your basic body structure first then look at how your clothes fit."

"You want me to take off my clothes" Ross said it, smiling a little mischievously.

"No" Isaac replied quickly, then lowered his voice; "that won't be necessary." He looked at Ross and then at his sketches and finally laid them down and stood up.

"Where is your bathroom?"

"Through the door, down the hall; it's the second door on the left."

"I'll be right back." Isaac went to the bathroom and relieved himself, washed his hands and then his face, staring at himself in the mirror, asking himself what his fucking problem was and why he couldn't focus, knowing full well what was the problem. He stood at the lavatory, propped on his hands, head held down, for a few minutes, taking slow measured breaths. Then he looked at himself in the mirror once more and nodded, thinking 'I can do this'.

He went back to the living room and froze in the door way, feeling his breathing come to a complete stop. Ross was sitting on the sofa as before, but he was naked, his clothes lying in an arm chair.

"I know you said not too, but I thought it might help you with my body structure" Ross said as Isaac came into the room and sat at his easel. He tried not to look at first, knowing how he would gaze at Ross and afraid Ross would see it in his eyes. He took a deep breath and thought 'fuck it' and began. He struggled at first, tried to focus on the whole of Ross and not stare at just one part or place. But for a few minutes he couldn't help it. He looked at Ross' cock and how it lay over his balls, thick and wrinkled as the loose skin was pulled up along its flaccid state. He looked at how the trail of hair from his navel went down and spread into the thick bush of hair over his cock and how his cock was darker than the surrounding skin; how his hips and crotch were slightly lighter in skin tone, but obviously getting some sun. He looked at Ross' long legs, the muscular thighs and calves and the brown hair that covered them. Isaac's eyes roamed over the naked body, looking at that familiar torso, and the smooth tanned skin and how his chest wasn't overly muscular in definition but was lean like a runner or swimmer, and how his arms did have muscular definition, with the biceps bulging with muscle. His eyes roamed back up to Ross' face, all clean shaven, appearing smooth, and he noticed the smile on his face, the look in his eyes. Isaac could see how Ross knew he was making him flustered, but Isaac renewed his determination to do the portrait.

For over an hour he sketched and worked out Ross' body, the line of his torso, the curve around his hips, the form of muscle along his arms, his legs, and even along his shoulders to his neck. He composed himself enough to even draw Ross' sex, the curve of it, the way it laid over his balls and the way they hung between his legs. When his hands ached and his eyes were fatigued he set his pencils down and looked at what he had done. He was surprised at how well he had done. He saw Ross get up and approach and he stiffened. Ross came and stood by him looking at the sketch. Isaac couldn't help it as he glanced over at Ross' cock as it was right beside him, right there, so close he could smell the scent of Ross. He could see the individual hairs lying over his skin, and the smoothness of his skin, the unblemished surface, the natural tightness over muscle.

"That is really good, Isaac" Ross' voice low, a huskiness in it Isaac had not heard before. Ross moved closer, his hand rested on Isaac's shoulder. Isaac froze as he sensed Ross lean down, his head moving up next to his own.

"Do I really look like that?"

"Yes" Isaac replied automatically, his voice low.

"Thanks" Ross replied and Isaac felt his breath just before he felt Ross' lips touch his cheek, kissing him lightly. Ross pulled back a few inches as Isaac turned and looked at him, looked into his brown eyes, saw the angular features of his face soften, this smile widen, dimples formed into the sides of his mouth. Isaac leaned toward Ross and touched lips to lips. The kiss got harder, mouth to mouth, tongue dueling tongue, as Ross inflamed Isaac's passions, forced him to respond to his desires. Ross held Isaac's head and kissed him one more time on the mouth and then stood up next to Isaac, his naked body up close, and this time Isaac didn't freeze up, didn't shy away, as he reached out to hold Ross' cock in his hand, felt its soft skin move along the shaft, felt it begin to harden, the head swell up. Ross watched Isaac's manipulations as if in a trance, then he watched as Isaac moved to it, mouth open, and took it into his mouth, slid it along his tongue until it pushed at the opening to his throat and he tried to push further. Isaac felt Ross' cock swell in his mouth and fill the void, the warm shaft move over his tongue as he moved his head back and forth. Ross held his head and began to work his hips, pumping cock through Isaac's mouth, feeling the head slide over Isaac's tongue, the warm wet slickness of Isaac's mouth sending sensations through him, ancient primitive sensations, as he flexed and swung his hips. Drool slid from Isaac's mouth and down his chin as he was lost in the feel of Ross in his mouth.

Ross was achingly hard, his cock felt like it was stone, and he pulled out of Isaac's mouth and stood back, watching it bob in the air. Isaac sat staring at it, his glazed over eyes moving with every movement of Ross' cock. Then Ross's hand broke his field of vision, snapped him out of his trance and he looked up at Ross.

"Let's go to the bedroom" Ross told Isaac, as Isaac nodded ok and took his hand. Ross led him to the last room down the short hall and to the bed. Standing by the bed, Isaac watched as Ross methodically pulled the quilt and sheet back to the foot of the bed. He watched the naked form of Ross' body move, watched the muscles shift under the skin, his cock move freely around; he watched how Ross's facial expression was one of calm determination. He watched how Ross' hair kept falling over his forehead and into his eyes, and he noticed for the first time the line of freckles across his shoulders. Isaac was like a child, unable to act on his own, just standing there watching, waiting, transfixed by his desires and his needs.

Ross came back to him and began to undress him, unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it off his shoulders. He unbuckled his belt, unfastened his jeans, pulled the zipper down and pushed them down with his boxers until they dropped to Isaac's ankles. Isaac stepped out of them as he was led to the bed, the two of them lying side by side, touching each other, bringing lips to lips, kissing as the heat of their bodies warmed the other. Isaac seemed to suddenly come alive, to awake as if from a dream and he pushed Ross back on his back.

"I wanted to touch you from the first moment I saw you..." and he hesitated, his eyes roaming over Ross' body, "and when you were posing and I was sketching you; then doing the portrait, I wanted to come to the sofa and touch you, to touch you everywhere."

"You can do that now" Ross replied.

Ross lay there, silent and still, as Isaac moved around, shifted up next to him. Ross closed his eyes, waiting, knowing Isaac wouldn't hold back this time. He felt the light touch on his chest first, small circular motions, Isaac feeling the smoothness of his skin, its firmness with the hard muscle underneath. Isaac felt the softness of one then the other nipple and the erect nub in the middle and he leaned over and tongued it, kissed it lightly, then tugged on it with his teeth. Ross sucked in a deep breath at the sensation.

Isaac ran his fingers lightly up to Ross' neck feeling its structure, his Adam's apple, the way the artery ran up the side of his neck, felt the shape of his ear and how his roughly cut hair fell around it, soft and thick. Isaac moved his lips to the ear and ran his tongue over it, around it and felt Ross turn giving him better access as a low quiet moan escaped from within him. Isaac ran his fingers through Ross' hair as his lips traveled over his face, touching lightly each eye, over the nose, across his lips and to his chin and along his jaw, feeling the straight line of it. Isaac shifted and laid his head on Ross' chest, feeling the warmth of his skin, the movement of his breathing and the sound of his pumping heart, as his own fingers ran downward around his navel through the sparse hair that grew around it and they followed the trail of hair, down and by his hard cock, arced up hard over his stomach. Isaac's fingers felt the tightly curled hair above Ross' cock and felt the way it quickly thinned out as his fingers moved out over his hips and around the smooth flesh covering them. As Isaac moved his fingers around Ross' crotch, over his balls, feeling them shift in their sac, feeling the smooth skin of it, he moved his head downward, following the path his fingers had just traveled. Isaac felt Ross' hand on his head, guiding him, the fingers massaging his head letting his hair slide between them.

Isaac licked the head of Ross' cock, ran his tongue down it to his balls, feeling the smooth texture, the shape of the shaft and the way the head flared out. Isaac tugged on Ross' balls, tightening them in their sac and Ross pushed Isaac's head down so his cock slid between Isaac's lips and into his mouth. Isaac sucked, tongued and moved his head up and down the hard shaft, slicking it up, heating it with the warmth of his mouth. Ross began to pump his hips upward, pushing more of his cock into Isaac's mouth. Isaac moved so his body lay along Ross' legs, the fine hair tickling him, his cock sliding between them as he moved it back and forth, increasing his own lust, driving him onward, as he took Ross in his mouth. Ross began to swing his hips upward faster and harder, working his cock through Ross' mouth, the sound of it sliding through his lips, the sound of Isaac putting suction to it breaking the silence in the room.

Ross slowed to a stop and rose up, looking down on Isaac.

"I want to fuck your ass" he told Isaac.

Isaac let Ross' cock slip from his mouth and he moved up over Ross' hips, his own hard cock bouncing up and down. Isaac held Ross' cock up, let it rub over his ass as he moved back and forth over it letting it touch him there, time and time again, building his need, his desire. He held Ross' cock gently between his thumb and forefinger as he moved himself into position, pushing slightly against the head of Ross' cock, feeling the pressure against his tight opening. He pushed down with his weight and felt the breach of his opening, the penetration, as Ross slid into him. Slowly Isaac moved down, his hands now bracing his body by leaning back on them as they rested on Ross' thighs, the angle of penetration pushing against his insides, rubbing through his opening, as he felt the stretch, the pain; the pleasure. Isaac moved down slowly until he had all of Ross in him, and he squirmed around feeling the fullness of his insides where Ross had penetrated deeply into him. He moved up slowly, feeling his opening relax, accept the intrusion, the cock that was stroking his insides, making him hold his breath as he moved up and then back down. Isaac moved slowly for several minutes, feeling the shaft slid through him, work his opening; stuff his guts full.

Ross watched as his cock appeared and disappeared again and again and again, as Isaac moved up and down, sliding his body along the hard shaft of his cock. He felt the hot softness inside Isaac, he felt the tight ring of his opening as it moved up and down his shaft, milking his cock and he felt the light bounce of Isaac's cock off his stomach each time he came down. Ross reached out, resting one hand on Isaac's hips, feeling the movement of his body and the other grasped the hard cock bouncing in front of him. He stroked it roughly, tightly in his fist, feeling the head slid into his hand then back out as he slammed his fist down to the base of Isaac's cock. He felt the warm slickness of the head and he smeared it along the shaft and saw how it made Isaac speed up, to work his body harder, forcefully up and down, stroking Ross' cock with the tight ring of his opening.

"Fuck...take it" Ross cried out as he felt his cock swell up, throbbed achingly inside of Isaac, and then explode his load deep into him, pumping wad after wad out, hot thick sticky wads he pumped into Isaac then worked his cock through it, slicking up his cock and Isaac's insides. Isaac moved faster as sweat formed on his skin, as his breathing got faster, deeper, and Ross stroked furiously on his cock, pumped it harder, rubbing the head with each stroke, as his own cock didn't go soft, but stayed hard, kept working through Isaac's insides, pumping out his first load back onto his crotch. Ross considered flipping Isaac on his back, but his stamina was fierce, his hips working up and down fast, as he worked his opening over Ross' cock. Suddenly Ross felt it, the hot splatter of cum as it hit him in the face, a trail of it shot across his chest and then wads pooled onto his stomach as the cock in his hand flexed over and over, shooting out Isaac's load with Ross stroking him till it was spent.

Isaac was exhausted, and he lay on top of Ross, breathing hard, his sweaty body hot against Ross. Ross felt his own need, still unsated, still hard inside Isaac and he rolled him over on his back as he got on top, pushing Isaac's legs apart, working his hips slowly, pumping his cock in Isaac, through the loosened opening, feeling it soften its grip, but still snug enough, the feel of it gripping his cock making him thrust faster and faster, full long strokes as Isaac lay back, head thrown back and his arms laying out over his head, as he took Ross' fuck, the thrusting of his cock as it worked its way through his slick hot insides.

Ross soon rose up on his hands and feet, only his cock buried in Isaac maintained full contact as he hammered it through Isaac's opening, pummeling it with his swinging hips, slamming cock into the hole beneath him. He fucked furiously, worked his hips hard, full arcing movements, as Isaac grunted and groaned underneath him. He felt the buildup, the sensation of his cock swelling up, of preparing to shoot again, to push out a second load, and he slammed down into Isaac over and over.

"Goddamn...fuck" Ross cried out as he came, pumping his second load into Isaac. As he pumped out the last of his load, he feel on top of Isaac, slowly moving his hips to work out the last of his cum and he felt Isaac run his hands over his back and down his sides, smearing sweat over his hot skin.

Exhausted and spent, Ross lay on top of Isaac, trying to catch his breath. They lay quietly spooned together until Isaac, then Ross, feel asleep. They wouldn't wake till morning.

That November Isaac still thought constantly of his summer with Ross, of going out during the day and finding new landscapes to paint, or going back to the old abandoned barn to do some new perspective, he thought of the evenings when he worked on the portrait stopping often to have sex, marveling at the way Ross seemed to know no bounds. He remembered how Ross' parents were so thankful for the portrait as he watched them hang it in their home. He wondered what Ross was doing now that fall was settling over the countryside. He felt the summer renewed him in some way and he knew the rave reviews of his landscapes in a gallery in Atlanta bode well for him for he became wilder with color, looser with his lines and the results surprised even him.

He made it home after another long day of classes and as usual for this time of year it was dark already. He went into his home and turned on the living room light as he put his personal effects on the table in the small foyer. He made it a ritual to look at the framed sketches hanging over the fireplace mantel each evening when he came in. Sketches that reminded him of his summer, the special time he had, of Ross and his renewed enthusiasm of his painting. Arranged over the mantel were the nude sketches of Ross; the various poses, the detailed drawings of a hand, his face, his penis, and the overall sketches of the long slim body. Isaac moved through the living room, crossed the dining room and went into his kitchen. To one side was a small desk area with his computer. He brought up the screen and saw the usual note of emails in his inbox. As it opened up he went and poured a glass of wine and set out something to cook for dinner. When he went back to the computer he had to stop and catch his breath. There was a message from Ross.