Subject: Painters Protege Chapter 5: Return This is a work of fiction that takes place in a world of my imagination only. The ages of the characters involved are up to my readers. Any comments, feedback and suggestions are welcome! Please send them ail. Chapter 5: Return The unbelievable intensity of my previous encounter with my beautiful, youthful artistic protegé Tim had left me exhilarated and nervous simultaneously. I had succumbed to my desire for his fresh teenage body and the brilliant talent within him, unable to resist his offer of “just once” but the recrimination and doubt had rapidly set in. I spent a sleepless night being aroused by the memories of his silken flesh and the deep pleasure of his throbbing hardness inside of me, while another part of me called myself vile names and echoed with guilt and even disgust. I was in a distinctly mixed emotional state when I drew my humble Volvo up outside the sprawling opulence of Tim’s family estate. I felt a trembling mixture of desire, self-pity and burning resolve not to be drawn in by the coruscating beauty and brilliance that had so briefly been mine. The mask I had to wear that drowned my features in flat indifference fell back into place as I made my way around to the side entrance for “trade.” I wound my way through the familiar twists and turns of the sprawling house and its labyrinthine corridors, watched by the stern eyes of many generations of stiffly posed portraits. I climbed the broad, carpeted staircase that lead to the studio. The familiar smells of oil paint, terps and linseed oil filled my nostrils and I could hear the soft sound of Tim’s paintbrush on the canvas. As I mounted the stairs, I stopped. A brilliant shaft of sunlight pierced from the skylight that illuminated the space where Tim was standing. It fell on his mass of curly blond hair and transformed it into golden flame, limning his fine features and turning him into a desirable angel fallen to Earth. After escort ankara that moment of breath-taking beauty, I took the last few steps and Tim glanced up. His face was unreadable, but something in it made my heart freeze. It was a mask, a stunning porcelain mask devoid of emotion. His eyes, once soft with desire, were now icy. I took a step forward and spoke tentatively. “T-Tim…” Before I could say more, he spoke in imperious tones like the child of privilege that he was. “I will no longer require your instruction. You will be paid for the last few lessons and you won’t return here again. Is this clear?” I felt as though he’d kicked me in the gut. I stood staring at him and again his cold voice echoed out. “Do not make a scene out of this. I am giving you a chance to go before things get a great deal worse for you, Mr. Travers.” What could I do? I turned away rapidly before the tears that were beginning to flow made their way down my cheeks, betraying the shattering of my heart. I stumbled blindly back out of the house, mind numb and heart pounding in my chest. Once in the car, I broke down and sobbed, a roiling mixture of pain, loss, self-loathing and anger tying my guts into knots. I forced myself to slow my breathing and calm down, not wanting to drive in a distraught state. I made it most of the way home, but had to find a place to stop and pull over. A wracking torrent of sobs hit me again, shaking my whole body and leaving my eyes rimmed in red and my throat ragged. Of course, I reasoned, once I had regained control again that it was natural. He had realized that this couldn’t go on, that whatever temporary madness had seized him was exactly that, and that it was dangerous for him and for me if it continued. He was a bright lad, more than bright and it was for the best. My composure lasted until I walked in the door of my apartment. A flash of thought, or rather a frozen image had struck me. I saw Tim’s esenyurt escort angular, pretty face gazing up at me as his glowing curls had fallen across the pillow. The alabaster smooth skin of his chest was delicately flushed with pink and a wicked smile bowed his soft lips. The image sent lancing pain into my chest and I collapsed on the sofa, lost again in tears. I don’t remember when I finally woke again. My eyes were crusty, my mouth tasted terrible and I was in desperate need of a shower. The fresh pain that had blossomed after my utter rejection by the boy for whom I had fallen so deeply in love was a little duller now. I had known, somewhere in my rational mind, that it was a dream that could not (and should not) have lasted. I knew I could count myself lucky that his parents hadn’t become involved. It could have wound up with life-altering consequences for me (and Tim in his own way). As the weeks passed, the wound healed. I still dreamed of Tim, still felt the phantom caress of his delicate fingers and the dreamy softness of his lips but it was starting to get the soft focus feel of a fantasy. I had art to make, business to handle and my life returned to its regular rhythm. I could not forget Tim and occasionally the emotions rekindled, but as life does so often everything moved on. At the end of a long day of painting, I had taken a hot bath and made myself a cup of tea spiked with whisky. As I sipped at it, my mobile rang and I answered, not looking at the number. The moment the voice on the other end spoke, my heart lurched and began pounding. “W-Will! Will…I…I need help.” Instantly all of my pain and self-pity evaporated. I tried to make my tone as calm as possible, as reassuring as I could. “Okay, Tim. What’s wrong?” His voice was shaky, the thickness of tears held in it. “My parents they…they kicked me out. They c-caught me with another boy from school. I have eskişehir escort no one else. Please…I know that I hurt you but…” I took a deep breath and let it out. “That doesn’t matter right now, Tim. Where are you?” He took his own deep breath in and exhaled slowly. “I’m at the bus station.” There was no hesitation from me now. “You stay right there, I’ll come and get you!” The drive there is something that I scarcely recall. All I remember was the intense mixture of emotions that was brewing in me, a powerful blend of worry, affection, hope and even desire. When I pulled up outside the bus station, Tim stood and ran across the sidewalk to clamber into my car. His angular, delicate face was haggard. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked exhausted. He sat, staring blankly out of the window. I touched his shoulder and he turned to focus on me. “Please get me out of here, Will.” He seemed to want quiet, so I didn’t speak on the way to my apartment. I just put on a CD of a Mozart clarinet concerto and let the richness of the music well around us. Back in my apartment, Tim flopped down on my couch and began to sob. His shoulders shook, his whole body wracked with spasms from the intensity of his crying. I sat beside him and carefully, nervously put an arm around his shoulders. For a moment, he resisted but he soon gave in and squeezed back tightly. I felt him bury his face against my shoulder and weep again, my shirt wet with his tears. After a few more minutes, he lifted his face up to look into mine. “I’m so tired, Will. I just want to rest.” I nodded. “You can take my bed, Tim. I’ll take the couch.” The beautiful youth shook his mop of golden curls. “No. I want you to hold me please, Will.” I guided him to the bedroom and turned the bed down. Tim slid out of everything but his Calvin Kline boxer briefs and slid into the bed. My heart thudded in my chest as his smooth, lean and elegant body was once more revealed to me. I also stripped down to my underwear and clambered in with him. I lay on my side and he snuggled in against me, letting me put my arms around his slender shoulders and spoon him. He felt so warm, so soft and so right. Without realizing it, I slipped off to sleep, holding the young man I loved more than anything in the world.