“Thanks again for coming with me today, Daph. I really wanted to get this done today and I never would have lasted this long out here if I’d come alone,” Justin beamed up at his friend. “I’m really getting much better, you know. I mean, I make myself go out almost every day now. And, I’ve been working the lunch and dinner shifts at the diner all week, too. You know how crowded it gets in there sometimes? But I haven’t freaked out once. And that’s saying a lot, since most of the customers seem to think my ass is the ‘daily special’.”
Both the artist and the dark complected, curly-haired young woman sitting next to him on the bus stop bench chuckled softly. This bench gave him the perfect line-of-sight for the view he was trying to get down on the paper. The young blond refocused his attention back to the sketch pad on his lap as he picked up a burnt umber pastel in order to add some shading to the drawing he’d been working on. Daphne looked on affectionately while her friend continued with his work for a few more minutes. When his right hand started to tremble slightly, though, Justin realized it was time for a break. He’d come to understand that if he stopped working at the first signs of discomfort and rested his hand until the ache receded to a dull throb, he could resume his drawing sooner and he would last longer. If he waited until his hand cramped up so badly that he literally couldn’t go on, then he’d be completely out of commission, probably for the rest of the day.
Justin sighed with resignation, laid down the pastel he’d been working with and shook out his gimp hand. The street scene he’d been working on was almost finished. It was pretty good, too, he thought, with just a hint of pride.
“That’s really great, Justin,” commented Daphne. “But, isn’t this, like, the tenth time you’ve drawn this same view?”
He knew she was right. Justin examined the drawing pad in his lap again to make sure his perspective wasn’t off. The street light in the foreground was drawn in crisp detail: the cement post which listed slightly to the left, the bulky red newspaper box tethered to the pole with a thick black cable, even the headline splashed across the front page of the paper which was displayed in the window of the newsbox, were all carefully delineated. In the background the viewer could see a typical slice of Liberty Avenue proper with its various shops, bars and offices. And in the midground were the diverse and colorful denizens that inhabited this alternative enclave hidden in the heart of the otherwise mostly conservative city – the ‘leather daddies’, the drag queens, the twinks, even a few dyke couples, all unashamedly holding hands, embracing and otherwise going about their daily lives. ‘I really love it here,’ thought Justin. It was the only place he’d felt he belonged in a long, long time.
“I know I draw this same scene a lot,” the artist answered his friend. “I just really love the feel of this image. It shows the essence of gay life, at least as I see it. You know, the original drawing I did of this scene was the first piece of art I ever sold – remember that show I was in at the GLC back right after I came out?” Daphne nodded in remembrance. “Besides, this picture is special – I’m doing it for a friend and I know he’ll like this scene as much as I do.”
“A friend? You have a friend? Other than me?” Daphne, wearing an expression of total disbelief, kidded her best friend.
“Shut up!” Justin glowered at her. He couldn’t maintain a straight face for long though and ended up laughing along. “Yes, I have a friend. I’m not a complete hermit, you know.”
“Okay. Dish – tell me EVERYTHING about this new ‘friend’,” Daphne demanded enthusiastically.
Justin looked up shyly. He'd always told Daph everything about the guys he’d been interested in before. He was dying to tell her about Brian, too, but wasn’t sure how much he should reveal about his ‘magical, mystical mailbox’ which apparently could travel through time. He didn’t want her to think he’d lost it (again) and run off to blab to his mother, who would promptly drag his ass back to the therapist’s office for intense psychoanalysis. Maybe a half truth would suffice?
“Well, I haven’t actually met him in person, but we’ve been writing to each other almost every day for the past couple of weeks. His name is Brian," he began. The two friends proceeded to while away the next few hours discussing Justin’s new ‘pen-pal’ while he worked to finish Brian’s gift.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Brian impatiently pulled out the largish scroll of paper he’d found in the mailbox when he came in from work. The roll of drawing paper was tied with a strand of thin red ribbon. Attached to the ribbon was a rectangular, light blue gift tag on which he could see Justin’s handwriting. It said:
-Brian – I’ve put the pastels you gave me to good use. Please accept this thank you gift in exchange. Justin.
P.S. Sorry it’s not another ‘self-portrait’. You still haven’t followed through on your end of the deal, though – I showed you mine, but I still don’t have a picture of yours. I’m waiting . . . J.
A sly leer crept onto the countenance of the handsome brunet. ‘This is gonna get fun,’ he gleefully thought. His creative and immodest mind began brainstorming various ways to satisfy the younger man’s request. By the time he and Justin had wrapped up their chat for the evening, Brian had come up with several wicked ideas that he was looking forward to getting started on immediately. ‘I’ll give you mine, Justin. I only wish I could do it in person.”
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
The next afternoon, when Justin was on his way out to pick up some much needed groceries, he could see that the mailbox was once again full. This time it contained an 8 ½ x 11 manilla envelope, slightly bent so it would fit in the box. It wasn’t the usual time for his ‘mail date’ with Brian and he’d already picked up the regular mail for the day, so he was quite curious. He skipped over to the box and happily extricated the envelope. Inside there was one of the familiar cream-colored sheets of stationary with a note from Brian:
Justin: I just love a dare. And you were right, I still hadn’t come through on my end of our bargain. So I had a photographer friend of mine over to the loft last night. He gives an excellent blow-job and he’s not bad with a camera either. Hope you like what CAME out of our meeting. Brian.
Behind the sheet of stationary, which had been serving as a cover sheet, Justin found the results of Brian’s late night rendezvous. He was more than satisfied with what he found – five 8x10 color glossy photos displaying the Stud of Liberty Avenue in all his flawless glory. Each picture contained a different pose, along with the appropriate props for that particular situation.
Justin already knew that the man he’d been writing to the past few weeks was very attractive. He’d seen the graduation photo, of course, and had thought that THAT man was the most beautiful he had ever seen. But he was floored by what he saw in these new photos. Brian hadn’t just been kidding when he’d said he was even more attractive now than he’d been in college. ‘THIS man was a complete SEX GOD,’ thought the blond as he drooled over the first photo in the stack.
This photo showed Brian in a fairly simple pose (at least compared to the ones which followed – Justin had peeked at those and thought he would save them for a little later that night when he was in bed). The sexy brunet was lying on his side, splayed diagonally across the bed in the loft. He was propped up on his one elbow and was using a small paring knife to cut up an apple he was holding with the long, tapered fingers of his left hand. There was a plush, stark-white towel partially draped artistically over his hip - which didn’t really hide anything. Other than that towel and a cowry shell bracelet on his left wrist, he was completely bare. This was just fine with Justin, who was ogling each delicious inch of that toned, tanned, tempting skin. There wasn’t an ounce of extra fat anywhere on the man’s body. His arms and upper torso were well muscled. His chest was perfectly proportioned with two tempting, perfectly placed, dark brown nipples. His abdomen was lean, the muscles rippling under skin that looked so touchable. His hips were narrow but looked strong and they flowed into the toned, strong-looking thighs. Even this man’s feet were beautiful with long toes and a perfect pedicure.
Once he’d given himself sufficient time to appreciate the long luscious body of the man in the photo, Justin finally let his eyes zero in on the one area of particular interest to him. There was no getting around it (not that you’d ever want to get around it – Justin wanted to get around it and on it and touch it in every possible way) – Brian had to have the most perfect cock of any man alive. Nestled in a curly thatch of dark brown hair, the magnificent organ proudly extended a full 9 inches or more, thrusting up towards Brian’s stomach. It was thick and hard and fully erect and demanded the viewer’s attention. Justin was immediately lost in visions of what Brian could do with that gorgeous tool – he wanted that cock inside him so badly it almost hurt.
“Fuck the groceries and fuck waiting until later tonight,” the extremely horny young man yelled aloud to no one in particular as he clutched the photos to his chest and sprinted up the stairs two and three at a time, desperate to get to his bed and begin a more thorough examination of his treasures.