Date: Sun, 29 Dec 2013 19:20:31 -0800 (PST) From: Macout Mann Subject: IT STARTED IN A PARK 20 This story is completely fictional and any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental. The story also contains explicit sexual acts between males, so be warned! This story is also brought to you through the generosity of the many donors to nifty.org. Without their contributions this site could not exist. Please consider a gift to nifty.org today. You'll be glad you gave. Copyright 2013 by Macout Mann. All rights reserved. IT STARTED IN A PARK by Macout Mann Chapter 20 Moving On Christian thought Sammie's new set of prints was unbelievable. Each of the six showed a different aspect of honky-tonk life. One, a solitary guy at the bar nursing a beer. Two, two guys in a booth in spirited if drunken conversation. Three, a couple dancing, bodies pressed together, his hand cupping her ass. Four, two guys at a bar teasing a gal whose bosom is about to fall out of her blouse. Five, two men on the verge of a fist fight. Six, a gal alone on the dance floor lusting for company. The sketches Sammie made on his only visit with Jim really captured the reality of what was going on, and his realization of those sketches demonstrated again his powerful ability to observe. The light that flowed through the pictures was the yellow of incandescence filtered by cigarette smoke. The other predominant colors were the browns of the bar, the walls, and the floor. The highlights were provided by the blues of men's oft washed jeans and the pinks, greens, and purples of the girls' sexy attire. Sammie signed and numbered all six hundred and six prints. "1/101" of each he kept for himself. The first ones to be offered for sale would be the "2" of the set. He had each of the first prints framed, double matted in mustard and brown, and sent to his mother. "Take care of these pictures, even if you don't like them," the enclosed note said. "Ones like them are selling for $125 each." He was sure what his father's reaction would be. "How the fuck does that kid know what goes on in a goddamed honky-tonk? Fuck college anyway." Hunter had graduated. "I just know you're goanna be up East after you graduate, and Connecticut is right next to New York and right down from Boston," he said. "You've absolutely got to come by and see me. You can even fuck my little brother." Of course Sammie chose George to room with him their last year together. At the beginning of the new academic year, Captain Worthington also retired, replaced by a new, prim, by-the-book son-of-a-bitch that neither the other officers nor the midshipmen respected. But Rick chose to continue to live in his townhouse and to remain friends with Christian and his other faculty chums. Christian's innovations in the Art History course offerings had proved so popular that a second instructor in Art History was to be hired. An article by Vernon was published in the prestigious journal, "Theoretical and Mathematical Physics," which put him a step up toward becoming a tenured Associate Professor. A new one-hundred unit apartment complex was being built, and the developer had hired Jim as a foreman on the project. Hyrum Gunther had also succeeded in getting a mention of Sammie's oils in "New Art Examiner" magazine along with a cut of the pirate picture. This resulted in a couple of portrait commissions from old-money Atlantans. All was right with the world. The academic year progressed, and Commencement once again was at hand. Sammie wanted his parents to come see him graduate. He sent bus tickets and had reserved a hotel room. His father said he didn't want them snooty college people making fun of him, and he refused to go. His mother told him he was being ridiculous and said she was going whether he did or not. Myra Hart then told Sammie that she and Jim had room to put up Sammie's mother, and it was agreed that Mrs. Caldwell would stay with them. That arrangement worked out very well. Even Merritt came over from Atlanta for the festivities. At many American universities, especially in the South, following the Commencement Ceremony many parents give parties to honor their graduates. Other graduates, faculty, and a variety of friends may be invited; and folks travel from party to party all afternoon and on into the evening. Christian chose to be "in loco parentis" and invited the entire art faculty, many of Sammie's classmates and their parents, and of course, those that had meant most to Sammie for the last four years, even his three "nephews." Fortunately his apartment had a large patio to accommodate the host of guests. When the crowd seemed at its peak, Christian called for order. Included in the assemblage was Malcolm Pritchard, Rick Worthington, Jim and his family, Vernon, Merritt, Sammie's mother of course, graduates, and a number of other faculty, including the swimming coach and Dr. Shelburne, who had corrected Sammie's lisp. "I guess it's sort of `not done' for a faculty member—a student's advisor even—to give a party like this...and I guess many of us feel you should be giving us the party, Sam." There was much laughter. "But I am proud, together with several of my good friends, to honor this afternoon a really remarkable young man, Sam Caldwell. "Sam and I did arrive at Sparta at the same time, I as an uneasy new faculty member, he as an awkward, inept entering freshman. We didn't meet at first under the best of circumstances. But then I remember seeing an early example of his work. I was entranced by his unbelievable talent. As his faculty advisor I have had the enviable pleasure of helping him get the most out of his college experience and with the aid of mutual friends helping him develop personally to his full potential. "There have been bumps along the way, but I can't think of anything that should have been done differently. And I am proud to say that mostly through his own effort and with his unparalleled artistic ability, Sam is on the verge today of becoming one of America's premier visual artists." There was applause, and Sam Caldwell was pushed to the fore. "I see Professor Rumsfeld, my speech teacher over there," he began. "I remember him telling us `never succumb to the temptation, when asked to say a few words.' I am anyway, and I'm probably going to start crying too. "I can't say how much Professor Ballard's—Christian's—friendship and support has meant to me. His advice about courses to take—that sort of thing—you expect that, but he went the extra mile in so many ways. I was a scrawny, unkempt, down-and-out kid with an awful lisp four years ago. I see Dr. Gladys Shelburne over there. Thanks so much for being here, doctor. She worked with me to cure my lisp. But it was Christian here who put me in touch with her and made it possible for her to work with me. "It was Christian here who showed my art to his mother, whom many of you know is a nationally known painter in her own right. She in turn made it possible for my work to be seen by Hyrum Gunther, who had enough faith in it to put it in his gallery and consign it elsewhere. So that now almost a thousand of my prints have been sold coast to coast. He has sold several of my other works and made possible commissions that I could never have received, if it hadn't been for Christian. "Christian mentioned `the aid of mutual friends.' Friends like Merritt Jensen of the Atlanta Symphony who's here today. Friends like Dr. Vernon Ramsay of our Physics Faculty. You might say Vernon is a physical fitness nut. When he took me under his wing, I was such a weakling I couldn't even lift a box of cereal. He showed me the value of taking care of myself and developing the stamina to accomplish what I've done here. And he has made me come to know what real friendship can be. "And then there is the Hart family. Jim, his wife Myra, and their three sons. Win, the oldest, is also an artist's model. He's eight now. All three of them call me `uncle,' but..." Sam walked over to Jim and put his arm over Jim's shoulder. "...but," he continued, "I feel like they should call me `brother,' because I love this man like a father. When I first met him, I...I was a miserable nothing. Jim Hart and his family taught me that I am somebody. And I'll be grateful as long as I live." And with that Sam Caldwell began to sob. And the crowd broke into furious applause. And Sam's mother came over and hugged him. "I'm so sorry, son," she said. "We never understood." Before the last guests departed many hands were shaken, many good wishes exchanged. The Harts and Mrs. Caldwell were the last to go, leaving Vernon, Merritt, Christian, and Sam. Sam's equilibrium was fully restored. "Well, I'm just glad you didn't tell them about all the other shit we did," Vernon laughed. "Christian?" The inflection in Sam's vice suggested a question. "Yes?" Vernon almost laughed aloud. He was sure he knew what was coming. "Christian, now will you let me fuck you?" THE END TO MY READERS: Thanks so much for staying with me to the end. Unlike with most of my stories, I had no idea where it was going when I began it. After the first chapter was written it lay in a file for several months before I took on a second, and only after Sammie was introduced did it take on a direction. So I would particularly like to hear what you thought of the finished story. And as I have become very fond of the character of Sam, I'd like to know if you would be interested in his further exploits. Please write me at macoutmann@yahoo.com. Thanks for your previous responses. And please don't forget to contribute to nifty.org.