Date: Fri, 8 Jul 2011 02:55:19 -0700 (PDT)
From: Bob Archman <bldhrymn@yahoo.com>
Subject: Ali BabvaBaths 6

In the pool I met a man named Homer Macmillan. He was a sculptor who was an
assistant to the great Sculptor Augustus Saint-Gaudens. The sculptor did
most of his work in New Hampshire, but Macmillan worked with a foundry in
New York to cast the works. MacMillan conceded he was a minor talent.
Other than working with Saint-Gaudens, he did small, bronze figurines for
parlors. He produced Classical figures such as Hercules, Ajax and Agamemnon
and some of Helen and Athena. Athena sold well in the homes of
college-educated women.

His male figures were often nude or nearly nude and he had what he called a
Classique Series that gave the male figures more impressive
genitals. Macmillan was a small, but quite muscular man, with a
well-developed upper body, due, I assumed, to the heavy work of a
sculptor. He was also a free spirit and a bohemian.  With a huge beard and
unruly hair, he looked liked a wild man. He was not attractive at all.

I discovered he was frank and direct in all things, and while he might be a
bohemian, he was successful and prosperous. His figurines sold well, and
his Classique Series sold very well indeed and at considerably higher
price.

He liked younger men and came over to me as soon as I entered the pool. He
was in the water, and it had temporarily tamed his hair. We talked briefly
then he said, "I don't like to beat around the bush; I would like to suck
your cock." The comment came out of nowhere; I didn't know what to
say. "Actually I'd love to take your load too," he continued. "I haven't
sucked off a young man like you in years and I love some fresh man seed."

I was still shocked at the proposal. Macmillan was shorter than I was, but
he effortlessly lifted me out of the water and sat me on the edge.  A
second later, my cock was in his mouth.  By the time I figured out what to
do, I was hard and had discovered Macmillan was a master of the oral
arts. Most of the men in the pool were older and no one seemed to think his
behavior was unusual or exceptional.

Macmillan was a great sexual musician who played my cock like a flute. His
lips, tongue and throat created unbelievably pleasurable sensations. It
took little time for him to coax my load from my balls.  He seemed to enjoy
the feast.  I was still fairly new to the world of man sex, and I felt as
if I had shortchanged him. He had sucked me and I had not
reciprocated. Later as I showered before leaving, he asked if I would like
to visit his studio. "I would love to use you as a model," he explained.

I asked if he wanted me to pose nude, he replied of course. "When you see
my sculptures you will understand why. Almost of my work is of nudes," he
explained. "I noticed you seem quite comfortable nude and you would be
ideal for my needs.  I pay $2.00 an hour. And my normal posing session is
four hours."

Eight dollars for four hours of work was a veritable fortune for me. I had
no idea if I would like it, but the money would solve many of my day-to-day
problems. It was Sunday and I had nothing planned for the afternoon and I
agreed.  He told me he might have a visitor that afternoon, but he was sure
I would enjoy his guest.

Macmillan lived in lower Manhattan, but the streetcars provided easy
access. He lived in the Studio Building, and told me it was the first
building in New York to be devoted exclusively to art studios. He was on
the third floor. The apartment was a single double level studio, with
several small rooms attached. One was a storage room, the other served as a
bedroom. Macmillan's sculptures filled the room.  They all struck me as
both handsome and skilled. He was not in Saint-Gaudens class, but the works
impressed me. A large plaster cast of Hercules dominated the room.

Huge windows faced north so the room was bright, but the lower part of the
window had frosted glass and thus the room was private. Large cabinets
lined the side of a room and contained his Classique collection. This
collection was the same as his normal sculptures, but with larger and
better-detailed genitals. Macmillan showed me a much smaller cabinet with
overtly sexual sculptures.

I stripped in a side room and then sat on a chair and Macmillan began to
draw me. During a break, I looked at the drawings and saw they were quite
beautiful. I was slightly suspicious Mr. Macmillan was more interested in
me being nude than me as a model.  The drawings were so good I had no more
concerns. He talked continuously about art, New York and several of his
most varied experiences. At one point, his conversation turned to sex.

His sexual experiences were varied too. While he was direct in his
recitation of his sexual encounters, they were entertaining rather than
ribald.

"I assume you noticed I greatly enjoy masculine sex," he said. "Some of my
patrons share my interests, although they are very private. Some actually
regard me as their guides in matters sexual. I have helped some men realize
their sexual fantasies. This has been intensely pleasurable for my patrons
and for me."

There was a gentle knocking at the door and Macmillan let a distinguished
looking older man into the room. He was tall but more solid than
elegant. He was no dandy or fop. Macmillan introduced him as Aldred
Worthington.  I vaguely remembered the name, but I couldn't remember why.
He was most cordial.

Aldred was to be a model too for a sculptural group called the Ages of
Man. He went to the dressing room to disrobe.

"Aldred shares our sexual interests, but is shy. If you have any interest
in him, feel free to make the first move. Let me assure you he is willing,"
Macmillan said. I did not intend to do that at all.

When Aldred emerged nude from the dressing room, I found my intentions fade
away. They say a good well-tailored suit hides many sins. Aldred's suit
concealed his virtues. He stood next to the statue of Hercules, and I could
see the similarities. What I had assumed was middle-aged paunch, was massy
muscle. He exuded strength and power. He was magnificent.

We did a pose of him leaning on me for support. I carried a spear and was
to be youth bearing the wounded warrior from the field of battle. In a
second pose, I sat at his feet and looked at him as a young man learning
from and older master. This pose lasted for almost a half hour and I had a
chance to study his genitals in detail. Classical sculpture emphasized the
male nude but de-emphasized male genitals. Macmillan explained while vase
paintings often showed engorged genitals sculptures rarely did. Most
classical sculptures sported modest sexual equipment; even the gods were
small.

Aldred's genital weren't classical in any respect. With big balls in a
hairy sack and a ten-inch cock, Aldred was magnificent. While I was at his
cock, I looked up and our eyes met. For some reason he looked needy and
unsure of himself.  I winked at him and he smiled. Of course, we needed to
remain still, but his cock firmed up some.

His large cock head grew and parted the foreskin.  Soon I saw the knob and
the slit that bisected it. There was a glistening bead of his manly juices
emerging from the slit.  As soon as the pose ended, I leaned forward and
licked the beautiful organ. I'm not sure what happened next, but when I
realized what was happening, Macmillan was nude and had joined us.

Aldred was unsure, but very willing and enthusiastic. Later Macmillan told
me his story.  Aldred was the youngest son of a Manhattan foundry owner. He
was interested in mechanics and developed an electrical engine that became
the basis of streetcar propulsion. While this invention made him fabulously
wealthy, as the youngest son he stayed with his elderly parents and took
care of them.

The parents were puritanical in the extreme and Aldred had the misfortune
of being an obedient son, and shy too. His parents had died a year earlier.
He came to Macmillan for a portrait bust for the entrance hall for new
Engineering building Aldred gave to a local school.

Macmillan's studio was Aldred's first contact with nude images, and he was
much taken by the cast of Hercules. Macmillan was not a shy man at all, but
he took his time easing Aldred into a more adventurous approach to life.
Macmillan got him to remove his shirt, and then lavished praise of Aldred's
torso. He eventually got him to pose nude. Macmillan always substituted
Hercules' head for Aldred's face.

Macmillan was a perceptive man. While he made some modest sexual contact
with the millionaire, he realized Aldred was attracted to the statues of
younger men. He liked the ones in the special collection most. When the
sculptor saw me at the baths, he found the physical incarnation of his
sculptures.

Macmillan spoke with Omar to find out more about me. I was a serious,
well-educated teacher of modest means, serious and polite. Apparently, Omar
also let it slip that I was most accommodating sexually and most responsive
to large organs. Macmillan had not run into me by accident.

This may sound as if the sculptor was conniving man. Certainly, he planned
things in advance, but his motives were virtuous. He came from a family
background similar to Aldred's. While he went to Paris to study sculpture,
his youngest brother stayed home. After the death of his parents
Macmillan's brother committed suicide after failed relationship with an
unworthy man. Macmillan wanted to save Aldred from that fate. While Aldred
was an innocent, Macmillan was anything but innocent.  He had good taste
and he knew the world. He was looking for a man who was suitable for
Aldred; I was that man. I didn't know this until later, and had I known I
would have been shocked.

When my tongue made contact with Aldred's cock head, it was love at first
lick. The tender gland that crowned his male organ was sensitive in the
extreme. I suspect he might have pulled away, but the pleasure was too
intense. He immediately began to ooze the rich, sweet product of his balls.
I loved it and as I got more enthusiastic, he followed suit.

Five minutes later, I drank his semen with enthusiasm. I knew he was
shocked, but confused at the pleasure storm that engulfed him.  I assumed
he would get dressed and leave. Macmillan would have none of that. We went
to the small bedroom on the side of the studio and relaxed. While Aldred
and Macmillan talked, I continued my ministrations to Aldred's beautiful
organ. After the orgasm, it was not as sensitive and I eventually was able
to take it all into my throat.

I could do nothing wrong. Aldred loved it all. I talked with him and he
seemed to understand me. As the science teacher, I was addressing one of
his primary concerns, the need for science education. We chatted as
Macmillan took care of our genitals.

Aldred confessed he was new to this and he was afraid he would do something
wrong, or offend me. He did not like the thought of being an older man who
ravages youths for his pleasure.

I smiled. "To be quite frank, I was worried I was talking advantage of
you!" I said. "And as for making a mistake, I'm pretty convinced there is
no wrong way to have an orgasm."

He laughed. "I hadn't thought about that. I shot off in your mouth though."

"I'm a young man and agile. I can get out of the way if I need too," I
explained. "I am fairly new to these experiences too.  My father felt
anything that was pleasurable was probably suspect."

"You seem very comfortable," Aldred said, "I am still nervous and uneasy."

"Several men have told me that I am a fast learner," I said. "In some ways
my biggest difficulty was to understand pleasure is good. When you are
taught a good life is toil and drudgery, finding pleasure is worrisome. I
have also discovered the greatest pleasures are shared. I had no idea men
were willing to share their bodies for my pleasure. When I joined my body
with theirs, the pleasure didn't double it quadrupled. When you shot off, I
took the seed spurting from your cock. I got to share your orgasm."

"You could not have felt as good as I did," Aldred protested.

"I wouldn't bet the barn on that," I replied. "I get a sense of
accomplishment when I get a friend to climax. It is a sign of a job well
done.  A friend of mine says you can fake many things, but an orgasm isn't
one of them. By the way, your orgasm was spectacular."

Aldred smiled. "I had never done that with another man before."

"I hope you enjoyed it?" I said.

"Enjoyment isn't a strong enough word," he replied.  There was a
silence. Macmillan filled it.

"I was telling Aldred last week that there are many ways to feel sexual
pleasure. I told him my favorite was a nice hard ass pounding. There is
nothing like a hard cock in a tight ass to reach the ultimate in sexual
pleasure," the sculptor said. Aldred turned bright red; he was embarrassed.

"Six months ago I wouldn't have believed that," I said. "I know it's true
now. It originally struck me as being almost barbaric. Now I see it as
being both exciting sexually and often tender and loving." As we talked, we
all became fully erect. Macmillan had some lubricant and he coated Aldred's
huge organ. I assumed Aldred was too shy to make the first move. I got up,
straddled his cock and slowly sat in it.

Everything about his genitals was big, but his mushroom popped through my
sphincter easily. I eased backwards and his cock occupied my rectum. He
looked dazed. His cock remained rock hard. His cock was huge, but it must
have been created to fit my ass perfectly. He had his eyes closed and was
quietly moaning. It was beautiful.

After a little while, he rolled me over on my back and began to thrust. It
was the most natural thing in the world, and the pleasure began to
grow. Aldred had the stamina of a prize stallion. He had shot off earlier,
so he didn't feel the insistent need to climax. After he finally shot off,
he collapsed, but I asked him the leave his organ in my ass.  He was more
than willing to do that. His relaxed organ was stimulating too.

Eventually I had to get home. He asked if I needed cab fare.  I told him I
was fine. A little later, I realized he was offering to pay me. I did not
intend to do that. That was not the sort of relationship that interested
me.

Several days later, I was walking home after school and looking at the
construction of the new Metropolitan Museum on the edge of Central
Park. Aldred saw me there and came over to talk. "Walter, I wanted to tell
you how much I enjoyed our meeting last Sunday."

"I enjoyed it too," I replied.

"I wondered if you might want to get together another time perhaps?" he
asked. He whispered that question. The shy man was afraid I would say no. I
felt a little sorry for him. He was a gifted, wealthy and incredibly
handsome man, yet he seemed to be unaware of this.

"I would very much enjoy that," I said. He looked relieved and asked if I
had any objection to meeting at Macmillan's next Sunday. I had no problem
with that. Aldred was embarking on a new phase in his life and he was
afraid to proceed without a guide.

That Sunday we met at Macmillan's studio. We posed for a Zeus and Ganymede
sculpture and then for Ajax and his cupbearer. Aldred was nervous at first,
but relaxed as the posing continued. Macmillan talked about how natural and
indeed expected male friendships and love were in ancient Greece.

"Of course some modern thinkers suggest it was spiritual, but that is well
neigh impossibility to anyone who has studied Greek Vase paintings.  There
is nothing spiritual about the sexual scenes," Macmillan explained. "What
is most notable about the sex scenes is just how non spiritual they are.
They are rip-roaring, no holds barred renditions of men having fun. They
are fondling their lover's balls and shoving their cocks up their lover's
asses. They are doing it with their friend either watching or doing the
same to their lovers."

Aldred and I became excited during the poses. We were so close that our
erections did not affect the pose and Macmillan's ability to sketch. The
poses were short, but he asked us to do a second pose in the same themes,
but more intimated intimately connected. He asked Aldred if he could
maintain an erection as he prepared to ravage Ganymede. Aldred wasn't
sure. Macmillan told him to try.

It was difficult, so Macmillan suggested Aldred pop his cockhead into my
ass to give it support. That suggestion was a total success. Not only did
my ass support his cock, I could twitch and squeeze my sphincter to
maintain his excitement level. From time to time, he told Aldred to fully
penetrate me to relax.  I am not sure relaxation resulted, but it was good
for us. Periodically Macmillan added oil to insure I was well lubricated.

An hour later, the millionaire was perfectly comfortable with his cock
probing my ass; I was equally comfortable with him. My ass was like one of
those handsome cases holding a prized pistol. We were perfectly
matched. That we were comfortable in no way diminished my excitement
level. It just got better. While his cock was in my ass for an hour or
more, it wasn't fucking in a normal sense. It was an extended massage of
our sexual organs. At first, I thought his cock was massaging my prostate,
but I now wondered if my sphincter was massaging Aldred's cock.

Macmillan had been sketching throughout. He managed to capture several
levels of penetration and the excitement of that penetration. I wasn't sure
in my mind if sexual passion was well suited for sculptural rendition. The
artist asked us to do one more pose. He had me on my back with my les on
Aldred's shoulders. He had been mounting me from the rear in the previous
poses.

"I am afraid Walter is too tired," Aldred protested.

I smiled and said I was fine.  "From that position you can watch his cock.
If it turns soft, you will know he tired," Macmillan said.  That seemed to
satisfy Aldred. To this day, I don't know if Macmillan knew this position
was particularly exciting for Aldred, or if this was accidental.  Aldred
moaned as his organ re-entered my hole. I moaned too.

He oversized and hard organ got even bigger and harder. I didn't expect
this, but it felt wonderful, for him and me.  From this position, he was in
complete control. I could do nothing but react to his forceful thrusts.

Aldred forgot he was posing and let his genitals take control. He suddenly
began to shiver. I felt a ticking sensation in my ass as he flooded my
rectum with his hot man seed.

"I'm sorry, he cried.

"It was beautiful!" I moaned. "Keep on pumping; I want more."

"I can't do it," he said. "It was too good. I'm drained."

"Yes you can, please!" I cried. He could and a half hour later, he had shot
off three times. He was mellow and relaxed. When he finally pulled out
Macmillan held me open. My ass did not completely close and the frothy
product of Aldred's passion drooled form my ass. Macmillan liked Aldred's
cock then my ass. His tongue felt good on my tender hole.  He seemed to
like the froth.

Alden took me home in a cab. He wanted to know when he could see me
again. I told him it was anytime he wanted. Aldred smiled