Date: 3 Oct 2002 10:04:15 -0700 From: Dave Subject: The Artist's Model ("Adult Youth ) Warning: This document contains Adult Material. If it is illegal where you live to view adult material, leave now! If you find Adult material offensive, you may also leave now. If you have not left, then it is assumed you are either not illegal and you would not be offended by the content of this story. So sit back and hopefully enjoy. Feedback is cheerfully encouraged! If anyone that would like me to write a story about your experiences send me an outline. Please send mail to davmay699@icqmail.com. The Artist's Model By Dave I am a Navaho Indian that grew up on a reservation near Taos, New Mexico. Taos is an interesting area. It is located on the Pakos River, the last river in the west that flows into the Gulf of Mexico. The only remains of the Assize Indians or as we called the "Old Ones" were the ruins of villages that must have held thousands of people. How they fed that many people has been lost in time. My people had developed a trading system that collected abalone shells from California, turquoise from Arizona, coral from Florida and semi precious tones from Mexico to make jewelry with local silver and copper. The Spanish disrupted the trade routes and American's tried to destroy the native people's culture. It has only become fashionable to be an Indian artist in the last couple of generations. Taos has a large artist colony. It developed from the twenties into a Mecca for eastern artist that wanted to exasperate the east and the feel of the western visual expansive vistas. They gathered against the mountains east of town. They sought out local Indian artists and studied the Indian legends and art. Some just made cheep copies of the Indian art, but a few truly immersed themselves in the culture and became very good. At the time I was a brown child that ran around the reservation under the watchful eyes of my grandparents while my parents worked in Oklahoma oil fields. I was always trying to con the tourists into paying me to allow them to take my picture. It was this greedy act drew the attention of one of the eastern artist. He was not trying to paint our sketch in the Navaho stile. He was making sketches of faces, while he sat with the elders listing to every legend that the old folks would tell him. I tried to hit him up for money because he had sketched my face. He laughed at me and said, "If you really want to earn money for posing as an artist's model I would pay you. If your were willing to pose for hours without complaint." I jumped at the offer. We had to get permission of my grandfather first. It did not take much money to buy my services. There were four of my brothers and sisters running around the reservation with a lot of our cousins. All of our parents had to leave the reservation to make a living. So I got to know this big white artist that had been hanging around the reservation for a long time. I should describe him for you. His name was Paul. I would say he was at least six-foot two. His blonde hair was turning gray and he pulled it back into a ponytail. The hair was held in place by a leather thong with silver bugles on the ends (funnel shaped tubes). His hair was thinning on the front, typical of a white man over fifty. I'm sure in his youth he had an athletic figure. Now his belly hung over his pants. The silver and turquoise belt buckle was almost hidden. The arrangement was for him to take me back to his studio in the morning and return me in the evening. He would feed me too. I was thrilled because he had been arriving on the reservation five and six days a week on a Harley Davidson motorcycle. It was a teal and cream two-toned bike I was to learn was an STC (Soft Tail Custom). The high rise handlebars had leather thongs hanging with matching bugles to his hair bindings. The leather saddlebags had fringe decorated in Indian stile too. He swung his leg over the bike and offered his hand for me to climb onto the back on what he called the bitch seat. The chrome foot-pegs were flipped out and I settled back against the little backrest. The brass eagle with upturned wings looked neat to me. He touched the electric started and the engine thundered to life. The noise was ear shattering. As we rolled down the dirt road on our way to the highway the thump-de, thump-de, thump of the engine shook the bike like a vibrator. The leather saddle between my legs felt like it was managing my butt. It was about a 45-minute ride to his studio. When he parked the bike under a shaded carport and swung out the hasty stand and turned the switch off on the gas tank, I slimed off and felt the tingle in my butt. We entered the back yard and I found it to be so different from the reservation. Where the reservation was dry and red dust every place, his back yard has a small creek running down the rocks between pine tees. We spent most of the morning with him sketching me. I was dressed in jeans and T-shirt. His sketches were changed to colorful Navaho costumes. We broke for lunch and took the bike to Taos for a nice lunch. He made a stop at an art store to buy some supplies, before we returned to the home. We spent the rest of the day working. After dinner he took me home. When the sun was setting it was still warm and comfortable riding on the back of the bike. As the days passed I was getting use to Paul moving me around to pose me the way he wanted me. I even started getting a little hard-on when I felt his big hands touching me on my chest, crotch and inner thighs. One day he asked me if it would bother me to pose naked? I had slept naked with two of my older brothers all my life. So the only question I had was would it pay more. Paul laughed and said yes. I stripped off my clothes and struck the pose, Paul asked for. He sketched for hours. It was the grumbling of my stomach that reminded him that we needed to have lunch. He tossed me a thin cotton robe and we went into the house. While he made lunch I checked out the paintings on the easels. They were very nice oils of me with the bright colors of the southwest in the background. After lunch we went back outside and we were back to sketching again. When he started putting his hands on me to move me into the pose he wanted me in, my skin tingled and I got a boner. Paul hardly seemed to notice. When he took me home that night I had hot dreams about what we did that day. I was up bright and early. I wondered if Paul would want to have me pose naked again. By the time we rolled into the driveway I had a painful boner. This time we went into the large family room and he had me strip. On Navaho reservations the adobe cooking ovens are outdoors. Paul had one in a corner of the family room. It served as a fireplace. He had me pose in front of it. During lunch brake I got a chance to flip through the sketchpad. I was thrilled to see what he was doing. Indians are known for lack of body hair naturally but at my age I did not even have pubic hair above my cock. I have a brown skin tone all over my body. There is no light area from short sleeve shirts or bathing suit lines. My hair is cut typical of the boys my age on the reservation. Black bangs and the back was tapered down my back. My nipples are kind of oval and horizontal to the grown. As for my penis, it was about the size of an Oscar Myer winner. I had a full foreskin. When I pulled it all the way back the inside was a darker color than the skin on the outside of the shaft. My scrotum was small and tight against my body. Each testicle was no larger than a desert hen's egg. When I bend over you see that the skin around the pucker of my asshole is dark too. The sketches of course don't show the color but the darkness shows in the shading. At one point when Paul wanted me to lift my leg and place it on the some logs, he touched my butt and a finger grazed my asshole. I got a boner that stuck out straight out in front of my body. Paul gave me a big smile and complemented me on what a nice looking cock I had. I smiled shyly. Paul asked, "Do you mind if I touch it? I smiled, "I don't mind." Paul took hold of my cock with his thumb facing my tummy. He stroked my cock a few times. Then he kissed me on the mouth. No one had ever kissed me that way before. As he kissed me he was running his hands over my body. My skin felt like tingly all over. Here was this huge man towering over me. He was dressed in expensive cowboy boots that were custom made for him in Texas. He has on faded blue jeans, which were long in the legs and frayed at the heel because his boots were stepping on them all the time. He had on a black Harley Davidson T-shirt with a white picture of a Harley V-Twin engine on the back. On the front was a ten-year-old date and the words Laughland Run. As always his belly was hanging over the belt buckle. The front of the shirt was pulled out of his pants and you could see graying and wiry hairs on his lower tummy. I stood there looking into his blue eyes as he unhooked the buckle and toughed on the top of his jeans and as they opened I saw that he had on light blur cotton European stile brief underpants. They had no fly like American underpants. He took hold of the waistband and pushed them down and pulled his cock and scrotum out and over the underpants. Paul had a lot of body hair. It was turning gray too. What can I say about the way he was hung? His scrotum reminded me of an Indians "Possible's bag" a loose, soft leather bag to carry personal items, like flint and steel, religious totems and tobacco. The sack just hung very low, with the left ball lower than the right. Then there was his cock. It drooped towards the grown like a limp hose. As for the diameter I had seen horses that didn't have dicks as big around as Paul's cock. The head was a reddish purple. Paul wrapped his hand around his shaft and stroked it until it was standing up in a curve to his left side and almost touching his belly. I leaned over and took it into my hand and stroked it for Paul. Then I put my face close to the head and smelled him. It was a heady odor of sweaty flesh, laundry soap and the faint sent of Bay Rum after-shave. I opened my mouth and licked the head of the head of his cock. I opened my mouth as much as I could. All I could get in my mouth was the head and that portion of his cock that marked where his foreskin had been cut off. I started bobbing my head up and down, as I sucked his cock. I could taste the salty meaty taste of his flesh. The act of bobbing my head up and down was making my little dick start bobbing up and down until it was slapping my hairless lower tummy. I was about to reach between my legs to masturbate myself, but Paul reached between my legs first and took hold of my winner sized cock and started masturbating me. He finally picked me up and carried me to the leather couch and sat down with me on his lap. He was kissing me while he was stroking my stiff dick up and down. As he was milking my cock I saw drops of a clear liquid appear at the piss hole. Paul leaned over and licked up the liquid. I had a climax and for the first time in my life I squirted some cum out of my dick. Paul licked up every drop and thanked me for giving him my cum. I told him that was the first time I ever came. He kissed on the mouth and thanked me for the gift. I had to get back to tasting his cock. So, Paul lay back on the couch and I knelt on the floor and took hold of his cock with both hands and put as much of it into my mouth as I could. By the time Paul filled my mouth with cum, my jaw was aching. I swallowed as much as I could. As the summer was coming to an end and I knew I would soon have to go back to Texas and go to school I hated that I would soon have to leave Paul. I was desperate to please Paul. I wanted to know what else we could do with each other. Paul told me that when I want home, he would hips his canvases to New York for an exhibit. He would have to go there and be sense as a quaint regional artist. They like to think that I am part Indian. They think I live on a reservation. They have no idea that I have a Masters degree from the University of California at Berkeley. I am a third generation scotch Irish mix. I dress up in Dear skin western jacket and Stetson hat with Navaho silver sweatband on it. But he told me I could fuck him. We had finished sketching for the day. Paul knelt face down on the floor in front of me, and I knelt behind him and guided my dick into his asshole. It was strange to watch my foreskin being pushed back as my cock slid into his asshole. When I was all the way inside him, I started fucking his ass. I was holding onto his hips as I fuck him. When I climaxed I just lay on his back. After a few minutes my dick lost its erection and just slipped out f his hairy asshole. Paul rolled over and gathered me into his arms. He had a hard-on that felt like a log pressed against my belly. He asked me if I wanted to try letting him fuck me. I was apprehensive about the possibility of him getting that thing in my ass. I was excited about the possibility just the same. Paul picked me up and took me into his bedroom and placed me on my back. He reached over to the nightstand and took a jar of Vaseline out of the drawer and put plenty on the shaft of his dick and used his slippery fingers to grease my asshole. Then he guided the head of his cock at the little brown hole. I didn't know what to expect. When I felt a sharp pain, I placed my hands on his belly and tried to push him away. It felt like I was being split open. Paul pulled back and the pain was not quite as bad. He wrapped his hand around my cock and held on like it was a saddle horn, as he shoved all of his cock deep into my ass. I was almost crying as he started fucking me. Soon I felt like every stroke into my butt was making my dick pulse. I even climaxed and shot cum all the way to my navel. Paul was sweating all over my face. Then he started squirting cum into my asshole. We showered together before he took me back to the reservation. I did get to see Paul on Holidays until the next summer. As the years passed I saw him take sketched of me as I was and have me making love to an older version of me. He told me that most were for his private collation, but he did have a market for a few private collectors that were willing to pay large amounts for an original sample of his erotic paintings. If you enjoyed the story and have a story you would like me to write send your comments to davmay699@icqmail.com.