Date: Mon, 18 Aug 2014 13:55:38 -0700 From: Ben Ezra Jacobson Subject: THE MEDIC - Chapter 3 by Ben Ezra Jacobson The Medic By Ben Ezra Jacobson Chapter 3 The sun was setting in the west over the ocean as we stood before the windows in our room of the Land's End Hotel. The atmosphere made the sky all purple and orange as we watched the sun disappear below the horizon line. The last vestiges of light were fading fast. Tom stood behind me with his arms around me as we watched it's disappearing act. "Something kind of sad about the setting sun," he said as he pulled me close to him. "I know what you mean," I had responded. "Then there is the sunrise tomorrow to look forward to. I have always preferred the start of the day to the ending." "Unless the darkness and the cool breeze means snuggling close to your best friend...and holding him close to you to feel his warmth," he answered back. "Aren't you the romantic," I said, leaning my head back against his shoulder. "Can't help it Jase...I like holding you in my arms and feeling you close to me." I chuckled, "I like it too, Tom." The room was suddenly dark. On the beach, someone had built a bond fire and now the light from it was reflecting on the ceiling of our room. "Hey, naked man...do you think we should pull the drapes," Tom asked? "Not unless you intend to turn on the lights," I responded. "It is kind of nice to be naked in the dark. I had stretched out on the bed. It was very soft and comfortable. Putting my arms behind my head and watching the reflections on the ceiling, I sighed deeply, "I did not feel tired until now." Tom came over and lay next to me on his side and rested his head against my shoulder. "Too tired for sex?" "Yes, at this moment, I am. Perhaps after a little nap...my energy will come back to me," I answered him back. "What about you?" "Some sleep would be nice. Let's just take a short rain check on it tonight" As Tom pulled the sheet up to our waists...I rolled over on my side. The bed had crisp white sheets on it and they smelled so clean. I let my head sink into the down pillow and just breathed out. I felt my body relax. The air coming through the open second story window was cool as it blew over my back and chest. It was going to be a good night for sleep. Tom kissed the back of my neck and then scooted next to me as close as he could get and put his arm over me and pulled me back against him. A cold breeze rushed through the window and I shivered. "If having the windows open is too cool, we can close them," he said. "No, leave them open," I said. "It is not everyday in summer that a cold breeze caresses your naked body. If I get too cold, I'll pull up the blanket." That was the last thing I remembered until I heard Tom climb out of bed and hurry to the loo to take a piss the next morning. The night had been cool and calm. The calm had made sleeping fantastic. When Tom came back to bed, he once again scooted close to me and his hand began to feel up my morning wood. I rolled over on my back and spread my legs so he could get good access to it. The more he manipulated it, the harder it got. "I'll give you an hour to stop doing that," I jested. "I'll take it," he responded. He dove under the sheet and blanket and felt his head directly in front of my groin. He guided his hand until he had my penis firmly in it and after a few stimulating pumps on it...he put it into his mouth. What is there about a wet mouth over one's hard cock that sends the sensation of electrical impulses up and down your spine. I could feel myself beginning to pulsate. In just a matter of seconds, I was erupting in his mouth. As before, after handing me a large red bandanna type handkerchief to use as a cum-catcher...he hopped out of the bed and hoofed it to the loo to spit. I leaned back and just savored the moment of post ejaculation. When Tom returned...he had a large bath towel over his arm and a jar of lubricant in his hand. I knew what that meant. He wanted me up...on my hands and knees. Lubing me up around my pucker, he applied a generous helping to his own prong and inserted. The rhythmic thrusts became quicker and deeper until he moaned loudly as he ejaculated into me. When he pulled out, I hoofed it to the loo to drain. It was a morning quickie...but damn it felt good. "Jason...Am I taking advantage of your willingness to please me? Maybe I should be the one up on my hands and knees and you should be the one filling my hole with semen." "You haven't heard me complain, have you," I replied back to him. "No...you seem to enjoy everything we do...but I don't want to take advantage of you either. I'd like to feel you inside me again sometime soon." "OK, Tom...before the sun sets tonight...I am going to tickle your prostate with my cock...and give you a big load," I said. He reached over and kissed my forehead. "You promise," he said? "Yes," I answered back. "Now let's put some clothes on and go down for breakfast. I think I am over the cooked kidney's enough to eat some real food this morning. Surely there isn't anything they can do to ruin breakfast." Breakfast consisted of several kinds of sausages, eggs, fried potatoes, an assortment of pastries, fruit of every kind and hot tea. It was very good and the staff at the Lands End Hotel went out of their way to make us feel welcome and well cared for. A scruffy looking guy came into the dining room and ordered coffee and some pasty. He seemed unique to us because he was dressed more for late autumn than the end of summer. He wore a wide brimmed hat that turned down all the way around it, had brown corduroy slacks and coat and a brown ribbed turtle neck shirt. He wore brown lace up boots and carried a French paint box easel with a stretched canvas attached. We guessed his age at about thirty five to forty years. He was dark from having spent a lot of time in the sun and his beard, mustache and hair were dark with tinges of gray. I would have guessed him an eccentric college professor perhaps, or a retired seaman. He saw us looking at him and nodded. "Good Mornin' to Ye, Gents...how are you enjoying Land's End," he asked? "Good morning to you sir," Tom responded. We are spending a few days here to enjoy Cornwall and to see some of the sights." "Ah...you are Americans then," he stated. "We are," I responded. "We are on military leave for a week and wanted to see the farther most point in England." He picked up his painting gear, his pastry and his coffee and moved to the table next to us so he could speak without shouting across the room. "My name is Tim Obrien," he said. "Born in Ireland, now teaching in England...and once a visitor to your country." "Ya say now," Tom replied in his best Irish accent. "Indeed," Tim offered. "I studied at the Art Institute in Chicago as a junior in college and spent two years there. What a wonderful two years they were." Tom smiled and spoke, "I have been to the Chicago Art Institute. I went while I was in college to view an exhibit of African wood carvings. They were really good. There were all these distorted figures...some tall and skinny and some short and wide...but they all had the same characteristic...in that they all had huge genitals." The three of us laughed together. "Well...at least they got that part right," I offered in jest. "Well," said our new friend, "Did you ever meet anyone who wanted a smaller one?" "I can't say that I have," Tom responded. Turning to me, he said, "What have you got to say about that doctor?" I must have blushed as the two of them waited for my appraisal. "In my medical experience, I have never encountered a patient who requested a size reduction." Again we all laughed. Tom spoke up then... "Mr. Obrien...let me introduce you to Doctor Jason Horn, our medical officer on our US Naval submarine... and I am ship's commander, Tom Buesking." Tim smiled and extended his hand for hearty hand shakes. He had a good manly grip and an enthusiastic smile. "Tell me Commander...what is an equivalent rank if you were not naval personnel," he asked? "My rank would be Lieutenant Colonel if I were Army or Marines," Tom replied... "but here on vacation I am just Tom... and our ship's doctor is just Jason," he instructed. "Tom, Jason, it is a privilege and an honor to make your acquaintances. For the record, I am just Tim," he returned. "So Tim," I asked, "What kind of work are you in?" "I teach at the University of Exeter. Ever heard of it," he shared with us? "Of the university, no," Tom replied, "but we have been through Exeter." "Yes, we stopped our Chaise at the New London Inn in Exeter to see Mr. & Mrs. Farrars," I chided... throwing my napkin at Tom. Tim grinned widely exposing beautiful white teeth. "You are a Jane Austen fan," he said. "Me too. I love SENSE AND SENSIBILITY." "Me too," said Tom with a toothy grin. " I dote on all of her six novels." I choked on my tea. Tim looked at first Tom and then at me. "Am I missing something, or is this a private joke," he asked with an inquisitive smile. Both Tom and I burst into laughter. I tossed the napkin back at him. "It is a long story Tim," I said still laughing at Tom. "And a personal one, I can tell," Tim said. "So what brings you to Lands End," I asked, "other than some painting?" "I was here eight or nine years ago with a friend for a summer of painting during summer break from the university," he answered back. "And now you are going to paint another masterpiece," I asked? "Not exactly...well, yes and no," he said. "My friend has passed on...and I decided to come back and paint some of the scenes again that we painted together. It is sort of a sentimental journey so to speak." "Oh," I said, "I didn't mean to pry, Tim. I beg your pardon. Forgive me." "Not at all guys," he responded. "We have to keep on going when those we love are gone. Just like people have done for centuries." A waiter appeared and asked if he could get Tim another pot of coffee and some more pastry. Tim answered in the affirmative to both. "The food is really good here. I don't get the great pastries at the university," he said. "The raspberry bismarks were outstanding," I offered. "So were mine," Tim shared...his mouth full with another one. "Well, you are going to have a great day for painting it appears. Cool temps and brilliant sunshine," Tom interjected. "Indeed," Tim responded. "I am hoping there will be people on the beach. A painting with people in it is always more interesting." "Tim." I asked, "What medium are you using for your paintings?" Tim raised his eyebrows at my question. He cocked his head to the side and grinned, "You surprise me Doctor... sorry... I mean Jason. Most people don't know about mediums unless they are into art. I am working with Acrylic paint. It does n't require oil based solvents to clean the brushes... just some soap and water." Tom looked amazed that I knew anything about painting. He listened attentively to every word I spoke to Tim. "Blimey Jason," Tom said with cheeky grin. "Don't tell me you are an artist too?" "Actually," I replied, "the only things I can draw are flies and mosquitoes." "Good one," Tim added. "But you know, almost everyone can learn to paint. It is about 97 percent learned and only about 3 percent talent." "Isn't that denigrating your profession, professor," Tom asked? "Not at all. It is true. I haven't met many students that I could not teach if they are willing to apply themselves," he responded. "Do you have any interest in art, Tom," I asked? "Actually... I do. I loved art as a kid and during my college years...it's literature that gave me fits," Tom replied. I reached out and patted Tom on the right hand. Tim saw my gesture and watched my face intently as I realized what I had just done. I blushed all kinds of shades of red. "Sorry," I said looking down at the floor. "Why," said Tim. "Friendship is a wonderful gift. Cherish it while you have it..because all too often it is gone and then you just have the memories to comfort you." Taking a last swig of coffee, he stood up. "Gentlemen, it has been a pleasure visiting with you. I need to get on the beach and get my work started while the lighting is good." Tim extended his hand again and shook ours heartily. "If you are out and about...feel free to come by and check out my painting. I hope we have time to visit again. You say you are here for the entire week?" "Right," said Tom. "We'll take you up on viewing your masterpiece after you have gotten off to a good start. Until then...have a great morning." "Thanks Tom," Tim responded. Putting his hand to his hat in a courtesy nod, he turned, picking up his easel and paint box and left the dining room. "Nice guy," I said. "He is," Tom added. "We'll have to check out his painting later today. What would you like to do for the morning?" "Let's drive to St. Ives...and tour the city or maybe go to Truro," I suggested. "What's at St. Ives that you want to see," Tom asked? "The brochure in the hotel dinning room said it was famous for it's coastal views and was the home of many famous artist," I responded. "Tim has fired up your artistic imagination, hasn't he," Tom replied back to me. "Well, why not. It is a nice day and it might be kind of fun. I've been to Truro...but never St. Ives. Let's grab some jackets and caps. The air looks a little like winter to me." I laughed. Tom was awfully cold natured for a man who intends to spend his life in the navy. Grabbing our things, we made for the car. I took the passenger's seat and Tom got into the drivers side. He started the little rental car and we were off. As we drove into St. Ives, I noticed a monument along the road. We stopped to check it out. It said "Krills Monument" in honor of the first mayor of St. Ives. It was a short tapered obelisk of gray stone. "The people of St. Ives must have thought a lot of this Krills," Tom said to erect a memorial to him. I nodded my head in agreement. From a high spot, we could see out over the Celtic sea. The view was incredible. The sky was cloudless and one could see an amazing distance out over the water. There appeared to be some larger ships in the distance but closer to shore were some smaller sailing ships made of polished wood and sporting orange sails. We learned that they were called `hookers'. We had to laugh. The word hooker in America had a much different connotation. Looking down on the cottages below, we could see gray or red tiled roofs and every cottage seemed to have at least one fireplace chimney and many had more. I wondered if they burned coal in Cornwall. We had been told that wood for building purposes came at a premium price. We parked the car in a parking lot overlooking the sea. There were artists with their easels set up painting the coast. Meandered through them, we noticed that most had no objection to our stopping to view their creations. We stopped to visit with a couple of them and asked about the art culture in St. Ives. "Oh, St. Ives has a long art history," one elderly painter said to us. She had a small canvas sitting on her easel and it was held in place with spring loaded clothes pins. I thought that was rather cleaver. "You see," she started in, "St. Ives goes back many hundreds of years...but the art movement didn't really take a hold until the late 1920's. I remember when we kicked it off. There was a man named Alfred Wallis and another named Ben Nicholson and a third... Christopher Wood who came together and stirred up the creative minds of the community. They did some wonderful pieces and it sparked a lot of interest. Because of their enthusiasm for the arts, they laid the foundation for what we now call the St. Ives Artist's colony. People come from miles around to paint the sea here with us." "Admirable," Tom said with a reserved interest. "Can you tell us mum, about an artist in Cornwall in the early 1900's named Henry Scott Tuke," I asked? She laughed and bent forward to put her paint brush into some water. "So you are fan of Scott Tuke," she said? "His name is not mentioned here much." She looked first at Tom and then me and laughed again. "Why you two boys interested in him," she asked? "Nothing in particular," I said. "I have read that he was quite the marine painter and did a lot of canvases of the tall ships from last century." "He did," she said... "and he was not too bad of a portrait painter...but it was those disgusting paintings of naked boys that stirred up the citizens of Cornwall." "Naked boys," Tom said, looking at me. "I don't know anything about that." "Nasty disgusting things," she said. "The Cornwall constabulary will not allow his paintings to be show here." "But he has been dead for, what...40 years," I said? "No matter," she flung back at me. "They won't show his work...and that is that." She picked up her paint brush from the container of water and refocused on the canvas in which she was working. Our interview with her was clearly over. Tom and I walked back to the car. He climbed up on one fender and I sat on the other. "Jason, tell me about Scott Tuke," he said. "Well, he was born about 1858 in York to a Quaker family. His father was a doctor. They lived in Falmouth. His parents recognized his ability to draw and to paint and encouraged him to the hilt. He studied and worked at the Newlyn school here in Cornwall and developed an impressionist style. He was also into early photography. He was a good looking stud when he was young. He painted a lot of pictures of naked boys and men along the coast. They weren't vulgar at all. I only know of one that shows the guys hardware. Most of them, his models were positioned not to show the genitalia. Have you watched the Gilligan's Island comedy on television? Gilligan's costumes are styled after the guys in some of Tuke's paintings. You know the red shirt and the white sailor's hat with the crown turned down all the way around." "You're bullshitting me," Tom said with a surprised look. "No, really, when you see the photo of the painting, you'll recognize him immediately," I answered back. We spotted another artist painting on the coast. He was a young guy...looked to be about college age. Taking a chance, we walked over to where he had his easel set up. "Good morning," Tom greeted him. "Good morning back at you," he said with a pleasant smile. "Tourists," he asked. "Yeah," I replied. "We are fascinated with the ease so many of you paint the sea." "Well that sure doesn't sound like me," he said with a cheerful grin. "I struggle to get a reasonable facsimile." He laughed. "We were wondering why the local constabulary is so much against displaying the works of Henry Scott Tukes," I asked. He gave us another big grin. "Well, it's like this. The general supposition is that Tuke was homosexual. I don't know if he was. His writings that he left behind give no clue to his personal life...but folks in Cornwall thought that anyone who paints naked guys must be. They don't want to be associated with that movement," he answered back. "Is it true," Tom said, "That he painted a guy in a dingy with white slacks, red long sleeve shirt and an inverted sailors cap?" "Yep, sure is...Bob Denver used it as his costume guide in the television series Gilligan's Island," he said. "But looking at the expression on your face, I would say that you already know that." I turned to Tom, "Am I that transparent?" "Yep," he responded with a stupid grin, "I think you are." "Why the interest in Tuke," our artist friend asked... "Are the two of you...?" Tom's face went stern, "Are we what," he asked? "Nothing," the student said, turning his gaze back to his painting. I caught his eye and smiled back at him. He nodded. "I have a friend that I have lived with during the first two years of college. We both are fond of Tuke's paintings. It would be nice to be able to be one's self in the world today...but it is going to be another 50 or 100 years before those of us who are `creative' live our lives without fear or repercussions." "You have a partner," Tom asked...this time with more calm in his voice. "Yes, I do," the young man answered. "In a more just world, we would not have to be so secretive about it." Tom put his arm over my shoulder and pulled me close to him. "You know, as young as you are...you may see that in your life time." The art student seeing our closeness, extended his hand to shake hands. "Thanks," he said... "For the encouragement." I looked at my wrist watch. It was three o'clock in the afternoon. "We have to take off...but good luck with your painting and good luck with your friend," I said. He smiled and gave us a cheerful wave as we turned to return to the car. "Nice guy," I said. "Wonder how he would be in bed?" "What would you guess his age," Tom said, "maybe about twenty or so?" "Yes, that's about right, I would guess," I said. "Interesting. Six foot tall, maybe 160 pounds, physically fit, handsome, nice bulge...I would say about nine inches of raw testosterone." I laughed and punched Tom's shoulder, "You horny toad." "Yes, and I am getting even more so by the minute. Want to find some rocks to hide in for about an hour?" "And get caught naked and arrested," I asked? "Jason, where is your spirit of adventure," Tom asked? "Okay, but if we get caught...it is your fault," I responded. We drove down the road headed out of town where we saw a roadside parking area in front of a lot of large beach side rocks. We parked the car and followed the path down to the beach. There were a few cars parked at the far end...but nothing close to where we had left the car. We walked a couple of the trails in the rocks and found an area that was fairly obscure. Some of the stones were flat...at least enough that one could lay on their back with their feet in the air. One in particular was under the lea side of a cliff overhang. If anyone walked up on us...we would surely be able to see them. Tom stripped off his clothing and stacked them on a flat rock to the side. "Come on Jason, where is your spirit of adventure?" I looked down the trail from both ways and so no one else in the rocks. I stepped out of my clothing and sat on the flat rock. Tom leaned me back and climbed over top to 69 with me. We both got hard fast. He had me close several times and then backed off. "Why did you back off, bud...I was really close," I said to him. "What's the hurry buddy...let's enjoy our hide away." Tom got up on his hands and knees on the rock. He put his shirt folded under one knee and mine under the other knee for cushioning. "Ok Jase, here's your chance," he said. "Put it to me." Again looking down the path as far as I could see and seeing no one, I scooted up behind him and spit into my hand and rubbed the liquid onto his pucker. Spitting again into my hand, I anointed my penis with the slick saliva and inserted it into him. A small cock does not hurt much on entry...but the motion got Tom hot. As I humped him from behind, he took his own proboscis into his hand and quickly shot his load onto the rock. As he was doing so...I got to the point of no return and gave him my load. We both became super sensitive as I pulled out. I took a dark handkerchief from my pants pocket and wiped my appendage and handed it to him to do the same with his own. As we were putting our clothing back on...we heard a laugh. I turned quickly to see two boys about the age of 14 or 15 watching us. They both had their jeans and briefs down to their knees and were masturbating furiously. They had seen our every move and now were tending to their own erections in hopes of getting off before they had to put the hardware away. One moaned and with a thrust forward shot a big load of super white semen all over the rocks in front of him. The second following suit, did the same. As they flipped the last vestiges of cum from their cocks, I noticed that both were very well endowed. Both were uncircumcised...and seemed to have a maximum of pleasure from their adventure. One went soft immediately but the other thrust his prong forward for us to see and hopefully admire. "How many inches," Tom called to the boy? "Ten when it's really hard," the boy called back. Tom whistled in amazement. "Nicest one I have seen in a long time," Tom called back to the lad. The boy laughed and called back, "If I hadn't just shot my wad...you could have sucked me off." "Yeah, right," Tom called back to him. With a wave, we walked back to the car. "That little fucker was coming on to you," I said elbowing Tom in the ribs. "It has been years since I sucked some fifteen year old cock and I don't think I ever had a ten inch one," he said with a jest. "Well, you missed your opportunity just now," I laughed. "That's OK Jase...I like what I am sucking," he said...and once in the car, he leaned over and kissed the side of my cheek. For the rest of the drive back to the Lands End hotel...we laughed at our adventure in the rocks and how two horny teenagers had caught us and we almost didn't even know it. Back at the hotel, we went to our room to clean up and change clothing. A shave and a hot shower revived us from our drive. "It is an hour until the dinning room opens for the evening meal...why don't we walk down to the shore," Tom suggested. Slipping into some tennis shoes, I got up from my chair and followed him to the beach. Our friend Tim was there working on his painting. "I began to wonder if you would come check out my painting," he said. "We just got back from St. Ives about 40 minutes ago," I volunteered. "How was the drive? Did you enjoy the sight seeing," he asked? I looked at Tom and he looked at me...both of us chuckled. "Ah, a secret," Tim said. "What kind of adventure did you have? "If we told you Tim...you would call us both liars," I stated. "Dear me...now you have my curiosity piqued. Perhaps you ran into someone famous? Or perhaps some mysterious sexual liaison?" Tom and I both choked on our own saliva. Tim laughed..."So that was it. It must have been quite the adventure." Tom looked at Tim and studied his face. "You know, my friend," he said to Tim, "You must be clairvoyant." "I don't know about that. Tom. But I can smell testosterone from a half mile away."