“A Lesson in Contrasts”
by Mychael Black
Whatever possessed me to take a class on oil painting, I will never know. Either way, I was hopelessly lost. I knew how to draw, sure, but not to paint. I wondered if I would even be able to fake my way through the class, especially when my attention was more on the instructor’s body than his lectures and demonstrations.
Miguel Rojos. Hands down, one of the most gorgeous men on the entire American University campus, not to mention one of the most sought-after art instructors. I’ll be the first to admit, however, that I didn’t sign up for his oil painting class with academics in mind. Hell, I think nearly every woman and gay man on campus took the class at some point just to ogle the instructor. I was certainly no exception. The man was a living god. His eyes were the first things to catch my attention. I met him in the library a few days before classes started, and at that point, I hadn’t signed up for his class. Hell, I didn’t even know who he was.
I had some copies to make and a couple of books to check out, and when I walked up to the desk, I came face to face with divinity made flesh. Dark bronze flesh that reminded me of molten caramel, and oh, God, his eyes… Deep blue in color, his gaze was intense and left me feeling completely naked. Then he smiled. And I forgot how to breathe.
The library clerk finished checking my last book out when my dark-skinned god walked around the desk and out the door. I thought for a moment to let him go, but then he threw me a look over his left shoulder that made every nerve in my body take notice. Oh. No way in Hell was I going to let Mr. Tall, Dark, and Gorgeous get away now. I snatched up my papers and books and hauled ass out the door.
The sun had already gone down, but there was enough light from lamps to see quite a ways down the sidewalk. That’s when I found him again. He was walking slowly, as if he was just enjoying the crisp breezes that blew between the trees. His black hair was in a ponytail, the tip of which brushed across his ass when he walked. And that ass… Every move he made sent shivers skittering up my spine as his khakis slide back and forth across that tight, muscular butt. The man was built; of that, there was no doubt. When I finally caught up with him, he looked over at me and smiled again.
“Are you an artist?” he asked, glancing down at the books in my hands.
“Oh, well, not really. I used to draw all the time, but I got out of the habit. I’m trying to pick it back up.” I bit my lip and looked over at him. “What about you? Are you a student here?”
He laughed and I had to swallow back the moan. “No. I’m an instructor, Oil Painting for Beginners.” He stopped and turned towards me, extending a hand. “Miguel Rojos.”
An instructor. I was hitting on an instructor. I was convinced at that point that I had definitely lost my mind. When I shook his hand, I resisted the urge to stroke my fingers over his silky-smooth skin. “Dane Kiersted. Pleasure.”
Miguel smiled again. “A pleasure indeed. Would you like to get a drink? We could discuss art…” His words trailed off, followed by a slight shrug, leaving the invitation and much more, lingering in the air.
“Sure,” I said quietly. This was insane. I knew it was insane, but damned if I could even begin to resist getting to know this man more.
I followed Miguel to a small coffeeshop in the Student Center and we spent the next two hours talking about art, artists, and ourselves. I found out he was thirty-three and single, much to my delight. But there was never any mention of sexual preference. I was beginning to think maybe I was chasing a white rabbit with this one, but then he fell silent for several minutes.
“You want to come over to my place?” he asked me quietly. “Maybe I could help you with picking art back up.” The look in his eyes was hopeful and I nodded slowly.
“I’d like that.”
We continued on in companionable silence, and before I realized it, we’d left the campus, or at least the main part of it. I followed Miguel toward an apartment building just off-campus. It was where a lot of the married students–and apparently, some instructors–lived. We went up to the second floor and stopped at #23. Miguel fished his key out of his pocket and unlocked the door, then stepped aside, waving me in and smiling.
“Wow, nice,” I said as I walked into his home.
It was immaculately clean, to the point where I really wondered if the man lived here at all. Black leather couch, black leather recliner, glass and black lacquer coffee table, matching endtable and entertainment center. Damn. It made my own apartment look…lackluster.
Miguel tossed his keys onto the bar separating the kitchen from the rest of the open room that was the living room and dining room combined. “You want something to drink?”
I turned and shook my head. “Tell me we’re here for the same thing…”
He just smiled, took my books and set them to the side, then stepped closer. “If not, stop me now.”
Like hell I would. I grabbed the back of his neck and our lips met, tongues fighting for control as I pinned him back against the door. Miguel gave as good as he got, fingers digging into my shoulders as he pushed one knee between my thighs, giving me some good friction. I groaned and rocked, cock hard and grinding over his thigh muscle. Miguel pulled back, eyes wide, breath panting.
“Rubbers. Lube. Coffee table drawer.”
I stepped back and tugged him with me. “Get naked,” I said as I found the necessities. By the time I turned around, Miguel was completely naked. All I could do was stare.
One hand lowered, Miguel stroking his dark caramel cock. I licked my lips, drawn to that beautiful body like a moth to a flame. I’d had every intention of fucking him, but seeing that gorgeous prick, I wanted it in me. I wanted to see, wanted to watch the contrast of my pale skin and his dark, wanted to watch him slide into me, over and over.
Miguel smiled and took the rubber and lube from me, then nodded. “I’m waiting.”
Swallowing, I started stripping, never once looking away from those mesmerizing blue eyes. When I was naked, I backed up and sat on the couch. I ignored the way I sort of stuck to the leather; I was too focused on the hands unrolling a rubber onto a long, dark shaft. Miguel knelt down and popped the cap on the lube. Squirting some on his fingers, he leaned forward, kissing me softly as two fingers pressed inside me. I moaned, drawing my feet up onto the edge, spreading myself open. Miguel worked his fingers in and out, stretching me.
“Ready?” he murmured on my lips. I nodded and gripped his shoulders. The fingers left and Miguel’s groaned went through me as his cock filled my ass.
Miguel’s breath was hot against my skin. His hands gripped the backs of my thighs, pushing my legs up and apart, folding me in half as that long prick moved in and out, every slow stroke taking my breath away. My eyes rolled back, but I struggled to keep them open. I cupped my balls, pulling them up as I looked down. God, it was hot, watching his dark shaft sliding in and out of me. The contrast was striking, so beautiful.
His strokes sped up, grip tightening on my legs. I felt his thigh muscles tighten and I grabbed my cock, stroking in time to his quickened thrusts.
“Don’t stop,” I gasped.
Miguel shook his head, hips slamming into me now, breath panting, sweat dripping onto my stomach. “Dane.”
“Miguel!” I jerked, unable to hold it. Hips bucking, I fucked myself on his cock, shouting as I shot over my chest and stomach.
Miguel thrust into me once, twice more, and I groaned as I felt his cock swell, pulsing deep inside me.
Breathless, we both sort of collapsed right there, Miguel’s head on my shoulder. Somehow, I had the feeling we’d be making a habit of this…
(c) 2007 Mychael Black