|notreallyme10 (notreallyme10) wrote,|
@ 2007-08-20 13:06:00
Post 513 Series
Originally posted: 7/12/07 LJ
Notes: Please, PLEASE ignore the name…
It all started when his cunty agent decided he should really be showing in Europe.
I hate the fucking bitch. She irritates the hell out of me and I absolutely refuse to tag along to any more of Justin’s business dinners with her. It is bad enough having to be cordial at his openings.
The only reason I tolerate her at all is because she is good at what she does. Swear to god, that is her only redeeming quality.
Justin signed with her in his first year here and she has done wonders for his career. She makes sure he gets seen but not overexposed.
It's not like she does it out of the goodness of her heart, she has made a fucking fortune off him… and for that matter, for him. Now she says its time for Europe and if she says so, I hate to admit it but it is probably true.
So off to Europe he goes.
In the US, the only really worthwhile art scene is in New York- sure he shows elsewhere, but everyone knows New York is the place to be. In Europe, he has a lot more ground to cover. So what would take a few days here, takes two weeks there- or so the bitch says.
But the trip paid off and he has two shows booked in the next year and several galleries have requested pieces.
He’s pleased so I can’t complain.
Only we all know that’s not true.
I don’t think we realized we were doing it but after all the family shit that happened in the last year, we really dove back into everything. Justin into his painting and me into a bunch of Kinnetik shit that I did not need to be doing. We needed the distraction.
Justin went through a real slump - hell we all did - not just emotionally but artistically. He painted but we both knew it was shit. He didn’t even bother to ask.
It was like he was trying to tap into feelings he didn’t have. Like he was trying to paint fucking daisies when all he had in his head were dead puppies.
He didn’t seem too upset about it. It was weird, like he’s even good at not being good. If it was me, I would have been throwing a fucking fit - pissed as hell that I wasn’t living up to my full potential.
Unlike when he can’t paint at all, he just took it in stride and kept on painting crap. Until one day the dead puppy showed up on the canvas and things were back to normal.
So his current stuff is pretty dark, but it's real and that makes it good.
The point is we’ve both been working, going nonstop.
We more than deserved the time we took off when he got back from Europe.
I swear to god he dragged me to every corner of this city, but it made him happy and relaxed like I haven’t seen him in a very long time.
And then it began again. His fucking agent must have had the date marked on her fucking blackberry piece of shit. She was in his ear whispering about deadlines and "better get working".
Creativity on a deadline is such bullshit. Ad campaigns are one thing but putting a deadline on fucking art should be illegal.
Somehow he manages. More than manages, he paints beautiful, tear your heart out, hottest fuck ever, kick your grandmother just to get your hands on one, masterpieces.
I still think of him as a kid, probably always will, except for when I’m looking at one of his paintings. It's impossible to think of him as young or small or even pretty when you are looking at his art. It's just so fucking big – huge - bigger than him. And I wonder where it all comes from. How he fits it all inside himself until he lets it out on the canvas.
He fucks like that too.
It's been a few months since Justin’s been back from Europe and he is spending more hours in his studio than normal, but he seems happy. Inspired and happy.
Gus is coming for a visit and I know he’s planning on taking some time off to spend with us, but I get the feeling that Gus and I will be on our own more than usual.
Which is OK.
Lindsay says Gus has been having some trouble lately. She says he wakes up crying and that he worries all the time. Wants to control everything and know where everyone is all the time. He’s taking losing Ben and Debbie pretty hard.
So far they haven’t taken the poor lad to therapy, but that’s up next if he doesn’t start snapping out of it. I was relieved to hear neither Mel or Linds is wild about doping him up. But I guess we all understand that some sort of change needs to happen.
I’m hopeful that I’ll be able to make some ground with him while he is here for his now yearly two-week visit. Justin of course, was kind enough to point out that I shouldn’t expect miracles- that I can’t fix everything. Asshole. I showed him by staying out all night drinking. Sometimes he’s so fucking mature I just want to puke.
I try to talk to Gus but how the hell do I make the kid feel better without lying to him. He is worried that one of us, another member of his fucked up family, is going to drop dead. And really, that’s life. One of us could drop dead at any minute.
So what the fuck do you say. Lindsay would probably cut my dick off and feed it to me if I confirmed his fears about the realities of the world, but I refuse to lie to him.
I ended up telling him that everyone worries like that - it's normal. But if you spend your whole life worrying, you never enjoy anything and what’s the point of that. I felt like I was channeling Ben.
I don’t know if it really works because Gus has started to grow out of the phase where he takes my word as gospel. Which is amazing and terrifying all at once.
He probably would have preferred to hear that everything is going to be just fine, but then he would have grown up and realized I was full of shit and hated me for it. This way, he can hate me for all the money he has to spend on years of therapy instead.
So basically, I’m fucked no matter what I do and Justin is right as usual. I’m really starting to hate the little shit for it.
But he got his.
The day after Gus returns home, Lindsay calls to say Gus has chicken pox. I don’t really think much of it… he’s lucky he didn’t catch the fucking plague with all the germ-infested museums we visited.
But when I mention it in passing to Justin he gives me a look that makes me laugh before he says a word.
"I’ve never had chicken pox."
"Brian please fuck me."
"I’d rather fuck a….. monkey."
He looks at me like I have lost my mind. He is on all fours with his fucking pox-covered ass spread right in my face.
"Give me a break. Seeing you like that when we haven’t fucked in days is oddly hot and… disgusting at the same time. Threw me off."
"Seriously Brian, I don’t care, ignore the chicken pox and fuck me now."
"You probably have fucking chicken pox in your asshole."
"Well will you get over here and itch them for me PLEASE."
"No, you aren’t supposed to scratch. Go take a fucking oatmeal bath or whatever that shit is."
Sick Justin is a pain in my ass. He says I’m cranky when I’m sick, but I’m fucking cranky all the time so who can tell the difference. Sick Justin is cranky.
I swear I run out to get him god knows what from the store and when I get back he has a list of three more things he needs. As though I don’t have a cell phone. Who the hell feels like celery, mini snickers bars and tofu all at the same time?
We have watched every god damn movie he has ever wanted to see in his entire life. Terrible, arty movies that, only when they are over, does he finally admit sucked.
And heaven forbid I leave him to go do something productive with my day. After 17 phone calls- yes he knows how a cell phone works when I am busy doing something else- I finally realized that I would have been better off just staying with him.
The whining though. The whining is what threatens to send me over the edge. If I hear that it itches one more time I will strangle him. I never would have guessed that fucking chicken pox might fucking itch.
It was right around the time of this tirade- yes I communicated these thoughts out loud to the patient- that Justin pointed out, while he was a bit cranky due to his current condition, perhaps I was a bit cranky too due to the fact that I was refusing to have sex with his disgusting, pox-covered ass and that maybe if I was going to continue acting like a fucking dick, I should just go out and find that monkey I so badly want to fuck.
So I fucked him. The chicken pox were starting to clear up and I was getting really sick of jerking off.
And then something worse than chicken pox happened.
I don’t feel fucking old. And when I look at myself in the mirror I could swear that I don’t look old. I always told myself I would never live to see the day when I was an old man. But I’m starting to wonder if its all just a matter of perspective, if my 20 year old self would look at me now and laugh.
I guess I would have to tell him to fuck off.
I look at Justin, not even as old as I was when we met, and I can see how much he has changed. But fuck me if the little shit hasn’t just got better looking.
He still looks young but not so much like a kid anymore. Young and so fucking confident in himself. It's sexy.
Sometimes I still get that twinge, that feeling that I am holding him back from something or someone better, but he still smiles at me like I’m God and still begs for me to fuck him over the kitchen counter, in public bathrooms and even in our bed. He still worships my cock with his tongue and his lips and then falls asleep on my chest.
So I figure I’ll trust that he knows what’s best for him- he would kick my ass if I didn’t.
All that being said, it was cute when he was 17 and I was 29. I was the older, more experience man, but now I’m going to be 40 and he is only 28. When I was 28 I certainly would have had no interest in a 40 year old.
He tells me that I’m beautiful. That he gets hard just from looking at my body and thinking of all the things I can do to him. Says it is still me he thinks about when he touches himself.
If my 30th birthday party is any indication of what I have to look forward to for my 40th, then I might as well slit my fucking wrists right now. I have mentioned more than once to anyone who seems to be listening that I don’t want to do anything for my birthday. But since when has one of my family members listened to one word I have to say. Seems I lost my control over them a long time ago.
It's a simple thing really, Justin’s lips wrapped around my cock, but it is hands down' my favorite way to wake up. He’s not getting me off, not even trying, he’s slowly coaxing all the blood in my body as well as every thought in my head to my dick.
His tongue winds around me, lightly tickling all along the way, finding every spot that makes me twitch. His mouth is watering so much that I can feel his spit dripping down my cock and gathering in my pubes.
He takes the whole thing in as deep as physically possible and than slurps his way to the head where he sucks hard. He’s building the intensity so slowly I hardly notice how close he’s already brought me. He pulls off and looks at me, waiting until he has my attention. His mouth and chin are slick with saliva and his lips are red and swollen. He puts one finger in his mouth wetting it. He isn’t asking permission, he doesn’t have to, just showing me what he has planned for me.
He pushes inside, ignoring my body's resistance but carefully watching my face for any sign of pain. His finger is right there, right where I want it, but just lightly, no pressure. He wants me to want it. And then he starts again, from the beginning. Slowly, so fucking slowly and all the while his finger is just there, waiting for me to be ready. I’ve long since let my mind go completely and he knows before I do that it’s time. The pressure is sudden and intense and by the time I realize it’s there I’m already gone.
And then, instead of crawling up my body and rutting against my leg until I am coherent enough to return the favor in some form, he stays right where he is. Pushing my legs wide and nuzzling his face in my crotch.
I drift off for a few minutes while he strokes me and laps gently at me with his tongue.
I’m not hard but he is starting to get my attention again. He sinks deeper into the bed and pushes my legs till they bend with my feet flat on the bed. He tongues my hole lightly. He doesn’t want to fuck me, just trying to make me feel good. It’s working. One long wet lick after another.
And then it hits me, I’m 40.
He must feel my body tense or something because he turns his head and bites me hard on the inside of my thigh. It’s the closest we get to mentioning my birthday all day.
The bite is followed by his hot mouth back on my dick and a finger playing with my wet hole. Once I’m sufficiently hard again, he straddles me with his back to my face and lets me slide inside his body.
I prop myself up on some pillows so I can have a better view- I love this position for just that reason.
He tries to go slow but it feels too good and his pace picks up. I can see my dick sliding smoothly in and out of his ass as he rides me.
"Do you want me to come?"
I fucking love that. I love when he has all the control, when he is running the fuck and then he just gives it to me, because he wants me to have it. Because he wants me to control his pleasure.
It isn’t an easy question to answer. I love the feel of him coming while I’m inside him but I also love watching him fight to control it and then helping him find his release later when he is so frustrated he can hardly focus on anything but getting off.
His moan doesn’t express disappointment.
I should have known that was the answer he was looking for. He is going to be waiting all right.
When I’ve come, he shimmies up my body so his ass is in my face. His hole is stretched open and dripping with come. It's red and slick and makes my mouth water.
Sometimes I miss the days when he still had inhibitions. He would blush and get shy and I would push him further than he wanted to go. I’d make him spread his legs and show me where I had just been, he’d protest and get hard again. On the other hand, I love what a slut he became. I love that I didn’t have to look far to find that part of him and moments like this I definitely do not want to go back.
He takes my wet dick, which is completely spent at this point, in his mouth and cleans my come off, one slow pull after another.
I’m so over sensitized that my body is jerking with every new sensation but it feels amazing and I can’t take my eyes off his ass so I let him continue.
He’s trying to make me hard again, but I’m fucking 40, so he is going to have to give me a few minutes.
He still hasn’t come and I know he doesn’t like to wait this long first thing in the morning, but it is my birthday so I’m afraid he doesn’t get much say in the matter.
When I’m good and clean, I flip him over.
"You’re being awful attentive this morning."
"Any chance you’re planning on returning the favor?"
"No chance whatsoever."
"You are a very cruel man."
"I like you like this."
"You also like me when I’m coming really hard."
He has me there, and it makes me laugh, so I go ahead and blow him.
He ordered dinner from my favorite restaurant, including desert, some sort of chocolate goo, which he fed me with his fingers while riding my dick yet again, but no present ever materialized. Mikey called but never once mentioned my birthday and the rest of our friends and family were mysteriously quiet.
A week later, an amazing new Justin Taylor original appeared on the wall in my office that I had been looking for something new for. He told me later he calls it Whiny Old Man.
And he says he’s not a shit.