I had moved to this quiet neighborhood about 3 months earlier in early spring after after a long but relatively amicable breakup with my girlfriend with whom I had lived for almost 4 years. Our relationship had reached a sort of decaying orbit status for the last year or so, so I was enjoying being on my own in the small one floor house I had rented from a friend of a friend of a friend who was some type of academic on sabbatical for a year. The rent was minimal, in exchange for watering his few plants, mowing the lawn and generally keeping on eye on the place.
It was mid-morning in late June, when I walked out the front door to go for a jog when I saw the Amazon package on the step. It was addressed to Mark Phillips at 1808 Franklin St, my address was 1806, but the lettering on the house was in a type of script that made the 6 easily mistaken for an 8 and I had already gotten a couple pieces of mail during my brief tenancy addressed to Mark or his husband Stephen who lived next door.
When I had first moved into the house they had come over and introduced themselves. Nice guys, about mid-60’s, apparently retired. I had seen them frequently in their yard, cooking on their grill or chatting in the mornings and evenings over coffee or drinks.
I picked up the package, which was quite light, and walked over to their house, thinking I’d drop it off and go for my run. I walked up the front steps and got to the front door. The front door was open, with only the screen blocking the porch from the inside of the house - which was basically identical to my own. Looking through the front door I could see the open ground floor with the living room in the front of the house and the kitchen slash dining area further back. Mark was sitting at a long table with a laptop open looking at the screen and sketching on a large pad of paper. There were art supplies scattered over the table around where he sat.
I knocked on the screen door which jiggled against its frame and Mark looked up and flushed slightly, holding up his left hand in a greeting and using his right to flip over the pad of paper he had been sketching on.
“Good morning, sorry to bother you, but a package got delivered to my house by mistake for you”, I said as he got up and came to the door. Mark was trim, about 5’8” and he was wearing a well-worn button down oxford shirt and light colored khakis that bore the marks of his artistic endeavors with small smears of paint and charcoal dotting the fabric.
“Oh, thank you so much, I try not to order much from Amazon, but one of the fuses burnt out yesterday, they’re the old ceramic ones, and I don’t know where Stephen keeps them. He handles all this type of stuff usually,” Mark said laughingly with a self deprecating shrug.
“Well, let there be light,” I joked weakly as he opened the door and I handed him the package.
“Do you know anything about this stuff?”
“A decent amount, I can usually figure out basic things with some poking around and expert consultation of YouTube.”
“It would be amazing if you could put this in, I haven’t the first clues how they work and I’d probably end up burning down the neighborhood.”
“No problem at all, where is your fuse box?”
Mark handed the package back to me, appearing to be very glad to be free of it and lead me back through the house to a closet off the kitchen in the rear.
The fusebox seemed tidy and straightforward enough, but I’d never dealt with these older type of fuses so I asked Mark if I could use his computer to double check that I was installing the thing correctly.
“No problem at all, it’s right there” he said, motioning with his head as he fused around the kitchen making me a cup of coffee.
As I reached the laptop and touched the mousepad so it would come out of sleep mode, I heard Mark emit a tense intake of breath. I quickly saw why. On the screen was a photo of a man, about 25 years old, muscular, seated languidly in a large arm chair, his legs open casually and his hands held behind his head. He was nude, his large cock across on his right thigh.
I minimized the screen and opened a new window and pulled up YouTube. A quick search showed me exactly how to replace these types of fuses (I had been doing it correctly) and I went back to the closet to finish the job. I told Mark, who had been silently preparing the coffee now in an overly fastidious manner that I thought it should work now, and he went to the living room area and tried the light switch. The bulbs all snapped on.
“Hooray! You’re a wonder!”
“Ha, yes, it was a very tricky operation, but my years of training have paid off yet again.”
Mark came back into the kitchen and handed me the cup of coffee, he sat back down in front of the laptop and art stuff.
“Sorry about the, ummm, computer. I was an art teacher at the community college for years, and I still like to sketch.”
“Not a problem at all.” I glanced around the room and there were framed paintings and sketches covering most of the walls. Mostly landscapes, but some nude figures. “Are these all yours? They’re very good.”
“Yes, they are, thank you. I used to love sketching the live models we would get at the school, but they stopped that part of the program a couple years ago, so now I mostly use photos from online.”
“Ah, makes sense, but probably a poor substitute though, since you have to rely on a pose that someone else chose. I did some posing for an art class in college once or twice, but I hated it. I couldn’t sit still for long enough and I found the whole thing kinda annoying.”
“Yes, that’s all true. I always preferred doing quick sketches of a pose for a minute or two and then having the model switch. It makes the whole experience more dynamic and it’s less onerous for the model.”
The phone rang at that moment and Mark excused himself, picked up a cordless phone from its base on the kitchen counter and walk out the rear door to the backyard. I heard him saying hi to Stephen.
While he was gone, I flipped over his sketchbook and looked through the pages. Most were standard nude males in a variety of poses but some were more erotic showing men with proud, impressive erections and a few had couples enjoying one another. I slid the pad back to where it had lain and sipped my coffee. Mark came back in shortly and said “That was Stephen, he’s visiting his brother and will pick up some takeout for dinner on his way back. Thank you again for your help with the fuse, I would have been embarrassed if he’d come home and found me sitting helplessly in the dark.
“Ha, no problem at all, feel free to ask anytime.”
“Well, I won’t waste any more of your morning. I’ll probably sketch for a bit and then run some errands.”
“Not at all, I have no plans until this evening, so it’s been no bother. In fact…”
Mark’s eyebrows raised quizzically
“Well, if you like a live model, I’m happy to do it for you. I’m pretty lazy, so standing or laying around doing nothing comes naturally to me.”
“Oh, that’s very kind of you. Hold on, let me clear up some of this stuff.”
Mark cleared up the coffee and arranged some of his supplies and closed the laptop, sliding it into a pocket under the tabletop.
“If you’d just stand right about here…” he said, guiding me with hands on my hips to an area of the living room about 10’ in front of the table where his sketch pad was. He walked back behind his chair and looked expertly at me, the way I imagine an architect looks at an empty lot he wants to build on, appeared satisfied and sat down.
By what I understood to be tacit agreement I took off my tshirt and slid my shorts and boxer briefs off. I squatted down and took off my socks and sneakers. I then stood, fully facing him. I could feel the thin loose weave of the rug underneath my bare feet and there was a small oscillating fan in the corner creating a light, comfortable breeze. I was very nervous, this wasn’t the type of thing I had a history of doing, but tried my best to appear casual and nonchalant.
At the time, I was in my early 30’s, 6’1’”, about 175 pounds. I was fit, but not really a gym guy, just a jogger. My hair, greying now, was thick deep brown. I had a light dusting of body hair, mostly on my chest and legs. Lower, I trimmed my pubic area short, flattering myself that it made my slightly bigger than average package appear larger.
“Now put your left foot forward a bit, not so far, good. Lean your shoulders back. Right hand on hip, okay.” He said all this in a comfortably clinical tone. As if he was telling a decorator where to hang a painting. It made what could have been an awkward situation seem almost mundanely professional.
He began sketching, his left hand holding a piece of charcoal while he glanced back and forth between me and the pad. The charcoal made quiet rasping noises as he made quick, deft strokes on the newsprint page. He had probably done three sketches before he said,
“Sit on the ottoman there. Yes, turn your right shoulder to me. Here, do you mind?” He stood up from his chair and walked over. He gently pushed my should to where he wanted it and put his hand on my right knee, widening my legs. He stood back for a moment, then sat back down and began sketching again.
This slight physical contact had given me a bit of a blood rush, and I was thankful that my current pose, in partial profile to him, didn’t reveal my swelling cock. That wasn’t to last long though, as Mark didn’t seem quite satisfied with the angle and after only one sketch he said, “Turn your body towards me.” And I rotated on the ottoman, feeling the smooth leather underneath me and I was now facing the table. My thickening cock was hanging between my legs and my heart was beating a little faster than it should. “Now lean back and put your hands behind you, grasping the sides of the ottoman, good… open your legs a little wider, good. Hold that.”
I stayed in this position for a while, with my eyes closed. I could feel myself getting incrementally harder as I listed to the searches of the charcoal across the paper. It seemed to me that this sketch wasn’t as quick as the other, he was making a more deliberate, detailed drawing this time.
After about 5 minutes, Mark said, “Good, now stand up.”
I stood and shook my limbs a little to get loose from having held the last pose. My semi hard cock slapped against my thighs.
“Okay, now turn around. Right should slightly towards me, put your right leg up on the ottoman. Good.”
Mark got up and shifted a lamp in the corner to get some light or shadow he wanted, stood back, then came over to me and shifted me slightly with his hands on my hips.
“Perfect, hold that.”
He made two or three quick sketches.
“Both legs on the floor now please. Okay, wider stance, bit wider, good.”
I was now standing with my back facing him, legs past shoulder width apart, my cock and balls hanging where he could see them from behind.
While he quickly sketched, I felt my cock hard and my balls tighten up as they usually do when I begin getting a forceful erection.
“Okay, now turn around and sit on the floor, facing my, rest your back on the ottoman”
I was a little embarrassed to turn around, but I thought of all the sketches in his pad and figured he wouldn’t be too put off by it. I turned, showing my fully hard 7” cut cock, balls compact and tight against the base.
“Your body is very responsive, that’s great.”
I sat on the floor as asked, leant against the ottoman with my knees bent, feet flat on the floor. My cock pointing straight up at my navel.
More sketches.
“Okay, now turn around and stay in your knees, rest your arms on the ottoman. Good. Knees a bit wider please. Good.”
I’d never felt more exposed or more excited as I turned and got into position.
I had a little sharp inhalation of breath from Mark as he began sketching rapidly.
“Now stay in that position, but use your right hand to grab your phallus and hold it down between your legs.”
With my hand held flat I pushed against my rock hard erection and pushed it down so he could see it from behind. I was pretty sure that the head must have been dripping a little, but I couldn’t see to be sure from how I was positioned.
As I listed to him sketching, I unconsciously began stroking. I suppose it was just habit, I mean my hand was on my hard cock, what’s a guy to do?
“That’s fine, yes, not too fast though.”
I stayed in this position the longest. I wasn’t complaining.
“Now go lie on the couch, in whatever position is comfortable for you.”
I got up and walked the two feet to the sofa and sat propped up in the corner between the back of the sofa and its arm.
“Good. Now put one foot on the floor. Great. Now use your left hand to grasp your scrotum. Squeeze it tight and use its leverage to lift your erection up perpendicular to your body. Great. Now put your right hand behind your head. Great.”
Mark grabbed his pad and charcoal and his art tote and set the pad on the ottoman. He kneeled behind it and used it as a table to sketch.
I looked down to see my head glistening as my cock stood about 90 degrees up from the couch. I held this position for a couple of minutes while Mark worked on one detailed drawing. Despite the excitement of the moment, I felt my hardon weakening without the stimulation of being stroked. Sensing my weakening erection, Mark said, “just a minute or two more” and reached out with his left hand and lightly stroked me, causing my cock to shoot back up to maximum hardness. The motion was done almost unconsciously, like turning the heat down on a simmering kettle that I didn’t even think anything of it. He didn’t break his concentration for a moment while doing it. His hand had left black charcoal marks along my shaft.
“Got it. That was great,” he said two or three minutes later. “Now relax”
I took my hand down from behind my head and released my balls, my erection thumped down into my stomach, but remained hard.
Mark pulled the ottoman closer so it was right next to the couch.
“Now, get in whatever position you like and stroke yourself to climax. Let me know before you cum though.”
I leaned back and began stroking myself while Mark sketched rapidly. I could hear that his breathing was almost as rapid as the strokes of the charcoal on the pad.
“I’m close”, I said, realizing this was the first time I’d spoken during the whole session.
“Ok, good. Now get up on your knees”
I did. I was in my knees facing the ottoman where I could see the last sketch he had been working on. It was a close up on my hand on my cock. He had made it in such a way that you could almost see the motion of my stroking.
Mark reached into his art tote and pulled out a can that was about the size of a large soup can.
“This is gesso, artists use it for the base layer over a canvass for a painting”
I nodded, remembering gesso from art in high school. He unscrewed the lid and I saw that the can was about 1/2 full of white paint.
“Now please, if you could, ejaculate into here.”
Mark then sat back on the floor and watched. It was the first time that morning he hadn’t sketched.
It only took about 30 seconds. I spasmed and spilled into the can. Ropes hitting the surface of the paint and the walls of the canister. I heard Mark sigh. He reached up calmly with both hands. He left grasped my cock and his right cupped and kneaded my nuts. He squeezed the last drops out of me while I panted for breath.
“Perfect”, he said as I collapsed back onto the couch I heard the sound of him screwing the metal top back onto the gesso can and shaking it to mix the contents.
“I think I’ll make a painting out of one of these sketches for Stephen’s birthday and now I have the perfect base layer. By the way, if you ever want to come back when Stephen is here, I’d love to sketch you both.”
It was mid-morning in late June, when I walked out the front door to go for a jog when I saw the Amazon package on the step. It was addressed to Mark Phillips at 1808 Franklin St, my address was 1806, but the lettering on the house was in a type of script that made the 6 easily mistaken for an 8 and I had already gotten a couple pieces of mail during my brief tenancy addressed to Mark or his husband Stephen who lived next door.
When I had first moved into the house they had come over and introduced themselves. Nice guys, about mid-60’s, apparently retired. I had seen them frequently in their yard, cooking on their grill or chatting in the mornings and evenings over coffee or drinks.
I picked up the package, which was quite light, and walked over to their house, thinking I’d drop it off and go for my run. I walked up the front steps and got to the front door. The front door was open, with only the screen blocking the porch from the inside of the house - which was basically identical to my own. Looking through the front door I could see the open ground floor with the living room in the front of the house and the kitchen slash dining area further back. Mark was sitting at a long table with a laptop open looking at the screen and sketching on a large pad of paper. There were art supplies scattered over the table around where he sat.
I knocked on the screen door which jiggled against its frame and Mark looked up and flushed slightly, holding up his left hand in a greeting and using his right to flip over the pad of paper he had been sketching on.
“Good morning, sorry to bother you, but a package got delivered to my house by mistake for you”, I said as he got up and came to the door. Mark was trim, about 5’8” and he was wearing a well-worn button down oxford shirt and light colored khakis that bore the marks of his artistic endeavors with small smears of paint and charcoal dotting the fabric.
“Oh, thank you so much, I try not to order much from Amazon, but one of the fuses burnt out yesterday, they’re the old ceramic ones, and I don’t know where Stephen keeps them. He handles all this type of stuff usually,” Mark said laughingly with a self deprecating shrug.
“Well, let there be light,” I joked weakly as he opened the door and I handed him the package.
“Do you know anything about this stuff?”
“A decent amount, I can usually figure out basic things with some poking around and expert consultation of YouTube.”
“It would be amazing if you could put this in, I haven’t the first clues how they work and I’d probably end up burning down the neighborhood.”
“No problem at all, where is your fuse box?”
Mark handed the package back to me, appearing to be very glad to be free of it and lead me back through the house to a closet off the kitchen in the rear.
The fusebox seemed tidy and straightforward enough, but I’d never dealt with these older type of fuses so I asked Mark if I could use his computer to double check that I was installing the thing correctly.
“No problem at all, it’s right there” he said, motioning with his head as he fused around the kitchen making me a cup of coffee.
As I reached the laptop and touched the mousepad so it would come out of sleep mode, I heard Mark emit a tense intake of breath. I quickly saw why. On the screen was a photo of a man, about 25 years old, muscular, seated languidly in a large arm chair, his legs open casually and his hands held behind his head. He was nude, his large cock across on his right thigh.
I minimized the screen and opened a new window and pulled up YouTube. A quick search showed me exactly how to replace these types of fuses (I had been doing it correctly) and I went back to the closet to finish the job. I told Mark, who had been silently preparing the coffee now in an overly fastidious manner that I thought it should work now, and he went to the living room area and tried the light switch. The bulbs all snapped on.
“Hooray! You’re a wonder!”
“Ha, yes, it was a very tricky operation, but my years of training have paid off yet again.”
Mark came back into the kitchen and handed me the cup of coffee, he sat back down in front of the laptop and art stuff.
“Sorry about the, ummm, computer. I was an art teacher at the community college for years, and I still like to sketch.”
“Not a problem at all.” I glanced around the room and there were framed paintings and sketches covering most of the walls. Mostly landscapes, but some nude figures. “Are these all yours? They’re very good.”
“Yes, they are, thank you. I used to love sketching the live models we would get at the school, but they stopped that part of the program a couple years ago, so now I mostly use photos from online.”
“Ah, makes sense, but probably a poor substitute though, since you have to rely on a pose that someone else chose. I did some posing for an art class in college once or twice, but I hated it. I couldn’t sit still for long enough and I found the whole thing kinda annoying.”
“Yes, that’s all true. I always preferred doing quick sketches of a pose for a minute or two and then having the model switch. It makes the whole experience more dynamic and it’s less onerous for the model.”
The phone rang at that moment and Mark excused himself, picked up a cordless phone from its base on the kitchen counter and walk out the rear door to the backyard. I heard him saying hi to Stephen.
While he was gone, I flipped over his sketchbook and looked through the pages. Most were standard nude males in a variety of poses but some were more erotic showing men with proud, impressive erections and a few had couples enjoying one another. I slid the pad back to where it had lain and sipped my coffee. Mark came back in shortly and said “That was Stephen, he’s visiting his brother and will pick up some takeout for dinner on his way back. Thank you again for your help with the fuse, I would have been embarrassed if he’d come home and found me sitting helplessly in the dark.
“Ha, no problem at all, feel free to ask anytime.”
“Well, I won’t waste any more of your morning. I’ll probably sketch for a bit and then run some errands.”
“Not at all, I have no plans until this evening, so it’s been no bother. In fact…”
Mark’s eyebrows raised quizzically
“Well, if you like a live model, I’m happy to do it for you. I’m pretty lazy, so standing or laying around doing nothing comes naturally to me.”
“Oh, that’s very kind of you. Hold on, let me clear up some of this stuff.”
Mark cleared up the coffee and arranged some of his supplies and closed the laptop, sliding it into a pocket under the tabletop.
“If you’d just stand right about here…” he said, guiding me with hands on my hips to an area of the living room about 10’ in front of the table where his sketch pad was. He walked back behind his chair and looked expertly at me, the way I imagine an architect looks at an empty lot he wants to build on, appeared satisfied and sat down.
By what I understood to be tacit agreement I took off my tshirt and slid my shorts and boxer briefs off. I squatted down and took off my socks and sneakers. I then stood, fully facing him. I could feel the thin loose weave of the rug underneath my bare feet and there was a small oscillating fan in the corner creating a light, comfortable breeze. I was very nervous, this wasn’t the type of thing I had a history of doing, but tried my best to appear casual and nonchalant.
At the time, I was in my early 30’s, 6’1’”, about 175 pounds. I was fit, but not really a gym guy, just a jogger. My hair, greying now, was thick deep brown. I had a light dusting of body hair, mostly on my chest and legs. Lower, I trimmed my pubic area short, flattering myself that it made my slightly bigger than average package appear larger.
“Now put your left foot forward a bit, not so far, good. Lean your shoulders back. Right hand on hip, okay.” He said all this in a comfortably clinical tone. As if he was telling a decorator where to hang a painting. It made what could have been an awkward situation seem almost mundanely professional.
He began sketching, his left hand holding a piece of charcoal while he glanced back and forth between me and the pad. The charcoal made quiet rasping noises as he made quick, deft strokes on the newsprint page. He had probably done three sketches before he said,
“Sit on the ottoman there. Yes, turn your right shoulder to me. Here, do you mind?” He stood up from his chair and walked over. He gently pushed my should to where he wanted it and put his hand on my right knee, widening my legs. He stood back for a moment, then sat back down and began sketching again.
This slight physical contact had given me a bit of a blood rush, and I was thankful that my current pose, in partial profile to him, didn’t reveal my swelling cock. That wasn’t to last long though, as Mark didn’t seem quite satisfied with the angle and after only one sketch he said, “Turn your body towards me.” And I rotated on the ottoman, feeling the smooth leather underneath me and I was now facing the table. My thickening cock was hanging between my legs and my heart was beating a little faster than it should. “Now lean back and put your hands behind you, grasping the sides of the ottoman, good… open your legs a little wider, good. Hold that.”
I stayed in this position for a while, with my eyes closed. I could feel myself getting incrementally harder as I listed to the searches of the charcoal across the paper. It seemed to me that this sketch wasn’t as quick as the other, he was making a more deliberate, detailed drawing this time.
After about 5 minutes, Mark said, “Good, now stand up.”
I stood and shook my limbs a little to get loose from having held the last pose. My semi hard cock slapped against my thighs.
“Okay, now turn around. Right should slightly towards me, put your right leg up on the ottoman. Good.”
Mark got up and shifted a lamp in the corner to get some light or shadow he wanted, stood back, then came over to me and shifted me slightly with his hands on my hips.
“Perfect, hold that.”
He made two or three quick sketches.
“Both legs on the floor now please. Okay, wider stance, bit wider, good.”
I was now standing with my back facing him, legs past shoulder width apart, my cock and balls hanging where he could see them from behind.
While he quickly sketched, I felt my cock hard and my balls tighten up as they usually do when I begin getting a forceful erection.
“Okay, now turn around and sit on the floor, facing my, rest your back on the ottoman”
I was a little embarrassed to turn around, but I thought of all the sketches in his pad and figured he wouldn’t be too put off by it. I turned, showing my fully hard 7” cut cock, balls compact and tight against the base.
“Your body is very responsive, that’s great.”
I sat on the floor as asked, leant against the ottoman with my knees bent, feet flat on the floor. My cock pointing straight up at my navel.
More sketches.
“Okay, now turn around and stay in your knees, rest your arms on the ottoman. Good. Knees a bit wider please. Good.”
I’d never felt more exposed or more excited as I turned and got into position.
I had a little sharp inhalation of breath from Mark as he began sketching rapidly.
“Now stay in that position, but use your right hand to grab your phallus and hold it down between your legs.”
With my hand held flat I pushed against my rock hard erection and pushed it down so he could see it from behind. I was pretty sure that the head must have been dripping a little, but I couldn’t see to be sure from how I was positioned.
As I listed to him sketching, I unconsciously began stroking. I suppose it was just habit, I mean my hand was on my hard cock, what’s a guy to do?
“That’s fine, yes, not too fast though.”
I stayed in this position the longest. I wasn’t complaining.
“Now go lie on the couch, in whatever position is comfortable for you.”
I got up and walked the two feet to the sofa and sat propped up in the corner between the back of the sofa and its arm.
“Good. Now put one foot on the floor. Great. Now use your left hand to grasp your scrotum. Squeeze it tight and use its leverage to lift your erection up perpendicular to your body. Great. Now put your right hand behind your head. Great.”
Mark grabbed his pad and charcoal and his art tote and set the pad on the ottoman. He kneeled behind it and used it as a table to sketch.
I looked down to see my head glistening as my cock stood about 90 degrees up from the couch. I held this position for a couple of minutes while Mark worked on one detailed drawing. Despite the excitement of the moment, I felt my hardon weakening without the stimulation of being stroked. Sensing my weakening erection, Mark said, “just a minute or two more” and reached out with his left hand and lightly stroked me, causing my cock to shoot back up to maximum hardness. The motion was done almost unconsciously, like turning the heat down on a simmering kettle that I didn’t even think anything of it. He didn’t break his concentration for a moment while doing it. His hand had left black charcoal marks along my shaft.
“Got it. That was great,” he said two or three minutes later. “Now relax”
I took my hand down from behind my head and released my balls, my erection thumped down into my stomach, but remained hard.
Mark pulled the ottoman closer so it was right next to the couch.
“Now, get in whatever position you like and stroke yourself to climax. Let me know before you cum though.”
I leaned back and began stroking myself while Mark sketched rapidly. I could hear that his breathing was almost as rapid as the strokes of the charcoal on the pad.
“I’m close”, I said, realizing this was the first time I’d spoken during the whole session.
“Ok, good. Now get up on your knees”
I did. I was in my knees facing the ottoman where I could see the last sketch he had been working on. It was a close up on my hand on my cock. He had made it in such a way that you could almost see the motion of my stroking.
Mark reached into his art tote and pulled out a can that was about the size of a large soup can.
“This is gesso, artists use it for the base layer over a canvass for a painting”
I nodded, remembering gesso from art in high school. He unscrewed the lid and I saw that the can was about 1/2 full of white paint.
“Now please, if you could, ejaculate into here.”
Mark then sat back on the floor and watched. It was the first time that morning he hadn’t sketched.
It only took about 30 seconds. I spasmed and spilled into the can. Ropes hitting the surface of the paint and the walls of the canister. I heard Mark sigh. He reached up calmly with both hands. He left grasped my cock and his right cupped and kneaded my nuts. He squeezed the last drops out of me while I panted for breath.
“Perfect”, he said as I collapsed back onto the couch I heard the sound of him screwing the metal top back onto the gesso can and shaking it to mix the contents.
“I think I’ll make a painting out of one of these sketches for Stephen’s birthday and now I have the perfect base layer. By the way, if you ever want to come back when Stephen is here, I’d love to sketch you both.”
