A black-haired man walked over to the pool and stuck a toe in the water. Apparently satisfied with the temperature, he laid a towel on one of the chairs and left his sandals neatly beside it. He was wearing plain black board shorts, the first person in this section of the bathhouse that Bart had seen wearing anything other than his bare skin or a towel.
Well, perhaps he was shy or just new.
Bart watched as the man carefully climbed down the ladder into the swimming pool instead of diving in, and then swam a length in a neat style, scarcely making a splash. Everything about him seemed designed to prevent anyone paying attention to him, except for the fact that he wasn’t naked. It was an interesting conundrum. Was he just a neat, quiet person, or did he really wish not to be noticed? If so, why wasn’t he naked? He seemed to have a perfectly nice body. He was average height and build, not flabby or unfit looking. Unless maybe he had some scars hidden under those board shorts. Perhaps that was the reason he kept them on.
After the black-haired man climbed out of the pool and collected his towel and sandals, he walked across to the hot tubs and read the sign on the wall carefully. Once again he laid the towel and sandals neatly on a chair, reread the sign, pressed the button to activate one of the hot tubs, and climbed in.
Bart was fascinated by the man and decided it was time he experienced the hot tub as well. He dropped his towel on the chair next to the black-haired man’s towel and stepped down into the hot tub.
“Hi, I’m Bart. Do you mind if I join you?”
The man seemed a little nervous and hesitant but smiled and said softly, “I’m Jethro.”
Bart smiled back, wanting Jethro to relax. “That’s an old name. What do they call you? Jet?”
“Jet? I like that, but people usually just call me Jethro.”
“My full name’s Bartholomew, but my folks only ever used it to yell at me when I was in trouble. As soon as my mom called out, ‘Bar-thol-om-eeeew’ I knew it was time to start running.”
“Was Bartholomew a family name? I was named for an uncle.”
“Nope. Not that anyone ever said. Was your Uncle Jethro your godfather or something?”
The black haired man shook his head. “I hardly knew him. But he left me his store and his apartment when he died, so I really appreciate that.”
Bart grinned. “I would, too. What kind of a store is it? Are you managing it now?”
Jethro shook his head. “He’d had to close it when he got ill, and I haven’t decided what to do with it yet. I’m living in his old apartment though. I just recently finished cleaning it out and sorting all his furniture and possessions properly.”
Bart leaned back against the edge of the hot tub. “What do you think you might do with the store?”
Jethro looked thoughtful. “It’s in a small row of other stores. So far I’ve been talking to each of the owners about what they think would work best in the area. The consensus seems to be something that will make casual passersby stop and look in. All the stores are opposite a park and sports ground, and there’s quite a lot of foot traffic in the warmer weather. Not so much in winter, I’m told. There’s a café in the block, and people do go there all year around. It’s all very new to me, you understand. I need to think carefully about everything.”
“I do understand, but I also envy you. You have the most amazing opportunity to make it into whatever you chose. Well, within reason. I guess whatever you decide to sell can’t really compete with one of the other stores already there. But it sounds as though you’ve gone about choosing what to do very thoroughly.”
“What do you do, Bart?”
“I’m an artist. I paint and draw. Mostly I paint in acrylics and draw using pencils, but sometimes I paint with oils and draw using charcoal.”
“You must very talented. Acrylics dry so fast. I’d never be able to finish a piece in time.”
“I use a retarder to keep the paint wet longer, and I have a stay-wet palette I use sometimes. Mostly though, I don’t begin to paint until I know exactly what I want to do, so the actual painting moves along steadily. The main advantage is that I can paint on paper or board, not just canvas, and preparation time is much quicker.”
Just then the spa switched off. Jethro instantly stood up and said, “It’s been good talking to you, Bart.”
“We don’t have to stop talking simply because our fifteen minutes is up. I’m enjoying our conversation. What do you want to do next?”
“I thought perhaps a sauna? I came here once before with friends, and they love the sauna. I liked it, too.”
Bart felt a surprising flash of jealously for these friends who knew Jethro. Good heavens. I already want to know him much better. However did that happen so fast?
He leaned on Bart and sucked an apple-flavored nipple into his mouth, licking all the paint off it and sucking until the nipple was a hard point.
“Yes. One flavor at a time is much better.”
Then he slid down Bart’s body and played with his cock, rolling his balls and incidentally smearing them with pink, green, and chocolate as he did so. Only when Bart was thrusting his cock up into Jet’s hand did Jet feed his cock into his mouth and lick the chocolate flavoring.
“Now that is really good. You have to give them credit. It genuinely does taste like chocolate.”
This time he sucked Bart’s cock deep into his mouth, capturing his own special essence as well as the chocolate flavor.
Before long Bart pulled him up his body. “Too much more of that, and this game will end much too quickly. Why don’t you find me some lube, and I’ll get you ready?”
Jet reached across to the nightstand again and smeared pink and green body paint onto the sheet. “Oh shit! Look what I’ve done.”
If he tried to wash it off he might make it worse. “I should have been more careful.”
Bart pulled him back into his arms. “You aren’t thinking straight. Who provided the body paint?”
“Exactly. So do you think they expect people to use it?”
“Of course. But I understand. Either it doesn’t stain, or else they already know how to get the stains out of the bedding. That’s a relief. I’d hate to cause trouble.
“Oh Jet, you never cause trouble. Now go choose me some lube.”
Content again, Jet rummaged through the nightstand and handed a tube of lube to Bart.
* * * *
Jet was always surprising him. That was something he loved about the man. He supposed he might have guessed that such a tidy person would worry about getting paint on the sheets. But it hadn’t occurred to him until Jet had been concerned.
His lover was a fully rounded person, and kindness and gentleness were two of his traits. He was also damn sexy, and Bart could hardly wait to fuck his ass again. But he refused to hurry. Jet was still comparatively new to sex, and he wanted to be very sure indeed that he was fully prepared and fully aroused before he penetrated him. Later maybe they could play with some more toys, but for now his task was ensuring that what happened next was the best sex ever for Jet. Bart wanted every time to be special. Every time to be the ultimate in arousal and love.
Only when he was absolutely certain Jet’s back door was open and ready for him did he grab one of the condoms off the pillow and roll it over his still slightly sticky and chocolaty cock.
Jet rolled onto his back and spread his legs wide apart, his feet planted flat on the mattress as Bart smiled at him and moved into position. He rested his dick at the opening to Jet’s ass, and as he drove inside he leaned forward and kissed Jet. “I love you, Jet. You’re the only man for me.”
“And you for me. I love you, too.”
Jet wiggled and pressed back on him, forcing Bart deeper inside him, right to the hilt. Bart gripped Jet’s hips and hissed, needing to wait a moment and ensure he wasn’t going to come too soon.
Jet was so hot and welcoming, so tight, and so completely everything he’d ever wanted in a partner, it was very difficult not to just slam into him and explode. But Jet deserved so much more than that. Jet deserved his very best efforts.
Bart gritted his teeth and pulled out so slowly every muscle inside his body tensed with desire. But he forced himself to wait before sliding back in. As he pulled out again, Jet gripped the back of his hair, which he often did, and pulled his face closer to kiss him. Bart liked it when Jet took control of their kissing like this. He still had trouble remembering he’d received Jet’s very first real kiss. And that kiss had been pretty good for a first attempt. His kisses now were even better, and every one of them sent Bart’s pulses pounding and his testosterone into overdrive.
Bart stroked his hand down over the lean muscles of Jet’s back, breathing in his scent of spicy man overlaid with the chocolate, strawberry, and apple mess of the body paints. That had been fun, but it wasn’t enough. However, it had given him an idea. One day he’d paint Jet. Not paint him as in recreate his features in acrylics, but paint him as in stand him on the tarpaulin and paint his body, illustrating every bit of him and covering him with color. It would be a labor of love between them. His tribute to his lover.
“Faster, harder,” encouraged Jet, lifting his hips into Bart’s strokes.
“This isn’t a race.” But he did press a little deeper and move a little faster. His own body was refusing to let him move slowly anymore.