Chloroformed in Art Class

I met him at a local amateur art class. I signed up for the class because I was getting tired of the same old same old, I was stuck in a rut of being CFO, making deals on the golf course, taking the dog for a walk, having dinner with the in laws. Actually it was my wife who suggested I’d find a way to express myself creatively and sign up for an art class. He signed up because he was young and he wanted to work on his portfolio to hopefully eventually get into Art School, at least he told me later.

But that first night I didn’t know that. I had just ***********ed an easel, I unwrapped my brand new paintbrushes and organized them by size. I’d forgotten to buy turpentine, but I found a bottle of chloroform in the garage and I figured that would act as a solvent too.

I had introduced myself to the lady next to me, who was here because of some energetic blockade in her spine she wanted to resolve, and then he walked into our classroom. It wasn’t necessarily love at first sight, but there was definitely and obsessive attraction and intense lust at first sight. He was this slender young man, dressed in those colorful wide harem pants, a tight t-shirt that beautifully accentuated his six pack and his chest muscles, those gorgeous blue eyes.

My heart beat rapidly and I just couldn’t keep my eyes off of him. Now this wasn’t the first time I fell in love with another man, but what I felt before was just a superficial infatuation compared to the all encompassing obsession I felt for this guy. Those previous infatuations were easy to suppress and I’d never been unfaithful to my wife, but the moment I saw him I knew I was lost.

What I felt now couldn’t be pushed away, I wanted to be with him, I needed to be with him. Although I didn’t even know if he was gay too. Artists were always somewhat flamboyant, and besides flamboyancy wasn’t an accurate measure of gayness.

The teacher put a fruit bowl in front of us. She talked a little about the light and the shadows and how the exercise was to look at the the shapes of the light, but it didn’t really register. I was only focused on him, he had an itch on his ear and scratched, he tilted his head and squinted his eyes while he studied the fruit bowl, he chewed on the back of his paintbrush before deciding were on the canvas he would put the paint. That caused a smudge of yellow paint to graze his chin. He didn’t wipe it off. He was blissfully unaware of that smudge and then a plan formed in my head.

It wasn’t a plan at necessarily, it was more like a sexual fantasy. I imagined me wiping the smudge from his face with my chloroformed rag, he would get lightheaded and dizzy and he would faint into my arms. I would kiss him and grope him. I would admire his body and somehow because he was unconscious it wouldn’t be cheating, I wouldn’t have to feel guilty about it to my wife at home.

I knew my logic was faulty, but sexual fantasies don’t always have to be that logical, right? They’re just a sequence of sexy images that get your cock hard, and my cock was bulging in my pants now. I was already wearing jeans that were a tad bit too small, because that’s why they became my stain filled DIY trousers in the first place, but now the tightness was hurting my cock. I wriggled my hips and tried to hide my bulge and I excused myself to go to the bathroom. I locked myself in a stall and started jerking off. I just needed a quick release, when I’d released all this sexual energy I could properly focus on the art class.

I wiped off my cum with some toilet paper. When I came out of the stall he was standing there. A shot of adrenaline. I started blushing and stuttering, my heart beating furiously, my breath superficial. I inhaled deeply and then inhaled once more and finally I turned on the tap to wash my hands.

‘Hi there.’ He said. ‘I’m Davy, I don’t believe I’ve introduced myself yet.’

I nodded and looked at his outreached hand. I wiped my wet soapy hands on my trousers and grabbed his finger, his skin was so soft and warm, the tendons in the back of his hand endlessly fascinating, there was still some paint underneath his nails.

‘I… I’m Roger.’ I stumbled. I giggled hysterically for a moment and made a complete fool out of myself.

‘Nice to meet you Roger, how’s your banana doing?’

My cheeks flushed, was that gay code? Was he asking me about my cock? Did he see me escaping the classroom with a bulge in my pants and did he follow me here to do gay things with me? For a moment I hoped so. I knew nothing about the gay community, but having sex in a bathroom stall, that was a thing, right? That happened in movies.

‘I…’ I didn’t really know what to say. ‘My…. a…’

‘I mean, the apples have those shiny skin, so it’s quite easy to paint the reflective light, but the banana has a much more nuanced lightning gradient, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah.’ I said. ‘Yes. I mean… so nuanced.’

‘Exactly. See you in class sweetheart.’ Davy patted me on the shoulder and walked out of the bathroom. I felt like an idiot. I felt like one of those idiots in those chick-lit novels my wife liked to read. I took a deep breath and another deep breath.