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- Joined
- Dec 11, 2012
Henry was an average young adult, he was about to finish high school this year and his entire life was ahead of him. So many things to focus on, careers, college, living on his own, maybe even moving out of town, state, or country; however, last year, something had caught his eyes that seemed to always come first. This life changing event happened after school. Henry was in the local library, which was far from his favorite place. It usually smelled of musty books and old people who frequented this place. Sometimes he wondered if they had a mold problem, but it was more likely the advanced age of the people coming in and out, as well as loitering in the chairs that sometimes contained fleas thanks to their pets.
"I just need some kind of book for this project on the Renasiannce period of Italy." Most of his friends at the time made fun of the artist, inappropriately giving a fake cough of "gay," which isn't bad but they were using it as a negative term. To not be teased as well, he joined in, even though he found himself stunned by the work he saw. The sculptor work of Bernini, paintings of Caravaggio and Da Vinci, poetry and architecture such as Brunelleschi's Dome and the Pantheon. These were thinks created by human beings, an expression of life, love, pain, and a momunent to human consciousness. It was more than just beauty to him, a personal awakening began to crawl its way forth, but his fear of being hazed kept it quiet.
In this day, why would anyone torment an artist? Well, one look at Henry gave a fairly obvious answer to some. Standing in one of the many aisles stood a rather large young man. His roots in northern Europe obvious, long brown hair brushed across his shoulders, soft and shiny from good grooming. Sharp, piercing blue eyes were set perfectly in his face, sheltered under a strong brow that was bunched together in the middle of his forehead from concentration. A strong jaw line curved back to a muscled neck and hooked up to ears hidden behind his hair. His lips were pulled firmly against his teeth before parting slightly in a confident smile when he saw a couple books that might help. That smile was straight and pure as snow.
Henry was an athlete, a star even. No sport or challenge was beyond his ego. However, ever sense that class, he found himself greatly humbled. Being good at what comes natural is nothing to be proud of. The men of that time became masters through hard work, they were changing the world. His smile faded a bit when the book seemed too empty. He needed help. Moving through the aisles, he looked around for someone that might be able to point him in the direction of better works.
"I need to know more..." He silently coached himself as he turned the corner. More words had been intended but than he saw her there. Sheer black hair cascading down her shoulders and back, lovely pale skin contrasting it like a living master piece of a goddess. Her mind was focused on those books, but Henry's mind sored with what he saw before him. Finally, he found the words he needed, not spectacular but necessary. "Um, hi there. My name's Henry and I was wondering if you could help me find a book I am looking for. I'm really interested in art."
The short sentence of help, was the first building blocks of a growing relationship. Through her help, he discovered more about himself, than just an appreciation of the arts, but began painting himself. Scultping was out of his reach due to supplies, but pencils and paint were cheap enough. Everyday, he came back and talked to her about art, sometimes not telling her he had arrived and just spent time drawing her. At first, the portraits were terrible. Her eyes were off center, ears strangely large, and her head way too small for her face. Slowly it improved, but began to lose life, as if she were a statue. More practice, he had to catch the essence of her beauty, that special thing that drove his heart wild the moment he looked at her.
Hopefully, he might capture that today. Had taken over a year, and he hadn't done anything but talk to her about art and draw her from afar. Well, except that one day when she was wearing something that showed that immense clevage of hers, it had a definite effect on him, but was likely not her intent. It had been a really cute top. After a year of no drills and gym time, he had begun losing some of his bulk, slimming slightly but he didn't care that he was losing a bit of his intimidating muscle. All that seemed to matter was Melody.
Stepping into the library, he was wearing wranglers, something tight on his ass but comfortable. It was too cold for shorts right now, but he was tempted to wear them regardless; less constriction. The bottoms of his pants were a bit shredded and torn from getting caught by his shoes but it didn't seem to bother him. Clinging to his still hard chest and abs was a dark grey pollo, something that swelled around the muscles in his arms but also looked very nice regardless of where he was. Under his left arm was a large pad of paper, the other holding a container of art supplies and a few books.
"Returning some books Melody, finished up with most of the examples in there and looking for fresh work." That same cool voice that had been a bit wavering the first time they met was firmer now, confident, and happier. He had given up sports and found what and who he trully loved in live. It was obvious to everyone when he quit the team and started art classes of what he loved, but who he loved was still tugging at his heart and his loins. "I am a little worried the library will run out of books before I get good though."
"I just need some kind of book for this project on the Renasiannce period of Italy." Most of his friends at the time made fun of the artist, inappropriately giving a fake cough of "gay," which isn't bad but they were using it as a negative term. To not be teased as well, he joined in, even though he found himself stunned by the work he saw. The sculptor work of Bernini, paintings of Caravaggio and Da Vinci, poetry and architecture such as Brunelleschi's Dome and the Pantheon. These were thinks created by human beings, an expression of life, love, pain, and a momunent to human consciousness. It was more than just beauty to him, a personal awakening began to crawl its way forth, but his fear of being hazed kept it quiet.
In this day, why would anyone torment an artist? Well, one look at Henry gave a fairly obvious answer to some. Standing in one of the many aisles stood a rather large young man. His roots in northern Europe obvious, long brown hair brushed across his shoulders, soft and shiny from good grooming. Sharp, piercing blue eyes were set perfectly in his face, sheltered under a strong brow that was bunched together in the middle of his forehead from concentration. A strong jaw line curved back to a muscled neck and hooked up to ears hidden behind his hair. His lips were pulled firmly against his teeth before parting slightly in a confident smile when he saw a couple books that might help. That smile was straight and pure as snow.
Henry was an athlete, a star even. No sport or challenge was beyond his ego. However, ever sense that class, he found himself greatly humbled. Being good at what comes natural is nothing to be proud of. The men of that time became masters through hard work, they were changing the world. His smile faded a bit when the book seemed too empty. He needed help. Moving through the aisles, he looked around for someone that might be able to point him in the direction of better works.
"I need to know more..." He silently coached himself as he turned the corner. More words had been intended but than he saw her there. Sheer black hair cascading down her shoulders and back, lovely pale skin contrasting it like a living master piece of a goddess. Her mind was focused on those books, but Henry's mind sored with what he saw before him. Finally, he found the words he needed, not spectacular but necessary. "Um, hi there. My name's Henry and I was wondering if you could help me find a book I am looking for. I'm really interested in art."
The short sentence of help, was the first building blocks of a growing relationship. Through her help, he discovered more about himself, than just an appreciation of the arts, but began painting himself. Scultping was out of his reach due to supplies, but pencils and paint were cheap enough. Everyday, he came back and talked to her about art, sometimes not telling her he had arrived and just spent time drawing her. At first, the portraits were terrible. Her eyes were off center, ears strangely large, and her head way too small for her face. Slowly it improved, but began to lose life, as if she were a statue. More practice, he had to catch the essence of her beauty, that special thing that drove his heart wild the moment he looked at her.
Hopefully, he might capture that today. Had taken over a year, and he hadn't done anything but talk to her about art and draw her from afar. Well, except that one day when she was wearing something that showed that immense clevage of hers, it had a definite effect on him, but was likely not her intent. It had been a really cute top. After a year of no drills and gym time, he had begun losing some of his bulk, slimming slightly but he didn't care that he was losing a bit of his intimidating muscle. All that seemed to matter was Melody.
Stepping into the library, he was wearing wranglers, something tight on his ass but comfortable. It was too cold for shorts right now, but he was tempted to wear them regardless; less constriction. The bottoms of his pants were a bit shredded and torn from getting caught by his shoes but it didn't seem to bother him. Clinging to his still hard chest and abs was a dark grey pollo, something that swelled around the muscles in his arms but also looked very nice regardless of where he was. Under his left arm was a large pad of paper, the other holding a container of art supplies and a few books.
"Returning some books Melody, finished up with most of the examples in there and looking for fresh work." That same cool voice that had been a bit wavering the first time they met was firmer now, confident, and happier. He had given up sports and found what and who he trully loved in live. It was obvious to everyone when he quit the team and started art classes of what he loved, but who he loved was still tugging at his heart and his loins. "I am a little worried the library will run out of books before I get good though."