The Full Ride

by Gavin Atlas

  “Why the hell would you say a thing like that? Look at this. It’s fantastic. You must have studied a lot of Rembrandts. Look at the way the candlelight illuminates the painting. The use of chiaroscuro is brilliant.”

  Everyone stared at Officer Sanders.

  “What? A cop can’t use the word ‘chiaroscuro’? Why do you think I’m the one that got called down here? I’m an artist.”

  “Well, then, Officer, in that case you can tell he’s made a deliberate attempt at passing this painting off as seventeenth-century work,” Casper said. He explained about the alcohol test and the authentic antique frame and canvas.

  “I did want it to look like a period piece,” I said, “but I ensured no one would think I tried to pull a fast one.” I pointed out the postcard and the postage stamp. Most of the journalists got it, but Officer Sanders gave me a confused look. I just happened to have a magnifying glass, and I held it close to the painting. The postcard contained the Walt Disney mouse ears symbol. The reporters gasped in unison. Casper smacked himself on the forehead.

  “You’re a troublemaker, aren’t you?” Officer Sanders said, giving me an amused smirk.

  “Am I in hot water?” I asked, not sure if I should be worried.

  “Well, it is obvious that you intended a deception,” Officer Sanders said. Then he leaned towards me and mumbled. “But I think you might be sentenced to doing a few modeling sessions for me,” he said, looking me up and down.

  Fairuza had never cashed Casper’s check and handed it back to him. Officer Sanders told Casper there was no real wrongdoing so he couldn’t press charges. The headline in New York Art World said “Painter Ruled Not a Fraud, Gallery Owner Ruled Idiot.”

  In the end, Casper’s gallery lasted three more months before he was forced to close. He asked Darren to bail him out and was refused. The last I heard, Casper was managing a poster and frame shop at a mall in New Jersey.

  Fairuza sold my faded floral to Giles Cavanaugh. He said Pear wanted it for her birthday, and it would hang in “her wing of the house.” It sold for fifteen thousand dollars. Then the notoriety of the Gunzel van Glop painting brought in sixty thousand for the vanitas still life.

  My student loans were paid off, and I will spend a few weeks in Amsterdam at the Rijksmuseum studying art I’ve wanted to see for years.

  Officer Sanders, or Aaron, as I now call him, is accompanying me.

  Welcome to Fair Warning

  Round about my fiftieth birthday I decided it was time to get out of West Texas for a while and tour the country like I’d always planned. Maybe I’d see some sights. Maybe find some young men to screw. Maybe I’d just drive.

  Three days in, I was on a back road in Arizona. The sign up ahead said “Fair Warning, Population: 1.” I did a double take. Population…one? And it got a sign?

  For this part of the country, maybe population one was worth mentioning. It was the deep desert after all, and for the most part, there was population zero. But where was this damn place? All I saw was an occasional saguaro and endless, dadgum blinding sand, threatening to overrun the road.

  Over the next rise, I saw something. Too small to be a house. In fact, too small to be a car. When I came closer, I saw it was a motorcycle with a man stretched out on top of it. Was he…naked?

  Holee Shit. This MF was just laying out there nude with his legs kind of parted and all inviting-like. Naked as the day he was born. Oh, except for sunglasses.

  “Hey, Daddy,” he said as I rolled up in my blue pickup.

  “Ain’t ‘cha worried about sunburn, young fella?” I said.

  The man rolled his head lazy-like. “I’ve never had a problem with it here.”

  He was damn fine looking. A body sculpted by Picasso or Michelangelo or whoever made a habit of sculpting muscle boys. Tan and smooth and perfect. Better than half the porn stars and models, for damn sure. I turned off the engine and got out of the truck. I had to get a better look at him. I paced toward him with my hands on my hips, squinting in the sun. “So what’s your name?”

  “It’s all the same.”

  “Well, It’s-All-The-Same, where the hell did your clothes get to?”

  He shrugged. “They disappeared a few months ago. Been living naked ever since. They’ll show up sooner or later, I imagine.”

  The boy must have been sun-addled. Living naked for months? Out here? Not likely. He looked perfectly healthy.

  He shifted on top of his bike, spreading his legs a little wider.

  “Why do I get the feeling you like men fucking that ass of yours?”

  He nodded. “I certainly do. That’s actually how I came to be here.”

  I blinked. “You’re out here to get fucked?”

  “Yep.”

  “You’re not funnin’ me?”

  He wiped sweat from his brow. “No, sir. I’m not.”

  I put my thumbs in the straps of my overalls. “What do you think of me? Too old for you?”

  I couldn’t see his eyes through his dark shades, but he was giving me a once over. “I like older men. You kind of got an Uncle Jesse from Dukes of Hazzard look going on, but you’re younger and taller. A lot fitter. A lot less gray. It looks like you’re packing something major. Yeah, you’re hot, Daddy, and you know it, sir.”

  I looked around us. There was a hill a ways ahead and the hill I came down about half a mile back. I couldn’t see where or how he could have any cohorts lying in wait to ambush me. As far as I could tell, there were no hidden cameras that could get me on America’s Stupidest Motorists or some such. And I was strong. I could handle one young dude like this fella, especially with the gun I had in my pocket. Yeah, I could have my way.

  “Well, damn, I’d like to take a crack at that ass, then, boy.” I reached over and felt the inside of his thigh. He did nothing to stop me. His skin was hotter than I thought it would be, like it would near burn my hand if I kept it on him too long. He slid his fingers down his torso and spread his legs even wider. My hand found his baby-smooth ass and grazed his fine fault line. “You going to let me?”

  He gave his cock a languorous stroke. “That’s what I’m here for, Daddy. But like the sign says, you’re to get a fair warning.”

  I tensed. “What kind of warning would that be?”

  “If you fuck me, you’d best be prepared for a lot more sex.”

  I grinned a wide, wide grin. “Oh, is that right? I’m gonna be gettin’ in that ass again and again, huh?” I was fingering him now, good and fast.

  He moaned. “Just maybe a lot of sex. And you’re number one hundred, so the warning is serious.”

  I laughed. “Number one hundred. You actually want me to believe you’ve been out here getting fucked by a hundred guys?”

  He moaned again. “Being an easy bottom is what got me here.”

  “Well, that’s fine by me.” There was a small pouch attached to the seat of his motorcycle, bulging with condoms and a near-full bottle of lube. “You come prepared, young man. I’m surprised you have so many of those things left if you’ve been out here with a hundred men.”

  He nodded toward the pouch. “It’s sort of a cornucopia type thing.”

  I blinked. “A what?” I shook my head. “Never mind. Get your ankles in the air, young man.”

  He did as he was told. It was so boiling hot out there that I stripped as naked as the boy. In under a minute, I’d mounted him and hell, did I give him a screwing.

  Temperature-wise, it was the hottest hole I’d ever been in.

  Sex-wise, it was the hottest hole I’d ever been in.

  So tight and so welcoming, and the young man met each of my thrusts with an arch of his slender hips. He moaned and writhed, and I thought we’d knock the bike over. It only rocked with our lust. You wouldn’t expect it of someone my age and health, but it felt like the longest bout of sex I’d had. Maybe thirty minutes or more. I sure wasn’t young, but I kept going and going, loving it more and more with every stroke while my bottom boy moaned and ground his h
ips. It just went on and on like I was a fucking porn star. The stupendous throbbing sensation I felt in my dick spread up to my teeth and down to my toes. Then, when my heart was about to give out, I came with a huge roar. And I’d never come like that. Just shooting and shooting and shooting, as if I hadn’t spent a load since I was fifteen. My whole body felt like it was going to explode with euphoria.

  Then, whoa, his bike sputtered to life, and with a quick kiss on my cheek, the young fellow hopped up and grabbed a plaid shirt and a pair of jeans off the ground that, I swear, hadn’t been anywhere around when I arrived. I looked about, and my shirt, my overalls, and dagnabbit, my gun were completely gone.

  “You were number one hundred, Daddy,” the young man said. “You might be thinking not everyone is as wild about an Uncle Jesse-type as they are about young biker boys, but I know you’ll do fine. You’re hot as hell, and you’ve got an awesome dick you know how to use.”

  “Well, thank you kindly, young fella, but—”

  “I think the magic number is a hundred, but maybe sometimes it might be lower so you have to warn everyone.”

  “What are you talkin’ about?”

  “Go fifty paces in any direction, Daddy, and you’ll wind up stuck right back here. And if someone gives you a lift out, you won’t get much farther.”

  “What the hell?”

  “Remember my warning? You’re my replacement. You’re in for a lot more sex if you want to get out of here.” He revved the motor of his bike.

  What nonsense was this boy rambling about? And where the fuck were my clothes?

  He took off his sunglasses. “You won’t need to worry about burning, but you could use these shades more than I could. Oh, and I’m supposed to leave you with the bag of condoms.” He tossed the black pouch on the ground. “Good luck, Daddy.”

  * * * *

  It was three days before the next vehicle appeared, kicking up a cloud of dust. In the meantime, I’d discovered the boy had been right. My truck wouldn’t drive more than ten feet, and if I started walking off in any direction, I wound up right back at my pickup. My clothes were nowhere to be found, but I didn’t burn. Didn’t seem to need food or water. But I sure was horny.

  “That big hard-on wouldn’t be for me, would it?” said the new young man in a fancy looking red Buick. He was handsome and looked like he’d be fun.

  “It might could be for you,” I said, “but I better give you fair warning…”

  The Full Ride

  The disapproving look in my mother’s eye was not about me leaving the house wearing next to nothing. Something bigger was bothering her.

  “Christopher, I have opened the last of your college e-mails.” She annunciated each syllable when angry.

  My eyes widened. They’d arrived? “Shouldn’t I have opened them?” It infuriated me that I’d had to give my parents my passwords in exchange for application fees.

  “You did not get into Harvard, nor Yale, nor Princeton, nor Stanford, nor Swarthmore, nor—”

  “Okay, please stop.” My heart raced. “Where did I get in?”

  “Nowhere. You are zero for twenty.” She rubbed her temples. “This is a disaster. Your father always said you’d be a disappointment.”

  My stomach felt hollow. I’d been afraid of this possibility, but now that it had come true, I had to fight tears. I swallowed to regain my composure, reminding myself it wasn’t my fault. My parents were impossible prestige whores who wouldn’t let me apply to realistic places.

  “Maybe there’s still time to apply to State.” Like I had wanted, I added silently.

  “Your father and I will only pay for the best, Christopher. Now he might make you enlist.”

  Oh my God. This was so unfair. “I understand. I’m sorry I’m such a…disappointment. I’m going to see Mr. Laszlo. He used to be a college professor. He might have some ideas.”

  “I wish you had spent as much time with your math tutor before the SATs,” she fumed. “And why are you wearing such tiny shorts and that cut-off shirt? You look like you’re for sale!”

  My mom wasn’t stupid. I might have had muscles and a masculine demeanor, but I did dye my hair blond and show a lot of skin. She likely knew I wanted men to notice me, but I had an excuse prepared. “Mr. Laszlo doesn’t charge you for tutoring if I cut his grass. I figured you’d want me to wear old clothes.”

  Her mood changed. “Oh, if it’s free, I don’t mind, although I wish you would wear something else. I hope he has the connections to get you in somewhere we approve of.”

  I waved over my shoulder and slipped out the back door. I walked slowly to give myself time to shake off my dejection. I wasn’t sure Mr. Laszlo could help. I just wanted to see him.

  “Hey, bud,” Mr. Laszlo said when I arrived, his massive frame still covered in a pinstripe shirt, tie, and wool dress pants. “You look down. More calculus trouble?”

  “Yes, but that’s not why I’m here.” I stripped off my shirt. “Right now, I want to get fucked.”

  Mr. Laszlo raised his eyebrows and gave me a half smile. “I hoped that’s why you came over.” As much as I had begged, Mr. Laszlo refused to touch me until after my eighteenth birthday. In the two months since, he’s been inside me at least once a week. When I was a sophomore, two seniors from the soccer team gave me enough experience to know Mr. Laszlo was a phenomenal top.

  He unbuttoned my denim shorts, and they fell to the ground. He chuckled. “Look at this. No underwear. Ooh, and you’ve shaved your crotch. Are you using your mother’s tanning bed naked? You’re getting brazen, young man.” He picked me up and threw me over his shoulder, spanking and groping me all the way to his bed.

  In moments he had me lubed up with my legs in the air. He wanted me to practice putting condoms on him so I’d know later in life if my partners were using them correctly. He could tell from my moans I was too impatient for that today, so he suited himself up.

  He entered me slowly. I breathed great puffs of air while my hole adjusted to the penetration.

  “Ooooh, Christopher,” he said. “So nice. I’m not hurting you, am I? Should I go slow?”

  “I’ve been bad. My ass needs to be punished.” Mr. Laszlo was never angry with me, but I loved angry sex, and he liked to role play.

  “Then you’re going to be pummeled, young man, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  “Oh, yes, sir,” I said, moaning. I looked up at him while he fucked me, slowly increasing his pace. Mr. Laszlo was six two and built like a bouncer. My mom said he was Hungarian and “looked like an actor on a soap opera.” She flirted with him every chance she got.

  Take that, Mom. He’s fucking me.

  I put my hands above my head, pretending Mr. Laszlo had me tied up. I’d asked him to in the past, since it was my number one fantasy, but he’d said we weren’t ready. However, keeping my hands above my body encouraged him to jerk me off. I loved that.

  “I adore fucking your ass, Christopher.” My tutor’s breathing was ragged from shoving in and out of me. “God…your skin is so soft, and your body is so beautiful.”

  “I’ve been working out every day,” I boasted.

  He squeezed my arm muscles without slowing his pace. “I can tell,” he rasped.

  “May I tell you a secret?” Even though his thrusts made my entire body rock, I did my best to look into his dark brown eyes.

  “You’d better tell me, boy.” His vise-tight grip on my nipple and pumping of my cock made me feel owned by his lust.

  “Since I can’t ever please my dad, my goal in life is to please men with my hole. Men like you.”

  “Mmm,” he said. “I see.” I felt little jolts of wonderful pain as he nipped at my neck.

  “Instead of going to college, I’m going to be your permanent ass slave.”

  “Oh…yessss,” he hissed. His thrusts increased. He began to grunt. I felt his balls slap against my butt cheeks, and each stroke hit my prostate hard. Yep, I was too dumb for college. All I was good for was
getting my ass fucked.

  Those thoughts sent me over the edge. I shot in his hand in wave after wave. God, he was good. At the same time, Mr. Laszlo shoved in one last time, shouting “Yes…Jesus, Yes!” His face was red and dripping sweat.

  “Did you want me to finish fast?” he asked, wiping my come off his hand with a towel. “I would have lasted longer if you hadn’t turned me on with talk of being my slave. Why did you say your ass needed punishing anyway?”

  The satisfaction I’d felt from coming drained.

  “Hey, what’s wrong? You look so sad.” He gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

  “I didn’t get into college. Maybe I’m bad at math, but that’s not the problem. My parents made me apply to top schools, and they all rejected me. I feel like a loser. If college isn’t an option, I’ll spend my life getting fucked. At least that makes me feel good.”

  Mr. Laszlo snorted and shook his head. “Whoa, don’t give up on college, bud.” Then he blinked and tilted his head. “You don’t really think you want to spend your life getting fucked, do you?

  I felt my face flush. “I do, sir. I bet being your slave would be perfect.”

  “Buddy, I’d love that, too, but not in place of college. I can help you get into an excellent school. Fenton University of Central Kentucky. I used to be a professor there.”

  “Kentucky? There’s no school my parents would pay for there.”

  Mr. Laszlo led me by the hand back to his kitchen, both of us still naked. He wanted to teach me to cook. “Your parents won’t have to spend a dime. In fact, we’ll tell them as little as possible, okay? I’ll help you get something called a Bardache Scholarship, and you’ll receive a full ride.” He squeezed my ass and smiled.

  After dinner, I asked Mr. Laszlo to call my parents and persuade them to let me attend this college instead of enlisting. He did, and I could hear my father grumble on speakerphone, “Who the fuck has heard of Fenton University?” Mr. Laszlo guaranteed I’d receive a stellar education and a tremendous amount of attention from the faculty. When Mr. Laszlo mentioned college would be free, my father spat, “at this point, I don’t care what the hell he does as long as it costs me nothing.” His reaction made my insides go hollow. Mr. Laszlo sensed it. He spent an hour holding me and stroking my hair.