Sinning by Default

Alex fought his first urge to turn around and run out the door, and then his second urge which was to walk up and press his body tightly to the man behind the desk. Instead he looked down and sneaked away to the back of the room, refusing to look up again.

“…As I said, “ the voice was deep and warm, just as Alex remembered it, like a not quite soft caress, “I’ll try to help you develop your own talent and to quote Ms Johnson, ‘try not to ruin her students.’” Some of the other students laughed but Alex was still far too shocked to react at all.

Well, Ms Johnson had promised him to get him a good substitute as not to ruin the only class he actually enjoyed. But he guessed that she had not planned for it to be one of Alex’s one night stands.

“Mr. Winter?” Amy, one of the girls in the front, asked, “Are we going to continue with portraits?” Winter? Alex thought. J. Winter? And suddenly he felt very sure that this man, his new teacher, was the artist whose painting he had so admired last night. What the hell was he doing teaching high school? Then he remembered that Ms Johnson had said something about calling in a favor from a friend.

“…and portraits is actually one of my specialties, so I hope I can be of some assistance and give you some guidance..”

Mr. Winter, and how odd wasn’t it to think of this man as a Mr. anything, had them to pair up and to do facial studies of their partners. Alex had to sketch the face of Miranda, a girl with multiple facial piercings and a thick layer of blue lipstick, over and over again. Mr. Winter said it was important to get to know different expressions of your subjects face, even if the final result was just of one.

Mr. Winter paced the room, commented their work, asked the students some questions about themselves, as if trying to get to know them. But he avoided Alex, only stopped by him once to say “Good, ” and ask him what his name was.

The lesson ended and Alex noticed that everyone seemed to like their new teacher, especially the girls. He almost laughed at that, thinking that they really would be disappointed if they found out that their new hot teacher preferred boys. Alex tried to sneak out quietly after he had cleaned up but as he neared the door he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and heard a voice too close to his ear:

“Could you stay, Alex? I’d like to have a word with you.” And what choice did he have. He leaned against the wall, waiting for the others to leave, feeling his stomach tie into a nervous knot. He did not really wish to hear what this man had to say. It would only ruin the memory, and the memory of their night was more than a good one. He had a feeling that anything he would hear now would feel like a rejection.

When the door closed behind the last student Alex turned to look at Mr. Winter who looked right back, gazing into his eyes, and opened his mouth to say something.

“Alex, I…” He tried to straighten his ruffled shirt, seemingly as nervous as Alex felt but then his eyes seemed to darken, to deepen and when he parted his lips again the words that escaped were calm and determined, anything but nervous.

“Could I paint you?”


Jack drove his car just under the speed limit, wanting to go faster but not daring to risk being stopped. Occasionally he glanced at the boy in the passenger seat. Alex was silent and stared straight ahead, sitting perfectly still. He had not seemed one for talking that other night either. Jack had been surprised at his own question and even more so by the instant reply of ‘yes’. He knew this was not the smart thing, the sensible thing to be doing, knew that he by most would be considered perverted. And maybe he was. But he also considered all art to be some sort of perversion, and to be a true artist you had to follow your obsessions, even if they would burn you up and leave you in ashes. He remembered Samuel and thought of the destruction from that particular obsession. Yet he knew that thoughts of consequences would not stop him. They never had before. He also knew that the guilt would be overwhelming. It always was.

Jack led Alex into his apartment, directly into to the biggest room, the studio. The room was filled with buckets and paintings, with sketches and brushes and pencils. Alex looked as if he felt right at home. Jack gestured to a comfortable looking chair.

“You can sit down there.” Alex did as he was told, and leaned back, obviously trying to relax.

“Take off your t-shirt.” Only a slight hesitation at this but soon the shirt lay in a black heap on the floor. Jack arranged his biggest sketchbook, as he wanted it, collected some pencils ad began to study the boy closely.

He was beautiful, no question about that, the body was thin and pale with long, perfectly proportioned limbs, with only faint traces of very pale body hair. A fine boned face with eyes that seemed just a little too large and lips that Jack could remember the taste of perfectly. The long hair flowed like blood, and Jack wondered over its natural color because this certainly wasn’t it, but it was too newly dyed to show any roots at all. The back polish of the fingernails had begun to chip and today the face was free from the black smudges of make-up.

“Put your right hand on your stomach…A little lower. Yes, exactly like that.”

“Lean your head back a little. Perfect.”


Alex couldn’t quite believe he actually was being sketched. He had been convinced that the question had been a cover for something else. Although this began to feel more and more like sex with every second that went by, the gaze studying him was like a caress, with the sound of pencil scratching against paper. His own hand on his stomach wanted to go lower, to caress his hardening erection. But he sat perfectly still, as if one move would make this stop, as if he would be thrown out on the street if he did not do as he was told. And maybe he would be. He did not know this man at all, this artist. One night he had only been yet another body, then the memory of one. Now he was also the portrait of the black haired girl, the teacher that would make students laugh, and an artist who looked at Alex as if he were the next Mona Lisa.

He did not know how long he sat there caught in the eroticism of the moment but when Jack finally broke the silence he could feel the stiffness of his muscles as he began to move from the chair.

“I think we should quit for today.” And Alex felt happy because this was a promise of more, a promise of another day.

He got up and put on his shirt, walking past the older man still standing by his sketches.

“See you in class, Mr. Winter,” he said, and smiled, before hurrying out.

“Please call me Jack!” He heard shouted just as he exited the apartment.