Disclaimer
This story is a pure work of fiction and bears no truth WHATESOEVER. This story makes no comment on the sexuality or the lifestyle of Pablo Picasso and Salvador Dali. ________________________________________________________________________________________
Spanish Sexcapade of Picasso and Dali ________________________________________________________________________________________
"War"... it's such a funny phenomenon!
It is commonly perceived as something that is gravely destructive. It demolishes humanity civilizations, love, loyalty, art... everything. Some wars are so severe, they as if put a setback on the eternally running time. The stronger wins the war and the weaker looses it, but no matter what, it is the "human culture" that "definitely" looses in the war.
The World War I was one such war that destroyed almost everything. For many, the world did not remain the same as before, and it changed their lives...forever. And it's not only the soldiers, their families, or people, who were directly victimized by the war; but everyone, who existed during this time.
Then, why would some dim-wit call it "funny"? What is so funny in being destroyed?
Well... the funny part comes, once the war is over. Throughout the course, wars make people hurt each other, and once it is over it makes them tend to the wounds of those who they hurt. Post-war, everyone realizes that they must stay together, like "brothers", and a wave of brotherhood starts running through their veins. The same thing happens with the human culture. Once war destroys it, it also stimulates its new birth once it is over. Like Phonix, who leaps out of the ashes.
Something similar happened after the world war. After the most fundamental human rights were crushed, the freedom of expression was suppressed, and art was killed throughout the period of the war; the new winds started blowing once the war was over. These were the winds of revolution, freedome... the most liberated forms of expression in the visual art!
At one such time after the war, an 18 year old Spaniard, with such twinkle of freedome and a dream of change in his eye entered the "Residencia de Estudiantes", a students' residence in the city of Madrid, Spain. It was the summer of 1922. It had been four years, since the war was over and the world was still trying to catch up with the time it had lost within the four years of war. At this time, this boy, who roamed around in his flamboyant attire, long hair, stockings, and knee breaches, personified a typical dandy. He immediately became a subject of curiosity, cynicism, and social satire.
This eccentric boy was Salvador Dali. He had a dream to be one of the most revered artists in the world. He had entered himself in "The Academia de San Fernando", a school of fine arts. As whimsical was his attire, as was his demeanor. Definatelyly a pinnacle of rudeness, Dali showed the same candor in his work, which, in no time, made the other students to view with respect. Dali's style was an explicit extension of "Analytic Cubism"... an artistic style developed by Pablo Picasso.
As the days were passing by, Dali had already created his comprehensive portfolio that included many of his paintings that were to become world famous in the future. He had formed a close connection with fellow students Federico Garcia Lorca, Luis Bunuel, and Pepin Bello. Together they had started a kind of artistic movement, which was rather a matter of pride for the school. This pride gave the faculties of the school an idea to arrange an exhibition of the painitngs created by the students. The idea did not take much time to turn into a reality. An extensive and rich array of art collection was put in the exhibition. To gain the maximum publicity for the exhibition and consequently the school, a famous inaugurator was needed to be invited, who was not really a difficult choice. For a Spanish art school, who else would make a better guest than their very own world famous Spaniard... The Pablo Picasso!
The 44 year old Picasso was undoubedly the centre of attention on the inaugeration day. All the students had gathered to see the legend. This was the man who pioneered artistic movements and populerized them. This was the man, who earned respect and weight for the abstract. This was the man, who showed the world that a painting can revolt! Picasso was god for them.
Salvador was amongst these students, but he was not overwhealmed like them. Instead he was calmly but intensely observing Picasso. Picasso was wearing a floral-print shirt with a red muffler tied round his neck. His trouser was comparitively less bold. He was wearing his trademark golf hat.
"There is an air of abundent confidence about this man", Salvador thought. He was as impressed and joyed as all the other students, but showing it on the face...? No... that was not Salvador Dali. He maintained an indifferent and unaffected attitude throughout the inauguration ceremony.
Picasso was walking by the paintings made by students. These were selective paintings, chosen very carefully by a panel of art teachers, so there was much less chance of Picasso finding the art trashy. Picasso, while walking along the line of paintings, stopped by a perticular painting. It was definately a representative of "Cubism"... Picasso's find! However, it was not the fact that some student had chosen Cubism in his work that impressed Picasso, but it was the magnificence, with which the student had incorporated his own individualistic style with it. It was a serious attempt of an art. Picasso went closer to the painting and saw the name of the painter, Salvador Dali. He moved ahead, and once gain was stunned by a distinctive example of Cubism... with the same touch of uniqueness. Again Salvador Dali.
Picasso was curious about this prodigy... whoever this Dali was. He looked around to find the dean of the school. There were many other faculties present, but Picasso was known to maintain his class by communicating with the higher authorities only! An artistic whimsicalness!
He located the dean and asked about Dali. Dean seant his fellow assistant to look for Dali. The assistant came in five minutes, alone.
"He said he is busy right now... He will see Mr. Picasso in 15-20 minutes", The assistant said.
The dean looked at the assistant in disbelief. He looked at Picasso and started to apologize, but Picasso turned to the painting of Dali, stared at it closely and moved ahead. Although, he looked calm on the outside, he was wondering, who the hell is this mysterious Dali? The legendary Picasso wishes to see him, and he says he is busy? Who the fuck he thinks he is?
Nonetheless, in a couple of minutes he got back his cool. In fact he thought, "Of course... he is an artist! A gifted one on top of that! He must be eccentric!" Whatever the case may be, Picasso's curiosity to see Salvador Dali was really increasing.
"Hello, I am Salvador Dali. I understand you wished to see me?" A voice came from behind and Picasso turned to look at it. It was almost 5 and 1/2 feet tall, lean bodied boy standing behind him. He had long hair, a kind of widened eyes, and an air of ease. "Impressive!", Picasso thought.
"Good! I think I like your work. It is pretty good!" Picasso said.
"Is it because it's Cubism, or is it because you really do?" Dali threw a question in reponse to Picasso's appreciation. The dean started sweating.
Picasso could not believe this boy was so bold to ask such a question... to someone like Picasso. He had always experienced that art students were ready to impress him with their best manners, appreciation of Picasso's work, and many such things. However, most of the times it was their work that failed to impress him. In Dali's case, he was openly being rude and was showing his bad behaviour, but his work had already impressed Picasso to the great extent. He knew Dali was an artist and he must be treated like one. Nonetheless, Picasso also had to think of his ego, too. Picasso was also an artist.
"If I wanted to appreciate "quality" Cubism, I would visit my own exhibition. I guess I really liked it.", Picasso retorted.
"Well, then in that case I must consider myself lucky!" Dali said in a tone that was devoid of any excitement and pressure.
"Your wish!", Picasso said and moved ahead to view other painitngs.
"Am I to accompany you, or shall I go?" Dali asked.
Picasso turned back to face Dali. Dali was really rude. He seemed egotistic. Clearly, he had a mind that was full of expressions that were bulging to burst out. Picasso looked into dali's eyes, as if he was telling Dali a secret. Dali too, gazed into Picasso's eyes, as if he understood what he said.
"Picasso turned to the dean and said, "I am sorry, but I have to leave now. I have a prior engagement.", took leave of the important people around. Dali was about to leave, when Picasso looked at him and whispered "You are to accompany me!" and rushed out of the crowd. Salvador's eyes followed Picasso from behind with a hint of smile in them, as Picasso rushed out of the hall amidst the hushed whispers and curious stares.
"Are you out of your mind?" The dean approached Salvador. Dali slightly moved his neck to loosely look at the dean, and said,
"Why? Did I do something wrong?"
Dali left the speechless dean behind and followed Picasso outside the hall. Picasso was standing outside, surounded by enthusiastic fans, signing autographs for them. From the corner of the eyes he noticed Dali, and pretended he did not see him. He instead paid more attention to his fans... an attempt to intimidate the young and rude Salvador.
After spending complete 10 minutes with the fans, Picasso moved to his plush car and sat in the rear seat. He looked at Salvador, still standing out, amidst the fans, but aloof from them. Picasso waved at him and called him inside. As he did so, the entire student base was hushed. They looked at Salvador, as he moved and sat next to Picasso in "The Picasso"'s car. Their silence broke into jealous and curious murmurs, as the car drove off.
"We are not formally introduced... I am Pablo PIcasso!", Picasso extended his hand for a shake.
Salvador looked at him with a cynic smile on his face, and while he extended his hand to shake with Picasso's, he said, "I never realized the key principle that you have based your Cubism upon, is "Modesty"!... Well, I am Salvador Dali."
"You are one foul mouthed brat, ain't you?" Picasso snapped, to which Salvador let out a loud laughter.
"I'm glad you noticed!" He said smilingly.
Picasso stared into Salvador's eyes. He had one of the brightest eyes Picasso had ever seen. Not really beautiful... but bright! As if they had a lot to tell.
"Why do you always keep your eyes widened?" Picasso asked Dali.
"To scare the shit out of people!" Salvador's curt and immediate reply.
"Do you think it's working on me?" Picasso asked back.
Salvador calmly looked at Picasso and said, "Do YOU think it's working on you?"
"I respect your art-induced sarcasm... but I am Picasso. Nothing works on me. I work on everything." Picasso gave Salvador a deep penetrating glance, which momentarily shook Salvador up. He did not say anything. Picasso felt little better to finally gain a winning edge over this brattish genius. Some moments passed in silence. The chauffer could feel the awkward tension in the car. Even he was wondering who this spoiled kid was. The car stopped at a beautifully done edifice. It was Picasso's studio.
Picasso got out of the car before the attendent could come open the door for the artist. A little scared, he greeted his master, but Picasso paid not attention. Salvador got down of the car and followed Picasso in his studio, who, without saying a word, had already started going inside the building. Salvador enetered the building behind Picasso.
He followed Picasso leaving many rooms behind. People were taking a note of the artist in a respectful manner as they saw him. Picasso was not resiprocating anyone's greeting. People turned to look who this sharp looking young boy was. Dali was as unattentive towards them as Picasso was.
Picasso entered a chamber, which turned out to be his private room, which was filled with Picasso's works. Salvador, for the first time, felt a wave of excitment running thru him. It was like he was sexually being stimulated. Picasso went to one of his painting.
It was "Garçon à la pipe", a world famous paiting by Picasso. It showed a young boy, wearing a garland round his head sitting and holding a pipe. A classic representation of Picasso's work before he invented Cubism.
"What do you think of this?" Picasso asked not looking at Dali.
Salvador had seen this picture only in photos and had heard of from people, and learned about it in the school, but it was the first time he was looking at this picture in real. It was a big moment for him.
"I think I see frail traces of cubism in it." It was not cubism at all. Picasso stared at Salvador and said,
"Cubism?... What cubism? This is not Cubism!"
"Yes, it is!"
Picasso stared at Dali to see whether this guy was demented. It was "so" not cubism. He wondered whether this guy understands what cubism is.
"What is Cubism?" Picasso asked him.
"It's your style of showing objects from multiple viewpoints on the same canvas."
"Do you see multiple viewpoints in this oil?" Picasso put a question.
"You can see what you want to see in Picasso (his paintings)... Isn't that true?" Dali asked. Picasso looked at him. Dali continued, "...that's what I think."
"What different viewpoints you see in here?" Picasso.
"I see you blossoming in your youth...your love." Salvador stopped to look at Picasso, and asked, "Were you not in love with Madam Olivier when you painted this?"
"How dare this scumbag!" Picasso was bewildered with Dali's bold comment.
"One viewpoint says you are changing from dull to bright... one says, from night to morning... another says, from shy to bold... one more viewpoint shows you shifting from solitude to love! ... Yes... it's definately Cubism!"
Picasso was enthralled with Dali's interpretation. Dali had just showed the master an altogether different perspective of his won paiting. Technically the painting was not cubism, but Picasso could not believe how easily this young chap took this painting on to another, superficially a complete different, level. He infused the artist's personal life, his personality in to his work of art, which no one had done before. It was like Dali was seeing Picasso in his painitng.
Salvador was intently looking at the painting. It was like he was greedily trying to absorb as much of the painting as possible in his eyes to take with him. Dali looked at Picasso, who was looking at him intensely. Dali knew exactly what Picasso was feeling. He returned Picasso's glances with equally intense ones. Picasso could not get enough of this boy, who, despite being just an art student had challanged the art-maestro. This boy was not slightly intimidated by Picasso's personality. He was a free bird... he was ragging tiger... he was roaring wind! Picasso felt an inexplicable spurt of unknown sensation in his body. For the first he felt attracted to Dali.
He moved ahead and held Salvador on his shoulders, looked deeply into his eyes, and put his lips on Salvador's. Salvador, did not only let Picasso kiss him, but resiprocated his advances by giving himself to Picasso readily. But it was not the exhilerated overjoy of a legend kissing a commoner... It was one genius kissing another. It felt so natural!
Picasso kissed him more passionately. He was now turned on by young boy's tender lips. In his 44 years of life, Picasso had been with many ladies. He was in fact known for frequently changing his women. He never would have even thought in his wildest dreams he would voluntarily kiss another man... a boy, to top that. But it did not feel weird. It was, as if, just meant to be!
Picasso hugged Dali while kissing, and he felt Salvador's growing erection against him. Picasso was excited and his manhood too strated "rising up" to the occasion. It was a completely new experience for both of them. Salvador had previously briefly kissed Lorca, but that was it. He had further not entertained Lorca's sexual advances. But this was somethign different. He felt an immediate connection with Picasso... not because he was a legend, or a genius, or anything else... It was because he was what he was... Just Pablo! The one, who may be, was unknown to the rest of the world.
They felt a growing urgency inside themselves. Picasso removed Dali's shirt to reveal his flawless and supple skin. Dali was shorter and thiner than Picasso, but he had a naturally sculpted body. It was the first time Picasso felt aroused by a man. He started kissing Dali on his nipples. Salvador moaned in pleasure. His nipples were erect with excitement.
"Aaaah... aah...ahh...ahhahahaa... Oh god!" Salvador was moaning in a completely different tone than what he had used throughout the day. Now he was not a prodigy out to win an argument with the master... He was vulnurable. He was delicate. He was fragile. He was taken over. He was so freaking submissive! Picasso couldn't believe boys could be so responsive romantically! Or was it just Salvador?
He stripped Salvador off his entire clothing. Salvador was so weak in his legs, he couldn't stand properly... He was slipping down from Picasso's hold. It was like he was falling unconscious. Picasso let him slip down. Salvador stood on his knees facing directly in front of Picasso's crotch. He looked at Picasso and like in trance, unzipped Picasso's pants and took out his ragging erection. Even though it was first time, Salvador had an immediate stimulation looking at Picasso's errect penis. Before even eyes could blink, he gulped down the whole Picasso-rod in his mouth and started sucking on it like a hungry dog.
Picasso just could stop marvelling how beautiful this 18 year old boy looked, while sucking on a 44 year old... who was old enough to be his father. With this thought his erection grew beyond boundaries. Salvador could feel the growing erection in his mouth and he couldn't bear the excitement of being strongly penetrated in his mouth. He let out delicate moans as Picasso's penis started banging on the back of his throat. Picasso pinned Salvador against the wall and held his hands spreaded both ways...
"Oh my god... he looks like little jesus on the cross!" Picasso thought.
With his lean body, long hair, and pinned hands sideways, Salvador actually looked like Jesus. Salvador's delicate armpit hair sent a wave of monstrous lust in Picasso's body. He realized he was dominating a boy, who must be almost 25 years younger than him. This boy was so readily letting him dominate. Picasso was sure, Salvador was not an easy going person. He had sensed it with his bold and unappologetic remarks throughout the day. He must have treated many people with same insolence, Picasso thought. And still, he had accepted Picasso as his master. He had employed the last bit of his tender boyhood in the service of his Master, Pablo Picasso! Picasso felt sooo great with this thought. He wanted more.
He sat down next to Salvador. Salvador's mouth was all wet and sticky after deep sucking Picasso. His lips looked even more lustrous than they originally were. Dali looked like a girl right now. His delicate facial features, smooth skin, big eyes, and long hair. He was like a teenaged angel from one of Botticelli's oil canvases.
"What a beauty!", Picasso said loudly looking at Salvador. Salvador felt shy and looked down.
"Oh man... this is just for me!" Picasso felt more and more energetic with Dali's every new act of inviting him.
He pushed Salvador on the floor. Neither of them noticed or cared that the floor was occupied with thousands of colours. Picasso pushed Salvador on those colours.
How perfect! What could serve as a better bed for these two geniuses, than the bed of colours? It was so meant to be! Just perfect!
Picasso freed himself from his clothes and sat down. He held Salvador's legs in air and hastily positioned himself aginst Salvador's anus.
"Man, how can one be so darn tender? What a shade of pink!...On ass?" If anyone could hear Picasso's thoughts, he would have started rolling down on ground with laughter. Even at the extreme moment of penetration, Picasso was able to admire the quality of the colour on the ass-hole!
Salvador was looking so susceptible, with his eyes mutely welcoming Picasso, and urging him to take total control of him. He had instinctively taken the role of a girl in this sexual act. There was so much authenticity and genuineness in both of them! Picasso was a caring man and Salvador was his precious little lady.
"I promise, I won't hurt you!" Picasso said, not knowing how Salvador felt about it.
"I can take some pain...", Salvador said softly.
Picasso looked at him with a smile and leaned forward and placed a passionate kiss on his tender lips once again. Then he put his erection inside Salvador to some inches. Salvador lightly groaned and tightened his grip on Picasso's arms. Picasso looked at Salvador in concern, who in stead nodded him, conveying he was alright. Picasso took some time to let Salvador's body get used to this invasion, and kept his penis slightly inserted for some moments. Salvador threw his head back in an intuitive manner, and his small adam's apple slightly popped up, which gave a beautifully seductive shape to his throat. He had his hands spreaded across both sideways, showing off his tender armpit hair, and accentuating his magnifiscent curves on the collar, shoulder, armpit, and chest. He was looking like a captured prey, in the cluthces of a predator. A victim that knows it can not overpwer his captivator and just gives in... completely!
Picasso found it unbearable. He started inserting his penis inside Salvador in circular and rhythamic motion. As he started doing it, salvador even threw his head further backward, like he was in pain... or in orgasm!
Picasso entered in Salvador completely, and felt his soft inside around his penis. It was so soft, spongy, and mushy... it was like a feather pillow tied around his erection. It felt softer than vagina. Picasso was surprised and excited. He started giving light thuds inside, which sent Salvador in an unimaginitive ecstasy. Salvador was being introduced to his own softness fr the first time. He felt wonderfully strange. It was so much fun!
Salvador had a sudden realization...
"Oh my god! I just lost my virginity!" He thought. He had alsmost forgot that he had never had sex before. Neither with a woman, nor with a man. It was the very much first time!
His stream of thoughts was interupted with a sudden forceful bump inside him. He gasped in surprise. One similar bump came again. He gathered his senses to realize Picasso was banging his ass. He looked at Picasso and he felt as if he was being penetrated by his husband. Picasso was doing it with so much ease, and at the same time with so much passion! He was banging his ass real hard, but still there was a touch of love and concern.
"Aaahhh... Pablo... Oh my go....aaah!...aah...aah...aah...aah...aah...aah..." Salvador's rhythemic moans continued in sync with Picasso's strong bangs inside him.
"Yesss!!! You are mine Salvador... You are mine!... I want to make love to you till the end of the world. Yes... Aah... you are such a sweet little boy, Sally... I want to keep fucking youuu...for ever!" Picasso was ecstatic.
"yes honey... I am all yours! take me... I am yours! Take me... Take me completely. Ruin me... Bang me more sweetie... Bang me. I love it! Oh my god! Pablo... You are such a man, goood!... Oh yeah... yeah... get in... oh my god! Can't you get more inside... Don't think of my pain... just fuck me deep and fuck me hard!" Salvador realized what it is to get fucked and he loved this feeling. He loved the fact that he lost his virginity to Picasso.
Picasso took his penis out and turned salvador upside down.
"You gonna take me like a bitch?" Salvador exclaimed, "Fine... take me! Take me the way you like it, honey! take me... Just take me! Use me! You own me, Pablo! Show me that you own me... Show me you are a man!... Show me the hard time man!"
Salvador's erotic encouraging sent Picasso in total berserk. He pushed him inside Salvador from behind and started bumping his tender ass flesh sturdily.
Salvador went into sudden orgasm. He screamed, "Pablo... I am going to burst!" Picasso kept banging his ass. Salvador spurted out hs hot cum, while being banged by Picasso. It was such a fucking pleasure! What the fuck it was! Salvador had never expereinced such euphoria! He kept throwing his fluid for some time.
Salvador felt complete flacid now... but Picasso was penetrating him. The hunter was tearing his prey apart, while the prey kept looking at his killer with helpless eyes.
"Hooooooooooly mother of all gods! Shit... you fucking sweet hole... I am gonna come... I am gonna come fucking whole lot!" Picasso screamed loudly. His choice of words sent salvador in total submission. He surrendered himself at Picasso's feet. He just speechlessly kept looking at Picasso's eruption of orgasm in amazement.
Salvador could feel Picasso's shuddering twitches inside his ass, and he felt a warm sensation. Picasso had ejaculated in Salvador. He achieved the highest level of orgasma nd dropped down on the floor. Picasso was completely motionless but he was breathing heavy. Salvador let his soft hands lie on Picasso's hairy chest. He could feel his heart beats. They were beating for Salvador. He smiled and embraced Picasso passionately.
Picasso and Salvador were completely laden with colours. A destiny had covered the most talented artists in their love... Their love for art and their love for each other. They both realized that their bodies had become a beautiful mishmash of multicoloured shades. It was so messy... and still so passionate!
Salvador pointed at colours on his own body and asked Picasso with a smile on lips...
"What do you think of this, Mr. Picasso?"
Picasso studied Salvador's tender body covered in colours. He looked into Salvador's eyes and said,
"Definately cubism!"
...and both the "lost-in-love" souls broke into uncontrollable laughter!