Three Tears
by David Heulfryn

 

Chapter Nine

Martin and James were woken up by their mother barging into their room and announcing they were leaving.

It was still early, but an early start is essential when going around Sunday antique fairs as it’s less crowded, and you can look around properly.

As they heard the front door slam, they groaned in unison and turned over, hutching their quilts tighter under their chins and settling back down for a few more hours of sleep.

James was first to wake up properly an hour later. As he lay in bed last night trying to get off to sleep, he could hear Martin fidgeting and constantly turning over. He even got up a couple of times to go to the bathroom. Eventually, James blocked out the disturbance from across the room and slept. Getting out of bed, he could hear the faint breathing of Martin sleeping, so he didn’t bother to hide or adjust the tent in his briefs. Last night, he’d not had an opportunity to work the tension out of his groin after thinking about Tom standing naked in front of him, so this morning, it was harder than usual. Not wanting to disturb Martin or get caught, James went to the bathroom to take care of himself.

After cumming into his hands, James washed up and waited downstairs for Martin to rise. Sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, he ate his cereal.

It was after half ten, so James thought he might ring up Tom. Hoping he wasn’t sleeping in like Martin.

His mother answered the phone and said she would get Tom for him.

As Tom spoke into the phone, he sounded sleepy. “Hiya.”

“Hi Tom, It’s James. Not still in bed, are you?”

“Yep.”

“Sorry, mate.” James imagined him lying in bed, his quilt falling down his chest to rest on his lap. He wondered what he would see if the quilt was pushed lower and imagined Tom slept naked. As he created this picture in his mind, his dick rose again; thankfully, it was hidden beneath the breakfast bar.

The reality was somewhat different. Tom had gotten up and sat on the edge of his bed clad in cotton pyjamas. They weren’t quite the Batman pyjamas he used to wear as a young boy, but they were just as bright.

“It’s alright. If you hadn’t rung, Mum would have been pounding on my door in a few minutes anyway.”

“I was just wondering what you’re up to today and if you’ve got plans for this afternoon,” James asked.

“Nothing, really. Do you wanna get together? You could come on over here.”

James went on about wanting to get fitter so he didn’t make a fool of himself on camera. He mentioned that he’d not been swimming for almost four years and thought he might try and find his water wings again before they flew out. The last thing he wanted was to get out there and nearly drown.

What a brilliant idea, Tom almost shouted down the phone. He could teach James how to swim like a fish with his training. Tom was getting quite giddy at the thought, and they settled on a time to meet outside the pool.

Scratching his head and then rubbing his eyes, Martin padded into the kitchen. Like James, he did not bother to dress and just wore his underwear. “Mornin’”, Martin yawned and yanked open a cupboard to get the cereal box.

Still sporting a hard-on from his little fantasy about Tom, James snapped his legs shut, almost crushing his balls to hide it from view.

“I’m goin’ in the front room.” Martin poured the milk into his bowl and left James alone.

James waited until his dick had softened before he stood up. Pushing his hand into his briefs, he tucked his dick under his legs so that the bulge was less prominent and joined his brother.

With absent minds, they watched television until Martin had woken up properly. Bored with the television, he looked at James. “Are you ok to start?”

“Sure.”

Upstairs, James started to make his bed. When Martin came in, he could see James’ arse cheeks stretching the fabric of his briefs as he bent over his bed, pulling the creases from his quilt.

Turning, he saw Martin grab his jeans and was about to put them on.

“Hey, why don’t you just do it as you are? I mean, I’m naked, and there’s no one around, and you’d be more comfy. Besides, it might be good practice when I do you.”

Martin frowned but agreed and just set up his easel and paints.

Between sessions and when the paint had dried, Martin covered the painting in a clean cloth and stored it at the side of the wardrobe; it was out of the way. James had never been tempted to take a peek, knowing he would see it when finished. James also respected Martin’s decision not to show it before it was done. It was the same trust he had in Martin not to read his diary.

Slipping off his briefs, James grabbed his diary and pen and took up the pose. After Martin made a few slight adjustments to the photograph he had taken before the first session, he was ready.

Martin then hid behind his easel, working the oils into his palette and brushing them onto the canvas.

Despite several attempts at conversation, James quietly sat while Martin seemed to paint frantically, with a new passion that had not been evident before. Occasionally, he would hear odd words from Martin, such as good, nice, or no. Whenever he said ‘no’, it was followed by some careful and intricate brushwork. Sometimes, Martin would spend several minutes just looking across at James, still and intense. It was all part of his method: connecting with the subject and assimilating the visual cues into his work.

James had never sat for a picture this length of time before and was beginning to feel the strain. It had only been about two hours, but all the previous sessions were short and lasted only an hour. He desperately wanted to ask Martin if they could take a break but felt that Martin was in a flow and was reluctant to break it. He squirmed a little and slouched on the bed to get more comfortable.

Looking up from the canvas, Martin said. “No, that’s not right.” He walked over to James and asked him to sit up. After a few minutes, he got James back in the right pose and walked back to his easel when they heard the front door slam shut.

“Shit, they’re back.” James leapt from the bed and scrambled into his clothes. Martin did the same.

While James went downstairs to greet everybody, Martin stayed in his room and worked on the painting. He explained that it was nearly finished, and he wanted to continue. Asking if he still needed him, James was grateful when the offer was declined. He’d got plenty to work on and should be fine. James left it with an open offer to sit again if needed.

Downstairs, James greeted everyone, and his mother took pride in showing off her new porcelain jardinière she had bought. James appreciatively cooed when she explained it was Victorian. When she asked where Martin was, James explained that he was working on his latest painting and didn’t want to be disturbed.

Their mother then went around the house, finding the perfect place for her new acquisition.

 

Martin emerged from his room sometime later. James had already gone out. He never bothered asking where he was after he had disturbed him about an hour before and stuffed some stuff into his school bag. He barely acknowledged him and only vaguely remembered him saying a few words to him.

As soon as his mother clapped eyes on him, she showed him her new antique and went into great detail about the other items she saw on the stands, which would have looked lovely on the mantle or in the dining room. Their father had conveniently retired to the garden and was pottering around, pulling up the odd weed and trimming the lawn edges.

As he made himself a sandwich, Tony came into the kitchen and whined to his mother about something. Martin was grateful for the peace it gave him from her infernal jabbering on. But as Tony went on, she became increasingly irate with him. Finally, she said very sternly that she wanted a quiet few hours relaxing before she had to start preparing dinner. She added that she would also have to iron the three boys’ clothes to be ready for school and college the next day, and he wasn’t to bother her for another two hours.

Tony looked dejected, but Martin was grateful for the quiet.

Thinking it best to stay out of the way, Martin remained in the kitchen and ate. But Tony was exasperated from getting nowhere with his mother, so he came back, noticed his brother sitting quietly, and started bombarding him with questions.

“Hi.” He got Martin’s attention. “Do you know why James won’t take me swimming with him?”

“Didn’t know he’d gone swimming.”

“Yeah, with that new mate, he met up with yesterday.”

“Well, I think that explains it, you plonker.”

“What?”

“Well, would you want me or James hanging out with your mates?”

“Suppose not. But we’ve not been swimming for years, and I really wanted to go.” Tony started to skulk away before turning back. “What are you up to this afternoon? Will you go with me? Mum won’t let me go on my own.”

“What about your friends?”

“Oh, they’re busy doing something. I don’t know what. Jake’s had to go up north somewhere to see his Gran, but my best mate said he wasn’t free all weekend.”

Martin nodded.

“So, you wanna come with me?”

Tony was banned from sitting and playing his computer games until the evening, and he was bored and sulking. It was a glorious sunny day, and his mother told him he could get out more. She was having none of it when he retorted that he’d been out all morning with them. The main reason for the hassle she was getting from him was because he wasn’t glued to his computer console and, with his friends away, had no idea how to spend his time.

Tony seemed to plead with Martin, asking him if they could do something this afternoon. Tony slowly persuaded him using the same trick his mother had done with him. “You’ve been stuck in your dark and dingy room all morning; you could do with some fresh air.” Martin knew he was right and did not argue.

“I’m not going swimming with you. It won’t be fair.”

“Oh, Martin!”

“It’s not right to gatecrash James when he’s with his friend.” Tony drew a deep breath, “But,” Martin quickly interrupted before he could start, “we will go out this afternoon.”

“And do what?”

“How about we get our bikes out and ride to the duck pond? There’s a park there, and the exercise will do us some good.”

 

James was not the first to arrive at the swimming baths; Tom was waiting for him. He sat on a bench outside, avoiding the eyes of people who passed him to go inside. He sat watching each bus as it went by and stopped at the bus stop a few yards down the road.

As James stepped off his bus, Tom saw him and beamed a smile as they walked towards each other to meet.

The swimming pool wasn’t as busy as he thought it would be. It was only a few weeks before the schools broke up for the long summer holiday, and it was then that he supposed they would be busiest. The young woman behind the reception counter looked tired and bored, barely saying a word to the boys as they handed over the cash and waited for the change.

“Got a 50p for the locker?” Tom asked as they walked along a short corridor to the male changing room.

James dug around in his pocket, retrieving all his copper and silver coins. “Nope.”

“Here y’are. I’ve got two.” Tom thrust the coin over to James.

The changing room was empty when they arrived; it was not the individual cubicles he’d expected. It was a large room with benches and lockers along one wall; everyone would undress and dry themselves in full view of everyone else.

Both boys quickly stripped and stepped into their trunks without glancing at each other. James wore shorts while Tom modelled the new pair of black trunks he’d bought yesterday.

“What do ya think?” Tom asked. “Still look good in them?”

“Sure,” James said, glancing down at the tight fabric which covered him.

James was about to walk to the pool after storing their clothes in a locker and fastening the keys around their writs, but Tom called him back.

“Shower first.” Tom pointed to a notice above James’ head.

They ducked their heads under the showers to wet themselves before going to the pool.

There were three different pools altogether: one was a very small and shallow pool used for the babies, the main pool was just the standard rectangle and another smaller but deeper pool where people dived off a very high diving board. When they arrived, the dive pool was not used and was coned off to prevent the youngsters from climbing the tower.

Attached to the main pool was a hastily erected water flume to cater for the young children. The leisure centre was built over twenty years ago when water flumes weren’t usually built in municipal pools; its inclusion looked out of place. Although kids weren’t bothered about the aesthetics of the flume, they just enjoyed the ride and the splash at the bottom. James saw the orderly queue of teenagers forming, waiting until it was their turn and the lifeguard supervising let them on, one by one. As they splashed into the water, they would swim to the edge of the pool and run to the back of the queue for another go. As they waited, they would chat with their friends, their arms wrapped around their bodies, shivering as the water cooled them.

The noise and screams from the young children playing echoed off the walls, making it louder than it probably was. Several older men and ladies were swimming lengths, trying to avoid the young kids as they dunked and splashed each other. One young boy of about ten or eleven was climbing on his father’s shoulders and jumping off in the path of his older brother, who would dive under the water and grab the young boy’s legs, pulling him under. Sitting on the edge of the pool near the shallow end were three girls, all with immaculate and dry hair. Their costumes were wet, but they were worried that the splashes from the exuberant boys would dampen their hair and ruin it. The last thing they wanted was to walk home with damp and dishevelled hair; that would not be good for their image. As some teenage boys got out of the pool and walked behind them, they would turn and inch forward in case the water dripping from their bodies fell anywhere near them. The boys weren’t bothered and just ignored them, shouting at each other as they ran a few steps and jumped into the pool, almost landing on their mate, who hadn’t noticed they had gone and was just about to swim to the side to join them.

A couple of lifeguards were watching this improvised play. Both were dressed in sweatpants and wore the regulation green council t-shirt, the logo embroidered on the left breast. One sat in his high chair, fiddling with his whistle, which dangled around his neck. The other stood at the base of the high chair and looked up at the young lifeguard. They talked to each other while watching that the young boys’ horseplay didn’t get out of hand.

James dropped himself into the water from the edge as Tom walked over to the deep end, dived in and swam half a length underwater before surfacing and making his way over to James.

“Show off.” James splashed him as he came near.

They both enjoyed their time in the pool. James soon found his water wings again but was struggling to keep up with Tom when they raced each other. Tom would teach him a few techniques to improve his speed and stamina. Breathing was one technique he taught first. James always swam with his head above water, but if he breathed correctly, his head would be down in the water every second stroke, streamlining his body.

James had been taught all these little suggestions before but had forgotten them. As soon as Tom pricked his memory, his swimming lessons when he was seven were flooding back. It’s just like riding a bike, he thought.

The people in the pool were thinning out slightly, and there was a very short queue of cold and eager teenagers waiting for a ride on the flume. James and Tom joined the queue and rode it several times but quickly grew bored of the repetitive and short ride; they had both seen and been on better.

As the clock pointed to its hour, there was a change in lifeguards. A few were replaced, but not all. The flume stayed open, still monitored by an unenthusiastic girl who kept her arm outstretched, blocking the entrance until the person at the top was on their way down. But they both noticed a young man move the cones from the diving platform. Immediately, a group of eager kids ran across and wanted to jump, but the lifeguard slowed them down, gave them some instructions we couldn’t hear and then started to let them up one by one.

It was not opened to allow some proper training; it was just another attraction for the young kids to climb and then bomb into the water from a great height.

“I’ve not tried diving for years,” Tom said, looking at the parade of bodies jumping inelegantly off. “Do you want a go?”

“Too high for me.” James alluded to a fear of heights, and the thought of hitting the water at such speed scared him slightly.

“D’ya mind if I just have a quick go?”

James watched as Tom climbed from the pool and waited behind a young boy. He seemed to be the oldest waiting. He was undoubtedly the tallest and looked somewhat out of place in his black Speedos. James watched as a boy reached the top, stood on the edge and looked down. None of them dived properly; they just jumped from the edge and fell feet-first into the water. This boy seemed reluctant to jump, but the jeering from his mates below tipped him over, and he jumped.

Tom was next, and James vigilantly watched him stride to the end of the platform. He stood with his toes curled around the end and raised his arms above his head. Springing on the balls of his feet, he pushed off the end, tucked his arms down and fell headfirst. His legs followed the curve his body made on take off to trail behind him, his toes pointing to the ceiling.

As his hands penetrated the water, followed by the rest of him, there was raucous cheering and clapping. A group of boys broke from the queue to congratulate him when he climbed out of the pool. Tom smiled and talked to them, but James could not hear what was said. With a few backslaps, the boys left Tom alone and rejoined the queue.

“Show off.” James quipped for the second time.

 

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