Three Tears
by David Heulfryn

 

Chapter Twelve

Tony sat and waited on James’ bed. He was patiently waiting for Martin and James and the moment that Martin showed them the finished painting. Although the painting was not in the room, Tony stared at the empty easel where Martin would place it.

Earlier that evening, Martin took the shrouded canvas into the garage to brush on a clear varnish to help protect the oil; it had to be done out of the house due to the fumes. Martin and James were waiting in the front room, but Tony was too excited. When he was told it was nearly dry, he bolted for Martin’s bedroom, thinking his early presence would mean he would see it earlier.

Their parents had gone out for the evening; they often did this on Fridays to help them unwind for the weekend, leaving the boys home alone; sometimes Tony would go and stay with a friend.

Tony sat alone for nearly ten minutes before trying to hurry up his brothers.

“Oi,” he shouted down the stairs, “are you coming up and doing this or what?” Tony was impatient.

Martin looked at James, and they smiled at each other. “We could keep him waiting up there a bit longer if you like.” Martin mischievously said to James.

“We’d better put him out of his misery, or we won’t get any peace for the rest of the night,” James said.

Martin told James to go up while he fetched the painting.

The garage still smelled strongly of the clear varnish, and as he went over to touch the wooden frame, he thought the canvas was still slightly tacky around the edges. Ideally, it could have done with a further half an hour left to dry, but he loosely tossed over the white covering and gripped it loosely by the inside of the wooden frame.

Tony gasped as Martin pushed open his bedroom door with his elbow and carried in the cloth-covered picture. James sat on his bed next to Tony, his arm around his shoulder to share the moment with him, while Martin placed the picture on the easel, his body blocking their view.

Ensuring the canvas was safe and the white cloth draped unhindered but secured to the top, he stood aside and looked at his brothers.

“James and Tony, you will be the first to see this, my first-ever study of the human form. It’s not perfect, and I still have much to learn, but I hope you like it. And don’t be too harsh in your criticism.”

“Well?” Tony was impatient.

“Ok, here goes.”

Still looking at his brothers, his hand grasped the cloth and gently lifted it from the canvas, draping it over the back of the easel. As the painting came to light, Martin saw Tony’s face drop. It was a picture in itself; his eyes almost bulged from their sockets, his mouth wide open, and his tongue nearly flopping out. Martin’s mind caricatured Tony’s features into some obscene cartoon character, and he smiled.

James cocked his head to the side and looked at his rendering analytically. Beside him, Tony was stuttering, wanting to say something but unsure of what to say.

“I look quite cute.” James ventured. “What do you think, Tony?”

“Bloody hell.” He had finally managed to voice some words.

“I really like that look you’ve captured, the pondering look.”

“Bloody hell.” Now Tony had found his voice, and he had just repeated the first words he had spoken.

“I love the sheen on my skin. It looks so smooth and pure.”

“Bloody hell.” Tony gasped again.

“Oh, will you stop saying ‘bloody hell’!” James raised his voice to Tony. “And tell us if you like it.”

“Bloody hell, you could have warned me. I nearly had a heart attack. Why didn’t you say anything? And why did you let him paint you naked.” He looked at James and then at Martin. “Oh, bloody hell, I asked you if you would paint me. Well, there’s no way I’m doing it like that. You don’t expect me to pose with anything on, do you? Well, I’m not doing it. I can’t. I’d be too embarrassed. Weren’t you embarrassed?” Turning again to James, and finally drew breath.

Both Martin and James were trying very hard to suppress their chuckles. Tony was talking so fast they could get a word in edgeways. But his pause for breath gave Martin an opportunity.

“Tony, just relax. James likes it, and he didn’t mind sitting for me. And don’t worry, I won’t ask you to do the same.”

James, his arm still around Tony’s shoulder, squeezed it. “It’s alright, isn’t it? And it’s not like you’ve not seen me with no clothes on before. What about the other day when I was in the shower.”

“I wasn’t looking, honest.”

“So, now you’ve got over the shock. What do you think?” Martin asked.

Drawing a deep breath, Tony said. “It’s awesome.”

“Great criticism!” Martin said with glee. “Do you think Mum and Dad will like it?”

“Bloody hell,” Tony said again.

“Don’t keep saying bloody hell.” James and Martin said in unison.

“Do they know?”

“No.” Came Martin’s emphatic reply.

“Well, don’t look at me. I’m not telling them.”

“I thought I’d show them when they got back tonight. They’ve always liked my paintings before, and they’ve known we started drawing nudes in college.”

Tony shrugged James’ arm off him and got up to look closer. His eyes were only a few inches from the canvas, examining the James in the painting. “This is cool. Don’t worry if Mum and Dad don’t like it and throw you out on the street for painting such a thing,” he teased, “I still like it. Where’re you gonna hang it? And don’t say the toilet.”

Martin looked over at James. “I suppose it’s up to James and whether or not Mum likes it. I don’t imagine it will go in the front room. Can’t have all the guests ogling my naked brother, can we.”

 

Tony was in bed when their parents got home. Quite unusually, Martin and James waited for them in the living room. Noticing they were still up, they went in to join them. They never got home worse the wear for drink; they would only have a couple of drinks after a meal.

“Hi, boys. What are you still doing up? I expected you both to be in bed.” Their mother sat on the sofa, joined by their father. With the two boys in the armchairs, their parents looked like two naughty kids who had come home after curfew and were about to be lectured.

Martin explained what he had been doing, James chipping in his version and ensuring that it was known that he had wanted to do it. It was fun showing it to Tony and watching his face, shocked and embarrassed. But they both knew they should warn their parents before they saw it. Unlike Tony, who soon laughed at his hysterical reaction, they might not see the funny side later. They lightened the mood slightly by saying what happened when Tony saw it, drawing an uncertain smile from them.

With their parents duly warned and so far not objecting, Martin retrieved his work from the dining room where he had stored it. James waited with his parents, now becoming slightly nervous.

As Martin revealed the painting, their parents said nothing while they looked at it for a few minutes. Their faces gave nothing away as both boys examined their expressions to gauge their reaction.

“It’s quite nice, Martin.” Their mother said. “You look older, James. I can’t work out if it’s the way Martin’s painted you or because you’ve got no clothes on.”

James blushed.

“I think it’s great.” Their father chimed up. “I’ve always said you were talented, Martin.”

“I must say, dear. I wasn’t expecting this. I thought you were working on another landscape.”

“You don’t mind, either of you?” Martin asked.

“Well, as long as James was happy to do it, I don’t suppose we can’t mind. But I do like it.”

“Good.” Martin heaved a sigh of relief. “I’m going to give it to James. Let him keep it and put it where he wants.”

“Ah, thanks, Martin.” James wasn’t expecting it. Martin had never given away a picture before but usually stored the ones his mother hadn’t hung around the house in the garage. “We’ll get it framed first, and then I’ll decide where to put it. I think it might be best in our bedroom, don’t you think.” He looked at his mother, who nodded. “I don’t think it deserves to be hidden away. Thanks, Martin.”

The brothers thought it better to leave their parents alone for a while, so Martin covered the painting in its protective cloth, and they both went upstairs to their room, where Martin handed over the canvas.

“Thanks, James. I couldn’t have done it without you. You were such a great model and such a great help.”

James took his gift and rested it against his wardrobe. They undressed in silence and got into bed, James turning off the light.

Although they slept in the same room together, they never said goodnight to each other. But tonight, James felt like saying it.

“Goodnight, Martin.”

“Goodnight.”

They both rustled their duvets as they turned, closed their eyes and waited for sleep.

 

It was Saturday morning, and Martin was the first one up. He looked across at James, who was still snoring lightly. On his way out to the bathroom, Martin stood over James and looked at his white face, closed eyes, and dark curly eyelashes. Sighing, he left James to sleep and went to empty his bladder.

Downstairs, he sat quietly in the front room, eating his breakfast while he heard sounds telling him his mother was now up and about.

“Morning, Dear.” She said as she passed through the living room to start breakfast. “I’m doing some bacon and eggs for me and your Dad. Do you want some?”

“No thanks. I’m going out in a bit.”

 

After a short bus ride and a short walk, he was knocking at Phil’s door. It opened abruptly, as if Phil was waiting nearby until Martin came, his face beaming. Phil lived in a bog standard three-bedroomed semi-detached house built in the 1960s with his parents in a small town close to the city where Martin lived. Phil was the only one left living with his parents, his brother having graduated and moved out years ago. Now that their two boys had grown up, Phil’s parents spent much of their time together doing the things they couldn’t do when they had young children. They were nearing retirement, and so they were beginning to feel comfortable in that lifestyle of leisure, which a lifetime of saving into a pension plan gave them. His parents were married young but didn’t start a family until they were in their thirties. It was a bit later than normal back then, but Phil’s father often worked away for weeks and didn’t feel it fair to burden his wife with all the responsibility of young children. Besides, he also wanted to be involved. Today, Phil explained his parents were visiting a ruined abbey and wouldn’t return until late afternoon. Sometimes, Phil would go with them just for a day out, but mostly, he preferred the time it afforded him to be alone.

With the front door safely shut, they kissed and hugged each other before Phil showed Martin to the living room. They sat on the sofa together, Phil wrapping his arm around Martin and pulling up nearer so Martin’s head rested on his shoulder. Martin liked how Phil held him. It made him feel safe and wanted.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, just holding on to each other before Phil offered Martin a drink, and they went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Martin thought the house was inoffensively decorated, with not too many floral patterns that often betrayed the indulgent woman of the household.

“I’ve got to show you my scrapbook, haven’t I?” Phil said as they returned to the living room. He placed his mug of tea on a side table by the sofa and bounded upstairs. Martin smiled at how he seemed like a little kid, excited to show off his achievements.

It was a thick, heavy black book that charted Phil’s short career as a model. The early pictures were of him at about age eight posing in various school clothes and went through to the teen and moody looking Phil in some wannabe street clothes that would never have looked that trendy on a kid. His face went from the angelic, cute boy next door to the hard, steely stare of a teen who thought himself the top dog, his arms arrogantly folded across his chest. The hard teen look gave way to a teen in pyjamas, hair slightly ruffled and looking like the good boy who would get embarrassed when an elderly relative would look at him and still think him sweet.

Martin enjoyed looking at the pictures; it was a way of knowing him even more, and it felt less embarrassing than pulling out the baby pictures. The book ended with a picture of Phil, around fourteen, crouching on a beach in baggy swim shorts and an over-the-top Hawaiian shirt.

“Then that’s it, until a few years ago.”

In a large envelope, tucked away after the last page, Phil rummaged and pulled out some more pictures which he had yet to put in the book. There weren’t very many, and he looked about seventeen in them.

“And that’s it, apart from the corporate vids. I might dig those out later to show you how bad I am at acting.”

The morning had worn on, and it was nearly lunchtime. Phil took Martin out for lunch, and they walked to a local pub that Phil said served excellent food. The pub was set slightly back from a river bank, protected only by a six-foot bank. The incline wasn’t too steep and could easily be climbed by the fishermen to venture over and across the wild undergrowth to the river bank. The pub itself was old, with low doors and ceilings. Both Phil and Martin had to duck their heads under the door and could only just stand up straight as they walked to the bar, occasionally cocking their heads to one side to miss the oak beams that traversed the ceiling. It was not your regular chain pub but a ‘Free House’, a pub not affiliated to a chain or brewery and a type that is becoming rare. The food they served wasn’t the usual deep-fried or cooked from frozen offerings, but properly cooked and served food, which you would expect to find in a good restaurant. The place seemed dark and cold, except where the owners had placed the light fittings. Standing near those, as the ceiling was low, you felt a heat which might burn your skin. Martin thought the pub was cosy as they settled on a table in a corner, in one of the many nooks, and out of sight of the bar.

Martin ordered the Dover Sole in a Dill and Cream Sauce, and Phil ordered the ‘Stuffed Chicken Breast with Apricots’. They sipped their pints of real ale as they waited for their order.

Phil rarely came to the pub, and only then, with his parents, when they would go out for a drink or a meal. He liked the atmosphere and would have loved to come more often, but he never had anyone to meet here and never felt like drinking alone. Now that he had shown Martin, he hoped they would come here together again; Phil started imagining that everything he did was with Martin.

After the meal and a couple of pints, they took a leisurely walk before returning to Phil’s house. Phil took him along the riverbank, and Martin was amazed at just how many fishermen were dotted along, waiting patiently for the fish to bite. The morning clouds dissipated, and the midday sun beamed as they walked. The heat caused them both to sweat slightly, giving their skin a moist glow in the sunlight.

The path they walked veered away from the river and curved back on itself to return to the village and the small clutch of houses where Phil lived. Once back in the house, they relaxed in the front room again. This time, the television played to itself as Phil leaned over, and they began to kiss on the sofa. Martin brought his hands around Phil and started feeling his way over his muscular back and down to his buttocks. He gripped what he could find and tugged at his shirt to get his hand underneath to feel his skin.

Phil’s back felt warm and clammy from the walk, but Martin didn’t care. He would lower his hands and ease his fingers down the moist crack that appeared at the top of Phil’s backside before feeling his way back up his body and rubbing his tense and strong shoulders. Martin could feel his dick was hard and straining inside his jeans, but Phil never touched it. Instead, Phil teased Martin’s hair and stroked his neck and ears.

Feeling about to burst, Martin groaned just as Phil leant forward, pushing him down to lie on his back, his head resting on the padded arm of the sofa. Phil rested on top of Martin and could now feel the hard lump in Martin’s crotch as it tried to drill free and into Phil.

Martin could now hold on to Phil’s entire backside and slipped his hands underneath his trousers and into his underwear. He felt the hard mounds, kneaded them and grasped them, pulling them apart so that Phil could feel the air against his hole.

Phil now ventured to touch Martin’s hard bulge again and rubbed it as his tongue darted inside Martin’s mouth. Instinctively, Martin began to squirm and rub his crotch against the hand that felt him. He wanted that hand inside his trousers to touch him properly.

They heard the doorbell ring, and Phil lifted his head, breaking their passionate kiss. “Oh, shit. Who the hell is that?”

Martin felt his heart thumping in his chest and was virtually panting.

It rang again, and Phil got off Martin and stood up. Before going to the door, he plunged his hand down his trousers to rearrange the noticeable bulge and camouflage it.

Martin heard the door open, some muffled voices, and it closed again. Phil came back.

“It was only Jehovah’s. I said I was an atheist, and they soon went.”

Now sitting up, Martin had caught his breath, and Phil sat beside him. The moment had been broken, and the stiff bulges that ached within their trousers had calmed down.

“Why don’t I show you those corporate vids I told you about?”

Phil rummaged beside the television in the back of the video cabinet and dragged out three tapes. They weren’t long, and Phil would fast-forward the bits he wasn’t in. Martin agreed with him. His acting was terrible.

Unsure whether to show a fourth tape, he chewed his lip as the last one was rewinding. He was not ashamed or embarrassed about it, so he decided to show Martin.

As the tape began, Phil explained that he had done a sex ed video. As the narration started, it slowly dawned on Martin what he was about to watch. He’d not seen it since four months after James had come home from filming it, and it dropped through the letterbox, addressed to his mother.

When the three naked boys came on screen, he immediately recognised a younger Phil as the oldest of the three and his brother James.

Martin bolted and ran out the front door, leaving it swinging as it slammed against the wall.

 

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