by John Harris
“I guess… if you like that kind of stuff.” John glowered at Liam. “What do you really want from my son? I see a man who preys on young men. Don’t think that I’ve never seen your type before. You’re obviously not here for my daughter, and that would be sick enough… but my son. Promising to make him famous so that you can ravage him.”
Liam raised his hands, alarmed. “You’re getting this all wrong…”
“Am I really? You’re a fag—you’re not interested in this stuff.” The last word shot out of his mouth with contempt.
Liam sighed, “Ryan, you have my contact details. My offer still stands. So, if you want to display your work in two weeks, I’d be more than happy to accommodate you—”
“I’ll bet you would.”
“Dad, you’re impossible.” Ryan stepped forward. Up until now, he had been shocked by his father’s intense displeasure and rudeness. “Liam, I would love to provide my work for the exhibition.”
Liam smiled wanly. “Good, but don’t forget the one extra piece.”
Ryan shrugged. He still had no idea what the gallerist was implying.
“Sure, I know exactly what you want,” said Amber. She was eager to get Liam away before her dad made any more ridiculous comments.
“Mr. Mitchell, I think this my cue. I would have so liked to have met your mother, Ryan and Amber. Good day, Mr. Mitchell.” Liam spun on his heels and headed for the exit.
When he was out of sight, Amber turned to her dad. “Dad, what the hell do you think you were doing?”
“That guy was a fag,” John scoffed his disgust. “Good riddance, if you ask me. Now come on, let’s eat.” Without waiting for a reply, he stalked out of the garage.
Ryan and Amber exchanged a few horror-stricken looks. After a moment, Amber said, “I think it’s time you found your own place, Ryan. You’ll never get on if you stay here.”
Ryan sighed deeply. “Where am I supposed to go?” I can’t afford to move out just yet.”
“Don’t be stupid. You can come and live with me.” Amber patted her brother on the shoulder. “For as long as you like.”
The relief on Ryan’s face was palpable. “Really?”
“Of course. What are big sisters for?” Amber turned to the artwork and sighed. “I knew he wasn’t always easy to get along with, but I never expected him to be so narrow-minded.”
“Me neither.”
“We better get inside, put on a happy face, and break the news that you’re moving in with me.”
“Why bother. I’ve lost my appetite after what Dad just did.”
“It’s not Mom’s fault that Dad’s such a prick sometimes. Come on, Ryan. It would break her heart if we just left without having dinner with her.”
Ryan nodded, “I guess.”
“Are you done, bro?” Amber walked into the large open-plan living room in her apartment. Her place was in the center of the city and not far from Century City, in fact. Having received no answer, she called out to him again. “Hey, Ryan. How’s it coming?”
“What? What did you say?”
“My, my, do all true geniuses get lost in another world when they work?” Amber threw her handbag on the sofa. She walked up to her brother, who had created a workspace in the corner of her apartment where the light was perfect. “Fuck, Ryan. That looks incredible. I see you’re finally opening up.”
Ryan felt the heat rise up to his head. “It’s the only thing that came to mind when I considered my other paintings.”
Amber arched her eyebrows. It was she who had given him the idea. She had subtly directed her brother in the right direction. Despite having Ryan’s easel occupying center-stage in her home, this was the first time she had laid eyes on the near-finished work. Her brother had taken special care to keep it hidden from prying eyes. He was superstitious in that way. He claimed that showing the painting before it was nearly finished invited ill fortune.
Amber placed her right hand on her brother’s shoulder. She felt a slight tremor there. “Don’t worry, Ryan. It’s gorgeous.” She studied the meticulous brushstrokes that crisscrossed the large canvas. Occasionally, Ryan had added thick dollops of color, creating a kind of hilly landscape, so that even a blind man could see the painting with just his hands. The detail was exquisite in so many ways. Somehow, Ryan had managed to take the observer down a path of infinite distractions, leading them away from the actual image on the picture.
“You like it?”
“Like it! That’s probably the weakest word I would use when describing this.” Amber took in a deep breath. “You are truly incredible, Ry. Liam will be really stoked when he sees this. Can you finish it in time for the exhibition tomorrow?”
Ryan shrugged, “Sure, I have no choice. Do I? If I work for the rest of the afternoon and the night, I’ll be done.”
“Don’t wear yourself out. You also have to be present at this thing tomorrow. You’ll be no good to Liam half asleep.”
“I’m unimportant. The painting is what counts.” Ryan added a deft stroke of the brush across the upper part of the canvas. His lips were pursed and his brow was pleated. “I think this is the best thing I have ever done.”
Amber nodded, “It has something veritably sexual about it.” She frowned, “I can’t quite place it yet.”
Ryan smiled, “As always, you’re very quick on the uptake.”
“The sexuality is clear, but this has a deeper meaning.”
“You’re right and I’m not going to tell you. Every onlooker must establish his or her own relationship with the painting. If I tell you everything, all the fun goes out the window.”
“Not even a hint, Ryan?” Amber gave him her cutest look. It had always worked in the past.
“No, Amber.” Ryan was a different man when he worked. There was no budging him. Once more, his entire focus was on his masterpiece. He spent a moment mixing various colors on a wooden board. He nodded when he had the hue he desired. Carefully, he added a few brushstrokes. The act appeared trivial. It was something only a true artist would do—a minor addition that made such a difference.
“When can I tell Liam to come and pick it up?”
Ryan grunted something unintelligible. Amber looked at her brother carefully. His facial expression was so different. It was as if he had an awakening. The way he looked at the person on the canvas was with such emotion—feelings that potentially bordered on love. Amber had never seen her brother in love before. He used his brush as if he caressed the rough surface and the contours of the figure. Artist, color and canvas had created a symbiosis, fashioning something so powerful that seemed like an explosion.
“What do you want for dinner?” Amber looked at her brother’s profile. He was lost. Trapped in another world. She went to the kitchen to prepare something, anyway. While she chopped onions, her mind began to wander.
She had become used to Ryan’s detached manner since he’d moved into her apartment two weeks ago. Naturally, their dad had brushed off the whole incident with Liam, and with Ryan moving. Their mom was sad, but understood that her son had to make his own way in life. Amber enjoyed having Ryan around. She would have preferred him to be a little more sociable, but in the scheme of things, if this painting turned out to be his breakthrough, it would all be worth it.
“I’m done,” Ryan said, three hours later.
Amber looked up from the magazine she was reading. The lasagna was in the oven and nearly finished. “I thought you said you had to work all night.”
“Some very clever person recently told me the artist has to be fit at the exhibition.” Ryan shrugged. “Besides, what is there to add if everything has already been added?”
Amber chuckled, “Yeah. May I take a peek?”
“Sure, sis. It’s finished… and I’m ready for people to look at it.”
Amber walked over to the easel. “Oh my God,” she gasped. Automatically, her hand shot up to her mouth. “It’s even more beautiful than before… I didn’t know that you could change so much in
the space of three hours.”
Ryan nodded, “The end is always the most potent. Look here.” He took Amber’s hand and guided it over the rough patches of paint. “If this painting becomes world famous then you are one of the few who ever got to touch it.”
“Is it dry yet?”
Ryan chuckled. “It doesn’t matter, even if you smudge it who will know the difference? It’s an abstract, right.”
Amber nodded. She still wasn’t sure. As she let her brother guide her trembling fingers over the canvas, her eyes gorged themselves on the incredible use of color. She continued to be lost in the distraction he had created. Gradually, the true intent of this work of art began to take hold. Amber swallowed deeply when she at last understood the veritable implications of this work for her brother.
“Oh, Ryan. I always knew.”
“Knew what, sis?” Ryan still smiled. He was lost in the little world he had created.
“That you were—”
The doorbell rang.
Startled, Ryan asked, “Who’s that?”
“I asked Juan to come over for dinner.” Amber’s mind was still busy working everything out. She knew something about her brother that he appeared not to know about himself. It was weird and no matter how much she wanted to help him, she decided to take it slow.
“Cool—we can celebrate a little. You know the only reason Juan’s coming over is to get a first-hand peak at the painting before the unveiling tomorrow.”
With her confused thoughts about her brother relegated to the back of her mind, Amber laughed. “Yeah, that’s so typical of Juan.” She soon became serious. “What do you think he’s going to say when he sees it?”
Ryan chuckled, “I’m going to be spending the rest of the evening trying to convince him that I’m not gay.”
Amber willed her brother with her eyes to say more, but he didn’t.
“What’s so bad about being gay?” The words slipped out of her mouth before she had the chance to stop them. In seconds, heat rose up to her head.
“Nothing at all, Amber.” Not taking the unintended bait, Ryan walked off to the front door to let Juan in. “Jesus, Amber, that smells great. Lasagna, cool.”
A flurry of enthusiastic greetings followed. Kisses first, and then Juan shot into the apartment like a hornet with a target. His destination was the other side of the room where the finished painting stood. “Dios mio! Ryan, it’s absolutely magnificent. I love it.”
Ryan arched his eyebrows, waiting for the inevitable. He winked at his sister, who prepared the salad in the kitchen.
Juan peered around the canvas. “You finally painted something worthy of you.”
Ryan laughed, “You never saw the others, Juan.”
“I didn’t need to. I know that they are nothing like this. And besides, I will see them tomorrow.” Juan walked toward him, took his hand, and guided him to the kitchen. But within moments, he was flitting about the kitchen, helping Amber with the final food preparations.
The rest of the evening passed by in the way it should when friends share a meal. Juan told Ryan everything that had happened at the boutique in his absence. Mrs. Birkhead had been cool about Ryan taking a few weeks off to pursue his passion. After Juan and Amber shared a joke, Juan turned to Ryan, who was lost in thought. The painting was still at the forefront of his mind.
“Ryan,” Juan said, attempting to break him out of his reverie. “Ryan.”
“Yeah?”
“Mason came around to the boutique with his wife the other day.”
Ryan looked up, “Uh-huh.” His reaction in no way portrayed what he felt upon hearing this news.
“Mrs. Birkhead was stoked.”
Amber had never seen him look so pensive.
“He was looking for another thing for her,” continued Juan.
“I thought as much,” Ryan took a sip of wine.
“They bought lots of stuff.”
“That’s good. You must’ve made a really good commission,” Ryan sighed deeply. He retired to the large living room. When he reached the other side, he faced his painting. Ryan pressed his lips together.
Back at the table, Juan and Amber exchanged puzzled glances. Ryan was behaving so strangely. They watched him as he looked at the painting in total silence.
“What is it with you and Mason, anyway?” asked Amber.
Ryan didn’t answer.
“Ryan, did you hear what I said?”
“What, sis?” He looked up. His face was a tapestry of confusion.
“I asked, what’s the deal with you and Mason?”
Ryan shrugged, “There’s nothing. I just met him that one time.”
Amber chuckled, “It doesn’t look like nothing, Ryan. To me, it looks like love at first sight.”
Juan nodded energetically.
“Love at first sight? And who am I supposed to be in love with, sis?” Ryan returned the table. “I think I’m going to bed. I’m bushed.”
Amber shrugged her shoulders. “If you say so, brother. You do have a big day tomorrow.” She hugged Ryan. “Don’t think so much. It will turn out right if you don’t force it.”
Ryan nodded. He felt weird. Hearing Mason’s name for the first time in weeks had reawakened dormant emotions; feelings he thought were lost and long forgotten. He was suddenly reminded of the handsome man sitting on the sofa in the boutique. The smile and confident manner that had so enthralled him. For a heartbeat, Ryan could imagine his strong physique hidden under his clothing. The notion gave him the irresistible urge to be alone in his room.
“I got to get some sleep now.” He kissed his sister and for the first time, Ryan hugged Juan tightly. “Sleep well, guys.”
****
Ryan could hear Amber and Juan talking while they did the dishes. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but somehow, he had the notion they were talking about him, but he was past caring. All he wanted to do was get under the hot shower and wash off all the paint and sweat. He always tended to sweat when he worked. It was a sort of emotional release coupled with the nerves he felt when doing something he loved so much.
He closed the bathroom door behind him and flipped the lock. Ryan didn’t know why he did that. He just had the burning need to have total privacy, and his sister had the tendency to barge in without knocking. Ryan ran the water in the shower. While he waited for it to heat up, he stripped off his clothing. Standing naked in front of the mirror, he took a moment to study his body. He liked the fact that he was fit and lean.
He let out a relieved sigh when the hot water hit his muscles, relaxing them immediately. Under the hot cascade, Ryan thought of the painting in the living room. It had been his entire world for two weeks. All he thought about and everything he dreamed. It was the first time in his life that he had felt such a close connection to his work.
Apart from the sound of the falling water, he stood there in silence. Ryan leaned against the wall with one hand, letting the water hit his body for a few moments. The stiffness in his muscles from standing, hunched in front of the canvas, seemed to evaporate in the heat—but not everywhere, Ryan confirmed and looked down.
“Jesus!” he hissed when he saw the raging hard-on protruding from his body. It had been ages since he last masturbated. Usually, he did it on a daily basis, but the focus on his work had robbed him of any desire. In a way, the completion of the painting provided him with the necessary release, and Ryan’s body responded in kind.
Ryan sighed as the pleasurable pain of his throbbing cock took hold. He knew that there was only one way he could find sleep that night. If he didn’t want his dreams to be ravaged by racy images, Ryan needed to let off steam. He convinced himself that his body was doing him a favor.
Ryan’s right hand slid down his body. He lightly gripped his legs, looking up to let the water run onto his face and into his open mouth. It felt so good to feel the splash hit his tongue. “What’s got me so horny?” he croaked. Slowly, Ryan began to massage his cock in a rhythmic up-and
-down motion.
He stopped when a thought popped into his head. It was like a wildfire that birthed from one tiny spark and transformed into a raging inferno. Ryan’s skin tingled. The heat from the water and the flicker ignited from within coursed over him until he saw only one thing - one person: Mason Whitelock.
“Oh my God.”
Mason sat on the boutique’s sofa, flashing his sexy smile. Ryan’s cock responded by thumping harder, as if all the blood therein wanted to find some escape and free him from this delightful torment. He struggled for a moment; trying to superimpose the image with that of the last time he had sex with his ex-girlfriend. The effort was futile. Ryan’s mind was full of the burly, manly physique and the heady imagery of strong muscles and powerful hands.
No, no not him. I can’t think of him—anyone but him. It was hard for Ryan to accept that he was so attracted to the man he hardly knew, a guy whose movies he had never even watched. The hardest thing for Ryan to accept was that he was hard for a man. Usually when he self-pleasured, he just beat off until he came. When he had sex with a woman, it was more or less the same—a means to an end.
“No, no! This is not right!”
The veins in Ryan’s cock thickened in protest. He abruptly removed his wet fingers from his cock. The eager rhythmic pumping motion ceased, destroying the tingling and burning sensation of a nascent orgasm.
Breathing heavily, Ryan reproached himself for thinking of Mason so intimately. What’s wrong with me? How can I think of a guy and get hard? He looked down, and his cock seemed to stare back at him. It resembled a glistening marble column that protruded proudly from his body. There was no way that it was going to go away without some help on his part.
Turning to face the wall, Ryan tried to think of anything other than Mason and the persistent itch between his legs. Moving his head back under the jet stream from the showerhead, he closed his eyes. Every attempt at thinking of something else was met by resistance—Mason’s face flitting behind his closed eyelids.
