A Portrait of Emily

by J. P. Bowie

“It is, but it’s the bread and butter stuff that keeps the doors open.”

  Peter had his own thoughts on that topic, but decided wisely to keep them to himself. The one and only argument they’d had since Jeff had moved in had involved finances. Peter hadn’t wanted Jeff to pay him rent.

  “I don’t need it,” he’d said at the time. “And if your expenses are less you won’t have to work so hard. You can be here at home with me.”

  Jeff had looked at him like he had three heads. “I certainly will pay my share. I will not be your kept man, Peter.”

  Peter, realizing he’d maybe acted too cavalier, tried to lighten the moment by saying, “Well if not my kept man, how about my love slave?”

  “I think I’m that already,” Jeff had growled, pulling Peter into his arms. And that had been the end of that particular conversation.

  Peter called Emily when he got home, and after checking with Jerry and Anthony, she called back to say they could all make it. “I was so surprised when Anthony said yes, Peter. We haven’t been anywhere together in ages. And for him to visit people he doesn’t know, it’s amazing. Of course, I did tell him you were the one painting my portrait and he seemed keen to meet you.”

  “Well, Jeff and I are looking forward to meeting him and to having you and Jerry here. My mother is joining us, by the way.”

  “Really?”

  “I hope you don’t mind.” Peter could hear the surprise in Emily’s voice.

  “Oh, of course not…She seems really nice.”

  “Uh, by the way…have you spoken to Jerry yet about…you know…?”

  “No, I haven’t. Not yet. I haven’t found the courage.”

  “Only, I was thinking, maybe you should give that a little more thought.”

  Emily was quiet for a moment. “You think it might change things?”

  Peter sighed impatiently. “I hate talking about this on the phone. Maybe we could talk about it again when we’re alone—probably best not say anything just yet.”

  “All right Peter, I won’t. Honestly, it’s an easy thing to agree to.”

  After his conversation with Emily, Peter went upstairs to his studio and worked on her portrait for a while. He found her an easy subject and so far he was pleased with the expression he had captured. Not sad, not exactly smiling. A look of thoughtfulness was how he thought of it.

  Peter liked to convey that expression in people he found interesting. He had used it when he had painted Andrew, although that had been mixed with a certain sensuality. Here, in Emily’s clear blue eyes, there was nothing but innocence. The irony was not lost on Peter. He grimaced as he thought again of what Emily had confessed to him. In his wildest imaginings, he could not begin to come close to feeling the terror she must have endured all those years. He put his brush down and gazed at the sweet face on the canvas. How had she managed to come out of it as well as she had? There was no doubt in Peter’s mind that Emily was one strong girl. He heard the door close downstairs, then Jeff’s footsteps mounting the stairs.

  “Hi there, you.” He walked over to kiss Peter hello then looked at the portrait.

  “Wow, you’ve done a lot since I last looked.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you’ve done it again. Another masterpiece.”

  “I’ll bet you say that to all the artists you know.”

  “Yep, I do.” Jeff hugged Peter from behind, resting his chin on Peter’s shoulder while he studied the portrait. “I think you’ve outdone yourself this time. I don’t know how, and that’s because I’m not an artist, but you just make your subjects seem so real. Not just paint on a canvas, but real warm flesh and blood.”

  “Thank you, kind sir.” He leaned back into Jeff’s embrace and rubbed his face against Jeff’s. The feel of the late afternoon stubble on Jeff’s cheek caused a ripple of desire to course through Peter’s body. He wriggled his rump against the growing bulge he could feel pushing into his butt.

  “One of these days I want you to sit for me. Naked, of course.”

  “What happened to that photographic memory of yours?”

  “Oh, I can conjure up every little detail vividly…”

  “Hey, not so much of the little.”

  Peter laughed, turning in Jeff’s arms to nuzzle his neck. “Nuthin’ little about you, baby. Wanna show me just how big it gets?”

  Jeff chuckled. “How could I resist that oh so eloquent invitation?”

  Peter pushed his crotch into Jeff’s hardness. “Obviously you can’t. Mmm…I think I just might have to take care of this big problem right now.”

  Jeff’s lips on Peter’s brought them both an immediate and welcome rush of desire, and in a flash their shirts were flung aside, pants were discarded, and their naked bodies were pressed together while they sucked on each other’s tongues.

  Jeff lifted Peter into a bear hug and carried him out of the studio into their bedroom.

  “We’ve still got our socks on,” Peter said, looking at their feet as Jeff deposited him on the bed.

  “Kinky,” Jeff murmured against Peter’s ear.

  “Kinky or not, they’re coming off.”

  “Allow me.” Jeff slowly stripped Peter’s socks off then nibbled on his toes. “You have such pretty feet,” he said between nibbling and licking.

  “Uh…” Peter curled his toes in protest. “That tickles.”

  “How ‘bout this then?” Jeff released the sensitive feet and kissed his way up Peter’s legs, rubbing his bristled jaw over Peter’s inner thighs, smiling as he forced little moans and whimpers from Peter’s throat.

  “Like that better, huh?”

  “Love it…”

  Jeff took Peter’s hard cock between his lips and swirled his tongue over the head.

  “Love you doing that too.”

  Jeff sucked his way down to the blond, springy curls at the root of Peter’s cock, then back up, dragging his tongue over the underside, swirling once again over the head. His hands caressed the sides of Peter’s torso then roamed over his hard, ridged abdomen, finding his nipples, teasing them until they stiffened between his fingers.

  His lips moved up and down over Peter’s throbbing cock. He caressed and gently squeezed Peter’s balls then slid one finger over the soft skin of his perineum and into the cleft between his buttocks.

  Peter squirmed over the invading finger, drawing it up inside him, gasping aloud as it passed over his sweet spot, sending jolts of unadulterated pleasure through his blood.

  “Uh…oh God, Jeff…” Peter’s moans intensified and he arched his hips upwards, driving his cock deeper into Jeff’s mouth. His hands twisted in Jeff’s thick, wavy hair. His eyes rolled back in his head as he gave himself up to the ecstasy of Jeff’s strong, rhythmic sucking.

  “Can’t hold back…” He was so close to coming and he almost groaned with disappointment when Jeff released him. But then Jeff was kissing his way back up over Peter’s writhing body, sending delicious and irresistible frissons of pleasure through him.

  “Fuck me…”

  “That’s the plan…”

  Jeff reached for the lube, coating his cock and Peter’s ass with an urgency that had both men breathing heavily, almost panting with desire.

  Peter raised his hips and wound his legs around Jeff’s waist as Jeff guided his erection into Peter’s slick opening, penetrating him with one long slow glide. Peter’s body arched, not in protest at the burning sting, but with the rapture that followed the brief pain. He gazed up into Jeff’s eyes and saw his own reflection there, his expression one of complete bliss. Jeff’s mouth covered his, his tongue slipping past Peter’s parted lips, the effect as erotic as Jeff’s cock that moved deep inside him, each pass over Peter’s prostrate like an electric shock through his blood.

  Jeff’s groan told Peter he was close. He grasped his erection and pumped it to their quickening rhythm. The thrusts came harder, faster, their kiss deepened and they came together, their sweat slicked bodies shuddering in each o
ther’s arms, their moans muffled by the kiss that went on and on, heightening their mutual orgasms.

  “Wow…” Peter could barely breathe, yet he kept Jeff pressed against him, loving the weight of his muscular body on top of him, the hammering of his heart thumping in time with his own.

  Jeff kissed Peter’s nose. “My thoughts exactly.” He rolled onto his side, keeping Peter close. “Love you.”

  Peter snuggled deeper into Jeff’s arms. “Love you too,” he said trying to suppress a yawn. He closed his eyes and let sleep carry him away.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Patricia Hastings watched from her bedroom window as Emily, Jerry, and Anthony climbed into Jerry’s car and drove off. She felt a stab of jealousy as she recognized that Emily and Anthony were once again as close as they had been before he went away.

  She had enjoyed the fact that things seemed a bit strained between them in the weeks that Anthony had been home. Patricia did not like either of her daughters. She loved Anthony only. Her son had been the only happiness she had ever gleaned from her family. Her daughters were obstacles to her happiness, especially when they had spun their wild stories about their father’s perversions.

  What if anyone had ever found out?

  A long time ago she had convinced herself that the only way to deal wither husband’s perversion was to act as if it had never really happened. He had threatened her with the loss of her home and public humiliation. She knew, only too well, that he was capable of carrying out his threats…and what would happen to Anthony then?

  What had happened to him? She was still unsettled by their conversation the other night.

  “No mother, he didn’t.”

  His words echoed in her head. What had that meant? Intuitively, she knew Anthony was hiding something from her. She suspected he had confided in Emily, though. She’d never get it out of her—Little Miss Loyalty. She knew Anthony had made a habit of visiting Emily in her room over the past few nights. She had heard him knock on his sister’s door and the murmur of voices from inside. She had searched both their rooms for some clue, but found nothing.

  Climbing the stairs, she paused outside the door to Emily’s room. They’d be gone for hours…she had plenty of time. The door was locked, but Patricia produced a key from her housecoat pocket. As she opened the door and flipped on the lights, she gasped with surprise. There, on the floor by the bed, was a leather bound book…obviously a journal of some kind. Patricia picked it up and flicked through some of the pages. Her eyes narrowed as she began to read the latest entry:

  Knowing Jerry has given me new hope for the future. With him, I’m no longer afraid. Even the terrible things my father did to me seem bearable when I’m with Jerry. I love him so much. I never thought it possible I could love anyone as much as I love him. All these years I thought hatred would be my strongest emotion—hatred for my father—but in Jerry’s arms I feel that I am loved by a truly wonderful person. I can hardly wait for the day he takes me out of this house of misery, away from my father’s alcoholic rages and my mother’s indifference. I’m so happy Anthony came to talk to me last week. His friendship has always been important to me. I am so sorry for what he’s been through and I pray he will meet someone who can love him and give him the happiness he deserves.

  Patricia thumbed back through some of the earlier entries and discovered they went back only a month or two. Years ago she had discovered a journal of Emily’s, filled with details of her father’s nightly visits to her bedroom. Furiously, she had ripped it to pieces and flung it in her daughter’s face, screaming at her to stop imagining this filth. She had thought then that it would end there, but obviously she’d been wrong. Emily must have gone on writing in secret and hiding her journals…but where?

  My God! If anyone should ever read them and believe that what she has written is true…

  Kneeling, she looked under the bed to see if there were any more volumes tucked away, but found none. Emily must have dropped this one in her haste to leave tonight. Couldn’t wait to rub herself all over that Jerry, probably. Patricia sneered at what she perceived to be her daughter’s foolishness.

  Let her marry the man and then find out just what a pig he really is. It’ll serve her right…all men are swine, disgusting pigs that rut and slobber over you, then leave you at the drop of some other pretty girl’s pants! All men—except my darling Anthony.

  How she wished he would show confidence in her the way he used to. It wasn’t her fault Charles had sent him to military school. What was it Emily had referred to in this last entry? What had he been through? Why wouldn’t he confide in her instead of Emily?

  “Damn her,” she muttered. “First she takes my husband from me—and now my son.”

  Angrily, she flung the journal down on the floor and left the room, slamming the door behind her. She crossed the landing to her room, unlocked her dresser’s bottom drawer, and pulled out a small locked box. Some years before, she had stolen one of Emily’s journals. It was filled with the same crazy imaginings she had berated the girl for earlier, but this time she had not torn it up. She had read it through and had taken some kind of twisted pleasure from Emily’s fear. She had not read since then, but now she felt impelled to reread and relish Emily’s account of the nightmare both she and her sister endured for all those years.

  § § § §

  Peter looked at Eve with admiration as she stood in the middle of the living room talking animatedly with his three guests. Elegant and vivacious as ever, it was hard to believe she was even old enough to be his mother. More like an older sister, really. Emily was gazing at her almost with adoration and Peter knew without a doubt she was comparing Eve with her own mother. Poor Patricia wouldn’t come out of that comparison very favorably.

  Peter walked over to the group carrying their drinks on a tray. “Here we are,” he said, bowing slightly like a good maitre d’. “Chardonnay for the ladies, Scotch and water for you Jerry, and a vodka tonic for Anthony.”

  “Thank you.” Emily winked at him over her glass. “Where’s Jeff?”

  “Oh, he’s running a little late. And I asked him to stop and pick up some more wine for dinner. He’ll be here shortly.”

  Anthony took the proffered glass. “Thanks for inviting me, Peter. You have such a great house and that painting over the fireplace is to die for. It’s so…powerful.”

  He looked again at the seascape Peter had painted years earlier. Its dramatic sweep and color never failed to inspire admiration from its viewers.

  “Yes.” Eve couldn’t keep the pride out of her voice as she said, “I think it’s my favorite of all Peter’s paintings, that and of course…the portrait of Phillip.”

  “Phillip?” Anthony looked at them quizzically.

  “My lover, Phillip. He died…was murdered, some years ago.”

  “Oh, my God, I am so sorry. Did the police—?”

  “I’d rather not talk about it tonight,” Peter interjected with a quick smile at Anthony. “Some other time perhaps. This is a party, so let’s drink to new friends.”

  He breathed a small sigh of relief as Jeff entered the living room and greeted everyone in his usual affable style, but Peter could not help but notice the expressions of puzzlement followed by the shock of recognition that appeared for a few moments on the faces of the two men as he introduced Anthony to Jeff.

  The moment passed and Jeff said, “Pleased to meet you, Anthony.”

  Anthony managed a faint smile as they shook hands.

  “So, Mr. Bartender…” Jeff took Peter’s arm and steered him toward the kitchen. “Where’s my libation?”

  “What’s up?” Peter whispered once they were alone and he was fixing Jeff’s drink.

  “You won’t believe this—that’s the kid Joey has photographs of in his studio. The one he’s crazy about.”

  “Anthony? Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure—and I could tell he recognized me—probably from the portraits Joey has on the walls. When I looked
at those photos of him, I thought I’d seen him before, but of course, it was the family resemblance. He and Emily have that same great bone structure.”

  They were suddenly aware they were no longer alone. Anthony was standing in the kitchen doorway. He cleared his throat as he slowly walked toward them.

  “Small world isn’t it?”

  “It is that.”

  Peter looked from one man to the other and tried to think of something he could say to lighten the atmosphere. He couldn’t think of a thing.

  “Uh…” Anthony was the first to break the stalemate. “I’m sorry if this has upset you.”

  “No, not at all,” Jeff assured him. “Just surprising, is all. You’re probably the last person I expected to see here tonight.”

  Anthony smiled wryly. “I could say the same thing.”

  Peter suddenly realized he’d been holding his breath for way too long. He let it out with such force that both Jeff and Anthony turned to look at him.

  “What?”

  “Relax Peter,” Jeff squeezed Peter’s arm, “I don’t think Anthony is going to challenge me to a duel or anything.”

  Anthony chuckled. “I don’t think there’s anything to duel about do you?”

  “What a coincidence though,” Peter said. “Both of you knowing Joey and having relationships with him—I mean, not you Jeff, at least not now…”

  “I wouldn’t call what Joey and I have a relationship.” Anthony shrugged. “I haven’t seen him in several days as a matter of fact.”

  “Well, that’s none of our business.” Jeff refilled his glass. “And we should save any more talk of it for later, if ever. Right now we have guests and they’ll be wondering what the heck we’re all doing in here. Let’s go back in.”

  “You’re right.” Anthony held his glass out for a refill. “I certainly don’t want to spoil the evening for us all.”

  Peter made Anthony another drink then said, “You two go on back in. I’m going to prepare the salad and get things rolling here.”

  Dinner was a success despite the earlier distraction and Peter was pleased to see Emily so relaxed and enjoying herself. He was also gratified to notice that Jerry paid her a lot of attention. Again, he thought they made a great couple. Surely Jerry’s feelings wouldn’t change if she told him of her father’s abuse? It was obvious he was very much in love with her. Peter watched as Jerry recounted a business story and Emily hung on his every word. Lost in his thoughts, he was unaware that his mother was looking at him curiously until she touched his arm.