The Prodigal
Twenty-six
I HAD TO PAINT. I slipped out of bed early Saturday morning without waking any of my lovers. That burst that we’d experienced last night—that moment where Kate and I both wept our climaxes. It spoke to me. There was a word for it. I needed to find that word in the paint.
I almost carelessly tossed a canvas on my easel, noting that it landed vertical. Fine. I clamped it and pulled my paints together. I couldn’t see the whole piece yet, but I could see blue—lots of ultramarine, fading to Payne’s grey. The extenders I used made it almost translucent. I scraped away paint from the dark mass and two faces began to emerge. They leaned toward each other, touching lip to lip. So lightly touching you could almost see light between them. I hummed, not recognizing the tune. I hadn’t set up my music, so I was stuck with whatever sounds came out of my own mouth as a soundtrack.
It wasn’t important to be on key. Just noises, sometimes tonal and sometimes not, but filled with the emotion of my paint on the canvas. It was a counterpoint to color, an aural representation of chiaroscuro. It would never be a symphony, but it was a soundtrack and the more I painted, the livelier my vocal presentation became. Without words, I was letting go of my emotions—putting my night with Kate on canvas.
What was it that brought us to tears as we climaxed together last night? What had made Kate so frantic in her love-making that she exhausted three lovers before she reached me and had yet to reach her own fulfillment? I needed to increase my vocabulary in order to title this painting. I didn’t know the word for this emotion.
Other things emerged as I painted and when I stood back to examine the piece, my vocal soundtrack faded in the empty room. It was the fourth time I’d painted like this—put raw emotion on canvas. The paint was thick. Delicate shadings were less obvious as were subtle details, but shape, color, and motion were clear. And I’d done it without a sketch. I’d never approached a canvas without a sketch except in these trance-like paintings. The result was alive—that’s the only word I could find.
I saw something emerge that I’d longed for over the years. I got a hint of it in Ralph. It was not quite holographic, but as you moved from one side of the painting to the other, you could see the couple lean in for their kiss. Not much, but enough. I’d captured movement. It was so exciting I wanted to shout and show it to everyone, but I couldn’t show this yet. Four times, yes. That isn’t a career. I moved the easel to the corner and tented it with a sign that said “Wet Paint. Do Not Disturb.”
With finals out of the way, I had all the time I wanted to practice racquetball. John scheduled two matches a day for me for the entire week. It was after one o’clock by the time I got to the club. Lissa was waiting for me. The high I enjoyed from painting stayed with me through our training match and I painted the court with the ball. Lissa and I worked for an hour before John ushered in Ben Jones, a top ranked player from the Pro Sports Club. I got a five-minute break before I was returning Ben’s serves and dropping back into my zone. I was going to have to remember this. The ball was making patterns on the end wall with every strike and I chose where to place my next return based on the design that was emerging rather than focusing on my opponent. Focal point, eye-track, focal point. I almost laughed out loud when Doc’s painting instructions surfaced in my mind.
Ben and I rallied for an hour before I got another five-minute break for water. Then I was back in the cage for a battle with Allison. Allie was fresh and I’d been playing hard for two hours. She knew my weaknesses. She entered the court to win. When Lissa banged on the door after an hour, both of us waved her away as we set up the next serve. My endurance was beginning to flag. I muffed a serve and Allison sent her next serve on a long slow lob. I watched it hit the floor and bounce. I never lifted my racquet. All the energy flowed out of my body and I sank to my knees. It had been a marathon and I was finished.
Lissa was at my side with a water bottle and handed another to Allison. We drank greedily. Bree came onto the court with half a dozen towels and when Allison and I left, she mopped up all the sweat and wet spots off the floor so someone else could use the court.
“It’s four-thirty, you guys,” Lissa said. “Time for a nice long soak and lots of water.”
“We rallied for an hour-and-a-half?” Allison asked. “No wonder I’m fagged. I haven’t worked that hard in months.”
“That means I’ve been on the court for… three and a half hours? You slave drivers.”
“Ben couldn’t stay to talk to you, but he wants to come back to work out with you again. He said it was amazing,” Lissa said. “What were you doing? We all noticed a difference in how you were playing.”
“You wouldn’t believe it,” I sighed. “I just saw the end wall as a giant canvas and started painting.”
“Great. It’s not enough that I play against you. Now I have to play against your art, too? I’m an actress, not a paintbrush!” Allison laughed.
And so it went. All week I played marathon sessions of three to four hours each day. I’d been building to this for nearly six weeks. Lissa took no chances that I would tire easily. She was building endurance. I was finding some release in sketching, but had been too tired to go back to the studio to paint. My entire focus was on my game. In addition to the hours on the court, I pumped weights first thing in the morning and three times a week I ran with Coach Frederickson. Twice I had Pilates sessions. I sank gratefully into a hot tub each evening, following a topnotch massage from Bree. I was eating more than I ever had, but my clothes hung loosely on my frame.
I was too tired at night for more than a goodnight cuddle. I had apparently started my tournament abstinence a week early and I wasn’t happy about that. But even when I looked at the parade of naked ladies that passed me each night, my peanut dick hardly saluted.
Saturday morning, I slept in and was alone in bed when I finally woke up. I stumbled into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. What I saw startled me. I’ve always been a little on the thin side, but what I was looking at wasn’t thin. No, it wasn’t gaunt, either. I looked lean. I looked powerful. I was ripped. I wondered if I had any body fat at all. Even standing relaxed at the sink, my six-pack was obvious. My chest was broader than I remembered—my face narrower. And I felt refreshed and ready to go.
As I faced the shower and let the water beat against my features, I felt arms encircle me, stroking up and down my torso. I felt sure I knew who was there, but as I turned to face her, a second pair of arms wrapped around me and lips found mine under the spray. Something down below finally stirred. Pulling my head back from the water so I could see, I wrapped Kate in one arm and Wendy in the other and brought both to me for a kiss. We didn’t say anything, but with one hand or another stroking me, there was no question about where this was going. The only question was, “Who first?”
“Me,” Wendy squeaked. She turned her back to me and bent forward as Kate guided me into her wet center. Kate slipped around in front of Wendy and kissed our lover as I pressed into her from behind.
The shower had moved from hot to lukewarm before we had each reached our release a couple of times.
“Three matches,” Lissa said. “First up, you’ll be playing against Whitney and me as a team. And yes, we’ve been practicing together so it won’t be a push-over. We’re playing three games in the match even if you win the first two. Second, Ben Jones is back. He says he’s been practicing and is ready for you. We’re saving the toughest for last, so don’t think you can let up. Five minutes between games, three games in each match, and ten minutes between matches. This is your last hard workout before we leave for Fullerton. I hope you’re ready.”
I stepped onto the court with Whitney and Lissa and realized she hadn’t said who the last match was with. I was about to ask when the first serve came at me like a rocket and the game was on. I took the first game as Lissa and Whitney were still working out coordinating together, but they came back with a fury in the second game. I thought I had them, but Whitney made an impossible save and I was side out. I knew right where Lissa was going to serve, but she put more spin on the ball than I’d ever seen from her before, then Whitney took a soft return from me and buried it. Two quick points and we were into game three. We seesawed back and forth a bit in the first few minutes, but then they started to wear down. I’d built up my endurance to a point that I could almost coast into the final point.
I remembered how I’d seen the wall as a blank canvas the last time I played Ben. I assumed that it was strictly the result of painting that morning and I hadn’t tried to recreate the experience, but just walking onto the court with him brought back the visualization clearly. It took a few rallies before I let it take hold and Ben was pleased to have taken the first game. By the time we were into the third game of the match, though, he was falling far behind and I had a brilliant portrait of winged victory against the front wall taking shape in my mind.
I had only ten minutes between matches and was feeling set up when I saw Karl Higgendorfer come out of the locker room.
“Gosh, Tony. If you’re too tired to play another match, maybe we should call this off,” he laughed when I saw him and sank back against the wall. Lissa had said she saved the toughest for last.
“Karl, what the heck are you doing here? You can’t be out of class yet. You live all the way across the country.”
“Your worst nightmare and I walk right through your front door. When Lissa told me what she was doing to you, I couldn’t resist.”
“Why didn’t you come over last night? You couldn’t have flown in this morning.”
“Man, I had a date last night. You don’t think I came all the way out here just to see you, do you?” I glanced around. We’d drawn a bit of an audience to watch the training session and sure enough, there in the crowd was Amanda. She smiled and waved at me.
“I hope you’re still in shape,” I laughed as we entered the court.
We served six times before a point was scored. Karl caught the lead when I tripped over my own feet and took the first game by two. When I came out for the five-minute break, Lissa came up to me for the first time between games all afternoon.
“If you keep looking at the walls, he’s going to beat you again. Find the game you just played against Ben. There’s no way Karl can beat that. You have to not see the walls.”
That was the coaching I’d received the first time I met Karl on the court. Two years ago, it was my first time playing in a glass box. You have to really not see the walls. Lissa had repeated the advice when I met Karl’s brother on the court at Intercollegiates. Something else was beginning to click in my mind, but I couldn’t put a handle on it. I knew what I needed to do, though.
Karl didn’t know where the first two serves went. His racquet certainly didn’t connect with them. For my part, the court burst into color. There were no more walls, but a sweeping brush connecting my racquet to the canvas wherever the ball was flying. I started to hum and found myself vocalizing as we played. You have to be careful of that because you aren’t allowed to distract the other player, but a low constant drone kept playing in my ears and I knew it was coming from my own vocal cords. The game went nearly forty minutes with Karl simply trying to stay on the court with me. The final game was a rout. Karl waved his racquet in surrender at 11/7.
“Summers doesn’t stand a chance!” he announced as we walked off the court. My little fan club cheered. I grinned and gulped down most of a liter of water.
“Who’s next?” I asked. The rest of the liter was poured over my head.
We left for Fullerton, California on Monday. By we, I mean Melody, Lissa, and me. I thought Kate would be coming, but Wendy was still in school until mid-June and Kate decided to stay home with her. Besides, The Trips would be leaving on their grand adventure soon after we got back and Kate wanted to spend time with them. I didn’t think anything about it when I kissed her goodbye at the airport.
We flew into LA, Lissa rented a car, and we drove to Fullerton where we checked into the Crowne Plaza—a nice older hotel downtown and not far from the sports club where the event would be held. After a nice dinner, we went back to our room. There didn’t seem to be that much to do in Fullerton on Monday night. The weather was mild and we walked through town in light jackets looking at the Spanish architecture. In some ways, it reminded me of Fremont—a town with a lot of civic pride and a history to go with it.
I was incredibly tired when we reached the room. I brushed my teeth and fell into bed. Before Melody and Lissa joined me, I was asleep.
I woke up in the same position I’d fallen asleep. I glanced at the digital clock next to the bed and read ‘4:25 AM’. For a few seconds I couldn’t figure out why I was awake. There was a soft moan next to me. I slowly turned my head and saw Lissa staring straight at me, the left corner of her lower lip caught between her teeth. Melody, back to me, was sucking on Lissa’s right nipple and her hand seemed busy beneath the sheet. I smiled at Lissa and gave her an air kiss, not moving so I wouldn’t disturb Melody. Lissa smiled, never letting go of her lip. Her head went back and her eyes closed as her soft moans came more frequently. I felt the bed shake as Melody’s hand flew faster beneath the covers and Lissa arched her back as she came with a long soft whine.
I’ve always known there was something special between Melody and Lissa. Not that they don’t love me or Kate or Wendy, but it’s something that transcends their relationship with anyone else. I’ve seen the connection between them over and over. And I love them both. They would be married in July and I was seriously thinking about asking Kate. I had to pull away from that thought. I wasn’t going to rush Kate or put pressure on her. She’d made it clear that she felt her age was a factor. As far as I could tell, she had more experience in life than I had.
Melody rose up to kiss Lissa and Lissa nodded toward me. Melody looked at me and then rolled toward me and right on top. It took a second for her to position my cock at her entrance and sink down on it. She kissed me and then fed her fingers to me to lick Lissa’s essence from them. Lissa scooted over to us and cuddled as Melody and I kissed and moved together. The feel of Melody’s skin beneath my fingers as I ran them down her back and cupped her bottom in my palm was almost enough to make me come. She is so soft and smooth. Her skin is clear with just a light sprinkling of freckles on her shoulders. She pressed her breasts against my chest and Lissa joined our kiss as Melody gasped her orgasm.
I hadn’t come yet. I’d been so focused over the past week that I’d hardly thought about sex. Seeing Melody and Lissa engaged had brought me to a full erection, but I was still languidly pressing myself in and out of Melody without thought of my own pleasure. When she realized I was still holding back, Melody rolled to my right and pushed me toward Lissa. Lissa lay back and welcomed me as I entered her. It was so dreamy. Lissa had come once recently—who knows how many times earlier while I slept?—and encouraged me to thrust into her and take my pleasure. It did not take long before I had emptied myself.
I shifted off to Lissa’s left as Melody moved closer on her right and threw a leg over Lissa’s. We all kissed again, snuggled together, and drifted back to sleep.
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