The Prodigal
Forty-two
HOLY FUCKING SHIT! My mouth was open so wide, Melody splashed water into it. She pulled me to my feet, stepped out of the tub, and handed me a towel. I started to dry and she slapped my hands away.
“That’s for you to dry Lissa. I’ll dry you,” Melody said. Lissa stepped out of the tub looking every bit like Aphrodite Anadyomene rising from the sea to walk into my arms. I would paint that one day. I focused all my attention on caressing and loving the woman who had just declared she would be the mother of my child. We’d prepared. We all talked about it. We’d even practiced. We knew the time was coming. I don’t know why it took me so much by surprise. This was real. I felt Melody’s soft lips surround my cock as I pulled Lissa in for a deep kiss.
“Do you remember how we practiced, Tony? It’s been so long ago; I hope you haven’t forgotten.”
“I remember, darling. First we make sure you know how much we love you.” Melody popped off my cock and I scooped Lissa up in my arms. I carried her to the bed. Melody had it turned down and ready. I lay Lissa in the center of the bed, kissing her all the way to the pillow. When I reached there, Melody’s lips joined mine and the three of us raised our body temperatures with our heart-rates. We bathed Lissa in our kisses and touches, finally finding ourselves together between Lissa’s legs about to jointly devour her pussy.
“I personally have had a lot of opportunity to learn all about this bare little pussy,” Melody said. She pushed Lissa’s legs up and apart, rolling her pelvis forward. “Do you remember this little button at the top? If we both lick it at the same time, Lissa will squeal.” We did and she did, reaching her first full climax and continuing to shudder as Melody pulled me back slightly. “You might not have looked closely at this in a while, Tony, but lying here between my wife’s legs is one of my favorite things in the world to do. She’s so beautiful, isn’t she? Look at how wet she is! Her juices are flowing out of her vagina and they’re so tasty. Look at this opening, darling. Look how she’s pulsing, waiting, longing. This opening, Tony, is where you are about to place your long, slippery cock. You’re going to push it into this beautiful lady garden and fill our wife with your sperm.” We took another swipe at Lissa’s clit and she came again. “Do it, Tony. Put our baby into our wife, our lover.”
While I moved forward to lean over Lissa, Melody arranged a pillow under her butt so it was raised up.
“Are you ready, Lissa?” I whispered as I bent to kiss her. Melody was guiding my cock and as soon as I felt Lissa’s wet heat I paused. “Are you ready for this beautiful flat tummy to swell and get round with the little life we’re about to create? Are you ready to have our baby?” Lissa came as I started to push into her. It was so violent that she nearly blocked my entry with the contractions.
“Yes, yes, lovers. Yes. Let’s make our first child together. I love you!”
I seated fully inside her and we began to rock back and forth. Melody kept hold of my balls lightly as she moved up to suckle on Lissa’s nipple. Lissa never stopped coming. It wasn’t long before I did, too. I hit with such force against her cervix that I could feel the semen splashing back on me inside her.
“I love you, Lissa. We’re going to have a beautiful little girl.”
We never got out of bed that weekend. Coffee came to us on Saturday morning, courtesy of Wendy and Kate, who entered just as I entered Lissa—again. There was something… special… erotic… loving about how they set the coffee cups down and cuddled as we made love. They touched us both—blessing us. If nothing else had taken over the past twenty-four hours this had. And if the task was already complete…
“How would you feel about twins, Lissa?” I whispered in her ear. I could feel her whole body shudder as she climaxed again.
I got the call on Monday morning before I left for Doctor Bychkova’s class. I was to present my final proposal on Thursday evening in the board room at SCU. Wow! That was usually the domain of the regents.
I could hardly focus on the essays I had to grade for Bychkova. How was it that he made the assignments and I had to grade them? I remembered my own first year assignments in Art History. A paper every two to three weeks all semester and you get one bye. Well, that was the racquetball term. Bychkova called it best five out of six. At least there should be fewer pieces just before the final.
At home I practiced my presentation at night. Kate had been working in the studio all day and was shot by the time she got home. She still managed to give some good suggestions. Clarice had lit a fire under her and Kate was working like a demon on things I hadn’t seen yet. We were tense. Clarice had told her to do a set of sketches based on a series of quotations. Kate didn’t understand precisely what the point was, but Clarice had told her it was her part of rectifying the mess with Neil so Kate had jumped in with both feet. She was determined to put things right and to demonstrate her trust in Clarice.
Wednesday, Lissa said that her potential fertile period had come to an end and I was given a rest from fertilization duty. Some duty. Making love to Lissa any time of day or night. I walked around with a silly grin plastered on my face. Wendy and Melody gave me almost twenty-four hours’ rest before they attacked me to extract their own payments for being so patient. I paid willingly, and then offered a bonus.
By Thursday night, I was relaxed. I had no pretense that my committee would consider my proposal as anything more than a concept and I would probably paint the scenes on canvas and make up some kind of uber-scenario like Bacchanalia that would be the final project with the story. It was what I’d done for New York, so I didn’t even have a worry about completing the project. It was cut and dried. There was no way they’d have me paint a new church.
But then there are politics.
Clarice told Kate to come to the meeting and to bring her new portfolio. We were both looking at each other and giggling as we made our way to the board room.
I lugged all forty-some pounds of my plaster wall, into the board room and set it on the easel I’d prepared. Kate brought up my computer for the presentation then ran back to the car for her portfolio. Maybe presenting something here would help solidify her case against Slimy Dick. None of the rest of the family could attend because it was an academic meeting even though Kate was not currently enrolled. Doc came in first and started fussing about how I was presenting things. Bob and Clarice were invited as outside experts.
Professor Strait came in as well as Coach Jacobson. A few minutes later, Cary arrived and then Doctor Bychkova. That threw me.
“Nice to see you again, Tony,” a voice said over my shoulder.
“President Haywood,” I said. “I didn’t expect you here. It’s nice to see you, too.”
“And you remember Doctor Watts,” he said.
“Of course. I don’t know what to say,” I said as I shook hands with the president of PCAD.
“Well, we are all excited about your final project, Tony,” she said. “There was some talk about just having your mural wall suffice, but we all want to see what you’ll do next. You represent both schools in this.”
“I hope I don’t disappoint you, Doctor Watts,” I said. Shit! I was the first person on the dual degree program to launch a final project. Both college presidents were at my review and when I shifted my focus to the rest of the room, I saw half a dozen people I didn’t recognize at all, including a couple of priests in black shirts with white collars. Shit! Shit! Shit! This was just supposed to be my committee. When everyone was seated, Cary called the meeting to order.
“This is the review of Tony Ames’ proposal for his final project in the dual degree program from PCAD and SCU,” Cary said by way of introduction. “We’ve all seen some of the work that Tony has produced that is far in advance of what we would expect of a student on the dual degree program. Tony has aggressively completed all his graduation requirements in just four years instead of the projected five and stands as our first joint candidate. Congratulations, Tony. The faculty and administration have reviewed your coursework and grades and have agreed that your final project is all that’s needed.”
There was a muted round of applause.
“Now, we’ve all received a copy of Tony’s proposal, so I’ll suggest that we let him get straight to his presentation,” Cary concluded. Somehow, I expected there to be more introduction and I didn’t feel ready to start. I just plunged in.
“I’d like to paint the entablature in the new chapel,” I started off. “I’m sorry. I’m a little nervous. President Haywood, President Watts, members of my committee, and… uh… guests, I’m happy to present the concept for my final joint juried project. I’m sorry. I didn’t expect so many of you here. This project would fulfill my degree requirements for a BFA in Painting from PCAD and a BA in English Creative Writing from SCU. I’m sorry, Coach, but I’m glad I didn’t have to figure out some way to relate my art to racquetball. I know you wanted me to major in sports conditioning.” Everybody laughed and Sam got a couple of jabs.
“Well, I came up with this concept when I walked through the chapel construction site on campus. It wasn’t entirely my idea. I was stuck on what I could do and Kate, that’s Katarina Mirela for those of you who don’t know her, suggested that I paint frescoes for the chapel. I am proposing forty frescoes that are like lessons. Each fresco would be accompanied by a story, a sort of Aesop’s fable that would have a moral, illustrated by the image. I should say that the pictures won’t be just illustrations. They contain the story.” I removed the drape from the fresco I’d done on Saturday. It wasn’t fully cured, but it was stable enough to transport. It was just here to prove that I could actually paint frescoes. I knew they were going to ask me to just do them on canvas.
“I was taught to forgive people who had hurt me. I’d never thought about how much courage it takes to ask for forgiveness,” I said. “You see the guy back there? He was hurt by this woman. Maybe she had an affair. Maybe she just couldn’t stand how domineering he was. Maybe life was overwhelming for her. It doesn’t matter. He’s been wronged and deserves an apology. In his magnanimity, he’s ready to forgive her and go back to the way things were. In fact, he’s looking forward to having her back. The focus of the painting, though, is the transgressor. It’s not just that she’s returning. She has nothing to offer—no excuses. She doesn’t even have the clothes she left with. We wonder how badly she was abused and how life brought her so low. But look at her courage. Knowing that she has hurt the man, that she even hated him at times, she still finds the courage to return. Unlike the man, she knows things will never be the way they were. But she’ll face him anyway and ask forgiveness. There’s a story in the Bible about the prodigal son. Perhaps we don’t give the prodigal enough credit.”
“You think this is appropriate for a chapel?” one of the priests asked.
“I don’t know. I’m not religious. It was a lesson that I learned… recently… even though it had to be taught to me twice.” I locked eyes with Kate and she smiled at me then hung her head.
“And how would you propose to paint the other parables?” the other priest asked.
“I beg your pardon? I was planning to paint stories that would each teach a lesson. I don’t know anything about the parables in the Bible, except the really popular ones.”
“How did you come up with the number forty?”
“I counted the panels in the chapel.”
“How much are you willing to study the Bible to paint these images?” That stopped the whole proceeding as far as I was concerned.
“I don’t plan to study the Bible. These are just lessons that I’ve learned in a short life.”
“If you’ve learned forty lessons, you’re ahead of most of us,” President Haywood quipped. That lightened the mood a bit.
“I might have to borrow some of the lessons from other people,” I laughed. “As you can see, I’ve proposed that I would write the forty stories, like the one I just told you so people wouldn’t have to guess at what it means. It seemed like the right scope for my final project. The entablature is in a position where people wouldn’t see the detail in the painting, so most people would depend on what was in the book. There would also be a limited edition print, which is what I would expect to make my money from.”
“You’re willing to do all this work for free?” Doctor Watts asked.
“Well, Ma’am, nothing is ever free. The budget is big. I’m hoping to get a grant that will pay for the materials needed and a stipend for being unable to do any other work during the next nine months. My wi… business partners are putting together a Kickstarter campaign to raise funds for the art prints and for the book, but there is no guarantee they would be ready by the end of the project. I would continue to own the rights to the paintings and could make limited edition prints or even sell the same designs to another church. I’d like to bring out the book within the next year as kind of a storybook that has all the stories and small renditions of the prints. I’m taking nine months or a year to do this and I’ll need to recapture my income somehow.”
“Thank you, Tony,” Cary said. I was certain I’d seen President Haywood nudge him. “We’re going to take a recess now to discuss the project. We’d like you and Ms. Mirela to wait outside.”
Shit! And again Shit! I didn’t even make the full presentation. I had slides of churches with similar art installations and everything.
“Isn’t it exciting, Tony?” Kate asked as we sat in the hall outside the Board Room.
“Exciting? It’s terrifying. I’m going to have to come up with a whole new concept and they probably won’t like that either.”
“Things might not be what they appear to be,” Kate said.
“That sounds vaguely like objects in the mirror may be closer than they appear,” I laughed. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I think these guys are serious about your proposal. They don’t want a bunch of paintings on canvas. They want art for their new chapel. I’m just beginning to get it.”
I didn’t have time to consider what Kate had said or ask her to clarify since Cary came to the door and called us back in.
“Tony, there are a few more questions that have come up before we can approve the project. Father?” The older priest looked at me, shuffled my proposal around and looked at me again.
“How well do you know the Bible, Tony?” he asked bluntly.
“Um… not all that well, sir. I’m sorry, but I don’t know who you are. Reverend? Father?”
“I’m Father Michel.” He pronounced it like a girl’s name. “All you need to know is that it is my chapel you want to paint. Now, about your Bible knowledge?” Shit damn fuck. What do I know about the Bible?
“I’ve read several passages. I went to Sunday School when I was a kid. Most of what I know is from studying art that portrays the stories of various saints and Biblical passages. Most of the art of the renaissance was sponsored by the Church. But I’m not a Biblical scholar.”
“So, you wouldn’t describe yourself as a person of faith?”
“Do you mean religion?” I asked. “I’m not a religious person. I think I have a lot of faith, though.” He smiled.
“We want to relate the panels to the forty-one parables of the Bible.”
“No. Those are already…”
“Wait. Let me explain. I understand that you want to paint lessons that you’ve learned. First, let me tell you that we are all confident in your artistic ability. Anyone who has seen the wall at the athletic pavilion will attest to that. And both Doctor Bychkova and Professor Strait have attested to your writing and storytelling ability. So, your talent and ability are not being questioned. But we are a religious society and that is a chapel of God. You need only live with the glory of painting. We have to live with explaining what has been painted—for many years to come. New parables can be written. I’m impressed with your story of the prodigal, which is a Biblical story that you’ve put a new twist on. What we’d like is to have some correlation between the other stories that you tell and biblical lessons as we know them. They do not need to be historic paintings. They do not need to be Biblical passages. They don’t even need to contain the same lesson as the established parables if we can make a correlation or put a new twist on them, like you did with this one. But we need find the connection. I’ve asked my assistant pastor, Father Andrew here, to collaborate with you. If you are willing to work within those parameters so that we can all have what we want, the chapel has a sizable budget for art.”
I didn’t expect them to go for the idea of actually painting the chapel. I thought I’d do a couple of panels on plaster to show the concept and then paint the rest of them on canvas. I never thought they’d let me go into the chapel and paint.
Or that they’d want to collaborate on my stories. I didn’t know what to think. And damn it! If I painted on the chapel walls, I wouldn’t have anything to sell for the next year. I know it was mercenary of me, but the concept paintings could have been a collection that would expand my gallery presence.
“May I have a few minutes to discuss this with my agent?” I asked. “In some matters, she is my advisor.”
“Of course, Tony,” Cary said immediately. “Ms. Bortelli suggested intermission entertainment in the way of an exhibition of art by Ms. Mirela.” I went out into the hall with Clarice and Bob Bowers came out with us. I was surprised Doc didn’t come out as well. Before the door shut, I heard Doctor Watts’ voice say, “Now, Ms. Mirela…”
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