Date: Thu, 8 Sep 2005 20:31:29 +0100
From: David <david@talesfromastream.co.uk>
Subject: Three Tears - Part 3

Three Tears

By David

www.talesfromastream.co.uk


Part Three


James' Diary

I got the letter this morning. They want me for this programme. I was so
excited that I told Mum straight away. She didn't share my enthusiasm but
I'm sure she'll let me do it. They even put in a contract with the
letter. If it's OK we must send it back within the week declare that I have
my own passport. There are a few things we need to do before we go. I need
a medical, apparently, but the TV studios will arrange that, along with
some jabs. There will also be what they call an 'Orienteering Day', which
will be a chance for us to meet the other kids who will be going, and of
course a chance for the parents to ensure we are in good hands. Knowing my
Mum she will bombard them with a thousand questions and will insist on
regular contact. I told all my mates today. Of course I said it was now all
up to my Mum but they were psyched, they couldn't believe I was going on
this trip of a lifetime and being marooned on a desert island - and I would
get paid for it. It does feel quite strange, as it is more a reality TV
show than an acting gig. All the other kids are actors or have experience
like me, but there will not be a script. I suppose that they think we would
be more expressive than other kids would.  Well, from what I've seen they
certainly are more temperamental so it should be interesting.
      We will be leaving in the last week of July, so things will have to
move fast. We will get a few days to acclimatise and then the cameras will
start to roll. It will all be this hidden camera shit, so we won't know
when they are filming.



Martin had nearly finished his portrait of James and there were only a few
more lessons before the Art lesson when they would draw the life model.

     Naturally the class was excited and now the time was near they started
to ask questions. The teacher, John Jones, tried to fob them off the best
he could but Martin sensed something was wrong. He stayed behind after the
class and decided to speak to the teacher alone.

     "There's no problem, is there, Sir?"

     "Well," he was reticent to say anything but thought it could do no
harm. "the agency called earlier today and said the model had pulled out,
got a better gig probably. I've tried to get another but at this short
notice it's very difficult."

     "Why's that?"

     "They are charging the earth and there is just not enough in the
budget to pay for it."

     Martin thought for a moment. "I suppose I could ask my brother, he
does a lot of modelling."

     The teacher's eyes lit up. "How old is he? He really should be over
eighteen."

     "Only sixteen. Sorry."

     "Never mind. I've got a couple more ideas up my sleeve. Don't worry,
I'll get it all sorted."

     Martin thought it best to leave it up to the teacher and not get it
involved. He said that he hoped it would all be OK and not worry if it did
not work out and left.



Mr. Jones never let on that there was a problem during their next lesson
but proudly announced that they would get the chance to draw a nude the
next time they met. He flatly refused to say anything about the model and
they would just have to wait. Martin did not seem convinced, but said
nothing.

     It turned out that his scepticism was misplaced. As he turned up for
the next lesson the class were met by Mr Jones sitting on his desk and the
room rearranged so that in one corner he had a white sheet draped over an
easy chair, a foot stool at it's base and a bar stool beside.

     "All right. Sit down and listen up. Today we have a nude and I don't
want any problems. You treat the model with as much respect as you would
me, if not more. Lets face it, they have the guts to get up here with no
clothes on and allow a rabble like you lot look at them for a few hours.

     Choose which medium you want to use, charcoal is good for your first
time but some of you might like to try pastilles. So set up your easels
over there," he pointed to the corner of the room, "and when your ready
I'll introduce you to today's model."

      The class were eager and settled quickly, each vying for a ringside
seat. Martin held back and let the others fight for prime position.

     "Ok you lot, let's get started." Mr. Jones announced.

     He then called over and from a side room emerged a young man wearing a
white, towelling robe.  He walked over to Mr. Jones, who stood in front of
the class, and waited.

     "This is Phil."

     Phil smiled at the crowd that responded by muttering an indistinct
'Hi' back to him.

     "Just give me a moment to get the pose ready and you can begin."
Mr. Jones turned to Phil. "Ok, take the robe off will you."

     For a moment the young dark haired man stood in front of the
class. Neither was showing any reaction, although it was more stifled on
the part of the class.

     Mr. Jones beckoned him over to the chair and told him to sit down. For
some time he blocked their view as he moved the limbs of the model to their
final pose. Satisfied, he turned to the class.

     "Now don't try and be too clever. You've got plenty of paper so try
and get the form right first then add on the details, the folds in the skin
and the shadow. So go ahead." He then added that he would circulate and
help them.

     The class looked at the model. Martin now wished he had fought with
the rest of them to get a front row seat. This model was gorgeous. He sat
on the draped chair, his left elbow resting on the barstool using the arm
to rest his head on, which lay tilted slightly to the side. His right arm
just hung limp beside his body and rested on the chair. The footstool was
used and his right foot was placed flatly on it, the knee pointing to the
ceiling. The left leg rested on the floor, the knee angled outwards. With
his legs wide, his crotch was on full show. His balls hung neatly between
his legs, his dick angled to the left. His face showed a far away look in
his eyes, not bored but thinking, which was made more innocent with the
mess of boyish hair that curled forward and almost met his eyebrows.

     Martin started with a full-length picture, tracing down the curves of
his body. Feeling, on his paper, the hard muscles disguised underneath his
smooth skin and etching the contours of his, almost, hairless balls and
six-inch limp dick. His charcoal nestled in the black mass of curly hair
that framed his crotch feeling each individual strand.

     Content with his first sketch, he flipped over his paper and started
again. This time he went in close and spent most of his time examining the
young face, bringing out the delicate lips and the tenderness of his eyes
with faint shadows accentuating his features.

     Mr. Jones moved behind him. "That's a very good rendering of his
features. Let's see what you did first."

     Martin flipped his first page over. "I started drawing him as a whole
but I think it is a tad lifeless. So I thought I would look closer and get
the expression right first, then perhaps try and incorporate it all
together later."

     "Very good thinking, it's sometimes better to divide the subject up
into manageable chunks so that you can do each part justice." He
pondered. "When finished try moving down to the torso or the arms."  And he
moved on to the next student.

     Halfway through the class, they had a break. When the class had filed
out to the refectory, Mr. Jones handed Phil his robe and a mug of tea.

     "It's alright so far, isn't it?"

     "Yeah." Phil responded. "Do you mind if I have a quick look at what
they've done?"

     He allowed Phil to wander between the easels, looking at the
drawings. "Some of these aren't bad."

     "Not all my students are wastrels you know."

     Phil smiled and looked at the large face that looked beyond him. "Who
did this? It's very good."

     "Oh that's Martin's. He's very talented and should go far."

     Mr. Jones heard footsteps along the corridor. "I think they're on
their way back, let's get you back into position."

     As they began to tumble through the door, Mr. Jones was just putting
Phil back into the same position he had spent the last hour. A few students
mumbled to each other but as they got back to their easels they started
straight away and silence soon fell on the room again.

     The final half of the lesson went quickly and five minutes before the
bell, and home time, Mr. Jones instructed them to put their things
away. The next lesson they would carry on where they had left off and
hopefully create a fully-fledged piece. Mr. Jones told them to thank Phil
for his patience and time and he was met with a chorus of 'Thanks' as they
left the classroom.

     Phil, now dressed in his robe, asked Mr. Jones to point out Martin. He
pointed to the back of the boy's head. Phil called him.

     "Martin!"

     He stopped and turned round. Phil walked to wards him and motioned him
away from the stream of students leaving the room. "I was looking at some
of the drawing while you were all at break."

     "Uh, huh."

     "I was quite taken by yours, it showed something the other's didn't."

     "Thanks." Martin felt quite flattered.

     "How do you fancy a quick pint down the pub?"

     Martin was taken aback. He'd only just met this stranger today but
somehow that did not matter, they had already shared an intimacy that
bonded them in some unusual way.

     "Why not? But I can only be out an hour or so, you know mothers. They
tend to worry too much."

     "Sure."

     "Wait here and I'll get dressed. I can't go like this."

     Phil went back to the side room followed by Mr. Jones. He could hear
them talking but could not make out what was being said. They emerged a few
minutes later, this time Phil was wearing his jeans and a sweatshirt. The
teacher busied himself in the corner of the room as Martin looked at Phil.

     "You look different, taller."

     "Hey, we all look different stark, bollock naked." He raised his
eyebrows. "Come on, let's go."

     It was only a few minutes walk to the local pub. Martin was still a
bit nervous and let Phil do most of the talking. Phil ordered a couple of
beers and they sat at a table in the corner. The pub was an a typical
English local, dark d‚cor, a dark wood bar at the end of a large room with
a row of hand pumps for the various ales and bitters, modern tastes meant
that they had to install a pump, electric naturally, for the popular
lager. The barmaid was a middle-aged woman who had obviously worked there
for some time, perhaps she was the landlady and when she had given Phil his
change she immediately went back to chatting with a couple of retired old
soldiers who regularly propped up the bar. The way the room was divided
meant that there were many nooks and crannies for them to hide in for a
quiet conversation. It was designed for that, not a modern wide-open space
with loud music assaulting your ears.

     Phil chose a corner well away from the two slot machines and the group
of lads pouring money into them. When settled, Phil started asking all
about his portraits. He was fascinated at how he captured his mood and how
he was feeling when he drew it.

     Before answering any questions, Martin deflected attention from him
and asked about Phil. He explained that he was an art student from a
college the other side of the city. He was in his last year and already had
a place at the local university reading 'Art and Art History', should he
get the grades. He mentioned that John, the teacher, was getting pretty
desperate and popped round one evening and when his Mother was out of the
room asked him.

     "Oh, how do you know Mr. Jones?" Martin stopped Phil.

     Phil seemed a clam up, thinking. Then said, "He's my brother." Quickly
adding, "but don't mention it to anyone else, they might make a fuss. Its
not like there's anything wrong. I'm nineteen, only just, and the only
requirement is that you need to be over eighteen."

     "Don't worry, I don't really talk to the others much."

     Phil and Martin got on better as they downed their pint. Martin
loosened up and since Phil revealed that he was the teacher's younger
brother, he felt that they could trust each other. This meant the
revelation that he has been using his own younger brother as a nude model
was easy to divulge and they chatted about family.

     Then a mobile phone rang. Phil dug into his pocket and took out his
mobile. "It's John." He said and spoke into the phone. "Hi John." A tinny
voice could be heard through the ear-piece. "OK, I'll be right out." He
turned to Martin. "He's waiting outside in the car."

     Phil then stood up, took an old biro from his pocket and jotted a
number on a beer-mat. Martin stood up to say goodbye and took his number.

     Phil passed over the mat and leant in close to Martin. He placed a
gently kiss on his lips. "Call me.  Only if you want to."

     Martin said nothing.

     "There's nothing to be afraid of. I really like you. Call me." Phil
tuned and left the pub to meet his brother.

     "Sure." Martin whispered as the old oak door shut behind him as Phil
walked into the street.


Martin walked home in a daze; his mind replaying what had happened and
whether or not there was any chance he could have misread the signs. Was he
just imagining it or was Phil playing with him. He had never said he was
gay, so what led Phil think that he was. He did not even think of himself
as gay.  His mind never left him alone all evening. Everyone thought
something was wrong, but he just protested and claimed he was tired and
carried himself up to his room, lay on his bed and mulled everything over
again. He was thankful that James left him alone to think, but he knew he
would be up later.

     Shortly after the alarm clock flickered to ten past nine. The door
opened and James came in. He sat on his bed and looked over at Martin.

     "You sure everything's alright?"

     Martin grunted in response.

     "Wasn't today when you were having the nude model? How did it go?"

     "Fine." He paused, adding as an afterthought to placate his brother,
"Thanks for your help by the way. I did really well."

     "So, who was it?"

     "Eh?"

     "The model!" James was getting a bit narked that he was not telling
him anything. "Was it male?  Female? Old? Young? Fat? Thin? Oh come on
don't just lie there, it couldn't have been that bad."

     "What d'ya mean, bad? I told you I did fine." Martin was not listening
properly.

     "I know, but how did the model look?"

     "It was a young man, nineteen, I think, and quite thin. He seemed very
nice. I was at the back of the class but I managed to see alright."

     "Really, what was his name? I might have modelled with him before."

     "Um, Phillip." He paused, then said, as if to himself, "he never gave
me his last name."

     James left it at that and Martin went back to blankly staring at the
ceiling. James knew he would get nothing more out of him today, so he got
up from his bed, stripped to his briefs and lounged back on his bed. He
then leant over and dug out his diary from under his mattress and began to
write.



James' Diary

Martin is acting very strange after his life class today. He came home as
if in a trance. He has not said anything, but I know something is bothering
him. I suppose I will have to leave it until tomorrow, he may tell me
then. I hope he doesn't feel guilty about using me as a model. I don't mind
one bit. I enjoy it and I hope he will carry on until he has finished his
painting.
     I wonder if his state has got something to do with the model. He was
quite guarded about letting me know it was a young man. Surely he can't
feel guilty that this other model has taken my place - No that would be
stupid.
     Come to think of it, he did say, "he never gave me his last name" that
must mean he spoke to him. I hope he did not criticise his work too much, I
know Martin is talented but he can take a bit of criticism too much to
heart. There are just too many possibilities. I will just leave it alone
and see if he says anything tomorrow.
     Mum said yes about the show. We signed the contracts and sent them off
a few days ago. I knew she would as she saw how much I wanted to do it. Of
course she could just pull out after this 'Orienteering Day' but unless
they intend to send us over by slave ship it will be a done deal. This
'Orienteering Day' is tomorrow and included is this medical and all my
jabs.



Thank you for reading.

Comments are welcomed and gratefully received.
Please email me at nifty (at) talesfromastream.co.uk

There are further chapters of this story, and other stories, on my website
www.talesfromastream.co.uk, some of which have not been posted here,
yet. Why not take a look and let me know what you think.

The author retains copyright.