Thirteen

MY ALARM CLOCK on Saturday morning consisted of two incredibly beautiful women smothering me—and each other—with kisses. I think that when we fell asleep last night, I was more or less between—or maybe under—both of them. I woke up early once and Lissa was sprawled next to me on her back with my arm under her neck and her right leg thrown over my left. Melody was laying half on Lissa’s left leg with her head pillowed on Lissa’s left breast. I reached across and put my hand on Melody and went back to sleep.

At seven, I woke up to both of them giggling and kissing me. I was pretty aroused—what guy isn’t when he wakes up in the morning—but they wouldn’t do more than give me a little squeeze now and then. We hit the shower together and playfully scrubbed each other clean. This time when we stepped out of the shower, I was given the job of drying both of them with a big towel while they made the task difficult by continuing to kiss and grind themselves against each other.

We finally dressed and had breakfast. Lissa said she’d take me to the club for my morning Pilates class and then I was on my own.

“I looked at your Daytimer,” Melody said. “Did you?”

“Not yet. I know what my first appointment is this morning.”

“And what comes next?”

“More beautiful lovers in my arms?”

“Tony.” Lissa handed me my schedule. I flipped it open and saw the weekend assignment. I was on call to work with my Fundies prof on the mural from noon till midnight today and noon till nine on Sunday. I’d completely forgotten.

“Oh yeah,” I said. “Shall I meet you after I’m off?”

“No,” Lissa said. “Go back to your dorm and sleep in on Sunday. Then do your second shift and get enough sleep Sunday night to get to your class on time Monday. I’ll see you on the court Monday afternoon. See? It says so right here in your calendar.”

“What are you guys going to do?”

“We ‘guys’ are staying right here for some girl time.”

“Lissa said she’d pose while I do some painting.”

“All day?” I asked.

“Of course not, silly. Only when we’re not having sex!” I’m sure my chin must have hit my knees when my mouth fell open. I could feel my cock bounce up in my shorts and threaten to escape. Lissa and Melody were going to spend the day together painting and making love while I was slinging plaster for my prof’s stupid mural. How could they? The image of the two of them in my mind, though, was so erotic that anger was short-circuited and my cock was rigid. Before I was aware of it, I felt two hands on my cock and two sets of lips on my neck. Then they joined me in a tender three-way kiss.

“That will give you something to think about while you’re getting all hot and sweaty with Dr. Henredon,” Melody said.

I smiled. Actually, the image of the two of them would be a pleasant thought while I was working. And I was going to be way too tired to do anything when I was done.

“As my daddy used to say back on the farm in Nebraska,” I drawled, “what’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. I hope you two have fun.”

I meant it.

Pilates looks like a calm and peaceful activity. There are machines that help you move your body, devices like a huge ball that you lie on, no real weights clanging around or anything. The focus for me was core strength and flexibility. I had no idea how exhausting a workout it could be. When I was done, I hit the sauna and shower, got dressed, and went to get a big burger on the way to the project site. I justified it on the grounds that it would probably be my last meal this weekend.

I arrived a few minutes before Doc Henredon, who was pleased to see me already there when he pulled up in his van and had me help unload his equipment and supplies. We walked into the administration building where one hall had been blocked off and scaffolding was set up. It wasn’t monumental, like a Roman cathedral or anything, but it was still a big wall about forty feet long and fifteen feet high. The mural had been commissioned by the school to show the arts in action. I’d looked at the sketch and rendering. It was like one of those big sports murals by LeRoy Neiman only, instead of Olympic athletes, it had scenes of dancers, theater performances, sculpture, and all that. Pretty much everything that was taught in the college would be represented in the mural. It wouldn’t cover the whole height of the wall, but would cover the whole length. A four-foot-high wainscoted panel guarded against scuffs in the high traffic area. Dr. Henredon said the hall wasn’t wide enough to let people stand back and view something that went so high, so the actual painting would be about eight feet high by forty feet long and meant to be seen in pieces.

I was involved a few weeks ago on the weekend we fastened fiberglass mesh to the wall. After that, a fresh coat of plaster was applied and Dr. Henredon supervised every step of making sure it created a perfectly smooth and even surface. I had to hand it to him. He didn’t just hire a bunch of contractors to come in and plaster a wall. He was a stickler about every detail and students who worked on his project learned to do work that hasn’t been common since the Renaissance.

One of our most interesting classes near the end of last term was the debate on whether it should be done as a fresco, a buon fresco, or a secco. The difference is in how wet the plaster is and the type of paint you use. Doing a secco on dry plaster was a compromise between trying to teach a classic technique and working with the practicalities of being a part-time project with student help. In a lesser school than PCAD, they might have just painted out the wall with Kilz and then started painting the mural with interior latex. Doc felt his students would learn more if it was done in a classical manner. I guess he was right since I was standing there thinking about the different techniques while he gave me a tour of the sketch and the pencil drawing on the wall.

I started to grouse about the fact that none of the other student assistants were here yet and it was already a quarter till one when Doc stopped me.

“They will not be here until two.”

“I thought call was at noon.”

“I have one student with me for a couple of hours before the others arrive so we can get to know each other a little better.”

I had to admit that I was enjoying the individual attention. He’d explained to me what issues of perspective had to be considered when painting on a wall and that you had to think about where the normal viewer would be standing. The hall was too narrow to get back far enough to view the whole painting at once. Most people who viewed this massive work would be four to twelve feet away. I had always assumed that a muralist would either lay in all the background and then work forward, or he would start at one corner and work outward from there. I could see, however, that there were scattered pieces painted or sketched along the wall. So I asked about the order things were being painted in.

“Focal points. The wall was primed and then covered with gesso. We blocked out the wall in a grid pattern that matches the grid on the rendering at a 1”=1’ scale and then roughed in the drawing on the wall. Now we are painting the focal points. These are the points that people will be drawn to as they walk down the halls. It is where I focus my attention. As they are laid in, I ask students to paint in the negative space.”

“But the rendering shows a lot more figures. Are you planning to paint them over the background?”

“Yes, exactly. The paints are technically opaque, but as you know, that depends on the consistency. If we cut the pigment with clear varnish, the background will show through. As a result, we can use the exact same hues for the background images and the tone will be reduced, pulling those images into the background and away from the focal points.”