Ring in Mine
Kim Terry
Thank you for the emails. I appreciate even a short, "I'm reading your story," goes a long way.
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My thanks go out to Zack for proofreading this chapter.
Kim ----------
Ring in Mine: John Chapter 6
The school year drew to its inevitable close. With only one week to go Mark came home obviously excited.
"I received a call from the university. They want me to interview for the junior coaching position tomorrow night." Mark was blustering around trying to get organized for his interview. Ruth finally had to take her husband in hand.
"Your suit is clean and pressed. Your best shirt is hanging in your closet. I will retype your updated resume."
John was glad he would be at his drawing class. If he was lucky his dad would be asleep when he got home.
His father was quickly pushed to the back burner. For the first time they were drawing a couple. The interaction of shadows made things more difficult. The final pose was very distracting. It was more than a little erotic as the couple intertwined. John felt a swelling in his maturing manhood. It was his first public erection. He felt better when he noticed his weren't the only pants tenting.
This was an extended pose. They had time to really draw. The models and artists took a break and returned to their efforts. At the end of the evening he was pleased with his efforts. Looking at his work there was a definite swelling again. There were no genitalia showing; only the side view of a full breast and a man's muscular chest. It was the intertwining of limbs that was so erotic. He could see the piece with the tint of watercolors.
"Professor, may I work for a bit longer."
John wasn't the only artist still at work. He pulled out his watercolor kit and began the process of layering the transparent colors onto the paper. He was glad he had used the better paper he could now afford.
It was well past midnight when he came out of that other place he retreated to when he was really into a piece.
"Oh hell. Dad is going to be pissed." John's language had become a little more colorful hanging out with older artists and gymnasts.
"I called your mom hours ago. You are staying in the guest room tonight. Let's look at your work."
John for the first time looked at the whole piece outside of the process of creation. The colors were light tints rather than brilliant. They added depth to the figures.
"That is something that could hang in most any gallery. You should spend the money to have it framed." She looked carefully in the corners. "You need to sign and date it."
He looked at the new signature in the corner, with sleepy pride.
At the breakfast table Brother Terrion asked John why his dad would make a good coach for the college. John was still listing reasons that were well thought through with anecdotal examples, when he climbed out of the car at school.
Mark sat in the reception area in the athletic department. Four other men had originally waited with him. One after another had been called through the heavy doors. They must have left through another door. Mark was not usually the nervous type, but it was only by strength of will he wasn't pacing the room.
"Mr. Litchfield, they are ready for you." The receptionist ended the continued agony of waiting.
He entered a conference room. On his side of the table there was a single chair. A committee of seven sat across the table.
"Please, have a seat Mr. Litchfield." Brother Terrion requested and the interrogation began. Half an hour later with no indication of how the interview went he exited through the other door.
Mark's unease overflowed onto his family. John was sitting at the kitchen table drawing his mother as she finished dinner. His chair was pushed out from the table. Mark tripped on the chair as he tried to pass.
"John find something important to do!" He hit his boy up the back of his head. Mark crumpled the half-finished drawing into a ball throwing it into the full garbage can. "Take the garbage out."
John grabbed the garbage and headed out the door. Putting a new bag in the can, a horn honked out front.
"That's my ride." John grabbed his duffle bag and tried to get past his dad without an additional confrontation. Mark was taking his anxiety out on his son. He stood squarely in the kitchen doorway.
"At least you are making money with your art. Your gymnastics is a total waste of time."
John chose not to spar with his father. He ducked out the backdoor. His ride hit the horn again. The gate was locked. John tossed his bag over the fence. Who said gymnastics skills were worthless. He effortlessly vaulted over the wooden gate with his father the only audience. John refrained from flipping his father the bird. There was no need to fan the fire.
It was late when John arrived home. He wasn't sure when his dad had installed chain locks on the doors. Knowing his dad he had probably run to the hardware store and purchased them that very night. His dad was getting thorough. The windows were locked. He had even repaired the latch of John's window.
Andrew's window wasn't locked. Not the first and probably not the last time John climbed through the window. The bottom dresser drawer had a pair of John's pajamas, clean underwear, socks, tshirt and jeans. Andrew was in the top bunk as always. John slipped between the sheets without waking his host.
There was no fuss or fanfare the next morning. Andrew and John came down to breakfast dressed for the last full day of school. The morning was the school dance festival with each grade performing a dance. The afternoon was spent in sporting events and the sixth grade / teacher baseball game. Andrew was one of the few chosen to play. John pulled out a pad and pencils and drew caricatures of the players. The teacher's wouldn't be too thrilled with how they were portrayed on paper. With only two hours on the last day what could they do expel him?
At the end of the game John gave each player their drawing. When they looked at them collectively and realized it was the style and not demeaning everyone, teachers and students, were laughing together.
John arrived home to find the front door was still chained. Once again his keys didn't work in the backdoor. Kwikset had released a new type of lock that made it easy to change keys. Andrew was skipping the last day of school to go on vacation with his family. They would be driving within a couple of blocks of his grandmother's.
Mark, home early, felt a smug sense of accomplishment when he entered an empty house. He would teach John the proper respect for his father's wishes. When Ruth arrived home finding the front door chained she was less than pleased.
"Mark, where's John? The recreation center is closed for two weeks for a remodel and cleaning." Ruth asked.
"He must be at Andrew's. That's where he always is." Mark answered.
"That would be difficult unless he went on vacation with them." Ruth answered.
Dinnertime came and went. It was getting late and there was still no sign of John.
Ruth was beginning to call anyone she could think of. No one answered at the Terrions'. It hadn't been that long ago that a young girl had been kidnapped not far from their house and never found.
"Mark, call your mom. See if he is there." Ruth demanded.
"Ruth, mom is out of town until the 15th. She and Marge went on that cruise." Mark answered.
They started knocking on the neighbor's doors checking if anyone had seen John after school. No one had. When they returned home the light on the message machine was flashing. Ruth ran to the machine.
"Mark give me a call." Brother Terrion's voice echoed from the machine.
Mark immediately returned the call.
"Mark I have some news. My wife and I want your family come to dinner Saturday. It is a formal affair."
"Did I get the job?" Mark asked.
"I can't really say. It is between two of you. When we contacted your references, one tipped the scale." Brother Terrion taunted. "The chairman is meeting with him tomorrow over dinner."
"Ruth, I think I got the job." Mark said in excitement.
"How long are you going to keep it when they find out you've misplaced your son because you locked him out of the house." Ruth was unhappy.
Ruth called the police, but John hadn't been missing long enough to file a missing person's report. They would keep an eye out for him.
It was late when the phone rang. Mark picked up the phone.
"Ruth it's for you. Some guy from your work is calling." Mark called out to his wife. Ruth listened intently for a few moments.
"Yes, Mr. Middleton. I can work half day on Saturday. Thank you for calling we will see you tomorrow." The smile on her face was gone when she turned to face her husband. "I have to go into work early tomorrow and again on Saturday morning."
The last day was short even for teachers. The afternoon passed without word about John. Mark paced around the house not sure what he was going to tell the Terrions.
He fretted through dinner. He couldn't even concentrate on the television.
"Ruth what are you going to do about John?" Mark asked.
She in no uncertain terms told him it was his problem. She also tossed him pillows and a blanket. He found the bedroom door locked.
Ruth left early in the morning without waking her husband. She did leave a note that since John wasn't home she expected him to do John's chores. If the chores weren't done he could try explaining why both his son and his wife were not in attendance.
Mark spent the morning at chores and once again canvassed the neighborhood for his son. Ruth spent the morning not at work but getting her hair done and shopping for a new dress.
When Ruth arrived they had little time to dress. Mark wanted to bow out but Ruth insisted they go. She left it up to Mark to concoct some cover story about their missing boy.
When they arrived, they were a little late. Nothing was said about the missing young man. Mark sat in the back seat of the Terrions' big Buick on pins and needles waiting for topic to come up.
"We are meeting some other friends, then we will head to the restaurant." Brother Terrion announced.
They pulled up in front of an old warehouse type store-front that had recently been restored. The name was printed tastefully on the window.
Eclectic Synergy
A Fine Arts Gallery
Mark nearly groaned. He couldn't think of any place that sounded less interesting than an art gallery. As they entered there was quite an affair going on. Waiters circulated with a sparkling beverage in champagne flutes and others with canapés. Mark found himself with a glass in one hand and a napkin with an artfully stacked something on a cracker in the other.
Professor Terrion introduced everyone to one of her college students. Her work was somewhat abstract and filled the main hall. Some Mark looked at implied nude figures in erotic poses. He wasn't sure he liked them, but his underwear seemed to become tighter. Ruth accidentally brushed the front of his slacks.
"Mark, get yourself under control. This is art not porn." His wife whispered. Mark checked the small listing of the price by each painting and he quickly returned to his soft state. He noticed that in a side gallery there were drawings of athletes. It wasn't until he drew closer that he realized the baseball player standing at the plate waiting for the pitch was wearing only a batting helmet, spikes, socks and a jock strap. The young man's firm ass proudly displayed. As Mark looked closer he noticed the fine interplay of the musculature tensed ready to swing.
Next was a young man that could have been one of his students. He was sure it was one of his football helmets on the youth. This athlete had the addition of shoulder pads. His hand was resting on the ball ready for the quarterback's call. The next was another football youth. Again his face was obscured by the helmet as he jumped for the pass.
The last pair in the series were of basketball players. The two young men were tensed ready for the tip off. Both athletes faces were turned away from the viewer. His high school students were known as the Falcons. Plainly woven into the wide band of one player's jock was the word Falcons. The young man making a layup also sported a Falcon strap.
Mark must have found these images very erotic. His slacks were visibly tenting.
"Just what do the students on your teams get up to during the offseason?" Brother Terrion asked laughing.
Mark looked at the prices for the football center's image. Prints were available starting at $125.. The framed original was $500. Mark was drawn to the center's image over and over. The energy in the muscles was wound and ready for the play. Part of him wanted that print somewhere in his house. This almost could have been him. Then his mind wandered to his players practicing only in jockstraps; then to their well developed, um, muscles in the shower. This artist had him thinking in paths that his mind had not wandered for years.
The last four pieces in this side gallery were nearly pornographic. A nude couple so tightly intertwined only the difference in the pale skin tones identified the owners. With the man's obvious musculature and the woman's only half hidden breast it was obviously a heterosexual couple.
The last pieces were obviously not heterosexual. The couple were obviously more than friends. It was a pose of lovers. The shorter of the two faced his partner, his leg obscuring the obvious his head resting on his lover's chest. The taller looked down upon the man in his arms. Neither man was identifiable.The taller man's skin was tinted darker than his partner's.
The second showed only the torso of the darker man standing. The back of his lover's head was positioned for pleasuring his partner. The pale hands of the partner firmly grasping the darker ass in front of him.His fingers running through his partner's short hair.
Then there were two men lying side by side pleasuring each other. No faces or intimate contact was shown, only the intertwining of bodies. Just like the other couple it was the subtle differences in skin tones that made one body stand out from the other.
The price tags for the original framed prints were $800 and all were marked sold. Limited-edition numbered prints were available for $200 unframed.
Mark had to get out of this gallery. This artist Littleman had pushed buttons he had long forgotten. In another side gallery Mark recognized the works of his son. John Litchfield. They were displayed under his son's name. A young couple were already in the alcove; a thin young man with dark hair dressed to the nines and a young woman in a formal floor length gown. The pair were studying a painting of a young man dragging the bat from home plate? Seeing his son portrayed like this on canvas brought his tent back into its relaxed position. It was titled "Strike Three!" This was the first time Mark had seen a collection of John's work.
"That is so sad. You just want to cry with him. Did you see the damp trail on his cheek?" The girl noted.
"In sports you need to work past failure. You learn to become a man." Mark expressed his opinion. The young girl turned.
"This isn't a seasoned athlete. This is a boy. He couldn't be more than eight or nine. I am glad you aren't my father." The look of disgust radiated her animosity. "When I failed, I didn't need anyone to tell me I was a failure. I beat myself up enough. My dad didn't coddle me, but we cried together. Then he helped me back onto the beam and I tried again."
She pointed to the painting of the gymnast on the top of the podium and then to the grief filled boy with three medals around his neck and a black eye.
"What could ever make winning a time of sadness." She continued.
Mark knew exactly what had made the difference. But he wasn't going to back down in front of a girl barely into her teens.
"Susan, I had wondered where you had gone. Your sister wants a picture of the whole family." A familiar voice called out. Mark had just been dressed down by the daughter of the college selection committee's chairman.
"Coach Litchfield, it was good of you to come to my daughter's opening." He looked around. "This artist is also a Litchfield. Do you know him?"
Mark debated saying no, but he was on thin enough ice already.
"He is my son." He answered simply. Susan started toward the archway into the main gallery.
"Bring your young man. Your sister wants him in the picture too." The young man turned away ignoring the coach. The couple stopped in the archway and kissed.
Two men entered the gallery. One hung the velvet rope across the entrance.
"Mark Litchfield?" One asked. Mark answered that was his name. "My name is Brent Middleton. Our legal firm represents your son's interests. You are legally responsible for the wellbeing of your son. If we hear of you locking him out of the house again, you will be dealing with the Division of Family Services."
The other continued. "There is only one reason they aren't here tonight. John pleaded your case. I am sure the university wouldn't tolerate the kind of media attention this would bring the athletic program."
"Do we have an understanding?" They finished in stereo.
"We don't mean to influence your decision..."
"Brent and Frank! There you are. They are making toasts." Professor Terrion called out to her friends. They left Mark with a sinking feeling he was losing any opportunity for the college position and it was his son's fault.
This is the first chapter that we begin to see a glimps behind Mark's drill sargent mentality. There are hints of more insights to come.
My posting for this story is going to be intermittent. It is Medicare Open enrollment. If you would like to be notified when a new chapter is available drop me a line. ringinmine@yahoo.com