A gay story: Painting Donovan
I had trouble writing the ending of this because I’d get too turned on to write. Enough said. 😉 ~K
*
My brother Donovan was a cunt slut.
His schemes were simple but effective. Having his latest fling “meet the family” as a demonstration of commitment was one of his favourite ways of getting into their pants. Since I was the only reliable family member he had living in Vancouver, I was the one he always asked out. I’d never really found it fun to play the good little brother as Donovan made baby talk with a dumb bombshell. Still, I went along with it because I figured it was the brotherly thing to do.
This was what I expected when I got a call from Donovan one late afternoon. The interruption was a welcome relief as I’d been in the midst of a painter’s block and was close to chuck the canvas out the window.
“Hey man,” chirped Donovan. “What’s up?”
“Well, I was trying to paint but it doesn’t look like it’s gonna happen tonight.” I gave the canvas a hard look, but it just gave me a blank look back.
“Aw, how come?”
“I guess I’m taped out of inspiration.”
“Hey, here’s an idea,” said Don. “Why don’t I come over and we grab something to eat?”
“Right,” I sighed. “So who’s the girl this time?” The last one had almost talked my ears off, and the one before that had been just plain nuts.
“Aww, Darren, there’s no girl this time. It’s just me.”
Uh oh, I thought. What’s he up to now?
“Well,” I said aloud, “There’s that Italian restaurant we had last time.”
Donovan liked Italian.
“Yeah that one was good,” he agreed. “Kind of pricey, though. How about we raid a McDonalds or get loaded on a pound of Kentucky Fried Chicken instead?”
“Don, that’s friggin’ gross. Why don’t you just come over to my place? I was going to make pasta anyway.”
I liked Italian too.
“Sure!” he said, “I’ll see ya tonight.”
“What time-”
Click. He’d hung up.
Asshole, I thought, even though I was smiling.
* * *
There was a knock at my door.
I’d texted him about the time, and he’d texted back that he’ll be there around six. He was late. It was past seven now and I was fighting aliens on my laptop to keep my mind distracted from my stomach’s unhappy noises. I let the aliens win as I went to get the door.
“Hey bro,” grinned Donovan. His wet hair and the gigantic duffel bag slung over his shoulders told me he’d probably come straight from the showers of the hockey arena. He looked fresh though.
“You’re late.” I noted.
“I know. There was this chic in the crowd.” He scratched his jaw, still grinning. He was almost good-looking if in a rough, untrustworthy kind of way.
“I thought you were seeing Cynthia.”
“It’s Angie now. Hey you got any beer? I’m starving, what you got cooking?”
“Linguini primavera,” I handed him the beer and went over to the stove where I was keeping the sauce warm. I tasted it. It was a little saltier than I liked from sitting out, but it would do. I poured it over the pasta and served.
“Looks great,” he said as he plunked himself onto the kitchen table and started gorging.
He munched for a while and then said, “So, why’d you and Colin breakup?”
That threw me. I put my fork down. Sure, I was out to my family, but I had only just broken up with my boyfriend of two years. That had been less than two weeks ago and I hadn’t told a soul.
I decided to temporize. “What makes you think we broke up?”
“You took down his photographs,” he said, pointing his fork at a blank wall.
“Oh.” I had. It hadn’t occurred to me that he’d notice. Donovan could be kind of perceptive sometimes for a jock.
“Plus Ashley said so. So I thought I’d come over and check you out.”
I felt embarrassed. Sure, the break up had been mutual. But I hadn’t been ready to deal with being single yet. And how the fuck had my sister found out?
Donovan put a hand on my shoulder and giving me a concerned big-brother look. “Hey. You doing alright?”
“Yeah.”
“Well. If you ever wanna talk… I don’t know much about relationships with guys, but y’know?” He smiled. “I’m here.”
His hand was still on my shoulder. I could feel its warmth. Truth be told, Donovan was a hot number. In fact, if he hadn’t been my brother… woah there! Get your mind out of the gutter Darren!
I sat back on the chair and his hand fell away. “Thanks Don.” I said, maybe a bit too curtly because Donovan gave me a funny look.
“Anyway,” said my brother. “There’s another thing I wanted to meet up with you about.” He sighed, massaging his neck.
He laid his hands flat on the table, palms down. A determined look. I noticed the dark hair all along his muscled forearms.
“Look. I’m just going to come out and say it. I’m swimming in debt, man. The job at the warehouse, it’s steady but it barely covers the rent and utilities. I’m a bouncer on Saturdays at a club too, but it isn’t enough. I was wondering if maybe… they could use me at your work place. I’m open to anything.”
I felt bad for him. It knew what it had cost him to ask his kid brother for help, but there wasn’t much I could do. I was a lowly assistant instructor in the arts school and Donovan couldn’t tell a Picasso from a Michelangelo. We needed people with artistic talents, not a six-foot muscled hulk who might accidentally break a figurine. I suppressed a chuckle at the thought of mincing Mr. Princely teaching Donovan how to make jewellery. Mind you, Mr. Princely would enjoy the view, hell, almost everyone would…
And that’s when I realized we could use him. Maybe. A smile crept across my face.
Donovan brightened, “You got an idea. Come on man, spill it.”
“You really serious about being open to anything?” I was grinning now.
“Yeah! Damn right I am!” he slammed the table with his fist.
I chortled. “Great! How’d you like to be a nude model?”
The expression on his face was priceless. Or rather the sequence of expressions — from incredulity, to chagrin, and finally to resignation, all transitioning seamlessly into the other. In fact, I thought, it might even be possible to convey those facets with the right layering of acrylic…
“You serious?” he exclaimed.
I nodded.
He contemplated it for a minute and then asked seriously, “What do I need to do?”
I told him. There’d be no fooling around. It usually started with some warm up poses, but eventually he’d have to hold poses for at least an hour, with twenty minute breaks in between. It helped if the model got creative with the poses since it made the painting more interesting.
I let him mull it over. Finally, he said sheepishly, “What if I get, y’know…turned on?”
The image came involuntarily: My brother lying naked with his cock hard. I swallowed and shook my head. Man, I seriously needed to get laid.
“Think of Mrs. Hendricks nude.” I suggested. Mrs Hendricks was a shrivelled up 70-something prune who’d taught us both English in high school. I’d used her on a number of occasions to calm my horny self down. I was using her now.
“But what if I mess up?” he said anxiously.
I shrugged, “We could practice. Get you comfortable.” A part of my brain was screaming something urgent but I wasn’t listening. I was a professional. I was helping my brother out. And if on occasion I entertained less than brotherly thoughts, when had mere thoughts done any harm?