The Cockney Canuck - 18. Chapter 18 The Portrait

On Saturday, I set off to visit Fran. I was invited to dinner, which I was told, would be traditional Italian and had agreed to model for her.

She told me she lived at the top of the house, which made it sound like she had her own apartment and it wasn't far off. She did have three rooms that were originally the attic, but since converted into living space. Her bedroom had a very old-fashioned feel to it with plenty of big chunky wooden furniture, white lace curtains, and a polished hardwood floor. It was tidy, spotlessly clean, and looked nothing like a normal teenager's room. It appealed to my sense of order but I didn’t feel entirely comfortable in there.

Her bedroom had three doors. One to the stairs we had just climbed, one to an en-suite bathroom, and one to her art studio. The latter was the only door that was closed and where we were headed. If her bedroom was overly tidy then this was the complete opposite, and it was hard for me to believe that it belonged to the same person. There were dozens of paintings hanging up with more stacked in piles on the floor, enough to fill an entire gallery. Not all were masterpieces, but there were no poor ones either. She obviously worked very quickly and I found it hard to imagine they were all the work of a fifteen-year-old girl. If an old person told me this was their life’s work, I would have believed them.

In the middle of the room was an old armchair and a coffee table covered with magazines and empty cans of drink. Next to the only window was an easel and a bench covered with tiny pots of colour, brushes, and pencils. This was what I imagined a proper art studio to look like. It took me a while to take everything in and Fran waited patiently for my reaction.

“You don’t usually have visitors up here do you?”

“What makes you say that?”

“There’s only one chair.”

“Oh, I have a stool as well, but it’s serving as a makeshift table at the moment.”

“I’m only joking Fran, this is fantastic and so many paintings, are these all yours?”

“Oh yes, well there were more than this.”

I laughed finding it difficult to believe. “So what do you do when you’re not painting?”

“I cook,” she said. “I swim a lot and like to go to the movies.”

“Wow! How do you manage to get any spare time to do anything other than painting?”

“Well it really doesn't take up that much of my time,” she said. “But I see what you mean, there are quite a few, I’ve been meaning to get rid of some for ages.”

“I’m sure that you could sell some of these,” I said. “They’re easily good enough.”

“You don’t realise how good the competition is out there Robbie. Most of these wouldn’t sell at all, some would make a small amount of money, but only a few would be good enough to make anything worthwhile and by that, I mean only a couple of hundred bucks.” She didn’t say what paintings she was talking about; but to my untrained eye, they all looked good.

“I find people more interesting to paint than landscapes.” I had noticed that there were people in all of her paintings.

“You're still okay with this aren’t you, Robbie?”

“Of course I am. I’ve never had anyone paint me before, but I’m not too good at sitting still for very long.”

She laughed. “It’s okay; I won’t need you to sit still the whole time. I’m gonna need to draw you first in pencil which will take about an hour then we can take a break and maybe do a couple of hours this afternoon. This is gonna be so cool; I’ve never had a real life model to work with.”

“Never?”

“You’ll be my first,” she said with wink. “I can’t promise a masterpiece, but I’ll do my best."

She asked me to sit on the stool and look towards the window and I did my best to keep still, while she quietly went about her work.

Unlike her bedroom, the window in the studio had no curtain or blind and looked out to the back garden, which was the size of a small park.

“You can talk to me if you want Robbie, you don’t have to be quiet.”

“What time’s dinner?”

“Dinner won’t be for a couple of hours yet, are you hungry?”

“A little.”

“Good,” she said, “you're gonna need to be. There will be a lot to eat.”

“How many rooms does this house have?”

“There are five bedrooms, a kitchen, dining room, lounge, study...games room...and basement. Oh and this room of course and a pool. It’s a big house I know.”

“You have an indoor swimming pool?”

“Yeah, I can show you later if you want.”

“Now that really is cool.”

“Do you like swimming? I didn’t really have you down as a swimmer.”

I laughed and then turned away to look out of the window towards the lake. “I spent a lot of my time in swimming pools when I was younger. My mom taught me how to swim. I was too young to remember, but I probably learned soon after learning to walk. We never had our own pool, of course, so we had to go in with everyone else...” I stopped realising I was getting dangerously close to a subject that was still very painful for me.

“Carry on,” she said, “you were talking about your mom and you don’t usually do that. You should do, it sounds like she was an interesting person. It might help, if you talked about her more often.”

I wasn’t aware before then, that I needed any help. I could tell that she wanted to know more though and I wanted to tell her, but I was also scared. I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of her. I knew that as soon as I began talking my stupid emotions would take over, and I didn’t want her to see that side of me. It happened every time and it was something that I was ashamed of but couldn’t control.

‘I shouldn’t have mentioned my mom. She's going to think that I’m a total jerk’.

“What is it that you want to know about her?”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to talk about her if you don’t want to. I was just interested to know what she was like, that’s all, but I understand.”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind. She used to take me swimming every day. We never had our own pool but she belonged to a swimming club and she could use the pool whenever she wanted. I’ve always loved being in the water. I would swim all day if I had the chance.”

“She took you swimming every single day!” she seemed surprised by this. To me it wasn’t anything unusual.

“It was what she did; she was an athlete, a swimmer.” I paused for a while. “She went to the Olympics.”

“Your mom was an Olympic swimmer?”

“Yes, she went to two Olympic Games and even swam in one of the finals in Los Angeles. She retired before I was born of course, but I still have her medals and stuff. She was the British, and Commonwealth, breaststroke champion.”

“Robbie that’s an amazing achievement,” said Fran. “You must be so proud of her. It certainly beats anything that my parents have done.”

“That’s not true Fran. Your parents are very successful; they can afford all this and have an indoor pool. You don’t get all that without being good at something.”

‘Unless you're the mafia’.

“I didn’t mean it that way, but what your mom achieved was really special Robbie, and not many people in this world ever get to do what she did. She must have been really good.”

“She was fast, even after she retired and became a mother.”

“It sounds like your mom was a wonderful person, Robbie. I wish that I could have met her.”

“I think that you would have got on well with each other, but it wouldn’t have happened,” I said. “Because if she was still alive then I wouldn’t be here in Canada and we wouldn’t know each other. I’m not going to lie to you because I would have preferred it to have been that way, so that she didn’t have to die.” The tears that I had been holding back so successfully until that moment now appeared, and filled my eyes so that I could no longer see through them properly.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck what is my problem? Why does this happen all the time’?

I closed my eyes tightly and stood up in an attempt to turn away from her. Fran was quick though and she had seen my discomfort and walked over. She grabbed my hands and held them in front of me and as I opened my eyes, a few tears trickled down my face. My hands were sweaty and I was nervous at being found out.

‘It’s been over three months now I have to get over this and stop being silly. Don’t ruin everything by being a bloody wimp. Girls don’t like to see guys crying’.

I felt Fran’s grip tighten on my clammy hands and she moved closer, now she too had a few tears trickling down her cheeks.

“But she would be the only one that I would give up being here for, if that makes any sense, it probably d …” I was stopped mid sentence by the force of Fran’s lips smacking hard against mine. It took me by surprise and she forced me backwards until I was against the wall. I could feel her tears on my face and her tongue in my mouth as we kissed more passionately than we had done on our date. Her hands were around my neck and then holding the back of my head her fingers running through my hair.

I was just standing there but I felt that I should be doing something as well. I was kissing her back but I was conscious of my hands and unsure of where they should go. She seemed to be better at knowing what to do with them than me and I tried to remember what I had done with Tom. After a while, I placed my hands on the small of her back.

Do I move them down and grab her ass. She has a nice ass, do I dare touch it. Does she want me to do this? Or will she be annoyed. She isn’t going to be annoyed at me. I could do anything I wanted right now and she wouldn’t get annoyed.

With nothing to lose, I grabbed her ass and as I did, she let out a soft sensual moan and pushed herself hard against me.

‘Finally’.

It had taken a while but it happened. I think that it was grabbing her ass that did it. Whatever it was that was responsible the end result was a dick that was fighting it’s way upwards against the pressure of Fran’s body and our joint layers of clothing. It was a strange feeling of both embarrassment and relief. I was embarrassed because I was pretty sure that she could feel me, but relieved as well that despite the recent re-emergence of my gay side, I was able to get excited by a girl.

My little man’s intervention was a signal for Fran to slow down a bit and let me cool off. She kissed the tip of my nose before easing apart from me and placing her forearms flat against my upper chest. I smiled and blinked to allow one final teardrop to trickle down my burning cheeks. She smiled back at me before wiping her own tears away with the back of her hand.

“Better?” she asked.

“Better.”

“I’m so sorry Robbie,” she said. “I know that you’re still hurting badly. I can see it sometimes at school when someone mentions something and it makes me want to reach out to you.”

“I need to be able to talk about it without getting all emotional all the time. I don’t usually cry, I’m much tougher than this normally, it’s just when I think of her I cant help it. I think that I need help because there’s something wrong with me.”

“Robbie, there’s nothing wrong with you okay. You’re grieving still. I don’t know what you’re going through and I can’t even imagine how I would feel if I lost my mom, especially if she was my only parent. It would be devastating. It doesn't mean that you’re not tough because you cry. You don’t need to be embarrassed by any one of your bodily functions around me,” she said. She had a slight smile on her face and I guessed that she was making a little reference to my hard on, I smiled back and blushed.

“You are the sweetest boy that I’ve ever met,” she said. ”Honestly, I mean it, you're warm, kind hearted, and sensitive with so much love inside you. I want to help you, Robbie." She pulled me in for a long hug and kissed my neck. “Thank you for telling me about her, I know it was hard.”

“Oh yeah, sorry about that,” I said sliding my hand down the front of my pants.

She hit me playfully with the back of her hand. “I didn’t mean that.”

If Fran’s face was anything to go by then I probably didn’t look too good, covered in a drying mixture of sweat, saliva and tears. Fran licked her finger to clean off something from my face before deciding that I needed to clean up using soap and water and she led me through her bedroom to the bathroom. I always had a dirty face as a child and my mom would complain that it was impossible to keep me clean. When I looked in the mirror I could see that things hadn't improved a great deal. I was just finding new ways of getting in a mess.

While Fran was cleaning herself up, I took the opportunity to browse the many paintings that hung on the walls of her studio. There was one, in particular, that interested me, and I took a closer look. It was a painting of a nearly naked man, maybe in his twenties with only a towel wrapped around his waist. He was covered in drops of water where he just had a shower or something but she had managed to paint his moist skin with the tiny droplets almost perfectly. I liked it and I wondered who he was.

She laughed. “You don’t think that I actually got some hot guy to come over here and take all his clothes off, so that I could paint him do you?”

"I don't know."

“I wish,” she said, “but really, I wouldn’t have been able to do much painting if that had been the case.”

‘Me neither’.

“He’s okay, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry Robbie,” she said, “I didn’t mean to hurt your man pride. I’m sure that you look every bit as good as he does when you get out of the shower.” She put her arms around my neck and kissed me to prove her point.

“I very much doubt that.”

“You’re not jealous of a painting are you?”

“Of course not, I’m just letting you know that I’m nothing like as hot as that guy.”

‘Fuck, I just called him hot'.

“I mean not as well built as him,” I smiled.

“I’m sure that when the time comes to find out, I won’t be disappointed,” she said, and she moved in for another kiss.

“Ahem,” It was her mother standing at the open door to the studio. We pulled apart both a little embarrassed. “Lunch will be ready soon Robbie, Francesca,” she said.

“Yes of course mother we’ll be straight down,” said Fran.

“Good,” replied her mother as she turned around to go back downstairs. As soon as she was out of view, we returned to our previous positions to finish our kiss.

“Andiamo!” her mother shouted up at us.

“What did she just say?” I asked.

“Andiamo,” said Fran, it means let’s go in Italian. Hurry up in other words. She doesn’t like it that we’re up here alone.” She giggled. “She’s never caught me kissing a boy before. Now I won’t hear the last of it.”

“We better hurry then,” I said, “Francesca. So am I the first boy that you have had upstairs in your room, or just the latest of many?”

“Cheeky!” she scowled. “You are the only boy that I’ve taken upstairs so you’re privileged.”

“I’m honoured,” I said as we walked downstairs, “really I am.”

“Compliments will get you everywhere in this house,” she said and I suspected that she was right.

When Fran told me that there would be plenty to eat, she wasn’t wrong. There was enough food to feed an army. The table in the dining room was filled with plates of cooked meats, salads, cheese, pasta, seafood, and bread. It was only a light meal her father said. We took our places at the table alongside Fran’s younger sister Claudia and younger brother Roberto. I had met them both for the first time earlier when I first arrived. I was disappointed to hear from Fran that her hot older brother Philippe was out with his girlfriend. I had been looking forward to seeing him again, but he didn’t seem like the type to be indoors a lot.

There were six people to share what seemed like enough food to feed a dozen. “When do the other guests arrive?” I whispered to Fran.

“There’s no one else,” said Fran, who then turned to see me smiling and gave me a stern look. “I can’t get used to your silly humour,” she said.

“I can’t get used to your food,” I said, “I don’t even know what half of this stuff is.” That didn’t stop me from trying everything though and enjoying it all too, much to the delight of Fran’s mother and the Godfather. I was told that no Italian meal was complete without a glass of Italian wine to wash the food down and in Italy, it was usual for children our age to be allowed a small glass of wine at the dinner table. I had also been allowed this in England with my mom occasionally, although I never really liked it. I watched as Fran poured us both what seemed like a very large glass of red wine.

“It’s a Tuscany wine which is very good,” Fran explained. “So it is better to sip this wine than gulp it down like cool aid,” and I could see her point as my whole body shuddered after swallowing a mouthful. Her brother Robert sitting opposite me found this quite amusing and had a broad toothless smile plastered across his face. I poked my tongue and crossed my eyes at him and he replied by pulling an equally grotesque face.

“You’re from England,” he said.

“Yes, I am,” I replied.

“Do you play soccer?”

“You mean football,” I said annoyingly. “Sometimes,” I said, wondering what this cheeky faced kid had in mind.

“So do I,” he said, “I’m Italian and we’re the world champions. Do you want to play after dinner?”

“Wait a minute,” I said, “I don’t think that I’m going to be able to play any football for a while yet. I think I’ve eaten a little too much. Anyway, you don’t sound Italian, to me. You sound very Canadian.”

“I was born in Canada, but my family comes from Italy,” he said.

“Well I was born in Canada too,” I said, “but my family come from England, or some of them do anyway.”

“Cool,” he said, “so why do you have that accent if you were born here?”

“You’re a smart kid,” I said. I could see that his dad was listening to us at the end of the table smiling. “Well it’s kind of a long story how I ended up here, but basically, I’ve lived most of my life in England.”

“But don’t you go to school here?” he said. “To the same school as Fran.”

“Yes, but I also went to school in England.”

“Then why did you leave your school in England to come over here?”

“It’s a long story and I don’t think that we have time for that now,” said Fran.

“Sure we do.”

“Roberto why don’t you help your mother clear up and leave Robbie alone for a while, he looks like he could do with a rest,” said George. Young Roberto complained but soon left for the kitchen followed by his dad who said he was going for a walk in the garden. It was only the first weekend in March and surely a little cold to be out in the garden. There was still snow or ice covering most of the ground, although there was much less than a week ago. I didn’t ask any questions, rather him than me I thought.

Now that we were alone the first thing that Fran did was grab the half-empty bottle of wine and pour the remainder into our two glasses. “It doesn't keep,” she said as if she needed an excuse. I certainly didn’t need an excuse to drink alcohol, I had tried it a few times in England with Tom and I liked the feeling that I got from it. I was already feeling a little light headed from my first glass.

“This is actually quite nice,” I said as I pulled a face after gulping down a mouthful.

“You don’t really like it do you?” asked Fran.

“No,” I said, “I think that wine is nasty but it makes me feel good.” I swallowed another big mouthful and Fran laughed.

“You're drinking too fast, you dork, it’s wine, not cool aid.” I burst out laughing although I wasn’t sure why and Fran joined me.

“Is there any more?” I asked and Fran raised her eyebrows at me.

“Do you want some more?” she asked.

“Don’t you?”

“Are you trying to get me drunk, mister?” she asked.

“No,” I said, “I’m trying to get me drunk."

“That’s what I said.”

“No, you asked me if I was trying to get you drunk, not me drunk.” Then we both started giggling again.

“You're a bad influence on me,” she said as she polished off what was left in her glass. “Here take our glasses upstairs to my room and I’ll join you there in a few minutes.”

“They're empty.”

“So is your brain,” she said. “Quickly now hurry.”

I made my way to the stairs and back to Fran’s room and into her studio, feeling a little dizzy. Two minutes later, she walked in and pulled a half-empty bottle of wine from under the woolly jumper that she was wearing. My eyes must have lit up.

“Where did you get that from?” I asked. I knew that it was a stupid question the moment it left my lips.

“My family deal in wine,” she said, “it’s what they do.”

“Is that all they do?” I asked giggling.

“What do you mean?”

“I think that your family are mafia,” I said. “And your dad is the Godfather.” She laughed.

“In that case, you had better do as I say.”

Then we got the giggles and everything we did or said became the funniest thing ever.

I think that we must have drunk over a bottle of red wine between us in a couple of hours and that was way too much for two fifteen-year-old kids, with little experience of alcohol.

“I need to get back to work,” she said filling the glasses.

“Are you gonna be able to paint wine after drinking me? Oops, I mean...” We both burst out laughing again.

“Yes, of course,” she giggled, dismissing my objections and looked over at me with a critical eye.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she said. “I’ve decided that I want to paint you in the nude.” I laughed.

“Won’t you be cold, standing by the window?”

“Not me, you dork. I mean you.”

“No way,” I said, “forget it, never, no, it isn’t happening.”

“Oh, but that would be so cool Robbie, I’ve never painted a nude before, you don’t have to be totally naked, you can have a towel around you, like the guy that I painted from the magazine. It would be really cool to have a real life model to work from.”

“For you maybe, but not for me.”

“I’ll pay you,” she said.

“That’s typical. Rich people think that they can get whatever they want just by offering money. Do you think that I’d sell my dignity for a bit of dosh?”

“Yes,” she said.

“How much are we talking anyway?”

“I’ll pay you with sex,” she said and I nearly dropped my drink.

“No Fran,” I said. “Maybe another time when your family aren’t here, but not now. What if your mom walked in? It was bad enough earlier when she caught us kissing. And if I did pose for you what would she say if she walked in to find me stark bollock naked?”

Fran was nearly bent double laughing at this, but I couldn’t see what was so funny. It didn’t matter, I still joined in. She stopped laughing only long enough for her to take another gulp of wine.

“So Mister Robbie whichever your name is,” she was slurring her words like they do in the movies and it was so funny, I thought at first that she was putting it on. “Tell me something,” she said as she plonked herself down on the only chair.

“What?” I said, I needed to sit down and the best option seemed to be the floor so I sat down with my back against the wall under the window.

“What is bollocks? I mean I’ve heard Englishhhh people say it before. But I don’t understhand.”

“Ha, you don’t know what bollocks are,” I said laughing. “That’s funny”

“Well what are they then?” she insisted.

“They are little round things that hang behind a…they hang behind...hang behind a”

“Go on,” she said.

“Penis,” I replied.

“You mean testicles?” she said.

“Bollocks!” I said loudly and rolled on the floor laughing. This was too much for me for some reason, I thought that this was so funny and I wasn’t able to control myself. My sides were hurting but I still couldn’t stop.

“I don’t get it,” she said, “what’s so funny about that?”

“I’ll explain another time,” I said holding my sides and virtually laying on the floor.

“English people sure have a weird sense of humour,” she said standing up. “Whoa Robbie, I think I’m drunk,” she giggled.

“You only think!” I laughed.

“Don’t laughed at me, I’ve never ever even been drunk before,” she slurred. She walked across the room to where I was sitting and sat down opposite. I thought at one point that she was going to fall on top of me.

“Careful,” I said.

“Don’t careful me,” she said, “I'm perfectly fine, hic. Shit now I’ve got the hiccups, hic.” It was funny.

‘She should be a comedian’.

“Do you think I’m attractive?” she said.

‘Oh here we go, what am I supposed to say. If I say anything other than yes, then she’s going to throttle me for sure’.

“Tell me the truth,” she said.

“Yes of course I do,” I replied, it wasn’t really a lie. She had a nice figure and most guys thought that she was hot. I was kind of attracted to her in a funny sort of way.

‘Even if she looked like the back of a bus, I’m still going to say yes’.

“Are you a virgin?” she asked with a wicked smile. This was going to be difficult for me to answer and I panicked.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Wow,” she said. “You are probably the only, hic, boy in our year who is a virgin, hic.”

“I am?” I said, “really?” I found this hard to believe.

“No,” she laughed, “you’re probably the only honest boy in our year, hic. You should hear the way they talk. They’re all virgins hic. But none of them will admit it.”

“Oh I know what you mean,” I said, “it’s like a male thingy, you know, it’s all”

“Bollocks!” she said.

“That’s it!” I said, “it’s all bollocks.”

“You know what I really like about you Robbie, hic?” she said.

“No, do you?” I asked.

“Of course I do, strupid,” she said.

“Then what are you asking me for?” She looked at me confused, I couldn’t blame her.

“You’re not like other guys. You’re different you know that?”

‘Only too well’!

“How do mean different?” I said.

She knows about me, about my gay side. She must have guessed, I’m not coming on to her enough.”

“It’s like you don’t give a shit, you know. You don’t care. I mean I’m drunk and vulnerable hic, and you’re not even trying to make a move on me hic.”

“Is that what you want?” I said. “You want me to take advantage of you because you’re drunk?”

“Yes. I mean, no of course not, hic. I mean, that’s what I mean you see. You’re a gentleman Robbie, a real life gentleman.”

‘No, I’m just queer’!

I was sitting cross-legged on the floor and she was opposite me, then without saying anything else, she leaned over and put her head onto my lap as if it was a pillow. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t panic,” she said, “I’m not giving you a blow job, I’m just resting my eyes for a minute.”

“Well that sure is a relief,” I said sarcastically.

“So you’re not going to pose naked for me I take it?” she said with her eyes firmly shut.

“No, definitely not,” I replied, “but I might reconsider on another day when….” She was snoring.

“Fran, Fran wake up.”

‘Oh bloody hell’.

I gently lifted her head off my lap and onto the floor, then I tried to stand up but the room started to spin and I suddenly felt very sick.

‘I should have stayed where I was. Oh fuck, why did I drink that shitty wine? I need to get Fran off the floor and put her into bed. I can tell them she was tired and had to go to bed, then I’ll walk home’.

I reached down to grab her hands and pull her towards her bedroom but it wasn’t going to happen. I would just have to leave her there on the floor. It was a gallant effort but I failed to see Fran’s easel behind me and turned straight into it pulling it over on top of me as I crashed to the floor. It sounded as if the roof had collapsed and I heard voices shouting from downstairs and the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. I was unable to move and covered in paint. Then I heard the door open and closed my eyes.

I had been expecting to hear Fran’s mother’s voice tearing strips off me for getting her daughter drunk, or her father accusing me of trying to rape her or something equally as absurd.

‘Now I’m really for it. Her old man’s gonna take me for a drive and then probably bump me off’.

I recognised his voice when he shouted down to his parents. “It’s okay, it’s nothing, just something got knocked over.” Then he shut the door. “What the fuck? Have you two been drinking?” I could hear Fran mumbling. “Shit, you’re totally wasted.”

‘It’s Philippe and he’s laughing, wait until he sees me’?

When he did he almost split his sides, but it didn’t matter, I couldn’t thank him enough for coming upstairs instead of leaving it to his mom or dad. He knew from the wine glasses and the look on Fran’s face that we were completely hammered. He had got home just in time to hear me crashing around and mercifully decided to cover for us, if only for the comic value. Phillip helped me to stand up and then sat me down in the chair.

“Fuck man, you guys are totally assholed,” he said. “What the fuck happened?”

“We’re drunk.” It was the best explanation that I was able to give.

“No shit!” he said, “but is that all? I mean you haven’t been doing anything else have you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you had any drugs?”

“Oh not for me Philippe, I’ve had too much to drink.”

“I wasn’t offering you some dickhead,” he said. “I wanted to know if you’ve taken any.”

“No, we haven’t been taking drugs.”

“What did you fall over the easel or something?” he said. “You’re lucky you didn’t wake my old man up.”

“I was trying to get Fran into bed.”

Philippe looked at me and shook his head. “I’m so pleased that you didn’t just say that to my parents,” he said.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that. You’ve got the wrong bit of the stick. She was unconscious.”

‘Fuck he is so hot’.

He laughed. “This gets better by the minute. This is so funny.” He lifted his sister off the floor and carried her into her room to put her in bed. He had managed this seemingly with little effort. “Okay, your turn.”

I tried to stand up but the room just wouldn’t stop spinning around long enough and I was starting to feel very sick all of a sudden. “I’m okay” I kept saying, “leave me here, I’ll be fine,” but I must have looked as if I was going to puke because Phillip grabbed me and walked me very quickly over to the bathroom and sat me on the floor next to the toilet bowl. As soon as he did this, I threw up. Mostly into the toilet, but some down my t-shirt and pants.

‘Fuck now I’m in Fran’s bathroom covered in paint and sick, and drunk as a skunk’.

If it were me at this stage I would have just left us there and gone downstairs to watch TV or something but Phillip remarkably stuck to his task. I will really need to thank this guy.

“You had better take those off,” he said.

“Eh.”

‘What did he say? He wants me to take my clothes off, the sneaky git. He wants to have his wicked way with me’.

After being sick, I was feeling a little better and at least able to stand up on my own.

“Come on,” he said, “take off your clothes, we haven’t got all night.”

I was grinning at him, certain that he wanted to abuse me in some way. I peeled off my t-shirt.

“What all of them?” I asked as I undid my belt and dropped my pants.

“All of them,” confirmed Philippe, and he handed me a bar of soap before turning the shower on.

I dropped my boxer shorts and reluctantly climbed into the shower. “Shit, fuck it’s freezing.”

“It’ll sober you up,” he said, but it didn’t. Instead, after the quickest shower ever, I fell over for the second time that day, after trying to grab a towel and landed in a heap on the floor. Philippe was laughing, as he stood me up and handed me a pair of shorts to put on. They had to be his they were much bigger than mine.

“You’re going to have to stay here tonight,” he said. I’ll call your folks and tell them. I’ll think of something don’t worry. I’ll need your home number.”

“It’s on my phone under home,” I said as I stood there shivering. I was cold and suddenly feeling very tired. I really needed to lie down, anywhere would do. The next thing I knew I was in a warm, comfortable bed.

* * * * *

It was daylight. I opened my eyes and lay still for a few minutes while I pieced everything together. This wasn’t my bed and it wasn’t my room. Where was I? What day was it, was it a school day. I jumped and my heart missed a beat.

‘Shit I have to get to school. No, it’s Sunday and I’m at Fran’s house’.

What a relief. I had a bit of a headache but that’s all. Where was the dreaded hangover that everyone complained about? I actually didn’t feel that bad. Then I remembered that I had thrown up all over my clothes. I remember standing naked in front of Fran’s older brother, then falling over getting out of the shower. I was wearing his boxer shorts. He must have put me in bed and I turned over onto my back...with Fran!

Shit I’m in bed with Fran, think Robbie, did anything happen between us, no of course not her brother put me here. I need to get out of her bed quickly before’.

She touched me on the chest her arm rested on top of me and I tried to lift it off in order to make good my escape but it wasn’t to be and as I lifted her arm she woke. Then she sat upright looking down at me. Thank god at least she was still fully dressed. I looked up at her but said nothing. Then she lay back down again and sighed.

“Robbie”

“Yes”

“I don’t remember what happened, why are you in my bed?”

“I thought you might ask that question,” I said.

“And what happened to your clothes?” she said.

“Oh they’re around somewhere, I think.”

“But why aren’t they on you?” she demanded.

“Because you asked me to take them off don’t you remember?” I said.

“I did not,” she said.

“Yes you did, you wanted to paint a picture of me nude,” I said.

“You didn’t!” she said. “Please tell me that you didn’t pose naked for me.” She said.

“But you insisted.”

“Oh my god,” she said, “I don’t even remember.”

“Obviously!”

“Robbie I just need to know one more thing and I need you to tell me the truth, no matter how bad it is okay?”

“Sure,” I said smiling.

“Why are we in bed together? She asked.

“Don’t try and tell me that you’ve forgotten that bit too?

“I’m sorry,” she said. This was going far better than I had hoped. I just wish I had this on cam.

“How can you do all that stuff and then a couple of hours later just forget about it?” I said. Her face was a real picture; she just sat there staring at me with her mouth open.

Just then, I could hear someone coming up the stairs. “It’s okay,” said Philippe, “It’s only me,” and he walked in to Fran’s bedroom wearing what looked to be only a dressing gown and smiling from ear to ear.

“Well what have we here,” he said, “you two definitely need to lay off the booze for a while, rehab may help.”

“Very funny,” said Fran. “Now before you get the wrong idea here Philippe, this is not what it seems. Nothing happened earlier, I mean with Robbie and me. I don’t want you getting the wrong idea okay.”

“I know that sis. I put you both in bed. Sorry you had to share. You passed out on the floor and Robbie threw up over his clothes so I had to strip him off, then he passed out as well, there wasn’t anywhere to put him, I figured that you two wouldn’t mind sharing.”

I looked over at Fran and I could see her eyes narrowing. “YOU LITTLE SHIT! She said as she hit me on the head with her pillow and jumped out of bed. I was crying with laughter and I think that Philippe soon understood what had happened because he started to laugh as well. “I’ll get you back for that Robbie,” she said but after a few seconds even Fran could see the funny side of it, she looked a little relieved too.

“Shush, keep your voices down or you’ll wake mom and dad up,” said Philippe “here I’ve brought you up some clothes for you to wear home. I take it you have a coat.”

I nodded. “What time is it?”

“Seven thirty and we need to get you out of here before my folks get up which is usually about eight on Sunday. I’ll tell them that you went home last night.”

‘Thank god for Phillip, if it wasn’t for him we would have been really screwed’.

“OK homeboy,” said Fran. “Let’s get you up and dressed.”

I wasn’t happy about this. “Fran,” I said, “I’m only wearing my boxers, how about a bit of privacy here.”

“Oh, I’m sorry Robbie, I wasn’t thinking,” then she gestured to her brother. “Philippe would you mind leaving us alone for a minute while Robbie gets dressed.”

“Of course not,” he said and took off downstairs.

I just looked on in total disbelief. She’s either crazy or she’s trying to get her own back for earlier.

“It wasn’t Philippe who I was worried about,” I said. “He’s already seen me naked anyway.”

Fran just smiled at me. “You can either stay where you are and wait for my mom to come up here. Or you can get up and dressed now and make it out of the house before they wake up.”

I threw back the covers, jumped out of bed and got myself dressed while Fran checked me out and giggled.

“I’ve decided that I do want you to model for me after all,” she said, “just like the painting on the wall but without the towel.”