Date: Wed, 23 Aug 2006 14:23:00 +0000 From: Rachel Stevenson Subject: Rachel Part Nine This is not a work of pure fiction; it's not a verbatim record of events, either. Rather it's a recovered and organized memory with partly imagined details. What I mean is -- the events happened; to me and to my friends; but I have had to reinvent the dialogue. The emotions have stayed with me and I have not had to remember, invent or reconstruct a single one. However, all the characters and events portrayed in this story are fictional. No resemblance to real people of events is intended. So there; if you think you recognize yourself or the events, you can't sue me! __________________________________________________________________________ Art School, north London. "Darling, I knew I'd find you here somewhere . . What an interesting place this is." JJ turned about her, looking over the rims of her glasses into the other workspaces around me where Julian was painting the Martyrdom of St Anthony and where Natalie was photographing a half naked friend for The Annunciation. JJ and Bernadette were the only school chums that bothered to stay in touch after we kissed (cheek to cheek) goodbye at St XX Convent School, apart from Hillie of course, but that was a bit different. After my year at Art School doing a Foundation course, I had been accepted here in London for a Fine Art degree wherein I was expected to produce the equal of Raphael or failing him, merely Giotto. JJ was now doing post grad English Literature; "I honestly could not decide whether to research 'The Italian influence on 19th century English Literature' or 'The legacy of the English gentility on late 19th century Italy'. In the end I did neither." And she raised an eye to meet mine. "I took the easy way out and decided to go for the smut. 'Italy as a sensual adventure in the Grand Tour', it was easy! The British always love smutty tales of their great grandparents." "Oh god, JJ" "Don't reprimand me sweetie, I had the best mentor panel one could hope for." "But that's only because they have sexual interests in whatever dirt you dig up - who was queer, who fathered whom and where." "I know. Wonderful isn't it. All this attention, and I get a travel grant for it too!" She turned and adjusted her glasses theatrically. Gazing at a charcoal sketch I had pinned to the studio wall. "Who is this angel?" "A model. She happens to be the daughter of a tutor, and she's only sixteen." "And what are these trails down her body?" "They will be blood in the final painting. She is St Catherine; broken upon the wheel." "I had forgotten that you were once a Catholic. Explain to me again about the transubstantiation or the concept of original sin. Whichever you find easier." "Piss off JJ! It's lovely to see you, but I really do not need cultural abuse masquerading as intellect!" "Sorry. Sorry, sorry." She put up two hands in submission displaying blood red fingernails. "Is everyone here desperately religious, or have I just come at a bad time?" she asked turning about and glancing from sketch to sketch, book to book all around the collective studio. "It's our project at the moment; paint something convincing in support of an idea that you fundamentally dispute. Someone in the next studio is painting a Stalinist piece in support of the benevolent dictatorship." "What fun you have here! Sounds like one jolly jape after another." she paused. "But I think I can see the worth in that; demonstrate your mastery of your craft by producing a painting that has merit before involving your personality and personal ideas. Learn your trade first, and learn to pamper the person paying your bill. Still, not exactly self-expression, is it? However, I think I can perceive a little of your personality here, Rachel." She had turned and peered carefully through her glasses for a closer inspection of my charcoal sketch for St Catherine. "She's very attractive. I'd like to fuck her. Do they know you're gay here?" She suddenly checked herself and glanced nervously about. "Sorry" she mumbled. "Forgot we were in public" "It's ok, no they don't, and no-one heard." As we left the semi-curtained work spaces, I realised that Julian had stopped painting and was sitting right behind the thin sheeting cleaning brushes. He looked up with a weak smile as I passed; how much had he heard? I didn't have time to worry about that, I had to get rid of JJ and go to see Peter, my tutor about money! We had barely even started the term and I couldn't make ends meet. I needed money to pay fees and bills, but I had none and would have none for another month. I explained it all to JJ in the pub. "Darling, you have two choices as far as I see things; one, you get a hideous little job. Two, you let me pay for everything." "No, JJ. I couldn't let you do that!" "Rachel, I have £5,000 each year from my father; my grandfather supports me secretly with £7,000 plus all my fees and accommodation because he dislikes my father. My mother - who has now left my father for a younger model who can maintain an erection - pays me an allowance of £4,000. Despite what you may think, there is only a certain amount this girl can spend on shopping!" Remember dear reader, these sums were in the late `80's: JJ was rolling in it. JJ waltzed off to buy another round. Half of cider for me, double Gin and Martini for her. "Have you heard from Hillie lately? She seems to have moved on from the last address I have for her." I asked. "Only cries from the gutter, darling. Young Hilary seems to have increasing difficulty in discerning that which will kill her from that which will not. As far as I remember she was not a follower of Goethe -'What does not kill me makes me stronger'- and yet she continues to fill her body with dubious chemicals and her stomach with poor quality alcohol. Cheers!" JJ looked me dead in the eye and sank her double in one gulp. I tried to imagine Hillie living in a haze. So different from the young, strong and straight sport-loving beauty I had loved at school. Alexander, her baby would be three, no four now. Probably doing well at nursery and the apple of his grandparent's eyes. JJ was dressed predictably inappropriately. Here we were in a pub in the borough of Camden and she sat there draped in a fur coat, little black dress and seamed stockings. To top that off, her hair was gathered up above her neck and she wore a necklace of large, real pearls. More `Breakfast in Tiffany's' than `Boozer in the Holloway Road'. `Did I tell you where I was living now?" She asked, brightly. "Got this lovely place just off the Regent Park Canal. Moved in `bout a month ago. On a clear day you can smell the Zoo!" The pub door opened behind her and my faced must have fallen. "Who's this, then? The Nazis or just the Nuns we both knew and loved?" It was Natalie and Sophie. Two fellow girls from my course, both undeniably straight and just a little bit frumpy - but sweet, nonetheless. Now they zigzagged through the chairs and tables towards us. "Hiya! Do you want a drink?" smiled Natalie. "No thanks, really. We were just about to leave." I replied. "Sod you. I'm not leaving!" snorted JJ. "And I'm buying too!" and she tripped up to the bar again with both newcomers, buying halves of lager, glasses or white wine and another double Gin and Martini. They all sat down around the table, scraping chairs across the boarded floor. "Rachel here was telling me all about your current project. How you have to prove yourselves to be proper socialists by painting something fundamentally opposed to the dictatorship of the proletariat, otherwise you get kicked out" Oh no JJ, not one of these episodes. Natalie just stared. Sophie mumbled something about needing to explore the view through other eyes; a kind of aesthetic relativism. JJ continued. "Only I've been writing about something similar. Where an individual is forced to confront their most deep-seated prejudices about humanity per se and their relationship with their own body. If you like, it's a treatise on self-loathing and the rationalising of `self' within a sexual landscape." I started to feel sick. I'd seen JJ at this pitch before, and the outcome was always ugly. Gently she would move from politics to sexuality; taking her time, not rushing. At what she felt was the right point, she'd introduce the idea of sexuality as self-expression and the need to throw off stereotypes and so on. Before they knew it, anyone following JJ enthusiastically would find themselves argued out of their knickers and into her bed. "Catch this sweetie and get another round in" JJ flicked me a fiver and dumbly I staggered to my feet and towards the bar. Glancing back, I saw Sophie pulling her chair in closer to engage JJ in direct argument while Natalie smiled in encouragement. I carried a tray of three drinks back to the table – I couldn't face another one. Setting them down, I tried to latch on to what they were talking about but only caught phrases like "dialectic morphology" and `genderised political equation' so I went for a poo. I returned and sat down to finish my cider as they still argued. Sophie was the `bolshie' one with light brown hair and a retrousee chin above a full figure; I got the impression that she would dispute the point until the cows came home – and probably went back out again. Natalie was darker and more private. I think her first reflex was to smile at every opportunity. It wasn't a mouth –splitting smile, just a shy little smile really, that gave you the message that whatever you said or did, Natalie wasn't going to challenge you. "Right. Off we go then. C'mon Rae! Get with it." "What?" "We're getting a taxi!" "Where to?" "JJ knows a Turkish take away at Swiss Cottage, so we're going there and then back to her place!" Oh no. "Okay." On the way, I remembered that I was supposed to be seeing Peter about money etcetera. I'd missed that now, so maybe I would have to take up JJ's offer of help. Sometime in the night I woke and needed a pee. There was a body next to me in bed, but it was too dark to decide who it was. Going to bed, I had stripped to my knickers then put my T-shirt back on, piling my discarded clothes on the dressing table. Now at the other end, there was a similar pile of sweater, bra and trousers etc. I touched the trousers; corduroy. Natalie was wearing cords, Sophie was in jeans, so I was sleeping with Natalie. I fumbled out to the bathroom and back again, then slept heavily until morning. Still night, but with a greying to the dark, it must be morning. I picked up my wristwatch and studied it hard: seven fifteen. I could hear bustling in the kitchen, so I slid out of bed leaving Natalie still very asleep to join whoever it was in the kitchen. "Want some coffee?" called JJ cheerfully as I pushed open the door. "No thanks. I need tea." "Help yerself. Tea bags are there – kettle, fridge." She pointed vaguely around the room. I made tea. "Sleep well?" "Fine thanks. Sorry to go to bed so early, but I was just dead tired. What time did you all turn in?" "'Bout two." She took a bite of toast and looked at me. "They were quite curious about our history. Y'know, where did we meet, were we `similar' etcetera. So I told them all about Nikki, Paula and Bernadette, of course. Oh and that pedo-woman you met in Cornwall or wherever it was." I gagged and spilt tea bags all over the worksurface. "You didn't! You bitch, what did you tell them?" "Not really ALL about Bernadette. Just about your ability to persuade towards the gay side of things. Called you `The Queer Campaigner'" "JJ you cow. I've got to work with these girls for the next two and a half years. What the fuck did you tell them that for?" "Just making conversation, really. Actually you can calm down. I didn't tell them anything at all. I just spoke about the redundancy of habitual sexual preference; we ought to get in there and grope whomsoever we feel like at the time." I rolled my eyes skywards. I couldn't fathom JJ like this. Had she told them or not? Probably she'd dropped enough hints to make both girls certain about both our sexualities. "Well. Did you score?" "No I did not! That's revolting JJ. I never expected to `score' with Natalie. She's straight and I don't fancy her. Did you `score', to use your disgusting term?" "No." JJ was sullen. "That Sophie has got tits like coconuts." She mused. "And thighs like palm trees. Rough and easy to climb!" I bitched. "With the fruit at the top!" JJ squealed and clapped her hands in mock theatrics. "She really has got magnificent boobs, though. I had a quick feel before we both fell asleep. She said she was having her period and I couldn't get close enough to check." She finished her toast. "What time to you lot start at the Art College?" "Allegedly nine o'clock. Allegedly." JJ raised an eyebrow "Rumour has it, eh?" "Well I'll have to be gone about now, so take the spare key from behind the kitchen door and post it back through – or keep it; whichever you prefer, and I'll see you soon." She paused and fixed me with stern eye. "I meant what I said about the money. I can help with somewhere to live too, this flat is belongs to Grandpapa, and you're welcome to share. Have a think and call me." She came round the breakfast bar and we kissed lightly cheek to cheek before she bustled out the door in a full length Burberry and tan riding boots. First I had to see Peter. No, first I had to get the other two up! In college at last. Go to see Peter, ready to apologise to him. "God, Rachel, old love. Thanks. And sorry for not being here last night. Hell of a day. Loads of trouble all around. Got stuck in a bloody meeting about models. Real bloody problems." Peter grinned at me. I was impressed that he remembered my name and immensely relieved that he had missed our intended meeting last night as well. I explained the money problems and what I needed to do about them and how I thought I could start to pay next month and all that rubbish, and he listened with interest and furrowed brow. Occasionally he ran his hand through his thinning, sandy hair and looked into my face with a concerned expression. Peter was about fifty, I suppose and spoke in fractured sentences with a slightly flattened accent that I'd guess was about Lincolnshire. I thought he'd make a good vicar. "Have you thought about getting a job? You have, good." He frowned. He smiled. He stood up and took a walk around the room to unstiffen his back. "Not to many hours a week. Just enough to earn some cash. Casual stuff, I suppose. Right? That's about it, yes?" "Yes, Peter. I'd consider anything that I could do in a couple of evenings each week or perhaps a Saturday job, just to raise a little money." "Because, as of last night, we have a vacancy. Model - adult life drawing class." He grinned at me over his shoulder. "Cow Beryl Ronson. She refused to sit in the sculpture room again. I really tried to listen to her and reason the points. Got so tired of it all, just told her to bugger off. So there's a job going." "Naked modelling, Peter?" "We prefer `nude'. But yes, same thing. No clothes. What do you reckon? You'd be with Michael, of course." Peter I wasn't sure about, but Michael was safe. He was a white haired sculptor who taught life class in the evenings, and he was openly homosexual. So I knew I'd be safe naked (or nude) with him. I looked at the floor and tried to imagine the situation. I'd been naked on the beach of course, but so had everyone else. This was different, I would be on show; the centre of all attention. How had I reacted to the nudes in life class? One of the women we drew was quite attractive, but because of her situation I hadn't had the vaguest feeling for her. But I would be in front of men; they react differently. "It's an adult education class. No students from the Art School. They're all about fifty. Mainly female, too. And not too many of them at the moment - need more if we're to keep the class going." Reassured, I asked if I could think about it. Peter agreed, but was clearly anxious to get something in place as soon as possible. It would be three evenings each week and two and a half hours per evening. I knew the money would be very useful, especially for just lying about unclothed. So I thought it over for at least fifteen minutes over a cup of coffee and wandered back to Peter's office to say `Yes'. "You will. Good, excellent, old love. Gets me out of a bind, I can tell you. See how it goes, eh? See Michael tonight, then. Just before seven. Ok?" "Tonight, Peter?" I was aghast at the suddenness. "'Fraid so. Bit of a rush to the whole thing. Still. You'll be fine! Christ. Got Year 2 Printmaking in six minutes!" And he fussed me out of the office before him. I went to see Michael. "Darling. Have you ever done this before?" Emphasis on the `have'. Michael sat on the stool with his legs tightly crossed before him. His hands were draped across thighs, one with a dark brown cheroot burning between the fingers. Michael was in his fifties as well and had short, curly white hair brushed up and away from his face. He was slim and lively, moving with grace and although he was a sculptor, one might have guessed that he was a dance tutor. "And I don't mean being `nude' we've all done that. But sitting, darling. Sitting. In one position modelling for long periods at a time?" "No, Michael. I have never done anything like this before." "Well it's going to hurt sweetie. You'll get muscle bounce, too. The more you try to stay still, the more you're muscles will jiggle and bounce after just a few minutes. So we'll start you off easily – lot's of reclining. I know, let's do Manet's `Olympia' first off. You know, lying back with one hand covering your twat. But darling, I will do one thing with you. I'll stand you up right at the beginning and show the class the proportions of your body so that they don't forget it when you lay down. Is that clear? Did you do ballet at school?" I shook my head. "Pity. No Degas then. You're perfectly slim though. Maybe we'll get on to Schiele. Oh and take off your bra at least an hour before, then we shan't see a red mark around your ribs." Feeling a little dazed I left Michael; I had 195 minutes before I was due to appear on stage with nothing on. "Right. Look up here, darlings. This is Rachel, our new model. And very slimline she is too." Michael turned to me. "Up you come, sweetie. And leave the gown, please." I stood up and unwound the dressing gown cord around my waist. I took a breath and opened the front, another breath and I slipped it from my shoulders. I was naked. Naked in public. Naked in front of clothed people. It took all my courage and the four vodkas I had swallowed not to turn and run. I walked forwards to where Michael stood at the front to the dais. I tried to cross my legs a bit, then just stood with my weight on one foot and my other leg crooked over to hide my pubes. "Stand up straight for me, sweetie." I stood. "Now. Look at the figure and the proportions. One head height- so. Makes a body of six head heights." He stood beside me, demonstrating my vital statistics as though I was a window shop dummy. "Nipple height to crotch equals nipple to top of head height. Look. She's young – high nipples." "Crotch to crown equals crotch to ground." It nearly rhymed, Michael was pleased with himself. "Shoulder width to navel is an equilateral triangle. Remember in a man of this age it would be nipple to navel making an equilateral triangle. Check your Vituvian Man images, please." "And against a man of the same height, her navel will be higher." "Turn around for me, sweetie." I turned. "Now look. From the base of the bottom to the top of the hips. This much." Michael held his hands apart the requisite distance. "Is actually nearly one fifth of her entire height." I hated Michael; my bum wasn't that big! "Right. Olympia it is, please sweetie." Michael turned to the students and clapped his hands. "We've got `Olympia' for you first. Then a couple of Schiele's and lastly `Democracy expiring on the ruins of Athens'. Let's go!" I lay down on the rather lumpy couch and clapped my left hand over my crotch, sitting up enough to offer a stern glance to those in the front row. "Stick the elbow back a bit, love. Good. Oh and don't press so hard on your plot – it's censorship not self-abuse! Good. Let's go!" Being without clothes isn't being naked. Naked is being powerless. In front of a dozen would be artists I was the centre of attention and I had power. I had resources that they needed. I looked at them all while trying to keep my head pointed firmly in the same direction. Earnest, intent and enthusiastic they worked diligently on their drawings as Michael strolled between them tutoring and encouraging, gently chiding them and exhorting everyone to "Just record what's before you. Draw what you see." They were from about 30 years upwards to late sixties, two thirds female and 100% middle class. I needed a pee. Maybe they'd like to draw that. How long to the break? Could I last that long? I was becoming more conscious of a draught over my left shoulder. What had started as a light zephyr was now a chilling breeze and starting to affect my whole side and neck. Michael had now finished his patrol of the mature students for a while and ascended the dais behind me. There was a touch on my shoulder; Michael gently held the back of his hand to my skin. "You're getting a bit chill, sweetie." Now to the class, "Three minutes, everyone. Three minutes then we'll take a ten minute break." The three minutes dragged while Michael disappeared into his office before retuning and - "Right!" and he clapped his hands together before his chest. "Rachel get off and warm up a bit. Everyone else, let's have a look at where we've got to." I eased myself up and worked my cold shoulder around a couple of times to loosen the joint as I stepped to the back of the dais and retrieved my gown. Swung it round my shoulders, turning to face the class again as I did so. Someone in the studio dropped their gaze very quickly and turned to Michael to disguise their interest. But I had noticed. I had my pee and was coming back into the studio when Michael called out "Coffee Rachel, in my office!" I retraced my steps into his office; there on the desk was a steaming mug, not of coffee but of hot chocolate. I coiled myself onto his chair and cupped the hot mug gratefully in my hands. Michael appeared at the doorway. "Darling. Your predecessor complained about the draught. And of course I ignored her as a matter of principle. But I have to say your skin was simply frozen just then; we need to do something about the insulation before you do an `Ophelia' on us." I must have looked confused. "Elizabeth Siddal died of pneumonia after posing for Millais as Ophelia." He explained gravely leaning on the doorframe. "She wasn't even nude – just in a bath of water!" I returned to the dais and sat for three or four more poses before the end of the evening session. It wasn't a bad experience at all; I didn't feel exposed or vulnerable, I actually felt powerful being naked and strengthened by the experience. Let me explain. I stepped down from the dais without putting my gown on at the end of the session. Michael was chatting with a student and examining the drawings of me. Curious to see what they had made of me, I wandered over for a peek. There was a little knot of five or six gathered around and I joined them. I stood behind a man in his forties and a slightly younger woman, trying to see between them at the drawing Michael was discussing. Suddenly they both became aware that I was there, and that I was still naked. They sprang apart almost in terror lest they should touch me. The man in particular was trying not to stare at my boobs, while the woman stood stiffly staring over my shoulder, resolutely not looking at my body. They were intimidated by my nakedness. I extended my arm and indicated something on the drawing "I like the moulding on the limbs here" I interjected. And as I said this I waved my arm a bit, knowing that it would make my boobs jiggle. The man beside me half turned and looked down at my nipple and further down my body, I looked up at his eyes as he did so. He swallowed. I was no longer a shape to be drawn, now I was a naked girl standing next to him. He was sexually interested, and desperate not to betray his interest. If I moved closer to him, he would be even more intimidated; if I spoke to him directly, he would be mortified. I sort of backed towards him slightly, he flinched and trod on the toes of the person behind him. I was in control. Two more evening sessions that week, and I was paid – in cash – enough money to keep me in food, drink and materials for the week. That meant that the allowance I had could pay back what I owed to the College. A good start, but not quite good enough. I'd probably have to talk to JJ about sharing her flat and save the rent on my disgusting bedsit as well. "Well of course you bloody well can! I can't tell you how much I need someone to water the pot plants and take out the dead girlies!" JJ lowered her head and looked at me closely. "I'll start again and speak honestly. Rachel, it would be a pleasure to share this flat with you. We are both of the same mind and it would be a delight to think that someone else might be here as well as me." She nodded down to me. "There. That's from the heart, darling." I moved in the next day. I seemed to be spending the entire weekend packing and carrying from one place to another, but at least – by late Sunday – I was fully moved in the flat on Regents Park. From my bedroom window, I looked out obliquely along the curving avenue, through the branches of the naked trees towards the zoo. It was a view that anyone would have paid handsomely for, but I had it for free. "Can I contribute towards anything" "No. Absolutely not. Grandpapa pays all the bills, including the phone, so just bloody well get used to being a kept woman!" Back at college, I knew this would be a bad week. To celebrate moving in with JJ, I had started my period and all I really wanted to do was die. I ached as usual; low down and mournful. But this month it was worse as I had to be naked and presentable on Tuesday night. I wasn't sure what to do, I certainly was not going to present myself with a string hanging out in front of my public. So I went to see Michael for advice. "Darling, it's a not a huge problem." He leant forwards and opened the lowest drawer of his desk. "Here. Wear this." And he handed me what looked like a triangle of flesh coloured cloth on a long string. I looked at it, mystified. "For goodness sake, sweetie. Stand up. Now, this bit goes here, the cord goes through here; around here and ties so! You're barely covered but it preserves your dignity in the circumstances." I went back to the flat, trimmed my pubes as close as I dared and tried the thing on. If I was `discreet' with my string, the thong would keep me as covered as much as I absolutely needed to be. It wasn't very comfortable and I'd probably be in agony by the end of the session, but it should hide my shame. `Shame' – what a stupid expression! But I did feel ashamed of presenting myself while having my period in the view of all these people – even though probably a quarter of the female students were having periods too. But periods are something we do in private; and what I was doing was very public. And of course, apart from that, my tits were sore, and I needed as much sympathy, warmth, yoghurt and chocolate as I could get. Michael had sent one of the technicians up to the glass roof to tape over as many of the gaps they could find and there were new draught excluders around each of the doors. The studio was definitely warmer and the draughts seemed to have disappeared completely. This evening, it seemed that there were a few more students in the life class and Michael had a bit more of a battle getting round to see them all in the time. There were definitely three or four men that I didn't recognise from the previous week. At half time again, he sent me off to his office to warm up and enjoy another welcome mug of hot chocolate. I untied the thong just for a while and rubbed the sore red track it had left around my middle. I felt horrible, but reclaimed merit through the sacrifice I made – and the money I was earning. "More people this week, Michael" I said encouragingly. "Mmm. Still not enough though. We need to show a few more bums on seats to avoid the axe at the end of the year." "Really?" "I'm sorry to say that we need to show the class is enormously popular for it to continue next term. Probably need another ten or fifteen in the class by the end of term." He fumbled around in his jacket for another filthy cheroot, then patted his pockets absently looking for his lighter. "You know what we ought to do, Michael?" "Hmm?" he wasn't really listening; he found his cigarette lighter., "There's only a certain number of poses one body can't take up in terms of fine art. What about recreating historical paintings in tableau and giving the students a chance to draw the figures for themselves?" I knew that broadly that's what we had been doing, but I wanted to extend the idea. "We ought to do `The Three Graces'. You know one girl rear view and two face on." "And where on earth do we get two more girls from?" He lifted his face towards the ceiling, as if hoping divine grace would enlighten him. "If I could get them, would you pay them?" "Yes! No. Hang on a minute." His eyes snapped down to me. "Are you suggesting that you could get two more girls to work as models for the class? And that all three of you would model together?" "Last class before Christmas; you pay them and I will deliver them, and we will model The Graces and anything else you can think of with three nudes. Or would you prefer a couple of boys and we can do rude poses!" Michael looked into space for a moment, probably thinking of something disgusting. "No boys. My heart's not up to it." He put the back of his hand to his forehead, feigning a pained expression. I sniggered. "Think how many students would sign on for next term if there were three girls on display. It's not about the quality of drawing; it's about bums on seats, you just said so." "Rachel. You are a tart; but I love you! Get the girls." But we decided to change it a bit. We would have three girls for the next to last class. For the last class, we would have just one model - me, but we would invite the college bursar along to see how popular the class was. Simple; get the `bums on seats' by letting them expect to see three girls and only show them the normal one; show the authorities all these bums without explaining why all the bums were there. Simple. Now all I had to do was recruit two more nude models. I asked JJ. "No. Absolutely not. Never." "Why not JJ? We could have a real hoot." "The only way anyone is going to see my naked body is when I am just about to ravish them with obscene and animal passion. I will not parade my parts for a bunch of arthiritic would-be artists in a draughty studio in Camden!" "Please?" "Never!" And so I asked Sophie. "When do you want me to do this?" I repeated the date. "And who would have to know?" "Well, really a few people because the idea is for lots more people to turn up to the class the next week when you won't be there. But people will only have to know after you've done it – if you see what I mean." "Yes." She said tentatively. This wasn't a `Yes, I'll do it' it was a `Yes, I understand your point.' "So how many people will actually be there to see it?" "'Bout twenty. Mainly women." "Do you think I'll do? There's quite lot of me under this." And she plucked her baggy jumper away from her stomach. "Well you'll make up for the fact there's not much to see on me! I'm a 34B with extra socks and you're what, 36C?" I nodded down at her boobs. "36D, actually. And big across the hips too." "Then view it as a political statement. That not all women are skinny or striving to be skinny!" "Yes," tentative again. "Except I would actually like to be skinny." She looked away into the distance. "One of us ought to be black, y'know." One of us, she said. "You'll do it, then?" "Yes. Alright." And all I needed was one other. "Rachel. I hope you don't mind me asking. You don't do you? Only I know you asked Sophie and she said yes. So I thought carefully about it and I thought I could, only you hadn't asked me yet and I wanted you to know. That I would appear naked with you. If you want, that is." Natalie smiled at me in her Natalie way. I needed another and here she was offering herself to me – in the nicest possible way. So there we had it. Sophie with her coconuts, me with my fuzz and Natalie with – nothing at all. Natalie was small and brunette in a particularly Anglo-Saxon way. Her hips were broad and her bust small, her skin was pale and her features delicate. She was as English as Stratford, as Surrey, as anything. The kind of girl you would pass in the street and not notice in her dark anonymous clothing, self-deprecatingly plain, but always ready with her soft, ingratiating smile. The next week of course, I had finished my period and was ready to pose anywhere, anyhow. That was until I stepped up onto the dais and shed my gown. There in the middle of the growing band of sketchers were two faces I recognised. Dave and Julian from my BA Fine Art course. Dave waved, Julian smiled. I was furious. Michael knew them of course, and why they were there, too. So he gave them hell. He presented them as semi-professional artists, studying hard in this august college of art and all that rubbish. And then, when they had been sketching for twenty minutes or so, he really ripped their work apart. They deserved it too; they were only there to ogle me – Dave in particular. But they'd paid their money right through until Easter and were registered as the `bums on seats' that Michael wanted. Michael was starting to have a difficult time of the classes as there were starting to be more students than he could pay attention to. When I first started modelling, Michael had been able to spend a little time with each artist, reviewing their efforts, tutoring and encouraging. Now with the increased number, it was becoming more difficult for him. Half time. "Now listen up darlings!" Michael clapped his hands and clasped them together before himself. "Not next week but the week after, we're going to have a bit of a bonus. There will be three models for you. We're going to do a few poses with three models and then individual poses so that you can draw whichever one takes your fancy." That last phrase, `takes your fancy', was said looking directly at Dave and Julian. Michael was upping the ante. Now there would be a full house for the three of us; not sure if I was pleased about his. I caught the bus back to the flat overlooking the park. London was damp and dark in that late November; street lamps were on, sodium yellow shadows. I took the lift and opened the front door of the flat. The light was on in the hall, but I didn't hear or see anyone. Maybe JJ had gone out again. I threw my bag into my bedroom and kicked off my trainers, everything landed on my bed. I turned and started across the hall to the kitchen when a sound stopped me. It was a funny short groan. There it was again. Female. I was terrified. JJ must have had an accident, or she must be tied up or . . . Louder now, and in rhythm. I stood stock still. Utterly shocked. Someone was close to orgasm. And it wasn't JJ. The moans and squeaks were definitely coming from behind JJ's closed door. I couldn't help myself, I just stopped and listened, trying to build up a picture of what was going on just a few feet away. "Oh god." I heard. "Oh yes. Yes." Silence. "No." Muffled noises, and a slapping sound. Groan. Groan, groan, groan. "Mwaah!" "Ooh." All from the same voice. I couldn't imagine what JJ was doing to her, but it sounded wonderful and I was getting a more than a little interested, if you understand me. In my bare feet I trod carefully and silently towards the door, but all I could hear were muffled whispers. And the rustling of clothes or bedding. I tiptoed away again and into my room. Quietly, I clambered onto my bed that ran along the wall between the two bedrooms. Silence for a minute or so, then movement and the squeak of a bed as bodies moved. "Oh no, too big!" Muffled protestations; rhythmic movements. What were they doing? "Don't" I couldn't help it. I unbuttoned my trousers and slid my hand inside, just pressing my knickers against myself. I knelt on the bed with my trousers open, facing the dividing wall and waited for the next sound of passion. "Yes!" Muffled protestations. I stopped my hand work and tried desperately to listen harder. Deep and guttural, still the same unidentified voice; whatever JJ was doing to her now, it sounded exciting "Oh, oh, oh!" Unintelligible. I stopped pressing the dampening cotton of my underwear against my pubes and lifted my hand to the waistband of my knickers. "Oh! Yes." My hand went inside and straight to my clitoris; erect and receptive. I pushed my fingers down to my vagina for some lubricant, then back to my clitoris for a rub. Groans and moans in rhythm through the wall. I rubbed and circled, pressing forward to the wall. "Jo! Yes! Yes! Oooh!" Long and extended, that was her moment of orgasm. I could imagine her arching up and pressing herself against JJ, whatever she was doing. Her hips would press up and her thighs would flex open as she pushed her divine opening up to her assailant in that surrender of passion and `petit mort' before collapsing down, deflated but satisfied into that sweet reverie of post-orgasmic peace. My fingers flew. I wanked hard and fast driven by the fantasy of her. I had no idea what she looked like, who she was. But I knew her voice and the way it betrayed her passion. Here it was! Involuntarily, I thrust forward on my knees again and again. Pressing my hand against the constraint of my trousers. I stifled my squeaks as I came, jerking my hips towards the unknowing lovers on the other side of the wall. I sat back on my heels and buried my fingers into my vagina. After polishing off, I was always as wet as a fountain and my fingers slipped in easily. Now I leant forward and rested my forehead on the wallpaper. I ground myself around, sitting on my heels and just loving the feeling of fullness in my entrance. But I have to admit, I wanted more. I lusted for more. I wanted a companion to share my love and lust. I wanted sex now and it was all JJ's fault! I cooled down and cleaned up. Brushed my hair and thought about changing my knickers, but decided they could wait. All I wanted now was tea and toast, then I'd go to bed. I stepped across the hall into the kitchen, turned on the kettle and put some toast on. There was the sound of a door opening, a couple of steps and she was here in the kitchen with me. "Oh. Sorry! Didn't realise there was anyone else here." "I've only just come in." I lied. "I'm Rae, I share the flat with JJ." "Oh, hi. I'm Tina. Who's JJ – is that Josephine?" I nodded. Tina was Chinese or from Singapore or Hong Kong or somewhere like that. She was incredibly delicate with blue black hair and very pale skin. She spoke without a trace of an accent, so maybe she was English after all. "I just want some water, then I must go. Late already!" "Glasses are in here." I opened the cupboard and took out a tumbler for her. As I passed it to her I was amazed at her long fingers, slender hands and narrow wrists. Her eyes flicked up to mine. "Thanks." And then away again. Was I imagining it or was she embarrassed? I certainly was, to think that I had masturbated as this girl had climaxed next door. So this was the author of the sounds of sex next door. I looked at her as casually as I could while she filled the glass at the tap and drank her water. Tight blue jeans wrapped around a very slim body – typical Chinese flat bottom. Chunky cable knit sweater with double roll neck, fashionably off one shoulder, black bra strap, small bust – smaller than mine. I could imagine her wriggling and climaxing beneath me, quite easily. "Wotcha Rae." JJ appeared at the doorway and leant indolently against the frame. She was wrapped in her silk dressing gown, hair and makeup a little awry. "Have you two introduced yourselves? I found Tina researching John Donne at the library today." Tina and I both nodded, and glanced smiling at each other. "Rae and I go back years together, don't we darling?" "Oh, I'm sorry" Tina started. "Are you two . . ." She extended her hands and brought her thumbs and forefingers linked together in an unmistakable symbol. "No!" I exclaimed with more certainty than I needed. "No, we're old school friends who just happen to be studying in the same part of London." I had never even fancied JJ, or really even thought of her as a potential sex partner. Don't know why not, she was attractive and charming with perfect dress sense and exquisite manners. But I just hadn't considered her – neither had she considered me, I think. So Tina was a quick pick-up, then. How did JJ manage that? It took me weeks to decide on someone's sexuality, weeks more to get to know them, by which time JJ would have been through the entire pack. "I have to go now." Said Tina, and turned to look directly at JJ. She stepped slowly across the kitchen towards where JJ was holding the doorframe up. "Shall I call you?" Asked Tina, standing directly in front of JJ in the doorway. They brushed together. "I think you'd bloody well better" grinned JJ, and she leant forward; they kissed, mouth to mouth. I had never seen two women kiss like that. I'd done it of course, just never seen it. It sent shivers down my spine and I turned away to busy myself in tea making. "You'd better get your train; Rae's embarrassed!" I whirled around to defend myself, but yes, I was embarrassed. JJ and Tina just stood there grinning at me. "Bye" called Tina, pecked JJ on the cheek, waved at me and left. Silence for a second or two. "I'm knackered and smelly. Going to have a bath." JJ levered herself off the door frame and went towards the bathroom next door. She called over shoulder "Do you want to pee first? Cos I'm going to be hours." Yes, I did. I thought a lot about the sounds I has heard through the wall that evening. They were in themselves, exciting. But I was curious to know what JJ had done to Tina to raise her to such heights – none of my lovers had ever reacted like that. "JJ, have you got a dildo?" as matter-of-fact as I could manage. "Mmm. Motorised or non-vibrating? Sculpted and lifelike or smooth and silver? Double ended or solo, with or without harness? Mini, medium or maxi?" "Where did you buy it- them?" "Soho, sweetie. There's a hard-core knot of shops around the Berwick Street area with an interesting array of substitutes and attachments. Trouble is they're male establishments too. It's either that or join in with a putrid Anne Summers party. But if you're shy," she looked at me closely here. "There's a very private service in the Archway for ladies that do." I sort of nodded and coughed at the same time and tucked my hair behind my ear. "Yes. I think that would be the place." She gave me the details. They were cut from a magazine, on the reverse was a few truncated contact advertisements. "WLTM like minded for fun. Tel XXX' `Dom seeks sub willing to . . .' I needed to see the rest of the magazine. I phoned first. A deep female voice answered "Sappho Arts" and I was instantly intimidated. "Hello, I was wondering if you would be open on Saturday. This Saturday." "We are never `open', but always `accessible', I'm sure you'll understand, just as we will." "I'm sorry could you say that again." "There will be someone here if you care to call. Shall I wait for you?" "What? No. Yes, please. On Saturday." I arrived just after ten at an apparently disused shop in a side street near to the Archway tube. It was a single fronted shop in a parade of half a dozen or so, between a Patel grocer and a sub post office. There were curtains drawn tight against the windows and a brass plaque at the door that proclaimed `SP Arts Limited' with a voice box immediately underneath it. I walked past, looked back and gathered my courage; no-one was around to pay me the slightest attention. I walked back, hesitated then approached the side door and pressed the button on the voice box. No response. I waited for thirty seconds or so, then pressed again. Another wait. Then a crackle from the speaker. "If that's you Vivienne, you can bugger off!" I was too taken aback to say anything. "That's not Vivienne, is it?" "No. It's me. I phoned on Thursday." "Oh shit. Sorry. Come in, give the door a good shove." I pushed the door hard, but it didn't move. I pushed harder still and the sticky damp wood yielded at last and the door swung open. I stumbled into the shop, but what a shop. There was fake fur carpet on the floor and the ceiling was tented with rich silk billows that billowed down about my head. The walls – or sides of the tent were in deep red cloth and scattered about were gigantic leather cushions in languid repose. Ropes and stays ran across the walls and down to the floor. Rope, leather and fur. Not many fetishes were missed, there had to be rubber here somewhere. But the main attractions of the shop, its raison d'etre, were displayed in the tall wooden cabinets lining the walls. Every slender, glass fronted cabinet was lit inside and held an astonishing array of pleasure devices for every taste. I gazed about me at the spotlit prongs of so many devices. Single prongs for solo, dedicated enjoyment. Double devices for partners, double devices for both holes, triple devices for both holes and button. Huge, ridged devices for the brave, simple sleek items in chrome for the purist, tiny items for the discreet. I was fascinated and a little excited. I turned about gazing into the cabinets and crossing my legs to give myself a little squeeze. I didn't hear her enter the shop behind me. "Tell me what takes your fancy, won't you." I whirled around from my legs crossed position and nearly fell over on the faux fur rugs. It was the owner of the deep female voice I had spoken to on the phone. She was of indeterminate age, but of buxom build with creamy white skin and dyed orange hair. She wore a full length strapless black gown studded with rhinestones and jet in a `V' design down her front. In the circumstances of our meeting, it occurred to me that the arrow of her dress pointed directly to her vagina. "I should imagine your looking for something smaller to start with, aren't you." I have no idea why, but I took immediate umbrage with her assumption that I was unskilled (I was, but that wasn't the point). "Not exactly" I countered. "Tell me about these." I commanded pointing to a ridged and curved monster in the cabinet. "These are vibrators, just over seven inches long with fully adjustable speeds. As well as long, look at the girth; five and three quarter inches." She unlocked the cabinet and removed the beast, running it back and forward through her fingers. Thumb and forefinger circling the shaft; back and forth. "Does it fit into a harness?' She looked at me. "Alas, no. Do you want a harness, then?" I hadn't even thought of it. "Yes." Lifting her hand in a languid beckoning motion, she invited me to another cabinet. "All these are suitable for harnessing." Sculpted shapes with standing out veins in plastic (horrid), lengthy plastic weapons with strange `tickler' heads to them. Smooth chrome members again with batteries mounted in the shaft, clipped into a harness in the shape of a pair of briefs. The briefs were crotchless. "That one." I indicated the chrome willy. "Can I use it without the harness?" "Most certainly." She answered, "perfect for solo enjoyment as well as for entertaining a partner. It's also a powerful vibrator for additional stimulus" `Entertaining a partner'! What a lovely euphemism. Mind you, I was struggling not to blush anyway. If she had said `wanking or fucking your girlfriend' I would have definitely died! She opened the cabinet, removed if from the harness and lay the reflective member on her hand; it pointed towards me and the silver tip reflected her red nail polish. "Would you care to try the harness for size?" Try it for size. Try wearing an artificial penis for size. "The changing room is right here." "Oh. All right. I will, ok." The saleswoman or owner or whoever drew a tent flap aside for me to pass into the changing room. I glanced about at the tented walls, the two full length mirrors angled towards each other and the brilliant red nursing chair in the corner. I turned back and drew the curtain tighter closed and prepared to undress. Down with the jeans, threw them on the chair. Pick up the harness briefs. Turn them the right way round. Step into the left leg. I stopped and thought about what I was doing. This would be entirely pointless, I was trying the briefs on to see how they would feel, not look. So I stepped out again and pulled down my knickers and kicked them onto the chair alongside my jeans. Now I stepped into the briefs again. Both legs in, I drew the nylon fabric up my thighs. They were thicker than tights, but thinner than almost anything else I had worn, and they were smokey black. Sexy in themselves. I pulled them up and the waistband sat high on my hips. I pulled the velcro straps firmly around me. The harness point for the dildo was padded on the inside and descended down a little so that as the wearer thrust, she would feel the effort directly on her mons. Immediately below this tiny pad, the briefs split open along a lined seam exposing the pubis of the wearer. The split widened and continued between the legs beyond the perineum, exposing the labia, vagina and anus of the wearer to attack. I put one foot on the chair and bent over to see how my genitals looked in the briefs. My sandy fuzz protruded but so did my lips, quite wantonly. I examined my reflection in the mirror; I liked. I stood up straight and admired myself fore and aft. Now for it, I picked up the chromium penis from the nursing chair and struggled into place in the harness. With a satisfying click, it was in place. I straightened up and admired myself with six inches of weapon in front of me. I had a cock and I loved it. I waggled left and right. There was a little pressure on my clit behind the pad. I thrust my hips forward, pulled back and thrust again. The pressure was greater – and exciting. I bent my knees, opened my thighs and thrust again. Tap tap! "How are we doing then?" The lady in the black gown tapped sharply on one of the `tent' uprights just as I thrust my dildo forward as though I was inseminating a buffalo. The dildo and the harness together came to exactly the total amount of money I had brought with me. Now that I was the proud owner of both, I had no money for food or entertainment until I got paid for modelling on Tuesday. I returned by tube to the flat and had tea and toast before retiring to my room for a good fiddle. Saturday night. I was sketching myself in the mirror by the light of the lamp beside me on the dressing table. Try as I might I couldn't get the nose and mouth right. A quarter of a millimetre wrong and I looked like a mutant! I heard the flat door open for a lengthy time and then slam shut. JJ must have friends with her or be very drunk. As it happens, it was both. "Rae! Rae. For fuck's sake, Rae!" I stood, smoothed down my sweatshirt and walked to my bedroom door. Opening it, I was confronted with JJ, extremely intoxicated, with her arm around a mature man of about fifty. His hair was thinning on the crown and pepper and salt to the sides. He beamed at me and his wide face and generous figure made me think he was either Dutch or German. Behind him, a lady peered around to catch my eye. She was a little younger, quite dark with a good full figure. She was dressed in a putty colour skirt suit with seriously padded shoulders and a deep V top in chocolate that displayed her cleavage. "This is Ger and Helena from Hamburg." She lurched sideways and kissed Ger on the cheek. "I met this delightful couple at the R.A. reception. They're staying somewhere in Bayswater, which I told them was slang for `septic tank'!" "Hello, how do you do? And welcome to England." I managed. Ger smiled and bowed slightly, Helena smiled and wrinkled up her eyes slightly. I liked her. "Let's go in the lounge. Rae get some booze will you." They passed in front of me and I crossed into the kitchen to fetch a tray of Gin, Vodka, Whisky and a few mixers. Oh, and four tumblers of course. I carried the laden tray into the lounge. "It's all sodding dialectics – and money. Fucking money!" JJ pointed at Ger's stomach to make her point more forcefully. "That's all it is!" I set the tray down on the coffee table, Helena smiled at me as I took a seat beside her. "Can I pour you something?" She asked. "I think they are so complicated in talking that they will not notice if we drink!" I smiled, Helena had put me at my ease, and now she turned towards me to charm me. "London is such a busy place. I only have admiration for people who can live here!" She poured two very generous measures of Vodka and added two measures of orange juice to both tumblers. She handed me one. "If it is not too early, I wish you a happy Noel." "Happy Christmas." I responded and we clinked glasses and drank. Ger half turned and made a sort of clearing-the-throat-noise at his partner while motioning at the drinks. Helena rolled her eyes at me and reached for the whiskey bottle to pour him a large measure, barely diluted with ginger. Meanwhile JJ was spouting forth about the redundancy of the merchant system and the rise of the corporate tribe or something, and without a breath or losing her place in the argument she leant forward and poured a monstrous gin and tonic for herself. "You are student here also?" Helena leant towards me and treated me to a lovely view of her cleavage. "Yes. I'm doing fine art at XX – just up the road, and-" at that moment my stomach gave a gigantic rumble. I was hungry and it was empty! "Excuse me! How rude of me. Gosh." "I am with you. Also very hungry. We should eat!" She turned towards Ger and spoke rapidly in German. Ger nodded briskly and stood up. "Good idea. We will continue over dinner!" He turned to JJ. "Where shall we go?" JJ directed Ger to drive the short distance to the Finchley Road, and we went to the Imperial Hussar. It was hugely expensive – I'd looked at the menu before and shuddered – "I haven't got any money!" I hissed to JJ as we entered. "Don't be so bourgeois, darling! We'll deal with all that later." We had a magnificent dinner. Rich and meaty with a couple of bottles of Bull's Blood. What astonished me was that Ger seemed perfectly sober on it all and drove us back to the flat as safely as a clergyman. In the back of his Mercedes, I felt that I could get used to this kind of life. I had no money, but I had been very well fed. There was a woman who flattered me with her interest, and I had a lovely flat to stay in for free. Back in the flat; JJ and Ger were still talking and hitting the bottles with serious vengeance. Ger could not possibly be fit to drive back to their hotel now. December remained mild that year and the damp night air felt almost warm as I opened the lounge doors and stepped out onto the balcony. Sodium yellow light and misty air gave golden halos to the trees of Regents Park. I couldn't really believe I was here. "Close the fucking door, sweetie! We weren't all born in a ploughed field." I turned back, poked out my tongue at JJ and pulled the door to. I gazed south over the Park towards the city centre, but I had to hold on to the balcony quite tightly as the wine and vodka were having quite an effect. Helena come out a few moments later and stood beside me looking over the park. "This is a magnificent city. We are here only three days but there is plenty here for a lifetime. And romantic too, look!" On the curved street below, a couple sauntered beneath a street lamp arm in arm. I smiled at the sight and was about to reply when I felt Helena's arm slide around my shoulders and she leant towards me and kissed me on the cheek. I couldn't help it, I just stiffened. "Don't be shy. It's just girls being friends. Can't we be friends?" She had misjudged me. I had stiffened out of surprise, I hadn't even expected to be touched. It was surprise, not rejection. "Yes. Yes, of course. It was just unexpected, you know?" I smiled at her in what I hoped was an encouragingly way, and she dipped her head and came back to me and kissed me again on the other cheek. Her arm now circled my waist; she pulled me in and her breasts touched mine. "This is a night made for love." What a pathetic line! Honestly. She would have to think me as stupid as a fish to be drawn in by come-ons like that. Anyway, I didn't need it, I was already hooked. "Don't be scared. Girls can be lovers." Little did she know! We kissed lips to lips this time and the sweet fullness of her body intoxicated me almost senseless. I had not expected this tonight, I was still dressed in jeans and slightly soiled underwear from when I was experimenting with my dildo. She was immaculate and elegant in her crisply tailored suit. She was under the impression that she would be seducing me to the `dark side' whereas I would have six inches of surprise for her. Now we kissed again, lips to lips and Helena's hand dipped onto my bottom to pull me closer to her. "I know." I managed between kisses. "it's called being `gay'. "No. Not gay." We kissed. "Just having fun." Kiss, "with a girlfriend." Kiss. "Come. I show you." She pulled away from me and held out her hand to me, smiling gently. I took her hand as she led me off the balcony and through the lounge where JJ and Ger were still arguing. As we passed, Ger smoothed his hand over his hair and turned to watch us pass. "Rachel is going to show me around, Ger." He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. We went straight to my bedroom and I closed the door behind me. Helena pulled me round by the hand and slammed her mouth against mine, forcing my lips open and thrusting her tongue inside. Responding, I sucked her tongue in to me, dropping my hands to my sides. Helena held me tight, enveloping me with her strong arms. I wilted in her passion; I was hers to do as she wished. Sensing this, she pressed me back towards my single bed, and down upon it. She knelt upon the bed as I lay supine, she pulled up her skirt with a hhsss of nylon and lay upon me. Immediately her hand fondled my breast before descending quickly to explore the knotted jeans at my crotch. "Mmm. Just enjoy, sweetness. Girls can make good lovers who know how!" She unbuttoned my trousers expertly and pulled the zip down with a rasp. Hand inside, she cupped the knickers that covered my pubis and just slightly curled her ring finger, underneath into my cleft. Then she pulled her hand up, running the tip of her ring finger the very length of my slit. I gave a little moan and flexed my hips forward and up. "I think this is good, yes?" She breathed, and her tongue licked the lobe of my ear. "Yes." I replied uselessly. She kissed me again on the lips and then rose for the bed to tug my jeans and knickers down. Naked from the waist down, I closed my thighs and turned to one side in modesty. "Don't to be shy. I want to see you" And she brushed my knees apart and studied me for a moment before leaning close and kissing the inside of my thigh, just above the knee. She trailed her finger up my thigh and kissed a little higher. She did it again and I squirmed involuntarily. "Oh yes." She kissed again and her loose black hair fell across my pubis, tickling and charming. "Now, I will." And she lowered her head deep between my thighs, I felt her lovely hair slide down my legs as she approached and the perfect angel kiss as her tongue barely touched the very hood of my open slit. The tongue wiggled and waited, then wiggled again. I couldn't wait and put my hand on the back of her head and pulled her mouth onto my pubis, gasping as I did so. She was tender and gentle, but there was strength in her passion as well. As she licked me I wanted to feel her flesh on my flesh, so I began to struggle up and tried to pull at her top. Helena lifted her head from my crotch, looking at me enquiringly. "Take it off" I whispered. "I want to feel your skin on mine." She rocked back on her knees and pulled the chocolate coloured top over her head, her black hair cascaded down in a languid sort of way onto her shoulders. Now I could look at her properly, her breasts were large and beautiful, captured and held in a deep fronted black bra so that there was a delicious vertical slit between them. At that moment, it struck me that the fold of a woman's cleavage is a symbol of the slit of her pubis. Anyway. Helena reached around and undid her bra, wriggling slightly to make it slide down her arms and off. She was magnificent. Her breasts were large and full, prominent and erect nipples faced directly forwards and I promised myself a good suckle before the evening was finished. But now it was still her turn and she slid back between my thighs, flesh touching smooth flesh in a sensual extravagance, and nestled her face into my pudenda. She licked and nibbled, parting my lips with her tongue and caressing my clitoris with her lips. I ran my hand through her hair and pulled her in tighter, I arched my back, lifted my T-shirt and rubbed my boobs and nipples extravagantly. Now was the time. I pursed my lips, then opened my mouth to form the `O' as Helena took me higher and higher. She moved her hand and shoulder and, still licking sent at least two fingers deep inside me. I gasped and moaned loudly despite trying to be silent. Helena thrust in and out and licked me in perfect rhythm. On and on she went with the power and precision of a master. Helena had done this many times before. Now! I started to come, I gripped her and pulled, I squealed and cried, I moaned and shook. It was wonderful. I pushed her mouth away from me and squeezed my thighs closed in ecstasy, holding those microseconds of pleasure deep inside. Now I opened my legs again, all tension released and gone. Helena was still there, kneeling at the foot of the bed smiling at me. I reached for and she glided up my body and into my arms. "My turn now" And she pushed my T-shirt up my chest. I half sat up and allowed her to pull it over my head and to undo my bra. I felt ashamed of my little tits in comparison to her beautiful bosoms. But I just loved it when she sucked my nipples and, pushing me back allowed her breasts to descend upon mine, engulfing me completely. She lay between my thighs still with her skirt scrambled up around her waist, I clasped my legs around her middle and thought about my dildo. Now I wanted her. I pushed her over to one side and fumbled with the top catch and side zip to her skirt, at last I could tug it down. And what a sight. Helena was wearing sheer black tights without knickers. Between her legs was a thick, black patch of abundant hair. She lifted her hips for me and allowed me to pull her tights down and off in one lovely movement. She rubbed the mark around her middle absently and the ran her finger between her lips to release hair caught there. I slid between her thighs, eager to taste, eager to please. What a perfume; what a taste. Musky to the nose and metallic to the tongue, Helena's body had been imprisoned in those tights long enough for her personal perfume to develop quite perfectly. I tongued her clumsily, lost in her charming aroma. The drink was getting to me now, but I struggled to satisfy my newest lover. Helena watched me haul the dildo and harness out of my bottom drawer and struggle into them. With my briefs on, I clipped the silver phallus into position and slid between her thighs. We grappled about and kissed again and again before I reached down and switched on the vibrator. Now I wanted to invaginate her, to spear her with my weapon, impale her with this shaft of pleasure. I thought I had it in position and thrust, but missed her vagina completely. I tried again and aimed too far back and my phallus disappeared under her bum. This time I aimed the buzzing missile with my hands, playing it around the entrance to her vagina and eliciting wriggles of pleasure from her. I did it again, running the throbbing phallus up and down her labia and hood. It was exactly what excited me. Helena wriggled again and drew her hand onto her breast to fondle and stroke her nipple. I leant forward a little and pointed the very tip of my phallus between her flowering lips and into her pink vagina. Then I thrust. It went inside her and I exulted in the sight of the smooth, clean chrome disappearing into her. I was fucking her. I couldn't quite get the rhythm right. I realised it wasn't just a case of moving back and forth and expecting the thing to go in of its own accord, it needed to be guided, managed and controlled. But alas, I was too drunk for that. I fumbled about for a few minutes more, then withdrew my dildo from her and slid and kissed my way down her body to nestle below her belly in the fulcrum of her thighs. She sighed with pleasure: she'd put up with my dildo-ing, but this was what she really wanted. I licked her deep, black bush and rustled the hair about her lips. With the fore and ring finger of my right hand I just spread her labia slightly and fixed my attention on her hood and clitoris between. I licked and wiggled her about. One of the most attractive aspects of a woman to me is the `fatty mound' of her pubis. I love the swell of women's pudenda, pushing forwards and upwards. I love wriggling this mound to and fro, to the obvious pleasure of its owner, I love the look of their mounds captured in pants or swimsuits; out of sight, but not out of mind. The pudenda is powerful. As well as the absolute proclamation of her sexuality, it's the defensive shield of a woman's entire reproductive gift. I worshipped at the altar of Helena's pudenda. I licked, I snuffled, I caressed, I loved. Her lips were as large as mine, with deep pink to the very edges. And like mine, they were very sensitive, and as I paid careful attention to her clitoris, I also nibbled her labia majora, smothering her with love and urgent attention. Between her splayed thighs I lay on the bed face down. I had neglected to turn off the vibrator of my artificial penis and it buzzed away quietly in the background, bit as I paid careful attention to Helena's clitoris, my buzzing dildo would catch on the junction between the divan and the mattress and deliver a powerful buzz via the pad to my mons. God, it was exciting. I licked and licked her clitoris. She wriggled and wrestled herself about throwing her arm up over her head and then bringing her hand down to massage her boob. With my mouth paying homage to her clitoris I watched Helena come. Over her mons, over her stomach and over her breasts to watch the expression on her face. Seeming pain, discomfort, anxiety, pain again, then fury and frustration before passionate groans were rent from her and she thrust herself at my invading tongue. She exclaimed something in German and thrust herself back onto the pillows and I disengaged myself from the wet and smeary mess of her genitals. Lovely. I crawled up the bed to her face and she swept me into her arms with love and gratitude. This was wonderful; I was crushed by the strength of her arms and drowned in her generous bosoms. And there, on a tide of feminine love and well-being, aided by a totally excessive amount of alcohol, I fell asleep. So when I woke, confused and disoriented, I should have been forgiven for my confusion. A figure stood by the side of the bed, at first I thought I was back with Maggie, being discovered by her husband. But now I recognised the figure of Helena sitting on the very edge of the bed, bent over with her back to me. Ger was the standing figure, quite still, but rigid with tension. I looked again and realised that Helena was bent below his waistband, moving her head rhythmically back and forth. "What?" I cried. Helena broke off, and turned her head towards me. "Shhh. Shh, shh, sweetness. I pay the price for our love!" She looked at me for another half second, then returned to her task. She was sucking Ger while he looked at me lying naked before him. I closed my thighs tightly and covered myself with my hand, but it was all too late for my modesty. Helena broke off from fellatio and used her hand frantically on Ger, from the snorts and grunts, I guessed that Ger was soon coming. She sort of twisted and tugged at the same time, pulling the skin of his willy up and forwards. It looked painful, but he seemed to enjoy it. Helena switched hands and reached behind to grasp my hand. Like an idiot, I let her pull my hand up to Ger's member. She carried on pumping away, but clasped my hand around his huge penis. Ger snorted and arched backwards. Suddenly he gave a huge gasp, there was an enormous spasm in his penis and a jet of something squirted across the bed, my shoulder and onto the wall behind me. Helena carried on and Ger did it again. So this is what a male orgasm was like! Ger crumpled and spasmed again, I thought he was having a heart attack and moved to support him, but realised that he was still thrusting into our hands as I tried to help him. My hand was disgusting now, covered in hot splashes of sticky semen. I wanted to wipe quickly and thoroughly. At last Ger was finished and staggered backwards to pull up his clothing. Helena passed me a handful of tissues from her bag and I wiped my neck and shoulder A long time after I heard the front door close behind them, I struggled out of my room and across the hallway into the bathroom. I washed my neck, shoulder and breast again and again. I went next door into the kitchen and clicked on the harsh fluorescent light. I crossed to the drinks cupboard with a tumbler and poured about two fingers of vodka. I downed it and poured another; anything to blot out that disgusting memory. I had held his penis as he came! "Have a nice fuck?" "Oh don't JJ. Not my fault last night." "Whose fault was it then? Moans and squeals till all hours. You and that kraut tart!" "It was her idea, she seduced me." `Not from where I was listening! And if that was so, why did Ger join you two innocents half way through?" Oh god. The memory came washing back like stomach acid. "Christ, Rae. You think my knickers are loose, but bloody hell girl! A three-some with a couple of geriatric Jerries?" "I didn't, y'know, with him." I defended desperately. "Oh, you didn't have him penetrate you! Oh well, that's all right then. Just the blow job was it?" I felt too sick and hungover to continue the fight. I acquiesced, sick of defending. I thought that if I let the episode alone, it would fade from both our memories. "Treacherous cow!" "I'm not!" What could I have betrayed? "All your tutting at me if I bring back someone for a bit of fun, and you're doing it both ways as soon as she fucking winks at you!" "Oh JJ, I'm sorry. It won't happen again." I was contrite and utterly miserable. What more did she want? But JJ had to understand, she shouldn't have brought them home with her! Was she just a bit jealous of the attention? Anyway, I wasn't `hers' was I? I went back to bed. Thank goodness it was Sunday. Late afternoon, after it had got dark again, I heard JJ go out, so I left the safety of my bedroom, made tea and toast and ran the bath. I was halfway through a good soak, when I heard the front door open again and JJ's footsteps clattered into the kitchen. There was clanging and banging from next door. I was so concerned, I cut my soak short and got out of the bath quickly. I opened the door a crack; there was unusual but welcome smell in the air. JJ was cooking. I tiptoed across to my room and quickly closed the door. Before I got dressed I plastered myself with body skincare stuff. I wished I could do something similar with my memory – plaster over and repair the bits I didn't want to keep! There was a tap at the door. "Hmm? Wait a sec." I wrapped myself in my dressing gown and hurried to the door. JJ stood there looking intently at the floor. She had one hand in a pair of oven gloves and she shook them in a pathetic sort of way. "I've made you some dinner. I think you probably need it. And I'm not saying sorry, so don't even bloody think it. Ok?' She raised her eyes to mine. "Ready in five minutes. All right?" I nodded, saying nothing. Sausages, mashed potatoes, peas and onion gravy (from a packet). Not quite nursery food, but warm and comforting nonetheless. We sat down to eat. JJ stabbed a sausage with her fork and lifted it whole to her mouth. She looked at me meaningfully as she opened her lips and slid the meat inside. Then she bit down savagely and tore the sausage apart, chewing viciously. "Anyway. What was Helena like?" I shrugged with more than a little embarrassment. "Fine." What else could I say? "Did you suck Ger off?" "No! I did not, JJ. That's disgusting." "Well, did y-" "No! No more. That's enough!" We ate our sausage and mash in silence for a few moments. "Glorious boobs Helena, though." "Yes," I conceded. "She had a lovely figure." "Big nipples?" "JJ, I will not answer any more questions about Helena. Neither will I ask you anything about Tina!" Silence. "Did you buy anything from that place in the Archway?" I slammed my fork down on the plate with a sharp noise. "No more conversation, questions or monologues about sex, sexual appliances, sexual episodes or sex anything. Ok?" "Ok, Rae. Sorry." A moment's silence. "I really like sausages." I said innocently. But JJ sniggered, then guffawed. I giggled, then laughed out loud, trying not to look at her across the table. There was no hope; we just sat there and screamed with laughter at each other. Eventually I contained myself with difficulty, cleared my throat and wiped my eyes. `No sex?" she asked. "No sex." I confirmed. "No fun, then." __________________________________________________________________________ Bit of a departure, eh? I'd love to know what you think of it,please let me know at rachelfrizz@hotmail.co.uk. Bye, Rae.