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! __________________________________________________________________ There was a noise, quite pleasant really, in the background somewhere. Now it gained in volume and demanded that I surface from sleep. It was a horrid noise. The phone was ringing. I rolled out of bed onto my knees on the floor and opened the door to the hall, wincing at the light and the insistent phone. The phone was on an ugly wrought iron and glass table across the way. I crawled across the cavernous space and lifted the receiver. "Hello?" "Hello darling! How are you?" It was Mum on a Sunday morning; and she was phoning before noon. The night before I had been at a 'techno' club somewhere near the river, having my tits felt by the sundry lesbians there. My mouth tasted like a sewage farm: I wanted a new one.
'Fine mum, how are you?" I croaked. "Perfect as always! Now. You have to telephone Guy, he says it's urgent and important. He says 'They need to see you', whatever that means" "What, say it again?" "They need to see you!" "Guy and Hillie?" "I think so. Now, how are you off for money? Have you got enough? Do you need us to top up your account up a bit? Can you write to Nan, please. She's had another fall and can't get out of the house, and she'd love a letter from you." Yes mum. No mum. Maybe mum. I needed to phone Guy. I called the Castle. "Mister Guy will be with you in a few moments." Thump, thump and clump. "Hi! Rae, marvelous to hear from you!" Guy sounded exactly like a Golden Retriever puppy. All excited wagging of the tail, no matter what the message was. "Are you in school on Wednesday?" "It's college actually Guy, and yes I shall be there." "Great! We'll be there by lunch. Look out for us!" "Are you bringing Hillie?" "Yes! That's the whole point!" And he laughed and laughed. "What's it all about Guy?" "Can't say now! See you then." "Guy!" "No Rae, no! Too much to say!" And he laughed out loud again, a wonderful great blast of exuberant joy from deep within his Golden Retriever spirit.
Sunday was always my 'coming to' day. I'd catch up on the work from the week past and prepare for the week to come. In the evening I'd phone Mum and then Bernadette. But this Sunday, as I'd spoken to Mum that morning I only called B. "Guy is coming to see me - he's bringing Hillie!" "Oh is that right? Well y'know what that's all about, doncha?" "I think I know; I hope I know." "Well let's hope, and say no more about it till it's done." That was typical B. Keep quiet in case it doesn't happen. Just pray for it. She didn't celebrate Christmas until midnight mass, just in case it didn't happen. Sit tight and hold on to what you have. It was an outlook born of childhood disappointment, of the cup dashed between hand and lip.
Monday was boring. I worked on my clay head of Olivia, but didn't really think I had gotten anywhere. Three dimensions were not for me; two was quite enough to figure out. Tuesday was worse although I managed to doze through a lengthy lecture on cubism, futurism and vortecism. My inattention found me out at the seminar later in the day when I had to admit knowing and remembering nothing about Boccioni and his sculptures. More three dimensional stuff! What was wrong with two dimensions?
Wednesday. Printmaking in the morning; loved it. Building the image through layers of work appealed to me. Time as the third dimension! Lunchtime. I sat at one of the pale Formica topped tables in the refectory, looking towards the main street entrance. I was sure they'd come this way. I watched and I waited. A little boy ran in, looked around and ran back out again. I shook myself awake. Alexander! I stood up, shoving my cheap plastic chair back with a scrape. "Alexander! Where's your mummy?" I gasped for breath and waited. A lifetime passed before Hillie appeared holding Alexander in her arms. She looked strong and beautiful, unassailable in her love for her child and her strength and resolve. I shoved tables and chairs apart as I ran to embrace her, She saw me and came forward quickly, carrying her son. We embraced. My spirit swam in the love I felt for her. My darling Hillie, how I love you. How I adore you. How I love the very scent of you that I have not smelled for many years. How I love the embrace of your arms, the touch of your hand, the very fabric of your being. I kissed her, I kissed him, I kissed them both. I loved them both. At last we separated and I had the opportunity to gaze at her. Alexander slipped down to the floor and I heard Guy in the background "Com'on matey, let's get you some lunch! Whadda you fancy, eh?" Hillie's eyes were now lined beneath and her face showed cheekbones where I had only known girlish pudge. She was still beautifully slim and felt as strong as ever, but there was an extra, deeper strength and knowledge there; it was called experience. She was beautiful. I embraced her again and through my tears kissed her upon the cheek and the neck and the mouth. Somewhere behind me an oaf shouted "Eh-up!" But I didn't care. After all this time I held Hillie and I loved her. I dragged her down to sit with me and held her hands. I can't remember all we said; I was wildly excited with the very idea of seeing her again. "How are you?" "Fine! Fine. Guy's treating me perfectly, it's all quite lovely!" "Is Guy with you, then? Y'know." "Wait till they come back; your hair's straighter now, you look good." I brushed that aside. "Tell me about everything; I have to know. How have you been?" But here came Guy carrying a tray and trailed by Alexander. He set the tray down on the table. On it were three cups of tea, an orange squash and a plate of sausage, chips and peas - for Alexander. Guy sat the child down and cut the sausage into manageable bites for the little lad. I looked from Alie now concentrating on his lunch, to Guy and back again. Alie would be tall and brown haired, with deep brown eyes and elegant bone structure. He had inherited his mother's willowy stature and perfect grace, all he needed was character in his face and he would be beautiful. Guy already had that, with his dark hair and perfect cheekbones. I observed as Alie fed himself and Guy watched over him; Guy would make a perfect father. I already knew what Hillie and Guy wanted to tell me. "We've been seeing each other for a while. Guy brought me home to Mum and Dad, I'm pleased to say. So we've been getting on well . . . " She looked across at Guy, who smiled back at her. I knew the whole story. "I have something to tell you. For some strange reason -" she shot Guy a sidelong glance again - "Guy has asked me to marry him. And I've said 'Yes'!" I burst into tears. I couldn't help it. I just cried and hugged them both. I stood up and hugged Hillie, then leant over and hugged Guy as he sat with Alexander. Alie looked around a bit bemused as he stuffed chips in his pretty mouth, so I kissed him on the forehead too. I was so happy, for all three of them. Everything would come right in the end! I was delirious with happiness and phoned Bernadette that evening (which I never did in term time) to give her the wonderful news, even though I was due to go to see her the following weekend. "Oh Lord. That's great news. Oh Lord, I'm so pleased for them all. That boy will be needing a proper Da! Oh that's good! 'Course I knew it was so when you told me on Sunday, but it's great to hear you say it! God love 'em all!" "See you Friday night then?" "I'll be here waiting. I've got nothing planned, so it'll just be you and me." "Sounds lovely."
And so it should have been, but there was engineering works on the train line and while I should have got there by nine at the latest, the replacement bus pulled at eleven thirty. Benradette wasn't waiting of course, she'd gone back to the flat, and I couldn't for the life of me remember how to walk there from the station. I phoned her and got instructions, and started walking. Within a mile, I was lost, and I got even more lost trying to retrace my steps to the station. I phoned again and we tried to work out where I could be. I got so frustrated that I put the phone down and stood in the middle of the main road until I spotted a taxi. The journey from there to the flat took no more than five minutes, but because it was now after midnight, the charge was about half of the spending money I'd brought with me. So, footsore and angry - as well as tired and hungry - I arrived at Benradette's flat. "Why did you put the phone down on me? I was terrified something had happened. I was trying to help you!" "I saw a free taxi" I lied. "And anyway you couldn't help; you didn't know where the hell I was." "I was looking at the map in the Yellow Pages! Trying to find you." Great start to the weekend. "When are you going back? Only I'll have to go into the college on Monday after all. I've started some cultures that I need to check on daily. Sorry." "Oh. Right. I'd better go back on Sunday, hadn't I?" Bernadette remained positively miserable but it wasn't till she told me she had 'first day blues' that I realized. Good job that she hadn't planned anything because she was just miserable the whole weekend. We didn't really fight or anything silly. It was just better all round if we didn't speak. Saturday was raining; just awful rain all day. B went into the lab early to deal with her cultures, whatever they were - and I just curled up in the bed, listening to the rain. We hardly stirred out of the bedsit; just down the road to get some food and a bottle of cheap plonk, before splashing back into the warm, dry haven. I tucked her up on the sofa with a blanket, some chocolate and a yogurt and I think she felt better for the cosseting. I cooked and we ate almost in silence. "Can we do something! Shall we go up to the Union Bar? I think it's stopped raining." "You go. I'm not in the mood." "I can't go without you; it's your union bar!" "Well that's just tough on you 'cos I'm not going." And so it went on. Sunday, 2 pm I walked back to the station, Alone and thoroughly fucking miserable. I couldn't wait to get away from this horrid, wet provincial town. But I couldn't say I yearned for London either.
The rising tide of Christmas hype and hysteria threatened to engulf everything in its path by the first week of December. In my naivety, I had expected that Art School would remain something of an oasis or at least an island above the roaring water of fucking awful yuletide. I was wrong; even my august college descended into a morass of putrid Pickwickian sentimentality. But at least there was a bit if an edge to it; the drama club were staging a pantomime - labeled 'The Porno Panto' - called "P*ss in Boots"; parties were being announced with themes such as "Come as your favourite dictator', but before it all we had to endure The Three Graces nude and in public.
Sophie and Natalie cornered me a few days before the due event. "Rae, I know it's nude modeling and all that. But are we supposed to do anything special for it?" "Like what? Not sure if I understand." "Well you know, our bodies. Do we do anything to them? Anywhere. At all." "Hmm?" "God's sake! Do we shave?" "Oh! Only if you want to. Natural is fine. I trim a bit, but no, not shaving. Actually I've never shaved, have you?" I directed my question to Sophie, she shook her head. "I did for a while." This was Natalie, interjecting quietly and unexpectedly. "My boyfriend at the time preferred younger girls - I knew that all along - so I shaved. To please him." She smiled into our surprised faces. "Anyway, didn't work. He still chucked me and picked up a thirteen year old instead. I quite liked the way it looked and felt. Sort of clean and daring at the same time. I used to wear skirts without knickers just for fun. Really exciting!"" My mouth hung open like a coalscuttle. So did Sophie's, but she came to her senses soonest. "Right. So shaving's out then."
The following Tuesday was the day. After college ended we met in the canteen for double egg and chips with tea, before trooping across the road to the boozer for Dutch courage. I was used to the situation - being nude - but I was nervous for Sophie and Natalie; would there resolve hold out? And how any people would be there anyway? Three vodkas and I was ready, and so were the other two. We changed in Michael's office, all three of us crammed in and bumping hips and shoulders as we shed our December layers. Natalie striped in two swift movements; her top layers and her bottom layers. She wasn't wearing a bra so her sweater and shirt came off in one; jeans and knickers came off together too. She had tiny pointed boobs with bright pink nipples that stood proud of her milk white skin. I couldn't help but look at her slight and bony figure. Below, her hip joints protruded awkwardly and her flat stomach gave way to a thick forest of black hair. She might have shaved once, but her body had recovered itself and had completely hidden her sex with hair. Sophie took longer to get ready. Layer by layer, her opulent figure emerged. She'd worn a bra - she had to - and within it her magnificent breasts strained for freedom. She shed the shoulder straps first before reaching behind to undo the clasp. As she did, her bosoms protruded even further before relaxing the instant the bra was undone. She was magnificent. Beautiful bulbous breasts with glorious deep pink circular areolas surrounding perfect nipples. I stole as many glances as I dared at her beautiful boobs as I shed my clothes. Sophie wiggled her trousers down. I could go on and on about her figure; Juno-esque, a Reubens woman, rich and luscious. Her bottom emerged from her sandy coloured knickers round and beautifully proportioned, her stomach showed good living and gastronomy and overshadowed her private parts generously. Deep in Sophie's fold lay light brown hair that matched her head hair colour almost exactly.
I had my dressing gown, and so did Natalie, but Sophie had nothing to slip on for the long walk from office to dais. "Put your coat back on." "No. That'll just look like a stupid flasher. I'll go out like this." "Take my gown, they've seen me nude loads of times" "No. I'll go on like this!" "You can't!" "Why not? I'm going to be naked anyway!" Sophie led the way, naked. Out into the studio and upon onto the dais. I watched her bottom precede me across the floor and ascend the two steps before me. She had a generous behind that wiggled perfectly. Two gorgeous buttocks surmounted with two delightful dimples at the top of her hips. At the foot of the steps she half turned; "Ok?" We nodded and she led the way forward. I was amazed and impressed at her courage, striding naked into the gaze of the audience. This was her first time modeling; her fortitude was more than impressive. Michael hurried out to introduce us. "Right. As we promised you, we have three models for you this evening and we will start with 'Three Graces' for about twenty minutes then we'll split up into a single and a double for 'Bain Turk' and 'The Kiss'. Rachel of course, you all know. But we are joined this evening by Natalie and Sophie; doing their bit for Adult Education!" We'd prepared this with Michael of course, Natalie and I shed our gowns, flinging them to the side. Sophie pirouetted and raised her arms, Natalie to the left and I to the right entwining ourselves in her arms and all sinking onto one foot to arrange our hips just so. The side of Sophie's magnificent bust nestled against my left arm, and our hips touched lower down. I breathed in deeply. Sophie hissed at me quietly "Don't get any ideas, Rae." Her words stunned me as if they were blows to my head. What on earth did she mean by that? Was it just a throw away line, or was she warning to keep my homosexual lusts and thoughts to myself. I coughed lightly and looked straight ahead. Michael fussed us about a bit "Tuck it in here, sweetie and just a little closer there." The Three Graces.
There we stood to be glorified by our audience. And what an audience. Almost every part of the studio was claimed by artists struggling with sketchpads and easels for a view. As we stood there, Natalie and I facing forwards, I tried to count but gave up at thirty. If they had all paid their fees, the course was safe for the next term. There's a trick you can do when you have to stay in one position. Look dead ahead and lock your gaze onto one point in the distance, then use your brain to observe at the corners of your vision away from the macular centre, or whatever it's called. I found I could closely observe the earnest artists in the front two rows scribbling away for all they were worth but my attention was drawn to those in the further rows who seemed to have greater difficulty committing marks to paper. I found I could observe quite well as long as I relaxed and 'let the vision come to me' instead of hunting it with my attention.
I observed our audience of artists and began the 'meditation' process that allowed me to get through these posing minutes intact. But tonight, as well as Sophie's bosom touching my arm, there was something else bothering me. Michael had said 'Bain Turk' and 'The Kiss' for the next poses. Sophie's generous sensuality would be perfect for 'Bain Turc', but The Kiss' involved male and female contact. And there would only be Natalie and me; what was Michael planning? "Sophie darling, over here please! You're perfect for this. It's Ingre's 'Bain Turc' You know; the luscious girl leaning back with her arms above her head? No? Look, I've got a photo of it here. Like that, darling." Michael fussed and bustled her about, placing her just so against a wall of cushions for the sketchers to record. She looked marvelous, with her arms back, her beautiful breasts were lifted into high relief and thrust out from her chest magnificently. Wonderful" Michael clapped his hands together and turned to Natalie and I, waiting patiently. "Now. You two: I said 'The Kiss' didn't I Rachael?" He laughed dismissively. "Sort of forgetting things a bit there. Wouldn't suit really you both, would it." I began to think Michael was going a bit far and I could feel myself begin to go red. He didn't need to spell it out quite so graphically; did everyone now know me to be homosexual? "So anyway. I just had a clever idea!" And he put his feet close together and leant forward as charmingly as he could. "What about these two?" Michael brandished his print of 'Bain Turc' at us. We must have looked bewildered because Michael leant over the print and pointed out two girls behind the reclining Sophie figure. The first girl sat upon the floor with her back planted securely against the cushions. The second girl nestled in to her, twisting back to look over her shoulder. The first girl was brunette and the second was mousey blonde. Oh, and the first girl has her hand raised and is caressing the second girl's right breast. "I saw this and thought of you." He was looking at me.
Oh no. This was almost the worst twenty minutes of my entire life. I half lay on Natalie as leant against the cushions and placed her hand on my breast. Her thumb and fingers parted each side of my nipple and I couldn't help but groan slightly. "Oh look at them all watching." murmured Natalie in appreciation as she wriggled in to make herself comfortable beneath me. I looked at her body, over her bony hips, flat stomach and up to her tiny breasts. She was all pale skin and black hair. Despite myself, I imagined ploughing my tongue through the valley of her black pubic hair and the perfume it would release. I groaned again. I could feel myself leaking as we posed; thank goodness I was lying down with my thighs tight closed, and no one could see me so excited, but I was sure that Natie had smelled my aroma. Occasionally her fingers would twitch on my breast and send electric shocks through my nipple, and I'd leak even more.
At last that torture was finished and we were able to stand up again. I sat up and released Natalie from beneath me, she arose and stretched upwards like a cat arching it's back. She looked beautifully feral with her back to me and her buttocks tensed. I stood up too and almost immediately wished I hadn't. I could feel a cool, sticky trail running down the inside of one thigh and I knew my lips were well puffed up and visible to all. I wanted to sit down again; somewhere private. I dived towards the back of the stage and retrieved my hanky from my gown pocket and pretended to wipe my nose. It gave me the opportunity to wipe one leg against the other and, pretending to scratch an itch, have a quick wipe. "Over here, please. Quick as you like, sweetie." Michael coaxed and cajoled. "Last pose for this evening, we're going to do the Three Graces again, but reversed, so everyone gets a chance to draw everything." Michael might as well have said 'see everything' as Sophie presented her magnificent breasts and belly to the audience while Natalie and I showed our buttocks. Thank god I didn't have to present my excited pubis to them all. I can't imagine the what the contrast was like in drawing terms between Natalie's bony body and the generous, almost corpulent figure of Sophie; Schiele on the one side with Titian on the other!
At last it was all over. I leant sideways to grab my gown and wrap it around me. Natalie did the same, but rather slower and left a little more on display above and below. Sophie just marched, "Right. Let's get dressed then!" And she looked from me to Natalie and back again before marching off the dais towards Michael's office. With Sophie, there was no romance in nudity; no thrill in displaying, no delightful embarrassment in being seen - it was just flesh; meat. No sex. Natalie watched her go and just slightly re-arranged her gown so that one boob showed. She glanced across at me and pulled her gown open across her thighs too. "That was exciting, wasn't it? I know you enjoyed it too." Yes, I did. But differently. Natalie enjoyed the display. I enjoyed the proximity.
Michael pushed open the door carefully and beamed around the edge at us. "Marvelous! Every one of you; just marvelous! We had forty two packed in tonight; forty two!" He pushed his way in to join us. Michael wasn't 'interested' in us, we all knew that, so we didn't think anything of it. "We're definitely safe for next term with forty two bums on seats! Natalie and Sophie, you did a marvelous job; Rachel, excellent as always. Thank you all, darlings." He jostled himself about and pulled forth three envelopes and distributed them - our wages, and we said our 'thank yous'. Then Michael produced more envelopes and handed them around. "There and there and there! Happy Christmas, darlings. Invitations to my party." Michael scattered the tiny pink envelopes amongst us as we dressed. Sophie sat there with her boobs on display and her mouth open, gazing at him. Natalie grabbed her envelope and tore it open "A party, how lovely! Oh, the twenty first; Thursday. I'll be going home by then." "Well, I'll be there!" Called Sophie, ducking as she shoved her head through the neck of her t-shirt. "Me too, Michael. I'll be there. Thanks!" "I think I'll go home on the twenty-second, instead" mused Natalie. Later, I opened my invitation to Michael's party and read the important bit that Natalie had missed out; it was to be a toga party. Come robed as a Roman; in London, in December. Fully clothed and bundled up we filed out of the office and across the studio between the now vacant chairs. "Rachel sweetie. A moment if you would, please" called Michael. The others walked on calling 'Good Night!' as they left. "Next week, I'm getting the college accountant over to look at the class. Y'know, count the artists, look at the work and generally show off a bit. I'd like to introduce you while you're sitting - that all right sweetie?" He angled his head over and down, looking at me with a pained expression. I nodded, it was fine, and I understood what he was saying; he wanted to show the accountant a naked girl, it would help. I didn't mind.
The following week was the last of the term and I was on my own as planned. I did a variety of poses including Botticelli's Birth of Venus which made me feel just wonderful; beautiful, chaste and sensual all at once. Only right at the very end did I realize that the 'special visitor' had not appeared. Michael was a little downcast as he called the class to a close and wished everyone a 'positively sybaritic Yule' and I slipped my gown on again. But at that moment, the studio glanced open and a figure slid into the room. He looked about uncertain, then made out the figure of Michael in the background. His eyebrows raised and his mouth made an "Ah!' shape as he recognized and went to meet Michael. This must be him. This must be the college accountant. I was supposed to meet him naked, but here I was wrapped in my gown. How could I contrive to be bare for him? I stood up and turned towards Michael and held the lapels of my gown 'Should I strip?' I asked him with gestures. He gave the briefest of shakes of his head and motioned towards his office as he moved to greet the visitor. I went to the office and waited a few minutes before dressing, but Sods law dictated that the very moment that I was decent, Michael came in and introduced Mr Watson from the college administration. He was bearded and somewhat grey, neither short nor tall, but with something of a belly about him. He looked as ordinary as any friend's father I had met. I found it difficult to believe that this man had the ability to end my easy earning opportunity at the drawing class. The chance for me to expose to the great man was passed.
Back in the flat, I experimented with yards of sheeting and a book on costume through the ages to replicate toga for Michael's party. I thought I'd just about got the toga right and swished my way into the lounge to get JJ's opinion. "What do you think?" She looked me up and down, slowly and carefully. "Well. You'll have to lose the bra. It does nothing for the costume sticking out like that, and that one does nothing for your figure under that lot either." She made a circular motion with her index finger, I turned around. "And you're wearing blue knickers! They will have to go; looks ridiculous." JJ pushed herself up from the sofa and began to pull the sheeting around and about me, lifting her and tucking there. "There's an awful lot of extra material back here. You'll need to pull it up a bit before pinning the shoulder." She waggled the extra sheeting behind me. "Go and pull it in a bit and show me again." "Why don't you come to the party with me?" "Regrettably I must decline, I'll be fucking Tina at her do in Kingston on that very evening. Anyway, I'm not going to dress up like a sodding cauliflower, am I?" I could see her point. On the way back to my bedroom I stopped and looked at my reflection in the big mirror in the hall. I could see what JJ meant; there was far too much extra at the back and I did look like a cauliflower, but if I pulled the toga much tighter it wouldn't meet underneath my arms. In my room, I wriggled out of it without unpinning so that I could adjust it properly. Shorter over the shoulder, and with another safety pin under the arm; that should do it. Bra off, and a quick change of pants from bright blue to 'skintone'. Now I knelt at the side of the bed and tunneled my way back into the toga as it lay on the bed. I inspected myself as best I could in the small mirror: that looked much better. I waltzed out into the lounge with greater confidence and pirouetted before JJ's critical gaze. "Looks much better." She got to her feet, and pulled the material a little higher to my neck. "But. I have to say that it doesn't leave much to the imagination" and she pressed the sheeting closer to my chest.. "Your tits are visible straight through!" She span me round and inspected my bum carefully. "Better colour knickers. But still totally visible." She took a step or two backwards. "Now. What are you going to do about the broach? A bloody great blanket pin doesn't look awfully convincing sweetie." "I'm painting a sort of medallion cover to stick on it. Silhouette of a Caesar, you know the kind of thing. And I'm making a paper laurel crown thing as well." "Sure you'll look absolutely ducky." She replied without a shred of conviction.
On the night of the party, I stepped my way carefully down the stairs in strappy sandals, a bedsheet and not much else and stepped out into the cold December evening. The twenty metres between the door and the taxi was enough to convince me I was mad; it was freezing cold and I was dressed for an Italian summer! The taxi driver watched me struggle in to the back. "Fancy dress?" "Roman Toga." "Watch out for the Bacchanalia!" A taxi driver versed in the antiquities, whatever next? As I got out of the taxi, I sort of felt something go 'ping' in my toga, but ignored it. I tottered down the steps to the Basement Flat (nowadays, this would be called a Garden Flat - and with good reason as the land fell away behind the house and the basement flat opened onto the deep and abundant garden). Michael flung open the door and welcomed me in with one hand on his chest and the other clutching a goblet of wine. I gave him a peck on the cheek and deranged my paper laurel crown, so I stopped at the mirror to re-seat it. I glanced sideways and lifted my arm. Now I knew what the 'ping' in the taxi was, the safety pin under my arm had gone missing, my toga gaped open and my left boob was on display. Oh well, I was a model and they'd probably all seen my boobs already. Still, I resolved to keep my arm down. "Come with me, let me introduce you darling. Some very important people!" Michael led the way, clutching my hand and wiggling through the toga'd crowds. At one or two points, he slowed as he squeezed behind a couple of men - "Do excuse me Robert, for being so forward!" "Never knew you cared!" "Always room for a little one." And so on and so on. So far, most the party guests were men. But at last I caught sight of Natalie being chatted up by a muscular chap apparently wearing a sack, a pretend leather apron and carrying a papier mache mallet - Vulcan? And there was Sophie and another woman dancing to the jazz music on the hi-fi. There were more male/female couples here too. "Rachel darling, I want you to meet Paul. Paul is my life-partner, lover and general good thing." I smiled at Paul and shook his hand. He was a non-descript sort of chap, ten or fifteen years younger than Michael with a ready smile and gentle nature. "And this is Gordon Watson, the College Financial Accountant whom you met at the end of the last class." Michael didn't need to labour the point any further. This man was god. He controlled the purse strings. He was important. 'Look after him!' said Michael's eyes. Gordon was well into his forties, not over tall with a scruffy moustache and beard, pepper and salt hair, and glasses. I'd seen him at the class in a grey suit and tie, but here in his white toga he looked like a harmless philosopher in need of a good time. "Let me get you a drink" said Gordon, and I was glad to smile and follow him to the kitchen where he poured me some wine. "I was delighted to see so many students at Michael's class last week." "Yes, it's very popular. Michael's such a good tutor." "You don't think it's anything to do with the model, do you?" Gordon's eyes crinkled into a smile and I demurred, exactly as I was supposed to. "You're a student at the College as well, I understand." "Yes, I'm doing Fine Art. But I needed the money from modeling to help out a bit, and Michael offered me the chance." "There are bursaries available to students who qualify, of course." "Not sure I'm good enough for that!" He smiled at me and I smiled back, and our conversation died. In the lounge, Lou Reed's 'Walk on the Wild Side' struck up with that wonderful deep bass riff. "I love this! Let's go and dance." I grabbed Gordon by the hand and pulled him with me through the massed bodies all clad in toga white. We danced to that most erotic rhythm and I mouthed the lyric "and the coloured girls sing do-de-do-de-do . . . " to him as we wiggled about. The very moment that the sax solo died away, 'Perfect Day' started up. I put my arms on his shoulders and clasped my hands behind his neck. Then I remembered about the gaping toga and brought my left arm down. We danced close and Gordon wrapped his arms about me. I felt him run his hand down my back, and I thought he was finding out if I was wearing a bra. A little later his hand descended to just below my waist, was I wearing knickers? I think he felt the waistband. Next to us Natalie and the sack man gyrated. Natie had managed her toga quite well, belting it about her waist to give her figure a little emphasis. The man in the sack was definitely a sexual Vulcan. His short sacking tunic showed muscular thighs and arms, defined with a sheen of black hair. Through the sack I could discern tightly bunched buttocks and what I now call a six-pack stomach. Natalie fed upon his strength and virility. She wound herself about his frame, pliant and flexible as a serpent. She was beautiful. Her toga was cut short as well and she rubbed her thighs upon his as they danced. She looked magnificently powerful, manipulating and directing Vulcan's elemental strength. There on that dance floor I think I discerned something of the infinite paradox of men and women. Eve might have span while Adam delved, but she told him where to do it. We dissolved away as Lou Reed gave way to 'I want that man' by Debbie Harry. Gordon fetched me another drink as I chatted with Michael's Paul. Paul turned out to be soft, compliant and delightfully feminine. In just a few minutes I realized I had found the perfect companion to discuss makeup with - Paul did the makeup for fashion mannequins in Selfridges and all the best Bond Street boutiques. Would he make me up for a special occasion? Of course he would! Lovely to work on a real body for a change. I filed him away for later.
Another glass of wine and I needed a pee. Around the corridor there was a queue waiting for the loo. There was only one toilet between about sixty partying males and females. I turned away, pretended I didn't need to go and looked for Sophie. Here she was being regally entertained by two matching Greek gods who had sprayed their faces and hair gold. Together they looked like a slightly more attractive version of Harpo Marx. I slid my arm around Sophie's waist and felt her stiffen against the intrusion. She half looked round and recognized me, but the resistance did not slacken one iota. I had to admit defeat, Sophie was entirely antipathetic to sexual advances from girls. Disappointed, I chatted and flirted with the two Harpos. "I need a wee, but there's a huge queue!" I bawled in Sophie's ear as the party volume grew inexorably louder. "Do it in the garden - I did!" I looked at her face for signs of lying, but found none. "Where?" "Down the path and turn left behind the shrubs, there's a sort of drain thing." I slipped away and out of the kitchen door. The path led down between bushes and trees, down two steps. A branch took me along a concrete path between shrubs that stood as high as my middle. In the dim glow of a London night I realized that here was the drain. I stopped and looked about; hearing and seeing nothing I hitched up my toga and pulled down my knickers. I couldn't go. My very being raged to relieve itself, but the veneer of civilized and well-brought-up girl wouldn't let me wee in the garden. I squeezed and concentrated. Finally my bladder won out and I began urinating. There was a flash and luminous globes of light filled my eyes, seconds passed as the afterglow cleared and I began to realize the awful truth. Someone had taken a flash photograph of me having a piss. Who the hell did that? I couldn't even tell where the camera was, I looked about as I finished pissing and stood up cautiously, pulling my knickers up as I arose. I looked about and listened to all the suburban nighttime sounds around me. But I could hear anything or anyone close to me. He had to be here, either in this garden or the next, just standing in the dark. Filthy pervert. I wasn't shocked or outraged. Just offended by his presumption as I performed a private act. All right, I shouldn't have been urinating in the garden, I accept that by doing so I had made myself into a target. But I still felt affronted. "Come back in an hour! I'm going to have a shit then." I called out into the darkness. More bravado to make myself feel better than anything else.
I crept back into the flat, peering over my shoulder into the darkness behind me. The party was really getting lively. Couples (mostly men) were dancing everywhere, Natie was still with her Vulcan and Sophie was dancing with a rather beautiful (male) Mercury figure. "I thought you'd left for a moment!" Gordon bellowed in my ear, and I turned, surprise to find him beside me. "It's so loud." I yelled back "God help the people upstairs!" He waved his hand dismissively. "Evidently this is 'Gay Central' and Michael invited them all so there would be no complications!" I shrugged and laughed. Seemed like a good idea. "How's your glass?" "Lost it!" And I waved my hands uselessly. Gordon led me away through the crowds to get more wine. As he passed me a full glass, I leant forward and kissed him on the cheek in thanks. I could get used to this; I liked having a sort of 'uncle' figure to look after me. Here was Sophie. "When you 'went' outside, y'know" She nodded. "Was there anyone out there?" She looked at me curiously and shook her head. She had no idea what I meant. "Never mind!" And I changed the subject.
Now Michael appeared with a pair of hand cymbals from a symphony orchestra which he clashed together before him three times. His face was stern and fixed. "Gentlemen, Ladies." and he bowed slightly. "Boys and girls. Dinner is served!" And he crashed his cymbals together for maximum effect again. Things quietened down as we all took food from the buffet. I sat down with Gordon in the lounge to enjoy my pate, bread and cheese. Natalie was on her 'veggie' bit and made do with salad and cheese; Sophie loaded up her plate with everything. After a decent length of time the music started up again; a disco hit 'How do you like your love' or something. And Natalie, Natalie bounced to her feet and started dancing to it alone. In a second, Sophie's hand shot out and grabbed the hem of Natie's toga and gave it a sharp tug. The broach on her shoulder slipped and twisted a bit, exposing her chest a little more. Sophie looked a bit shocked. I think the tug was to get Natalie to sit down, not to derange her clothing Natalie danced on as another hand snaked out from the seated crowd and pulled the other side; Natalie's securing broach looked weak and vulnerable, the hem of her already short toga was raised high on one side and pulled down on the other, but she danced on. Someone else gave a tug and the broach lurched sideways, hanging on to the two parts of the toga for dear life. Natalie grinned and danced on, she knew what was happening and what was going to happen. She knew and welcomed it. It made me think about what she'd said about wearing skirts without knickers; it was the same private thrill of concealed - and possibly revealed - sex. All eyes were upon her now, Natalie was the entertainment. Next the belt around her middle gave way - it was only brown paper with a gold painted buckle. A long hard tug from one Harpo and the broach gave up the unequal struggle. The sheeting unwound from across her body and deposited itself on the floor behind her. I had been wondering if Natalie would be wearing knickers, and I was rather pleased to see her plain white cotton pants firmly up around her bony hips. Natalie raised her arms in a sort of victory as her audience clapped and hooted around her. She turned to show her pointed little tits to those behind too. And just when we thought it was all over, a hand made a grab for her knickers, pulling them down to mid-buttock on one side. She squealed in surprise - and delight and danced on. There was a huge laugh all round and Natalie just closed her eyes and smiled. The next tug pulled them down on the other side; her black pubic hair now protruding over the top at the front. Two hands came now almost simultaneously pulling from left and right, and her pants descended to knee level. Cheers, laughter and guffaws rained about her as she stood there totally exposed. And she loved it.
In those seconds I looked from her breasts to her pubis and then into her knickers, half mast around her knees. There was a darkening at the crotch; Natalie was wet. Suddenly the show was over. She kicked off her pants and gathered them with her toga and made for the bathroom to dress. I followed to help her with her toga; at least that's what I told myself. There was still someone in the bathroom, so she diverted left into a bedroom. I closed the door behind me and Natalie span around giggling with hilarious embarrassment. "God! Did I really do that? Oh no. Did you see them all looking at me? Did they all look at me? Me! How disgusting. I loved it!" She held her toga bunched to her chest and face, staring at me with widely opened eyes over the folds of cloth. In the mirror beside her I could see her skinny hips and bottom. Below the bundled toga, I could see her hand straying into her pubic hair to caress herself. I suspect she thought the toga concealed her. "Were they all watching me? Did they all see what I was doing? Did they?" "I couldn't believe you went all the way. Did you mean to when you started?" She shook her head. "I just wanted to dance, but Sophie did the first pull and it just got started from there. I couldn't think how to stop without it just looking silly. Anyway it was everso exciting with everyone there!" And she flashed here eyes at me. I knew exactly how exciting it had been, her hand was still deep in her fuzz. I took a step towards her and reached out my right hand. Under the folds of cloth, I grabbed her hand and pushed it aside then I pressed my hand into her black haired crotch. She started and stared at me in surprise as I slid my hand underneath and curled my ring finger forward to follow her slit. But she didn't stop me or say anything. Her lips parted before me and I could feel her abundant fluid escape onto my fingers and into her hair. Up to her clitoris and then cupping the whole of her pubis in a circular motion; around and around. Natalie's head tilted back a little and her mouth opened a little as I stroked. "I loved watching you. You showed off perfectly; everyone loved looking at you." "Did they? Really? Even the gays?" I stroked on, rubbing her clitoris directly with my very fingertip. "Everyone. We all loved you" This is what she wanted. To be seen and admired, on show, on display and almost by accident. "But it was very dangerous." I murmured. "I thought you weren't wearing knickers when you started dancing. You were exciting." "Yes. Exciting." She breathed. "Very sexual." She nodded and started to breath more deeply. In the mirror, I could see her squatting slightly with her thighs apart and her buttocks tensing as I stroked. Now she held my forearm; not holding it in check, but guiding the attentions of my fingers. Now I moved inside her, just inside to wriggle her about there. Now back outside and up to her clitoris once more. Now around and around the whole wet pubis. Again and again. She was soaking, her rich black hair was smeared with her lubricant and I could smell her most private perfume wrapped about us. She left fall the toga gathered to her breast as she reached out her hand to steady herself on a bureau. The cloth slithered down about our feet and Natalie was naked before me again, and starting to flex and wriggle. Her hand climbed from my forearm to my upper arm and onto my shoulder as her eyes closed and mouth opened. We hadn't kissed and as her head descended towards me I thought the moment of embrace had come, but her open mouth slid passed my face and onto my shoulder. No kiss; it was too late, Natalie was coming. I slid my finger between those tightening lips one last time and back up to her shining pearl as she gasped and wriggled. In the mirror, her buttocks clenched desperately as she thrust towards me. "Oh!" Her grip on me slackened, and I stopped my direct massage of her pubis, now I just stroked it gently. She raised her head from my shoulder, but wouldn't look at me. "Oh. Oh no. You shouldn't have done that! Oh God." I said nothing. "I've never done it - that - with another girl." "Was it good?" She nodded. "Well that's all right then" I whispered. But Natalie shook her head. "I can't do it to you. I just can't." Now she glanced at me with pained expression. "That doesn't matter. It was just for you. A gift!" And I leant forward to try to kiss her, but she turned her mouth away and I kissed her cheek instead. "You've done it before, haven't you? With a girl, I mean." I nodded. "Am I the same? Down there, as other girls." "Oh yes." I comforted "quite the same."
But I could quite understand the question. I remembered examining myself with a hand mirror at about the age of twelve trying to work out whether these bits of mine were normal or not. Comparing myself to a stupid biology book illustration gave me no help at all. Even in the changing room, there wasn't much on display apart from a vertical slit, so I couldn't even compare against my contemporaries. Thank god for the internet now: at least youngsters can dial up some shaven model displaying her vulva to the camera and make comparison with their own little secrets.
Natalie and I stayed there in the bedroom a long time together - probably too long. But as long as she wanted to hang onto me, I wanted to be there with her. It was a little piece of tenderness for us both to enjoy. After my disastrous weekend with Benradette I needed a little close sensuality with someone. I helped her dress and adjusted my clothing and we left the bedroom. By chance, the bathroom was free at that precise moment so we dived in and I had a proper, unobserved pee, washed and dried myself carefully. Having diddled Natalie, I was sticky and disgusting and I didn't want to smell for the rest of the evening. I wiped my knickers dry as best I could and I would have preferred to take them off, but I didn't dare go without just in case things got 'boisterous'. Natalie's underwear was damp and she dabbed it slightly drier with some toilet tissue. Refreshed and confident we returned to the party and I danced with everyone and anyone. Exuberant and exciting, it was just fun! I still felt randy and wanted to grapple with some sweet young thing before the night was through, but all I could find was Sophie and Gordon; Natalie went off for an exploratory snog with Vulcan, and I was very jealous; she should have been with me. I suspected she was kissing him to remind herself - and me probably - that she was heterosexual. But it didn't make me feel any better.
"I missed the entertainment!" Shouted Gordon. "Natalie, you mean?" He nodded. "She's very skinny; not much to see." "Did she just strip? Naked?" My turn to nod. "Some girls like doing it. They find it exciting." "Is that what you feel when you're modeling, excited?" "No! But then I do get paid." "I just can't imagine doing that, modeling nude I mean, not paying you for it! "It's not really a big deal. After a few minutes you get used to it and just sit there." "But you're naked. Doesn't it worry you at all that some of the men might y'know, be fancying you?" "No, not really. I don't fancy them." Gordon asked me around for dinner, whenever suited me.
Eventually I cadged a lift back to Regent's Park in another couple's taxi. They dropped me right outside the flat and I rushed in for cover. Luckily, at that time in the morning, no one was around to see me. Once in the privacy of my room, I discarded my revolting knickers and took my sleek chrome tool out for a good wank to make up for not finding a partner at Michael's. After Act 1, I hauled out the harness too and practiced inserting the dildo between the mattress and the base of the bed - literally fucking the bed to make sure I could aim correctly and keep the damn thing inserted. I know that I was drunk when I tried it with Helena, but my aim with this weapon had been abysmal. I'd missed her more times than I'd hit and If I was going to ravage Benradette or even Natalie at some point, I'd have to make sure I could hit the target with it, so to speak. I began to get the thrust right. It wasn't just a wiggle or vague wave of the pelvis back and forth, I needed to gather from the base of the buttocks and propel the thing forward and upwards. After just a few minutes of this, my hips started to ache. Goodness knows how it came so naturally to men. But every time I thrust up and forwards, the base of the pad pressed against the very top of my pubic bone and reverberated down though to my clitoris. Now I wanted to continue, I thrust and thrust to gain that elusive pleasure. I imagined Benradette beneath me, then Natalie's bony hips, then Helena's abundant bossoms then all of them together as I thrust again and again and finally came. Now I collapsed head first onto the bed. Spent and exhausted by my exertions. If men made love like this, thrusting away on top, no wonder they died younger.
I got the train home on the Friday before Christmas. To my new home; in Devon. Prospect House stood behind a walled embankment at the head of Township Hill and Silverside Lane. On a steeply sloping site, it had stood forthright and proud since the middle of the Nineteenth Century. I had loved Prospect House at first sight. "Robbie's a bit concerned about the wall - that it bows out a bit. But I just love the place," smiled Mum. "Rotten garden though. It's all rocks and stones - and it's like the side of a mountain!" >From the second floor studio one could look way out to sea to the South over the town and headlands. No matter what the time of day or weather, it felt like freedom. To the East and West, there were far views over the tableland of Devon, deeply incised by valleys and rias. It was magnificent; there was a feeling of looking over the earth from Prospect House, that somehow the house was disconnected with the planet and floated a little way above it. At any moment, Prospect might take wing and soar away to another point of vigil above another river valley.
Mum and Robbie were still decorating like mad, nearly two years after moving in. But the house was big, difficult to plan and frankly - a mess. Nonetheless, it was their home; a physical symbol of their life together. And it was getting better. It didn't really feel like my home to be honest, and I wasn't sure where my 'home' was. By that time I was in my second year of living in makeshift accommodation and getting pretty sick of it. In terms of being able to be 'me', the flat with JJ was the closest I had to home. In the safe anonymity of Regent's Park, I could be honest with myself. And in the shelter of JJ's Grandfather's flat, we could be truly 'ourselves'.
But now I had to get through Christmas as a dutiful, hard-studying daughter. Actually, it wasn't too bad and I survived most of the actual day with my dignity intact. But at last, my darling grandmother raised the very question I had been dreading for the past five years - "Haven't you got a boyfriend yet?" The room stilled. Robbie, pretended not to hear and carried on talking to Toby, but his eyes were on me. Mum held her breath, and Granny just smiled at me innocently expecting of an answer. "Not yet, Granny. I haven't found a man I can cling to yet. But I'm still searching!" Granny smiled and Mum exhaled.
I came back to bloody awful London on December 30th. I'd pleaded the need to get on with college work, but I wasn't sure I'd be able to get into the studios until well after New Year's. I spent New Years Eve alone in the flat with a bottle of vodka for company. Not good, but at least I could be the real 'me' on my own. I stood out on the balcony at midnight and listened to the shouts and screams of the revelers away across the Park, and raised my bottle to their happiness, God knows why; I wasn't happy.
JJ came back two days later, and in a vile mood too. "Well, I think you ought to decide who you are and what you're here for. You're twenty Rae, tempus fugit and all that rubbish. What's your standpoint for weathering the coming storm?" "Don't know, really" my voice tailed away into uncertainty. JJ was into her 'London Burning' mood, convinced of the coming collapse of society before we reached the millennium. "Look your talented and skilled, but are you going to be the next Caravegio or whoever? I mean, are you? If not you might as well get yourself into a nice, money -making business that means fuck-all but pays loads! Next you need to sort out your private life. You're like me; a homosexual. But you're not like those creatures with crew-cuts and multiple piercings, are you?" I shook my head. "So what are you? Apart from a elderly-spinster-to-be, arranging flowers in the church and fucking her hand after mass!" "JJ!" "Well, you know what I mean." She turned away, looked out the window and reached for another fag. JJ had taken to smoking those vile French cigarettes, Gitanes, I think. The ones with the flamenco gypsy on the packet. They smelt utterly poisonous and stank the flat out. Tina loathed them too, but JJ's character prevailed. I heard the tobacco crackle as she lit up. "I know who I am. I am utterly reprehensible and a hunter of queer cunt! Or girls who can't decide if they're gay or not." She turned back towards me and winked. "I help 'em decide!" Looking back, I loved the way JJ could inject utter filth into a conversation so flippantly. It was all delivered in her beautifully modulated upper class English and with absolute precision.
I went back into the studios as soon as I could; I needed all the time I could get to try and catch up with the work. I started to feel as though I was drowning in drawing and painting projects that I hadn't even started. Natalie seemed to avoid me, a quick 'Hello' and a smile, but nothing more than that. What more did I expect? I was alone here in London, save for JJ, and I should have relished the anonymity. First day of term, there was a handwritten message in the pigeonhole for me. 'Having a dinner party on Saturday, we'll be eight in all. Please come. Gordon.' And it gave his address and a college phone number. Of course, I phoned him and accepted his kind invitation. I felt sort of safe and sort of exposed to be going to his flat, but that's why he'd pointed out there would be other people there. This was not going to be a seduction attempt. I arrived at his address in Haverstock Hill at the appointed hour clutching the best bottle of wine I could afford - and that wasn't much - took a deep breath and joined the party. The other couples were already there and Gordon seemed relieved to see me - I hadn't stood him up in front of his friends after all - and I kissed him on the lips and gave him a big hug. I was wearing a long silver dress - borrowed from JJ with thin shoulder straps and a boxy black bolero jacket around my shoulders, but as soon as I turned around I realized I was way overdressed. They were all in open shirts and slacks, the wives were in skirts and tops; one was even in jeans. Oh well, at least they'd remember me for my dress if nothing else
The other six guests were married couples of varying vintages, but I was the youngest by at least ten years. But that didn't worry me either, I played the sort of semi-hostess role to Gordon's host even though I had never met them before. In fact the other's sort of deferred to me, although I'm not sure how this worked. I think the other males were impressed that Gordon had landed a twenty-year-old and I think that the three college wives were intimidated by the fact that I was a nude model - yes, Gordon had told them! We ate and drank and chatted small talk through the evening, but every now and then, the conversation would inexorably return to me nude modeling. What was it like? Did I get cold? Did I hate the audience, get bored, feel sexy, appreciate art more? One of the wives was definitely outraged and aghast at the idea that anyone could shed their clothes for money - albeit in the name of art. But one of the other two was sort of interested in the feeling of excited exposure in it. Perhaps the thrill of exhibitionism was more common than I imagined; first Natalie and now this lady. But it was when I mentioned modeling with Sophie and Natalie that the room really did go quiet. Nude? Together? Too late I remembered that I wasn't really supposed to let on to Gordon that we had had three models on stage for one evening class, but it was far too late to deny that now. "We did The Turkish baths by Ingres . . . where one girl is caressing another girl" Dead silence. "It was quite something, and the artists loved it" "I bet they did!" Growled one of the husbands and the other males sniggered. I looked at my watch surreptitiously; I'd have to go in ten minutes or stay the night here; no way was I walking four miles in this dress. To be honest, the dress was a bit of a problem. Doing my bit as 'nearly hostess' involved me clearing and fetching into the kitchen. Every time I stooped to pick something up from the table, I knew I was revealing a little more than I should, and of course in that dress I wasn't wearing a bra. As the evening wore on, I cared less and less, but I still knew the men were watching my boobs. Eight minutes later I was still explaining my feelings about snuggling up to another girl in the nude and I mentally shrugged and resolved to stay the night, I couldn't excuse myself for the last train now. I just hoped there was a spare bed. We had adjourned to the lounge area and Gordon had produced a bottle of Fundador and another of DOM Benedictine to accompany the coffee. I was going to enjoy this part of the evening. "But does it really mean nothing to you? Exposing yourself, honestly?" This was prude wife asking me, with her legs clad in thick lisle stockings and sensible skirt. I'd been letting the Fundador slide down easily, following the Cote du Rhone and the Cahors I'd brought. "It's not that it doesn't mean anything. It's just that I'm not embarrassed or ashamed of being seen. It's not sexual in itself and it's not demeaning. I'm happy to be seen naked anytime." "Go on then" muttered one of the husbands from the depths of the settee. I smiled across at him "I haven't had enough to drink yet!" Gordon sprang to his feet and grabbed the bottle, we all laughed and the moment was passed and diffused. Couple by couple, they said their goodnights and were gone. "Can I help with the washing up?" I asked, hoping Gordon would say no. "No" I relaxed. "'Deal with that in the morning." He sat down again quite suddenly. "Gordon, can I stay? I've missed the last train." "Hmm? Course, yes. Got a spare room, so it's all decent and respectable." He didn't move, and I realized he was more drunk than I had thought. He'd be no danger tonight. "Does it really not mean much to you? Being nude, I mean." "Not now. I just get paid for it. And it's not sexual." "Wish I hadn't missed it that evening I saw you in class. Missed whatsit at Michael's party, too." He sounded so disappointed. I stood up and moved around to his field of view at the foot of the sofa. "This is what it's like, Gordon." And I pushed the shoulder straps down and watched his reaction. His eyes blinked open and he tried to push himself up on the settee, but his hand slipped and he sort of lurched to one side, if one can 'lurch' while sitting down. I couldn't help but laugh he looked so silly, and I think that helped me continue. I pushed the dress down around my middle and wiggled around until it fell on the floor. Now, with my hands inside my knickers I shucked them down passed my knees and onto the floor. I straightened up and looked at him. Gordon's mouth was open, aghast. "Well, what do you think? Am I worth the modeling money?" And I held out my hands and shuffled round three sixty degrees to give him an all round view. He remained silent. "No?" "Yes. I mean, yes. You're perfect. My God. Yes, you're beautiful." He blinked and rubbed a hand across his face. "I'm just surprised, that's all. Certainly didn't expect that!" He struggled to his feet and almost seemed to be avoiding looking at my body in any great detail, I think he was trying to keep his eyes above the neckline - it seemed rather old-fashioned and quaint at the time. Was he going to kiss me? "You'd better have the spare room." He turned away in growing embarrassment, and I began to wonder what on earth I'd stripped for. I scooped up my clothes and bag and followed Gordon out of the lounge, feeling shame. He showed me to the room, leaning in to switch on the light then stepping back to let me passed. But now suddenly he brushed passed me and rushed to the window to hurry the curtains closed. He didn't want anyone to see a naked girl in his flat. "Goodnight, then" he called over his shoulder, avoiding looking at me as he closed the door of my room. I sat on the bed. I felt utterly stupid; worthless! What on earth had I done that for? I hadn't done it to seduce him; I would have been horrified if he'd tried it on, or would I? I hadn't needed to impress him either. What on earth did I do it for? Just to show I could? I'd displayed myself to a man. A man! I couldn't possible expect to feel any interest in him and I think I would have been disgusted if he had shown any interest in me. Or was that really the truth? Had I just wanted someone to want me, love me?
I slept badly and rose early on the Sunday to start the washing up. I'd nearly finished before Gordon appeared, looking as disheveled as I felt. We grunted about in each others' company and shared some coffee. "Sorry Gordon." "Uh?" "For embarrassing you last night." He waved my regrets away with his hand. "Happens." "What, you mean girls strip off in your flat quite often?" And I grinned across at him. He laughed and waved me away again. He was still my friend.
I got back to the flat early afternoon. JJ was there, studying and being her waspish self. "I trust you didn't actually sleep in that dress." "No, don't worry. And I slept in the spare room." "Any stains I should know about? Wine, semen?" "Which would you prefer JJ?" "Actually darling, probably the latter. Might get you a bit unwound, if you see what I mean." "What's that to do with you, JJ?" "You're fiddling around like a frustrated Novice these days. Get on with it! Find a girl - or man - and fuck them!" "Unlike you, I don't count my success by the notches on the bedpost. I still love Bernadette, and I'll stay with her until she's ready." It wasn't true of course. Yes, I loved Bernadette, but I would have rolled into bed with any pretty girl quite happily. I needed a bit of Tender Loving Care and neither London or College was giving me that. 'By which time, your fanny will have healed over!" JJ responded and she turned back to her books. I made tea and went to bed.
Back in College. I walked along the corridor from the canteen to the art shop, as I had done dozens of times and glanced at the notice board as I passed. Something caught my eye, and I half stopped, tried to pretend I hadn't carried on walking and I sort of fell over, twisting me knee as I did so. I hobbled to the shop and back, and now I stopped and scrutined the notice next but one. 'Hockey Club meets each Wednesday in Chalk Farm.' And so it might, but out of the corner of my eye, I read the next notice but one. 'Lesbian or Bi? In The Pink. Meets at St XX Hall, Euston Road, third Monday each month, 7.30 pm. Be there if you dare!' Not sure if I did dare but the third Monday would be tonight.
Along the Euston Road and a few turns to the left; there was the venue for In The Pink. A badly painted cardboard placard outside the back door of a church hall proclaimed the place I had longed for and dreaded at the same time. This would be it; this would be my first exposure to overtly lesbian society. I walked straight past, hardly daring to glance in. Around the corner; around the block I continued marching in the drizzle. Now back onto the same street; still no one in sight to see me. Here comes the doorway, deep breath. One, two, three; step sideways and I'm inside. Inside and alone. Nervous and expectant, looking for girls like me all nerves and extremely self-aware. We could sit and talk - discuss the delicious awfulness of being us in a confused and confusing world. But the corridors led me on left and right and the shriek of rock music beckoned me on. Still no one ahead as I walked into the open desert of the hall. I half turned and looked over my shoulder; on the stage black stacks of speakers positively quivered with power hurling inarticulate rock at the audience swept to the very edges of the auditorium. And me, the latest and most uncertain entrant stranded in the middle of the floor uncertain of which way to look or to turn. The sound died and I remained isolated on the floor. Slowly I looked about at the figures on the fringe of the dance floor. They stared back, safe with the wall behind them; I searched in vain for an empty patch of wall to retreat to. There was none. "Well hello everyone. Here we are again for another year. It's the In The Pink first meet of the year when we hope to greet new members." I knew that voice; the rich tones and languid delivery! I stared deeper into the stage. There she was! It was the woman from the Archway where I bought the dildo! Oh no; she'd seen me! "And here's at least one face I don't recognize, or maybe I do!" I was isolated on the centre of the hall, with this awful woman picking me out for attention. I wanted to die; completely. "Someone needs to take care of you" she continued with more than a hint of suggestion on her measured delivery. "In the meantime here's Patti Smith, and I want everyone to get their membership subscription over here to Stevie!" and she swept her arm down to indicate a slight figure sitting at a table to the side of the stage. The lights glinted on her glasses and blonde hair. Stevie sat waiting for with ledger and cash tin for memberships. The music cut jagged across the room as the Sapho Arts DJ swept up the volume and abandoned the microphone. "Hi. You're new - and brave! I'm Fizz." I turned in the direction of the voice. She was about my height, and probably half my weight, but at least ten years older than me. Her short, spiky hair was dyed red and glinted in the stage lights. She wore a white t-shirt, jeans and Dr Martin boots. Somehow she'd twisted up the sleeve of her t-shirt and stuffed a packet of cigarettes in there. She drew upon her fag and blew the smoke towards the ceiling looking sidelong at me. "Hello. I'm Rachel. Am I the only new one here?" "Looks like it. C'mon, show you round. Introduce you." She pointed out more girls with hard-edged names, like 'Jo' and 'Ka' who I instantly forgot. My abiding memory of them all was their appearance; jeans and boots, white t-shirts and lots of earings and nose-studs. This section at least of Lesbian London was united in its costume, and I wondered if they'd expect me to conform. "We're doing the GP section of the Anti Poll Tax March. You coming?" "What's 'GP'?" "Gay Pride! You gotta come; it'll be brill. You meet loads! Get aggro from the Old Bill as well, though. But fuck them!" I must have betrayed my lack of enthusiasm somehow. Fizz stood back half a step and looked at me. "It's not really you, is it?" I shook my head. "You're a Lipstick Lez, in'ch'a?" "A what?" "Never mind."
Boys without dicks after girl's pants; rough, aggressive and wanton with little tits and tight trousers. White t-shirts with a packet of cigarettes up one sleeve. Boys in girl pants, certain of their sexuality. I nearly wrote 'Cock-sure' of themselves, well maybe they were. I certainly wasn't sure of myself and that was the problem. I wasn't ready for these hard-edged girls - all aggressive posturing of sex with no softer side.
I made my escape. Quite literally made my escape. I pleaded the need to pee to Fizz and fled to the loo, but another girl - Jo, followed me. Uncertain if she'd try to follow me, I closed the cubicle door quickly behind me, locked the door. And I faced the door waiting for her. Staring at the wooden barricade and straining my ears to detect her movements on the other side, I began to realize that I was not alone. The cubicle next door was occupied. I bent slightly and saw a foot beneath the partition. The foot was clad in trainers with a pink flash down the side, above the trainer was ruched and rumpled denim; her trousers were pulled down. This would be all well and good in a lavatory were it not for the fact that toe to toe with the trainers were placed a small pair of Dr Martens with equally wrinkled jeans above them. There was the sound of silken rustling from next door, mixed with heavy breathing and the occasional gasp. Back in the safety of our flat, I had found it arousing and exciting to listen to the sound of lovers. Here it was just squalid and dirty. I longed to leave; to just run away, but the thought of Jo waiting for kept me captive in that stall. I pressed my fingers to my ears and tried not to see the feet next door. Eventually shuffled off and the coakroom door swung close behind her. I waited an age; several years, before daring to open the cubicle door. There was no one waiting in the washroom and I was able to leave the lovers to themselves. Nearby yet strangely far away, David Bowie belted out 'Jean Jeanie' and I opened the loo door an inch in case she was waiting outside. The corridor was clear and I scooted out away from the bedlam of 'Jean Genet' and was quickly swallowed by the uncaring anonymity of London. I hated it all.
This is the hardest part. I have been dreading writing about this. I worked late at College, just trying to catch up and getting more and more irritated with myself, the paint, the easel - everything. I remember the journey back to Regents Park vividly. It was a bitterly cold February night and London lights shone bright and clean in the crisp, dry air. The temperature hadn't risen above zero all day so there was no moisture in the air: street lamps twinkled like Christmas lights far away. I got off the bus wrapped in coat and scarf with my hat pulled down to my eyebrows, I turned the corner and there, ten meters back from the flat entrance sat a police car. The single occupant examined me carefully as I passed and I shall remember his eyes forever. He reached for his radio as I turned in to the hallway. Up the stairs and onto the third floor. I had my key in my hand as I approached the landing. But there was another figure there. Another policeman. No, a policewoman, she watched me move towards the flat front door and then stopped me. In her florescent jacket and padded coat she looked broad and muscular and I almost fancied her. But now she spoke. "Are you living here?" "Do you know Josephine Macaulay?" "Can we go inside?" She told me in stages. There had been an accident, JJ had hurt her head. It was a serious blow; wait for that to sink in. It was a very serious injury. Another wait. Josephine had died. Obviously, I don't remember fainting, and I don't really remember coming round. But I remember sitting on the settee with the Policewoman perched next to me, holding out a mug of very sweet tea. "We've sent someone to see her family" Mother moved to Suffolk; never been there. "Did she have a boyfriend?" I must have shaken my head. "Was there anyone close to her, apart from her family that is?" Tina. "Tell me about Tina." They used to wrestle their way through Saturdays and Sundays; laughing and gasping through wonderful sex sessions. Suddenly emerging from JJ's bedroom for sustenance or to chase each other round the flat. Oh yes they did. I remember one Saturday night, JJ's door crashed open with a shriek and Tina bursting out wrapped in the duvet. JJ pursuing her, brandishing a monstrous dildo. They chased through the lounge screaming with laughter, Tina displaying her tiny boobs and dark, cherry dark nipples as she fled from the rubber rapist's onslaught, back along the hall and into the bedroom. "'Scuse us, won't you Rae!" JJ called over shoulder. The bedroom door smashing closed again behind JJ as I watched Match of the Day. "Tell me about Tina." They were just friends.
Inquest. Funeral. JJ it seems, was running to catch a tube train. She slipped on the topmost step of the subway and the very base of her skull struck the brass nosing of London Transport's steps with some force. Probably instantly unconscious and possibly already dead, she bounced and slipped down the remaining 22 steps into the ticket hall. Believing her to be drunk, a station guard nudged her with his foot whilst exalting her to arise. Only when he saw her bleeding from a wound on the back of the neck did he offer assistance. By which time she was definitely dead. Time recorded as 19.35, 12.02.1990. End.
Tina sat beside me in the church. We clutched hands and snuffled our way through the long service. JJ's grandfather, Walter Macaulay approached me at her funeral. He was a dignified gentleman, no doubt upright and proud in his prime. But now reduced to using two sticks to walk, and reduced further through enduring the agony of his granddaughter's funeral. "You must stay in the flat until you have completed your studies. I insist upon it." I shook my head,expressed my sympathies and made my excuses and receded from him in tears. I could no longer bear the thought of being in that flat without her or even being in London without JJ. I was leaving.
I told Peter at College that I was chucking it in. "I really think you ought to consider the future more carefully." Peter swept back his thinning hair and tried to smile at me. "Rachel, you're doing well. Don't give up on it now. Use the experience and work through it in your painting." I shook my head in bitter self-disgust. I couldn't stay. College and art was finished for me. All the puffing-up, all the self-importance, all the elitism; I'd had it all.
I stacked bag after bag of art materials and sketchbooks into the bins behind the flats as I cleaned out. Now bags of clothes, make up, everything. I needed to cleanse myself of the pretensions of art and of my London life. I had to throw it all away. I locked the flat door and posted the keys back through the letterbox, and I walked to Paddington station with what little I carried.
I remember thinking about getting a laxative so that I could shit London out of me as well.
I'm sorry if you find that too miserable; not many laughs (or mch sex) in this episode I know. Perhaps that's why it took me so long to write it. I thrive on your comments! Please tell me - rachelfrizz@hotmail.co.uk. I'd love to hear! Bye, Rae.