Rokeby Venus

"Nice one? Do you like it on me? I think I'll keep it. Anyway, why did you laugh? Do I look funny in it?"

"Sylvia bought that to go to the Ascot Gold Cup. Its de rigour that the women wear fancy hats. I had just received a big bonus from work and splashed out. I booked a luxury hotel in the Winsor area. I'm talking about nineteen-ninety-five. I bet a huge amount on the Double Trigger to win the Gold Cup race. Made a killing. Sylvia and spent the evening and night celebrating and having a lot - and I mean a L. O. T. - of fun."

"But why the belly laugh? Sounds as though you had a good time, but not that funny."

"Well." Gerry paused as to whether to share his memory. "This is adult stuff. Sylvia and I were having sustained sex at the Inn. The inn was old, but done up nicely, but the walls were paper thin. Sylvia was noisy having sex. The owner and landlord were trying to sleep in the room next to ours. At two-thirty in the morning we were still going at it when he knocks on our door, and after tremendous row we were thrown out, after getting dressed of course. That's what I was laughing it."

Sarah pursed her lips, "Oh. I guess I asked for it. A bit TMI. Sounds as though you were both randy when you were younger. Maybe that's where Steve gets it."

"We had our moments. And, yes, those genes may have been handed down. Keep the hat and enjoy it. Maybe think of Sylvia and me when you wear it. You may have a smile plastered on you face the whole time."

"Maybe," Sarah called back over her shoulder.

Another black bag was lobbed out into his room. About twenty minutes later there was a huge crash.

"You alright?" Gerry sprung out of bed setting the paper aside and slipping on his slippers he shuffled over to the room.

Sarah called back, "A filled shoebox fell on the floor as I was reaching for it from the top shelf." There was faint buzzing noise. "This is weird."

Gerry turned into the room. There were three shoeboxes on the floor one of which had its contents scattered. He realized what he was seeing. Something he had totally forgotten about.

Sarah was frowning, "I hope I haven't broken anything?"

Gerry noticed her face was a deep red. "You know what you have found?"

"Yes. Pretty good idea, but I don't recognize much of it. Sex toys? Implements for want of a better word?"

"Yes. I'd totally forgotten about them, otherwise I would have saved you the embarrassment of finding them." He crouched down and picked up the buzzing vibrator and turned it off. No knowing what else to say he made light, "Wow, the batteries still work after nearly three years."

Equally tongue tied, Sarah replied, "Yes. Modern technology is so clever." After casting her eye over the scattered items, she bent and removed the lids off the other two boxes and visually examined their contents without touching them. "You know, I think I've done enough for today. I'll get dressed and go for a walk on the beach." She left without looking back.

Gerry climbed back into bed and tried to continue reading the paper, but he could not concentrate on the words. His mind turned to Sarah's discovery. He smiled to himself as he thought of the old biddies at the thrift store opening the boxes. Maybe they should go straight to the dump, incognito. Then he thought that maybe Vicky could find a home for them. He decided to set them aside and out of Sarah's way. After he showered and dressed, he collected the scattered items and stored the boxes in an empty drawer on his side of the dressing room.

Gerry anticipated an awkward dinner experience with Sarah after the events earlier in the day. He need not have worried, as Sarah launched into questions concerning the public footpath between the house and the sea.

"When I went for my walk this morning, there were tons of people walking along in path by the sea gawking at all the houses as they passed by. Doesn't that bother you? It would me."

"Little bit of history and background before I answer your question. My dad bought this 1920's house in a derelict condition in 1950 for a song. As you can see it has a flat roof, stucco walls and rounded corners in the art deco style. My mum and dad saw the potential in the bones of the building and spent the next four decades renovating, expanding, and totally modernizing it to what you see today. I've added a few bits myself, mainly in the garden, and tried to maintain the integrity of the structure."

Gerry paused to eat one of the lamb chops. Sarah waited patiently eyebrows raised for the full story to unfold.

"As I'm sure you have seen there are a dozen or so of monster mansions built on the neighbouring two-acre lots. The original houses were all demolished. Some have huge fences protecting their properties from prying eyes. Our thought was that by being by the sea one should be able to see it. Excuse the pun. Hence the low wall separating the public greensward from our plot."

Sarah interrupted, "If they want to hop over the low wall, it offers no obstacle."

"True. If someone wants to trespass, they will always find a way. As you know, we have effective CCTV outside and house alarms installed. I do agree occasionally there is some dog poop to pick up, but that's the price I am prepared to accept. Back to snooping, I built decorative screens either side of the house to protect the sightlines to the patio and barbeque area on one side and my treasured vegetable garden to the other side. The screens also help protect from the direct sea spray when we have a north-easter storm come through."

"Okay I get all that. But are they the only reasons you are happy with the situation? All that would be the nearly the same if your plot went directly down to the sea without a footpath between you and the sea."

"Smart girl! No, that's just background. History is important. As I am sure you know, like my dad, and my son, I am an accountant. I had an accounting company. Money matters to me. My neighbours and I are all well off, but beyond that many are very well connected and have considerable amount of soft and some hard power. All this means that along this stretch of coastline we have solid sea defences at the public's expense, not ours, to prevent the erosion that eats away at this coastline. Clear now?"

"Shrewd. The rich get richer. And the only drawback is having the public footpath." Sarah screwed her face a bit as she said this.

"You got it. The way of the world. Dessert today?"

"Oh, yes. Blueberry pie and whipped cream. Oh, while I think of it, I'll be going over to Vicky's for the weekend. She called me direct to go for the portrait sitting and suggested I stay with her. Is that okay with you?"

"Perfect."

"I'll prepare some meals for the weekend to put in the freezer for you. Let me get the pie, and coffee."

Gerry was relieved that the shoe boxes had not come up in conversation. He called Vicky from his room later that evening and talked briefly about Sarah's impending visit and arranged to meet with her at the pub for dinner after their afternoon painting session. He didn't want to discuss the shoe boxes over the phone.

Over breakfast as Gerry nervously scanned the newspaper, the main headline in the Times was Brexit related. Gerry relaxed when Sarah took the conversational lead once more with a rant about the opportunities Brexit would deny her generation. She had purposefully studied both French and German at school and had become proficient with a view to working across Europe, and she felt betrayed. The content of the shoe boxes remained the elephant in the room but was not acknowledged or even hinted at.

Later that day, after the painting session, Vicky and Gerry retired to a corner table in the pub, as arranged. For the first hour Vicky dominated the conversation with an erudite and insightful description of an art exhibition opening in London she had attended over the weekend.

A bottle of wine had disappeared down their throats before they got around to ordering dinner along with a second accompanying bottle. Over the meal Gerry described the fascinator hat Sarah had modeled for him and then gave a somewhat enhanced, more detailed, and dirtier version of the associated Ascot story.

By now with their bellies full and a second bottle of wine almost finished Gerry finally described about the discovery of the shoe boxes and their contents. "Sarah seemed to go into shock and ran out. Now it blights any conversation we have. I'm expecting her to tell my how disgusting I am and give her notice. I'm not sure what this will do to her relationship with Steve. I don't want to screw that up."

"Huh, you have no idea how resilient Sarah really is. I suspect she is more curious than put off, notwithstanding her inexperience. As for you, Sylvia, and the toys, knowing what you have told me about your relationship I am stunned she was that well kitted out with handy toys. I thought you took good care of her, or did you exaggerate that last Ascot story?"

"No. I did take good care of her sexually. But I was away on business trips a fair amount in the middle phase of our lives together, and as I was growing the accounting consultancy practice. I did tolerate her hand equipment but drew the line when she asked for a Sybian. You know, one of those ride 'em cowboy things."

"Good move. They are addictive and set the standard too high for any man trying to follow that. So roughly, tell me what is in the boxes?"

Gerry recited what he could remember.

"Oh, that's comprehensive. Sounds better than my collection. You also did some restraint and spanking as well. Weren't you the couple?"

"The spanking only involved paddles no whips or things that left painful line. Here's the thing, Vicky..." Gerry took a deep breath, "Would you like them. Take them off my hands? Otherwise, they go to the dump."

"Tempting. One or two of my vibrators are getting worn out and some new shapes or sizes may be interesting." Vicky thought for a moment and had a sparkle in her eye before she burst out with, "Yes. I'll take them. My first task will be to go through them with Sarah. Widen her education. Get her thinking about sex and nudity. You have a deal."

"Good gal. Oh, just thought of a condition. You must tell me all about how Sarah handles her newfound knowledge. Verbatim as you can get. I'll bring the boxes along with me on Thursday."

When Gerry arrived home, there was a message on his land line. Apologizing for the short notice, an old client asked if he was free to play golf the following day. Details were provided. Gerry called back immediately to accept the invitation.

The following morning Sarah was already in the kitchen with a coffee already made when Gerry breezed in. He ate some toast and drank his coffee standing up whilst explaining his movements for the day and confirming he would be back for dinner. He rushed out with an hour and a half drive in front of him. There was no time for awkward conversations with Sarah.

Hitting roadworks on the return journey he barely made it for the usual time Sarah served dinner. He poked his head in the kitchen, "I home. Need to wash my hands and I'm ready to eat."

"Got it. I'll serve now."

At the table, Gerry noticed that there was only one place set up. Sarah came in with a tray containing the main meal and a crumble dessert with cream. "I'm not feeling well. I hope you don't mind if I go straight up to my room. I'll take care of the plates and dishes in the morning."

"Oh, sorry to hear that. Anything I can do to help?"

"You're kind. No. Nothing you can do."

"If you need a doctor, you could see mine. She was a client and would be happy to see you, I'm sure."

"No doctor. May I go now?"

"Go. Get well soon. Call me if you need me."

Sarah quickly turned and left Gerry alone. He had noticed her eyes were red and her eye makeup had run a little. She had been crying. He wondered if the pain was so much as to cause her to cry, or if he had done something to upset her. He even wondered if she somehow knew about the little scheme Vicky, and he had devised. He concluded she would tell him in due course, and there was little point in speculating.

The following morning Sarah had cooked up a full English breakfast. Gerry sat down concluding that she had bounced back.

"Feeling better?"

"Yes."

"Anything you want to talk about?"

Sarah's response was flat and final, "No. I'm okay." She took breath and changed the subject, "Tell me about the golf. How did you do? Do you play for money?"

Doing most of the talking Gerry ran through his previous day's activities and answered a continuous stream of supplementary questions that deflected any chance that Gerry would ask about her health.

Gerry put the shoe boxes in a black plastic bag. He reluctantly volunteered to also deliver the bags Sarah had sorted out to go to the thrift store on his way to his painting group. He was carefully not to mix the bag that contained the shoe boxes with the others.

He met Vicky in the car park and transferred the bag across to her car. She thanked him and asked, "Any chance you can free up Sarah tomorrow as well as the weekend. I was looking at the time of her availability before she returns to Steve in London. I might like to grab her for three-day weekends for the rest of her time here to get finished if she agrees to sit for the Venus painting. Any chance about the three days?"

"No sweat as far as I'm concerned, but you'd have to ask her. By the way, she was under the weather last night when I returned form golf. She'd been crying, I'm sure. She may not be up to it. Give a call now. Tell her you have cleared with me."

Vicky did call and received an enthusiastic response. Vicky wondered if she needed a mature woman to discuss what had been ailing her.

Over dinner Sarah told Gerry she had accepted Vicky's offer to go over the following day. She confirmed it really was acceptable to him, reminding him that he was paying her for her services. He understood her underlying concern, assuring her she would be getting the full payment as they had agreed. She then told him about all the meals she had prepared and placed in the freezer, along with reheating instructions.

After waving Sarah off the following morning, Gerry felt a bit low. He donned his gardening gear and spent the whole day weeding his vegetable patch.

Over the next few days Gerry caught up with much of the garden work he had been neglecting, as well as taking some long walks on the beach. In the evenings his mind wandered back to Sarah as he tried to imagine how things were going with Vicky.

The next morning after a quiet breakfast Gerry found an email from Vicky on his laptop when he did his daily check.

Dearest Gerry:

This is going to be a ride. I know you asked for verbatim accounts. I thought you'd appreciate a written account of my time with Sarah. I hope you don't leave your computer laying around open!

As soon as she arrived, I could see she's been crying again. Her eyes were red. She knew it and apologized, "Sorry about the red eyes. Hope you don't paint them that way."

I told her we had a long way to go before we reached that point. I pointed to the blank gessoed canvas on the easel. I asked quite innocently, "Why the tears?" This opened the floodgates again with tears pouring down her cheeks. "Want to talk about it?"

After a full five minutes of tears without answering me, and then a further five minutes of quite dramatic sobbing wracking her body, she finally spoke, "Fucking men."

I nodded. I silently agreed with her. She continued, "Steve. I've dumped him."

"Why did you do that? He's a good-looking fella, great career prospects, and he seems kind like his grandfather."

Her face became hard, "I facetime him about an hour after our lunchtime every day. There's four hours difference to Dubai, so he's just got back to the suite he's been assigned. It catches him after work and before dinner. I record the conversations, and for the most part delete them after rewatching them later. I kept a couple when he was being particularly nice to me with lovey-dovey stuff. I'd recently noticed the conversations have been getting shorter and increasingly just about the work he's doing or the touristy visits he's made."

I jumped in, "Long distance relationship can be very difficult."

"Sure. I know that. We know that. But I have boundaries. On Wednesday I called. We were chatting and he turned his head back for a moment as if he'd heard something. We continued for a minute or so and then from the doorway that I could see over his left shoulder out jumps a blond woman a bit older than me who says, 'I got off early. I have a present for you.' She opens her blouse and presents two huge tits and shakes her shoulders, so they wobble from side to side. The screen went blank. I think he closed his laptop. I checked the recording. I was not hallucinating.'

There it is my friend. Why Sarah was crying. She was not ill. We talked for the next hour. I tried to tell her it was not the biggest of deals. She's adamant. Steve's toast.

Sarah lightened up after she had unburdened. She told me that she wanted to look nice in the only painted portrait she's likely ever have made of her. She pulled out a gold lamé dress she told me was Sylvia's from a large bag. I somewhat reluctantly okayed it because she seemed so keen to dress in it, but gold is a bitch to paint and make look right. She went behind the studio screen and came out looking great. As she stood in front of a mirror to do her hair, and get this (!), I can see she is braless. Wowee! Her nips were evident. I then had an inspiration for the painting: I would paint her in the style of Klimt. Remember he used gold leaf. If the paint does not work well, I may have to figure out how to use gold leaf. Yah! I'd like to make it similar to Klimt's Judith with tits showing but it'll have to be more Adele Bloch-Baue.

She combed and held her hair back from her face and we were off to the races. I quickly underpainted values in monochrome umber in acrylic paint for the fast drying. Rendered the background flat and neutral so I can play with it later. Made good progress in a few hours. Took some photos to freeze the pose and check for proportions. I'll play around with background patterns later in the week. I may ask her to change her hair style a bit.

After lunch there was still plenty of good light and it was very warm in the studio. I decided to throw down some detailed sketches of her features. An idea I'd once used to seduce a model about ten years ago came to mind. I thought I'd try it. I got topless (put your tongue back in your mouth you dirty dog!). I asked Sarah if she's mind if I went topless. Quite rationally, she wondered why I'd want to do that. I gave her some BS about feeling freer and found I drew better and in a looser way. She said, 'Sure. Go ahead.' I repeated, 'Are you sure you are okay if I strip down to the waist?' She shrugged, 'Why not. It's hot in here.' Please note Gerry that I did ask twice. I stripped down and my now slightly droopy boobs, nipples hardening, danced in front of Sarah.

I sketched for about 30 minutes before stopping and declaring I needed a drink. I brought out a nice Medoc, opened it and poured two full glasses. It was getting hotter in the studio, but rather than opening a window I said to Sarah, 'Maybe you should change or take that dress off before you get perspiration stains on it.' She had a slight sweaty film on her.

She sat thinking for a moment and took a long look at my breasts before saying, 'Why not?'

I casually threw out, 'Not more, actually less, than you see in the locker room. Right?'

'Right.' She stood and pulled the dress off. Spotting a rack with hangers over to the side of the studio she hung the dress up. I saw her freeze for a moment whilst over there. She had seen the shoe boxes you gave me that I had left on a table near the window. When she came back, she asked me, 'Do you paint topless with any other clients?"