SEVEN DAYS

by Silence Welder

His hand was on her left breast, massaging her through her long-sleeved shirt and she'd have told him to slow down if it didn't feel so wonderful. Her body went limp at his touch and he slipped an arm around her back to steady her, his firm hand squeezing her waist and making her feel tiny, doll-like, while his tongue worked voraciously at hers, as if it was a battle that he was determined to win.

  She tried to surface for breath, but he kept kissing her, returning her passion threefold. He moaned as he kissed her and squeezed her so hard that it was painful. His desire made her feel sexier than any pair of boots or any dress or any amount of dancing on balconies.

  As his lust for her became obvious, so did hers. She was wet for him and wanted him to lay her on the grass, but it would be more complicated than that. Why hadn't she worn something a little easier to remove?

  He responded to her thoughts by shoving her T-shirt up towards her neck and massaging her breast again, his hand on the material of her bra now. A moment later, he was digging his fingers into the lace and tugging, impatient and almost brutal.

  “Whoa, boy,” she said, breaking away from him.

  She pulled her T-shirt over her head and let it fall to the floor. Then she reached behind her. Slowly, gracefully, she unclipped her bra.

  He was on her before her bra hit the ground. He took each nipple into his mouth in turn, sucking one while toying with the other.

  He was a similar lover to Peter, in that he was so focused on her body that it seemed as if he believed that he would have one chance only to consume her and he wanted to use her up. Hands down, he had the better physique though. She could feel his rock hard abs and solid chest through his shirt.

  Her breath left her in shudders and he kept on mouthing her, her pleasure literally in his hands, her eyes on the glittery lights on the mountain that seemed to shine just for her.

  She thought that he'd want to move on quickly, but he kept licking her, sometimes gently, sometimes sucking hard.

  She was lost to his ministrations.

  A minute or two later, unable to bear this pleasure any longer, she kissed him on the mouth and undid the buttons of his shirt. She slid her hands over him and he felt just as good as she had hoped. Better.

  His chest was smooth, which she found unusual, but he was no less manly for that. Not at all.

  As her fingers explored his body, he unfastened the button of her trousers. He had evidently used up what patience he had, because he was rushing again, tugging and tearing the fabric. His kissing faltered and then he pried her trouser button from the hole. He immediately yanked her zip down, then slipped his fingers under the waistband of her trousers, his fingertips coursing over her light covering of pubic hair, seeking her wetness.

  As much as she had enjoyed her play with Lisa, she was looking forward to having a man touch her again and quivered in anticipation of his fingers.

  First, however, it was his turn.

  “We have time,” she told him. “There’s no rush.”

  She removed his shirt and threw it to the ground before applying herself to kissing his chest. She sucked on his nipples and he held her with one hand on the back of her neck, directing her mouth, preventing her from moving away. She had no intention of stopping so soon. She peppered his body with kisses, gradually lowering her lips to his abs, teasing his navel with her tongue.

  He pushed his fingers through her hair and held her close to him. She could feel the strength in his hands. She could feel the strength of his desire for her. They were both trembling, hearts pounding.

  Finally, he lifted her and placed her on the ground, doing so as easily as if she weighed nothing at all. He gazed down at her and she reached up for him, finding discomfort in his scrutiny. She didn’t really want him to see her. She just wanted to feel his body on hers.

  “You read my mind,” she whispered as he lay on top of her.

  She felt the bulge of his cock against her and gasped. It was her turn to be impatient and his turn to lay a hand on her naked chest and say:

  “Shhh. Don’t rush.”

  She laughed.

  “You tease,” she said.

  “You started it.”

  He kissed her neck and she lost all semblance of composure. She moaned and allowed her eyes to close. Her body relaxed as if someone had cut her strings and she was only a shape on the ground, capable of nothing but experiencing bliss.

  The only thing that made the sensation more powerful was imagining that these kisses and caresses were being administered by the man she had wanted from the beginning. She imagined his hair stroking her neck, her breasts, her stomach. She imagined his dark eyes bearing down on her, pinning her to the ground.

  “Are you alright?” Andre murmured.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Don’t stop.”

  His weight on top of her was delicious. He prevented himself from crushing her by holding himself up, his large biceps bulging, ripe and ready for action. And his arms weren’t the only things that were bulging.

  This was like a holiday romance, except it wasn’t quite a holiday and this wasn’t a romance.

  “Are you sure you are okay?” Andre whispered into her ear.

  “Yes,” Judy said. “Yes.” But she was trembling and a moment later she was shaking her head. “No,” she admitted and sighed a huge sigh that brought her back to reality. Her back was aching. She was shivering. She had dirt in her hair.

  Andre sat up.

  “What is it?” he said. His face was disappointed, but alarmed and she wondered what he had seen in her face that made him so concerned.

  “You haven’t done anything wrong,” Judy said, breathing heavily and sniffling.

  “Wrong time? Wrong place?”

  Wrong guy, she thought.

  “Something like that,” she told him.

  She glanced down at his crotch and, considering the way in which he was poised above her, she wondered if she hadn’t been too hasty, but it was Andre who had pulled away first and she admitted that part of her was relieved that he had done so.

  Half-naked beneath the moonlit sky, she let another deep breath fly and gazed up at the stars. Andre lay beside her.

  “I’m sorry,” Judy said.

  “Me too,” said Andre.

  “I do fancy you,” she assured him.

  “I know,” he said, grinning. “But there’s someone else. I know. It’s clear. I don’t want to … step on his feet ...”

  They were kissing again. His mouth was just so delicious. It took all of her will to put her hand on his shoulder and push him gently away.

  “He’s a lucky man,” Andre said.

  “He doesn’t even exist,” Judy said. “I have an idea of him, but he’s not really like that. No-one could be that perfect. He’s like a dream. The more I think of him, the more he slips away. And yet, I can’t be with anyone else. Even though you’re drop dead gorgeous, I can’t go through with it.”

  As they dressed, Andre said:

  “I’m sorry if I rushed you. I couldn’t help myself. There’s something special about you. You excite me.”

  “No,” Judy said as she rolled her T-shirt down over her breasts. “I'm single. I'm available. That’s all that’s special about me. If you could have been here with Maggie, you would have been, but she’s with Mark.”

  “No,” Andre said, unable to think of any other words of protest for a while. “No. I don’t think this.”

  “I don't mind,” Judy said. “Be honest about it.”

  Mark. He was the problem again. Even when she had been kissing Andre, she had been seeing Mark in her head, no matter that he was with someone else. She was unable to take her revenge on him. Truth be told, the idea of him with Maggie turned her off sex completely, even for the purposes of self-soothing or evening the score.

  “No hard feelings,” Andre said.

  Judy glanced at his bulging crotch and burst out laughing. It was better than bursting into tears.

  “Will you walk me back?”

&nb
sp; “Of course.”

  Andre gave her his arm and she slipped hers in his again.

  She felt protected by him. He had the body of a gladiator crossed with a teen idol pop star. Quite a combination.

  As they walked, their steps fell into a natural rhythm and she allowed her body to press against his. He swept her along then, forsaking being arm in arm for one big arm around her waist, proprietarial and protective all at once.

  No hard feelings. He knew how not to bear a grudge.

  It was at that moment that Mark appeared, walking alone across the courtyard. He was surprised to see them but not as surprised as Judy was to see him. Instinctively, she removed herself from Andre's grip, causing him to protest, hurt.

  On their stroll through the dark garden, winding down towards the mansion, she had wondered what it might be like to bump into Mark and Maggie. She had expected that she would flaunt Andre; maybe drape herself over him. Instead, she wanted to curl up like an autumn leaf and disappear.

  “Hi,” Andre said.

  Mark said nothing. He was staring from one of them to the other.

  “Hi,” said Judy, weakly. In some part of her mind, she knew, this was what she had wanted. She had wanted to be seen. She wanted him to know that she was desirable and that she didn't need him, that if he chose to ignore her in favour of Maggie it would be his own loss.

  But now...

  “Party's over,” Mark said. “Get some rest.” He kept his voice even. “First day of classes tomorrow.”

  “Of course,” said Andre.

  “Okay,” said Judy.

  They walked away under Mark's gaze.

  Judy felt awful, with the impression that she was in trouble with the teacher. She defended herself against feeling depressed by turning the feeling into anger.

  Two can play at this game, she thought, but, in truth, her heart wasn't in it.

  “Tomorrow will be awkward,” Judy said when Mark was gone.

  “Now I know why you didn't want me on the hill,” Andre said. “I saw the way you looked at him just then. Why didn’t you tell me you wanted him? I hope things will be okay between us all. We have to live together for the rest of the week.”

  Judy smiled sadly. Was it really so obvious that she had fallen for Mark?

  “You saw the way I looked at him,” she said, “but did you see the way he glared at me?”

  Chapter Seven: Monday—Life Drawing

  Henry David Thoreau: “It's not what you look at that matters, it's what you see.”

  As scheduled, the students met in the studio.

  Try as she might, Judy couldn't keep her eyes off her so-called roommate, who, as far as she was aware, had not returned to the bedroom the entire night.

  “What now?” Maggie asked when she caught Judy staring. “Are you going to draw me?”

  “Draw!” Simon said and pulled a paintbrush out of his belt as though it was a revolver.

  “Don't be a fool, Billy,” someone added.

  Judy didn't know whether they had defused the confrontation deliberately or whether it had been a happy coincidence, but Judy was grateful and returned to examining her shoes until she heard footsteps approaching along the corridor and a moment later Mark strode in.

  He looked as if he hadn't slept and within a few seconds it was clear that he was not his jovial self.

  “Hung over?” Bernard asked.

  Mark launched straight into his introduction to today's workshops without answering. He normally responded playfully to ironic questions and even heckling, but today he ploughed on, sounding much less like himself and more like some professor who had delivered this talk many times using the same time-worn notes.

  Not only did he not make eye-contact with Judy, but he avoided the gaze of the rest of the class too.

  Maggie looked at Bernard and she exaggerated a shrug: “Not my fault I kept him up late. Oh, yes, actually, it is my fault. Lucky me.”

  Though his usual style of teaching, which he had once described as 'anti-teaching', made some of the class nervous or even angry, they found this 'invisible lectern' approach tedious.

  Judy didn't much care about how he delivered his message, only that it was over soon.

  As she thought this, Andre entered the room and the tension she felt tripled. She was sure that she had gone bright red. Andre's eyes sought her out immediately upon entering the room. Even before seeing Mark, he had looked for her.

  “You're late,” Mark said.

  Andre appeared to be about to say something about Mark always being late, but his mouth snapped shut.

  “I'm sorry,” he said.

  “Get your clothes off,” Mark said, “and sit down.”

  Andre stood in the corner and removed his coat, shirt, shoes and socks.

  “Chair,” Mark said, pointing, then continued with great fluidity, but little emotion, his speech on the fundamentals of life drawing.

  “Before you can draw,” Mark said, “you have to be able to see. Feeling? That comes later. Feeling can be dangerous. Feeling too deeply too quickly can get you into trouble.”

  Mark was looking directly at Judy now.

  “Find the truth in the thing you're looking at,” he said. “Don't see what you expect to see. Really look at the thing in front of you. It might surprise you. It might disappoint you. But at least you won't be fooled by it.”

  Andre returned to the middle of the room with a wooden chair.

  “Trousers,” Mark said impatiently.

  The women in the room smiled. Simon licked his lips.

  Andre slipped out of his khaki trousers, revealing a pair of black briefs beneath. Bending to remove his trousers, the class was privileged to a view of a perfect male bum. And when he turned, they were treated to the sight of what appeared to be an enormous package.

  “Oh my God,” someone exclaimed in a whisper and there was a murmur of laughter.

  “Off,” Mark said.

  Andre slipped his briefs down over his thighs and stepped out of them. The room was already quiet, but now it fell silent.

  This boy was indeed beautiful.

  “Sit,” Mark said, frustrated at giving him instructions, and then he got up to position the model. He angled him so that his legs were apart and so that he was directly facing Judy.

  “Hold that pose,” Mark said.

  Andre gave Judy a Gallic shrug and an apologetic grin.

  “Don't move,” Mark snapped.

  The tension in the room was in part because of Andre's wondrous nakedness—Simon was failing to keep his cool and Kevin caught his girlfriend fanning herself, which she attempted to explain away as a normal, meaningless human gesture, before doubling over with a fit of the giggles—and in part because of Mark's odd behaviour, or rather, because his behaviour was not as odd as usual today.

  Everybody had a supply of sketch paper on their easel and pencils of various weights to hand.

  “Don't worry,” he said. “You're going to get to draw today. I don't expect you to snap your pencils in two.”

  There was good-humoured laughter and relief, but Mark didn't join in.

  First, he had them close their eyes and focus on their breathing. During this time, Judy and Andre regarded each other, embarrassed, while Mark walked around the room, guiding a brief meditation.

  Andre sat god-like, like some marble creation. His only movement was his great chest rising and falling and the agonised look on his face. He was cringing whenever Mark came near him.

  “Keep your head up,” Mark told him.

  “I didn't know,” Andre said.

  “Didn't know what?” said Mark.

  “How you felt about her,” said Andre.

  Mark considered his next words carefully, glancing briefly at Judy.

  “You still don't,” Mark said.

  Before either Andre or Judy could speak again, Mark was addressing the room as a whole:

  “Let go of any tension in your body,” he said. “Relax your shoulders. Breathe de
eply and let it go.”

  Unknown to the others, Mark then addressed Judy directly.

  “Let go of any emotional conflicts you might have. If you're feeling angry or guilty or a little bit stupid...”

  Judy scowled.

  “...let it slide away.”

  Judy openly glared at him. He didn't need to be so mean and he had started it.

  “Let it go,” Mark said. “You don't need this extra baggage. You're better of without it. Get on with your life.”

  Bernard peeked.

  “Am I missing something?” he said. “What’s going on?”

  Caught out, Mark continued with the meditation, telling them to imagine that they were back in their safe place.

  Judy couldn't perform this exercise. There was nowhere left to hide. Everywhere that she went, she was there and Mark was there, too, glaring at her, accusing her, though he was no angel himself.

  Finally, Mark counted to ten to bring them from their place of quiet contemplation back to their tasks in the studio.

  He set them several timed exercises, the first of which was to draw Andre without looking at their pencil or the paper. They were not to even glance at the drawing in progress. Their eyes should rest on Andre's body the entire time.

  Mark set the timer for five minutes and positioned himself behind Judy. The back of her neck tingled.

  Her pencil was trembling.

  “Look at him!” Mark snapped.

  Judy did so.

  “I can't do this,” Andre said and stood. He pulled on a dressing gown, grabbed his clothes and strode out of the room, apologising to everyone.

  Everyone looked at Mark, shocked.

  Judy was pleased that he was gone, though appalled by the circumstances under which it had happened.

  “I'll sit,” Mark offered and plonked himself in the chair. He positioned himself so that he was staring at Judy. “Look at me,” he said. “Not the paper. Not the pen. Look me in the eye. Do you see me?”

  “Of course,” Judy said.

  “Really?” said Mark. “Then draw what you see.”

  Over the course of forty-five minutes they created almost a dozen sketches, one after the other. He instructed them to use their weaker hand, and to create another with eyes closed, and then another using only vertical or horizontal lines. Mark imposed all manner of constraints upon them in order to get them to let go of their expectations.