SEVEN DAYS

by Silence Welder

  Wednesday started in the dump, but Judy couldn't have been happier. She could have been anywhere and would still have worn that same ridiculous, slightly smug, contented smile. Even Maggie's jibes and snide looks didn't bother her today.

  Their task that morning was to find some art. The local dump, Mark assured them, was a treasure trove for an artist.

  Judy wondered what he'd forgotten to do today, but as far as she could see he didn't drop anything off or pick anything up. This really did seem to be part of some kind of plan.

  Well done, she thought, and looked around the yard, feeling as though she owned the place, because Mark was with her and Mark was behaving as if he owned it too.

  What's mine is yours and what's yours is mine.

  Body.

  Mind.

  About a dozen, large, metal skips were situated around the yard, each one labelled with an almost indecipherable image and a word or two in French, each one designated a different material, such as metal, cardboard, plastic or wood. There were also palettes laid out for white goods, electronic equipment and oils, as well as the usual recycling bins for newspapers and magazines, glass and clothes.

  The group split up to explore the environment, needing little instruction or encouragement from Mark today. He'd done his work well and they were all motivated and, best of all, open to possibilities. No matter that this was a place where people threw their rubbish away. What was rubbish to one person, they understood, was beautiful to another.

  Everyone went their own way, except for Kevin who was thankfully hand in hand with Yvonne as they headed towards the cardboard.

  Judy glanced at Mark, who was surveying them all with a look that was as close as he got to pride. She wanted him to take her by the hand, too. She wanted him to take her. She could barely wait until this evening, although they hadn't agreed to meet. Quite the opposite. Mark had warned her to be careful, telling her that what they were doing might be fun, but it was not a game. He could lose his job over this if there were complaints.

  “I can keep a low profile,” Judy assured him. “I've kept a low profile all my life.”

  But here she was now, grinning like an idiot at him, and there he was, smiling back, equally struck.

  Judy went over to the skip that said 'Divers', the place where they put things that didn't fit neatly into any other category. Mark would have headed here first, too.

  Immediately, she found something that called to her. It was amazing. She saw a tan-brown, female dress-maker's dummy, waist and shoulders above a wave of detritus. She was even looking in Judy's direction, as if she had heard her approaching steps and had turned to call for help.

  “All right, Sandy,” she said, naming the dummy instantly. She swung her legs over the lip of the skip and dropped inside. Had she thought about what she was doing, she wouldn't have dared. She'd have asked someone for help, but her single-minded desire to have her shoved everything else aside.

  She tugged and pulled at the dummy, freeing her from the 'junk' and then hauling her to the side. She had a tear in her back and her metal stand was bent, but she would stand again. Judy would see to it.

  As she attempted to climb out of the skip, she saw that others had found interesting objects for the exhibition too. Bernard was thinking about exhibiting the innards of a television set. Maggie had an idea regarding the unused oil. She wanted to have a bottle of flammable liquid on one stand next to a lit candle, providing the naked flame that the writing on the bottle warned of so clearly. It would simulate the anxiety that nakedness can make people feel, she said. Mark wasn't sure they'd be allowed to do that in the gallery, or in the street, or anywhere, but he was giving it serious thought when a little man in a fluorescent jacket came striding out of a cabin and yelled at him.

  Mark didn't seem perturbed. He was used to people yelling at him and indeed he seemed to know the man in uniform. He reached out to shake his hand, but the man was gesticulating furiously, even stamping his boots in the dirt.

  “Non, non, non!” the man said. “Pas de tout!”

  Mark remained calm and spoke to him in slow, even tones, also gesturing towards the group, putting forward his case. As usual, he was improvising. As usual, he was bending the rules.

  “Hurry up,” Judy said to the group. “We've got about 90 seconds.”

  Bernard helped Judy get the mannequin out of the skip and into the minibus in return for her help with the broken television set. The man in the uniform yelled at them to stop.

  “Keep moving,” Mark said. “I'll take full responsibility.”

  * * * *

  On returning to the studio, Mark gave them a brief lecture on composition and then announced that they would have free time now to work on the major component of their exhibition, a work in the media of their choice as long as it was on their chosen theme.

  During her free period, Judy's feet found their way to Mark’s door, but there was no answer to her knock. She later discovered that he had excused himself, because he wanted to get their lunch ready. He was having to do everything himself since Andre had departed.

  The table in the canteen was beautifully laid and, on seeing him serving food, Bernard, Yvonne and Judy all jumped up to help him. Everybody pitched in and told him that they would clean up too and that tomorrow maybe someone could help cook if he showed them where everything was.

  “Go sleep,” Judy told him.

  “I'll sleep when I'm—”

  “Now,” Judy said.

  “Three pm, in the studio,” he said to everyone. They nodded and waved him away and he left, striding as if on his way to an important meeting. He made every moment count. He did everything as though it was the most important thing in the world. The moment he left the room, she felt lost.

  “Don't worry,” Kevin said to her. “I won't really make you wash up.”

  “Don't be daft,” said Yvonne. “She doesn't care about the washing up. I think we're all a bit in love with him, but Judy's head over heels.”

  “Don't be silly,” said Judy.

  Yvonne held up her hands in defence.

  “Don't mean to step on your toes, love. Just pointing out the obvious.”

  Judy returned to her seat, but not before noticing that Maggie was appraising her. Maggie's expression said that she couldn't believe that Judy would have feelings for someone so way out of her league and that the idea that Mark might have feelings for her too was incredible.

  It was true that it was incredible, but not the way that Maggie thought.

  * * * *

  Mark was first in the studio that afternoon. The power nap appeared to have done him good and he was in good form, attentive and insightful. He had just the right balance of instruction and experimentation so that nobody felt out of their depth or pressured, nor aimless. He seemed to know just what to say to people to energise them.

  “Don't forget to breathe,” he told Judy as he passed by her work in progress. She wasn't holding her breath because she was concentrating. She was holding her breath because he was near.

  * * * *

  The day's teaching officially finished at five-thirty. Judy was at his door in a ruffled, pink skirt and a pastel blouse, buttoned neatly at the front.

  “Hello,” said Mark.

  “I've come to make sure you get an early night,” Judy informed him.

  “Oh. You'd better come in then.”

  He closed the door behind her.

  The first kiss was exceptional. She slammed him against the wooden door and pressed her body against him. He was surprised, but responded quickly and easily, always improvising.

  His hand caressed her neck and suddenly all tension ebbed from her body. She felt light and liquid and washed against him.

  Then he closed his fingers around the back of her neck and kissed her hard and the tension was back, her body a spring being coiled tighter and tighter.

  Once again, she pushed him against the door, this time so she could look him up and down and see what
she was about to get. Then, impatient, she returned her lips to his, but he was hesitant now.

  “Technically,” he said, between tiny kisses received and delivered, “you shouldn't be in here, because this is not an official study room.”

  “Technically,” she said, licking his lips, “this is no longer an official study day. It's six.” She reached between his legs and cupped his balls. “So you're no longer my teacher and I'm no longer your student.”

  “I don't think they'll see it that way,” Mark said, taking the weight of her breast in his hand and squeezing her until she squealed a little, then nibbling at her neck and ear.

  “I wouldn't worry about Them,” Judy said. She raised one knee and slid her thigh up and down his leg, trapping him against the door, as if he really desired escape. “We can handle Them, but …” She stopped and took a step back. “But you need your rest. You need to lie down. On your back. And not move. Can you do that?”

  “What's in the bag?” Mark asked astutely.

  “Oh. This little thing?”

  She slipped her bag from her shoulder and revealed three small tubs of edible body paint.

  “I thought that while you were relaxing, I could do some homework. I just need a canvas. Do you know where I can find a naked guy in Trignac at this time in the evening?”

  “On a Wednesday? Good luck.”

  “Hey, how about you!? Are you doing anything right now?”

  Mark looked around.

  “Me? Well. No, I'm not busy.”

  He led the way into the bedroom where there was now a fold-out bed, neatly made, in the middle of the room.

  “Did you know I was coming?” Judy asked.

  “If you didn't come,” he said, “I'd have found you.”

  Pleased, she gestured for him to undress.

  He did so, first removing his shirt and throwing it on the floor.

  She tutted.

  “Clean freak,” he said.

  “Get on with it,” she replied.

  His body was beautiful and he seemed even more defined and toned than the night before, perhaps because she was seeing him at a distance, or perhaps because he'd worked so hard to please her yesterday and it showed already on his body. Also showing were three red lines on his shoulder where she had dug her nails into him.

  “I'm sorry about that,” she said. “Do they hurt?”

  “Yes,” he said, “but I know that you're not sorry.”

  He kicked off his trainers and socks and stepped out of his jeans, kicking them towards his shirt.

  “Off,” she said, pointing to his black shorts. “You'll sleep better without any encumbrance.”

  “You're right,” he said.

  He slid them off in one movement and stepped out of them.

  It was her turn to observe him. She did so openly, unselfconscious, standing before him fully-clothed while admiring his body. His chest was broad and strong and his flat stomach let her eyes sweep down, down over him to his naked cock, semi-hard already. His legs were muscular, but not overly. They were the legs of someone who got where he wanted by walking, mile after mile, the long, hard way.

  “Okay,” Judy said, swallowing hard. “On the bed. On your back.”

  She put the tubs of body paint on his bedside table, removed a condom from his drawer, noting that he'd replenished his stock, tucked the condom into the waist of her skirt and then climbed the bed to straddle him. She picked up the first tub.

  “You get some rest,” she suggested as she read the instructions to herself. “I'm just going to prepare a new piece for the exhibition.”

  She opened up the lid, scooped a handful of the gooey paint and slapped it on his chest with a thunk.

  “Jesus!” he cried. “It's cold!”

  “Shhh. You baby.”

  She massaged his chest, her eyes half-closing with pleasure. She allowed her left hand to explore his neck and then lowered her face towards his body, her hair trailing over him, picking up the green paint like a brush.

  Mark scooped her hair up and pulled it back away from her face. He twisted it into a knot and it held.

  “So good with your hands,” she remarked.

  “You, too,” he said.

  She reached for more paint, rubbed her hands together and then put handprints on his thighs, leaning back, spreading it all the way down to his knees and grinding herself against his burgeoning cock as she descended.

  “That does feel good,” he said, “but I don't feel much like sleeping.”

  She lowered her face to his neck and nibbled at his ear, flattening her breasts against his chest.

  “Try,” she said.

  Then she was kissing his neck and his shoulder and massaging his arms. She wanted to touch every part of him at once. She examined the scars that she had marked him with the night before. Tonight would be worse. His skin was just another thing between her and the essence of him.

  She cupped his balls.

  “Do you like that?” she said.

  His cock was rock hard. It said it all.

  She took the condom from her waistband now, unwrapped it and slid the latex over his cock with her green fingers. Once it was on all the way to the base, she massaged him with one hand and rode him gently, her knickers dampening with her desire for him to slide inside her now, but she made herself wait a little longer. There was one thing she wanted to do first.

  She picked up another dollop of paint and slapped it over Mark's face.

  He spluttered.

  “I'm sorry,” she said, in hysterics. “I just couldn't resist it.”

  He sat up then, spitting and she nearly fell off from laughing.

  “Lie back down,” she said. “Go to sleep. I promise, I won't do that again. It's edible, so it's all right.”

  “I don't think you quite get the point of sensual massage,” Mark said, wiping green from his lips and cheeks.

  “Okay,” she said. “Why don't you explain it to me?”

  He grabbed her blouse in both hands and tore it open. Buttons spilled left and right and as they clattered on the floor, lost, Judy lost herself along with them. The next thing she knew, Mark's wet hands were on her body, over the bra, on her neck, on her waist. At some point, their mouths had clamped together, tasting of apple. She pushed the remains of her blouse off her shoulders and he unclipped her bra. It fell between them and she arched her back, squashing her bare breasts against his firm chest, the sensation of his hair rubbing against her soft skin taking her ever closer to ecstasy.

  He lifted her skirt and she felt beautiful. She watched his face to see his reaction when she saw her knickers, a pink and black lacy number that she had bought just for this week, just in case anyone got to see them, just in case she had the opportunity to have sex, not thinking that she might have the opportunity to make love.

  “Are you going to tear them off, too?” Judy asked.

  Mark put a finger through the lace and tore a hole in them.

  “No!” she said. “I was kidding!”

  He dumped her on her back, the springs of the bed protesting briefly.

  She pressed her knees against his waist and he guided himself inside her, through the hole he’d torn in her panties.

  It was like the night before, but rougher, wilder. He went straight to the heart of her, his body a piston between her legs, and she let her head fall back over the edge of the bed while he took his pleasure from her, mining her. He lit a fire inside her and it consumed her. She didn't want this to end, but she knew that even forest fires died and so would the moment.

  He kept going, however, for longer than she thought possible. His energy was incredible. If anything he seemed more athletic every time they made love, raising the bar, so to speak.

  He lifted one of her legs so he could kiss and lick her calf and her ankle, sliding his hands all over her at the same time. Beautiful. He guided her and she let him position her, let him pleasure her.

  She reached down and played with herself while he
pumped his cock into her and suddenly her sensations doubled and tripled and she thought that she might come yet again. Every night was proving to be a new record or at least a new barrier tumbling down.

  Her body took over and she was helpless. It pushed her mind aside and she came with a long sound that was half whine. It had the tone of a complaint, but it was nothing of the sort. She felt the walls of her vagina contract over and over.

  Her voice emerged deep and unknown to her. Mark teased and tested parts of her that she didn’t even know existed.

  He had set her leg back down and was towering above her now, gathering speed towards his own orgasm.

  She talked to him, feeling more confident than ever, despite being more exposed and vulnerable than she’d ever felt.

  She told him that she knew he wanted her and that she’d always known it. She admitted that she’d wanted him too and that she’d often thought of him. Her fingers had often found their way into her knickers and she’d imagined many moments not dissimilar to this.

  She told him that she loved his cock and that she wanted him to fill her up, she wanted to feel him spreading her open and she wanted his body to be a part of hers, she wanted him to reach deep inside her.

  Her hands scooped up her breasts, each providing a good handful, and she kissed her nipples and licked herself, glancing up at him to see his face.

  He was clearly enjoying the show.

  She pushed her breasts together.

  “Do you like this?” she said.

  He came then, suddenly and uncontrollably. He penetrated her as deeply as possible as his orgasm ravaged his body and hers. They held onto each other, as if riding out an earthquake.

  Minutes later, she imagined herself, burnt, smouldering, crumbling, unable to be moved.

  “That was incredible,” she said and started to sit up, but he put a hand on her chest and pushed her back down on the bed, his cock still hard inside her.

  “I don’t believe this,” she said.

  “I'm not done yet,” he told her and reached across to his bedside table for another condom and another tub of paint.

  He painted her breasts with red spirals, starting with huge, sweeping strokes and working in until he reached her nipples which he took between fingers and thumbs.