Call Girl

by Landon Dixon

  I sank back into the soapy water. Really I should have been quite upset at Tom’s hasty departure. I wasn’t. On the contrary, I felt quite contented, so much so that before long I began to hum to myself.

  As I lay luxuriating in my foamy bath I could look across at my bracelet on the dresser.

  Tom had gone. So what? I shrugged and allowed myself a secret smile. I hadn’t done too badly for a pencil monitor.

  Tom would be back tomorrow. If not, then there would always be another Tom tomorrow…or another…or another…or another.

  A Sculptor’s Touch

  by Roger Frank Selby

  ‘Hello, I’m calling about the job. Is it still vacant?’

  She sounded very nice, young and positive. ‘I’m still interviewing. Have you done any modelling work before?’

  ‘Yes… Well, just a little at Art College.’

  ‘You realise of course that I’ll require you to pose in the nude?’

  There was a very slight hesitation. ‘Well, of course.’

  ‘You don’t have a problem with that?’

  ‘Hardly. It’s what I did at college.’

  Maybe she did, but he detected a note of anxiety. ‘And you were quite comfortable with that?’

  ‘To tell the truth, I was always a little embarrassed showing my figure in front of all those students…’

  ‘Well, it’s only me, and you’ll have no need to be embarrassed, as you will see. Would you like to come for an interview, er…?’

  ‘Angela.’

  He called Bess over, tickled her behind the ears – which she loved – and patted the side of her chest. He was rewarded with a lick. ‘Good girl! Well, that one seemed okay. I wonder what she’ll be like in the flesh?’

  She arrived at the substantial house and noted the new Mercedes in the drive. He opened the door. He was quite tall. ‘Come though to the studio, Angel.’

  Angel. She liked the sound of that. He led the way. He was younger than she’d thought from his voice and manner. The only thing that worried her was that he never seemed to look directly at her. But he never looked at her breasts either. Most men never seemed to take their eyes off them.

  ‘You have a lovelyhouse!’

  ‘Thank you. I have been lucky with my work. It sells all over the world. Here we are.’

  She looked around the studio. Large Venetian blinds over the huge window blocked out most of the light.

  ‘I suppose you have to have those screens to stop the neighbours peeking in?’

  ‘Oh, are they still closed?’ He walked over and pulled the cord. Light flooded in. There were no neighbours to be seen, just a vast private garden, then miles of open countryside.

  ‘It’s beautiful! You’re not overlooked at all. I’m going to enjoy working here.’

  ‘You’re getting a bit ahead of yourself, aren’t you? We haven’t even started the interview.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’m sorry, but I hate false modesty. Everyone tells me I have a great figure. I was just assuming you wouldwant to paint me.’

  ‘I am a sculptor, not a painter, Angel.’

  ‘Well, yes, of course – I meant sculptme – but it’s all the same from the model’s point of view, surely?’

  ‘Not in this case. I could never work by sight; I’m blind.’

  She looked at his distant eyes. Of course! The window blinds he didn’t know were closed, the careful layout of the house and studio… She could never feel embarrassed with him unable to see her naked body. She had been dreading disrobing in front of strange eyes; now she felt such great relief she laughed. ‘Ha! How wonderful! Oh gosh, I’m sorry! It’s not wonderful for you – but it’s wonderful – fantastic– all that you have achieved!’

  ‘That’s okay, and thank you for the compliment! Would you like to see some of my work?’

  She gazed at the life-sized women in his storeroom. All beauties, some in skimpy costumes, most naked. The range of poses was amazing – demure to blatantly sexual. Some of the nearer ones were similar. A lovely, petite girl with neat breasts. ‘They are truly beautiful! These ones: were they from your last model?’

  ‘You mean the closest four?’

  ‘Sorry, I was pointing. Yes.’

  ‘I still use her sometimes, but my market demands variety. I’m looking for…well, a bigger girl.’

  ‘And you think I am bigger than her?’ She enjoyed the advantage of him not seeing her.

  He sounded irritated.

  ‘She’s quite small, so there’s a good chance that you are, right? Anyway, judge for yourself – I’ve already roughed out a piece that could be transformed into you.’ The clay was moist, recently daubed onto a wire frame, but the outline was there – a full-breasted young woman down on all fours.

  She looked at ‘her’ clay breasts hanging down, the high bottom inviting penetration. Just like her when she was with Michael. It sent a feelingthrough her lower body.

  ‘But how canyou work from a model you can’t see?’

  He perceived the concern in her voice. The penny was beginning to drop. ‘Apart from sound, I get most of my information about the world through my sense of touch.’

  ‘You mean…’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What, you actually feelthe model’s body?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘What? So that’syour game! You think that I’m going to let you touch and feel me?You got me here for that?’

  He heard the clack of her sandals as she started to go. ‘So that’s it then, Angel?’ He followed her into the hall.

  ‘No way you’ll get your slimy hands on mytits!’

  ‘It isthe only way I can work. I can’t see them, hear them, smell them… I suppose I could taste them!’ he laughed.

  Silence.

  ‘Are you still there?’

  A pause. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, there’s no point you staying if I can’t touch you. I simply can’t work any other way – my world is one of sound and touch. But before you go, just let me feel the contours of your face, then go home and think about it. Come again if you change your mind.’ From the subtle reverberations of his voice he knew she had come up close to him. He reached out and found the side of her face.

  He felt her facial muscles relax under his touch as he built up a mental image of her appearance. He took a long time and she became very calm. At the end, his hands briefly outlined the rest of her body. She was a beauty.

  ‘I was just thinking what it must be like not being able to…well, seeanything at all. And that shape you got before even touching me…’

  ‘Perhaps the pose frightened you a bit?’

  ‘It did, rather! But I’m not frightened now. I accept that you have to touch to see.’

  They were back in the studio. He opened the window wide on to sunny countryside. She could hear bird song; see the secluded garden curving away down the hillside.

  ‘Well, I’d better get stripped off.’ She began to undress.

  ‘Not so fast! Your interview… Come over here. Closer.’

  He touched her face again, so lightly it almost tickled.

  ‘You know that you are truly beautiful, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m okay. Some women are more…’

  ‘Do notput yourself down!’

  The anger surprised her. For the first time she felt the full strength of his personality.

  ‘When you pose for me you will be the most beautiful creature on the planet, and I the best sculptor! I have been waiting to sculpt a woman like you all my life, Angel. Your perfect, sensual form will be immortalised in my sculpture.’

  ‘Do you really believe all that?’ she asked a little breathlessly. ‘You haven’t felt all of me yet.’

  ‘I mustbelieve it and so must you. Any doubts either of us have will diminish the work.’

  While they were talking he’d been feeling her arms, her neck and shoulders, her collarbones – building a mental picture, she supposed. His touch was sodelicate. She put her arms loosely
around his waist; it felt the only natural thing to do. Concentrating, he hardly seemed to notice.

  He turned her around, rather roughly, so she had to let go of him. She was beginning to realise that she was just a physical model for his main purpose – to form another work of art like the others she’d seen. He felt her back minutely through her dress, examining her shoulder blades, every vertebra.

  ‘Go on talking.’

  She did. About the studio, his work. He was quite capable of ignoring her questions, leaving them hanging in the air. She shrugged and chatted on.

  ‘You’re not wearing a bra.’

  ‘Not today. Normally I do. It’s a heavy-duty affair that keeps my boobs from wobbling about and attracting too much attention. I hate men ogling me. Today I felt like being free.’

  ‘But you realise that although I can’t see, I will be ogling you in a far more intimate way?’

  ‘Well yes; but you are an artist – a sculptor… You won’t be thinking of me in thatway, will you?’

  He sighed. ‘I’m not a hypocrite. I don’t want you running out on me again, but now is the time, if you must. I aman artist who sculpts, but I am a man first – a man who loves women’s bodies. I will certainly be thinking of you in thatway. I willbe ogling you! Your body is a feast for a man. I knew it before we even met.’

  The words excited her. She knew men wanted her, but put that way, thinking of her body as a feast…

  ‘Remember what you said when you ran off?’

  ‘Oh God, I’m sorry. I’mthe hypocrite. I said ‘No way you’ll get your hands on mytits’.’

  ‘Slimyhands.’

  ‘Oh, gosh. I was a bitch!’

  ‘Not at all. A very natural reaction to an unusual situation. And my hands wouldbe slimy with clay! So are you inor out?It has to be wholehearted, we won’t get anywhere with half-measures.’

  A long pause.

  ‘I’m in,’ she said softly.

  He touched her breasts. He felt them through her dress; felt their weight, mobility and softness. He opened her dress and pulled it down to her waist. He handled each upstanding breast separately, each nipple, feeling the change in profile, the rising cone of textured skin around each point; feeling the subtle differences between the pair. His sensitive touch was truly at a different level to a sighted person; his hands had taken over the function of sight. They felt delicious. She wanted him to squeeze her harder, wanted him to… He let go of her. No, don’t let go now! she thought.

  ‘I got them just right, didn’t I?

  ‘Yes, you did!’

  ‘May I…?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Suck them?

  ‘Yes, you said you’d taste them…’ That was what she wanted. He knelt before her and took each breast to his slightly bristly face. She leaned forward slightly, offering herself. After the scratchiness she felt the wetness as his tongue lightly trace the contours around each point; his teeth gently bit her nipples until she gave a little ‘Ouch!’ just before it would really hurt. Then he sucked on them. She felt gorged, swollen, as if full of milk. His fingers continued to knead. Gently he tried a little milk-stroking. She couldn’t be sure, but she felt certain he’d tasted a little sweet fluid at one nipple. He tried to get some from the other… He came up for air.

  ‘Well? Was that an ‘Ogle’ or what?’

  She laughed, her breasts rising as her breath came quickly. ‘You certainly know how to handle a woman… Do I pass?’

  ‘You’ll do.’ He stood up abruptly, shook his head as if to clear it. It was as if he’d allowed himself to go too far and regretted it. ‘Just sit down here.’ He pulled up a cane chair. ‘Sit down and watch me work for a moment.’

  She sat down, feeling deflated. I guess that’s how far his survey is going, he can’t be bothered with the rest, she thought. He just wants to get on with the work. You’ll do? Of course she would bloody do! She started to pull the dress up to her shoulders.

  ‘No, don’t do that!’ he said, hearing the silky sound. ‘You are my model; I need to refer to you.’

  My God he can be a bossy insensitive bastard, she thought, but what a wonderful touch…

  He wet his hands in a bucket and advanced on the waiting clay. After a few minutes the hanging breasts were smoothed to her exact shape – or so she thought. He came back to her, wiping his big hands on a towel. His hands were very cold with handling the clay. He felt her shape – very softly this time, touching the curves without pushing them out of line.

  ‘No, this won’t do. Your breasts are firm and stand out just like men would love all tits to, but I doneed to feel the hanging shape. It’s always quite different. Can you lean forward to get the top of your back level – almost horizontal?’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be better if I just got down in the same position as…as her.’

  ‘It would, but I don’t have anything handy for you to kneel on.’

  ‘No problem, you don’t have to mollycoddle me!’ She would show him she was a trouper. She would be a professional. She knelt on the hard wood floor, almost in the exact pose of the clay, her dress hanging at her waist. He felt her position. ‘Not quite right. Raise your head a little and look back over your left shoulder.

  ‘Does that alter the shape of my breasts?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Very much. Check it out in the model’s mirror.’

  ‘Yes, I see. It twists my boobs around quite a bit… Shall I take the dress right off now?’

  ‘In a moment.’ He got down under her torso. ‘I still have this mental picture of you with it half on… Let me just get this right first.’ She felt his hands touch her hanging body so softly it was almost like a caressing breeze – a gentle breeze that touched all over, all around. Then the touch was gone and he was working at the clay again. She heard his comments as he worked. ‘Yes, that’s it… No, sod it! Fuck! Do this curve again…. Ah… Right!

  ‘Okay. Your knees must be killing you. Take five. Fancy a cup of tea?’

  He sat sipping tea in his work coat. She stood close to him, her dress down to her waist and her big breasts pointing out at all angles. ‘My boobs are chilly.’

  His hand automatically touched her. It felt very natural being part of his tactile world.

  ‘So they are, I’ll warm them up a bit.’ He rubbed his hands vigorously then warmed them gently with his friction-heated palms. That felt so delicious! He was fondling them now, taking their weight…

  ‘And this interview, what next – my waist?’ she said breathlessly.

  ‘Well yes, but we must also look at you holistically – as a complete woman – once the details have been examined…’ He stood up and held her waist.

  Interview!This was such bullshit, she thought. ‘No!’ She was firm. She pushed a hand against his broad chest. ‘You keep getting me going, feeling my tits like that and then letting me go off the boil… It’s driving me nuts!’ She paused, surprised at herself, but pleased with her boldness. She wanted to say something to him… Something outrageous. She had never had to aska man in her life, but him being blind made it different. He couldn’t see her face – she could never feel embarrassed with him. ‘Let’s doit… Right here!’

  ‘Are you sure you want to make love to a blind man?’

  ‘‘Make love! Christ! This is all about sex. Your sculptures, the women – they all oozesex! I want you to get me from behind! That’s how I want it… Now!’ She could hardly believe she was saying this.

  He pulled her dress down over her hips and bottom, all the way down. She felt gorgeously naked. ‘No knickers either, Angel?’

  She felt his hands slide around the bare expanse of her hips as her dress slid to the floor. ‘Well, you have me bare-assed, are you going to talk to me or fuckme?’ This was marvellous. She felt so liberated! When her face couldn’t be seen, she could say and do anything she wanted!

  ‘Okay, Angel, I’ll fuck you.’ He smacked her bare bottom, a single slap. She liked that! He pushed her into a corner onto a rug. She knelt dow
n on all fours ready for him – just like the pose.

  He felt her, separating her thighs a little wider, his fingers probing her wet labia, feeling up inside her. And while his fingers moved, he kissed her long back. She moaned a little. He found her clitoris and gently worked on her. She moved against him. Her breath came more quickly. His kissing had travelled down her spine, all over her bottom cheeks now, lower… She felt his tongue replace the finger. The tingling spread up into her loins…

  She felt him pull back from her. ‘No. Don’t stop!’

  ‘Only a moment, Angel. Don’t move!’ He was taking off his clothes.

  Her dark hair blew around in the warm breeze from the corner heating vent, as she waited, legs parted. Then, through her flying hair she saw him approach. Naked. Rampant. It was wonderful. She got her head right down and prepared to receive him. Hurry, hurry… Through the narrow gap between her hanging breasts and between her opened thighs she saw and felt the broad cock-head touch her body. She was so wet she was dripping. She felt it separate her lips; push through; felt the deep, deep penetration. She cried out in sheer joy.

  She had not had a man since Michael. She needed sex badly after all this time; raw sex for its own sake, just like this. That impulse had brought her here. But this man… This blind man. She had never had anyone like him. He was a far better lover than Michael had ever been – and it wasn’t just because he couldn’t see her – although that did give her this wonderful uninhibited feeling.

  He gently touched her clitoris as he filled her deeper than ever. His big hands with their infinitely gentle fingers were always where she wanted them, touching, stroking, toying with her.

  Often he would withdraw and she was free to suck and taste him (and her own taste on him), without being self-conscious about him seeing her doing such an intimate thing. But each time, the desire to feel him thrusting hard up inside her again forced her mouth to give him up. But now she sensed when he wanted her to touch him, gently holding his balls while she could feel the tip of his cock, high inside her belly.

  Finally he held her to a howling climax with his mobile fingers, thrusting hard and coming freely, deep within her. She in turn powered his spurts with gentle squeezes of her hand.