Read Breaking Faith, Free: Chapter 33

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I posted Chapter 1 on 13 January. Subsequent chapters have appeared each Friday, and will continue to be posted until all 50 have featured here. You can find those already posted via the archive; just search by chapter number. And, if you missed the start, you’ll find it here: http://stuartaken.blogspot.com/2012/01/read-free-my-novel-here.html

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Chapter 33

Saturday 10th July

‘Christ, I’m sorry, Faith. You’re soaked to the skin!’

‘That’s right, Leigh, to the skin. See, my blouse is transparent? Almost as if I’m naked. You can see my breasts and my nipples. Isn’t that nice?’

I deliberately looked her in the eye, determined to resist the temptation her heavy irony amplified. ‘I know. I should’ve been here and waiting for you, but…

‘Oh, it’s not important. You and Netta had extra time for sex, so it doesn’t matter.’

‘I really am sorry.’

‘No, please don’t upset yourself. If Netta wants sex, well that’s infinitely more important than getting here on time to meet boring Faith from her first ever stay away from home, especially when she was so looking forward to seeing you. I do understand.’

She was angry and hurt and I had no excuse. It irked me that she was right about the reason as well. ‘I said I was sorry.’

‘Oh, well, that’s all right then, if you’re sorry. That’ll dry my clothes and my skin and make up for my embarrassment at walking half naked down the station. That’ll even make up for my disappointment when I was full of the anticipation of seeing you waiting for me. Everything’s fine if you’re sorry.’

I made a determined effort not to look at her lovely breasts pushing against the transparent fabric and looked instead into her eyes that were full of justifiable anger and hurt. ‘Shit! I deserved that.’

‘Of course, if my breasts aren’t worth looking at, I might as well fold my arms over them.’

‘Don’t you dare!’ I looked, long and hard and they were lovely. ‘You’re very beautiful, Faith. You have a lovely body. Let me get you home, dry and warm again and I’ll put the kettle on and make you a nice hot cuppa. So, did you pass?’

She looked at me as though there was another diatribe waiting to explode from her, and then, as if all the rest had been an act, she burst out laughing. ‘I passed, I passed, I passed!’

‘Brilliant! I knew you would, of course. Brilliant! Well done, Faith!’ I pulled over and stopped the car, leant across and kissed her mouth and hugged her as close as the seats allowed. She was wet and chill, the cold rain firming her nipples as if in the height of arousal. I longed to cup those gorgeous breasts but I wasn’t sure she was ready for that. I made do with another look at her, this time at leisure. She made no effort to hide and there was no condemnation in her eyes. ‘You’re a marvel. I’m so pleased and proud of you. Your dad’ll be over the moon.’

‘How is he?’

‘Haven’t you phoned?’

‘Only to let him know I arrived safely. He’s all right, isn’t he?’

‘As well as when you left, yes. God, I’m glad to see you, Faith. Bugger me if I haven’t missed you.’

‘A lovely sentiment oddly expressed. I wouldn’t perform that particular service, even if I were equipped to, but I think I’m flattered.’

‘You’ve learned something.’

She smiled with all the enigmatic force of a sphinx. ‘I suppose I might have, yes.’ But she would say no more; I was being punished for my late arrival.

Netta raised her eyebrows at her exposure but hugged her in spite of the wetness and welcomed her home. ‘Well done, Fay. I knew you’d do it.’

‘How did you know I’d passed?’

‘Failures don’t usually grin so wide that their faces are in danger of falling into two halves.’

‘Come upstairs with me, Netta, I want to ask you a few questions whilst I get dry and changed.’

‘I think Leigh was rather hoping you’d stay down here wet, Faith.’

‘Oh, I think Leigh’s had more reward than he deserves in the circumstances, don’t you?’

I went to fulfil my promise of a cup of tea for Faith as they went upstairs. How alike and how different they were; sisters who might’ve been strangers. I knew a time was approaching when I would have to choose between them, and Netta’s charms and experience no longer made her the obvious choice. There were things in Faith that spoke to me, touched my soul. I found her invading my thoughts with increasing frequency. That she was now as physically appealing as any woman I’d known, made her all the more attractive.

She drove herself to see her dad on Sunday, in my car, of course. It left me free to continue the undivided attention I’d been able to lavish on Netta during her absence and gave me a weekend without the irritation and anxiety of Netta storming off in a huff of pique or jealousy.

The car drew up around teatime and I waited for her to bring me the latest on her dad. As soon as she entered the room, I knew something was wrong. Her hand covered her mouth and her face bore signs of real anxiety. ‘Leigh. I don’t know how to ... I… I’m ever so sorry, but I …’

‘She’s smashed your car up!’ Netta’s conclusion was so triumphant, I thought she must have somehow seen the damage. I wondered what the repairs were going to cost.

‘You’re not hurt…?’

Faith grinned, impishly. ‘I forgot to put any petrol in and the gauge is just above empty. Sorry.’ She stuck out her tongue at Netta and laughed at us.

I had to join her. It was the first time she’d ever played such a trick and it marked another major change in her.

Netta, however, wasn’t amused. ‘Bitch!’

The following day was her eighteenth birthday. I couldn’t accept she was so young. She behaved in so many ways like a mature woman and looked the part, though her tantrums and sulks were much more symptomatic of her real age.

I had the day off for her. Ma, reluctantly, catered for a party. Netta didn’t to want the guests from my party to attend hers.

‘Too many women.’

Matilda brought some of their mutual men friends who seemed uncomfortable in the house until drink settled them.

As was to be expected, the night was Netta’s.

To Netta’s amazement and mine, Faith had bought her the most extraordinary dress whilst she’d been away. The fabric was sheer black gauze that, on its own, would have left nothing to the imagination. A wide gold lame snake looked over one shoulder with red eyes of sparkling sequins, its forked red tongue licking at the nipple beneath. It draped across that sleeveless shoulder around her back and then spiralled her body, crossing her other breast and then her mound of Venus to end in a tail of red and black beads on one leg. The hem echoed the diagonal of the twisting snake so that it hung to her knee where the tail fell but rode just under her hip at the other side. Faith had bought a skimpy gold bra and thong to go underneath as well as a pair of gold stiletto sandals. Netta was entranced by the gift and wore it for the party, with the sandals, but without the underwear. She looked sensational.

Inevitably, she talked the other men and I into a photo session along the lines of that held on my birthday, with similar group photographs but with herself as the only woman, of course, amongst the men.

Before the evening was over, she’d removed her dress publicly, dancing to Dion singing The Wanderer and privately, when she vanished for portions of the night with different young men.

I made up for her temporary desertion by spending a pleasant interlude with Matilda.

Faith remained her usual chaste self during all of this, though her previous moral superiority seemed to have given way to a careful curiosity.

I watched my protégée that night and wondered what she’d learned during her week away. I was convinced she remained virgin, yet the lesson had been sexual; her demeanour was so markedly different regarding sex. It was as if she’d discovered some of its delights without being in any way marked by it.

Faith dressed that night in a white cotton dress, sleeveless, with a wide scoop neck that revealed as much as it concealed of her breasts. Gathered at the waist, the skirt fell in soft rounded pleats to mid thigh. Simple white sandals displayed her small feet and she looked altogether lovely. The men certainly found it impossible to keep their eyes off her even with Netta cavorting naked amongst them.

There was a slightly sour interlude mid evening when one of the young men lit up in the sitting room and refused Faith’s firm but polite request to stub it out or to go outside. Fortunately, I was close at the time and gave him the choice of putting it out or leaving.

When the early hours took me to bed, I found Netta beside me, eager for my body. I let her have her way and she reached a climax so rapidly I knew she’d been primed by another man unable to take her all the way.

‘You’re still the best I’ve ever had, Leigh.’

I kissed her breasts and drew her head toward me so I could reach her lips. She resisted for a moment.

‘That’s why I did it, you know. I wanted to be absolutely certain I hadn’t made a mistake. Tonight told me how right I am to stay with you.’ Satiated and exhausted, she relaxed and slumped exactly where she was.

I gently lifted her away and lay her to sleep. It was a while before I was relaxed enough to join her, but it was her birthday, after all. Her words disturbed me with their promise of a permanence I neither sought nor desired.

As sleep at last crept over me, I was aware of Faith making her way softly up the stairs and I wondered where she’d been and what she’d been doing until now.

###

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Read My Novel, Free: Chapter 19

Still here? Still enjoying this story? I certainly hope so.  A word of warning: this chapter contains explicit sexual activity.

I posted Chapter 1 on 13 January. Following chapters have appeared each Friday. You can find them via the archive; just search for the chapter you want to read. And the whole book will eventually be posted here.

Missed the start? Find it here: http://stuartaken.blogspot.com/2012/01/read-free-my-novel-here.html

Read, enjoy, invite friends to join us.

Chapter 19

I’d never had sex like it. Netta was something else. I’d fallen in lust with her even before she revealed that wonderful body so spectacularly.

Netta was sex incarnate; carnal, libidinous, licentious and wanton. I never, ever fooled myself that we made love. We had sex. But what sex. The chemistry was explosive. I could perform with her four or five times a day and still want more. And she was adventurous; happy to experiment for my delight as well as her own. In sex, she was totally unselfish and generous. In every other aspect of her life, she was self-centred and uncaring. I knew that but I was still lost to her within hours of meeting and I never could get enough of her. And when I discovered how much the camera loved her form and face, I was lost. Netta became, from the first, my obsession.

A brief conspiratorial look passed between her and Matilda, which sent her mother quickly up the stairs after Faith.

‘It isn’t that I mind being watched, but with an expert like Mum I’d feel I was being awarded points.’ Her laugh was rich and earthy with none of the offence so common in coarse women.

She removed my slippers and socks, her hands gentling my skin as she slid the wool from me. ‘The joke about English men is true, and I don’t think it enhances the pleasure one bit, do you?’

I smiled.

She stood astride me and bent to kiss my mouth. One of my hands found a breast beneath the flare of her dress, the other played across her abdomen and thighs, circling the area exposed rather than concealed by the short blonde hair she’d shaped into a heart. She responded to my touch at once, clearly finding pleasure in it. Her fingers stroked my hair and played about my ears as I discovered the weight of her breasts, the firmness of her proud nipples and, as I entered the small copse, the warm moistness at the edges of her rounded lips. She moved her hips a fraction and I found the place she wanted me to touch with finger tip softness. She freed me from restrictive clothing and, as she sat astride me and enclosed me, she was already coming, her head thrown back, her breath in short ecstatic gasps.

This was no act for my benefit; I could feel the rhythmic contractions wrap around me as I moved slowly within her. My hands moved to her firm round buttocks where I held her close so that our pubic mounds stroked together. She found my mouth with hers and pushed her warm insistent tongue inside until I persuaded mine into her mouth and touched her teeth and cheeks. Still she throbbed and pulsated round me as I slowly moved within her. We moved as one until it was impossible to say where I ended and she began. I felt her come again and this time she gave voice in short sharp moans of pleasure. I let her run the course before I lifted us, still joined, and lay her on the rug beneath me.

I slipped my hands along the full length of her body, shedding the dress with the movement, and she lifted her head to allow me to remove it completely. Resting on my elbows, I cupped each fine breast in turn. My hands moved to her shoulders and I bent and took each nipple in turn between my tongue and teeth, teasing it and gently sucking. My gentle motion in between her thighs had her hips moving to meet me, her legs wrapped around mine to draw me closer to her. I felt her move toward another climax and this time I wanted to go with her. Thrusting hard and fast, I let the passion overtake me now I knew that she would come. I felt that first stirring deep within me and wanted it to build and last. I slowed my movements without pausing. Even through her building climax, she responded to my needs and helped me, moving more gently. As the point of no return approached, I thrust again with passion and abandon and felt her with me. We came together in an ecstasy of motion, sound and touch that left us spent and gasping.

Still coupled, we lay together in the warmth of the dying fire and gently stroked the skin that we could reach without shifting our relaxed bodies.

In the bedroom, she took off the rest of my clothes and urged me to the bed. With her hands and breasts and tongue she aroused me, straddled me again. I tried to clutch her to me and take her high again but this time was for me and she clasped my hands to her breasts with hers as she rose and fell to let my whole length slip inside and to the very lips and back again with each movement. I arched to reach up and go with her but she lifted higher and I let her have her way, let her take me as she would. Her timing was intuitive so that when I felt my climax building, she slowed her movement, holding me on the very brink. Seven times she took to me to the point where I was nearly past control and each time she slowed almost to a halt and let me stay a while longer on that high plateau where everything was sensation. On the final climb, she lowered herself toward me, freed her breasts from my hands and brushed them softly on my chest with each fall and rise of her hips. I felt the build toward release and, as I came, she closed herself around me and with short, swift movements, took me to the mountaintop. I arched and stretched and filled her, felt the moment take her and she came again with me. It seemed forever there was nothing but we two locked in passion, floating high above all, feeling everything and knowing nothing else.

We slept some time after that. I woke to find the bedroom light still blazing, Netta lying on her back beside me with her hands thrown out above her head, her near leg touching mine and her other bent at the knee. A portion of the duvet covered one breast and the half of her that lay beside me. I shifted it to cover her and she stirred and placed my hand on her mound of Venus. My lips kissed all along her arm as I rose above her. I kissed and tongued along her to those firm, protruding buds and took each into my mouth whilst my fingers stroked the warm moist gap between her lips, my other hand caressing her ear. She shifted to give access and I knelt between her thighs. My hands stroked her flanks and body as I kissed my way across her breasts and abdomen and found her entrance with the tip of my tongue. I knew I had the spot as she rose to meet me, spreading to allow more contact with my tongue. I cupped and stroked her breasts and nipples with my hands and fingers, teasing with my thumb and finger, rolling each pink tip and stroking gently upward from base to tip. My tongue tasted her pleasure, moved up and down along the small hard nodule of her, brought her to the first delicious climax. I held her, floating, floating, as waves washed over her and soaked her skin in pleasure. I kept the rhythm soft and gentle, feeling her response as a second sea washed over her, waves moving her rhythmically in an ecstasy I shared. Again, I kept her floating, as the swell became a calm, and slowly moved my tongue to penetrate the warmth and softness of her centre as my hands caressed her body and enclosed her hips in readiness. I rose up from between her thighs and kissed the full length of her body. As my mouth found hers and my tongue pushed between her lips, I entered her and thrust my full length deep within her, lifting her toward me with my hands cupping the round swell of her buttocks. I felt again the closeness as she wrapped herself around me, felt again the building rhythm of her climax. This time was still hers and I held back until she cried in passion and surprised delight, her body arching up, her head thrown back, her mouth wide open for the air. I let her breathe, as I remained a slow and gentle pressure deep within her, barely moving, stroking her hard nodule of delight with the firm base of my member. She began to rise again and this time I went with her. I thrust my full length, almost leaving her each time I plunged and rose, driving hard and fast within her as she gasped and writhed and held my buttocks to prevent me breaking our connection. I felt the moment of release arriving and gave in to the pressure and released myself within her as she came to meet me and we peaked higher than we’d reached before. I heard her voice cry out with mine and knew an ecstasy and pure delight I hadn’t known was possible.

We didn’t part but lay there spent and without want or need until the passion slept and took us with it into dreams that were mere shades of that reality.

Morning found her at the bedroom window, uncovered, gazing at the falling rain, her elbows on the sill, her gorgeous bottom inviting. I slipped from beneath the cover and approached. She didn’t move as I stroked my hands along her sides and cupped her breasts. I felt her thighs part to admit me and I entered her without the need for preparation. She was moist and welcoming and let me take her as she was. I came more quickly than I wished for her sake but she was happy to be there for me.

We stayed that way for long enough for me to recover before I lifted her and took her to the bed again, withdrew from her despite her protests. I turned her so she faced me with her hips arched over the bed edge. We coupled once again and this time she came with me as I held her thighs and thrust within her depths. I kissed her body as she lay before me, stroked her skin and made her come once more before I let her go.

For a while, we lay beside each other, bodies touching, until movement and sound from outside our world told us they were up and it was time for food of an entirely different kind.

She stood. ‘Shower with me?’

We returned to the bedroom hungry for sustenance.

Netta slipped my shirt on. ‘If I come to live with you, Leigh, I want you to understand two things.’

I pulled on a pair of jeans and nodded.

‘First, I decide when I’m going to leave.’

I had my own ideas about that but I was in no mood to argue. I was happy to go along with her for now. ‘Okay.’

‘Second, you never use that crass three word excuse that dreamers always think they have to say. Sex is one thing, love is something else entirely and I’m way from ready for commitment and self sacrifice; it’s pointless anyway, tomorrow we could all be blown away.’

‘Agreed.’ I understood her anxiety about a possible nuclear holocaust but didn’t share her pessimism.

‘Good. Let’s have breakfast. I’m starving.’

###

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Read My Novel, Free: Chapter 12.

If you've come this far, you don't need me blathering on with stuff you already know. Enjoy the read.

But, if you missed the start, here's the link to it: http://stuartaken.blogspot.com/2012/01/read-free-my-novel-here.html

Chapter 1 appeared on 13 January and following chapters appear each Friday. You can find them via the archive.

Read, enjoy, invite your friends.

Chapter 12

I took her down to eat by the river. It was warm enough to sit outside and avoid the inevitable fug of the bar. She experimented, at my suggestion, with scampi and chips in the basket. Confident it would be the real thing and not the usual monkfish, I joined her. A half of bitter quenched my thirst and I persuaded her to a glass of the decent enough house white.

We visited the second-hand bookshop at Bootham Bar where I looked for photography books. She left me to my own devices and set off to explore the musty treasure trove. After a while, browsing, I discovered a volume of Ansel Adams landscapes, reasonably priced and went in search of Faith. She was sitting on the floor, displaying her knickers to the world, and reading a tatty paperback.

‘You’re not a student, Faith. You’ll get muck on your skirt sitting down there.’

She looked guilty, like a child caught with a hand in the cake tin, and struggled to get up. I helped her and made her turn so I could brush dust from her seat. Freed from the detritus of the shop floor, that bottom was tempting and I could not resist administering a very gentle tap.

‘Don’t you dare…’

But she saw my face and her quick anger dissolved into a grin at some private joke she wouldn’t share. She was chuckling as we went down to the till.

‘Word of advice, Faith. Tights outside knickers or you’ll get cystitis.’

She frowned, understood the significance, blushed and then nodded her thanks. She was carrying a large volume, already paid for, wrapped in a brown paper bag.

‘Money?’

‘I told Father I might have to pay for dinner today. I said we’d be going to a restaurant and I should pay my share. He was unhappy, but gave me some cash when I reminded him it was yours in the first place.’

We sauntered along the river to spend some time reading on the bank and found a secluded bench under willows and cherry trees not yet in leaf or blossom. Side by side, we sat with the water rippling a few feet from us.

‘It’s not much, but it seems more art than pornography and I thought you might like it. It’s a little “thank you” for today.’ She handed me the brown paper bag and pecked my cheek.

I withdrew the book and was astounded to find a slightly damaged but sumptuously illustrated volume on the nude in art. I flipped through the pages.

‘You don’t like it.’

‘Faith, it’s the most perfect present but I don’t want to embarrass you with the pictures. This is so unexpected and so undeserved.’

‘Unexpected?’

‘I’m amazed you’d buy me, of all things, a book of nudes. I thought you were offended by all images of nudity and didn’t know the difference between pornography and art.’

‘I’ve a lot to learn, Leigh. My life and education have been in the hands of one man. I’m growing more certain with each passing day, each passing hour, that Father’s mistaken about the world. Today’s been more of an eye opener than anything that’s ever happened to me. That doesn’t mean I’m going to put myself exclusively into the hands of another man, no matter how wonderful, kind and generous he may be.’

‘Thank you, Faith.’ What else was I to say?

I opened her gift again and saw she’d written a message on the inner flyleaf. ‘To Leigh, with deep affection and many thanks, Faith.’

‘There’s more to you than meets the eye.’

‘There’s more to everything than is seen by the eye alone. And looking at covers without sampling the content leads to a superficial and misleading understanding of things.’

Forgiving the unintended pomposity, since the comment was aimed more at herself than me, I was struck again by the extraordinary contrast between her knowledge and her intellect. As she came to know more things, so her powers of deduction and her native intelligence realigned her view of the world and of her place within it. It was rather like, I imagined, a parent watching an exceptionally gifted child growing up, except that this was happening much more quickly as Faith’s knowledge caught up with her chronological age.

I recalled my promise to discuss nude photography with her seriously and thought it a perfect opportunity. Neutral ground; public enough to curb our passion and private enough to allow us to speak freely. The book was a perfect introduction. It was almost as if she’d chosen it with this in mind.

‘Look at this, Faith.’ It was The Source by Auguste Ingres; a young woman pouring water from a vessel balanced on her shoulder. ‘What do you think of it?’

She studied the figure for a few moments without apparent embarrassment and I was as surprised as I was pleased by that.

‘It’s an allegory, I imagine. She’s nude and seems to be standing on the surface of the pool, so there’s a hint that she isn’t merely human, perhaps some sort of goddess. And the water from the urn is feeding the pool as if it’s from an everlasting source, which obviously can’t be true, so it’s telling a story.’

‘Amazing. Very perceptive. But I was really more concerned about your view of the woman herself and the way she’s displayed.’

‘Well, her breasts are openly displayed but she has no genitalia and no pubic hair, just a suggestion of shadow, so she can’t be a real woman.’

‘Idealized. She represents an idea of female beauty that was prevalent at the time the painting was made.’

‘Didn’t women have pubic hair in those days?’

I flipped through and found an illustration of Olympia by Edouard Manet. ‘And what about this one?’

‘She’s lying on a bed but she’s got shoes on, so I think there’s a sexual content. A bit like some of the shots you’ve taken of Abby, I suppose.’

I let that go, but it did make me think.

‘Her hand’s covering her genital area so we can’t see it, but I don’t think that’s for modesty. I think she’s trying to be mysterious. Does hiding it like that really make it more attractive to men?’

I found Adam and Eve by Jan Mabuse Gosseart. ‘This one?’

She studied the picture of the pair with the serpent and the apple in the garden. ‘The Garden of Eden, of course. Adam seems to have no penis and his testicles are hidden behind what could be leaves or stylised pubic hair. Eve’s genital area is hairless but there’s a hint of a cleft there, so she’s a real woman. The bodies are both imperfect and more human.’

I flipped and found Renoir’s Bather Adjusting Her Hair. ‘And this?’

‘The fabric’s covering just enough to disguise her vaginal opening, but she would have to be hairless. Why are they all…?’

‘Couple more and I’ll make my point.’ I found Delacroix’s Woman Caressing a Parrot.

She looked at the painting for a moment. ‘The pose hides her genitalia. We can see her breasts and her build makes her look like a real woman.’

‘Last one.’ I flipped through and eventually found what I sought. Eugene Lacadre’s La Reveil served my purpose with the woman lying half on her side and facing the viewer, completely unadorned.

Faith scrutinized the image. ‘She’s another one with breasts but no genitalia at all. Not a real woman, but another of those so-called idealised beauties. She seems to be inviting sex without the means to partake.’

I closed the book. ‘You’ve come a hell of a long way in a few weeks, Faith. A month ago, you couldn’t have looked at those without blushing. Now, you’re able to discuss them with more objectivity than most people. I’m amazed and proud.

‘The point I was trying to illustrate, though, is that almost all artists, regardless of their era, have portrayed women as hairless and without sexual organs. Breasts have always been acceptable and have actually replaced the orifice as the source of sexuality, regardless of their primary function of feeding. Germaine Greer makes the same point. Women are portrayed as hairless and sexless. Our ideal of female beauty now demands they are like that. It’s that image I would like to banish.’

‘But your pictures show women hiding their genitalia behind knickers or in miniskirts or other clothes. Isn’t that what you say you’re trying to do away with? Isn’t it the whole woman you want to portray, the way you sometimes have with Abby, when she takes off all her clothes, even her shoes?’

‘I’d love to be able always to picture women as they are. With or without pubic hair but always with the female essential of vulva to demonstrate their sex. I’d like not to have to use pose to hide their sexual organs, though sometimes a pose excludes them naturally. I’d love to do this, but, for the moment, I can’t.

‘I know, and bear in mind I’m no expert on the subject, of only two works of art produced before the turn of this century that give the woman sexual parts, apart from the Gosseart Eve with her hint of an entrance. One is El Greco’s sculpture of Venus, an ungainly piece that nevertheless has the honesty to display her vulva. The other is Goya’s Nude Maja where the openly sexual woman lying on a bed has a shadow of pubic hair above her closed thighs.’

‘What about men? I’ve seen a lot of pictures, as you selected your samples, of men and most of them showed their sexual parts completely.’

‘I know. Odd, isn’t it? There could be all sorts of reasons for the difference of approach. But you’re right about that difference.’

‘Doesn’t that mean that artists have always been dishonest in their portrayal of women?’

‘Exactly, though they mostly reflected the wishes and values of their patrons, usually men of the church, and the societies in which they lived. I’d like to reverse that dishonesty by portraying them the way they are. Women have sexual organs and pubic hair; I’d like to portray them that way. I don’t want to idealize them. I want to celebrate them as they are.’

‘But you only use the most perfect physical specimens you can find. Isn’t that also dishonest?’

‘The camera’s less forgiving than the eye, Faith. And more selective. Place a woman with generous thighs in front of a camera and all you see are fat thighs. The camera actually draws attention to them. That’s not fair on her or on women in general. I choose the best I can find because that way I can celebrate female beauty more fully. I don’t want to show the failures of age, the results of bad diet and lack of exercise, the effects of starvation. I want to show woman as an object of beauty. Naturally, I select the best examples. But I don’t idealize. I don’t pose them so they’re sexless or unattainable. I show them as women, as sexual, desirable, beautiful creations. And, once I’ve built a reputation in publishing, I intend to take a more radical position; I want to go along the route of Bill Brandt or Edward Weston. They won’t mean anything to you, Faith, but they portrayed women exactly as they saw them, celebrated their nude bodies in candid poses and without hiding their femininity. That’s what I want to do. Am I wrong to do that?’

‘Father would say you are. He believes we should cover our bodies so that men won’t be tempted to lust after our flesh.’

‘You believe in God, don’t you?’

‘Of course!’

‘And God created you and all the other living creatures on the planet?’

‘God created everything.’

‘Even better. God created you. God created photography. God created the ability to see and conceptualise and judge. Do you think God is ashamed of any of these creations?’

‘God’s perfect. Everything God creates is perfect.’

‘So, it’s a huge insult to God to hide the creations and make them appear shameful or undesirable, don’t you think?’

She was silent, considering what some would call a specious proposition.

‘I think that what I do, in celebrating the beauty of women, is a form of homage to God. I celebrate creation. I hold it up exactly as it is and declare it beautiful. Is that wrong?’

‘No. But it can be misinterpreted. Some men see your picture of a naked woman and believe she represents all women. Your picture sometimes invites sex with that woman and some men see that invitation as universal. Your woman wants you to have sex with her, therefore all women want all men to have sex with them. That’s the danger.’

‘God, but your perceptive. But not many of my pictures invite sex, only those where such an invitation is appropriate. In any case, that aspect’s not my fault. I’m not responsible for how people view my work. I can only produce the pictures and hope they’ll be viewed in the same way as they’re made. If men misuse my images I’m sorry, but I can’t stop them. I can avoid suggestiveness and explicit sexual content but I can’t make my images of women asexual. That’d be a denial of everything I believe and it’d be dishonest. Any depiction of a naked human being must contain a sexual element. I take pictures of women because I’m a man and I love women as sexual creatures and as beings who attract my eye as an artist. I’ve no interest in the bodies of men so I don’t take pictures of them, though I’d use the same techniques and processes if I did.’

‘Thanks, Leigh. For treating me like a mature woman and explaining what you’re about. I don’t know whether you’re right or wrong. I’ve so much to learn and I’m still very much the child of Father. I don’t know if my attitudes come from my own feelings or from what Father has told me. But I respect your point of view and I’ll try not to make judgements in future. You clearly believe what you’re doing is right and honest and generally to the good. I’ll need more time before I’ll know whether I agree with you.’

‘Faith, you’re a singular young woman. I’m in serious danger of becoming very fond of you. Thank you for the book and the opportunity to discuss our differences. If nothing else comes from today, at least we understand each other better.’

‘Nothing else? Leigh, you’ve changed me from a dowdy girl to a confident woman today. Thank you.’

She kissed my cheek again and I wanted so much to take her in my arms and embrace her. But she wasn’t yet ready for that and I could wait. We were silent for a while, both mulling over what we’d said and heard. I settled down to take a more leisurely look at the book, now I knew the content wouldn’t offend her, and left Faith to her musing.

She turned to her paperback whilst I was reading and, intrigued to know what she’d bought herself, I tried to look at the front cover. To my surprise, she resisted and placed her hands over it. My curiosity was thoroughly aroused.

‘Will you do something for me?’

‘Depends what it is.’

Her directness and literal approach still surprised me.

‘I’d like to take some pictures of you, standing over by the river.’

‘With or without my clothes?’

‘I’d not expect even a seasoned model to stand out here stark naked, Faith.’

Her little smile told me she was learning to pull my leg. I stuck out my tongue and she grinned at her success and placed her book, open and cover down, on the bench before she wandered toward the edge of the river. I sneaked a quick look at the title whilst her back was turned and had just replaced the book when she spun round. It was impossible to tell whether she’d caught me peeping.

‘Here?’

She was placed ideally within the frame and I took several shots from the seat and then from different viewpoints before I signalled I was done. We both returned to the bench and she sat very close to me so that we touched along one side.

‘Is that what drives you to ask women to take off their clothes?’

My face must have shown my perplexity.

‘Your incorrigible, unquenchable curiosity. Is that what makes you want to see what they look like in the flesh?’

‘Probably. Why?’

‘And what do you think of my choice of book, now you’ve seen it?’

‘Will you be taking this work of the devil back home with you?’ As soon as I said it, I knew it was a mistake. ‘You don’t have to. You can keep it at Longhouse.’ That seemed to relieve her a little but I’d undoubtedly cast a shadow.

‘I’m trying to understand the other point of view, Leigh.’ She said nothing else about the first book she’d ever bought herself, “Why I am not a Christian” by Bertrand Russell, but her sadness and seriousness made me realize how brave she’d been to select it.

I stood and held out my hand to help her to her feet. She rose reluctantly as if unsure what I might do. My embrace of pure affection, which was what I felt at that moment, put paid to any doubts and she hugged me gratefully in return. ‘Right, let’s go and take in a museum or Clifford’s Tower or some of the other shops, or the library. Whatever you wish.’

We walked part of the ancient walls, spent time in the museum, visited The Shambles and Goodramgate. She was full of wonder and interest in everything we saw, reawakening my own enthusiasm. Full of questions that I tried to answer with as much information as I could in an attempt to boost her knowledge and give her a wider appreciation of the world.

‘Are you really as wise as you seem, Leigh, or can you just string together words and thoughts in a way that makes what you say seem intelligent and considered?’

I was flummoxed by her question. Was she complimenting me, insulting me? I turned and saw that twinkle in her gorgeous dark eyes and knew I’d been had again. I just laughed and embraced her, held her close and found she held me with affection. I’d never felt so natural, so right, with any other woman. ‘God, but you’re amazing, Faith.’

She pulled a little face at my mild blasphemy but let it go and showed her pleasure at my remark. ‘You’re really quite extraordinary yourself, Leigh.’

Had we been somewhere less public, I swear she would have kissed me properly. As it was, her willingness to touch and be touched had surprised me as it had grown during the day. She was a different woman from the frowsy, uncertain girl I’d driven out of the Dale that morning.

Once more, we trekked to the car park, this time to deposit our books and pick up her dress.

‘Are we off back, now?’

‘Why? Had enough?’

‘Is there more?’

‘If you wish.’

‘I don’t want today to end, Leigh, ever.’

Neither did I and, in a way, that was a first for me. ‘If we’re to eat beforehand, we’d best find somewhere now. If you want to eat afterwards, we can find a little wine bar for the moment for a light snack, but we’ll be eating very late if we do it that way.’

‘Before what, Leigh?’

‘Oh, didn’t I mention it? I’ve got tickets for “Godspell”.’

She looked blank, of course.

‘The theatre. It’s a musical show; it’s about Christ, so I’m not sure it’ll be all it should for your first theatre experience, but that’s what’s on, so that’s what I’ve booked.’

‘A musical show about Jesus? I don’t understand. Is it in the Minster?’

‘The theatre. It’s a place where people go to watch all sorts of shows, sometimes serious, sometimes funny, sometimes bawdy, sometimes scary. This time it happens to be a musical. Songs, dance, a story; all celebrating the life of Christ. Willing to give it a go?’

‘Father would be apoplectic.’

‘And?’

She smiled mischievously. ‘All the more reason to do it.’

I grasped her hands and swung her round until she pleaded, laughing, that I stop.

‘Eat first?’

She nodded. I picked up the bag containing her new dress and we set off for the restaurant where I had a table booked.

###

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