Telling Tales

"Fair enough. Anyway, I'll call around later, to catch up on the gossip."

The threat, implied or real, isn't lost on Sara, who insists on walking her partner to his car. He struggles to explain why it's parked around the corner.

"You don't have to explain to me," she says. "Just hurry home. Mike's still here. And you know how horny I get after a night out!" _______________________________

Finally, Sara has been able to put some of last night behind her. The spa room is tidy; she has caught up with Lautrec-oops, Charlie- and has seen her partner off.

Shit! The painting! Sara heads for the loft. It seems darker than usual, and she fumbles against the wall for a light switch, lucky to have her hand outstretched when something hard drives her against the wall. In an instant, she is spun around, and rough hands shove her into the centre of the dark room, where she crashes into a table and chairs.

"Hey!" she protests, just as her arms are grabbed and pulled behind her. She feels a sharp pain as an ankle is kicked, then the other, signalling her to spread her legs wider. Her T shirt is lifted, and a hard cock is drawn up through her moist sex. Somehow she manages to break free and grab hold of the eager cock, hard enough to make him stop.

An uneasy truce follows. Until she surprises by guiding it into her. His hands grab her hanging breasts and he begins short teasing stabs that barely let her warm lips enclose his rounded head. 'This bastard knows what he is doing,' Sara thinks, her desire to feel all of him growing with each stroke. Unexpectedly, he drives in deeply, and joined like that, steers her forward until she feels the back of a chair. Here, she crosses her arms across its top, and rests her head on them; now able to fully savour the sensation in her loins before, all too soon, her orgasm joins his.

"Fuckin' awesome!" says the breathless voice in the dark.

Before she can agree, he has gone.

_______________________________

By the time he reaches the party hire shop, Sara's partner is desperate for a quick exit. As luck would have it, the counter is unattended. He drops the bag off, and turns to leave. But Ted the Talker spots him.

"You're in a hurry!"

"Unfortunately. I've got to go to work."

"On a weekend. What a shame! Still, a man's got to work. You know, put food on the table. Keep the little woman happy, before someone else does. Then again, I'm working too. But I bet most of the town is still recovering from last night."

"Not me. I didn't go to the party."

"Didn't you? That's the thing about this business. I could make a fortune this time of the year with what I know about the party. Luckily, I'm not a talker."

They are hardly reassuring words.

To speed things up, Sara's partner slides the bag along the counter towards Ted the Talker.

"What have we here?" Ted asks.

"I'm just dropping it off for Sara."

"Sara? Sara? Oh, Sara! Now I remember."

Ted the Talker reaches into the bag and pulls out the nurse's uniform.

"That's odd!" Ted says. He reaches in again, and pulls out the lycra.

"That's more like it." He looks it over, sniffs at it, and looks once more. "Hardly been worn," he concludes. "It can go straight here."

With that, he lovingly drapes it on a store mannequin. The mannequin beside it is dressed as Toulouse-Lautrec. Ted steps back to admire his handiwork.

"They make a nice couple, don't you think?" he says, somewhat suggestively.

"No, I bloody don't!"

It's little wonder Sara's partner cops a speeding ticket on his way over to Mike's.

_____________________________

That night, Sara is laying face down, one leg hooked over her partner's thigh. He lays on his back, silently staring at the ceiling. It's the same scene most nights, right before they sort out any differences and go to sleep.

"Did you catch up with Mike?" she asks.

"I did," he replies. "He had a very interesting story about some nurse."

"Are you going to tell me?"

"I expect you already know. But what about you? Is there something you want to tell me?"

Sara takes a deep breath. "No; nothing particularly interesting. Although I did have had the best fuck of my life in the loft today."

Her partner thinks for a while, before asking, "Since you are telling me this, how do you know it was me?"

Sara smiles cheekily, and rolls on top of him.

"How do you know I did?"

Chapter 3

The week following the costume party has been pleasantly free of the angst Sara half expected to surface. Her partner has gone about things as if the party and its aftermath never happened.

After a week of self-analysis, some certainties have emerged. If Sara should be feeling remorse, she isn't. The reasons why aren't clear, and frankly don't seem to be that important. When her partner phones to ask if she would mind if he goes fishing with his mates for the weekend, Sara hopes he doesn't see through her attempt at reluctant agreement.

When she finally gets to shut the office doors for the weekend, Sara doubts if she has ever felt more alive.

____________________________

Dressing for her beloved Friday night art class has become as significant as undressing as their model. Not that Sara's colleagues have always taken notice of what she was wearing. Not until the time, that is, she arrived in a rush, declined their robe, and stepped out of the knee length work uniform to reveal she was naked underneath. They never did find out she had been home beforehand.

Sara thinks tonight has the same feel about it. She scans the wardrobe for inspiration and finds none. Looks like jeans and a T shirt. And a jacket just in case. She grabs her favourite bra and panties, and tosses them on the bed with the other clothes.

As she peels out of her clothes and heads for the shower, there is a knock at the door.

She peers through the curtain at Emily, her best friend, and one of her classmates, who by now, has turned her back and is staring into the dimly lit garden.

Sara tosses on the T shirt, before returning to answer the door.

"Hey!"

"Hey you too. I've been meaning to catch up, Sara. A few of us are going out afterwards. Do you want to come."

"Any particular reason?"

"Not really. Well maybe. It's a bit of a surprise. They weren't going to tell you, but I wanted to make sure you knew to bring some suitable clothes along."

"And will I like this surprise?"

"Looks like you're up for it already!"

"Cold night," Sara counters, but crosses her arms in front just the same.

"So that's a yes?"

"Just try and stop me!"

"Want to catch a lift with me? I've got a taxi waiting."

"Thanks. But I need to pick up some things from the supermarket on the way."

"Fair enough. See you there. Unless, of course, you cause a riot at the shops dressed like that!"

Back inside, a buoyant Sara stops in front of the mirror to see what the fuss is about. Which convinces her the jacket, or the bra, is a must.

On any other night.

And then the inspiration comes.

There's just one thing more to do!

________________________________

At the supermarket checkout, Sara encounters Mike's would-be girlfriend.

"Not much on this weekend, Sara?"

"Quiet one on my own," Sara replies. Somehow she refrains from adding 'not that it's any of your business.'

"I think I'll do the same. Thought you might be going fishing though."

"You know about that?"

"Sure! Mike would have asked me, but I know he's happier when it's just the boys. It didn't stop that Cathy from going though."

"Cathy? I don't think I know her."

"Sure you do. She works with your guy."

"Can't place her. But I try to have as little as possible to do with his work mates."

"You must know her. Skinny blonde. I thought I saw them at the costume party. You know- Houdini and his assistant."

"Oh! Her. Sorry."

Sara scoops up her groceries and bustles out of there.

"Thanks for shopping with us. You have a good weekend," calls the attendant.

"Yeah, right."

______________________

The revelation that Sara's partner was at the costume party has changed everything. And raised the spectre that he knows more than he has let on. Sara starts to think there's a conspiracy in place. With Mike at the centre of it. The question is, 'Who for? Himself? Her partner? Or are they in cahoots?'

Christ! Now she is starting to suspect everyone.

Get a grip girl! Deal with what you know to be true. Starting with what happened in the loft.

As much as Sara would like to believe otherwise, only Mike was definitely still in the house. So why did her partner, when told about the sex in the loft, ask 'how do you know it was me?' Mike had to have told him later. Would he do that? Is that what blokes do? 'Hey- glad you called around. Just wanted to tell you I did your missus in the loft earlier.' Or had her partner sneaked back to watch? Is that what has been going on all the time? Sneaking about, wanting to catch her with another bloke. Or another woman? Is that what he gets off on?

Then there are his own exploits. Didn't Houdini and the Nurse disappear for a while. And what about the blonde assistant?

So many questions. Too many questions.

Well damn him. Damn them. Damn them all!

____________________________

By the time she arrives at the class, Sara is determined to put her deliberations behind her. She is greeted at the door by the resident tutor, who drags her aside.

"Sara, Sara, I've been trying to get onto you."

"Oh Yeah? And here I was thinking you walked the other side of the road."

"Not like that. I've been trying to phone you. I wanted to warn you there's a group up from the coast- decided to take our class for the night."

"Why is that?"

"Well I'm not entirely sure. But I think they heard we have live models, and they have been struggling to get one down there, so they asked me if it would be alright, and, I well, um, I.........."

"You said yes."

"Um, well, kind of."

"Enlighten me. How do you kind of say yes?"

"Oh Shit. Now you are pissed off and going to say no. And they have driven all this way. They are going to hate me."

"Worse, I'd say."

"Worse?"

"Much worse."

"How much worse?"

"You know the time we used the CWA hall, and those old ladies called in to collect their bingo stuff from the store room the male model was changing in? And you hadn't told them what we were using their hall for."

"Yeah?"

"That was nothing!"

"Oh shit! I'm a dead man."

"Not necessarily!"

"You'll do it?"

"I didn't say that."

"Don't do this to me."

"Do what?"

"What you are doing. Leading me on."

"Is that what you think I am doing? Is that what you all think I do? Get off on dropping my gear so you can paint some decent tits for a change."

"That's not how I meant it! Oh Shit. Now I am in deeper."

"Yup!"

"So what's going to happen now?"

"Guess you will just have to wait and see. Just like any other night."

It takes a while for the penny to drop.

"You bitch! You have done it to me again!"

"That's why you love me!"

__________________________________

There's a certain suspense in the air. Normally the group would stand around chatting, as if they had all night to prepare. Not tonight. And the room is arranged differently. Fair enough, Sara thinks. They have to fit in the extra people. Then she sees it.

In the middle of the room, on the floor, is a giant tiger skin rug, complete with head. Grotesque! she thinks.

Her tutor moves to her side, and announces they are about to start.

"Welcome to our visitors. Tonight our model will be on this mat. Nothing else exists. Nothing else matters. So after she is ready I want you to find your place, anywhere in a circle around her. We'll lower the lights, and use that spot light. It's up to you what you make of it. Ready Sara?"

Just like that. No robe, no 'do you want to change somewhere else?'

No problem, thinks Sara.

Deliberately, she steps out of her shoes. The room goes quiet. That shouldn't happen. That never used to happen. Next she unhooks her belt, and loosens her jeans. Without looking up, Sara frees her T shirt, and pulls it over her head. Her large breast bounce into view. Someone bumps into their easel, and someone says 'ssshh.'

Bizarre, Sara thinks.

Next she tugs at her jeans, pausing a moment as they catch on her hips, before sliding them to the floor. As she straightens, her new bare look is revealed. There's an audible gasp from those in front of her.

'Way to go, girl!' calls Emily, who always seems to be on hand at these moments.

_______________________________

The first pose is usually up to Sara. When she steps onto the rug, she is in no doubt what it has to be. She releases her mane of brown hair, and tosses it from side to side. Then, on hands and knees, as if a cat, she crouches over the tiger.

"Great!" calls the tutor. "Now get moving you lot."

Sara hears them move about; here, there, some in front, most to the sides. A few set up from behind her, and it is their presence that makes her feel vulnerable. Not the night to have shaved, she thinks.

Relief comes as the lights are dimmed. Then the spotlight is switched on, burning onto her back from afar.

"Can't you do something about that light?" Sara calls.

A special filter is placed over it, shrouding her in shadowy stripes that mirror the tiger skin she is on.

Perfect!

__________________________

One woman, one mat, one light, and twenty perspectives.

Now dressed again, Sara wanders amongst the easels. She stops at one of the regulars, a portrait artist, who has captured her face as if a reflection of the tigers. "Love it," Sara says, before moving on. The next piece to really interest her has four dominant globes representing heads and breasts. She studies it a while, before moving on.

By now, most of the artists have moved next door for a coffee break. She turns to do the same, when a painting at the back of the room captures her attention. She bustles over to it.

Oh my God!

From behind her, someone- one of the new people obviously- has captured everything that fell in the bright spot light. It reminds her of those cutaway diagrams used in biology. Or human physiology, in this case. Yet it is clinical rather than sexual; made so, she thinks, by the discontinuity caused by the stripes.

She scans about anxiously. What kind of view did the rest have?

The other paintings are a mixed bag. One intimates the tiger is between her legs. Done well, it could have worked.

Uneasily, she returns to the painting.

"Well, what do you think?"

Sara turns to find a man with an interesting face staring at her.

"I.....I don't know what to think."

"You don't strike me as a girl who stumbles over her words too often."

"Well, it's a bit, um, confronting."

"Just painting it as I saw it."

"That's what worries me."

"You shouldn't be worried. It's what these nights are about, isn't it?"

"Not exactly. There's usually not that much detail."

"Sorry. But as a painting, what do you think?"

"Interesting style. But I can't see much opportunity for it."

"I agree. But let me show you some of my other stuff."

Before Sara can answer, she is dragged across the room and handed a folder of paintings.

"I was going for a coffee," she protests.

"I'll get it for you. You look through these."

With that, he rushes away. Moments later, he is back.

"Um, Sara?"

"White and one."

"Right!"

Again he leaves. From across the room, he calls, "My name is Winston!"

"Surely not," she laughs. _______________________

There's something about his work that is saying to Sara 'You should leave now.'

Of course she doesn't.

Instead she is flicking back through the paintings when he returns.

"Looking for something in particular?" he asks, handing her the mug of coffee.

"No, not really."

"Try again."

"OK. Maybe. I went through them quickly, so I was going back to see if there was anything worth a second look."

"And....?"

"Nothing."

"You really aren't a good liar, are you?"

"Well, haven't you got an opinion of yourself."

"And thoroughly deserved, if you give me the chance to prove it."

"One. One chance only."

"OK then." He paws through the folder, clearly knowing what he is looking for.

"What about this?"

It is a pen and ink cartoon-like sketch of a couple engaged in sex. Well, not exactly, but posed as if they were. The Japanese influence is unmistakable.

Sara knows it is good. Instead she asks, "How did you get to paint this?"

"That's what I get up to, back home."

"You had models for that!"

"Sure. We are a small but supportive group. And profitable, I must add."

"So what are you doing here, mixing with us small timers."

"Recruiting."

"Oh no you don't."

"Don't be so hasty. I am usually not so forthright, and I am never wrong."

"So why me?"

"Why not? I heard about you, and saw some of your work in the gallery. And now I've seen what you will do as a model."

"So you had an idea before coming here?"

"I did. And you have not let me down. I think you will enjoy it."

"Except I have already said no."

"But you will anyway!"

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because it's what you do. Push boundaries. Explore. Oh! And these things sell very well on the Internet. Especially at 48 hour auctions."

"How well?"

"This one. Around $1000-$1500, while the dollar is weak."

"I'm not in it for the money."

"Well, be in it for the thrill. Consider the money a bonus."

"I've already said no."

"Tomorrow. Don't fuss. Promise you will at least come down and check us out."

"No promises."

"But you will think about it?"

"I can't even imagine why...."

Even as she is uttering the words, Sara is planning the trip.

________________________

The surprise turns out to be drinks at a nearby club, where it is announced to all that Sara's works from the gallery have been requested to decorate the boardroom for a major regional conference. After that Sara is firmly the centre of attention. Too many drinks later, her single status for the weekend is revealed. The close knit group pounces on the news.

"Gee, we can't have Sara celebrating on her own. There must be someone here for her."

So begins the game of checking out the patrons. "What about him?" someone says about the young man buying a round.

"Too young!" is the response.

"She'd have to teach him first!"

"You've got no idea!" calls Emily. "Leave it to me." She looks about once, then again, more slowly this time, before finding her target. "Perfect!"

"Well?" ask a few of the group in unison.

"Her!" says Emily, pointing to a very muscular woman matching language with a group of men from the mine.

"Get serious! you guys," someone says. "I reckon she is more likely to fancy these two."

The subjects-two well dressed young men walking past-grin at the suggestion, before continuing on their way.

"Well, what do you think? Reckon you could handle those two, Sara?"

"You've got to be kidding!" interjects Winston. "They don't look like they are about to share."

"And you can tell that from here, Winston? Or is a case of takes one to know one."

Everyone has a laugh at his expense-a welcome change for Sara.

"Help me out, Sara!" he pleads. Then, without asking, he drags her to the dance floor.

He proves to be quite a mover. By the end of the second song, his hands are on her butt. Midway during the third- a bump and grind Ricky Martin number- he spins her around, and pulls her back-first to him. They finish the song that way, his hands draped around her.

"Who would have thought you would turn out to be the shy type!" Sara teases.

"I'm a man in a hurry."

"Who must get caught out plenty of times!"