Mrs. Potiphar's Lover

Netta Thorbold made her way up the stairs to the studio. She had agreed to sit for a young artist.

'Sorry, I'm a bit late,' she said as she came in the door, 'but we've been busy at the shop.'

The studio, or rather Felix Appleby's bedsitter, was large and bare, with grey walls, on which were pinned the studies he had done. It was a pleasant room with two windows that reached to the floor.

'So you got here all right, Mrs Thorbold?' Felix was already at his easel working on a sketch of the beach and pier. 'Had no difficulty finding the place?'

Their conversation was stilted. Felix seemed a little shy, Netta thought and she could find nothing but commonplace things to say to him.

'If you'll stand squarely on the platform in front of the window,' he was saying, 'with your hands clasped behind your head, you'll find that the easiest pose.' It will also give him the best view of my breasts, she thought. 'That's right,' he said. She gave him an indifferent glance.

She looked at the youth preparing his charcoal and a new sheet of paper. He's far too quiet, reserved, she thought. Well, I suppose he has to concentrate. She let her mind wander vaguely while he stood outlining her figure. She wondered if he would ... well, he 'shows promise', she thought. A solid-looking athletic body, supple and muscular. And that boyish face!

And then he was asking her to sit on a chair he had placed under the window. He was wanting to measure her head and torso. Her blue eyes held his as he came near, offered a challenge. The slightest curve of a set smile was on her lips. Her throat was white in the shadow. She crossed her legs, tugged down her skirt.

She was a woman of forty, with a great deal of glossy dark red hair; it was handsome hair, he thought as he saw her close to. The wide white rise of her breasts beneath the raw-silk blouse. A proper Juno. Her eyes both met and avoided his. He was aware of a quickening of his heart. He was serious and silent working on his sketch.

I must be double his age, she told herself. But I will manage him all the better for it. Life can't be wasted in the waiting. Her smile was full of the old wisdom of woman.

She could feel his eyes on her. Was he enjoying the feast of her body, or did he think she was far too old? Felix was trying to look at her impersonally, as an artist, concentrating on flesh tones, colour values, getting the perspectives. But the maturity of her figure. And that enormous bosom!

He studied her like a physician, but he was teetering on a highwire without a net, he thought.

When it was the rest period, Netta came to see what he had done. She turned to him, 'How are you getting on, Felix?'

'I don't know why I'm having so much trouble,' he said. 'But I mean to get it right. I must take the measurements again. And square out my paper differently.' He set to work again.

In spite of himself she stirred him. The disturbing nearness of her body. At the beginning, an older woman is always best, he'd read somewhere. The boy is better for it. But I'd shrivel up like a winter apple, I suppose. She might be the key to the mysteries, he thought. But she'd devour me if I'd let her.

Felix recalled how he had been selecting material in Humphrey's Art Shoppe the previous Thursday afternoon when he saw the new shop-assistant behind the counter serving a customer. A full-blown woman absolutely beautiful. Red hair, white skin with an air of obvious sensuality.

Felix had stood mesmerized still holding the paint brushes that he had been selecting. He groaned almost out aloud. God, what would it be like to paint that figure! She would be superb as the model for his painting he was working on. She appeared to be in her early forties.

A fine web of lines under the eyes, some powder caking about her face. Her smiling lips with a lipstick that was too scarlet but on her was somehow permissible. A fading prettiness? Perhaps. But her breasts were deep and full with a large amount of cleavage. Her dress fit her form perfectly, tight but not too tight. He was finding her very attractive despite that fact that she was probably twenty years older than himself.

He kept on watching her. He could stand discreetly behind the acrylic display pretending to examine it. When she reached up for some wrapping=paper on a top shelf he could see how large and heavy her breast was and he almost gasped aloud. He just stood there holding those brushes watching the most striking woman he had ever seen. She resembles a Jean Racine heroine, he thought -Phedre perhaps, with that classic profile.

As Felix pretended to select another paint brush, he realised with a start that there was someone standing behind him.

'She's beautiful, isn't she? Humphrey French, the shopkeeper was saying. He was a pleasant little man with a black beard.

Felix was so surprised that he dropped a paint brush and it rolled under the stand. He looked at the shopkeeper in front of him. Felix had spoken to Humphrey a few times when he was ordering materials and Humphrey knew that Felix was an art student at the College of Arts. 'Um, w w-what do you mean?' Felix stammered.

'I saw you watching her. It's okay - I sometimes catch myself just watching her. She is beautiful.'

'Um, yeah, uh, she is nice looking,' Felix managed to say. He felt himself blushing, he was embarrassed. He didn't know why he found the older woman so alluring, he just did.

By now the red-haired lady was bringing some boxes over towards the two men. She asked, 'Who is your friend, Humphrey?' and smiled.

'Felix, meet Netta Thorbold. Netta, this is Felix Appleby and he's an artist,' said Humphrey.

'Art student,' Felix corrected.

'Yes,' said Humphrey, 'but he exhibits and has sold at the Esplanade railings on Sundays.'

He shook Netta's hand and it felt warm and smooth. 'Oh, how delightful, do you do figure studies? I was a model once.'

Netta Thorbold spoke with a slight accent. He could smell her perfume now that she was closer. She smelled wonderful. That scent mounting up.

For a moment they were caught in a net of small talk and Humphrey French was asking what Felix was working on. He said he was planning a study of Potiphar's Wife.

'And who was she?' asked Netta. Her eyes were bright with curiosity.

'The wife of an Egyptian lord who Joseph was taken to when he was sold into slavery by his brothers,' explained Felix. 'It's a story in the Bible.'

'Mrs Potiphar tried to seduce young Joseph,' smiled Humphrey. 'She was very disappointed and angry when Joseph rejected her advances.

'Sounds fascinating,' said Netta with a laugh.

'Do you still do some modelling? Felix asked nervously.

'Not for a long time. I'm getting a bit past it, I think.'

'Nonsense.' Humphrey French turned to his assistant and said, 'You could sit for Felix when you finish work at 5.30. there's still plenty of light at this time of the year. His studio is just down the street.'

'Acland Street,' Felix said quickly. 'My room's above a delicatessen.''

'How could I resist? I always had a secret ambition to be an abandoned hussy,' Netta said amused. Humphrey wrote Felix's address on a piece of paper and gave it to her.

Felix asked if the following afternoon would be okay. Netta said fine and told him she would call on him then.

Netta was late again for her sitting on the following afternoon. Felix was worried about the light and was anxious to begin. But it had been stiflingly hot day, 'Sorry,' she said as she mounted the platform to take up her position, 'but I had to go home and change.' She was wearing an open-necked jonquil silk blouse and yellow shantung skirt.

A nicely exposed cleft, thought Felix but as usual the make-up and the lips were overdone. Not my type at all, he told himself as he took up his charcoal and began slashing shapes onto paper. Sure enough, he wanted her fabulous body, but not quite in the way she wanted his. He wanted her to pose, draped diaphanous for his painting. But she's far too old, he thought. Such a full-bodied womanly woman. Enough to rob him of his male power!

But the more resolutely Felix tried to ignore her overblown female charms, the more he found himself thinking about her - as a woman! The way that red mouth was looking into his eyes. He pictured her as dominant. Bestriding him!

Her perfume and the posture of her body filled him with sudden lust. She shifted uneasily on the platform. He found himself staring at the movements of her breasts. He imagined running his hand down the arch of her back and across the curve of her buttocks. But would she spring at his throat if he touched her? he wondered. No doubt there was a latent tiger in every lady. Or would she give way utterly?

He glanced along the line of her shoulder. Artists -weren't they supposed to look at a woman's body in a different way? But he wanted her so badly it disturbed his work. He saw himself as a man on a tightrope without a safety net.

I owe it to myself to seduce her, he thought. Perhaps I should seize her by the hips, throw her down on the floor and take her, there and then. I could do what I want with her. Instead he found himself inviting her to have coffee with her at the café across the road.

'I've got a better idea,' Netta said, stepping down from the platform and gathering up her things. 'How about the pub on the corner? It's such a hot night. I could do with a drink.'

As they made their way downstairs to the street, Netta thought. I'm passionate by nature. I have a great need of a man. To drink at that fountain of youth. The soft, moist contact of a young man's mouth. Perhaps he is far too young. But then, let's consider the number of unfair advantages that men take!

'More whisky?'

'No, thank you, kind sir.'

Netta and Felix were sitting side by side in the Prince of Wales looking at each other. It was a hot and close evening and, despite the air-conditioning the door stood ajar to give a cool draught. Some boys were playing pool at a table on the other side of the room.

Although the years were passing, Netta had A face still touched with beauty. Conversation now flowed more easily between them. It was the time of whisky-truth. She proved a human being who wanted to talk about herself. Opening herself to him.

'I married a sad tom-cat,' she said, finishing her drink. Harold chucked me for a much younger woman.' Felix saw her eyes fill. His heart was caught - to see tears. 'He went off the rails when our son was drowned in a yachting accident. I suppose it was his way of coping with grief. That was five years ago now. Geoffrey would be about your age had he lived. You remind of him a lot, Felix

.

'When you give yourself, you are disarmed, vulnerable to disappointment, hurt, rejection,' she continued. 'That scares me. So I try to remain remote - and safe. I want the impossible, I suppose. To be young again, no doubt. How smooth and young your face is,' she murmured after a pause. She then asked him playfully if he had a girl, if he had slept with her? 'Surely you've had many love affairs at the college?'

Felix blushed and laughed. 'You want to know too much,' he said.

'Ah, I thought so,' she cried triumphantly, 'look at him blushing.

Because he knew she was eager Felix was seized with an enormous need to affirm his virility. He thought to himself that he would be a fool not to take the opportunity. He owed it to himself to seduce her, he considered. He made up his mind to do it. To take her back to his room, seize her in his arms.

As they left the pub. Netta asked with a smile, 'So what happened to Mrs Potiphar in the end?'

'She turned bitch telling her husband that Joseph had tried to rape her when he rejected her.'

They were silent for a moment.

'Well, the night's still young. Netta said. 'Like to go for a walk along the beach?'

'Yes - no - yes, I'd like to,' he heard himself saying. It did not sound like his own voice. 'No - at least I mean, I'm ...'

'Come on,' she said, and her voice was a silken mockery.

She imprisoned his hand in her own. Felix felt he was walking into a net. Well, I need to grow up, he thought. But I'll certainly need a net to catch me if I stumble.

Her hips were brushing up against him as they walked.

They wandered a little apart from each other along the shore. On the sea the moonlight was caressing the waves.

Felix was precisely aware of her body, aware of its posture and its closeness, of just where it would touch his own and how it might be taken hold of. He very much wanted to embrace her but he feared he might do it clumsily. Would he be a stallion at stud, or would he rush off like any frightened spinster? He simply did not know.

In the distance a man and a woman oblivious of the world about them were making love in a shadowed stretch of sand.

'Well, they certainly seem to be busy,' Netta said, again taking his hand,

They walked on to the other side of the kiosk and sat down on the sand. Her body touched his. He slid his arm around her back and pressed his face awkwardly against hers. Her hand descended his back. Then locking her arms tightly about his neck. Her hands then going over him.

The Netta was unbuttoning her blouse, exposing herself shameless and stark. His gaze imprisoned in the shadowed cleft. What a woman, he thought. He worshipped her. At the same time he was paralysed with fear.

'I'm terribly sorry, Netta.'. His heart was flaming up intensely.

But her heart was mother-soft, 'Come closer to me,' she said.

Felix knew he must meet his fear face to face. But in every heart there lurks some secret dread. His whole body seemed to be gripped fast, like a ship wedged in ice.

'Don't be frightened, Felix. It's beautiful, wonderful. And afterwards you will be really free. And you will make me so happy.'

For a moment it seemed to Felix as if a pit would open and swallow him up. He felt as though he were invaded by her. But then she touched the tips of her fingers to his mouth.

'I want you, Felix. And you want me. That's something we can't be mistaken about.'

Slowly he pulled himself up to a sitting position. Then he turned away from her to hide his face in his hands.

'What is it?' murmured Netta. She caressed his back.

'I'm not going to be any good,' said Felix. 'I was afraid of this.'

'It doesn't matter. Embrace me.'

He stretched himself out almost stiffly and buried his face against her. Then his arms pinioned her with violence.

After a little while she said again, 'There, relax. It doesn't matter.'

His eyes ate into her face. He felt her feeling running through him giving him strength. Love, he realised was a growing out of yourself into another. With the warmth of her body running through him, he felt he could conquer himself.

It was a few minutes later that he said, 'Do you know, I think it's going to be all right.'

She allowed her hand to brush against the front of his trousers,

'Well, said Netta with a smile, 'it looks like Mrs Potiphar's not going to be disappointed after all.'

***

Note. A very different version of this story may be found in chapter 39 of the Book of Genesis.