Pictures at an Exhibition

The two are clothed in dark breech-clouts hanging down almost to their knees and stark leather skeleton harnesses on their torsos. Asides from that, their only garments are simple sword belts and leather arm-guards on their left forearms to protect against the bowstrings' bite. The older woman has a slightly fuller bust, but both of them have athletic, almost muscular figures. Each of them has a leaping lioness tattooed over their left hip.

Their expressions are serious, alert. The viewer can have no difficult believing that these are experienced, expert archers who have used their bows in battle before — and are prepared to do so again at any moment.

+

"Warriors?"

"Oh, hell yes!"

"How would you feel if you were actually there, in front of them, seeing them like that?" Fiona asked.

Jamie thought.

"Not entirely comfortable, I guess. There's something going on we can't be aware of and I would guess that it's a fight of some sort going on. Looks dangerous."

"What about them?"

"Well, they look pretty serious, pretty... competent. Yes — competent. They look like they know what they're doing, but I'm not sure they'd be friendly if I just happened to drop in or something.

"OK. What," Fiona pressed, "does the image make you feel about them as people, as individuals?"

Jamie hesitated. Fiona poked him gently in the ribs. "Come on! Don't overthink it. Just tell me what this makes you feel."

"I'd rather not."

Fiona's eyes met his. "C'mon, Jamie. Tell me. You're not going to shock me — I do this as a Teaching Assistant all the time."

"Embarrassing people?"

She giggled. "No. Well, yes, that too. But no, I meant discussing the imagery in artwork. If the purpose of art is to evoke emotions — and I think it is — then whatever the art makes a viewer feel becomes critical. Understand?"

He nodded.

"OK, so what are you feeling about those two as people?"

The boy hesitated for a moment, then blurted, "Well, since you insist, they're hot as hell."

Fiona laughed. "See, that wasn't that hard, was it?"

Jamie found himself blushing.

"Um, well, yeah, it was. Hard, I mean. Why all this push?"

Fiona grinned. "Well, just before you arrived, the old bat offered me a position as a docent for this display."

"Good for you, but..."

She cut him off with a raised hand.

"Jamie, you can see that there is a fair bit of sexuality hanging on these walls, or at least stuff which could easily be taken with a sexual twist to it. I'm a girl and think like one. Jokes and stereotypes aside, how men think is a bit of a mystery to me. Having a chance to learn what a guy thinks when he's looking at these photos would be very useful. This could be a big opportunity for me."

"Ah."

"I can see how sex could influence a man's appreciation or understanding of these photos," she said, "but there has to be more than just, 'I'd hit that', right?"

Jamie was silent. In a few seconds, that silence developed into a chuckle for both of them.

Fiona turned to stand in front of him, poked him his chest with a forefinger. "Come on, Jamie, tell me that there's more!"

He grinned, raised his hands in surrender. "Yes, of course there is. Usually. Most of the time."

Fiona returned his smile, acknowledging the joke, then her expression turned serious. She took him by both hands. "So, as long you're going to help me with a guided tour of the male mind reacting to this display, I need you to be honest about what you are feeling and thinking."

She looked up at him, smiled sweetly. "Please?"

Jamie took a deep breath, let it out. "OK."

Fiona pulled him into a hug, squeezed him tightly. "Thanks!" came her reply from under his arm.

Jamie was uncomfortably aware of having a double armful of very pretty young woman. Aware of a stirring in his groin, he pulled back, away from her.

She let go of one hand, spun to be standing beside him again, both facing the image.

"So, you think they're 'hot'. Why? What else?"

"OK. They're very pretty, very toned and," he paused momentarily, "they do have really nice figures."

"'Nice tits' is what you mean," Fiona asked. Jamie looked down to see her grinning broadly.

"OK, yeah. You asked me what I was thinking as a man. So, yeah, 'nice tits'. But..."

"No, that's enough, Jamie. I'm sorry if I embarrassed you. But I really do want to understand."

"S'ok, I guess."

"Would you want one of them as a girlfriend?"

"Not sure. Maybe. 'Strong' doesn't bother me. Strong is actually pretty nice. But you asked about 'fierce', right? Well, fierce can be scary and these two look fierce."

"Oh."

Fiona stared at the image for another minute before leading Jamie to the next photo.

+

Urban wreckage fills the next image — think Stalingrad, the last days of Berlin or the aftermath of a massive earthquake. The woman in the photo definitely looks like she's been in serious combat. Bare-headed and with light hair pulled back out of sight, she is dressed in filthy civilian slacks, a sleeveless t-shirt and a heavy layer of grime. A green armoured vest covers her torso. She has numerous cuts and scrapes on her arms and one leg of her slacks is badly torn, exposing a developing bruise underneath.

She is standing very erect and seems very alert.

In her hands, she holds a Russian assault rifle. Assorted magazines of ammunition are stuffed into pockets on the flak vest. In contrast to the woman and her clothes, the rifle is very clean.

+

"Warrior?" Fiona asked?

"Oh, hell yes!"

"What do you think about whatever's happening?"

"Tough fight, from the looks of it."

"That's it?"

"She didn't get that way at a Black Friday sale."

"True," Fiona admitted. "So what about her as a person? Speaking as a boy?"

"Of everything I've seen, this is certainly the least sexually-charged so far. Looking carefully, she's pretty enough, but it's hard for me to consider her sexually. Maybe if she got cleaned up and had a chance to relax." He thought for a moment, continued.

"Fiona, I know that this show is about warrior women. But this,"  he said, pointing at the image, "is 'warrior' first, with 'woman' a very distant second."

"OK," Fiona said. "Would you consider taking her to bed with you?"

"What the actual fuck?   I mean, seriously, Fiona?"

"Please? She's pretty, but does she scare you off? Would you sleep with her?"

"Um, maybe, but she'd have to buy me a really nice dinner and a show before I'd consider it."

Fiona's laughter echoed off the ceiling and walls.

+

The next photo is of a slender woman, naked from the waist up. Her head is bowed downward as if looking at the floor and her face is hidden by a cascade of long brown hair.

Her hands are cupped over her breasts. On those hands, she is wearing gauntlets, armoured gloves a wealthy and powerful medieval nobleman would have deemed suitable to wear jousting with the Prince. Made of precisely-formed polished steel with gold-plated knuckle-pieces, they come up almost to her elbows. Works of art in and of themselves, they gleam in the light.

They do not however quite cover all of her breasts, leaving some side- and under-boob visible. Judging from what can be seen around the gauntlets and from the rest of her figure, they must be very pretty, but the stark contrast with the severe form of the steel gloves is startling, even disturbing.

+

"Before you ask," Jamie said, "I don't know if she's a warrior or not. There's certainly a strong connotation, but..."

"Agreed. Why do you think the gallery included it?"

"Well, it's a beautiful juxtaposition — lovely woman vs brutal martial image."

"Brutal?" she asked.

"Could be. I mean, if I as a guy want to feel a woman's chest, it wouldn't be with steel gloves. Including those makes a pretty strong statement, don't you think?"

"Mmm."

"Well," he challenged, "looking at that and speaking as a woman, what do you  think about it?"

There was a long silence while Fiona thought.

"Jamie, despite what Hendril would say, every woman has, to some degree, the desire to be dominated. That doesn't at all mean being raped or beaten, but having a strong, masculine man, kind but forceful in his sexuality — well, what woman wants a wimp in bed with her?" She turned to look up at him, her eyebrows raised, before her gaze shifted back to the picture.

She continued. "So, yes, as a woman — as a liberated, independent woman — I find the imagery intriguing, almost appealing."

Jamie took a chance. "So, does something like this turn you on?"

Fiona bit her lip.

"Fair's fair," Jamie said quietly, "but you don't have to answer if you don't want to."

There was a long pause. Jamie watched the girl chew her lower lip.

"Yes," Fiona said finally, very softly. "It does."

The two stood there looking at each other for a long time. Jamie was surprised to feel her hand slip into his. It felt soft, warm.

"Does that surprise you, Jamie?"

"Fiona, I'm not sure it's my call. But, yes, I can see what you're saying."

The smaller hand squeezed his briefly, let go.

+

Silhouetted against a cloudless sky, a woman stands on top of a large rock. She is dressed only in crude sandals and a loincloth. Her large breasts are bare but mostly covered by her long, dark and uncombed hair.

The woman is holding a heavy stone-tipped spear in her right hand. There is a stone knife at her hip. Her body is tanned and leanly muscled. The sleek perfection of her right thigh is marred by a long, puckered scar just above the knee.

Her left hand wears a heavy glove and is raised to head level. A falcon, its wings outstretched, is about to land on her hand. The woman is watching its approach with a faint smile on her face.

+

"For a change," Jamie asked, "How about you go first?"

"Well, I doubt she's a warrior or soldier in any traditional sense," Fiona replied.

"Not many of those in One Million BC," he confirmed. "But still, armed and dangerous — well, armed and quite capable of keeping care of herself."

"What's with the bird?"

"Falconry is quite ancient, I think," he said. Amused, he took the initiative. "What do you feel when you look at her?"

"Seriously? A bit jealous of her power."

"Power? Over the falcon?"

"No, the bird's just a symbol, I think, an indicator. I guess I'm jealous of her freedom, her independence. She's clearly a very strong woman, strong psychologically, I mean." She turned to look at him. "What about you? What is the male response?"

"I'd want her," he said without a pause. "She'd beautiful and obviously capable — an ideal mate."

"Ideal lover?" the girl joked.

He looked at her. "Maybe. Certainly very pretty. She knows how to stay alive whenever she is, so add 'competent' to the list." He paused, then peered at his petite partner mischievously before asking, "What about you?"

"What?"

"Ideal lover?" he asked.

Her jaw dropped open.

Realizing that he might have crossed a line, he hurried to apologize. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend."

She blinked several times. "How did you know I was thinking about that?"

"What?"

"Thinking about her and me in a bed — well, in this case, on a pile of furs."

Jamie apologized again. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

Her hand came up. "Stop. It's OK."

Fiona turned to him, put both hands on his shoulders before looking up at him and speaking slowly, as if carefully considering her words. "Jamie, I like boys. I've never..."

She took a deep breath, let it out, turned her head towards the woman's image. "Never have, but let's just say that she could convince me, OK?"

"So you find her attractive, as a woman?"

"I'd go so far as to say 'exciting'." She looked back up at him, grinned. "But as impressive as those boobs are, I prefer a man's chest." She stepped in close, rested her head on his chest, sighed. "See? That's better."

Her arms came around his waist. Jamie could smell her shampoo. Instinctively, his arms came up around her shoulders. They stood that way for several minutes.

"This is nice," Fiona said softly.

"Mmm," Jamie said.

"Just 'mmm'?"

"OK," he replied, "how about 'Yum'?"

There was a quiet giggle. "I can live with that."

She paused, then, " Jamie?"

"Yes?"

"I do really like boys."

"Your call, Fiona. None of my business."

"No, really. And..." she said, giggling again, "...and, to be honest, there are parts I like better than chests." Jamie heard her take a deep breath, as if bracing herself. His eyes grew wide as he felt her hands slide down from his waist to come to rest on his bum. She squeezed, firmly. "See?"

What's a man to do? He followed her lead and let his hands slide down. Her own backside felt soft, yet firm. Jamie became aware of his own growing arousal. They moved on to the next picture, holding hands.

+

A woman, possibly Slavic, is standing casually in front of a hilly farm. The woman is young, perhaps in her late teens.

She has a square face and full lips and is well-groomed in what might be described a 'rural' sense, which is to say clean but not fussy. She wears no makeup. Her medium brown hair is parted over her left eye and pulled back. Her clothes are a mixture of civilian and military garb, all of a dull green or drab brown hue. Her only condescension to fashion or femininity is an elaborate coloured belt around her waist.

Slung over her back, visible over her right shoulder, is a heavy sniper rifle.

Her expression is sombre. The viewer gets the impression that it has been a very long time since she last smiled.

She is attractive enough that most men would find her interesting were it not for the look in her dark eyes. They speak of courage, and yes, of strength, but also of a corpus of experience which most people, male or female, would walk a long way to avoid. There is a hint of being able to turn to remorseless, expert violence in the twinkling of an eye.

+

"Well?" Fiona said.

"A warrior? Certainly. That rifle is carried too casually to be anything else."

"What's happening?"

"I'm not sure. You don't carry something like that unless there's a reason. It's not like she's trying to demonstrate machismo  or make some sort of adolescent statement. So I'd guess that there's been fighting or at least there's a good possibility of it and, from the looks of it, she's thinking it might start again. She looks competent. I'd guess she's a good shot."

He paused. "I think I'd want her on my side."

"I think so," the girl agreed. "What do you think of her as a woman?"

"I'm not sure," he said. "She looks so sad, so... I don't know, stern?"

Fiona squeezed his hand. "What if she offered herself to you?"

"Depends. She doesn't look like a woman you'd have a casual affair with."

"No."

"I can't see her figure," Jamie said, "but, it really doesn't matter. She's very attractive. Which is to say that I, as a guy, yes, I'm attracted to her, physically that is."

They looked, both impressed by the photo.

"What about you?" he asked.

"I sense a lot of vulnerability in her," Fiona said. "Boy or girl, her lover would have to be very careful not to hurt her. Cheat on her and there'd be a lot more than Twitter flaming."

"Would you consider her as a lover," he asked. "If she... 'offered herself to you'?"

Fiona seemed to take a long time thinking.

Finally, "She's strong, I think. Certainly attractive." she said. "I think I'd consider it."

She turned back towards Jamie, drew him into a deep hug.

"Thanks," she whispered. "I'm learning lots. I know you didn't want to get into this."

"Hey, I'm learning, too."

She tilted her head up and gave his cheek a quick kiss.

+

An African woman is standing in front a group of grass huts with long-horned cattle grazing around them. Slender, but with a pleasing form, she is dressed mainly in colourful beads. Both arms have so many bead bracelets that they are essentially covered from wrist to elbow; there are so many bright circles of beads about her neck that a large man would have difficulty grasping them all with just one hand.

A foot-wide strip of fur hangs down from her neck, ending just below her hidden sex. One shapely breast is exposed, its nipple and areola almost black. Her hair is cut very short, her smile is enigmatic and her very dark skin flawless. In her hands she holds an iron-headed javelin or throwing spear a third again as long as she is tall. With it, it is clear, she is the defender of her village against any intruder, be it cat, elephant or human raider.

The woman's expression is one of pride, of total confidence, of serene competence. Her dark eyes challenge the viewer  — Are you good enough? She clearly knows that she is.

+

"Impressive," Jamie said. "Almost scary."

"Scary? Why scary?"

"The others looked strong, even fierce. This lady... I dunno. I feel like she's looking at me as prey of some kind."

The girl beside him stiffened. "What, because she's black?"

"What? Oh, hell no! But look at her eyes! Those are not  friendly eyes, Fiona. They're calculating, almost predatory. I mean, I guess she has a tough life there, with hyenas and lions and such. If everything in your neighbourhood wants to eat you, you've got to be smart — and bloody tough — to survive."

"So?"

"I'm not sure I would be tough enough to survive her,  frankly."

"Would you go to bed with her?" Fiona asked, smiling.

"I'm not sure I'd have a choice."

"I beg your pardon?"

"If she decided she wanted me, would I have a choice? If she can take on rhinos and leopards, what's one skinny white guy?"

"Oh." Then, "But you're not skinny, Jamie."

"Hardly buff."

"Take off your shirt."

"Why?" Jamie sounded a bit shocked.

"Just do it — and go stand beside her."

"Are you joking?"

"No. Just do it. I want to see." There was a commanding tone in Fiona's voice.

"Um, we're working," he dodged.

"Jamie," she pronounced. "Yes, we're on duty, but keep in mind that I am your supervisor." She cleared her throat. "I am concerned about you dripping water on the art. It's Hendril's fault for keeping you standing out there in a downpour, but you need to hang your shirt up to dry." She smiled mischievously.

"Look, Fiona..."

"Just do it, Menks," she said, flatly. "Without arguing anymore. I promise you, I'm not going to take it as you trying to harass me, OK?"

Jamie shrugged, unbuttoned his still-sopping shirt, slid out of it and handed it to her.

She motioned to his trousers with a come on  motion.

"You said my shirt."

Fiona repeated the gesture. "Pants, too."

The room was warm but the young man shivered as he took off his shoes and peeled the wet garment off his legs, leaving him standing in still-dripping boxer shorts. It could've been worse, he realized. At least he wasn't wearing the 'cute' ones with stylized hearts on them his aunt had sent him for Christmas.

"Wait here," she directed, his clothes in her hands. Spinning around, she disappeared in the direction of the staff room, reappearing a minute later. "There, hanging up nice and neatly."

"Now go stand over by her." She was still smiling but Jamie could hear the iron in her voice.

She stared at the boy and the painting for a long moment, then smiled more broadly. "You two make a good pair," she said.

"How's that?"

"Never mind," she said.

He walked over to where she stood, looked down at her. "Tell me."

Fiona blushed. There wasn't a lot of Fiona, but there was a lot of blush.