Sketchbook

I didn't sleep much, but when I did, my dreams were haunted by writhing pencil drawings and a cartoon girl masturbating me with massive elongated fingers.

I was shaking like a leaf as I walked the short distance at eleven the next morning and I was sure she would hear the sound of my heart thumping long before I rang the doorbell. I saw her silhouette through the frosted glass of the door, the mass of hair, the waif-like waist. Her face was a picture as she opened the door and I think she was genuinely more surprised than I had been.

She opened her eyes wide and then narrowed them. She took a step back and closed the door once more before slowly opening it and peeking around the corner. This time she shook her head. "Definitely him!" She opened the door wide and smiled. "So young Josh, who is stalking whom, eh?"

All I could do was shrug. "Small world!"

She held out a hand as she had done at the gallery. "It is indeed. Well, that's a surprise I wasn't expecting. Anastacia Keltner, as I suspect you well know."

I took hold of her slim fingers, marvelling at the delicacy of them and the beauty they produced. "Josh Adams."

She laughed. "As I believe I well know too. Welcome, Josh. Please come in." She kept hold of my hand as she led me inside. Already I could see things she had changed from the Metcalfe's days. Nothing so strange as the once familiar.

In the end, I was there for over three hours. There was no mention of my visit to the gallery other than to say I had enjoyed it, so Trix must have been good to her word about it being a secret. Either that or Anastacia was extremely discreet. I was impressed with the detail she had gone into and of course her sketch designs for what she wanted were exquisite. I watched in awe as she drew at lightning speed what I would take hours to do. Even her hedges and fences looked sinuous and flowing and it didn't take much of a leap to imagine her drawing Trix in action or those languid tongues teasing swollen nipples.

Somehow, I managed to keep those thoughts to a minimum, despite being mesmerised by those eyes and the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when it fell across her face. Everything she did had a languid grace to it. Her long neck was adorned by countless leather and copper necklaces and both wrists were festooned with bangles and bracelets of all kinds. A delicate, filigree tattoo was visible just beneath the left cuff of her short-sleeved blouse and I longed to see where it went and if she had any others.

By the end of the session we had a long list of things for me to collect from her account at the local garden centre. She had offered me a daily rate, which was very generous and we agreed I would collect the required materials on the following Monday morning and start straight away. I reckoned two weeks work, which was fine by me and she agreed that ten days would be the minimum she would pay me for.

I was to provide a larger wilderness space for wildlife than the Metcalfe's had, and she wanted me to rip up the paving stones that covered half the area and replace it with real turf and a small pond. The first two to three days would be the worst -- getting rid of the paving ready for the delivery of turf to replace it. It would be hard work, but her ideas were so in tune with what I loved to do, I didn't care.

As I left, I had almost forgotten that I had lusted after her for weeks and that her gallery manager had done wonderful things to me in her private room. At that stage, I had no idea that she had plans for me that went way beyond re-imagining her back garden.

When Anastacia 'Angelfire' Keltner set me up, I took the bait and I took it willingly.

In the end, Trix was right -- let reality happen first, then fantasy might follow.

Chapter 7: Ensnared

The first week was harder than I ever could have imagined. Anastacia had given me a key to a side gate that led to the garden from a path alongside the house. There was a small outhouse at the rear of the kitchen which Mr. Metcalfe had used for bigger garden tools and general overflow rubbish. She was in the process of turning it into a small garden studio, and to my delight had said she was going to name it Metcalfe's Corner. She had already installed a fridge and a workbench in there and she left it open for me during the day so I could get water from the sink or help myself to soft drinks in the fridge.

The paved area seemed to go on forever and couldn't remember it being that big when I helped install it. Not only that, but with Anastacia being at the gallery all day, I seemed to also be in charge of letting delivery men in and helping decorators move furniture. Then the discovery of a wasp's nest in an old dresser Mr. Metcalfe had used for paint and tools didn't help. I arranged for it to be removed humanely, but that delayed things and, on the Wednesday, I found myself working late to finish removing the paved area for the Thursday turf delivery. Each day previously I had finished before she arrived back from the gallery.

I was breaking up the last few slabs when I felt I was being watched. I turned, dripping sweat to see her leaning on the doorpost of her conservatory, much as I had seen her back at the gallery. She held a glass of wine in each hand. She waved me towards her with her head, hair tumbling as she did so.

I wasn't particularly a wine drinker, but I was so thirsty, muddy water would have seemed a treat. I tried to wipe myself down as I walked towards her, but it wasn't going to work. My shirt was soaked and my hair matted to my head.

She handed me the glass. "Thought this might help! Everything's coming along nicely inside and out. Almost done in there, how about you?"

I took a sip, trying desperately not to gulp the whole glass down. I failed and ended up coughing and spluttering, much to her amusement. "Sorry, should have realised wine is not going to do the job. Got a lager if you'd prefer?"

Drying my eyes, I nodded my thanks. She returned momentarily with a fresh glass of wine in her hand and a bottle of exotic looking Belgian beer for me. I might have known nothing would be simple with this woman. What was wrong with a nice cold bottle of cider?

We chatted about how things were going and she was really pleased with my progress. When she left me to finish off my last few jobs for the day, I at last saw off the paved area, the broken slabs now bagged and ready for collection the next day. There was a huge blackened area where the slabs had been and the crows and blackbirds would be having a rare old time given the number of worms I had uncovered.

I finished the last of my beer and headed back towards the house. There was no sign of her, so I tapped the bottleneck against the conservatory doorpost. Her head appeared around the inner door; mobile phone clamped to her ear. She held up a finger and mouthed, "One mo!"

In the end it was more like seven minutes and I stood there dripping and longing for a shower. At last she moved across the conservatory, the glass again full in her hand. She fixed me with those amazing eyes and put her hand on my damp shoulder. "Doing a great job, Josh. Look, sorry but I've got to be in bloody London for the next few days. I'll leave Metcalfe's Corner open for you but I'll lock the inner door. Here's my mobile number, so anything you need, just yell."

We swapped numbers and somehow it seemed nice to have her details in my phone.

She sighed and when she spoke again seemed to be talking to herself rather than to me. "Last time up there then free to spend all my time in this lovely place. Be glad to get shot of the Big Smoke -- been away too long and I feel the need to put down my roots again." She shook her head. "Sorry, thinking out loud! Anyway, what's your favourite drink -- I'll make sure there's plenty in the fridge while I'm gone. Can't have you dehydrating out here." To my discomfort, she gripped my right bicep. "Certainly getting some muscle tone there!"

In the end, it was a relief to get home and get showered. My parents were away for two weeks in Portugal staying with some friends at their villa, Dad recharging his batteries as the current contract wound down before taking on his new apprentice and what we had come to know as the "Posh Job."

I met with some friends from the cricket club in the Green Man, but I wasn't great company and after a couple, I felt my shutters coming down after three hard days. I excused myself to cries of 'lightweight' and as I got home, I saw the proximity light go on in Anastacia's front garden. I knew exactly where the sensors were as I had installed them for the Metcalfe's.

In the semi-darkness, I could see the silhouettes of two women walking down the path, one tall with long dark hair, the other much shorter, her red hair catching the light as she passed through the beam. Anastacia opened the door and ushered Izzy and Josie into her new home and I saw a big three-way hug before the door was closed on my vision.

Despite my new resolution, I did allow myself a little fantasy session as to what may be going on just a few feet away from my bedroom. I have a vivid imagination, but I cannot imagine I came anywhere close to the truth.

The next day I woke late and I was aching all over. I was aware of noise and activity out in the front street and in a sudden panic remembered the turf delivery. I arrived on the scene to find piles and rolls of the bloody stuff, but none of them anywhere near where I wanted them. All I got from the delivery guys were shrugs and blank stares.

My fault -- I should have been there to supervise and it was going to make my work a lot harder. At least I had some cider to help. Not my usual favourite, but it hit the spot and it was better than the wine or the Weissbier Anastacia had given me, which had seemed to keep on fermenting in my stomach all night. Along with the refreshing drinks, Anastacia had left me a pile of towels which were almost as welcome. There was a note to drop the dirty ones in her wash-basket.

Again it was a long day but it was a relief to get the turf down. I had broken the back of it now and the rest should be plain sailing. It also felt like I had broken my own back, and I went into Metcalfe's Corner in search of one last cider before I headed home.

I took a big swig and wiped sweat from my brow. I sat at Anastacia's workbench, trying not to drip sweat onto it even though she had not used it yet. It would be a lovely place to work, overlooking the garden. Looking at the rear of our house, I was delighted to see that I would have a prime view of the scene from my bedroom.

It is fair to say that over the course of the next few hours, my heart would almost stand still on up to a dozen occasions, but it was as I stood to head home that it happened the first time. At first, I thought it was just a scrap of paper tucked into one of the beams above the workbench.

Then I looked closer and realised what I was seeing. It was a simple line drawing, about five inches in height. The subject was a young man, drawn from behind, a sledgehammer raised above his head, hair flopping into his eyes as he hefted it. He was bare to the waist, but I was in no doubt that the subject of the drawing was me. The whole thing was barely a dozen strokes of the pencil, but the way she captured the scene was sheer genius. I wiped my hand carefully and took it down, marvelling at the skill of the woman.

In the top left corner were the words, 'J -- Working Hard.' She had signed and dated it on the bottom right. I turned it over and she had written, "For Josh. A bit of poetic licence with the shirt, but you now own an Angelfire original! Xxx."

I walked back home in a daze. The woman was incredible and I could barely take my eyes off this small scrap of paper as I went up to my room. I put it in my bedside drawer and went back downstairs. I grabbed something from the freezer and stuck it in the microwave and went back up and showered. I was halfway through my moussaka when something hit me. I was sure Anastacia had said she would be locking the inside door between Metcalfe's Corner and the rest of the house, but was my imagination playing tricks on me, or had the door been slightly ajar?

I finished my meal and decided I had best go and check. Earlier on my way back home, I had thought Anastacia was incredible. I was just about to find out that 'incredible' was nowhere near accurate enough a word to describe her.

I felt a strange little chill run down my spine as I opened the door from Metcalfe's Corner into Anastacia's kitchen. My heart was beating fast and I just prayed I didn't bump into anyone. I didn't dare put any lights on and it was past dusk, so it was not easy to navigate my way around the ground floor. Even in the half-light I could see it was a very different place to what it used to be. Gone were the dowdy browns and greens of an elderly couple to be replaced by light colours, straight edges and modern furniture.

I did a sweep of the downstairs and satisfied myself there was no-one lurking in the shadows. I had never been upstairs in the house before -- my chats with Mr. Metcalfe were always in the conservatory or dining room and I always used the downstairs ablutions when needed. My heart was in my mouth as I put my foot on the first step and realised that I was heading not only into the unknown, but into Anastacia's bedroom amongst other things.

I reached the top and it was obvious that hers was the room directly in front of me. That left two others and a bathroom. It was almost a mirror image of our house and what was the equivalent of my room would be away down the hall to the left. I crept on tiptoe wondering what I would find. It was lighter up here with an almost full moon illuminating the scene. To my disappointment, the room was completely bare. Obviously, it could wait until the other, more important rooms were finished. The second was little better. What had been my "old" room before moving into my sister's room was a jumble of boxes, picture frames and general detritus. It was clearly going to take Anastacia some time to sort out her belongings and get things in order.

The communal bathroom was functional, but also mercifully devoid of any intruders. That just left the master bedroom and I reached for the doorknob with a frisson of excitement buzzing through me. I knew what the layout would be -- again a mirror image of my folk's room next door. Half expecting to see her lying there smiling softly at me, I opened the door to see moonlight slanting through the windows onto an empty bed. At least it was empty other than a sheer black robe that was slung carelessly over the bottom rail. Involuntarily, I reached out and took the silky fabric in my fingers, imagining it flowing across her pale skin as her hair cascaded down against the soft material.

To my horror, I found I was kneeling at the foot of the bed holding the fabric to my nose, inhaling deeply. I ran it around my face and took in her scent. The perfumes clinging to it were heady and earthy, but unfortunately there was no trace of her natural scent.

As I was on the floor, I checked under the bed. No bogeymen -- I was clear to go back downstairs, lock the connecting door from the inside and let myself out the front door.

Of course, that was what I should have done. But I was alone in the bedroom of an older woman that I had lusted after and masturbated over for weeks; I couldn't let this opportunity pass. I quickly closed the curtains -- they were thick and afforded an almost complete blackout. I fumbled around in the darkness and found a table lamp on a dresser in front of the window. The light was subtle but was enough to explore by. For good measure I turned on each bedside lamp and began to work out my plan of action.

With a mixture of guilt and excitement, I slid back the first of three large wardrobe doors. The contents were much as I expected - flowing skirts, embroidered blouses, silk, soft leather and satin. My Mum had remarked that she reminded her of a younger Stevie Nicks and certainly in the way she dressed, even my untutored eye could see the similarities. I spent an age touching her clothes, relishing the feel of the soft fabrics and imagining what it would be like to run my hands over them then onto her silky skin.

The second door yielded more gold, with a chest of drawers containing all manner of panties and lacy bras. Again, I was there a long time. The final door hid what I took to be her winter clothes and whilst I didn't want to wish the summer away, if these were the boots she would be wearing when it got colder, bring it on. There were at least a dozen pairs and if I had been getting more than a little aroused in going through her clothes, the feel of the leather of what immediately became my favourite pair had me straining at my shorts as I nuzzled the soft leather to my lips and nose.

There were long heels on them and laces all the way up the front of the dark, gunmetal-coloured leather. They obviously went up past her knees as there was a little turn-up over the knee-roll which reminded me of Pirates of the Caribbean. I now imagined her lying on the bed, toying with herself wearing nothing but those boots and I could see the outline of my erection against my shorts as I slid the leather across my groin area.

I worked my way around the room taking in her racks of necklaces and bangles -- hundreds of them in all shapes, materials and sizes. There were wide-brimmed hats, thick leather belts and another collection of shorter ankle-length boots. All in all I was going to be in for a treat living next door to Anastacia Keltner. Every naughty little fetish I had seemed to be catered for in her wardrobe.

There were only her bedside cabinets left now and if I had hoped I may find something naughty and revealing about her in there, I was not disappointed. In fact, I hit pay-dirt.

The first drawer revealed nothing but a single, small blue vibrator. Again, before I knew what I was doing, I was inhaling deeply. This time I was rewarded with a pungent aroma and I thought I would come on the spot as I got my first, heady whiff of her natural scent. I licked at it before closing my mouth over it and sucked hard. In my dreams, I was a well-endowed stud and she was flooding into my mouth -- in reality I was sitting on the edge of her bed, sucking one of her vibrators like the sad little boy I was.

I dried it on my shirt and put it back in the position in which I had found it and opened the second drawer to find a jumble of sex toys that had me open mouthed in astonishment. There were all sorts of vibrators and dildoes in there and there were various other things I didn't know the usage of. I snapped photos of those ones and much later that evening I went through them on my phone gallery and compared them to a mail-order sex shop site. By then I knew that Anastacia Keltner liked nipple play, butt plugs, pussy pumps and handcuffs.

My mind in a whirl, I made sure that everything was as I had found it and made to go back home. It was going to be a long night. Maybe I could take one pair of her panties? Even better -- I could try the wash-basket in the kitchen on my way out.

But I never got that far. As I reached for her silken robe for one last feel, it slid onto the floor. I bent to pick it up and noticed that it had been covering something on the bed. I carefully replaced it on the bedpost and leaned down to investigate what it had been hiding.

It was a large, leather-bound ledger, about eighteen inches square and very deep. It was ring-bound and I could see dozens if not hundreds of sheets of fine art paper between the covers. A single word adorned the leather in silvery text. 'Sketchbook.'

With my heart in my mouth, I settled down on the bed and opened the cover.