Telling Tales

"It's the other times that matter. Like now."

"You really do fancy your chances, don't you?"

"Shouldn't I?"

"Well there's nothing more of me to see. And nothing more to feel, the way you dance. So why bother?"

"Because I'd be doing you a favour."

"Oh! right. And just how does that work?"

"Think of the oldest person you have had sex with."

"And...."

"I bet I'm older. So here's a chance to rewrite the record books. And restore your faith in growing old at the same time."

"That has got to be the worst pick up line I have ever heard!"

"See! You've only just met me and a record has already gone."

"Get out of here!" Sara laughs.

_________________________

Half an hour later, Emily wanders over to tell Sara she is leaving. They engage in a deep kiss that causes a few of the hopefuls to stop chatting and tune in. Then, with an audible 'pop', Sara lets Emily's tongue escape.

"Give me a call tomorrow, kid, and let me know who got lucky! Unless of course, you are coming with me."

"Nuh- I can do that anytime. There's too much new stuff around here."

Hope among the 'new stuff' rises collectively. Except for Winston, who finds his way to her and says, "It's all a game to you, isn't it?"

"Really?"

"Of course it is. When did you and her scheme that up?"

"In bed last night! Right after our third time!"

"See, you are doing it again. But the truth is you will probably go home alone. Just like all the other times."

"Haven't you changed your tune. Earlier tonight I was at your mercy. And about to embark on a seedy career to satisfy your creative itches."

"And you still will. Because I don't think we are all that different. Except for that last yard. I go it. You want to, but don't know how."

"So now I'm a prude."

"No, but something is holding you back. A false sense of loyalty perhaps, or maybe just a lack of opportunity."

"You'd be surprised."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"You know what I don't like about you? You've know me for five minutes, and you think you have me figured out."

"And what do you like about me?" he asks.

"Let me think. It can't be your youthful good looks. Or your modesty. Nuh, in fact, I can't think of anything."

"See, that's why you are just going to use me," Winston says, without waiting around for her response.

__________________________

Sara's choice, when it comes, surprises everyone in the group. One minute she is there, larger than life; the next she is at another table, chatting animatedly with four young men no-one recognises. In no time she is sitting on the lap of the youngest one, and sampling the range of vodka cruisers strewn about the table. They clear a small area, which fills with a assortment of money. Some serious counting and bartering ensues, before an agreement is reached that allows one of them to scoop up the cash and proceed to the bar for drinks to take away.

While he is at the bar, Sara goes to the phone in the hallway and makes a brief call, before returning to her art group amid a few heckles.

The young man's return is greeted with a loud cheer. Not long after, his friends rises, scull what is left of their drinks, and leave.

"Thought you were getting greedy for a moment," someone in Sara's group teases.

"Then you thought right!" she replies with a wicked smile.

They are still speechless long after she has left the club and hopped into the waiting car.

"So where do we go to pick up your friend?" asks the driver.

Sara untangles herself from guys in the back long enough to say, "She's right behind us!"

___________________________

It is a routine Emily and Sara have down pat since their university days, when as bi-curious students, they first found each other. Then they proceeded to do the impossible and remain friends long after other acquaintances took over.

It always starts out with one keeping an eye on the other. More often than not, the tail, as they decided to call her, has done little more than retreat discretely when it became obvious she would not be needed. On the occasions a rescue seemed in order, it has usually been Sara bailing out Emily, by far the more adventurous of the two.

What is going on now has Emily a little concerned.

For a start the phone call gave little away. Her best bet is that Winston has got up Sara's nose, and true to form, she has done the opposite by being seen leaving with the youngest guy she could find. The trouble is, Sara has done little to discourage his mates. Which means that at some time, Emily will have to crash their little party.

As they take a surprising turn at the roundabout, Emily brings her car closer, and notices Sara glance back to see if she is still behind them.

"Where are you guys heading?" Emily says aloud, to herself.

Soon they begin to speed up. The street lights become few and far between, and Emily drops back to make her presence less noticeable. Way up ahead, she sees police lights flashing. 'Damn! Not a random breath test station!'

She slows a little more. 'How many have I had?' she thinks. 'Two, or was it three?'

As she gets closer, her spirits improve when she notices a few cars are allowed to drive straight through.

'Don't pick me! Don't pick me!' she pleads. The car Sara is in slows right down, before being waved through by an officer wielding a torch. Then he turns to Emily, shining the beam directly into her face. A moment later he points her to the side of the road.

"Bloody sexist pig!" she utters, before helplessly watching the car with Sara drive off into the night. The last thing she sees is Sara looking back, and some guys'arms appearing from the windows to wave to her.

"No!" Oh no! Sara!"

_________________________

The two forlorn figures sitting on the steps of Sara's house are watching the first rays of a new morning when the car pulls up outside. Sara half stumbles out, carrying her shoes and hand bag.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, when the car has driven off.

Emily is the first to answer. "I was sick with worry when I couldn't find you, so I came back here and waited. I don't know what his story is."

For once, Winston is lost for words.

"Well? I haven't got all night," Sara says, staring at him.

"Hate to tell you this, Sara, but you haven't got any night left. So unless you have got something you want to tell me, I'm out of here," Emily says.

"Not this time. Are you taking him with you?"

"Nope, I think he is your problem."

"Thanks a lot."

The girls embrace, and Emily drives off up the road.

"Now you!" Sara says, turning to Winston. "Shouldn't you be somewhere else, like in another city."

"I should," he replies, the old bravado coming back, "but we have some unfinished business. And you left owing me a cup of coffee."

"When I left, a cup of coffee seemed furthermost from your mind."

"Well that's a matter for conjecture, but I'd rather not debate it out here. Are you going to let me in?"

"I'm tired and sore. And in no mood to stand around out either. SO I guess it's a yes."

Once inside, Sara points him in the direction of the kitchen.

"You'll find everything you want there."

"Well, not everything. How about you? Do you want me to make you one too?"

"I'm going to have a shower. I'll grab mine later. Oh- and the phone is over there. You can call for a cab."

"Sounds like it might be a very long shower."

"No- your's will be a very quick cup of coffee!"

__________________________

Sara is under the cool spray when she senses another presence in the bathroom.

She turns to face the screen door, but sees no-one. Peering out, she sees that the bathroom door is still closed.

'Silly me!' she thinks and turns again, once more enjoying the refreshing spray of water on her face.

This time, the sound of the screen sliding in its track is unmistakable.

She freezes, still facing the wall, as a large arm reaches past and takes the cake of soap from the holder.

"When I'm tired and sore, I would love for someone to do this," Winston says.

Sara tries to turn, but is stopped by his firm grip.

"No! Stay like that. And relax."

He takes the cake of soap and more firmly than she ever thought could feel good, begins to work it over her back.

"Careful!" she utters, as it trails the length of her spine, and up again, pressing into her shoulder blades.

"One of your sore spots, eh?" he asks.

"Yes. And in case you are wondering, I've had it for ages."

"I don't ask."

"Good, 'cause I don't tell."

"But you do though. In your art. As a model. In your journal."

"How did you know about..."

"Lucky guess. Or maybe I was just hoping."

"You will never see it."

"Until it suits you. But that's not important. The fact that it exists confirms that you are as interesting as I hoped." "Are you all done?"

"Unless you want me to do the front."

"As long as you understand. Nothing is going to happen."

"Don't flatter yourself. My interest is long term. And becoming more business than pleasure by the minute."

"Glad to hear it," says Sara, quickly spinning to face him. As she does so, she brushes his semi-erect penis.

"Looks like everyone doesn't agree"

"Take no notice." With that he starts on her front. "What do you most like about yourself?"

"Do you mean physically?"

"That will do for a start."

"I don't know. Maybe my neck. Or my boobs. They seem to get plenty of attention. Why?"

"Because I just realised something."

"What?"

"It's your mouth. You have the most amazing mouth."

"Why, thank you. I think!"

"You do. God, when I get to paint you again, I hope I can do it justice."

"I've never considered it anything special."

"It is. Look." He reaches for her face. A little startled, she puts her hand on his. His fingers trace her lips to the side of her mouth. "The way it turns down at the sides. It means that any emotion is always there to be seen. And captured in a painting."

"So how am I feeling now?" Sara says, drawing his hand away from her mouth to give him a better view. "I don't know. Not happy. Not sad. Not really here, perhaps."

"Is that an emotion?"

"Guess not." "It doesn't matter. Fact is, it's what you think." With that she returns his hand to her mouth, and lightly kisses it.

"Now?"

"You didn't mean that. So the answer is still yes."

"How about now?" She takes one of his fingers, and ever so slowly draws it into her mouth."

"Means nothing."

With that, Sara reaches down with her free hand and takes hold of his now-hard cock.

"So how do you explain this?"

"I guess I just enjoyed my work as a masseur."

"Me too," she says, leaning to him until their mouths are almost touching.

"So you like my mouth, eh?" she whispers into his.

"Mmmn," he says, before being cut off as their lips touch.

The fire in the kiss that follows almost hides the sensation of her hand stroking him.

"I think you are starting to like me," he says, when they part.

"Don't be so sure it's not just this I have taken a fancy to!" Sara teases, and squeezes a little harder, before releasing him.

"I'd settle for that!"

"Of course you would. You're a male."

"That's a bit harsh," he laughs.

What follows is one of those defining moments, of which Sara has had more than a few.

A moment to step out of the shower and make good her escape. Or a moment to be draw deeper into the intrigue of where this might end.

Sara chooses the latter.

"You know we are not going to fuck," she says, as she takes him in her hand once more. "Not this time."

Epilogue

A few months later Sara had an exhibition in a major gallery down on the coast. On the weekend, I packed up my car and headed off to fulfil a promise made long ago.

When I arrived at the gallery, a strange fear came over me, and I waited across the road in a nearby park. Around lunchtime I saw her come out of the building with an older man whose identity I could only guess at. They stopped a moment, before she reached up, and kissed his cheek. Then she was gone, and the man was left staring at the spot where she had stood.

Gathering up my breath, I wandered over to the gallery and into a journey I knew the start of. The first few pieces brought back fond memories.

"That's my favourite," I said aloud. An attendant came over- to shoosh me, I was sure- but instead asked, "Do you know Sara's work?"

"Some of it," I replied. "But not the most recent stuff."

"You'll be surprised then. It's so different to this. And better, if I might say so."

She was right, of course. The new work had an edge I had never seen before. Gone were the watercolours and the charcoal, to be replaced by bold animated pen and ink sketches of surreal characters, their sexuality laid bare. A few cartoon-like series told little stories of voyeurs and infidelity, of exhibitionism and truth. An hour later, I reached the end, to find a collage depicting pages from a journal, with handwritten text and sketches, strewn about chaotically.

Just then, a familiar voice echoed from the entrance, and I quickly swept up the visitor's book and took it behind a pillar. There I slipped an envelope containing this story inside it.

Minutes later, I replaced the visitor's book, and left, without saying hello, or goodbye.

I didn't need to.

If Sara was ready for the missing stories to be told, she would find me at my motel room later that night.