The Architect

He needed a walk. The stuffiness of the office had finally got to him. The last client had been on the phone for an hour and a half, picking over every single detail of the design, despite the fact that they had already discussed the timber framed staircase in full the previous day. It was lovely to be able to develop a home for someone but he sometimes wished that the people that he was designing for were a little more creative themselves.

Thank goodness he lived so near to places of natural beauty where he could just walk away and be with himself and his thoughts, shutting out the rest of the world and simply enjoying the freedom of his own creativity.

He climbed the hill, towards the copse and walked swiftly through the woods and down to the beach on the other side. The tide was out and there were still people amusing themselves in the eclectic way they do at the seaside. A few children were splashing around in the sea. Two youngsters were engrossed in pool-life spotting, darting around from discovery to discovery, sharing their finds with wide open mouths of astonishment at the extent of life forms they were finding. Their mother looked on in satisfaction.

Two twenty somethings were lying together. She was resting her head on his stomach, whilst he read from a book. Was he reading to her or silently absorbing the words in the way that she was doing with the rays of the sun? They looked relaxed, together and within their own space.

Old Henry was there with his dog, not on the beach due to the seasonal canine restrictions; a heavy price for Blue Flag status for local dog owners. It didn’t really seem fair. He sat on his folding chair, viewing the scene before him and waved a glimmer of recognition to the local architect as he passed.

A woman was having a heated discussion with someone on her phone. Did people never switch off? Couldn’t they just come along to the shore and click the ‘off’ button on their damned phones just for once? Was she working or having an argument with her lover? He wasn’t near enough to tell, and besides, he had come here to be alone; alone with the waves and the sun and the warmth and the openness.

Having walked the length and breadth of the beach, he climbed to the terrace where he knew a friendly face would serve him his afternoon tea; iced tea today for the heat of the day was still very much in existence and he fancied something cool and refreshing.

He loved this cafe. It wasn’t like other seaside cafe’s. There was no large advertising of local ice-cream, though they sold it. There were no smells of fatty foods cooking, although they had a decent range of snacks available for the beach dwellers. But best of all was its setting, carved out of a natural cave in the sandstone with an arched decking that was terraced and rounded to disguise its unnaturalness. And there were settees; proper relaxing seats for the visitors, with cushions. None of your plastic chairs here.

He sat with his tea and looked at the other customers; the usual crowd of holidaymakers delighted at this curvaceous cafe, all involved in conversations of sorts. And then he noticed a woman at the far end of the terrace with a sketch pad on her lap, pencil in hand, looking down to the young couple on the beach.

He noticed how she watched them, moving her head slightly as she did, surreptitiously marking her paper with a defining line here and there, almost subconsciously whilst maintaining a dual glance at both subjects and her own artwork.

He gazed at her for the entire length of his tea. She was so absorbed in her work that she did not notice his fixation.

She was about his age, tall, slender, blond with cropped hair that defined her elegant features so beautifully. But it was her eyes that drew him. They were startling; so focussed, so determined to capture every essence of the people she was drawing, darting around and yet simultaneously staring. How did she do that?

Every so often she would turn the page, as though she was doing two drawings at the same time. Perhaps she was. Perhaps she was also looking at the woman with the hysterical phone conversation. It sounded as though that was becoming quite heated now, but looking once more at her gaze, he was confident that her only interest was in the young couple whose bodies were semi-entwined.

His curiosity overwhelmed him and he was keen to view her sketches. He finished his tea and meandered over to the railing that gathered the end of the terrace together. He leant over and looked at the beach, deliberately standing in her way. He then turned with both hands on the metal rail, observing the fullness of his handiwork. He was rather proud of this unique design of his. It had really worked.

Noticing her slight irritation, that he had deliberately induced, he politely apologised and moved to the side. She smiled her gratitude and continued with her work, only she was now looking at the architect too.

He resolutely stood his ground, as though in battle. He was determined to see what she had drawn.

“Beautiful day!” he said. “Perfect light for work?”

“Yes it is” she responded. “Just sketching really but it is quite a spot for observational artistry!”

He decided to be forthright.

“Your glass looks as though it has been empty for some time. Your subject matter must be engrossing. Fancy another?” he said with a beautiful smile.

She looked up at him and he suddenly felt as though he too was a subject of work consideration rather than a human being with a friendly and courteous offer of a drink. How strange!

She eventually returned the smile. “I would love one please; an espresso?”

He wandered back to the cafe and ordered two, returning swiftly to his new acquaintance. He placed the coffees on the table and extended a hand of greeting.

“Cam. My name is Cam. Cam Leaworth”

“Pleased to meet you, Cam. Jenny. Jenny Dale”. She took his hand and comfortably shook it.

“Are you responsible for this place?” she asked.

“I’m impressed” he said. “How on earth do you know?”

“It’s an unusual name. I noticed it as I was walking through the High Street. Not sure why but it just stood out. Mind you the office stands out, your office that is. It caught my eye; a beautiful front. And then I noticed the engraving in the rock at the side of the cafe. Subtle, but I noticed it nonetheless.”

He laughed with embarrassment.

“It’s supposed to be so subtle that people don’t notice. My little voice of egotism; just a small signature as part of the price of the design. I want to live forever somehow!”

“And why not?” she said. “All artists, whatever their field should mark their work and be recognised for their sensibilities. I would never dream of selling some of my work without signing it. I actually want people to know who I am, what I do, and yes, live forever too in my creations”.

Cam sat down nervously. For some reason he was really embarrassed by Jenny’s discovery, and yet, why should he. As an architect, as a designer, surely he was as entitled to mark his work in the same way that an artist or a photographer marks theirs.
Jenny was correct.

She put him at ease and they ended up talking seamlessly for half an hour. He discovered she was from London and was touring the area as preparation for a new exhibition she was mounting later in the summer. She had been approached by a studio in Limehouse that was re-launching and had specifically requested some of Jenny’s work. She wanted to have something quite different to show and thought that reflective summer scenes were the order of the day, though her specialism was people. What she wanted to do was capture the ease and contentment of the summer sun without necessarily popping a great ball of orange in the corner of her pictures. She wanted the magic of the summer to be seen in the form of relaxed bodies at one with themselves and possibly others too.

This was an open invitation for Cam to be bold and ask about her current subject matter. He looked down to the couple who had now moved and were gathering their belongings together for a swift exit from the beach.

“Were they interesting? Did you capture their mood today?” he asked.

“I think so” she said, and promptly showed the current sketch to him, with the woman’s eyes closed in contemplation as her partner read from his book. The curves of the bodies fascinated him; so defined, so light. He loved curves.

He stared at her work for a long time, saying nothing. The youthfulness had been captured for sure. He noticed how Jenny had drawn the roundness of the young woman’s breasts as they surreptitiously escaped from the vest that she was wearing, but it was so subtle and yet so perfect. He looked at the way she had formed the legs, arched with a delicate etching of the foot as it slid into the soft sand. In fact, the foot itself seemed to capture the real essence of the summer, irrespective of the rest of the picture.
He commented as such and saw that Jenny was radiant in his observation.

“Is this the only one?” he sneakily asked.

“Yes” she said. “I’ve just been concentrating on them. Goodness knows how they would react to this rather intrusive voyeurism if they knew”.

“And what have you ascertained about this couple?” he asked.

She looked at him suspiciously but somehow decided this was a man to be trusted, she thought.

“They are together, emotionally. I would say that they had been together for a year or so. She’s a teacher and he is an architect!” she laughed. “They live near here and have escaped for a few hours. They make love frequently. You can tell by the way they mould their bodies together. There seems to be balance in them. I like that. And yes, they epitomise the freedom of the sun”.

Cam knew that there was another picture, looming beneath the one that he was viewing. He could see the faint outline but Jenny was not forthcoming, and he decided not to pursue it.

“I am so sorry. It is getting late and I have disturbed your work for too long. I have another client coming to the office in half an hour so I had better get moving. It’s been lovely to meet you, and good luck with the exhibition”.

“You haven’t disturbed me at all. I’ve enjoyed our chat, and I’ve enjoyed sharing my work; not something that I usually do so early in the proceedings” she said.
“It’s been good” and with that she extended her hand to him.

“Oh and if you are in London over the summer, do drop by to the exhibition. I’d like you to see the finished product of those two” she said as she nodded her head towards the couple who were now walking hand in hand off the beach.

“Listen” he said. “Are you staying in town? I’m free in a couple of hours and I would really love to talk some more. This has been too brief. And it is always good to discuss art with a fellow artist”.

“I’m staying at the Hillcrest. Why don’t you come over for a drink after work?”

He smiled and walked back to the office, having agreed to meet in the lounge that overlooked the estuary.

...........................................................................................................

The next client was far more agreeable than the phone call from the Stairs man earlier in the day. This woman, another elegant lady of similar age to himself, had recently come into some money and wanted a complete overhaul of her downstairs accommodation. She liked the idea of a totally open plan living space, with a study off the main room as the only boxed off area – apart from a downstairs toilet and wet room. She had decided on a sloped roof of glass and full floor to ceiling glass doors out onto a terrace designed with three cascading and connected water features. She had also requested a rounded work surface in the kitchen; something that very few people requested but automatically engaged this particular architect. He loved curves wherever they were.

The phone rang. It was Gemma.

“Good day?” she asked.

“Wonderful day” he responded. “James Allcock came back again to nearly ruin it with yet another new design feature to add to his already over complicated stairwell but then I went for a walk and cleared my head and things got steadily better from there.”

“Good” she said. “I like you being clear-headed. I like that you manage to maintain that and know when the time is right to just switch off. When are you finishing? Can I phone you later this evening?”

“Yes, later. I’m actually going out for a drink in a short while, and will possibly go for a meal as well.”

“Okay. Anyone I know?”

“No”

“Well have fun and I will catch up with you later”.

“It’s an artist, Gem. A travelling artist. She draws bodies. She’s good!”

“Okay”

“She’s warm and interesting. She has a very good eye for human form”

“Tell me more?”

“I will. Later.”

“Bye gorgeous. Enjoy”

“Will do. Oh Gemma? What are you wearing?”

“Jeans, white t-shirt, blue scarf..........”

“And?”

“Your favourite pair – the black lacy ones with the shiny bottom. Have fun tonight!”

........................................................................................................

Cam locked up and made his way towards the Hillcrest. He actually liked this hotel more than any other in the town. It was the bay windows really; more curvature and he loved to sit here just looking out over the town and across the estuary. He often chose to take clients here when he really wanted to win them over. It was the icing on what he hoped was his already immaculate and professional cake.

Jenny had changed into a full length white skirt with a laced bolero over a white vest. She looked stunning, and fresh. He was delighted to see that she seemed to have a couple of sketch books with her. Perhaps she was going to share her work with him.

He walked towards her and she stood up as he approached. He took her arm and gently kissed her on the cheek. She responded with a smile.

“Drink?” he asked

“I think it is my turn” she responded. “Wine, beer, G&T?”

“I think I will go with the last option please – ice and a slice too.”

She returned with two tumblers half full of alcohol with a tonic bottle between them.

“I fancy the full force of the gin this evening” she said, laughing aloud and popping her head to one side.

“Good for you” he said. “Me too!”

And so the evening began. And so it continued. They talked effortlessly about all manner of subjects from philosophy to art, including the philosophy of art. He explained why he had decided to live in this place, what it meant to him, how he loved to escape into himself and nature, what he wanted to do once he retired, how he intended to fulfil himself with all the reading and writing that he had postponed for way too long. He discussed with her his ambition to set up a trust for those who would benefit from a financial support as they developed their own creativity. He explained the apprenticeships that he had developed within the company that bypassed the usual mechanisms for becoming an architect. She talked about her personal journey through life; her career as an art historian and how that developed into becoming a full time artist.

They talked about places they had visited in Europe and further afield. She mentioned her love of South America, and how she hoped one day to have a house in Bolivia. It was her place where she felt more at one with herself than anywhere else in the world. He talked about Africa; about the setting suns and the smell of reality that he felt there.

She drank rather a few too many and so by the time they departed to the Amelie Bistro, she needed a helping hand to guide her along her first tentative steps. They laughed and smiled together as they walked the short distance and found a table by yet another bay window.

He noticed that she clung affectionately to the two sketch books that she had with her, holding them like a cared for child, reluctant to allow them to wander off.

After they had finished their whitebait starter, she leant down and placed one of the sketchbooks on the table.

“Open it!” she said, and gently pushed it towards his side of the table.

The first page, as expected, was the drawing of the young couple on the beach with a few additions from what he had seen earlier in the afternoon. Jenny had completed the splay of the woman’s arm, and it certainly did capture the warmth of the day and the total relaxation that this young thing was clearly enjoying. The arm flopped casually and yet protruded out with extended fingers that invited the viewer to look and wonder at just what she was pointing at and why she was so relaxed and calm in doing so. The woman was not looking at anything particular, and yet you were drawn to her hand movement in exactly the same way as you had to her feet diving into the sand; all pointed, extended and yet no sharpness whatsoever.

He studied it for a long time, in silence, perusing the beauty. She did do the bodies justice indeed.

She looked at him as he quietly continued searched every stroke of her pencil to the point of precision that she had manufactured. It was a beautiful drawing.

“But that is not the real story” she said quietly.

He looked up at her questioningly. She nodded down at the sketch as a signal to turn the page.

As he did so, he had a certain tremble of expectation but could not ascertain why but he knew he was about to discover a little more about this beautiful woman in front of him.

The young couple lay in exactly the same position as he had seen them on the beach. Her feet were dancing in the sand as before. Her expression on wonderment was as evident as ever. Her hands were extending above her head and pointing too in the opposite direction to her toes. The man was lying beneath her, with a book in his hand, to the right of his body, displaying his torso, just as he had seen him do so for himself. He followed the lines of the man, something that he had not done previously. He looked towards the head and noticed for the first time a shocking portrayal.

The man was him; Cam, only a version of him that was thirty years younger. It was as though she had surreptitiously sneaked into his house and dug out some old photos. He glared at her in astonishment, and she smiled serenely.
He returned to the picture.

Tracing his younger form along, he came to the woman’s head lying across his stomach. He looked at her face, and colour drained out of him.

It was Gemma.

This woman, whom he had seen with his own eyes and had made no connective recognition with whatsoever, had turned into his lover. He looked once more. It was her delicious hair, her deep and passionate eyes, the shape of her nose, the angle of her chin.

It was Gemma!

Once more he looked over at Jenny in a stupefied amazement. Okay, she could use her imagination to reconstruct his younger form but how the hell had she managed to paint a picture of Gemma.

With the inability to speak he looked towards the drawing once more. He followed Gemma’s head, down her body and saw with instant recognition the folds of her body, the deep colour of her naked nipples, the spread of her fine legs, the dark etchings of her pubic hair, the ampleness of her breasts, the relaxation of her hands as they felt the sand trickling through.
He had made love to this women so many times, and he recognised instantly the post-coital expression on her face, on her body, within her soul.

He looked down at the younger version of his own body and saw his cock, dribbling with exposed seamen, limp after exhaustive fucking, his pubic hairs flattened by passion. He looked again at the book and noticed for the first time, that it was not a book but a magazine with the timid lines of a female body on the pages.

The young couple on the beach had been transformed into two people, basking in the summer sun, having made love. She was pointing to nothing because there was nothing in her mind other than the overwhelming sensation of perfection. Her feet were slipping into the sand as her startled and delighted face was about to slip into a slumber of its own.

“They’re beautiful aren’t they?” interrupted Jenny as his eyes firmly stuck to what he saw in front of him.

“Who are they?” he asked slowly.

“They are whoever you think they are. They are the young couple on the beach. They are you and your lover. They are me and mine, now and then, before and in the future. That is what art does. It searches into your soul. It moves you to an unworldly domain. It matters not who they are but what you see in them, how you interpret their being, and even that doesn’t matter too much either. It is all ephemeral. When you look again, you might see another person, an old lover, a new one. You might see yourself as a voyeur rather than the subject. But what I am sure you do see is a feeling, a passion that in some ways only the nakedness of the body can portray”.

Cam looked at her in silence, inviting her to say more.

“I look at people. I paint them; I draw them – as they are. But what I really like to do is strip them bare so that they can see themselves anew. That we all can. I want to do more but it is somewhat difficult to get volunteers. So I have to imagine. I would love to have asked this young couple to follow me to a deserted part of the beach and strip naked, make love and then lie in the sand, just as I saw them doing. Only what I have done is eliminate time. They made love earlier in the day, I am sure of that. All I did is put their afternoon siesta on the beach into a time immediately after they had had sex, so that I could try and describe through my work the brilliance of the mind and the soul after sex, on a sunny day that shows what summer should be about.

Do you understand?”

Cam was speechless. It was all so beautiful. It was all so surreal and he still looked down and saw himself and Gemma but also now saw the young couple too, and even saw Jenny without the mane of hair that was spread across the man’s body. In his mind, he cropped it for himself and saw her lying there, with the clothes that she was currently wearing, cast aside by her feet. And the man became a woman, and the other body changed to take on a female form, and then it returned to being him. It was him and Jenny lying there. It was the two of them, embracing the sunshine, embracing life.

.........................................................................................

They finished their meal, more silently than before. She had evoked all sorts of thoughts in his mind, simply by undressing the couple on the beach. Not simply really though. He had to imagine too. And imagine he had done so.

Perhaps he was thinking back to Gemma’s panties. Perhaps he was thinking of Gemma’s cunt. Perhaps he was wondering what Jenny’s pussy was like. Had she shaved it in the same way that she had done so with the hair on her head? Did she use those delicate fingers of hers to pleasure herself as she was travelling? Did she fuck herself like Gemma did? Could she bring herself to orgasm with a flood of emotion and moistness? Did he want to find out? Was she wanting him as much as his cock was suggesting he wanted her? Did he really want her just because his cock was erect?

.........................................................................................

They walked back towards the hotel. He reached out and caught hold of her trailing hand, and she smiled up at him. Further along the track, he brought his arm around her shoulder and she reciprocated by folding hers around his waist.

“A night-cap? Or a ..............?” he said.

She laughed quietly, dislodging herself from him and walking up the steps to the hotel.

At the bar, he ordered a whisky for himself and a brandy for her and joined Jenny in the curvature of the window, dressed in starlight that was unimaginably clichéd.

“No sex” she suddenly said. “Not yet anyway”.

He nodded in agreement. At that particular moment, he didn’t want it either. He just wanted to enjoy the fullness of the moment, the anticipation, the excitement. And then all he wanted in a short instance was Gemma; her golden hair, her curved body, her open legs that clambered wide for stimulation.

“I have really enjoyed this evening Jenny. You have opened my mind. I like women who can do that for me. I have loved being with you, talking to you, watching you, watching me as I fell into the imaginations that your drawing opened up”.

“I’m glad that you feel that way!” she said.

“By the way” she continued. “It was you; what you saw in that first instance. I had drawn what I thought would be your face a few years ago. But I have no idea who the woman is. I feel as though I would like to meet her.”

“For what purpose?”

“I think we probably both know the answer to that.”

............................................................................................................

He didn’t call Gemma that night. It was too late really by the time he had got home, and although he wanted her desperately, he also wanted to be free with his own thoughts right now.

It was relatively early in the morning when he reached out and sent her a text.

‘I need to talk to you. Phone me when you can. Missing you. x’

A few minutes passed and the familiar ringtone blasted into life.

“Hello gorgeous” she said. “How are you?”
“Fine” was his response as ever. “Fine”
“How’s your pussy?”

“Oh straight in why don’t you?” she responded, giggling.

“I don’t mind if I do” he laughed.

They talked about some mundane things that never really feel mundane and about the news from France that day: sympathisers with Spain’s failing economy. All manner of eruptions taking place in Marseilles and Perpignan, of all places. They discussed the state of the weather and the patterns of sleep that both had had. They talked about the newspaper article that she had just finished, and he had corrected half way through the night.

And then he told her about his evening.

“She wants us!”

“Us?”

“Now, now, dark one!”

“Just asking!”

“She wants us! She wants to draw us! In my fantasies, I had always envisaged someone taking photographs of us. I had never allowed myself to imagine that an artist would want to sit and draw us!”

“What precisely does she want?”

“Well, Gemma, use your considerable imagination darling!”

He continued and told her about the conversation. Jenny loved drawing people. She had this new exhibition that she had to do some drawings for and the theme was “Summer Enlightenment”. She was going to be one of four contributors and she wanted something different. She particularly wanted to draw bodies enraptured with one another, exacerbated by the freedom of the summer. She wanted to draw people making love, and although her imagination was bloody brilliant and he felt as though she had captured the essence of summer love-making in the drawing of the couple on the beach, she felt that she really needed to see people making love to get the fullness of the image that she wanted to convey.

He told her about the drawing and that he had seen himself and her in an instance. He explained how Jenny had seen it too, in his reaction and how she had suggested to him that perhaps he wanted to see the image of him and Gemma because he really wanted that to happen; i.e that she would watch them as they made love, drawing every step with intricate detail.

He had tried to be coy though he thought that she had recognised instantly his utter desire to fuck in front of an artist.

“So how do you feel about it?”

“You know how I feel about it. Isn’t it along the lines of my very favourite fantasy?”

“Exactly so!” he responded. “I am surprised at myself really as to how excited I am at the prospect”

“Is that to do with your feelings for Jenny too?”
“Partly, though I am not sure whether anything will happen there. I reckon she is probably more likely to want to fuck you, but we will just see; we will go into this without any expectations, other than the utter delight of having someone in the room with us as we make love. Oh and she was quite clear about that. She said she could easily have found a couple of people who would fuck for her. What she wanted was to see the soul of love-making. It had to be, for her, two people who knew each other well enough, had a passion for one another as well as having a passion to display their feelings and would not be intimidated by another human being in the room. I told her that I thought we fitted the bill.”

“And when is this going to happen?”

“Weather permitting............................”

...............................................................................................

Gemma arrived at the station four hours later. As requested, she did not go and meet Cam but walked straight to the hotel where she was greeted by a slightly nervous Jenny immediately.

“I think I am sitting in your window” she said as she moved to take Gemma’s extended hand and a kiss on the cheek.

“Not at all” Gemma responded, “though it is a perfect view from here”.

They talked for an hour about many of the subjects raised between Cam and Jenny the previous night, without getting onto the subject of artistic voyeurism. Finally Jenny brought the conversation to its obvious matter.

“So Cam told you about my request? It may sound very strange and I do hope you didn’t think I was being too forward with your man!”

“He’s not my man” said Gemma. “He’s my special one. Our relationship is special; unique even and I love him dearly but of course I did not think you were being forward. Honestly, even if you were, that is none of my business”

“So have you ever done anything like this before, or is that too forward? Oh my goodness, I am sorry for asking”

“Don’t apologise. If we are going to do this, we need to be open and honest. I need you to know that everything should be spontaneous. I need to know about you as much as you need to know about me. I need to know whether you have done anything like this as well.

“In answer to your question, the answer is no, and yes. We have never made love in front of an artist willing to capture it for us, for you must know that you are doing us a favour as much as we are for you. However, we have had sex in front of other people once or twice but it was quite recreational, I suppose – lovely, different, but not, I think the sort of sex that you are looking for”

“I’ve never done this before”, Jenny announced. “I’ve never had the guts to ask but there was something about Cam that made me do so. Is that okay to say?”
“Of course it is” Gemma smiled knowingly.

“But I have done drawings whilst I have been making love, only it is a bit of a passion killer when your mind is not completely on the job. I have drawn sketches of my partners’ genitalia. I have a strange passion for drawing genitals; male and female”.

“Not strange at all. I have a passion for looking at genitalia, male and female. It is the most beautiful thing in the world; both. In fact, I have a desire to enable women to be more familiar with their pussies. I want to photograph them so that they can see the essence of themselves in the beauty of their form. That is similar to what you are doing in some ways”

“It is, it is!” said Jenny excitedly. “Part of the ‘Summer Enlightenment’ exhibition is precisely that. I want women to know their bodies and to glorify in the magic of summer sex”

“And how will you feel about watching someone else make love? Have you thought about that?”

“Honestly, I think I might be pretty aroused. I confess that I am already feeling a little aroused at the prospect and we haven’t even started yet!”

“And how would you feel if one of us was so aroused by you sitting there with your sketch pad that we invited you in? How would you feel about that?”

“I don’t know” said Jenny. “I honestly don’t know”

“Well, I know that I would be extremely excited” said Gemma. “Obviously, in the first instance you want to capture the love-making, but if you ever feel a need to stop because you are so aroused then do so. Just as we will not hold back with our love-making, then neither should you hold back if you are turned on. Whether you want to masturbate, strip off, join in with him or with me, that is up to you, and I want you to know that both of us will be happy with whatever happens”.

At that point, the architect wandered into the room. He embraced Gemma and kissed Jenny on the cheek.

“Have I interrupted at a vital point?” he asked.

“Not at all” said Gemma. “I was just discussing options with Jenny; ones that we discussed this morning.

“Right then, “ he said “ all good and relaxed.

They talked some more and then the three of them got in Cam’s car and drove off, passed the copse, passed the beach, through the valley and down to the woodland at the bottom of the hill. They walked along the cliff top and dropped down to the bay below. Not a soul was there, other than three excited and stimulated people.

“I’m going to sit here for now” said Jenny.

Gemma had already removed her clothes and was wandering towards the shore. Cam followed her and Jenny already had her first sketch taking form as the lovers silhouetted with their feet in the sea, and Cam’s cock moving into life at the mere tenderness of the touch of hands and the thought of what was to come.

She felt down and took his cock in her hand as he threw his arms around her and kissed her with a passion and desire unadulterated.

His nakedness was so liberating, more so because it was being viewed.

She wanted to kneel down in the water and take his cock in her mouth. That was part of their love making, though she thought Jenny might want something more serene. So they walked back up the beach and lay down on the mat that Jenny had graciously provided.

He moved around so that Jenny had a great view of their bodies, so that she could capture every curve and every movement of their vital parts. He felt his fingers sliding towards Gemma’s cunt as she opened her legs a little wider to invite them in.

They were then almost oblivious to Jenny’s presence, right up to the point when Gemma climaxed and the artist let out an astonished gasp at the gush of cum from her cunt.

“Sorry!” said Gemma “ I should have warned you”

She looked across at Jenny, who was still open-mouthed but was clearly hugely excited at what she had just witnessed.

“I wasn’t going to interrupt but what the hell was that?” she cried

“That’s my baby – gushing like a real woman!” said Cam.

“And it’s cum?” said Jenny.

“Yes it is” said Cam. “And there’s more where that came from”

He opened Gemma’s legs once more and started to feel once more into her body, stroking her clitoris, fingering her g-spot until he knew that he could withdraw and allow more cascades to come from her body. And then he drew himself onto her, fitting his cock firmly into her wetted cunt, and made love to her with the full knowledge that every movement was being watched and caught by this most generous of ladies.

They both climaxed with a simultaneous eruption, and lay there, side by side, allowing the physical

bond to run its course through their bodies. Oblivious once more to their voyeur they spooned

themselves together and drifted into an afterlife.

Jenny was being uncontrollably professional, though her whole body was conveying a far more

pressing desire. Her body was responding in deep fascination to these people bonding in the way

that they were, and it was not long before she felt herself shifting around, trying to eradicate the

feeling of desire.

“Spontaneity!” called Gemma from her slumber.

And Jenny laughed.

The architect smiled as his cock raised once more and he dreamed of a Limehouse studio that

needed a visit in the not too distant future.