Story discussion: January 28th 2007 "Pictures from an Exhibition: Ben" by SimonBrooke

[SimonBrooke]

Story discussion: January 28th 2007 "Pictures from an Exhibition: Ben" by SimonBrooke

This is where I'm supposed to write a 'hi, this is who I am' message, but I'm actually not very good at those. I'm 51, male, straight. I've always wanted to be a writer - and indeed, I've always written - but I've never had the courage or self confidence to submit anything for publication.

My resolution for this year is to change that. I have two (mainstream-ish) novels both in an advanced state, and I'm determined to try to get one of them accepted by a publisher this year.

The piece I'm asking you to review isn't one of them, however. It's one of a series of experimental pieces, which are collectively about an exhibition of erotic art. Two separate pieces, Pictures from an Exhibition: Fiona, and Pictures from an Exhibition: Like a Red, Red Rose introduce the characters of Rhodri, Elaine ('the girl in the Red, Red Rose painting') and Fiona Fraser. Their appearance in this narrative is just a nod to those narratives; you don't need to know anything about those narratives to read this one. They have both been submitted to Literotica last week, but at the time of writing are still pending.

 

[SimonBrooke]

Pictures from an Exhibition: Ben

Furniture: Ben Openshaw

1: Bar

Black-stained oak with leather and stainless steel fittings.

I include the bar as the first item in this collection because it represented, for me, the starting point of this exploration. A couple commissioned me to make them a bar, and showed me a number of drawings and photographs. None were in a modern idiom; the models appeared to be drawn from an ill-informed Victorian image of a medieval torture chamber or else an ill-informed modern image of a Victorian brothel. In short, they were neither elegant nor particularly well adapted to their purpose.

This bar is simply a bar. The subject can place her hands on it, or can be bent over it. Fittings are provided to attach cuffs.

[On loan from the collection of Grahame and Annabel Macintosh]

Inside, the building was airy and spacious, with great curving timbers soaring into the gloom of the roof. Towards one end, in front of floor-to-eaves windows, half a dozen big machines crouched on the wooden floor; in the middle stood an old-fashioned carpenters bench, with hand tools neatly racked at one side of it. Curling shavings lay on the bench and the floor around it, and the air was sharp with the smell of new-cut wood. The old man led the way through the workshop, through a door, into a spacious kitchen. He offered Sheila a seat at an oak refectory table, and put a heavy kettle on the Aga.

He sat down opposite her. "You said you wanted to talk about an exhibition?" he asked, quietly.

"Yes," Sheila took a folder out of her bag and opened it, nervously rearranging papers. "We're planning to hold an exhibition for the end of June, and Mr Macintosh - he's the owner of the gallery?"

A faint question, to check that he understood. The old man nodded.

"Mr Macintosh wanted me to talk to you about it. To persuade you to show some of your work."

"Did Grahame say what work he wanted me to show?"

Sheila blushed, and looked down. "It's... to be an exhibition of contemporary erotic art. Grahame - Mr Macintosh said you made erotic furniture?"

This time the question was a request for clarification, an expression of puzzlement. The old man merely nodded again.

There was a pause, a silence. Sheila let it draw out, hoping he'd say something. He surprised her on so many levels, as he sat, weather beaten, white haired, in his generous kitchen. A big old man. A man who'd been powerful, but now was fining down with age, becoming slightly gangly, slightly ungainly. His grey eyes behind their rimless glasses looked back at her calmly. Sheila let the silence grow, hoping to provoke him into saying something; but when at last he did speak it was in response to the now-boiling kettle. Would she have coffee, or tea?

She asked him for tea, and he made it in a pot - a beautiful, hand thrown pot, with a rich temmoku glaze - which looked small in his big, square hands.

"You want furniture for an exhibition in June," he said, quietly, offering her a mug.

"Yes," said Sheila, sounding uncertain in her own ears.

"Who else is showing?"

"We aren't inviting any other craftspeople," said Sheila, still too tentative. "It will be mostly paintings and photographs. Rhodri Morgan is in, for certain."

The old man smiled. "How many pieces would you want?"

"How many could you let us have?"

He sat back, thoughtfully. Somewhere through an open door, an old clock ticked slowly. "I've a couple of ideas I'm working on," he said. His voice was soft, but clear and decisive. "And Grahame has a couple of pieces of mine, if he'd be prepared to lend them. Six or eight, I think - depending on how much room you have."

"I'll need to talk to Mr Macintosh, but I'm sure we'd love to have the pieces."

There didn't seem anything more to say. The craftsman didn't speak. Again the silence stretched. Sheila sipped her tea. She looked round, restively.

"It's a beautiful house..."

He smiled. "My wife and I built it to retire to."

"Your wife..?"

"Died," he said, quietly.

"Oh, I'm sorry!"

"It's... a long while ago. It is a good house."

-----

"So what did you make of Ben?"

Sheila laughed. "He wasn't what I expected."

"In what way?"

"He isn't doing this - he isn't making furniture for money, is he?"

Grahame laughed. "Oh, heavens, no. He was an engineer... he used to design aeroplanes before he retired. This is... almost a hobby."

Sheila nodded, slowly, as if understanding something. "But," she asked, "erotic furniture? I thought he'd be louche. Raffish."

"And he didn't strike you that way?"

"No!" She sounded surprised. "No, not at all. Gentle. Thoughtful. Cultured. Grahame..?"

"Yes?"

"Are you sure this is right? Will his work really stand up, beside Rhodri's and Will's and Genevieve's?"

"What did you think?"

"He didn't show me any."

"Oh," said her employer, clearly surprised. "Yes. Yes, it will."

Erotic furniture? How could it?

-----

2, 3: Dorsal and Ventral Stools

Black stained beech with leather upholstery and restraints.

The bar is a simple device and perfectly functional. However, the posture of the subject is both ungraceful and uncomfortable. It was in considering these problems that I started work on the stools.

The dorsal stool was the first to be developed and is to my mind more satisfactory. Although the subject is supported only under the lumbar region, shoulders and neck, and the back is forced into a slightly arched posture, subjects find it comfortable. Restraint is at least as good as with the bar: indeed, to my mind, the throat strap adds a particular frisson to the restraint. Access for penetration is as good as with the bar. However, the dorsal stool is not suitable for flagellation.

The ventral stool was a development of the dorsal stool to address this issue. It is in fact designed to support a subject in either orientation. This adaptability however leads to poorer comfort for the subject and the additional restraints required to hold the subject in either position detract from the grace of the design. The ventral stool has proved satisfactory both for penetration and for flagellation.

-----

Heather was clattering busily around the kitchen as usual, throwing breakfast together, talking rapidly over her shoulder to Laura, her words lost in the noise of the too-loud radio. Sheila watched them with a mixture of pride and irritation. At least since the issue of the tattoo she could reliably tell them apart - providing they were wearing sleeveless tops, which (of course) they both were. And identically too-tight jeans, with almost identical paint stains on the backsides. Sheila grinned to herself. She'd been so bloody angry with Laura about that tattoo, but... it was useful. She reached past Heather to get a coffee mug off the shelf.

"Oh, hi, Mum," said Heather. "Didn't see you were up. Want a bacon butty?"

"Just coffee," said Sheila, pouring herself some. "Would you mind turning that infernal babble down?"

"Mum! It's the news!"

"I just asked you to turn it down. I can't stand John Prescott at this time in the morning. Why can't you be like normal girls and not interested in politics?"

"You wouldn't like it if we weren't," said Heather, reaching to turn the volume down. "Sure you don't want a butty? I'm just going to turn the grill off."

"Just coffee. You know I don't eat at this time... Is Trix down yet? She'll be late for school."

"My name's 'Fiona', Mother. You ought to know that, you gave it to me."

"You aren't even dressed..!"

"Oh, hush, Mother, I've got a study day. I don't have to be in 'till this afternoon."

"You will be able to get in all right, won't you? I won't be able to come back from work to give you a lift, you know."

"There's a bus, Mother. A large motor powered vehicle which perambulates lethargically about the streets, stopping intermittently to take on passengers."

"You have got your phone charged..?"

"Mother dear, I'm eighteen. I can get to school and back all by myself."

Sheila closed her eyes, and took a long slurp of hot black coffee. She shook her head. "All right then, Fiona. See you this evening, don't be late for tea. Come on, twins, I need to go."

-----

4: Rocking chair

Bleached beech.

I had some doubt about whether to include rocking chair (4) in this collection. Again, it represents a satisfactory early stage in the development of a concept, and, indeed, having watched it being used by a number of subjects, I now find it the most erotic item in this collection. However, in the context of this collection it is an anomaly: it is an auto-erotic device, giving the subject control over the depth and speed of her own penetration simply by rocking. The relative innocence of this item is reflected in the bleached finish used.

[Property of the artist; nfs]

-----

"Good day," said the phone, politely, "this is Ben Openshaw's phone. If you are hearing this I must be out. Please leave a message with your number, and I'll call you back."

Sheila looked at the phone with surprise. It wasn't so much surprise that he was out. Anyone could go out. It was surprise that he had anything as modern as an answering machine...

"Oh, Hi, Mr Openshaw, this is Sheila Grinstead from the gallery. We've decided to set aside a room for your work, and I was hoping you could confirm that you will have eight pieces."

Talking to answering machines always felt odd; the impersonal silence at the other end of the line. Had one said enough? Should one sign off in some way? She looked uncomfortably at the phone again, and put it down. She looked down the list to see who was next to call. Oh, Rhodri...

-----

"I thought it was Laura's turn to cook?"

Without the twins, the kitchen was quiet and even spacious. Fiona was making one of her obsessive patterns with slices of pepper, olives and anchovies on a couple of home-made pizza bases, and intermittently pushing the cat off the worktop; the cat didn't seem offended.

"Oh, hello, Mother. Yes, it is, but I got home early, so why not? Besides, if she cooks we'll get some dreadful bean salad thing, and I want real food."

Sheila flipped the kettle on and reached across for a mug. "Had a good day at school?"

"OK. There's really nothing much to do. The swots are all swotting and the lazy arses are all getting themselves into a panic because they haven't done the work, but... There's nothing much to do."

"Trixie, I wish you wouldn't be so arrogant. I know you're clever, but it isn't attractive."

"How many times, Mother?" Fiona banged the oven door open. "I'm called 'Fiona'. Oh, look out, here comes trouble..."

A twin exploded into the kitchen, looking unusually smart and clean - jeans without paint on them, for once. "Hi Mum," she said. She ruffled Fiona's hair. "How's Trix?"

"Hi, Laura," said Fiona, without even looking round. Sheila wondered yet again how she did it. Sheila herself could tell the twins apart, even without that bloody tattoo - but she had to look carefully.

Sheila sighed. "Where's Heather?" she asked.

"Still up at college. Sorting out the sculpture hall for tonight's gig."

"Isn't she going to come home for her tea?"

"No, Mum. Honestly, we aren't children. I only really came back to get clothes for tonight - but yes, Trix, I will stay for some pizza, thanks..."

Sheila pulled another mug off the shelf and poured coffee for Laura. "I thought you were dressed up already," she said. "What are the clean jeans for if not for partying?"

"Oh, Mum, you are so out of it. These... these are for Obi Wan. We'll wear our scruffies for gigging. Want to come, Trixie?"

Fiona pointedly didn't answer. Sheila looked hard at Laura; Laura affected not to notice.

"Laura," said Sheila, "come through to the sitting room a moment."

"OK, Mum..."

They went through.

"Laura, I don't want you taking Fiona to your art college parties. She's got her A levels to do, and she's got to concentrate..."

"You mean you don't like our friends..."

"I don't want her to be distracted. Oh, and tell Heather not to bring David home. If she wants to sleep at his place..."

"Mum, David is so last week..."

"She's dumped him already?" Sheila made a face. "I'm not surprised. But... just don't bring boys home."

Laura looked at her mother, suddenly alert. "You don't want Trixie to get fucked, do you?"

"Laura! Don't use that language in front of me!"

"But you don't, do you?"

"She's too young."

"She's eighteen, Mum."

"I know, but she's a very young eighteen."

"Bollocks, Mum. Just because she's clever. You know, you'd do us all a favour if you would go out and get laid. It's five years since dad left, and you'll wear that vibrator out..."

"That's enough, Laura! I do not use a vibrator!"

"Why do you keep one in your bedside drawer, then?"

Sheila blushed angrily, and changed the subject. "Who's this Obi Wan? Is he David's replacement?"

"Heather can wish," said Laura. "I saw him first. Mum, he is like completely amazing... he's this lecturer we've got for sculpture. He's not a full-time lecturer, he just comes in for this one course. Structures and materials... He does these brilliant things with amazing stuff, like carbon fibre and kevlar and different foams and resins and stuff. And even just wood. He can make like any shape, and he can make things that are so strong you wouldn't believe. And he makes you understand - not just how to do it, but how to choose the stuff you need to make the shapes you want and how to make them strong enough. He's just... a magician. A wizard. He knows..."

"Lou, you're not thinking of sleeping with one of - you aren't sleeping with a lecturer, are you?"

"I wish," said Laura, fervently. "No, I don't think he's interested in... any of us. But there's no harm in trying... You should meet him, Mum. You'd... on second thoughts, no. You're too hot and I don't want any more competition!"

"I'm hot?" Sheila was surprised and distracted.

"Well, you are, Mum. Or you would be if you didn't wear those bloody suits. You should borrow my jeans and a crop-top sometime, or my blue wrap-around."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Laura, I'd never get into your jeans..."

"Bet you would," said Laura, stripping them off. "Dare you."

-----

Sheila was double-checking the accounts for the quarter when the phone rang. She picked it up with a sigh; she didn't like distractions. "Good morning," she said. "New Street Gallery."

"Sheila Grinstead?" A soft, masculine voice. "Ben Openshaw." Divorced from the person, the voice sounded - not younger, but - more timeless, somehow. More authoritative. Still quiet and gentle, but with underlying strength. And humour. "You rang."

"Yes," said Sheila, suddenly flustered. "Yes, the contemporary erotica... I wanted to check you will have enough pieces. We're setting aside a room, and... I wanted to be sure it wouldn't seem empty..."

"I'll have eight pieces."

"We'll need them here in three weeks time. You will be ready?" "I'll be ready."

"Would it be possible for me to come out and see the pieces? It's just that... I want to know how we'll present them. How we'll light them. And I'll need to organise for the photographer to come out and photograph them for the catalogue..."

"Whenever it suits." Such a calm, confident voice. "I'm out on Tuesday mornings, but apart from that I'm free."

-----

5: Rocking chair

Black stained beech with leather upholstery and restraints.

Rocking chair (5) simply develops (4) by adding restraints. Here, while the chair can still be used auto-erotically, there is the potential for a restrained subject to be used in non-consensual ways.

-----

Sheila eased her little car up the track through the beech wood again, and stopped outside the wide open double doors of the workshop. As she got out, Ben came out to greet her. As before, he was dressed in loose, battered denim overalls and an old brown shirt; his white hair fluffy in the sunlight. He was almost intimidatingly big. In his prime, she thought, he must have been a very imposing man.

Inside, standing on the floor of the workshop, was a rocking chair, something which looked like a heavy board on legs with a large, padded pipe through it, an odd sort of bench or stool, and a curious, tall.... thing. Each plainly and simply made, the joints perfect, the surfaces glowing with wax. There was none of the tacky carving that Sheila had been steeling herself for, no carven female shapes. Where there were curves, they were sensuous curves, but most of the lines were straight.

She looked at him, puzzled, and then back at the pipe thing.

"These are for the exhibition?"

"Yes."

"I don't understand. What's this?"

In answer, Ben pulled a bronze rod out of one side of the stand, and the top half of the board lifted, obviously on a spring, taking the top half of the pipe with it, leaving the bottom half open, at waist level. The implication caught Sheila suddenly, shockingly. Her legs trembled. She flushed.

"So the woman..."

"Lie forward on it, on your stomach."

She looked at him, startled, shocked, her mouth dry; her crotch, wet.

"You won't really understand," he said, "until you try it."

'Good God,' thought Sheila to herself as she lifted herself on tiptoe and bent into the cradle, 'I'm going to be...' her first thought was 'raped', and she mentally edited it to 'fucked'. The upper half of the board came down, the pipe held her waist, the bronze pin slid home.

She was trapped.

Silence.

He was on the other side of the board, the side where her legs were, the side where her... her cunt was. She couldn't see him. She couldn't hear him. She tried to twist in the pipe - it was slightly loose on her, made, perhaps, to fit someone slightly larger - but there was nothing to get purchase on. She struggled for a moment, and then lay still, waiting.

Silence.

He need only undo one button, slide one zip. It would take him only a moment. There was nothing - nothing - she could do.

After a very long moment, a hand came to her arse, gently, heavily, not caressing, just lying there.

"Now do you understand?" His voice was calm.

"I understand." Hers wasn't.

The bronze pin pulled out; something in Sheila was disappointed. The pin was pulled out, and the top swung up on its concealed spring, and something - something - was disappointed.

She stood up, slowly, and met his quiet gaze. "I understand."

Later, they sat on more normal stools by the workbench, and drank tea.

"Ben," said Sheila, "I do understand, now. But... how do we make visitors to the gallery understand? It's great craftsmanship, but... when I saw them - when I first came in - they just looked... peculiar. Inexplicable. Their meaning... one needs some help to interpret their meaning. They don't look like I expect erotic art to look. We can't put every woman who visits the exhibition into the stocks..."

"I'd thought about that. Come through."

This time he led her through the kitchen into what she thought might have been originally a dining room. It was dark. Heavy, black curtains were drawn across the windows. Ben flipped a switch, and an old slide projector shone a monochrome image of a naked woman bound to the ventral stool onto a screen of thin white silk. A spotlight from above shone down onto the stool itself, below and in front of the screen.

Ben looked at her.

Sheila nodded uncertainly. "I'll need to talk to Grahame. Do you think the images should move?"

"It's your exhibition."

"I know." Sheila felt immature, inadequate. "I've never done this before - the erotica, I mean. It's Grahame's idea. There's a fine line between... I was going to say erotica and pornography, but it isn't even that. There's a line between what the arts establishment will accept and what it won't." She looked at him, questioningly. She saw he understood.

-----

Sheila stared at the canvas. She mashed a bit of flake white into some burned sienna, not really because she wanted the colour - she didn't know what colour she wanted, she didn't know what to do with the piece - but because that's what painters do. A reflexive movement, a tic.

The house was quiet. The girls were out again - the twins (of course) partying, Fiona at a school friend's. Another six months, and Fiona would be gone, to Cambridge. And the twins? Lou was lazy enough to stay until Sheila threw her out, but sooner or later Heather would move in with one of her men. And in any case, the twins were never in except when there was food on the table. And often enough not even then.

Shelia mashed some veridian into her muddy colour, and stared at her canvas. She had been an artist. She had been good. But... painting is about confidence. Painting is about believing you can. And she didn't. It was five years since her last one-woman show. Two years since she'd exhibited at all. Grahame kept on at her about a new show, and it was kind of him, but...

The gallery was a good enough job. Grahame was an OK employer, and she really liked - she really admired - Annabelle. And she did it OK, and it kept her around artists. But was this all? Was this all there was going to be? Fading into a provincial gallery manager for another twenty years, and then a pension?

Sheila stared at the canvas.

-----

6: Body Stock

Black stained oak and pine with leather upholstery

The classic medieval stocks, in which arms, neck and sometimes legs are immobilised in semi-circles cut out of the abutting edges of two planks, is an extremely effective form of restraint with little or no erotic potential. This item develops the concept. Only the waist of the subject is held, and the lower jaw is substantially broadened to provide support for the abdomen. No other restraints are necessary: the subject is of course free to kick, but this has not been found to be a serious problem in use. The subject may be positioned in the stocks either face down or face up; however, unless the user is several inches taller than the subject, a subject in the face down position may be able to reach the floor with her feet when at convenient height for penetration.

-----

"OK, Sheila, where are we up to with the sex show?"

They were gathered around a table in the back room of the gallery; Grahame and his wife Annabelle - neat, poised, calm, always wholesome-looking - Sheila, and Mary, a student who assisted around the place and just now was taking minutes.

"Contemporary Erotic Art?" said Sheila. "We're on track with the exhibits, but I'm not confident about the hanging, and I'm especially not confident about the opening. We... I mean... If we hang it and light it to make an impact, a lot of people on our usual invite list won't like it; and if we pitch it to raise no eyebrows, it won't sell."

"Fuck that, Sheila," said Grahame. "We need to raise more than eyebrows. We need to get this gallery talked about, otherwise we might as well close it. Can you fix the invite list?"

"I've already started work on a draft; there are about twenty people I think we definitely need to cut, and there are another thirty or so I'm worried about. On the other hand Rhodri's suggested a list of people we haven't invited before."

Grahame looked meaningfully at Annabelle. Annabelle nodded. "There are a few names I could probably add."

"I think we'll be all right, anyway," said Sheila. "Opening nights are often a bit too crowded. The other thing that's worrying me is the furniture."

"Ben's stuff?" asked Grahame.

"Yes, in Gallery Three. I told you about his idea of drapes and projectors..."

Grahame nodded.

"I haven't seen the photographs yet. I mean, our photographer has been up to take the catalogue pictures, that's OK, but I haven't seen the pictures he wants to project..."

"What's the problem?"

"If they're too raunchy," said Annabelle, "we look like a porn house."

"Yes..."

"But?" asked Grahame.

"Well, I am worried about them being too raunchy," said Sheila. "But I'm also worried about them not being raunchy enough. The pieces themselves... aren't very explicit. Until you experience them."

Annabelle looked at Sheila, startled. Sheila blushed furiously, and fiddled with her papers. Grahame looked amused.

"I'll talk to Ben," he said. "I'm sure we can manage something for opening night."

-----

Laura plonked a large bowl of bean salad onto the table, with a thump. "Come on, you lot, sit down. Tea's up." She stirred pesto vigorously into a pan of pasta, and started doling out spoonfuls onto plates.

"Is there any garlic bread?" asked Fiona, sitting down.

"There's plenty of oil and carbs in the pasta," said Laura. "You don't want to get spotty, do you?"

"I'll starve!"

"Eat more beans, then," said Heather, helping herself without ceremony. "Pass that jug of water, Mum."

"Lou, Heather, what are you doing a week on Friday?"

"Busy," said Heather, briefly, her mouth full.

"College stuff," said Laura, no more informatively.

"But in the evening," said Sheila. "I just need someone to hand out wine. The gallery will pay you..."

"Oh, is this your sex show opening, Mother?" asked Fiona.

"Contemporary Erotic Art..."

"Can't," said Laura. "Busy."

"But I thought term ended this week?"

"It does," Heather said. "This is a project for Obi Wan."

"You haven't asked me," said Fiona.

There was a silence. All three girls looked at their mother, expectantly. She looked from one to the other. She took a sip of water.

"Trixie, could you do it? Please?"

"I'm sorry, Mother, I can't. I've already agreed to help the twins."

-----

"I've seen Ben," said Grahame. "We'll do a special show on opening night. We'll make a surprise of it; we won't open Gallery three until eight thirty, and we'll close it sharp at nine."

"Why, Grahame? Isn't the point to allow people time to look at the work?"

"Well, if we make a fuss of it, no-one will leave 'till eight thirty. And what Ben's planning - it will get us bloody talked about."

"So what's the plan?"

Grahame grinned. "A surprise. Those that ask no questions, will be told no lies."

-----

7: Perch, semi-rotary action

Black stained oak with stainless steel fittings, leather upholstery and restraints.

This item represents an early stage in the development of the perch. The perch is relatively low, and the front of the bicycle-saddle shaped seat serves no real purpose. The foot rests make it possible for the subject to get off the perch by herself if her wrists are not restrained. Depressing the foot pedal a full stroke causes the phallus to rotate clockwise 720 against a counter-weight; releasing the pedal causes an anti-clockwise rotation.

-----

"Sheila, where are those bloody caterers? The nibbles aren't here."

"They're late, as usual. Have you got a spare bulb for that spot that's gone in Gallery Two?"

"Oh, not another of the buggers gone? Where? Do we need it?"

"On the A Gender 'bust' piece."

"Excellent! That will improve things."

"Grahame!" Sheila laughed, unwillingly. "Aren't there spare bulbs through in the back store?"

"You can't go in there!"

Sheila looked over her shoulder at him, surprised.

"Why not?"

"Ben's getting his show ready in there."

"But..?"

"Don't ask."

"I don't have time. You go and get the bulb, I'll sort out the wine. The guests will be here in five minutes."

-----

8: Perch, reciprocating action

Black stained oak with leather upholstery and restraints.

Perch (8) develops from perch (7) by eroding the seat to a short padded bar supporting the pelvis with the wrist restraints attached immediately behind this. The ankle braces help the subject retain a comfortable position on the perch without providing footholds by which she can lift herself off the phallus. The action is reciprocating, directly linked to the foot pedal, with the length of stroke adjustable up to a maximum of twenty-five centimetres.

-----

The stream of people through the doors had begun to thin. Sheila looked at Annabelle. "Not a bad turn-out! How are we for wine?"

Annabelle looked under the counter. "Still plenty... we might run out of glasses, though."

"Should I go and wash some?"

"Heavens, no, Sheila. You've put so much work into this, this should be your big night. Enjoy it. I'll get Mary to do it."

"Thank you. It is... beginning to feel like a success, isn't it?"

Annabelle just held up the sale clipboard, which already showed a sprinkling of red dots. They exchanged grins. Another flurry of people came in, and they were busy for a moment handing out wine.

"Have you had a chance to see Ben's show yet?"

"Not yet," said Sheila. "I've been so busy."

"You really ought before it closes. I'll get Grahame to do a turn on the door, hang on."

Annabelle glided away into the crowd. Sheila watched her go, slightly enviously. Annabelle, she felt, was always so poised, so gracious, so cool. A man came up to buy one of the paintings; she took his details, and a deposit, and put another red spot on the sheet. She picked up the matching spot, and looked around.

Annabelle was back; and with her, Grahame, Ben, Rhodri, Fiona Fraser, and the girl from the Red, Red Rose painting. Sheila handed over the desk to Annabelle, and went to put the dot on the painting. She returned into the middle of a conversation.

"I didn't know you did ingenues, Rhodri," said a loud young woman in an over-tight red dress. "Is she a good fuck?"

The rose girl flushed.

"Yes," said Rhodri, surprisingly protective, "she is, actually."

"Don't you feel it's a little desperate," said the red dress, "bartering paintings for sex?"

"It wasn't barter," said the rose girl, firmly, slightly defiant. "The painting didn't happen until afterwards. And... it isn't my painting anyway. It's Rhodri's. And I'm glad he wants to keep it."

"Erotic art is a very intimate thing," Ben said, gently. "You work with your subject. You have to understand your subject's responses."

"Are you saying you fuck your subjects too?"

"To make a piece, one has to understand how it will be used. To make a piece for someone specific, one has to understand what they need from it, how they will use it."

"But," said red dress, "do you fuck them?"

Ben looked down at her, cool and direct. Again Sheila felt his power, his authority. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. After a moment the woman in the red dress turned, and moved away.

-----

"She's taller than me," said Annabelle, softly. "When I'm on it, I'm on tippy-toes."

Gallery three was dim, its white walls and big windows hidden behind black drapes. In that dimness, the white silk banners divided up the space into a semi translucent maze. It was quiet - shuffling feet, murmuring voices. No-one talking aloud.

Here, just inside the door, a spotlight shone down on the bar; and, bent over it, on a young woman wearing opaque white stockings, her bare arse exposed to them. Her exposed skin was covered in white make-up, her hair - her pubic hair – dyed bright, vivid blue. Protruding from her vagina and her anus were the handle ends of two vivid blue transparent dildos.

"That's yours," said Sheila, in an under voice, staring at the figure, at the cuffed wrists and ankles. "Ben made that for you." She looked up suddenly at Annabelle. She started to say something. She swallowed it, and gulped.

Annabelle looked at her, warm, amused. Sheila gulped again, and blinked, and turned away. To be confronted with another white figure bound, exposed, on the ventral stool, penetrated by another bright blue dildo.

God, thought Sheila. Thank heavens the girls didn't come... Thank heavens they were all safely up at the art college, doing whatever it was they were doing. She thought of Trixie seeing this. She gulped, her breathing oddly shallow.

The rocking chair, the 'innocent' one. Where the other girls had been still, this girl was moving, rocking, her whole face hidden behind a plain white mask. She'd been rocking a long time; there wasn't anything urgent in her movement, but between her legs the seat was shiny with her juices. Between legs that were spread just enough to show the smooth, bleached wood of the – the what? Probe? Phallus? Cock? - sliding smoothly in and out of her puffy sex, below a sparse crest of hair, disturbingly blue against the white of her skin.

Sheila's mouth was dry. Thank heavens!

-----

The girl's feet were level with Sheila's eyes. But her eyes were drawn inexorably upwards to the heart of the mechanism, the tiny excuse for a seat; and on it, penetrated in vagina and anus, the girl's sex lewdly exposed. Her arms, bound to the back of the seat, arched her body back, making her small breasts more prominent, hiding her face. Her smell – the smell of her sex – permeated the air.

Annabelle put a foot tentatively on the pedal, and pressed. The cord was pulled down, and high up beneath the perch the spindles rotated, twisting up through the seat and into...

The girl moaned softly, her head lolling back between her shoulders, her masked face hidden, her blue hair waterfalling down her back. Annabelle released the pedal, let the spindles unwind back, pressed again.

Sheila dragged her eye down from the rotating spindle, down the cord to the pedal, and back up Annabelle's leg and body to her face. Annabelle was looking up, into the light, fascinated, intent. Around them, voices murmured.

"Should you do that?"

"She isn't objecting," said Annabelle, pressing down again.

"I don't think they're supposed to talk."

"She would if she objected," said Annabelle. "Here, you try. It's..." Annabelle gulped. "It works."

Annabelle moved aside, and Sheila put a foot on the pedal. It took a surprising amount of strength. Above her on the perch, the girl moaned. Sheila could see that the spindle was ridged and carved, that as it rotated one way and the other it moved and swirled the delicate inner lips. Her own body responded in sympathy to the one above her, her anus squirming to that twisting rod.

She pulled her eyes down again and stared into Annabelle's, shocked, not breaking rhythm on the pedal, hearing the moans above build. She looked up again. She looked down, her eyes dazed. She was breathing through her mouth, in sync with the girl's gasps, in sync with her foot on the pedal.

-----

9: Tall perch, dual penetration, semi-rotary action

Black-stained oak with stainless steel fittings.

This perch was conceived with this exhibition in mind and is more theatrical than practical. The extreme height enhances and dramatizes the helplessness of the subject, while at the same time limiting the view of the person operating the pedal. Rungs are provided to allow the subject to climb up to the perch, and the handgrip bar behind the support bar helps the subject to balance during the process of inserting the twin phalli. Once the subject is in position the top rung can be removed, making it impossible for the subject to dismount even if not otherwise restrained. The ankle braces and support bar on this perch are further attenuated than those of the previous one, improving the aesthetic of the piece without significantly affecting subject comfort.

The mechanism is similar to perch (7), except that the twin phalli are geared to rotate against each other, both on the down stroke and the up stroke of the pedal. In development I was concerned that it might prove necessary to make the separation between the bases adjustable, but the subjects who have so far tried this perch have found it both acceptably comfortable and highly effective.

A footnote: I had intended to exhibit this item as one of a pair with a twin reciprocating perch of similar height, but was unable to find a subject willing to help with the development.

-----

Sheila felt hungover, her eyes gritty, her mouth dry. She turned over heavily, glanced blearily at the clock; the sheets tangled round her legs. Half past ten! Oh, God, she had to be back at the gallery by eleven. As she flipped the duvet back, her vibrator fell onto the floor. She picked it up. It felt disgusting in her hands, cold and hard and still a little sticky.

She opened her bedroom door, and listened. Silence. Either all still asleep, or all already gone. They hadn't been home when she'd got in... she'd been grateful. She didn't want to talk to them about... and thank God they hadn't been there. She shrugged into her dressing gown.

The twins' door was open, the room empty, discarded clothes littering the floor. Fiona's door was closed. Sheila knocked, and opened it. The room, tidy, bare.

Sheila clawed hair out of her eyes, went into the bathroom, set the shower running. While she waited for it to heat she turned to clean her teeth. An empty bottle of make-up remover lay in the basin, a bag which had held cotton-wool pads on the counter. Beginning to feel sick, Sheila crouched and looked in the bin. It was stuffed – overflowing – with cotton wool balls, thick with white grease paint. She straightened up slowly, catching her horrified face in the mirror. She stepped into the shower. A discarded sachet squelched under her foot, and blue dye spurted out.

 

[SimonBrooke]

The questions (please don't read them until you've read the story)

(1) This is an attempt at an erotic story without explicit sex (at least... you could argue that Sheila and Annabelle have sex with the girl on the high perch). Does it work as an erotic story (by which I mean, did you experience an erotic reaction)?

(2) The pieces are clearly important to this narrative. How well do they work? Did the descriptions work for you? If not, would more explicit descriptions work better? Would illustrations help, or would they get in the way? Both the Body Stock and the Tall Perch are used in the narrative before their catalogue descriptions. Would it have helped if the catalogue description had come first?

(3) There's a running gag about the difference between the name of things and what they're actually called. Fiona is always called Trix; 'Contemporary Erotic Art' is always called 'the sex show'; Ben's students always call him Obi Wan. The purpose of the gag is to alert the discerning reader to the possibility that names may be misleading. Related to that, Laura's tattoo is supposed to say 'I'm not Heather'; and during the course of the narrative Heather was going to get an almost identical one saying 'I'm not Either'. But this detail got dropped. Did the gag work as a gag? Did the gag work to inform the plot? Would the tattoo detail help, or should the tattoo be dropped altogether.

(4) At the end of the story I want you to believe that Sheila believes/suspects that Ben has had sex with her daughters. Did you get that? I also want you to suspect that she's right. Did you suspect that?

 

[Verdad]

Wow! Simon, I'm quickly becoming a fan. I liked Catriona, loved the Workshop, and I'm loving this. I'm afraid you're going to get an uncharacteristically short response from me because I simply can't think of much in your stuff that would need improvement. Thanks for a great read.

(1) This is an attempt at an erotic story without explicit sex (at least... you could argue that Sheila and Annabelle have sex with the girl on the high perch). Does it work as an erotic story (by which I mean, did you experience an erotic reaction)?

Oh yes, for me it does. I think it's a great example of erotica as opposed to porn (not that there's anything wrong with either, and not that I dare open the discussion about which is which), and I also think it's a perfect example of a short story. You should not plead naivety when it comes to short story writing.

(2) The pieces are clearly important to this narrative. How well do they work? Did the descriptions work for you? If not, would more explicit descriptions work better? Would illustrations help, or would they get in the way? Both the Body Stock and the Tall Perch are used in the narrative before their catalogue descriptions. Would it have helped if the catalogue description had come first?

Well, I did have a hard time wrapping my mind around some of the exhibits, but for me that's not an issue. I like my reading to contain some challenge. My curiosity says, "Illustrations? Yes, please!" but that doesn't mean the story didn't work just as it is. Whether you'd like to include some (or make the descriptions more explicit) would be entirely up to you—a possibility, but not a necessity. (As for the order of appearance, again, not an issue.)

(3) There's a running gag about the difference between the name of things and what they're actually called. Fiona is always called Trix; 'Contemporary Erotic Art' is always called 'the sex show'; Ben's students always call him Obi Wan. The purpose of the gag is to alert the discerning reader to the possibility that names may be misleading. Related to that, Laura's tattoo is supposed to say 'I'm not Heather'; and during the course of the narrative Heather was going to get an almost identical one saying 'I'm not Either'. But this detail got dropped. Did the gag work as a gag? Did the gag work to inform the plot? Would the tattoo detail help, or should the tattoo be dropped altogether.

Hmm, I'm not entirely sure I got that on a conscious level, the Fiona bit particularly, but I don't think that should worry you. I got the idea about the deceptiveness of surface looks from the erotic furniture itself, and I got that you're repeating the motif with the twins, with Annabelle, and with pretty much everything else in the story. Again, for me, that was enough, making for a tightly woven plot, yet never obvious or predictable. (However, now that you mentioned the text of the tattoos, I like it so much that I'm sorry you didn't include it!)

(4) At the end of the story I want you to believe that Sheila believes/suspects that Ben has had sex with her daughters. Did you get that? I also want you to suspect that she's right. Did you suspect that?

Yes, got that, and loved it. A surprise ending, sort of O'Henry, only not gimmicky. I didn't see it coming, but once there, it made perfect sense, tying the threads together and leaving something to think about.

I might have more thoughts later, but for now—that's some good stuff! (And it's a part of an omnibus? I'm envious!)

Best of luck,

Verdad

 

[SimonBrooke]

Fiona is approved

Two separate pieces, Pictures from an Exhibition: Fiona, and Pictures from an Exhibition: Like a Red, Red Rose introduce the characters of Rhodri, Elaine ('the girl in the Red, Red Rose painting') and Fiona Fraser. Their appearance in this narrative is just a nod to those narratives; you don't need to know anything about those narratives to read this one. They have both been submitted to Literotica last week, but at the time of writing are still pending.

Pictures from an Exhibition: Fiona has been approved; it's one of the companion stories to this one.

 

[Verdad]

Pictures from an Exhibition: Fiona has been approved; it's one of the companion stories to this one.

I read Fiona, and though it's another lovely idea, as a standalone piece it appears less rounded than Ben. It's more a vignette than a story, and I have to admit I was left wanting for…something? Some kind of conclusion, I guess? Or perhaps something that would uncover Rodry. He remained completely opaque. But then again, if it's a part of an omnibus, I can see how it could work perfectly just as it is. Certainly it held my undivided attention all the way to the seemingly premature ending, so it's hard to judge outside of the context.

But hey, what's going on with this thread? I was so curious as to what others would think. Fellow critics, where are you?

Verdad

 

[Penelope Street]

Hi Simon,

I like your story.

(1) This is an attempt at an erotic story without explicit sex (at least... you could argue that Sheila and Annabelle have sex with the girl on the high perch). Does it work as an erotic story (by which I mean, did you experience an erotic reaction)?

I guess the answer depends on your definition of 'erotic reaction'. It really just kinda simmers here and there- but never really got me hot and bothered, you know? But a story doesn't have to inspire wanton desire to be sexy and sometimes a slow simmer is better than a rapid boil anyway.


(2) The pieces are clearly important to this narrative. How well do they work? Did the descriptions work for you? If not, would more explicit descriptions work better? Would illustrations help, or would they get in the way? Both the Body Stock and the Tall Perch are used in the narrative before their catalogue descriptions. Would it have helped if the catalogue description had come first?

I love the flavor the descriptions add. Great job on the phrasing- it sounds like 'museum-speak' to me. And the weirdness of it all is perfect! That they didn't relate to the scenes didn't bother me and since they don't relate to the scenes I don't think it matters if the scene or the description comes first. And, like Sheila finds out, you have to experience it anyway - so no illustrations, please!


(3) There's a running gag about the difference between the name of things and what they're actually called. Fiona is always called Trix; 'Contemporary Erotic Art' is always called 'the sex show'; Ben's students always call him Obi Wan. The purpose of the gag is to alert the discerning reader to the possibility that names may be misleading. Related to that, Laura's tattoo is supposed to say 'I'm not Heather'; and during the course of the narrative Heather was going to get an almost identical one saying 'I'm not Either'. But this detail got dropped. Did the gag work as a gag? Did the gag work to inform the plot? Would the tattoo detail help, or should the tattoo be dropped altogether.

I didn't notice the different name gag and it never even occurred to me that the tattoo might literally say "I'm not Heather". So it may not work exactly the way you intended, but I wouldn't say it doesn't work. I thought it was a nice touch that the twins might be so similar one felt the need to get a tattoo simply to distinguish herself.


(4) At the end of the story I want you to believe that Sheila believes/suspects that Ben has had sex with her daughters. Did you get that? I also want you to suspect that she's right. Did you suspect that?

Suspect? I thought it was a great big "Duh!" that at least one twin was involved with Ben. More on this soon. I confess I didn't imagine Sheila's daughters were part of the exhibit though, that was a nice little surprise.

Overall, I think it's quite the clever little piece and it stands on it's own just fine. I'd never have guessed it was part of a series.

I did, however, guess that Ben was involved with at least one twin.

"Heather can wish," said Laura. "I saw him first. Mum, he is like completely amazing... he's this lecturer we've got for sculpture. He's not a full-time lecturer, he just comes in for this one course. Structures and materials... He does these brilliant things with amazing stuff, like carbon fibre and kevlar and different foams and resins and stuff. And even just wood. He can make like any shape, and he can make things that are so strong you wouldn't believe. And he makes you understand - not just how to do it, but how to choose the stuff you need to make the shapes you want and how to make them strong enough. He's just... a magician. A wizard. He knows..."

My note at the time, made before I'd read another sentence, was this: I'm not sure this isn't way too much. Do you really want the reader to *know* who the lecturer is at this point?
When this followed soon afterward, I was sure:

"I teach on Tuesday mornings, but apart from that I'm free."

That's the only place I thought the tale might be weak- and that's only if you don't want the reader drawing the same conclusions I did.

Thanks for sharing your story with us.

Take Care,
Penny



P.S.

But hey, what's going on with this thread? I was so curious as to what others would think. Fellow critics, where are you?

Hard to tell- could be the Valentine's contest or Minsue's challenge have everyone's attention. Then again, I've seen other stories go several days without any responses at all, so I wouldn't panic about the apparent lack of interest just yet.

 

[SimonBrooke]

My note at the time, made before I'd read another sentence, was this: I'm not sure this isn't way too much. Do you really want the reader to *know* who the lecturer is at this point?

"Heather can wish," said Laura. "I saw him first. Mum, he is like completely amazing... he's this lecturer we've got for sculpture. He's not a full-time lecturer, he just comes in for this one course. Structures and materials...

When this followed soon afterward, I was sure:

"I teach on Tuesday mornings, but apart from that I'm free."

That's the only place I thought the tale might be weak- and that's only if you don't want the reader drawing the same conclusions I did.

Yes, I came to that conclusion, too. If you check you'll see the draft I posted says only:

"Whenever it suits." Such a calm, confident voice. "I'm out on Tuesday mornings, but apart from that I'm free."

Still, it's really difficult to know - not just here, but generally - whether you're putting in enough clues that the intelligent reader can see where you're going, or whether you're just being completely unsubtle and shouting it from the rooftops.

Thanks for sharing your story with us.

Thank you very much for your thoughtful observations.

 

[EllaRegina]

Where can I order the furniture? I'd like the whole set.

 

[Penelope Street]

Yes, I came to that conclusion, too. If you check you'll see the draft I posted says...

Oh! Tricky, tricky! I still think Laura going on and on about Obiwan is akin to hitting the reader with a brick. Ben saying he's busy the next time he chats with Sheila is just the cherry atop the sundae, if you know what I mean.

Inside, the building was airy and spacious, with great curving timbers soaring into the gloom of the roof. Towards one end, in front of floor-to-eaves windows, half a dozen big machines crouched on the wooden floor; in the middle stood an old-fashioned carpenters bench, with hand tools neatly racked at one side of it. Curling shavings lay on the bench and the floor around it, and the air was sharp with the smell of new-cut wood. The old man led the way through the workshop, through a door, into a spacious kitchen. He offered Sheila a seat at an oak refectory table, and put a heavy kettle on the Aga.

I might have enjoyed this lovely description a bit more if I had experienced it with Sheila rather than before I met her. Maybe a little nitpicky of me, but it is the opening.

I smiled a few times when I re-read lines I enjoyed the first time too:

"There's a bus, Mother. A large motor powered vehicle which perambulates lethargically about the streets, stopping intermittently to take on passengers."
Perambulates! Too funny.

Sheila stared at the canvas.
...
Sheila stared at the canvas.

"I'm sorry, Mother, I can't. I've already agreed to help the twins."
This line was even better the second time!

 

[EllaRegina]

On a more serious note...


(1) This is an attempt at an erotic story without explicit sex (at least... you could argue that Sheila and Annabelle have sex with the girl on the high perch). Does it work as an erotic story (by which I mean, did you experience an erotic reaction)?

Absolutely. For me the catalogue descriptions were explicit and fed my imagination.

(2) The pieces are clearly important to this narrative. How well do they work? Did the descriptions work for you? If not, would more explicit descriptions work better? Would illustrations help, or would they get in the way? Both the Body Stock and the Tall Perch are used in the narrative before their catalogue descriptions. Would it have helped if the catalogue description had come first?

I *loved* the descriptions. At first I thought they were the artist's notes on his work but then realised they were like labels on a wall in an exhibit. Totally worked for me. They could be even more explicit but I liked the kind of terse didactic exhibition wall text tone they had. I would welcome illustrations. It doesn't matter to me the order of the descriptions of the objects and their place in the narrative, no.

(3) There's a running gag about the difference between the name of things and what they're actually called. Fiona is always called Trix; 'Contemporary Erotic Art' is always called 'the sex show'; Ben's students always call him Obi Wan. The purpose of the gag is to alert the discerning reader to the possibility that names may be misleading. Related to that, Laura's tattoo is supposed to say 'I'm not Heather'; and during the course of the narrative Heather was going to get an almost identical one saying 'I'm not Either'. But this detail got dropped. Did the gag work as a gag? Did the gag work to inform the plot? Would the tattoo detail help, or should the tattoo be dropped altogether.

I am probably not the discerning reader you are seeking for those kinds of details. I was a little confused by some of it, frankly, or missed things entirely, but I think that reflects more where I am coming from rather than a deficit in your writing.

(4) At the end of the story I want you to believe that Sheila believes/suspects that Ben has had sex with her daughters. Did you get that? I also want you to suspect that she's right. Did you suspect that?

Again, I think this was lost on me, but again, I don't think I am the typical reader here. For one thing it was like there were two parallel stories going on that together made the whole - one about the artist and his production and the other about Sheila and Fiona et al. I was more focussed on the whole art thing, and how you were presenting it with these erotic catalogue descriptions, etc. and less interested in the interactions between the women. But again, that reflects more my own proclivities.

Really really fine work. I love these as interlocking stories and I just love the notion of the central glue being an exhibition of erotic art. Keep up the good work!

 

[SimonBrooke]

The high perch

Where can I order the furniture? I'd like the whole set.

Interesting, isn't it? When I started, the furniture was just a framework to hang the narrative on. But you start thinking seriously about how it might work. The spindle that fits into the vagina needs to have a flared base, to stimulate the labia, and I think that would need some subtle texture, to increase the sensation. The anal spindle probably wants to have a faint helix carved into it, so that as the spindle rotates one way it slightly screws in, pulling the anus down, and as the spindle rotates the other way it slightly screws out. This, like the texture on the vaginal one, needs to be very subtle or else this becomes an instrument of torture, not of pleasure... but it's something you'd probably need to experiment with in practice.

But in doing this drawing for you this morning
http://www.jasmine.org.uk/~simon/tmp/high_perch.jpg
a number of other ideas came to me...

How it works: a rope comes up from a pedal at the base of the shaft, over the roller you can see at the front, round each of the two drums on the spindles, over the roller you can just see under the seat bar, and down to a weight. When the person on the ground pushes the pedals down, it pulls the weight up, and in doing so it rotates both drums. When the pedal is released, the weight goes down, rotating the spindles the other way.

Each of the two spindles is mounted in a cradle which can pivot a bit front-to-back, so it will automatically line up with the woman's body to some degree. All that I'd already worked out.

But in writing the description I'd assumed an openwork frame around the mechanism. In actually drawing it it was hard to make that frame at all elegant, and the boat shaped hull sort of felt natural.

Also, I've drawn a large wheel attached to the front drum, with the idea that the edge of it might drag against the clitoris of the woman...

I've no idea how precisely fitted this would need to be to the individual woman. It is inherently a mechanism which cannot be controlled by the woman who is sitting on it, and it isn't at all my intention that being that woman should be unpleasant. It's a sex toy, not a torture instrument, but it is riding a fine line. The woman cannot get off it without help, and probably can't even raise herself even slightly off the spindles without help. In the drawing you probably could stand on the little ankle-support wings and lift yourself, but the ones in the description have upper surfaces that slope down, so that you can't.

So - having seen that image, is it sexier than your imagining, or less sexy?

 

[Verdad]

I still think Laura going on and on about Obiwan is akin to hitting the reader with a brick. Ben saying he's busy the next time he chats with Sheila is just the cherry atop the sundae, if you know what I mean.

That's odd! I didn't perceive it that way at all. I mean, of course the seed of suspicion was seeded, just as it should be, but I didn't find it unsubtle and I certainly can't say I was able to predict the developments to come. All I got was that this Obi-van could be, and likely is, the same person as Ben, and that the daughters might yet play some role other than a peek into Sheila's domestic life. But I can't say that I knew how exactly the puzzles would fall, and more importantly, I can't say that I even kept the question in mind actively. The story was moving too fast for that and I was just in for the ride.

The information got stored in the back of my mind, but my attention was so completely engaged with other developments that by the time of the resolution I'd completely forgotten about it and experienced genuine surprise.

So - having seen that image, is it sexier than your imagining, or less sexy?.

Hmm, honestly? *L* It's a fascinating piece of engineering and I'm delighted you shared it, but as far as the artistic and erotic effects go, the descriptions you provided need no help.

What I'm curious about is this tattoo business and other points you felt you might have covered but didn't. Perhaps at some later point you might choose to share your thoughts on those?

Verdad

 

[SimonBrooke]

About the tattoo

What I'm curious about is this tattoo business and other points you felt you might have covered but didn't. Perhaps at some later point you might choose to share your thoughts on those?

OK. As Lauren would undoubtedly point out, you can't start too many hares in a short story, even if all those hares are pulling in tandem on the same theme. However, it seems to me important that readers have enough information to tie Ben to Obi Wan - without, as Penny says, beating them over the head with it. Anyone who still remembers the original Star Wars movie will remember that the character Obi Wan Kenobi was first introduced as 'Old Ben Kenobi', but I didn't want the plot to turn on that extraneous reference.

In the narrative, Fiona's name is Fiona, but she's called Trix or Trixie (references Fifi Trixibelle Geldof, eldest daughter of St Bob and Paula Yates). The exhibition's name is 'Contemporary Erotic Art', but it's called 'the sex show'. This is intended both as a gag-in-itself and as a hint that one thing can have more than one name. 'Obi Wan' is unlikely to be what someone is named, in modern Britain at least, so there's a strong hint that the person referred to has another name; and the Fifi Trixibelle link (if people made it) is a hint that that other name may be connected through popular culture.

So then we get down to the tattoo. The conceit there is that Heather is the more outgoing, and definitely the more sexually active twin; Laura is tired of being hit on by boys thinking she's Heather, so she gets a tattoo to distinguish her. The idea that the tattoo says 'I'm not Heather' is a further commentary on the relationship between references and referents. However, I failed to make a space in the story for that detail to fit. It really needs to fit into this paragraph:

Heather was clattering busily around the kitchen as usual, throwing breakfast together, talking rapidly over her shoulder to Laura, her words lost in the noise of the too-loud radio. Sheila watched them with a mixture of pride and irritation. At least since the issue of the tattoo she could reliably tell them apart - providing they were wearing sleeveless tops, which (of course) they both were. And identically too-tight jeans, with almost identical paint stains on the backsides. Sheila grinned to herself. She'd been so bloody angry with Laura about that tattoo, but... it was useful. She reached past Heather to get a coffee mug off the shelf.

But I couldn't find a way of fitting it in which sounded like natural narration; however I tried it it felt forced.

So the question arises, if I've lost the tattoo detail, not merely do I need the tattoo any more, but do I even need the twins any more? The point of having twins at all was that you needed the tattoo to tell them apart. Heather doesn't actually do anything to advance the plot - her part and Laura's could be merged.

Is it better to leave it as it is, with twins distinguished by the unexplained tattoo? Or merge the twins into one character? Or find some way of working the wording of the tattoo into the story?

 

[EllaRegina]

Simon,

I don't see it as less sexy, but different from my imaginings. For some reason I pictured the furniture to be made of wood, but maybe I overlooked an important detail in your description. I shall re-read. This is a more high-tech implement, at least from the picture, but still is erotic. It looks more like something that would be at my gym. If only... You could really make this and sell it!

 

[SimonBrooke]

Simon,

I don't see it as less sexy, but different from my imaginings. For some reason I pictured the furniture to be made of wood, but maybe I overlooked an important detail in your description. I shall re-read. This is a more high-tech implement, at least from the picture, but still is erotic. It looks more like something that would be at my gym. If only... You could really make this and sell it!

Black stained oak, the description says. So it would be semi-matte, and you would definitely see the wood-grain. Mind you, again, having done the drawing, that boat shape would be easier to make in ash, because it glues better; and ash has less grain than oak.

 

[EllaRegina]

In that case your drawing is perfect. I would just try maybe to make it look more wood-like. Nice combination of traditional material combined with erotic mechanics!

 

[Varian P]

So - having seen that image, is it sexier than your imagining, or less sexy?

Hmmmm...I'm not opposed to the idea of illustrations, but I have to say the computer-done illustration looks rather cold, and is more angular than what I'd imagined, so while it makes it more clear just how the piece is designed and would function, the illustration, as it is now, does detract from the eroticism of the idea, for me.

Your descriptions in the text were more sensuous. If you did want to include illustrations, I'd go with a medium that imparts the warmth and smoothness, the sleek curves, Sheila suggests when she sees them.

Aside from the erotic appeal of the pieces, I don't think that particular drawing puts across the beauty of the craftsmanship, of the pieces as art, and so makes it less believable the pieces would hold up at the exhibit.

-V

P.S. I'll be coming back with more on the substance of the story in a bit, but meanwhile, you know I love it.

 

[SimonBrooke]

Aside from the erotic appeal of the pieces, I don't think that particular drawing puts across the beauty of the craftsmanship, of the pieces as art, and so makes it less believable the pieces would hold up at the exhibit.

No, you're right. The CAD program is a great way to tie down exactly how the mechanics would work, but it isn't sensuous. If I'm going to add illustrations to the story itself I think they need to be pencil illustrations, or perhaps pen-and-ink.

Actually, the trickiest one to sort out mechanically in my head is the 'perch, reciprocating action'. It would be fairly simple to link a pedal to a piston, but that would make the woman sitting on it horribly vulnerable to someone on the ground using the pedal too vigorously. So you need to build some sort of damping into the system so that the piston cannot be made to go too fast or too deep - but at the same time the aesthetics of these pieces means that the mechanism must be exposed, and be simple to understand.

 

[Varian P]

...I still think Laura going on and on about Obiwan is akin to hitting the reader with a brick. Ben saying he's busy the next time he chats with Sheila is just the cherry atop the sundae, if you know what I mean.

All I got from that was that the twins are students of Ben's, and have crushes on him. But being a girl who's gushed about one or two of her profs, I know first hand (wistful sigh) that's no guarantee of having received more than academic attentions.

And this even suggests the twins are not sexually involved with Ben:

"Lou, you're not thinking of sleeping with one of - you aren't sleeping with a lecturer, are you?"

"I wish," said Laura, fervently. "No, I don't think he's interested in... any of us. But there's no harm in trying...

Sure, Laura might be fibbing, considering it's her mom she's talking to, but I thought it was sufficiently ambiguous until the discovery of the evidence in the final moments of the story.

 

[Penelope Street]

So - having seen that image, is it sexier than your imagining, or less sexy?

Less. All I really need to know is if the women find the devices arousing- I don't really care what they look like. Plus, I think there's a certain sexiness to the mystery of their appearance.

Your descriptions in the text were more sensuous.

I agree

That's odd! I didn't perceive it that way at all. I mean, of course the seed of suspicion was seeded, just as it should be, but I didn't find it unsubtle and I certainly can't say I was able to predict the developments to come. All I got was that this Obi-van could be, and likely is, the same person as Ben, and that the daughters might yet play some role other than a peek into Sheila's domestic life. But I can't say that I knew how exactly the puzzles would fall, and more importantly, I can't say that I even kept the question in mind actively. The story was moving too fast for that and I was just in for the ride.

I'm pretty easy to fool, so I figured if I knew what was happening, everyone would. If I didn't make it clear though, I only thought the twins were involved with Ben, and maybe only one of them. Fiona, I didn't imagine at all, and it never crossed my mind that Sheila's daughters were part of the exhibit. And maybe Ben hasn't had sex as Bill Clinton defines it with any of them, but I don't think that matters- so it's the perfect thing to leave up to the reader.

Anyone who still remembers the original Star Wars movie will remember that the character Obi Wan Kenobi was first introduced as 'Old Ben Kenobi', but I didn't want the plot to turn on that extraneous reference.

*gag* I'm happy I missed that one. Oh, well, at least it wasn't Mr. Spock.

For one thing it was like there were two parallel stories going on that together made the whole - one about the artist and his production and the other about Sheila and Fiona et al. I was more focussed on the whole art thing, and how you were presenting it with these erotic catalogue descriptions, etc. and less interested in the interactions between the women. But again, that reflects more my own proclivities.

This is a bit of an eye-opener for me because I thought the whole art exhibit thing was just a backdrop- though a great backdrop- not a parallel story. To me, the story is about a mother being forced to accept that her daughters aren't children anymore and that it's time to start living for herself again.

So the question arises, if I've lost the tattoo detail, not merely do I need the tattoo any more, but do I even need the twins any more? The point of having twins at all was that you needed the tattoo to tell them apart. Heather doesn't actually do anything to advance the plot - her part and Laura's could be merged.

I think the twins and the tattoo are a nice little touch- and again, it doesn't matter what the tattoo is. Having one daughter becoming a woman is traumatic enough, but three daughters roughly the same age would make it even more so. Or am I just seeing too much of my own life in this? Regardless, I think three daughters works and you should leave it just like it is.

All I got from that was that the twins are students of Ben's, and have crushes on him. But being a girl who's gushed about one or two of her profs, I know first hand (wistful sigh) that's no guarantee of having received more than academic attentions.

Did any of your crushes make elaborate sex toys and use them? Lemme guess- not that you know of. Plus, since it's a story and not real life, I kind of expect the dots to connect.

Sure, Laura might be fibbing, considering it's her mom she's talking to, but I thought it was sufficiently ambiguous until the discovery of the evidence in the final moments of the story.

Knowing how my daughter reinvents the truth to fit the reality she thinks I want to hear about, even if I didn't necessarily think Laura was being outright dishonest, I was still willing to read between the lines a bit.

 

[Varian P]

Did any of your crushes make elaborate sex toys and use them? Lemme guess- not that you know of.

Oh, God, Penny, please don't add that image to what I already know I missed out on.

 

[SimonBrooke]

I'm pretty easy to fool, so I figured if I knew what was happening, everyone would. If I didn't make it clear though, I only thought the twins were involved with Ben, and maybe only one of them. Fiona, I didn't imagine at all, and it never crossed my mind that Sheila's daughters were part of the exhibit. And maybe Ben hasn't had sex as Bill Clinton defines it with any of them, but I don't think that matters- so it's the perfect thing to leave up to the reader.

Actually in my notes for the story it's the youngest daughter who had definitely had sex - ordinary body-on-body sex - with Ben, although I'm open to the possibility that Laura has as well...

(Star Wars reference) *gag* I'm happy I missed that one. Oh, well, at least it wasn't Mr. Spock.

It's popular culcher, innit?

For one thing it was like there were two parallel stories going on that together made the whole - one about the artist and his production and the other about Sheila and Fiona et al.

This is a bit of an eye-opener for me because I thought the whole art exhibit thing was just a backdrop- though a great backdrop- not a parallel story. To me, the story is about a mother being forced to accept that her daughters aren't children anymore and that it's time to start living for herself again.

That's one story. The story I was writing was the one about the seduction of Sheila by Ben.

I think the twins and the tattoo are a nice little touch- and again, it doesn't matter what the tattoo is. Having one daughter becoming a woman is traumatic enough, but three daughters roughly the same age would make it even more so. Or am I just seeing too much of my own life in this? Regardless, I think three daughters works and you should leave it just like it is.

Good. I personally feel that the interactions within the family work rather well.

Sure, Laura might be fibbing, considering it's her mom she's talking to, but I thought it was sufficiently ambiguous until the discovery of the evidence in the final moments of the story.

Knowing how my daughter reinvents the truth to fit the reality she thinks I want to hear about, even if I didn't necessarily think Laura was being outright dishonest, I was still willing to read between the lines a bit.

Actually, I don't see it either of those ways. When Laura describes Ben to her mother, she's only recently met him, and Grahame hasn't yet discussed with Ben the possibility of the special show for opening night so Ben hasn't yet asked his female students whether they can help him with it. So all Laura's saying in that conversation is she's interested, but that reciprocal interest hasn't yet been expressed.

Heather doesn't have to prove to her mother that she's sexually active - her mother already accepts this. Laura isn't bothered. So the daughter who left the makeup-remover pads in the bin and the dye sachet in the shower was Fiona. Furthermore, since the daughters haven't been home, she did it before she went out - the makeup-remover pads are a plant.

 

[Penelope Street]

So all Laura's saying in that conversation is she's interested, but that reciprocal interest hasn't yet been expressed.

I agree this is what Laura says. At the time I read it, I considered- much like Sheila- the possibility that Laura might not be telling the truth. Also, knowing that Ben was the object of Laura's interest, I had little doubt that Laura's interest would be reciprocated soon if it hadn't already been. I love how Sheila cuts Laura off. That's a great line.

... the story is about a mother being forced to accept that her daughters aren't children anymore and that it's time to start living for herself again.

That's one story. The story I was writing was the one about the seduction of Sheila by Ben.

This could be one of those cases where ambiguitiy is a good thing- I may not have experienced quite the story you imagined, but I still enjoyed my interpretation of the characters and events. And my interpretation is that Ben has done just about the opposite of seduce Sheila. I'm not saying Shelia and Ben couldn't get together in the future, but at this point I don't really want her to. I hope you'll take it as a compliment that your story can be experienced in multiple, meaningful ways.

 

[SimonBrooke]

This could be one of those cases where ambiguitiy is a good thing- I may not have experienced quite the story you imagined, but I still enjoyed my interpretation of the characters and events. And my interpretation is that Ben has done just about the opposite of seduce Sheila. I'm not saying Shelia and Ben couldn't get together in the future, but at this point I don't really want her to. I hope you'll take it as a compliment that your story can be experienced in multiple, meaningful ways.

Absolutely. Very much so.