The Ninety Days of Genevieve (3 page)

Genevieve was still thinking about Sinclair's instructions while having lunch the following day. In the summer she often took a break from her colleagues and bought herself a couple of rolls in a small pub that most local office workers had not yet discovered. She had no objection to talking shop, but sometimes she just wanted to eat in peace.

She was still trying to decide what she would find at 43 Harmond Street (her favourite choice being a middle-aged housewife sewing naughty knickers for bingo money) when someone thrust an A4 portfolio under her nose and said: 'Take a look at these!'

Almost choking on her roll Genevieve turned round angrily. She recognised the voice and knew exactly who she was going to see: Ricky Croft, his hair straggling over his collar, and his face unshaven. He wore a battered Levi jacket and jeans. She could not remember seeing him in anything else. His enemies (and his friends) reckoned he slept in them.

'Go on.' He sat down opposite her and pushed the portfolio towards her. 'Look.'

'No,' she said.

'You've never seen anything like this before,' he said.

'Ricky,' Genevieve put down her roll. 'There is no job for you at Barringtons.'

'Oh, I know that,' he agreed. 'I'm not pretty enough, am I? I don't fit the image. Tell me, what are well-dressed graphic designers wearing these days?'

'You know we don't give sod all what you wear,' Genevieve said crossly. 'You're simply unreliable. You haven't learned what the word deadline means.'

'I'm an artist,' Ricky said. 'Artists don't work to a timetable.'

'They don't work for Barringtons either,' she said. 'We employ professionals. And I don't want to see any more lovely logos for non-existent firms.'

Ricky was undeterred. 'Just look,' he said, tapping the portfolio. 'These are reductions. The originals are much bigger.'

Despite herself Genevieve reached for the portfolio and opened it. She knew Ricky Croft's work. She had once given him a freelance assignment. He had turned in some brilliant ideas - six weeks too late.

The first clear plastic envelope contained a pencil drawing. Detailed objective drawing was one of Ricky's specialities, but it wasn't the skill of the almost photographic rendering that surprised Genevieve. It was the subject matter.

A soldier in eighteenth-century military uniform tumbled with a young woman on a four poster. The two of them had clearly been romping together, the girl's full breasts were exposed, her frilly skirts were bunched up round her waist. She wore dark stockings gartered at her thighs. The man was kneeling between her plump but shapely legs, holding her ankles apart. His jacket and undershirt were undone. Although his own erection was visibly bulging through the tight material of his trousers, he was obviously intent on oral sex rather than penetration.

Ricky had drawn the woman's erect nipples and waiting clitoris in loving detail. Her expression was one of slight shock coupled with erotic curiosity. It implied that she had never experienced this kind of sexual foreplay before. The man's face showed only anticipation. His half smile, and the tip of his tongue just showing between his lips, gave the impression that he knew exactly what he was going to do, and he would make sure his partner enjoyed it to the full.

Genevieve found the picture curiously arousing, all the more so because it hinted at what was about to happen rather than displaying it. It allowed an observer to use his or her imagination. A man could imagine tasting the woman's swollen sex, imagine her writhing in delight as he forced her into willing submission. A woman could imagine the sensation of an expert tongue exciting her into a frenzy, withholding the ultimate release as long as possible, until she begged him for it. Genevieve briefly superimposed Sinclair's face on the that of the soldier. Then, furious with herself, quickly turned the page.

The next picture showed the same couple, but this time the man's head was deep between the woman's thighs. His hands were under her buttocks, lifting her. The woman's head was thrown back, her expression clearly orgasmic. She was fondling her own nipples.

'Nice, eh?' Ricky was watching her. 'Like I said, the originals are much bigger.'

Genevieve gave him what she hoped was a disdainful glance. She felt that she ought to slam the portfolio shut, and tell Ricky in no uncertain terms that she was not interested in dirty pictures. But it would not have been true. She wanted to see more. She turned another page.

The characters had changed. The man was now definitely an officer and it gave her a slight - and delicious -jolt of pleasure to realise that this time it required very little imagination to believe that this was Sinclair. In fact she could almost have been persuaded to believe that Ricky had used Sinclair - if not as an outright model - at least as a representative type. Tall and slim, with dark hair and Sinclair's angular good-looks, the officer wore a uniform that was probably unhistorical, but looked enough like a traditional hussar to give him an aura of macho authority: tight trousers, knee-high boots and a short braided jacket, buttoned to a high-stand collar. The woman looked more aristocratic this time, slightly contemptuous in fact, with elaborately styled hair held in place by a band with a sweeping feather pinned to it, and a high-waisted, low-necked dress that emphasised her swelling breasts but covered everything else.

There was nothing erotic happening in the picture, but it was clear that these two people knew things were about to change. The woman stared up at the officer as if daring him to touch her, and the man's stance and expression showed clearly he accepted her challenge and was planning to do exactly that - and more. Once again Genevieve was forced to admire Ricky's skill. Not only had he depicted his characters with photographic accuracy, he had conveyed their thoughts too. Or, it suddenly occurred to her, was she just reading into the drawing what she hoped to see? She noticed the picture had a caption. It said: 'Military Manoeuvres.'

'It's a set,' Ricky said. 'A sort of picture strip for adults. A bit like the
Rake's Progress.
You know?'

'With an accent on the strip?' Genevieve raised her eyebrows.

'You get the idea,' Ricky said. He watched her. 'Well, don't just sit there. The pages won't turn themselves.'

She felt that this was the time to say: I'm simply not interested in this sort of thing. If the man had looked less like Sinclair she probably would have done. But the likeness intrigued her. She almost felt a sense of power. It was as if she was peeping through a keyhole, watching him. She turned the page.

In the second picture the officer had removed the woman's dress, leaving her stripped except for stockings, gartered at her thighs, and shoes with tiny heels and large bows. She also still wore her jewellery: a choker round her neck and earrings. Her hair was pinned up but the headband and feather had disappeared.

The officer - who had removed his jacket but nothing else - was pressing her back against the wall, his mouth exciting one erect nipple and his fingers teasing the other. The woman had her hands on his shoulders, presumably as a gesture of protest, but although her lips were parted she was clearly not calling for help. Judging from her expression, Genevieve thought a moan of pleasure would be more likely. The picture reminded her of her recent experience with Sinclair. She felt her body begin to tingle, and turned the page quickly.

In the next picture the officer had removed his shirt, and the woman was on the four poster - although it was obvious that the two of them were not preparing for a quick session of orthodox love-making. The woman's hands were already tied to the bed posts and the man was in the process of completing her restraint, holding and tying one ankle. He had positioned her so that her thighs were wide apart. Ricky had drawn her swelling clitoris - and all the other parts of her body - in loving detail. It was apparent from the officer's bulging trousers that he was also aroused.

The woman showed no apprehension about being tied, and certainly no inclination to struggle. If anything she looked excited. Genevieve was shocked to realise that because it was associated with sexual playacting the idea of being held captive in this way did not fill her with either anger or disgust. She tried to imagine what it would be like to be spread-eagled on a bed with a man tying your hands and feet. She stared at the picture of the officer, with his bare chest and flat stomach. His expression as he looked at his willing captive again reminded her of Sinclair. He was smiling slightly. In anticipation, Genevieve thought.

By the fourth picture the action had heated up. The officer's head was between the woman's legs, his hands flat against her inner thighs, forcing them to stay apart while he pleasured her with his tongue It looked to Genevieve as if she had already had her first orgasm. Her head was thrown back and her mouth open as if she was screaming. Her arms were stretched against their bonds, her nipples erect. Her whole body seemed to shaking with sensation. The officer was glancing up at her even as he used his tongue on her, obviously pleased with the result of his actions. Looking at the drawing, Genevieve could almost imagine the warm friction of that tongue lightly caressing her, moving faster as her lover felt her body responding. She imagined his fingers digging into her flesh, holding her firmly as her writhing grew more frantic and the sensations became almost too intense to bear. Her body began to respond. She glanced up to see Ricky watching her closely. Assuming what she hoped was a disinterested expression, she turned the next page.

Now the officer had shed all of his clothes. He straddled the woman's body. His buttocks were taut and muscular. His cock was half in her willing mouth. His hands were under her head and he lifted her slightly towards him, encouraging her to give him the kind of pleasure he had just given her. Although she was still tied, and obviously could not refuse, her expression clearly showed that she was equally delighted to be doing so.

Genevieve had only performed oral sex with one boyfriend. It had not been a very loving experience. Jeff, she remembered, had seemed irritable at her suggestion and tense while she was performing - with more enthusiasm than expertise, she remembered. After his orgasm he had rolled away from her and refused to talk. It was only later that she found out he considered such activities unnatural and had only agreed in order to please her. Since she had only done it to please him (having read in a magazine article that most men considered it the ultimate compliment), she had been both angry and upset at his reaction. They parted very soon afterwards, following a heated argument during which Jeff had brought up the oral sex incident again and described it 'animal behaviour'. If nothing else it had at least taught Genevieve that not all men were as liberated as she had been led to believe.

What would Jeff have thought of the sixth picture, she wondered. Now the woman had been turned over and upended and the man was entering her from the rear in a position that people often referred to as 'doggy'. The woman's head was turned sideways, and again it was clear that she was quite happy with the treatment she was receiving. The man had his arms around her and was caressing her nipples as he thrust into her. Again Ricky's skill had invested the picture with a sense of movement. You could, Genevieve thought, almost hear the bed creak, the mattress springs protest, the legs rattle against the floor. Almost hear die two participants breathing faster and more raggedly as their climax approached.

Genevieve had to admit that if the drawings were intended to be arousing they had succeeded admirably. She had never been particularly affected by pictures before - but then she had not seen many, and certainly none as expertly drawn as Ricky's. She did not buy the kind of raunchy magazines that were currently aimed at women, but she had seen those bought by friends. The mainstream ones, with their carefully posed models covered by strategically placed towels, she found irritat-ingly coy, and the more way-out publications, with their exposed but limp penises, distinctly unexciting. She knew it was the result of censorship, but it was, in her view, insulting that while women could be depicted in graphic and colourful detail in magazines that sold in high-street newsagents, the law decided to protect women from the shock of seeing an erect penis, a part of the male anatomy most of them had actively handled and encouraged into action many times during their lives.

'He'd be interested, wouldn't he?' Ricky's voice intruded on her thoughts. She gazed at him blankly. 'James Sinclair,' Ricky said. 'Your new client.'

'My God,' Genevieve said. 'Gossip does travel fast.'

Ricky leaned towards her. 'He'd buy something like this. He'd love these.'

'If you really think so,' Genevieve said, 'take him some samples.'

Ricky laughed. 'Can't you just see me getting into his building, let alone his office? I wouldn't even get past those Gestapo men he's got on the doors. He's got to come to me, and he won't unless he knows where to come and what I'm offering.'

'Write him a letter/ Genevieve said. 'Design yourself a publicity leaflet. Or have you forgotten how to do a commercial project like that?'

Ricky's expression changed. 'You're not going to help me, are you?'

'Of course not/ she said. 'Mr Sinclair is a prospective client. Do you really think I'm going to use a business meeting to try and sell him dirty pictures?'

'They're not dirty pictures/ Ricky objected. 'This is erotica. There's a difference.'

'Call it what you like, the answer's no. And you're an idiot if you ever believed it could have been yes.'