Chapter 2

Bradford was wet, cold and somehow uninviting, so I moved on to Leeds, not far but what a difference. Especially as it was there I met Chris.

Tucked away along a busy side street I found "Brush Strokes" and "Frames & Dames". They shared a single front door which gave access to them both. On the left was what I knew I was looking for, an artists supply shop, "Brush Strokes". Whilst to the right was what I didn't know I was looking for, a small gallery specialising in the female form, some kinky, most in some form of undress, all of it truly art, no crass porn or garish prints.

Christine, Chris, was the Manager for both, tall and commanding, dressed in leather, I only went in to buy a sketch pad, but...

Years of sketching people has taught me a lot about them, their posture, their body language, the way they moved, all formed a part of their character, at least to me. Movement and posture reveals a lot about people, a lot more than they realise, especially the difference between that which is conscious and that which is natural, unconscious. Lots of people hold themselves differently in certain situations, puffing themselves up like bantam hens, few can ever hold the posture for long, soon they get distracted and revert to their natural stance.

The very first thing I noticed about Chris was her poise, an economy of movement combined with perfect comportment, just her silhouette drew my attention, fingers seeking a pencil, my natural reaction to anything that interested me, draw it... !!

Tall and svelte, wide shoulders, a swimmers body, sleek and toned. Long black hair, glossy and dense, woven into a single long braid that coiled like a snake or flicked like a lioness's tail. Her eyes seemed black, yet shone like polished onyx, passion turned them a deep purple, passion changed her a lot. Her eyes captivated me, so open that the iris was fully visible, floating in pools of pure white, yet her eyelids could appear hooded if her mood changed, icy anger or scorching passion, her moods reflected in those eyes, never her feelings.

Maybe Chris reminded me of Rhonda? She certainly had that same way of following her own path, ever sure of who she was and where she was going, but Chris added a steely determination and precise control. Rhonda's naked body oozed sensuality, Chris's projected power.

Soon after I had arrived in Blackpool I had changed my hair to suit my new look. The hairdresser didn't understand what I wanted until I drew it. "Can you do that?" I asked.

"The Junior could do that... !!" For some reason she seemed to think that cutting my long tresses was sacrilege. Tough.

"Great... !! Is she cheaper?" I grinned, enjoying her spluttering and hoping to save my money.

Chris watched me as I entered the shop, I wondered briefly if she thought I was going to steal something, in time I would be able to read her expressions, back then I often misread them.

The sketch pads were certainly good quality, that I recognised, but I wanted what I knew, and the makes were not ones I recognised, not surprising since I normally bought my pads in the 'pound shops' and from Saturday market stalls. Chris watched me as I examined several different pads, comparing texture and grain. "So you sketch?" Her tone not exactly disbelief, but certainly close to condescending.

"Yes, a little, do you?" Take that snob... !!

"No I don't, but I do recognise talent and I have an eye for what sells." An honest answer, I wondered if I'd misjudged her... ?

"And what does sell here?" After all, I needed to either sell my work or get a job, and soon.

"Why don't we just cut to the chase?" Her eyes flicked to my satchel, "you seem to have some of your work with you, let me see and I'll give you my opinion, unlike that sketch pad, my opinion is free." Hmm, maybe she does think I'm a thief?

Nothing ventured etc, "Ok, thank you." I slipped the straps from my shoulders and bent down, undoing the twin buckles that held the flap closed, I didn't need to search, I know exactly were every sketch is, withdrawing a certain sketch I stood up and unfolded it, laying it out on the top of a display cabinet.

Chris was silent for a long moment, still studying it as she spoke, "you drew this?"

"Yes."

"Prove it... !!"

I did my best to smile sweetly as I dug in my pocket, trying my best not to give away my acute lack of funds. "First I need to buy the pad, this one please." I returned the others to their places, holding out a much folded and slightly torn twenty pound note.

Chris took the note, but made no move to ring up the sale, she just stood there, eyes focused on me, waiting, challenging.

Flipping the pad open I stepped back, taking my satchel with me as I sat down, the pad balanced on my thigh. "Comfortable? This will take a few minutes.

Chris never moved.

I took a pencil from my jacket pocket and started, my fingers as always trying to hang on to the pencil as it flicked across the pad. My pencil is not magic, it's just an ordinary artists pencil, it's just that when I sketch I always feel as if the pencil is controlled by my eyes, not my fingers, they are just along for the ride.

I've never seen my face as I work, later Chris told me how I looked, even had me work in front of a mirror, I hated seeing my reflection, but I did get to see what she meant, why she was so surprised when I stood up and after grabbing my satchel walked over and held up the sketch for her to see.

The sketch I had first shown her was one I'd drawn from memory, Rhonda sprawled naked upon her bed, partly in shadow, and to the side, a quarter view from behind, myself, dressed in the clothes she gave me, busy sketching her.

The sketch I'd done as Chris watched me was almost identical, except that in place of Rhonda is was Chris herself sprawled on the bed, dressed as she was right there before me, whilst in the sketch I was naked.

She said nothing, just looking, turning to look at me, then back to the sketch. Maybe it was a minute, it seemed like an hour, then she turned away, moved across to the till, I presumed to ring up the sale of the pad, that is until she came back, holding out the twenty pond note I had given her, along with four more. "Sold. Thank you. I apologise, now please come into the office, we need to talk."

I smiled. "Is there coffee involved?"

Chris returned my smile, "there is always coffee involved." I caught the glint in her eyes, "coffee and more, so much more."

I needed no second invitation, so after slipping the sketch pad into my satchel and fastening the buckles I followed her through a door behind the counter and into the office.

The room was quite large, a big window on the far side let in light and through it was a small yard and the back of the next row of shops. Chris's desk blocked part of the view, her chair on the far side so she faced into the room, her back to the window, the light catching the gloss of her hair, the white walls prevented her face being in shadow. What looked like kitchen cabinets filled the right side of the room, the cupboards mostly labelled with their contents, the worktop scattered with stock, except the closest part, a small inset sink separated the debris from the kettle and a real, working, filled and ready to go coffee machine... !!

"Help yourself, I take mine black, no sugar."

I busied myself making us both coffee, happy that there were no silly little cups, just decent sized mugs, perfect... !! I even slipped off my satchel before I carried hers across to set it on a coaster atop the big hardwood desk, mine was fortunately still on the counter, fortunate as when I turned around I noticed the picture on the opposite wall, not a picture, a giant photo print. I gasped, my body stock still as I just stared. "Fuck me... !!"

Behind me the sound of a deep chuckle and a soft, "later."

It was easy to understand why the picture hung there, exactly opposite the desk, directly in Chris's eye line, yet hidden from anyone looking into the office from the shop. The photo was ... Well it was art ... Poetry ... Perfection. Not to mention very, very kinky.

The girl was spread-eagled between two posts, her feet upon a scarlet carpet, in front of her a huge mirror, maybe a mirrored wall like a dance studio? Behind and to the side of her leather clad woman, a Mistress? Holding a long whip, actually the whip was in motion, caught as it speeded towards the naked girl's body. The reflection in the mirror showed her front, her face, the crimson marks of the whip, her eyes. Oh my! Those eyes, that expression... !! At the bottom of the picture, where the scarlet carpet blended into black shadow a series of smaller pictures like a tapestry filled the width of the print, each obviously taken in succession, each showing progressively more whip marks, making it very plain that the picture was of a real whipping, not a faked piece of theatrical fantasy.