Artistic License Ch. 03

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Big Tits

On Friday I spent the first part of the morning on the phone to my agent, Diane, on the web ordering materials, researching exhibitions and news – generally admin time for “what next?”

By 11 I was done, and was nursing a large mug of coffee as I wandered out into the garden and had a chat with Ken and Steve, the gardeners. Early summer and the garden was looking beautiful, vegetables coming along and flowers blooming. Patrician duties done, I strolled back to the house and picked up the mail. Amongst all the usual crap was a letter addressed to Kate from Joe. He always wrote, once a week, never failed. Never email, despite his free access to it from his work in Dubai. Kate always read his letters out loud to me – I assume that she censored the ‘personal’ parts of them. It was so much more personal and intimate; the fact that he had taken the time to sit down and write – although he addressed the letters solely to her he had clearly written them for both of us (or at least the parts she read to me).

I made a sandwich for lunch, ate it with a glass of home-brew, watching the lunch-time news. Why are people so stupid? You often hear politicians braying ‘Never underestimate the intelligence of ‘s public’ … the truth is quite the opposite: never underestimate their stupidity.

In the afternoon, I took a sketchpad and pencil and went back into the garden, and spent the afternoon drawing. Landscape, close-ups of plants, trees, insects. Bliss. At four, Ken and Steve finished, and we adjourned to the kitchen for the usual end-of-week sampling of my ale before they went home.

I began preparing dinner for me and Kate; beef salad. Her Friday arrival time was varied, dependent on the duration of the end-of-week pub visit with her colleagues. She wandered in at 7.30.

“Hi!” I heard her call speculatively from the kitchen – I was in my living-room watching the end of Question Of Sport, the remains of my meal on the coffee table, a glass of Rioja in my hand.

“Hello!” I called back, switching off the TV. She wandered through. “Good day?” I asked.

“Not bad, although Gordon was hitting on me big-time in the pub.” She slumped onto the sofa across from me, kicking off her heels and swinging her legs up; giving me a delicious glimpse of slim thigh as she did so.

“The perils of being a beautiful woman. Wine?”

“No, I didn’t, just ignored him as politely as I could … oh … ha ha …” she laughed as she saw me wiggling my wine glass “Yes please.”

I took my tray back to the kitchen and poured us both a glass of wine. When I got back to the living room Kate was lying flat on the sofa, her eyes closed as if asleep. I paused as I set the wine glass down on the coffee table in front of the sofa, looking down at her. Hmm. She opened her eyes and caught me looking at her; she smiled, I tried not to look guilty by gesturing quickly to the wine.

“Your wine, m’am.”

“Thanks.” Still smiling as she swung her legs round and sat up, reaching for the glass. I returned to the kitchen and brought her supper through on a tray. She took it and tucked in hungrily.

“Thanks – this is good; I love your coleslaw and potato salad – the yoghurt gives it a nice tang.”

We were silent as she ate – I put on a CD, Boccherini and Bach ‘cello pieces. Finished, she put the tray on the table, sat back and rubbed and patted her belly in parody of a cartoon figure.

“Yum. Needed that.”

“Good.”

“Right, I’m going upstairs to change.” With that she rose and took her tray back through to the kitchen.

The CD had just finished, and I was engrossed in my current book when she returned. She was wearing her long silk dressing gown, barefoot and with a freshly-scrubbed glow to her face. Her full breasts jiggled hypnotically as she walked, her nipples bulging canlı bahis the thin fabric in a most enticing way.

“Hi, is there any more of that wine?”

“Just a dribble – I’ll open another.”

I went to the kitchen and opened another bottle of the Burgundy. When I returned, she was sitting in her usual position on the sofa. The dressing gown had slipped off her left leg revealing a long, smooth thigh; she made no attempt to cover up, even when she caught me admiring it surreptitiously as I poured her wine.

“Thanks. Cheers.”

I sat back down in my chair, picked up my sketch book and pencil and waved them at her.

“Mind if I sketch you?”

She smiled “No, I’d love that – I could send it to Joe.”

She sat still, looking at me as I sketched. It took me half-an-hour.

“Ok. Come see.”

She stood, and the lovely leg disappeared behind the silk. She came and stood beside me as I held the sketch book for her to see. She was silent for several seconds.

“Wow.” She said quietly. “That’s … stunning.”

“No, it’s you who are stunning.”

“Flatterer.”

I looked up – she was bent over gazing intently at the sketch, her lips slightly parted and a faint flush lit up her perfect skin. I could smell the clean, delicately perfumed scent of her close beside me. She looked at me and smiled.

“Thanks – Joe will love it.”

“I hope so. He’s a very lucky man.”

“Hmm. If only he were here to enjoy it.”

I grinned up at her, and we shared a knowing look, then she shrugged. I tore the sheet out of the book and gave it to her and she walked back to the sofa.

“Right, I’m going to bed. What time do we have to go tomorrow?” I asked.

“The train’s 11.15.”

“Ok, good night.”

“Good night. And thanks for the sketch.”

I went to bed and slept like the dead.

The next morning we took the Aston to the station and caught the train to London. Kate was wearing a figure-hugging knee-length cream dress in a soft material, with a white linen jacket and cream high-heeled sandals. She looked stunning. When we arrived at the Queen’s Theatre we just had time for a swift G&T and to order interval drinks. The show was brilliant. As we left the theatre, Kate turned to me.

“Ok, you know I said I was going to take you to the National Portrait Gallery?”

“Yes …” I said hesitantly, sensing a ‘Well …’ coming.

“Well … I lied.”

I assumed a gobsmacked look; she laughed and smacked me on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry, the actual plan is even better!”

I eyed her suspiciously. “What could be better?”

“Hogarth.”

I stared back at her, nonplussed. After a few seconds of baffled silence she laughed.

“You’re an artist! Didn’t you know about the Hogarth exhibition at the Tate Modern?”

Damn! She’d got me! I’d somehow missed it; my favourite artist! What living in Norfolk does for you. I shuffled, embarrassed, held my hands together in front of me, knotting my fingers and looked down at the pavement in parody of a naughty boy caught bang to rights.

“No, miss.” I muttered.

She doubled-up, laughing her infectious best.

“Oh you poor man! Good job I live in the 21st century!”

“Ouch.” I muttered.

“Oh come on, stop being silly – I’ve got tickets so let’s go.”

We made our way to the Tate Modern and I spent three mouth-watering hours admiring the master’s work. His portrait of George Arnold … I almost drooled in envy at the painterly skill evident in the evocation of the stout 18th century merchant. As we came out of the gallery into the evening sunlight I turned to Kate and kissed her briefly on the cheek.

“Thank you Kate, that was wonderful – so thoughtful of you to do this for me.”

She blushed slightly, then smiled bahis siteleri broadly. “Not at all – you’ve been wonderful to me; just saying ‘thanks’. Come on, let’s go for dinner – I’m famished!”

“Hmm, yes, I’m a tad peckish too – could eat a whole-cow pie.”

We made our way to the restaurant and enjoyed plate after plate of delicious tapas washed down with Rioja. Outside, now dark with a clear sky, it had chilled quickly and was now quite cool. As we made our way back to the tube station she hooked her arm in mine and pulled close, giving a little shiver.

“Brr. It’s got cold; good job I wore this jacket.”

“That can’t keep you very warm – you haven’t even buttoned it up.”

“No, but it covers up my boobs.”

I caught her meaning and laughed. “Chapel hat-pegs?”

“Oh yes.”

We caught a tube to Liverpool Street; it was standing-room only. We stood in the access area, facing each other, me with my back against the glass panel, Kate holding the rail above her head as we chatted about the day. At the next stop, three hugely fat old ladies pushed their way on and Kate was unceremoniously pushed against me; my hands automatically went to her waist to support her. We both looked at each other, eyes wide in expressions of mock alarm as we were squashed together. Her body was soft, her full breasts pressed against my chest and I’m sure she felt as emotionally uncomfortable as she did physically. Mixed feelings for me: awkward at having my daughter-in-law squashed against me, delight at having my daughter-in-law squashed against me. As the train bounced along, the inevitable happened … panicked, I tried desperately to take my mind off the sensations of her body rubbing against mine, but, as every man knows, your cock has a mind of its own. There was simply nowhere to go; I physically couldn’t move my hips back, and to even try to do so would have made the embarrassing nature of my situation even more apparent. There was also no way she could have not felt my erection against her belly, as her dress was very thin, soft and clinging … which reminded me that I had not noticed a VPL … which thought made things even worse.

“Er … Kate … terribly sorry about this … ” I muttered, trying not to look her in the face.

She giggled, put her mouth close to my ear and whispered “I’d have been upset if you hadn’t.”

God she was nice. A moment later she whispered in my ear again “Anyway, it’s very impressive.”

Mortified, I looked at her. She had a faint smile on her lips. The rest of the tube journey was a nightmare. At each stop some people would get off, momentarily easing the crush, but more would then pile on, restoring it. Kate made no attempt to move away from me, and the gentle rubbing of her belly against my hard-on as the train bounced and swayed kept it rock-hard. Then I realised I had another problem looming: when we got off the train I would have to walk along with a very obvious hard-on tenting the front of my light-weight trousers. Even as I thought this, Kate leant forward to whisper in my ear.

“I’ll take off my jacket – you can carry it to cover up.”

What a star!

Then “Hey, you could probably hang it on that thing.” Followed by a throaty little chuckle.

My face must have been beetroot. At last we reached Liverpool Street, and as people poured off the train Kate whipped off her jacket and handed it to me as she turned and walked onto the platform. She immediately hooked her arm in mine and we made our way up to the mainline platforms. My cock quickly detumesced, and I handed back her jacket. We were lucky, a train for Norfolk was leaving in five minutes, and we found seats in First Class, which was largely empty. We sat opposite each other, and as we looked at each other she burst out laughing.

“Kate, I’m bahis şirketleri so sorry about that – please forgive me.”

“Don’t worry, it’s fine! Very flattering in fact.”

We reached our station an hour later and drove home. Both tired from the busy day, we were silent until we got into the farmhouse.

“Nightcap?” I asked her as we walked into the kitchen.

“Good idea, I could use a stiff one …”

There was a nanosecond of silence and then she shrieked with laughter, clapping her hands. I stood looking at her with a wry grin on my face as she doubled up.

“Ha ha, very funny.”

She quickly composed herself, looked at me, then, unable to contain her mirth, snorted into giggles again. I sighed and sauntered off to my living room. I poured two fingers of Talisker into two tumblers, added a dash of water to each and handed one to Kate as she came in.

“Thanks.”

She stood in front of me, raised her glass and chinked it against mine.

“Cheers.” I said “Thanks for a wonderful day Kate, it was nearly all wonderful.”

Her mouth twitched briefly, but she retained control admirably, then sipped her malt before turning and sitting down on the large sofa. As I started to move to my chair she spoke.

“Don’t go and sit over there in that lonely old armchair – come and sit with me.”

Nodding, I sat down slightly apart from her. She turned, leaning back against the arm of the sofa and swung her legs up to rest her calves across my thighs.

“Can you take my shoes off please?” She said quietly.

“I’m not wearing your shoes.” I smiled wanly at the old joke.

“Boom, boom.” She intoned gravely.

I undid the small buckles holding the straps together and slipped the shoes off her feet, which, she being quite tall, were long and slim. She wiggled her toes.

“Could you rub my feet, they’re killing me. Far too much walking in heels.”

I looked at her, trying desperately not to look at the full swells of her breasts, her nipples clearly erect.

“I think I’ve got into enough trouble today as it is without giving you a foot rub.”

She pouted, then shrugged. I took a good swig from my glass then leant back against the sofa and closed my eyes. After a few moments Kate waggled her legs against my thighs, breaking me from my reverie.

“Don’t go to sleep! Talk to me.”

“What about?”

“Anything.”

Outwardly I smiled, but inwardly I groaned; why do women do this to us? At my age men are happy to sit in comfortable silence, drink their malt and doze off. Women want to talk.

“Did you call Francesca?”

“Yes, we’re meeting for lunch tomorrow.”

“That’s nice. I can just imagine the phone conversation: ‘Hello, is that Francesca? Hi, this is Kate – I saw you naked the other day so thought we could meet for lunch?'”

She giggled. “Actually it was a bit like that, except she said ‘Sure, let’s meet for lunch at Hamptons … will you recognise me with my clothes on?'”

“Will you recognise her?”

“Of course I’ll recognise her: she’ll be the sun in the middle of the sunflowers.”

“Yes, I can imagine she has that kind of effect. I’ll phone Hamptons in the morning to tell them they’ll be hosting a binary star.”

She nudged me with a foot. “You say the nicest things!”

I smiled indulgently at her. “Only to the nicest people.”

I finished my malt and leant forward to put my glass on the coffee table, which brought my groin against Kate’s left foot. I sat back quickly; she seemed not to have noticed. She drained her own glass, swung her legs to the floor and stood up.

“Right, I’m off to bed.”

“Me too in a minute. Good night.”

She leant over me and kissed me briefly. I so wanted to put my hand behind her head and pull her into a passionate kiss. She turned and walked out to the kitchen. As she passed along the corridor she called back.

“No naughty dreams tonight!”

“Aaagghhhh!” I groaned loudly.

I could her laughter until she left the kitchen.

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