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It had been a busy but rewarding year for me.
My name is James Constable, and I am a painter. Of course with that name, everyone that I meet in the Art world asks if I am related to ‘the’ Constable. By this of course they are referring to the famous English painter John Constable. The answer to this question is that I simply don’t know if we are related.
The name does have its advantages, though, and it has probably helped to launch my career as a painter. It started with my first exhibition, which was held just over a year ago, in the spring of 1932. My work was received most favourably, and I sold several paintings. But more importantly, I received commissions to paint portraits of several influential (and wealthy!) people, and I had been well paid for my services. But now it was the summer of 1933, the portraits had all been completed, and I was ready for a break from work.
Even though portrait painting was a useful source of income (even artists have to eat!) my real love of painting, like that of my namesake, was landscapes. I loved to escape from the confines of the studio and take in the whole kaleidoscope that Nature had to offer. So I had had an idea.
My father had been born in a village in Kent, but when he was about seven years old, his family had moved to another part of the country. I had never visited that village, but now I decided that I would go there for a holiday. Then I could combine a little landscape painting with some research into my family history.
It was mid-afternoon when my train arrived at my destination. It was quite a struggle to get out of the carriage door with my luggage and all of my artist’s supplies. Luckily there was an inn quite close to the station and they were able to give me a room. I dropped my luggage in my room and set out to explore the village.
The village was pretty, almost quaint, with several interesting buildings that would make good subjects for painting. But I had come to paint landscapes, so I walked to the end of the village and looked at the surrounding countryside. And what a disappointment it was! While I had pictured rolling hills and tree-lined lanes, most of the land was flat and had been given over to agriculture. It was quite unappealing. There was, however, an ancient stone bridge over a small stream, next to a few trees, that would make a nice subject.
As I walked back to the village I noticed the church, and I knew that the church records would be where my quest for my family history must begin. So I decided that I would walk over and introduce myself to the vicar. He was a pleasant enough chap, the Reverend John Telford, and he most obligingly offered to help me search the records. We agreed to make a start the next morning.
The next morning I presented myself at the Vicarage as agreed. Reverend Telford greeted me cheerily, and we adjourned to a room at the back of the church where the records were kept.
Searching the records was an arduous task, as of course there was no index, and we had to examine each record of baptism and marriage individually. By noon all that we had uncovered were the baptism records of my father and his two brothers, and my grandparent’s marriage record. I was just starting to get discouraged when there was a knock at the door.
The door opened, and in walked the most beautiful woman that I have ever seen. She was about twenty five, I guessed, and her skin was the exquisite colour of ivory. Her face might have been sculptured from the finest marble by Michelangelo. She had flaming red hair, which cascaded down over her shoulders, contrasting superbly with her skin. Her ample breasts pressed against the front of her dress. She was an artist’s dream come true. And she was a woman who any man would want to make his wife.
“Luncheon is ready, dear,” she said to Reverend Telford. And then she noticed me. “Oh, hello there,” she said brightly to me.
“Mr Constable, this is my wife Alexis,” said Reverend Telford by way of introduction.
“How do you do?” said the lovely Alexis, smiling at me.
“Delighted to meet you,” I replied.
“Would you like to stay for lunch, Mr Constable?” Alexis asked me.
“I wouldn’t want to be any bother,” I replied.
“No bother at all,” said Alexis.
“Then thank you, I would like that very much,” I replied.
We all walked over to the Vicarage, and sat down and began to eat lunch. I had explained to Reverend Telford that I was a painter, and my search for a connection to ‘that other Constable’, and he told the story to Alexis. “Oh how exciting!” said Alexis. “To think that you might be related to someone famous. You know, I think that I read about your exhibition in London last year. I remember thinking how curious it was that you had the same name as a famous painter. Do you think that you will become as famous as him?”
I laughed politely. “I don’t think that’s very likely,” I said. “I’ll be happy if I can make a living from my work.”
“Alexis paints, you know,” said Reverend Telford. “Alex, you should canlı bahis show Mr Constable some of your work.”
Alexis looked embarrassed. “John, I’m sure that Mt Constable wouldn’t want to waste his time looking at my paintings,” she said.
“I would be delighted to look at your work, Alexis,” I said. “And please call me James. Perhaps we could do it later this afternoon, when we finish going through the church records.”
“Thank you, James, that would be lovely,” said Alexis, flashing her radiant smile at me.
We finished eating, and then Reverend Telford and I returned to the records room. By four o’clock we had found the marriage records of my great-grandparents, and we decided to call it a day. As we walked back to the Vicarage I was looking forward to seeing the lovely Alexis once more.
Alexis was waiting for us with what seemed to be a look of anticipation. “I’ll take you up to my studio,” she said excitedly. She led me around the back of the house to a building that used to house stables, but now only contained gardening clutter, and then up a ladder to a large loft that had been set up as an artist’s studio. There was a large skylight that let in a northern light that made it an ideal place to paint. “But this is wonderful!” I said enthusiastically. “What a great place to work!”
“Yes, I love it here,” said Alexis. “I can shut myself up here, away from the cares of the world.” A brief frown formed on her face, but almost immediately she pushed it away. “This is what I’m working on now,” she said.
She showed me an almost-finished painting of an elaborate floral display. It was very detailed, and her work really was very good. “But the flowers keep dying, and I have to try to replace them with others that are the same. So the painting keeps changing,” she said.
“Alex, this is really good work,” I said encouragingly, and she brightened up a lot at my complement. “Show me what else you’ve done.”
She showed me several other paintings. They were all attractive. I could see that she had a natural talent. What a shame that she had not received any training in painting, I thought. Then I noticed a half-completed painting of the stone bridge that I had seen the previous afternoon. “That bridge!” I exclaimed. “I saw it yesterday, and I thought that it would make a good subject for a painting. We must think alike.”
“It seems as though we do,” said Alexis.
“Maybe we could work together,” I said. “You could finish your painting, and I could start mine.”
“Oh that would be wonderful!” exclaimed Alexis. “And you could give me some advice on my technique.”
“Then it’s settled,” I said. “We’ll make a start just as soon as we finish searching through those dreary records.”
We returned to the Vicarage, and Alexis told Reverend Telford of our plans to work together painting the bridge. He seemed very pleased that I was going to help Alexis with her hobby. We agreed to resume our search through the records the next morning.
The next morning, as Reverend Telford and I returned to the record books, he said, “I’m so glad that you offered to give Alex some advice on her painting. Lately her interest seemed to be waning a bit. She needs a hobby like that – I think that she gets bored sometimes.”
I nodded acknowledgement, and then I thought about Alexis as I searched the records. She was a truly beautiful woman. Life must be boring for her in this small village. Reverend Telford seemed to be quite a bit older than she was, about forty I guessed. He most likely would not be great company, in or out of the bedroom. I found myself wondering why she had married him.
We found the marriage record of my great-great-grandparents early that morning. We stopped for lunch, and then by mid-afternoon I was ready to give up. I was thoroughly tired of the dusty record books, and there did not seem to be any older records of my family there. And I was thinking more and more about spending some time with the lovely Alexis. “I think we will conclude that there are no more records of my family,” I said to Reverend Telford. He quickly agreed with me; no doubt he was tired of searching as well.
We walked back to the Vicarage. “Let’s go painting,” I said to Alexis as soon as I saw her. She clapped her hands for joy and scampered off to collect her equipment.
I went back to the inn, collected my own equipment, and walked back to the Vicarage. Then Alexis and I walked down to the stream. We set up in the same place that Alexis had used before, which was the place that I would have selected as well, and set to work. I did some preliminary work, but I spent most of the time advising Alexis on her technique. Of course I had to spend a lot of time standing quite close to her, and her presence made it very difficult to concentrate on painting.
It was about seven pm when Alexis looked at her watch. “Oh my goodness!” she exclaimed. “Look at the time! I must get back.”
We quickly packed up our equipment. “I hope that your husband doesn’t think that we have bahis siteleri run off together,” I said jokingly.
The frown came back to Alexis’s face. “I’m sure that he wouldn’t think that anyone would want to run away with me,” she said sadly. We walked back to the Vicarage in silence. “Would you like to do this again tomorrow?” I asked. “Oh yes, please,” said Alexis, brightening up. We said goodbye and I walked back to the inn.
The next morning Alexis was in her usual bright mood when I called for her at the Vicarage. We returned to the bridge, and this time I was able to spend most of the morning painting. However, I kept getting distracted by Alexis. She was wearing a pale green sun dress, with no sleeves, and it perfectly contrasted with the colour of her skin and her blazing red hair. I found myself wanting to look at her more that I looked at the bridge. And then I thought how much I would rather be painting Alexis than painting the bridge.
“Alex, have you ever posed for an artist?” I asked casually.
“Me?” she asked, surprised. “Who would want to paint me?”
“Well, I for one would like that very much,” I said. “Would you sit for me?”
“I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. “I would have to ask John.”
“And if he agrees?” I asked.
Her face burst into a brilliant smile. “Oh James, I’d love to pose for you!” she gushed.
“Then it’s settled,” I said. “We will talk to John at lunch, and if he agrees, we can start this afternoon. And I want you to wear that dress.”
“Oh that’s good,” she said. “I love this dress.”
We continued to paint and chat until it was time to return to the Vicarage for lunch. Alexis enthusiastically told Reverend Telford that I had asked her to pose for me, and was it all right if she did? He agreed without giving it much thought.
And so after lunch we went up to the loft and I started work on Alexis’s portrait. The afternoon light was ideal, and as I started to work I was pleased that I had asked her to wear the green dress. It showed a lot of her lovely skin, which I knew was going to be a challenge to paint, but the result would be well worth the effort. And the dress emphasised her breasts very well. Already I was planning to give nature a little ‘help’ in that area of the painting.
We developed a routine of going out to paint the bridge in the morning, and then after lunch Alexis would pose for me in the loft. The first couple of afternoons, Reverend Telford stuck his head up into the loft to see how things were progressing, but since I told him that he couldn’t see the painting until it was finished, he soon lost interest and stopped coming. Myself, I soon lost interest in painting the bridge, and I found myself becoming impatient each morning, wishing that lunchtime would arrive so that we could continue work on the portrait.
As I got to know Alexis better, I began to understand the cause of her sadness. She told me that her family was wealthy, and her parents had wanted her to marry a distant cousin, whom she did not like at all. To avoid this marriage she had more or less thrown herself at Reverend Telford. He had been completely overwhelmed by her advances, and had quickly proposed marriage. Her father, who was a very religious man, had considered this to be a good match for his daughter and had given his approval for the marriage.
Alexis didn’t seem to have very much to fill in her days. There were a few duties associated with the church, of course, but there didn’t seem to be much else for her to do. They had a housekeeper who came each day to do the cooking and cleaning. “I’m a hopeless cook,” Alexis had confided in me. But she seemed to bask in my attention as I studied her for the painting.
One day, Reverend Telford was away on parish business when we returned to the Vicarage for lunch, and we lingered over lunch longer than usual. We always drank a glass of alcoholic cider with lunch, but that day we had two, or even three, glasses, before we went up to the loft. I didn’t know if it was because of the cider, but Alexis was in a rather quiet mood as she posed. Then quite unexpectedly, she said to me, “James, have you ever painted a nude?”
I was surprised by her question. “Only once,” I said. “In college, as part of my studies.”
“Was she pretty?” asked Alexis.
“Not at all,” I replied. “Particularly since ‘she’ was a ‘he’. I suppose the experience was instructive, but it wasn’t very ……. interesting.”
“Oh,” she giggled. “Poor James!”
Alexis was quiet for a few minutes, and then she said, “But haven’t you ever wanted to paint a nude? A woman, I mean? Haven’t you ever asked anyone to pose nude for you?”
“Of course I would like to do that,” I asked. “But it’s difficult. It’s not the sort of thing that one can just come out and ask a lady.”
“No, I suppose not,” she said.
Again Alexis was quiet for a little while, and then she said, almost casually, “James, would you like to see me nude?”
I stopped in mid brush stroke. “Oh, Alex, you have no idea bahis şirketleri how much I would like that,” I said. “But what about your husband?”
“We won’t tell him,” she said. And as she spoke, she reached up and untied the strings at the shoulders of her dress, letting the top fall down to reveal her breasts.
I stared. Open mouthed, like a teenage boy who was seeing a woman naked for the first time. Her breasts were simply superb, even better than I had imagined them. They were the same ivory colour as the rest of her body, of course, and were beautifully curved. And she had lovely big pink nipples that pointed up into the air in a delightful way. In my mind’s eye I was already painting her in the nude, and I could see that it would be completely unnecessary for me to enhance the work that Nature had done on her.
“Well, what do you think?” she asked.
“Speaking as an artist, and as a man, I have to say that you have a beautiful figure,” I gasped.
“Thank you, James, as an artist and as a man,” she said, sounding pleased with herself. Then before I could say anything else, she stood up, undid the buttons in her dress, and let it fall to the floor. Then she slipped out of her underclothes and stood before me completely naked.
Once again I just stared. The rest of her figure was also superb, with a tiny waist, and nice round hips. And she has a little bush that was the same flaming red colour as her hair. And peeking out from her bush I could just see the two tight lips of her pussy. Then she saw where I was staring, and she blushed. “Oh, James,” she said. “Please don’t look at me there — between my legs.”
“But why?” I asked. “A woman’s secret place is the most beautiful part of her body.”
“Really?” she said. “My vagina, you mean?”
“Oh yes,” I said. “But I don’t like to call it a vagina, it’s much too clinical sounding. Men call it a pussy.”
She giggled. “A pussy?” she said. “Why do they call it that?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “Maybe it’s because if a man strokes a woman’s pussy just right he can make her purr.”
Alexis moved close to me. “Stroke my pussy, James,” she whispered breathlessly. “And make me purr.”
I reached out and pulled her to me, pressing my lips to hers. She put her arms around my neck and pressed her lovely body against mine. I kissed her deeply, exploring her mouth with my tongue, and feeling her tongue do the same to me. Then I moved my head down to her breasts, and she gasped as I took one nipple into my mouth, sucking it and rolling it between my lips. I slipped my hand between us, and she moaned as my fingers brushed through her bush and touched her pussy. Her breathing quickened as my fingers rubbed her clit. “Mmmm,” she sighed. “Purrrrrr.”
I led her to the divan that we had been using for her to pose, and she lay down on it, stretching like a cat and opening her legs invitingly for me. Quickly I discarded my clothes. Then I kneeled down between her legs, and she let out a little noise like a yelp as my tongue touched her pussy lips. “Ohhhhhh!” she sighed as my tongue razed the length of her pussy, finding her little clit. She grabbed my head and pulled me even closer to her, wiggling and gasping as I sucked her clit. Then without warning I moved up and rammed my cock into her pussy. “Eeeeeeeee!” she squealed as my shaft disappeared completely into her. She wrapped her legs around me, thrusting her hips up to meet each of my strokes, until she erupted in the first orgasm of her life.
We lay together for a few minutes, and then she said, “Oh, James, I never dreamed that it could be like that.” I held her close and kissed her, and then she said, “Can we do it again?”
“Oh yes,” I said, and she squealed as I grabbed her.
We spent the rest of the afternoon making love. Fortunately Reverend Telford was not expected home until the next evening.
Next morning Alexis was still enjoying our lovemaking from the previous day. “I dreamed about you last night,” she said as we walked down for our morning session of bridge painting. “Nice dreams, I hope,” I replied. “Lovely dreams,” she said, smiling at me.
I could muster very little enthusiasm for bridge painting that morning. I just wanted to get Alexis back to the loft and get her clothes off. Of course I wanted to make love to her again, but also I wanted to start work on a nude painting her. I hadn’t asked her, but I knew now that she wouldn’t refuse to pose for me in the nude.
Finally it was time to return to the Vicarage for lunch. We both ate quickly and went up to the loft. As soon as we were inside, Alexis threw her arms around me and kissed me passionately. We made love on the divan once again.
Afterwards as I was dressing, I said to Alexis, “Don’t bother to get dressed. I want to start work on the other painting of you. The special painting that will be just for me.”
Alexis smiled, and I was sure that she knew what I meant. I set up a fresh canvas, and then I posed Alexis on the divan, just the way that I wanted her. Traditional poses for nude paintings are what you might call ‘discreet’, but I was having none of that. I arranged Alexis in a pose that showed not only her red bush, but also the tops of her pussy lips. And then I started to paint.
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