Late Flowering Lust

"When I told my boss that you were a distant cousin, and that in my opinion a series by a world renowned expert with your reputation would give that extra caché a small publisher like us needs in today's competitive market, he nearly snapped my hand off. So I am here, and I do hope you will say yes to the proposal. We will pay you a very good fee and you will get a generous share of the royalties."

He thought for a few minutes before replying, "I am very flattered by your proposal, and I am delighted to accept. The money is immaterial to me as I will be able to live very comfortably on my pension and from sales of my paintings, but it will give me something satisfying to do in my retirement. My daughter would like me to sell this apartment and move out of town to something more modest where I can grow flowers. Sadly the idea bores me, and my father may have been a farmer but I have no aptitude at all with plants. Anyway, I could not bear to leave Paris, it captured my heart long ago and this is where I am at home. To leave after living here for over fifty years would break my heart."

"That's fixed then," she said, "I will send you the contract tomorrow. But that's not all. I have one other very personal request."

"Oh," he replied, wondering whatever she could mean.

"I'm sorry if it appears like prying, but I couldn't help noticing the painting of your wife over your bed — the door was open and I'm afraid I just peeked in. I have seen several of your paintings in galleries and, as well as being a gifted academic, it is my opinion that you are a fine painter of nudes that are frankly erotic in the way they capture the essence of the subject's inner desires. It may seem surprising but I would dearly love you to paint me like that."

He sat in silence for a bit longer. This was something totally unexpected and he wasn't sure of the propriety of what she was suggesting.

He explained this to François, but she was insistent and as she was totally adamant that was she wanted, and not wanting to offend such a beautiful young lady, he decided that the gentlemanly thing to do would be to accede to her request. However when he told her that he was willing to paint her in the nude as she desired, he said that he felt there ought to be a chaperone present. He also explained that as well as two or three sittings, he would need to take some photographs which he would give to her once the painting was completed to his satisfaction.

François laughed at his suggestion of a chaperone and said that she didn't think that would be at all necessary and that she was happy for him to take as many photographs as he wanted, and that she had no objections to him keeping them afterwards to remember her by.

ooOoo

The painting was finally completed in early autumn. The pose he wanted had been easy to decide. He particularly wanted to capture the aura and bloom of her flesh that had so captivated him when he first caught sight of her that summer evening in Paris. He placed her on a chair at a slight angle to the window with its westerly view across the park as if she was watching for her lover to return, with her legs crossed and her arms demurely in her lap. He chose a time of day when the sun was beginning to set so that her body appeared to glow against the darkness of the room in order to give an impression of the warmth of her flesh and the radiance of her personality.

He was surprised how easily he found it to capture her likeness, but he struggled with the skin tones and it was only after several abortive attempts that he finally found the right mixture of colours. At last however he was happy with the result and allowed his daughter to view the finished picture, which he had kept hidden from her whilst he was working on it. To his delight she said that in her opinion it was one of the best things he had ever done, and specifically commented on the remarkable quality of the flesh tones which seemed to glow with an inner light. This pleased him immensely since that was precisely what he had been hoping to capture.

Towards the end of the third sitting François asked if she might look at the painting. She then said something that irrevocably changed the nature of their relationship.

"The painting of your wife has a special quality that is absent in the rest of your work, and I believe that is because you were lovers as well as artist and model. My mother kept her letters from you and I when I read them I realised that you were each other's first love. She never forgot the passion and joy she discovered in your arms and often regretted that you drifted apart. Your love had something beautiful about it that I have never discovered with any of my lovers and I have often wondered what it would like to make love to you, and whether I too would find that same spark."

He blushed deeply but was secretly stirred by the thought of making love to such an amazing creature, it had been so long since he had known the feeling of warm female flesh in his arms, and the ecstasy of entering the dark and velvet depths of that garden of female delights.

François continued, "Now that I have met you I am even more determined to know you in the most intimate way possible between a man and a woman, and I will not accept a refusal. You have devoured me with your eyes for days but now I want you to surrender to your carnal nature and possess me completely. You have stirred a deep longing and desire in my body and my soul, and I want that hunger to show in my portrait."

They became lovers that night in the darkness of his marriage bed, under what he believed was the approving gaze of his dead wife who would never have wanted him to forgo the pleasures of the flesh. At first their love making was slow and tender as they mapped every inch of each other's bodies with lips and tongues and gently probing fingers, but as their mutual passion grew the movement of their entwined limbs became more urgent. At last the divine moment came when she guided his erect and throbbing masculinity between the swollen petals of her sex and pulled him deep into the dark tunnel of her vagina. Moving in complete harmony, the rhythm of the coordinated thrusting of their loins ascended to a pinnacle of sensual pleasure and desire, and when he filled her with the outpouring of his seed they cried out in the ecstasy of their mutual climaxes.

As they lay there in post orgasmic languor he felt as if he had entered into the glow which had seemed from the first moment he had seen her to illuminate her flesh in almost mystical light. They slept contentedly in each other's arms for hours, but as the morning sun cast its first rays across their naked bodies anointing them with golden light, he woke to the exquisite feeling of lips wrapped around his penis and fingers gently stroking his scrotum. Coaxed into new life by the skilful caresses of his young lover he soon rose to full splendour again, and they made love again in the intoxication of mutual passion until they entered once more into the rapture of total physical union.

Throughout the golden days of autumn and the drab greyness of winter they continued to take nightly delight in the beauty of sexual love, each time they entered the land of consummated desire as wonderful as their first mating. François became his model and he painted many pictures of her naked body exposed to the entrance gaze of her lover. To his mind these were some of the best paintings he had ever done and in every one he felt that he had indeed captured the inner light of her soul in the radiance of her flesh. None however, surpassed the beauty and truth of the first portrait which he considered to be his masterpiece, and which captured the extraordinary quality of his subject most completely, not because of his skill and expertise, but because of the particular qualities that she brought. It was as much her work as his, and it was painted with love and shone with the inner light of her love and desire. It said everything he had ever wished to say in paint about the beauty of the human soul, which is the quality that all the best portraits seek to portray.

When at last François bade him a final farewell on the first day of May when the flower girls were selling their fragrant offerings of bunches of Lily of the Valley in the streets of Paris, it was with regret that they parted but also deep gratitude for all that they had shared. He realised that he could never repeat what they had achieved together most gloriously during their brief but deeply enriching love affair, and he threw away his palette, brushes and tubes of paint, content to live with his memories for the rest of his days.

ooOoo

He and François never met again, although she did write to him regularly, and when she ultimately married and had children, sent him photographs of her growing family at Christmas and for his birthday. He has continued to live in Paris, and now in his old age he will often be found sitting in a chair looking out over the city where he first discovered love. If you asked him what he was thinking he might reply that he was dreaming of a special evening when he saw someone who embodied the elemental spirit of that wonderful and uniquely beautiful city, and was permitted the privilege of entering into the depth of her soul.