Here's a tempting taster from one of the stories, namely, 'Room for rent', a strange cyclic tale set in an old house with an empty room.
Room for rent (excerpt)
A tentative knock.
Room for rent (excerpt)
A tentative knock.
'Arthur?'
Her muffled voice was tiny. She knocked again. Turned the knob. The door swung slowly open. Guilt weighed so heavily, I could barely raise my head. Clarice stood in the doorway, her face wet with tears. I knew I had no choice; I was sick and it was time to administer the bitter remedy.
'I will pay what rent I owe and pay also for the materials I have used... then I will leave immediately.'
Her reaching arm and upturned palm stilled me.
'No, please!' We stood in screaming silence. 'I want...' Her long black coat was still buttoned to the neck, though her feet were inexplicably bare. She took off her hat, unpinned her blonde tresses and shook her head till her hair flowed freely. Our eyes met for what I thought would probably be the last time. Her words stunned me. 'I want you to draw me.'
Five buttons popped silently through five wide eyes and the coat slid from her shoulders. It fell and crumpled onto the oilcloth. I stared at the silken blue lining about her feet, not daring to contemplate the Venus above. My voice cracked.
'Clarice... I can't...'
'No man has seen me thus, Arthur. This is a gift I have saved for this moment. Please do not refuse me.'
Through tears, I gazed at the impossible beauty before me. Her pale young skin glowed with vitality, from her pretty feet to her lovely head. Shapely calves supported perfect knees and flawless thighs. My eyes skipped quickly past the centre of her sexuality and lingered on the gentle curve of her belly. They continued their upward journey, briefly settling on her girlish breasts and barely discernible nipples. I could tell she was in turmoil; half of her wanting to cover herself, while the remainder fought to keep her hands by her sides. This was incredibly difficult for both of us. Her collarbone was welcome familiar ground, and it was with relief that I met her eyes once more.
'You are a beautiful woman.'
'Thank you. Will you? Please?'
'Are you sure this is what you want?'
'What you drew was wonderful, but it isn't me. I want you to draw me.'
After lowering my eyes, I stepped to her side and draped her coat back around her shoulders. I fetched a wooden chair from the kitchen and invited her to sit.
'How do you want me?'
The question made my heart thud and my cheeks burn.
'Be comfortable. Whatever makes you feel good.'
The coat clothed the floor once more. Clarice sat, crossed her legs and threw an arm over the chair back. She tossed her head and long hair tumbled down her spine, leaving her tiny pointed tits exposed. Her body flowed deliciously from proud chin to lovely toes. The curves invited capture; the angles demanded accuracy. The function and purpose of her muscles, bones, veins and tendons were laid bare and seemed incredibly clear to me. I clothed them in a veil of silky skin, sketching the results of their subtle interactions economically and unerringly. My pencil stroked her, teased her, faithfully following every undulation. There was a freedom I had never experienced before, a natural unhindered flow that sprung from somewhere deep within. I worked quickly, effortlessly and within twenty minutes I had her image before me. It was obvious I had captured something more than mere flesh, something intangible, and when I turned my easel, she recognised it immediately.
'You make me look beautiful... desirable. No! More than that: you make me look loved. How do you do that?'
My thoughts screamed.
'Clarice? Can't you see? It's because you are. It's because I do.'
I merely shrugged and shook my head.
After a few minor adjustments to her position I started again. Sunlight now streamed through the windows and burnt away the shadows. The room was getting hotter and the girl's modesty was melting. I took fewer strokes, made fewer corrections. My confidence had grown to almost parallel the strangled pole between my legs, a grotesque protrusion she must surely have noticed.
'Finished!'
'Already? Impossible!'
It was impossible, but there she was. Again I turned the easel around and this time she gasped.
'Oh, Arthur. That's amazing!'
'It's you, Clarice.'
'I know! Who else would it be? I'm the only naked woman in the room!'
She laughed nervously and, as I joined her, the tension eased.
'No, I mean... I am mesmerised by you. It is as though you draw yourself. My hand is not my own and moves of its own accord.'
Though she narrowed her eyes, I could see my words tumbling behind them as she struggled to balance their meaning.
'Again!'
A fresh sheet. A new medium. Pastels. And a new, more ambitious pose. Feet apart, she sat on the edge of the chair and leaned towards me. Her left hand shielded her pudendum, while her right cupped its corresponding breast. Blonde hair cascaded past her left shoulder and was parted by her left tit's now prominent nipple. My poor member strained in my pants, demanded release, and I knew that when this was over and I was alone in my room, he would need very little attention to return to his natural state. My eyes devoured, my mind digested, and my blurred hand disgorged her lovely limbs onto the page. It took mere minutes. With a deep sigh and a final flourish, I spun the easel again. For long moments, she was silent. Her head tilted; her lips pursed.
'Is that how you see me?'
Behind her words, something dark was stirring. I wasn't sure exactly what she meant, whether my honest answer would please or offend her.
'I...'
'Please, Arthur. Answer honestly. Is that how you truly see me?'
'Yes.'
To download your free copy of 'Of angels, mice and men', click on the link above. Happy unearthly reading!
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