Spoilt for Choice


Jamie wondered if he should just pack it in.

He had his coursework to do after the field trip yesterday, when the class had spent the day in the caldera and had been roasted by an unforgiving sun that had blazed down, unrelentingly, out of a cloudless sky. The four weeks in Lanzarote, on a geology course and especially vulcanicity, were but an interlude before he started his new job in an environment consultancy, his master’s degree in such matters essential if he was to have any chance of getting his foot in the door.

Other preoccupations filled his head, the first being to rid his mind of the memories of being ditched by a long-term girlfriend he had thought was ‘the one’. Academic cleverness didn’t equip you for such trouble. The second was more of an obsession; he loved his art, and painting in particular. It was a distraction that always stood him in good stead.

He reckoned that he was pretty good at his landscapes, the take he had on them, and that those who had bought his work, back home, said captured the view but portrayed it through different eyes. Perhaps his interest in geology accounted for that, along with his use of colour. He sure wasn’t a painter who treated the scene before him as if he was painting by numbers and replicating it…not giving it any kind of ‘spin’. He used the word often in his thoughts of the Impressionist painters.

Where he was now, on the palm tree lined seafront, with its mass of passersby, the honking of car horns and the bloody noise from those infernal mopeds and scooters, did his head in. It was the pitch to be if you were to succeed in selling any work, but it seemed not for him.

He pulled away his battered straw hat, bought a few days ago from a street vendor, and saw that it was already becoming battered, the rim a frayed mess. Yet the state of it lent it a rebellious look, and he liked that.

‘It goes with my mood,’ he muttered and on a sweep of his long fingers through the tangle of his rusty brown hair, still long after his uni days. He shoved the hat back on and gave it a rebellious backward tilt. He then set about clearing up his work, some of it hung by ingenious means on the railing that he stood by surveying the scene.

He could never tire of seeing the young women pass by, their clothes in a confined palette of colours, but the more adventurous ones intriguing him, along with what they showed off, those with firm, trim figures or the fleshier ones, slender thighs or only too fleshy. Women with bangles and beads galore, worn on wrists and in necklaces, firm breasted and not, the loud and the brash, or the more modest but captivating ones.

‘This is the place to be if I just want to ogle them all…’

He had paid for his pitch and wondered just what to do. There was always the chance someone else would stop, talk and assess, bargain a price and walk off with a distinctive image in acrylics and signed by the artist: Jamie Tindall.

Only one couple had stopped. They had gone and bought a very small piece, a butterfly resting on a sun scorched leaf; an image that he’d painted from a digital pic he had taken when in that caldera and where flowers, adapted to the harsh conditions were in bloom. It was something of a miracle to find both there.

He turned sharply when a woman’s cultured voice was to be heard over his shoulder and directed at him.

‘Please don’t pack them away,’ she asked, her smile engaging him instantly. ‘I’ve come back after seeing what else is on show here…and I liked your work the most.’

Including me, he kept from saying. He was younger than the other artists, a foreigner on their pitch, not that it bothered him. What did grab a hold in him was the look of the woman and a sullen faced daughter who stared back at him. They would make his day, either of them; the older one in her breezy, billowy slacks with its belt cinching a trim waist; her sleeveless top a flattering fit that she had passed on to the young woman, her daughter. The one smiled and engaged his attention, the other was suspicious.

He took the easy route.

‘I won’t…I’ll let you feast your eyes on my work,’ he told the captivating one, choosing to be over-familiar. ‘I don’t think I’m wrong, but I saw you yesterday at a rest stop…your excursion bus stopped in that oven that everyone says is a ‘must see’ when you’re here….’

He heard her soft laugh. ‘Yes, we were there, weren’t we Sarah?’

‘Yes, and it wasn’t any fun…but we did it.’ Her voice was sharp and only too belligerent. It made him wonder what had turned the beauty before him into such a mixed-up mess. He had soon taken in how some passing guys gave her the eye.

‘Well, take a look and your pick of what I’ve painted. I’ve tried to capture the light and the scenes hereabouts…but in my own ways.’ He also pulled into view a small portrait; that of an elderly fisherman’s wife. ‘Not quite the potato eaters by Van Gogh…’

He breathed escort gaziantep bayan ilanları in the woman’s scent as she drew near and looked at it, her hair brushing his bare arm as the breeze caught it. She smiled on catching his appraising glance upon her.

‘I’m spoiled for choice, Jamie…may I call you that?’ She glanced her daughter’s way. ‘Help me choose one, Sarah…please?’

‘I thought you said that you had made your mind up on it already?’

Jamie wondered why they fell into these snippy exchanges. ‘I didn’t see you walk by…’

‘You were busy with those people who bought the small picture…the butterfly…’

‘I did that the day I first saw you,’ Jamie answered looking only at the mother speaking to him. ‘May I know your name? I have to write out who I sell to…for the local tax people…you understand?’

‘And just for them?’ Sarah said sarcastically, intervening in his dealings. She saw Jamie’s face set in a moment’s flash of anger and sighed. ‘Go on…tell him, mother.’

‘I don’t need your consent, darling,’ she retorted on a haughty look. She turned to him and again and met Jamie’s appraising look upon her before he looked Sarah’s way. It was fanciful, but was he playing them off against each other? ‘It’s…my name’s Claire Johnson and I’ll tell you my address, here on the island…’

‘Whatever’s best…Claire.’ Jamie wrote out what she told him and soon held out the pad to her.

‘That’s almost perfect spelling. Here, give me the pad and I’ll correct it…’ She was aware that Sarah fidgeted, and Claire turned to her. ‘Go and find Leo…ring him…I’ll meet you whatever you decide upon…but I’m buying my picture.’ The two women stared at each other. ‘Go…go Sarah! I won’t be long…just tell me where you’ve decided to go.’

That they were all seen to be talking had aroused the interest of passers-by. They stopped and Jamie’s attention was taken from Claire. He took the pad from her, unthinking, and was soon engrossed in conversation but could not fully concentrate. He kept looking away from those he spoke to and at Claire. She was seen to be talking to Sarah who soon left her side, some snippy exchange evident. Two ‘looker’s but at odds with each other, it seemed, had entered his life.

‘Excuse me for a moment…yes that picture is sold…to the lady over there. I must speak to her…I won’t be long.’ 


Jamie couldn’t help but laugh, softly, as he finished packing up the last of his things; his small, foldable easel, his paintbox, and the few paintings that he had failed to sell. The picture for Claire was separately bound, and he devoted the most attention to it as he sat against the promenade wall. He sipped reflectively on a Diet Coke. His straw hat had been tied to his easel. He’d chill out and wait for Claire’s call.

Jeez, the woman stopping by had the effect of not only opening the floodgates to three sales, but had also aroused memories of Jenny Talbot, his only too accomplished art teacher and mentor. What she had not taught him in laying paint on the canvas, she had shown him in getting laid. They still shared in the heat, but his time away at university had made their times together few, but nonetheless intense.

‘Jenny…Jenny…see what you’ve started?’

He was like a bee around the nectar where it concerned an older woman. Claire had some years on Jenny and a great deal more wealth besides. He’d taken in her slender shape, how that camisole top was filled, her graceful stride and the wondering look of her soft blue eyes upon him; her parted lips a sure sign that she was engaged but breathing nervily. She’d not argued about the price and had told him that the artist mattered as much as his work. She had left him reeling from having heard it said.

He’d lost count of the times when Jenny had coaxed him to stop painting and devote his attention to her…

‘It’s a dull day now, darling…the best of the light’s gone…’ she said, her fingers stroking his neck. ‘Be artful with me, now…in other sublime ways that I know you’re so capable of.’ Her hands soon caressed his chest as she kissed him, had him stand up and embrace her.

‘That I learnt from you…time and again,’ he smiled, choosing to undress before her and pushing away her questing hands. She knew what he would bring to her soon enough.

‘Yes, perhaps, then…before you expressed the man you are in your own wonderful ways.’

He took a deep breath as she slipped off her panties, the last item of clothing, and there she stood naked and incredibly pale skinned, small breasted, and beguiling. She moved over to him and draped her arms around his neck, her bare tits pressed up against his chest and his erection digging into her belly. She kissed him hungrily on the lips, met his questing tongue before they exchanged hungering open-mouthed kissed, stroked and clamped on enervated skin and saying not eskort gaziantep bayan a word through their kisses and questing touches.

He breathed heavily. He would know again the wonders that Jenny always brought to their loving, her inventive and brazen ways of it as she knelt on the floor before him and soon licked the tip of her tongue over his length, had her fingers stroke it as she moved a hand to squeeze rhythmically on his sac before she took all that she could in her mouth.

He gasped on looking down at her ways of it, not a hint to be seen in her modest ways of dressing and when she had greeted him at her front door, a soft wondering look soon telling him that art and love were on her mind. The two were often indistinguishable, the techniques deployed on the canvas an expression of what was on their minds.

His breathing came in short gasps, their frequency quickening. ‘Jenny!’

‘Can you hold it in?’ she asked her attentions upon him persisting and she aware of the answer. There was no need to ask her to take him deeper into her mouth, for she sensed that it was what he sought, his hands on her head guiding her and encouraging an increase in the pace of her sucks and licks, her lingering ways and snorts of breath a sure sign of what she sought of him, and he brought to her. Jenny looked up at him; did not move as he bent to clamp his paint smeared hands on her breasts; tugged on them until she gasped, her soft passionate eyes large in her wantonness. ‘Doing this is the only way I can control you and your ways…’

‘Oh God…Jenny…Jenny…you know that’s not so!’

Jenny just went up and down, up and down; tugged on him, first this way and then that, with her mouth as she knelt before him and fingered his sac. She knew from all previous preliminaries to fucking with him, that her young lover had so much trapped inside that sac and strong body that it would soon be expelled in a jetting rush until he had emptied himself on her breasts, throat; anywhere she directed his load to be expelled under her jerking guidance.

What she never did was take any of it in her mouth.

‘Stand up…come to me!’ he now commanded. Jenny stumbled to her feet. ‘I’ll do for you what you did for me…my mouth, lips and tongue first…then all that you crave…inside you.’

He silenced her denial of what he had told her with kisses.

Jenny was pushed back on the bed before he settled between her parted thighs, pushed them up to her belly and began his kissing, licking and fingering of her. He tugged on her nipples with his hungry lips and loved to hear her soft moans of pleasure.

Jenny yelped and threaded her fingers through his hair.

‘Suck on them hard for me Jamie,’ she called out, rubbing her hands over his muscular shoulders. ‘Suck them hard…you…you know that I love that from you!.’

He heard her gasps of entreaty and claimed her; heard Jenny moan and shiver as she soon felt his fingers trace a path down over her belly and two fingers enter her, to then massage that wet crack and go deeper, her body convulsing as his mouth and fingers weakened her resolve to take control of him once more. He felt her languish in all that he did for her.

‘You’ve taught me so well, Jenny…my first true love…’ he kissed.

She pulled him to her and kissed him into silence. ‘Show me…don’t just tell me!’

He slid down the bed to place his face between those beautiful slender legs, that he had always admired for so long and that he glimpsed as she sat before him and watched as he painted. She would scold him for his loss of concentration.

When he pulled back her lips and flicked his tongue up and down her crack, over those pink lips and into her; she bucked like a frisky colt.

‘Oh…oh Jamie….Jamie you wonder!’ she shrieked. ‘I’m coming…coming!’

‘Not yet!’ he cried out and soon entered her in unforgiving shoves of his hips; the shearing rush as his prick entered her body and their movements now as one as she met his claims. Jenny pushed back and tugged on that length of flesh that found her.

She complied as he made them turn on one side and pushed on her leg until he was again enfolded by her moist heat. It was now slow and sensual. Better still, he could hold those plump, firm breasts and work her body just as he wished.

‘Soon lover…soon!’ he cried out as he rammed into her on Jenny’s urgent pleas, her words of entreaty and curses that she could not embrace him as she loved to do. ‘Jamie…Jamie…Jaamiee!’

His balls ached. He felt the pressure build and on a scream of her name and lustful pleasure he filled her, felt this woman clamp with her failing strength on what he had brought to her. He moved so that Jenny could finally embrace him and tug on his flaccid length.

‘I loved it…again…darling. Bring what you do with me….to me…to your art. Reveal the passionate man that you are to all who see your work.’

‘You escort gaziantep bayan were miles away,’ he heard Claire say softly and he gazed up at her as she stood over him, a questioning look in her eyes.

‘Yes…I was, but not anymore…now that you’re with me.’

Claire looked at him in some bewilderment; quelled the urge to touch his face as the handsome young man, with his winning smile and beguiling eyes, met her wondering look.

‘The others didn’t want to come back but are taking a moped tour of the town and te beaches. I could help you carry your stuff back to your place…if it’s not too far? Or I could drive you there…?’

‘Either way is fine, as long as I’m with you.’

She looked back at him in amazement; pouted a disbelieving smile that he was flirting with her…her! ‘You crazy boy to go saying that and so soon…’

Jamie reached out and pressed his fingers to her lips to silence whatever else Claire might say. He needed no reminding of their differences in age, but he cared not a jot for any of that; just as he had never done so with Jenny. He saw Claire’s eyes widen surprise for what he had done; made the simplest of passes at her. Put simply, she captivated him with her grace and style; with the wondering look of those wonderful eyes; with her soft laugh.

She would soon learn he was not just any street trader, or artist selling of some of his work.

‘Crazy man…not boy. I’ve lived it all out and,’ he smiled on casting a knowing look her way, ‘as you may find out. I thought you looked wonderful when I first saw you step off the bus in that dustbowl yesterday. Now, I see another you…’

Claire hesitated, even as she watched Jamie grab all of his stuff and grip it I his strong hands, or under his arms. She saw the tension in his arm muscles; the frown of concentration that he was concerned something would fall. She now met his tilled look upon her knew that something had to be said.

‘I’m…I’m not sure that this is such a good idea after all. I’ve just met you…in crazy circumstances, really, and now I’m offering you a lift home. Perhaps I should just take the picture?’

‘Perhaps…’ Jamie put it all down and eased her painting out of the bundle. He knew that a defining moment had been reached, crazy as it all felt, but he was a Jamie who lived by his instincts.

‘I’ll just say this and then I’ll step out of your life again, Claire. I saw Sarah all bolshie and distant…and you open to me…talking and sharing a moment or two. But I also sensed an edge to it all…from both of you. I’ve done enough portraits and life sketches to read the signs. You’re both here to forget something…you’ve moved on and I guess Sarah hasn’t. I can only interpret what I see, and sometimes hear, and guess that if it wasn’t me talking to you, in the way that I have, then it might be someone else. Company comes with no strings, just a painting thrown in…’

Claire saw that wondering look of his eyes drift over her. It was followed by the hint of a pout on those smiling lips of the young man before her as he brushed fingers through his hair. She saw the taut muscles of his stomach when he moved to do that, his lean figure and vitality, the tone of his arm muscles, his handsome youthful face and oh, that mouth! She felt a rush of longing for him vie with the need for restraint, even propriety.

‘Jamie stop…just stop!’ she snapped.

She had given voice to irritation that her behaviour had, somehow, encouraged him in what he said and so obviously felt for her; her responses to what she knew were Jamie’s seducing words, however inept they sounded to a woman of forty-seven. She was here to mend; would spend time with friends who had retired to the island; Sarah had her distractions in Leo but, as her mother, she had taken to wondering how that fragile relationship could survive. Perhaps that explained her girl’s wayward mood. Perhaps she was even jealous that Jamie had shown a preference for her. She was just as confounded by that development. Emotion could so easily take over from a harsher reality; and then the other way about.

‘I have stopped, Claire. The rest is up to you.’


She clutched her iPhone for a moment longer before she felt him draw near once more and take it from her hand. It was held out to him, over her shoulder. Her body ached. It had been some time since she had been made to feel wanted, that consideration then wonderful, wondering and wandering attention had been paid to her body. She had none of Sarah’s fulsome curves, no longer their firmness and tone, but none of that had mattered to Jamie. Her confusion on being taken to bed, and that it was so, had given way to sensual and prolonged intercourse that had reduced her to asking that he relented in his loving of her, for that was how Jamie had made her feel.

‘There’s no rush to go now…you can stay a while longer.’

Claire nodded, shivered on feeling his warm breaths to her throat as he slowly, and tantalisingly, kissed her skin. Sarah would be spoken to upon their return to the apartment.

She entwined her fingers with his and nestled against him. She felt the heat of Jamie’s skin press against her back and was grateful for the soft breeze that came through the open window, the thin veil of the net curtain hiding them from view, its slow movements hypnotic.

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