Entertaining at Large

Susan first appears in Entertaining at Home which you might want to check out. You can thank JD for forcing George onto Susan. Comments, support and suggestions are appreciated.

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Translator's note: Fanny has a different meaning in the UK from the US.

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'Will you stop flashing your fanny at that poor boy, my assistant. You'll get plenty of chances to do that later.'

'Sorry Justin. I didn't do it on purpose.'

I lied.

'Sorry James. I hope I'm not embarrassing you.'

I lied again. I was almost an hour into my first nude photo shoot and the excitement was definitely beginning to wane. Justin, the self-styled David Bailey of our town, had turned out to be a perfectionist. Which was odd as everything about him screamed superficial. I had arrived at his High Street photographers shop expecting to be in and out of the back room studio in double quick time.

He had met me, leaning against the outside door, smoking a pastel-coloured cigarette. He was wearing what I can only describe as a silk onesie, belted at the waist. I presume he took my horrified look for admiration. He mentioned the name of the designer with a tone which invited admiration. It only served to remind me that for the past six months I probably hadn't bought anything which hadn't been made by a sports clothing firm, or a sex shop. I faked it. He ushered me inside and through to the studio, locking the door behind him.

I have to admit I was impressed, if not a little awed, by my first sight of the room. The centrepiece was an old, antique-leather armchair. The kind blokes advertising pipe tobacco used to sit in. There was a long string of beads, possibly pearls, draped over one arm. The chair stood against a blue-screen background. It was surrounded by lights on tripods and those funny white umbrella things I guessed were used as reflectors. Or something. A large, expensive-looking camera stood on a stand facing the chair.

Off to one side, next to a table loaded with spare cameras and other paraphernalia, he had erected a large board. On it were blow-ups of my friend Mandy's original shoot. The one I was going to emulate forty years on. I walked over and studied them closely. They were fantastic shots. The slight shadows cast by the curves of her body were positively artistic. I had seen them before, of course, in grainy reproduction in a down-market smut magazine. I wondered how much effort it took the editors to make these masterpieces look so cheap.

'These are really good, Justin. Really good.'

'Yes. Old Uncle Dick might have been obnoxious, but he knew his stuff. Wasted on this place really, but he settled for being a big fish in a small pond. Could have made it in London though, don't you think?'

'I don't know. I'm not much of an expert. But I really like them.'

We stood in admiring silence for a minute before Justin ordered me to take off my headscarf. I had spent the previous hour having my untamed hair cut into a passable impersonation of a nineteen sixties supermodel's bob. It still felt strange and the smell of hairspray which hung around me reminded me of my childhood. Justin walked around me humming critically.

'It'll do, it'll do, What do you think James? James.'

The repeat came out as a screech and a frightened-looking boy of about eighteen poked his head out from behind a curtained cubicle in the corner.

'I was just making tea.'

'Well come over here and take a gander at this barnet.'

I smiled at the faux cockney. Justin was obviously getting into his role as celebrity snapper. James, a not-bad looking lad of about six foot, came over. Even his walk was sullen. He did not look happy to be there.

'Hi, I'm Susan. You must be Justin's assistant.'

'My mum was going to take me shopping.'

I took that as a 'yes' and examined him more closely as Justin pointed out to him the similarities and discrepancies between my new look and Mandy's original. He looked like every other young man I had met lately: same branded sweatshirt, same expensive designer jeans, same anonymous haircut and a smell I could now authoritatively attribute to Lynx aftershave. James grunted noncommittally at various points during his boss's monologue. Justin seemed to understand him. I didn't.

'Now Susan, sweetie. Shoo, shoo little boy, didn't you say you were making tea? Or would you prefer a little drinkie-poo? Dutch courage?'

'Tea will be fine, no sugar. Thank you James. I've given up alcohol for January.'

With a grunt James sidled back to his station. Justin looked at me with his head on one side, a crooked wrist supporting his chin.

'You do realise it's still December, don't you?'

'I'm getting a jump on the rest of the crowd. Another couple of weeks and being teetotal will be sooo passé.'

Something of Justin's campness seemed to be rubbing off on me. He just smiled neutrally and turned back to the board.

'Now make up. She's obviously loaded on the mascara and eye shadow, but just the barest amount of blusher. See here, and here.'

He brushed a couple of the full face shots with a beautifully manicured forefinger.

'I'm guessing it was one of those garish colours like blue or green. They went for it in a big way back then. Don't worry I brought mine down, I'm sure we'll find something suitable. Now clothes, let's look.'

He grabbed the suit-bag I was carrying out of my hands and unzipped it eagerly. He let out a little shriek when he peeped inside.

'My god, will you look at it. It's hideous. Why on earth would anyone keep a thing like this?'

It was my turn to grunt. In fairness, the tweed suit Mandy had given me from her collection, the same one she wore back then, was pretty awful. I wouldn't have worn it even to a sixties fancy dress party. But part of me thought I should defend my friend's taste. I suppressed it. Justin scrabbled inside the bag.

'Blouse, yes. These must be the stockings. They are originals aren't they?'

He pulled the packet of tan nylons out of the bag's pocket and held them up to the light.

'Very nice. Where's the rest of the underwear?'

'I'm wearing it.'

'Then we'd better start getting ready. James, we're in the dressing room.'

There was a sign on the door of the room opposite James' cubby hole which confirmed its role. In fact, it was not much bigger than a cupboard. I found myself squeezed between a thin shelf and a back wall which held a row of hooks and hangars.

'There's no way Mandy would get in here today.'

'Big girl is she?'

'The biggest.'

Justin was trying his hardest to get into the corner of the room to give me space and shuddered at the thought. I pulled back my jacket and looked at him. He nodded. I slipped it off and then had to push the chair against the wall to stand to unzip my skirt. It took various other yoga poses to get my blouse off. I was standing in my knickers, bra, suspender belt and stockings about eighteen inches away from him. He looked me over thoroughly but with distaste.

'You've done well. They look just right. Yes, I think we can do this.'

'What about the make up then?'

He nodded at what I had taken to be a small suitcase on the edge of the table. I tentatively unclipped the hinges and folded open drawers packed with small bottles and tubes. Justin leaned over me, carefully avoiding touching my body, and sorted through it before pulling out a pencil-tube of mascara and a small pad of livid green eye shadow.

'Let's try these, shall we?'

'If we must.'

'You have foundation?'

I was slightly disgusted at Justin's choices, but nodded dutifully and pressed myself back against the table to let him past. It was at that moment that James came in with a tray of tea. I say "came in", what actually happened was he pushed open the door with his foot which caught Justin quite hard on the elbow and propelled him against me. I caught him and could almost feel his body temperature drop as he realised he was in the arms of a half-naked woman. And in front of a witness. He shoved back against me with enough force to slam the door back against the tray; we both looked at each other as we heard the sound of breaking crockery and a screech. We both looked at each other.

You just had to laugh. Well that was my line anyway, it took Justin a few moments of consideration before he joined me.

'You alright dear?'

He was talking to James, not me. He was busily brushing himself down; trying to remove any traces of woman-ness before going out. I peeked out of the door. Poor James was soaked. He was hopping from one foot to the other trying hard to pull the scalding cloth away from the skin on his torso and thighs.

'You'd better get those off. I'll look for a towel.

I pushed by him and headed for the kitchen. When I came back with a handful of paper towels and the filthiest tea towel I had seen since I was a student, he was standing in his pants, still hopping. The designer name was printed boldly on the waist band and, well, he was not well hung. I handed him the towel and while he bent over to dry off his legs, I slipped a paper towel under his arm and began sponging his chest. He jumped and collided back against Justin.

'You two get in there.'

Justin indicated the changing room. He pointed at me.

'You get your make up on, and you...'

It was James's turn.

'... There's a bag of clothes in the corner. Find something decent and then start getting the set lit. That's enough frivolity for one morning.'

He flounced away to the board and began looking closely at the pictures again. I couldn't tell whether he was pissed off, or just trying not to laugh. I held open the door for James and nodded him in.

'You'll look back and laugh. Honest.'

He didn't seem convinced. I was pretty certain nothing like this would have happened if he had gone shopping. We adjusted ourselves in the room. I tried to give him as much space in the corner as possible as he pulled out clothes from the large laundry bag and held them against himself. He piled item after item on the end of the ledge as I set about fixing my face.

The foundation with a hint of blusher went on easily. They were mine and, as I didn't buy a lot of cosmetics, I had splashed out on expensive brands. I gritted my teeth and almost spooned on the mascara. I found a pencil and formed a line below my eye. I glanced in the mirror and decided I looked like a Hindu deity. I could hear James's frustration growing.

'There's nothing here I can wear.'

'You sure? You'll just have to do the session in your pants then. Don't be shy. I'll be in the nip too before we finish and I'm sure Justin won't mind.'

I looked at his reflection and went back to the clothes for a second sorting. He wasn't too badly built, I thought. Maybe did a bit of time in the gym, perhaps once a fortnight. There was definition in all his muscles and whilst they weren't big, I imagined whichever girl or boy he was dating was quite satisfied. I smiled when he caught me looking, he blushed and held a pair of running shorts in front of what I began to suspect may have been the start of an erection. Girlfriend then.

'Those'll be OK. Put this on top. Your own stuff will be dry by the time we finish.'

I handed him a T-shirt which, but for the large size, could have come from the Tracy collection. It bore the legend "Tart". I hurried him out of the room before he could read it and followed closely behind.

'What lipstick, Justin?'

He spun round and took us both in. I shook my head grinning as he stared at James as he collected his clothes and headed for a radiator. Justin's eyebrows, I was learning, could be awfully expressive.

'Looks pretty dark on here. I imagine streetwalker red, or something like. Maybe you should go for something slightly less.'

He paused.

'Expressive.'

And nodded to himself. Pleased with his choice of adjective. I returned to the changing room and began looking through Justin's collection. As far as I could tell after examining ten or so they were all minutely different shades of crimson. I fished in my bag for my own. To that point I had considered it quite a daring red. Compared with Justin's however, it now looked like something a girl might wear to her first communion.

I hurriedly dressed in the blouse I had brought and the decidedly itchy suit. I put my leg on the chair and hitched up the skirt to put on the stockings. A product of the pre-Lycra age, it took me a few minutes to get them looking half-way decent. No wonder tights became so popular. I took stock of the finished product In the mirror before slipping on my highest heels and going out to join the others.

'You'll do.'

Was all Justin said after looking me up and down. I was a little disappointed. I mean, I knew he was gay, but a bit more flattery would have been nice.

'What do you think James?'

I turned slowly for him to see the whole outfit, keeping my eyes on his face for as much of the time as I could. Once a stripper, I thought to myself and enjoyed watching him colour. I think it was slowly dawning on him what was going to happen this morning. He gave me the briefest of smiles and a positive-sounding grunt. Justin beckoned me over.

'One last look at these and then we'll start OK?'

He had a contact sheet of the original session on the table. There were red circles and arrows highlighting the way Mandy had held her arms or shaped her legs. It looked very complicated.

'Don't worry, I'll have the lad help you out, this is mostly for me to make sure we don't stray too far off script.'

'Let's go then. This suit makes me feel like I'm being attacked by a cloud of mosquitoes.'

With a last glance at the opening pose I walked into the light. It was hot. I could feel the beginnings of a sweat building beneath my clothes. I put a knee on the chair and stretched my arm across the back, like Mandy had done. And then the trouble began.

Justin's perfectionism kicked in immediately. He started by coming over to me and holding a light meter inches away from various parts of my body. He started taking shots and issuing instructions at a rapid rate.

'Bend your knee more, pull your arm in an inch or so, just loosen the jacket a little so we can see your left boob in outline.'

I was getting hotter and hotter, and more than a little irritated. I was trying to remain calm but the minute changes he was demanding seemed to me to be excessive. I think he picked up on my mood.

'James. Take a peep at this and then get her in the same pose will you.'

He sounded exasperated. James took a step backwards before sidling over to the table. Justin tapped a couple of places on the photo in front of him. James walked over, his steps getting more and more tentative as he closed on me. He plucked delicately at the jacket looking back at Justin who eventually nodded. It felt to me to be in exactly the same position as I had had it fifteen minutes earlier.

'Perfect. Now out of shot babes. Lovely. OK, picture two.'

It was going to be a long morning. We were bickering openly by the end of the third pose and half-way the picture in which I was supposed to be easing a shoulder out of my blouse the atmosphere was tense. James had been sent in twice by Justin to finalise my pose. I decided to cut through the frustration and suggested the young guy set me up for each scene and then we would both be happy.

'You maybe right, sweet cheeks.'

It was the nicest thing he had called me for several minutes. I smiled sweetly. I sat back in the chair while James fumbled buttons on my blouse undone, first revealing my cleavage then my bra.

'Do you like it?'

I pushed my chest out on the off chance James had not had a good look. I knew there was something he admired; his cock had been getting visibly stiffer with each encounter. I must admit to more than a little buzz of excitement myself at his inadvertent touches

'Yes.'

James was becoming positively voluble. He busied himself between shots adjusting lights and handing Justin small mints from a tin. Things got a little more difficult for him when he had to keep adjusting my thighs and skirt for the spread-legs shots. The fact I was being less than cooperative probably didn't help.

'Am I showing too much of my knickers, do you think?'

Elicited a grunt. I stretched the skirt to its widest.

'They're quite pretty aren't they?'

That was when Justin intervened with his flashing interdict. I managed to get him to concede the promise of a tea break as a quid pro quo. It was like negotiating contracts at work, I told myself. When I was down to my underwear Justin fulfilled his end of the bargain and called a pause.

'I need some fresh air. I'm going outside for a cigarette and a little meditation. Pop the kettle on will you sweet cheeks?'

'I think he means you.'

I told James who was dithering between watching me stand and stretch and doing almost anything else. He settled on straightening the photographs on the table. I played to my audience.

'Don't these stockings look good?'

I wasn't expecting a response. MI6 interrogators could be trained by trying to get answers out of nineteen-year-old boys; save an awful lot of torture allegations later. I smoothed them down and straightened seams. Slowly. I let out a tiny cry when a small spark of static electricity jumped from my fingers when I leaned on the chair.

'You. OK?'

'I'm fine. A shock is a small price to pay for looking this good, don't you think?'

He retreated back to monosyllables after the exertion to his previous answer. I noticed he didn't stop staring, however, as I faced him, hands on hips. I swivelled from the waist and felt my boobs jiggle slightly.

'I must say you look rather fetching in those shorts. Weren't you going to put the kettle on?'

At my mention of his temporary wear he had, by some kind of reflex, clutched his hands over his groin. His next move was to step towards the radiator where his clothes were drying. I mentioned the kettle to head him off and went over to them myself. They were bone dry.

'Still damp, I'm afraid. I'll take them into the changing room to see if they do better in there.'

Watching the rise and fall of his cock was currently my favourite entertainment and I wasn't going to give it up without a struggle. I gathered up the clothes and made a slow, stripper's-strut to the changing room. One foot in front of the other, I told myself and swing that ass. I slid round the door and cocked my leg back around it like an old-style burlesque girl with a velvet curtain. I tossed the clothes behind Justin's cosmetics trunk and went to my bag to check my phone.

There were two messages: one from work; the other from Steve. Both said they needed to speak to me urgently. I took my phone out Into the studio and settled in the armchair for better reception. In the office, Muhammad had discovered a delivery which had not been fulfilled. It had been promised to a new customer before the end of the year. He was a member of my team who had been seconded to another department whilst its staff enjoyed an extended seasonal break. I apologised for being delayed, agreed a course of action with him and said I'd be back as soon as I could. I felt mildly guilty about fabricating a maternal illness as my excuse for not being at work that morning. I called Steve.

'I only went and got the job.'

Was his greeting. I knew he was being interviewed for a promotion sometime this week, but hadn't realised it was today.

'I can only assume then that the reference you asked me to write was delayed in the Xmas post. You'd better hope it never arrives.'

'Piss off, Susan. Listen I wanted to take you out to lunch to celebrate. And to say thank you.'

That last came out sotto voce. It is an unwritten rule of football team mate-dom that you never say anything nice to each other. Except, of course, whilst drunk when all bets are off.