Lena and Justine (Jus) made a cameo appearance in
Wedding Night
.
They were inspired by The Kills song Cheap and Cheerful. Go have a listen.
Many thanks to Warrior_Wolf for the edits and helpful advice.
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LENA
I watch Jus stroll towards the kitchen.
"Get me a coffee will you, Doll?"
She gives me the finger, without looking around.
"Hah!" She's so cute when she's rude.
I throw myself onto the couch as I hear the espresso machine firing up.
It's a gorgeous day. The breeze is playing with the drapes around the open windows of our apartment. The soft movements cut the summer sunlight, casting an infinite variety of shadow patterns onto the wall and bringing my pictures in and out of focus.
My pictures are my life. I think I've always liked pictures. A small piece of the world captured and frozen for ever. You can just look. And the more you look, the more you see. So much in so little; in just an instant. A sudden smile. A cracked pavement. The incredible inevitability of a water droplet about to fall. Shape and form. Colour. Life.
I bought my first camera when I was eleven. It was pretty shit, but I'd spend hours after school just looking through the view finder, framing my world. I even took pictures sometimes. I only kept one of those. It's over there towards the top left. It's the swing in the playground near where we lived. The day was grey and the light just right. The playground was empty, freshly wet with rain. The swing was still and close up you can see all the subtle variations in colour from years of use. I spent some of happiest times in that park. Also some of my worst. A swing: inanimate but with so many memories. And not just mine, but probably for bloody thousands of kids.
I studied photography at college and finally got some quality gear. I've had a few breaks, a few awards. I do the odd gallery showing. I now pretty much please myself. It's not a great living, but I make enough freelance to get by. After all, there's more important things than being rich.
My second favourite photo is of me. And not because it's of me. Jus took it at the beach last summer. I just about ripped her fucking head off for touching my camera. Lucky she'd taken this before I'd realised. What's surprising is how good it is. She's normally so crap with pictures. Beginner's luck. What I love is the wind just gently blowing my hair. It's over my eyes and you can't really see my face. I'm just lying there. It's not even a particularly attractive pose. No, I love it because I remember the day and I know exactly what I was thinking at the time. It was about Jus, it was fucking dirty and I get wet again every time I see that shot.
Hell, I'll be candid. I think fucking dirty way too often. I blame the photography. I like looking at beautiful things. And the more I look, the more I want. Men or women, doesn't matter. I happily do both. Separately or together. But probably more women. There's something about the curves. The sensuality, even without sex involved. Of course, I much prefer there to be fucking involved.
I find pussies absolutely fascinating. So much variety. They're all different, distinct, unique. And I can't stop at looking: the taste, the feel, the texture, the smell. The way they move and open and blossom. Changing like the seasons. From autumn to summer: warm to sweltering hot. From moist to gushing like a torrent in a gully after a sudden shower. Shades of pink and red. Hidden and bare. Proud and aggressive. Soft and delicate. Am I fixated? Absolutely. I'm like a fucking 'crack' addict: pussy is my addiction. Funny thing is, Jus doesn't seem to mind. I sleep around a shit load. Always have. Always will.
Don't get me wrong, I love a good cock as much as the next girl. There's times when you just want to have a raging hot shaft pounding into your cunt. To feel a man's heat between your legs. You can get off with toys and stuff, but nothing feels quite like the real thing. A firm, velvety rod filling your hole. Shit, I'm getting hot now just thinking about it. Fuck. Don't mind me while we talk if I just... Oh Jesus, aaahh.
Where was I? Oh, supposed to be about me. Not much else to fucking say really. I'm loud and crude. Got no time for social graces. What you see is what you get. And if you don't like what you get then that's not my fucking problem! Well, sometimes it is. With Jus, I could cut my tongue out sometimes, but I can't help myself. And she can be such a sensitive, moody bitch sometimes.
"Hey! How's that fucking coffee coming?"
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JUSTINE
"Yeah, almost done. I'm just pissing in it."
"Do that and you can start thinking about where I'm going to make you take that hot fucking drink!"
"Kidding stoopid! Patience. Or you could move your lazy ass from the couch and come and help."
"Can't love, I've got three fingers wet."
Over-clocked libido? Sheesh! I don't know if women have an orgasm quota. If we do, Lena's in serious trouble. She'll have run through hers by the time she's 24! The love of my life is a nut-job. A glorious, wonderful, brazen goddess. And messed up, poor girl.
I remember our first meeting. Chrissie had taken me to the gallery to meet up with some friends. She'd managed to smooch two free tickets. Probably 'smooched' something else out of the guy too, knowing Chrissie. I wandered around while we were waiting and, the more I looked, the more I felt drawn to the photographer. There was no obvious theme, but they'd all been taken with such a sense of artistry, of atmosphere: of such soul and subtle sensitivity that I was amazed. I was curious about the person. What would he or she look be like, that had managed to steal these wonderful moments from the world's canvas?
When Lena entered the room -- I didn't know it was her, of course -- it was like she had just walked off the wall. Sounds so cliché, but it's true. The same feel of latent energy and hidden soul, the same dampened fire and pregnant passion as in her photographs. She stopped under one of the downlights. The radiant gloss of her black hair, the faint sneer of contempt on her mouth, arrogance in her entire being. It was though she didn't really know why she was here, couldn't care less and didn't give a toss that other people were even in the room. I was mesmerised. She'd stolen images with her camera. She stole me in a moment.
The funny thing is she doesn't realise how beautiful and talented she is. Or, if she does, she never shows it. She doesn't preen. She doesn't present. It's almost like she is what she is and, as she'd say, 'doesn't give a fuck'. You have to know her to see the genuine sensitivity that informs her photographic genius. On the surface she's harder than cut glass. Sharp, edgy: and she'll bleed you if you're not careful. She's done that to quite a few too.
Her body is dynamite; lithe, trim and so sinuous. I've never seen anyone move quite like Lena. Just her walk -- completely unaffected -- is enough to send a priest running to confession. Guys drool over her boobs and girls love her ass. She drives them all nuts, screws them and moves on.
She's into tats. I love to lie next to her just slowly tracing the patterns on her skin. She's got a full length sleeve down one arm and a nice piece of ink on her torso on the same side. But it's the one on her thigh I like best: a delicate work of Japanese peach blossom branches entwined around her leg with a couple of small twigs just reaching out towards her groin. As if to draw you inside. There are two birds with feathers picked out in breathtaking delicacy. It's in full colour and the floral tones match my hair. I like to think she got that done deliberately, but she's never said. Not many people to get to see that one, and I think that's why I also like it so much.
Hmm, no, let me reconsider that. Plenty of people get to see it, just not in public! She's an absolute nympho. Not that she'd ever admit it. Actually I think it's worse than that. She absolutely denies it to herself because she's afraid. Secretly fears that she's somehow damaged or broken. And so she shows this exaggerated bravado to the world. Strutting around to avoid any hint of weakness. What's really sad is that she treats herself with the same contempt she treats everything else. It breaks my heart sometimes. That's why I'm here. Because someone has to give her the love she denies herself. And I couldn't bear for it not to be me.
I actually can't believe we're still together. 14 months has to be some kind of record. Life for Lena is an 'all-you-can-fuck buffet'. She gets bored as quickly as she gets horny. Probably quicker if that's actually possible. I accept she sleeps around and strangely it doesn't bother me. She certainly doesn't ignore me. If anything, sex with her when she's having a fling is more intimate, more intense. Perhaps she feels guilty, but I really don't think that's it. As I said, I don't mind. And whether it's make-up sex, guilt sex, or just plain 'I-need-to-fuck-you' sex, with Lena it's all bloody incredible!
"Are you growing that fucking coffee!?"
Geez, it's like living with a two-year old.
"Bit slow today are you babe? I thought you'd have finished yourself at least five minutes ago."
"I did! I'm onto my second, bitch, you took so long. Oh, shiiiitttt ..."
Good thing the coffee's done then. Has been for ten minutes actually. It'll be the temperature she likes by the time she gets her ass in here in a couple minutes. She drinks coffee likes she smokes. Because it looks cool rather than because she likes it, like it's expected because she's an artist. Gotta look the part. The poor dear doesn't even know the difference between a latte and a cappuccino! Couldn't tell Columbian from Java if her life depended on it. I give her the good stuff just the same though. Small things to spoil her.
"Smells good. Thanks Jus."
"Well, look who's all mellow now. How's the couch? Do I need to go sponge Lena-juice off it?"
"Ah, shit. Probably. Sorry."
"Wow, two almost-polite sentences in a row, honey! You feeling OK?"
"Hah. Try me, bitch."
