The Liberation of Ate Shaw

As I walked through the gallery, I was completely swept away by the photographs displayed on the walls throughout. Some were in color, but most were in stark black and white. One group that caught my eye was a black and white series of hands. It was amazing how the photographer was able to capture the essence of people just by using their hands. Some were young, some old and gnarled, still others caught in between, but all sent a very visual message. Another series was taken on a battleground. These were jolting, horrific images: burned out tanks with smoke still billowing from them, fields of bodies stacked like wood; soldiers, grimy and in tattered uniforms sitting with blank looks on their faces. I looked closely at the name on the captions, thinking there was no possible way the same person could have taken both sets of pictures, but I was wrong. Jordan Stuart, the captions read.

I continued wandering around, murmuring hellos to friends and colleagues who were also present, but I found myself drawn back to the hand series. I stood contemplating a picture of a child's hands framing an older person's hands, and a voice from behind me said, "This one is particularly powerful, don't you think?"

I turned and looked at the woman who had spoken. She was looking past me to the picture over my shoulder, standing casually, but there was a tension in her body I didn't understand. Her gaze met mine and I felt a jolt run through me. Her eyes were a deeply penetrating jade green, and the force of her focusing on me nearly took my breath away.

"Um.... yes," I stammered, clearing my throat and turning back to the picture. I could sense her coming up closer behind me, almost as if an electrical current surrounded her. Her arm reached past me to gently touch the glass of the frame and trace the veins on the older hand, and I could smell a hint of cinnamon and vanilla. In an effort to shake off the strange effect she'd had on me, I heard myself say, "I don't think the artist would appreciate you touching the glass." She turned and looked at me, amused. I winced. I sounded like a prude, even to myself.

"Normally I'd agree with you," she said, her voice husky and warm in her throat, "but I'm sure she won't mind if I do."

I was about to say something that would undoubtedly have been foolish when a voice from across the room called out, "Jordan! There you are! Hon, come over here and meet these gentlemen. They're interested in buying some of your work." The woman looked past my shoulder toward the voice, a look of slight irritation flitting over her face, then she settled her bright gaze on me once again.

"I hope you'll excuse me," she said. "Duty calls." And with that, she smiled graciously and walked with long strides over to where an older woman was waiting, gesturing to a group of men in business suits who looked uncomfortable in the bohemian atmosphere of the gallery.

I watched as the older woman placed a hand on the small of Jordan's back and guided her over to the men. Jordan said something that made them all laugh and seemed to put them at ease, and as a group they wandered over to some color prints of wildlife in another part of the gallery.

That was the first time I met Jordan Stuart.

The next time I saw Jordan was about three months later. I was working late in the music store which I co-own, and had just finished a fairly exhausting piano lesson with one of my least favorite students. I was getting ready to close the store when the bell over the door rang. Slightly irritated I said, before I could see who it was, "I'm sorry, but the store is closing. We open at 8:00 tomorrow morning if you'd like to come back."

There was no answer, so I headed toward the front to see if I had imagined the door opening. I glanced at my watch. Damn. I was already late getting home, and I had a ton of work to do to prepare for an upcoming performance. With this in mind, I was completely preoccupied and therefore very surprised to see Jordan standing in the doorway.

"Well. Hello," I said, feeling awkward and strange suddenly. Her eyes focused on me, once again sending a jolt through my body. She smiled and said, "Boy, you're a real stickler for rules, aren't you?"

"I'm sorry?" I said, confused. Then I remembered - I had scolded her for touching one of her own photographs at her last show. I blushed, and she laughed, walking toward me and holding out her hand.

"Hi, I'm Jordan Stuart. We never got the chance to formally introduce ourselves, did we?" she said, taking my hand in a firm grip.

"Uh...no. No, I guess we didn't. I'm..."

"I know who you are. Kate Shaw, musician extraordinaire. I've been asking about you, and now I've found you. It's about time, too!"

Still confused, I had to consciously make myself let go of her hand. I could smell the hint of cinnamon and vanilla I'd sensed on our first meeting, and I was having a hard time catching my breath for some reason. How strange this all was!

"You've been asking about me? Why? And who have you been asking?" I said.

Jordan laughed and looked around the store. "Is there somewhere we could talk? I know you need to close up shop and I don't want to keep you.... but I'd really like to talk to you."

I took a step back and looked at my watch again. "I'd love to, really, but I need to be getting home. I have a lot of work to do."

"Well.... may I walk with you a while, then? You don't live far from here, do you?" she asked.

I hesitated, a little unsettled by how much she seemed to know about me, then I shrugged. It couldn't hurt to walk with her.

"Sure," I said. "Let me finish locking up, then we'll go."

As we walked together, Jordan's eyes constantly swept the area around us. I was still uncertain why a world-famous photographer had been searching for me, so I finally gathered up the courage to ask her. She was silent for a moment, then answered seriously, "You were the only one at the show who seemed to really appreciate what I was trying to say with those pictures. I watched you for quite a while before I approached you, and was intrigued that the first thing you did was get after me for breaking the rules. If Maggie hadn't interrupted me, I would have asked you out for coffee or something. By the time I got through with those businessmen, you had already left, so I had to resort to some snooping to find out who you were."

"And how did you do that?" I asked.

"Your friend Peter told me," she said.

"Oh? You know Peter?" I asked, surprised.

"Yes. His partner, Jeffrey, is a dear friend of mine. I've taken several of my favorite prints to their shop and had them design custom frames for me. It wasn't hard for Peter to figure out I was talking about you once I described you." She skipped a few steps ahead of me, humming a tune I didn't recognize under her breath.

I stopped. "Jordan, wait," I called. "I'm still confused. We hardly spoke ten words to each other. How could you possibly know what I thought of your work?"

Jordan walked back to me, placing her hands on my shoulders and looking directly into my eyes. She was a few inches taller than me and had to look down. When she did, her chestnut hair fell into her eyes and she tossed it back with a casual flick of her head.

"I just knew. I could tell by the look on your face exactly what you were thinking. You're pretty much an open book, Katie, you know that?"

I stared up at her, very conscious of her hands on my shoulders, then broke eye contact and smiled shyly, looking down at the ground. "So, how did you describe me to Peter?" I asked.

Jordan laughed, and we started walking again. "Well, I described a thin, pretty woman with blue eyes, brown hair, and a very serious look on her face. He clicked immediately, especially when I told him what you'd said to me about touching the glass."

"Oh, shit," I said, laughing in spite of my embarrassment. "I was hoping you'd have forgotten about that."

"No, no! I was quite flattered you were so interested in protecting my work!" Jordan said, laughing along with me. "Anyway, I've read some things about you and have talked to some people about you, and I'm interested in you."

I stopped again. "Interested? What do you mean? I mean.... are you...uh..." I stammered, suddenly self-conscious again, remembering some things I'd read about her.

Jordan stood in front of me. "If you're asking if I am, in fact, a lesbian, the answer is yes. If you're asking if I'm interested in you romantically, the answer is no. I like having interesting people in my life and you qualify, so I was hoping we could be friends. It's as simple as that."

We stood there for a moment, looking at each other, and I felt as though I was standing on the edge of something, something that would mean a marked change in my life if I stepped forward. Jordan had a casually expectant look on her face, almost as if she was trying to disguise the hope inside her, and I knew instantly what my answer would be.

"Yes. I'd like to be friends."

That was the second time I met Jordan Stuart.

It was a long time before I was able to get to sleep that night. I kept thinking about Jordan being interested in me. It filled me with a sort of dread, yet was thrilling as well. No doubt about it, Jordan was an extremely sexual person. It came off of her in waves, and I realized it was the sexual tension in her that had made me feel so unsettled. Well, no matter, I thought. If she made a pass at me, I'd gently but firmly remind her I’m straight, and let it go. I laughed at my audacity, remembering how Jordan had made it clear she wasn't interested in me romantically. Let it go! I told myself. It can't hurt to have a new friend, can it? Slowly, I drifted off to sleep.

When I woke up in the morning, after a night of strangely erotic yet elusive dreams, I couldn’t get Jordan off my mind. As I poured a glass of orange juice and sat down to read the paper, the phone rang.

"Hi, Katie, it's Jordan."

"Well, hi there," I said, nearly choking on my juice.

"I hope you don't mind my calling so early. I've already been out shooting, and sometimes I forget normal people don't keep the same hours I do."

"No, no, it's fine. I've been up for a while," I lied. I found myself nervously tearing the newspaper into shreds, and forced myself to stop.

"Good. I was wondering if you might have some time to get together with me today. I'm planning to wander around a bit and scout some locations out in the country. Interested?"

Again, I was aware of that odd hopeful yet casual sound in her voice. It was almost as if she were sitting there crossing her fingers, hoping I'd say yes.

"Well.... I'm not scheduled to work today, but I'm supposed to teach a few lessons later this afternoon. Could you have me back by then?" I was surprised to hear myself say.

"Sure, no problem. So, you can go? You want to go?" she asked eagerly.

After a brief hesitation, I said, "I'd love to go. Should I bring anything?"

"Just a warm jacket and comfortable shoes. It may get cool later. I'll come pick you up, ok? In about an hour?"

"Uh...sure...ok. I'll be waiting for you."

"Great! See you then!" And she was gone.

I scurried around the apartment, picking things up and trying to decide what to wear. Something rugged, I guessed, since we'd be out in the country all day. I jumped in the shower and washed quickly, then dried my hair and settled on jeans, my favorite hiking boots, and a flannel shirt. I laid my old denim jacket on the couch by the door, and then settled in to wait.

When I answered the door, we looked at each other and began to laugh, because we were dressed nearly identically. She was wearing a baseball cap with her long hair tucked inside, making her eyes stand out ever more and making her look like she was about 19 years old.

"Are you ready?" she asked, eyes sparkling.

"I suppose. I've never been scouting before," I said as I turned to lock the door behind us.

"Oh, you'll love it," she said, threading her arm through mine as we walked down the stairs together. "Don't be surprised if I ask you to pose for me a bit - I like to get a feel for an area by having a person in the shot for perspective."

"What?" I stopped, dragging her with me. "You didn't say anything about me being in your pictures! Look how I'm dressed!"

"It's no big deal," she said, taking my arm again and pulling me along. "It's just for perspective. It's not like they'll be published or shown or anything!"

She hauled me, still protesting, down the sidewalk to an old red Jeep whose back seat was filled with camera cases and other equipment. "I know it's not the lap of luxury," she said wryly, "but it gets the job done, especially on those bumpy country roads."

We got in and she took off, airily waving her hand at the people who honked at her as she pulled out into traffic without looking. I was beginning to see that Jordan lived life by her own rules, and this was further confirmed by the way she totally disregarded the speed limit as we flew out of town. My initial reaction was to be extremely tense, as I fully expected us to end up slammed into a tree somewhere, but I gradually relaxed as we left the city behind us and drove through the winding hills nearby. The wind was blowing through our hair, and Jordan took off her hat to let her hair loose. I found I could hardly keep my eyes off her. She kept up a steady stream of chatter, asking me questions about my teaching, the music store, and my performing, and I slowly began to feel more relaxed and comfortable around her.

We stopped at several places along the road, sometimes leaving the Jeep parked along the road, sometimes driving it out some bumpy, tree-lined lane in order for her to get closer to a field full of horses, or an old, run-down barn. She took several pictures, although none with me, much to my relief. It wasn't until we'd gotten to a secluded, woody area and found an old abandoned mill that she asked me to stand in front of the camera. Knowing it would do no good for me to argue, I walked over to where she pointed and stood self-consciously in front of a tree with my hands in my pockets.

"No, no, silly, take your hands out of there. Here, hold on to this pine cone," she said, handing me one sticky with sap. She walked back to where her camera was on the tripod, looked through it, then came back over and positioned me so I was leaning against the tree.

"I feel weird," I complained. "What the hell am I supposed to do with this pine cone?"

"Just look at it," she said from behind the camera. "Turn it over in your hands and look at it, but don't think about the camera being here."

"Fat chance of that," I mumbled, looking at the pine cone and wishing I was somewhere else. Jordan clicked off a few shots, then took the camera off the tripod and walked toward me.

"Come over here," she said, taking my hand and pulling me with her. She sat me down on the ground next to a fallen log and placed one of my arms along the top of it. "Now, lean back and stretch your legs out…there you go, that's good. I want this to be very casual, like you're resting or something."

I leaned back, smelling the aroma of the pine trees around me, and found myself smiling. I could hear Jordan's camera clicking, but it wasn't bothering me much anymore. She walked over to me and knelt in front of me, then put her camera down and brushed my hair back behind my ears.

"Ok," she said, looking into my eyes, “don’t freak out, but..." and she started to unbutton my shirt.

"Hey!" I said, taking her hands in mine and holding them in front of me. "What are you doing?"

She sat back on her heels. "Do you know how damn good you look, Katie?" she whispered. "I've been wanting to get you on film since the first time I saw you. Your hair, those eyes, and your lovely body... you were made to be on film, and I want to be the one who captures you. Please...you need to trust me. There's no way I would do anything to hurt you."

I looked up at her, thinking, then realized I wanted her to take pictures of me. I took a deep breath and nodded slowly. Jordan smiled in delight, then leaned toward me again and reached for the buttons on my shirt. "Trust me," she breathed as she slowly undid the top two buttons.

I could smell her sweet scent as she leaned in closer to me. She was kneeling in between my legs, spreading the collar of my shirt out to expose my chest and collarbones. She pushed my hair back over my shoulders so it was hanging down my back, then delicately, deliberately traced my shoulders and collarbones with the tips of her fingers. She smiled when she saw me shiver slightly, then stood up and took her camera in hand.

I watched her as she worked, her hands strong and sure on the camera, her legs long and taut in her jeans as she knelt near me, taking shot after shot. She kept talking to herself, saying things like "God, those eyes! Ok, get the light shining off her hair...that's it …" After a while, she came and knelt between my legs again, then slowly began to unbutton my shirt the rest of the way. I was mesmerized by her, and powerless to stop her. She hummed to herself as she looked at me, and before I knew it, she'd pulled my shirt down over my shoulders and was unhooking my bra. I shivered again, and she cradled my face in her hands.

"You are so beautiful. I know I told you I wasn't interested in you, but I lied. I was afraid I'd scare you off," she said, bending close to me. I couldn't move. My mind seemed to be split in half, part of me wanting her with a sudden intense desire, and the other part of me wanting her to stop touching me. I sat still, spellbound as she leaned over and gently kissed my lips. Of their own accord, my hands reached out for her and drew her closer to me. She moaned deep in her throat as my mouth opened under her probing tongue, and I could feel my body begin to respond to the touch of her lips.

She pushed me back gently and stretched out on top of me, still kissing me deeply. My hands were tangled in her hair, pulling her mouth harder into mine. Our tongues began to flick over each other, both of us moaning now, and I could feel her body begin to move on me, pressing into me.

She lifted herself up on both arms and looked down at me, smiling. I knew by the look in her eyes I could trust her not to hurt me, and I smiled back.

"Wow," she said, catching her breath. "I had no idea you'd react this way. I hoped.... but really didn't know what would happen."

I reached for her and pulled her down to me so my mouth was next to her ear. "I haven't been able to get you off of my mind," I whispered. My voice was hoarse and husky, thickened with passion. "I've wanted this, too, but was afraid to admit it. And now look at me! I can't keep my hands off of you."

"Mmmmm .....good," she said, lightly licking my lips with her tongue. "I like it that way. I want you to put your hands on me, Katie...all over me.... please..."

I rolled her over on her back, stretched out next to her, and slid my hand up inside her shirt. Not surprisingly, she was not wearing a bra. Her eyes were closed, the skin of her tight stomach smooth and silky. I could feel the muscles contract as my hand slid over her skin, and I was swept with a wave of desire that left me breathless. I sat up and straddled her, unbuttoning her shirt as she moved her hands up and down my thighs. I opened up her shirt, exposing her small, perfect breasts. Her nipples were erect, and she moaned loudly when I ran my fingertips over both nipples, gently pinching them. Her hands pressed harder into my thighs, and her hips began to move under me. Her head was thrown back, and I could tell she was highly aroused. For that matter, so was I.

As I straddled her, she reached for the fly of my jeans, undid the button, and slid the zipper down. She spread my jeans open and slid her hand in as far as she could, but the angle was awkward. I moved her hand and knelt next to her, unzipping her jeans, and was happy to see she was wearing nothing under them. I stretched out next to her again and began to kiss her. She put her arms around my neck to pull me close, and I surprised us both by sliding my hand down into her open jeans. Her body arched and she moaned into my mouth as I probed her, touching her silky wetness. My own body was throbbing by now, and my jeans were creating a delicious friction between my legs as my hips moved in rhythm with my hand in Jordan's jeans.