And that’s when the air shifted between us, and we found that place beyond words, where there was just us, seeing the beauty in the same things, without need to explain it, or dissect it, or rationalise it. We just felt it. Felt the same things.
I watched him as he soaked in the beauty of the paintings around us, and he watched me. Some of those pictures reached inside and grabbed my soul and gripped it tight, and they gripped his, too. I could feel it in his fingers, in the way his hand held mine. He’d smile and it would speak to my heart, and make it flutter. His pleasure made my spirit dance and sing and twirl.
In that wonderful place he was my teacher again, pointing out the detail in some of the finer watercolours, and the depth of the palette in the more dramatic baroque pieces. In that wonderful place he was also a fellow artist, an admirer of talent and brilliance and flair. But mainly in that wonderful place he was my lover. He was the man whose fingertips loved mine, and whose eyes shone with shared delight.
In that wonderful place that wonderful man was all mine, and he completed me.
We were admiring The Finding of the Saviour in the Stable by William Holman Hunt when I felt eyes on us. Mark felt them, too, and for a second he was nervous, I could tell. I dropped his hand on instinct, just in case. It was a couple, an older couple, and they were smiling.
“Beautiful piece,” Mark acknowledged, and they stepped closer.
“We love his work,” the woman said. “He’s Ted’s favourite here.”
Ted nodded and gave a little smile.
The woman placed her hand on her heart and looked at me like I was made of porcelain. “It’s so lovely,” she said. “To see you share such a bond with your daughter like this. What a treasure that you appreciate the same things. Our son was never interested, was he, Ted? We tried so many times to get him to come along with us.”
I couldn’t look at Mark, I just couldn’t.
“I guess I’m just very lucky with Helen,” he said. He placed his hands on my shoulders and pressed himself to my back, and I could feel him. His voice was so calm. “I take such joy in showing Helen new experiences. She is such a delight of mine.”
He swayed his hips, and I felt the swell of him press against my ass. My cheeks burned up, but I smiled. I just kept smiling.
“That’s lovely,” they gushed. “So lovely.”
I didn’t know whether to be amused or mortified when they walked away, but Mark was smiling, seemingly nonplussed.
“Alright, Dad?” I poked my tongue out.
“I thought I looked pretty young for my age, clearly I was mistaken.”
“Maybe it’s me. Maybe I look like a pre-teen.”
“You certainly do not.”
He took my hand again, and it felt better. “Does that bother you?” I said. “The age gap thing?”
“That other people notice it?” He shook his head. “No. My guilt has to do with my professional standing, not the difference in age. Quite frankly, Helen, I’m not too concerned with convention for convention’s sake. Age means little to me.”
I saw them out of the corner of my eye, stopping at a painting further along.
“Kiss me,” I whispered.
“What?”
“Go on,” I said. “Please.”
“Are you trying to cause mischief for those poor old people, Helen?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Just kiss me.”
He cleared his throat, and looked around the room, and then he pressed his fingers under my chin, and tilted my face to his. It was slow. So slow. There was the softest brush of his thumbs across my cheeks, and the most tender sigh before his lips pressed to mine.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, and pulled him close, and his hands found my waist and gripped me there. His tongue pushed inside my mouth, and I sucked at him and breathed him in, and wriggled against the swell in his jeans.
And the couple were gone when I opened my eyes.
“You’ll be the ruin of me,” he said.
“So you keep saying.” I smiled.
We walked and talked through lunch without a thought, and it was well into the afternoon when he checked his watch with a start.
“Shit,” he said. “We’re going to be late if we’re not careful.”
“Late?”
“I’ve got another destination in mind.”
I scanned for signs to the exit. “Let’s go, then.”
“Our next location isn’t quite so cultured, Helen.”
I could hardly contain my intrigue.
A sex shop. Not one of those high street ones, either. A proper one. A proper one without windows. There was a woman in leopard print behind the counter.
My eyes were wide as we walked around the displays.
“So,” he said. “What delicious fantasies lurk in that pretty head of yours? Tell me what we should get.”
I was tickly inside. Tickly and excited.
“Whatever you think.”
He shook his head. “I want to know what you think.”
A couple squeezed past us, carrying some whips and handcuffs and possibly the biggest dildo imaginable. My voice was wispy. “I, um… I’m not sure…” I pressed into his side. “I want to try everything. Whatever you want to show me.”