I step into the shower, then tell him he can come in.

The painter sees where I am and comes to stand in front of the toilet, just a few feet from me. I’m a little nervous, but before I turn on the water, I remember what I teach all my clients about delivering their presentation with confidence and commitment. I look him straight in the eye, surprised to see that this is where he is staring at me as well. I hold up my hands so that he will focus on them, then lay them on my neck and glide them down my body, over my breasts and belly, just as I would have if I’d been allowed to touch the museum sculptures I desired so much.

When I turn the water on, I keep it tepid so that the Plexiglas won’t steam up and obscure me. The cool water assures that my nipples will stay erect and my breasts rounded. I soap myself luxuriously but naturally, thinking more of my own pleasure than of his, teaching him about women, about women alone. Then I take the showerhead off its hook to rinse myself. I pull my left leg up and press my knee against the wall, opening myself completely for view. For the first time in my life, I’m convinced beyond any doubt that my pussy is something sacred, something to be adored, worthy of sculpture and ceremony.

The painter thinks so as well. He sits on the toilet seat and opens his trousers, untangling his hard-on from his flimsy boxer shorts and letting his cock stand on view, like a statue, like me, before starting to stroke himself.

He watches as I move the showerhead all over my head and body. I want to touch myself as well, but I don’t. The sculptures don’t, so I don’t. They just look healthy and contented, so I am too.

The painter’s climax is a quiet event. I know that when I experience the pleasure of climax, my face shows pain. Ecstasy as excruciation. But his face remains calm, and his eyes stay on my body.

Whatever he feels when he comes, I certainly feel released from something.

While he cleans himself up, I turn off the shower and stand inside it, the light sparkling on the wet links and crystals, until he is finished. He fastens his trousers again, and stands in front of me with the clear door between us.

“Thank you,” he says seriously, just like a student would, and leaves.

Once I’m dry and wrapped in my towel, I go out to the living room, but he’s gone.

I don’t expect to see the painter again, and I don’t mind. He turned out to be a should-be-there thing. Like the screw. It’s an aberration, but it’s useful. I can put up a new picture whenever I want.

BODY DRAFTS

Rachel Loh, Singapore

After removing her bra, Michelle slowly slipped off her more reluctant panties, then stood there holding both. She looked over at Dr Narain sheepishly, the underwear dangling from her hand.

“Anywhere,” Narain said with a generous shrug. “Just throw them over there.”

Michelle turned and tossed first the bra, then the panties onto a tawny brown plush chair squeezed next to the bedroom dresser. She then turned back to Dr Narain, arms folded lengthwise across her front, as if to attempting to cover her breasts and crotch-though very little of either was covered.

“It’s more comfortable here than in my office, isn’t it?” said Dr Narain.

“Not as cold, I think.” A knowing smile filtered in. “In any sense.”

“Yes,” Michelle giggled. “It is much more comfortable here. Very much.” She laughed again, then let her arms fall to her sides. After all, this was hardly the first time Narain had seen her naked body. The only difference was that this time they were in the doctor’s bedroom, not the office. After exchanging conspiratorial smiles with Narain, Michelle folded her arms behind her back, shifted her feet, threw her head back and posed, showing off her work-in-progress body.

Narain beamed, stepped forward and started caressing the edges of that delicate Chinese face, finally streaming skilled fingers through the patient’s hair. “Admiring your work?” Michelle asked with a nervous smile.

“Admiring your beauty,” Narain replied, with a more confident smile.

Michelle closed her eyes and leaned her head back further, allowing Narain to caress her more easily. She did, indeed, feel comfortable in the hands of this doctor. From that very first time she stepped into the office and saw Narain, she felt surprisingly at ease, glad that she had taken her friend Tania’s advice and sought out this particular specialist.

Michelle had been going to Dr Narain for just over a year now. She had started with botox treatments, then went on to collagen infusions, before moving up to minor surgery to give her the double eyelid that all affluent Asian women seem required to sport these days. Only recently had she decided to ask Narain about more radical procedures: body sculpting, breast enlargement, vaginal tightening. Though still anxious about this next stage, she was nonetheless determined to press ahead with it.

Narain had moved from stroking Michelle’s hair and face and was now skimming the tips of well-trained fingers across the patient’s neck. “Yes, you can use a little bit of work here. Don’t worry, we’ll get these lines gone completely. Very simple. We can do it next week at the office, if you like.”

“Botox?” Michelle asked. Narain gave another generous, reassuring smile, along with a shake of the head. “No, that won’t work here. What we’re looking at is just a short deep laser treatment. Fifteen minutes, tops, for this lovely neck of yours. And no down time really.”

Michelle nodded, just as Narain started grazing fingers lightly over her shoulders, before slowly easing them down to the outer curve of her breasts.

Michelle again closed her eyes and took long, deep breaths.

“I think your breasts are just… wonderful,” Narain told her. “They are so right for you. Why so many women here want those big, lumpy Western appendages, like the things poor Pamela Anderson has to struggle around with, I just don’t understand. It’s terrible.”

“Yes, I agree, Doctor. But my husband says they’re too small-

especially for the wife of someone in his position. He’d like something a little closer to Pamela’s problem.” During this exchange, Narain’s hands had cupped Michelle’s petite breasts and were now fondling them gently, working the palms dexterously along the soft, pliant curves.

“Well then, whatever… But like I’ve told you already, I think your husband is an absolute idiot.” For emphasis on this point, Narain started fondling the breasts with vigour. Michelle breathed deeply, bit her lower lip, then whispered out her reply.

“You are absolutely right. He is an idiot, A-list idiot actually, but he pays all the bills. Including all your bills.”

“For which, I am eternally grateful,” Narain answered, then leaned over and placed an eager mouth to Michelle’s nipples. First, the doctor’s lips gently grazed against the broad aureole and nipples, already hardened, before an ardent tongue started flicking against them. Soon, lips and tongue both began sucking in soft, measured pulls, as Michelle eagerly lost control.

She started running her hands wildly through the dark tangles of Narain’s hair, then, as Narain nuzzled upwards and started planting deep kisses on the neck, she dropped her hands to the doctor’s hips and rubbed vigorously, before gliding the hands around to clutch Narain’s well-toned butt. Narain responded instantly: the doctor’s crotch was pressed tightly against Michelle’s. As Narain took Michelle’s face and the two kissed fully on the mouth, their loins started grinding rhythmically against each other.

Then, as the tongues lashed in slow swirls upon each other, the twists of the loins grew longer, slower, more charged with purpose.

When they broke to seize a few breaths, Michelle gave a light push and stepped back. “Maybe we’d better change tactics here, or you’re going to have to rush those pants of yours right over to the dry-cleaners. And I have no idea how easy it is to get out those kinds of spots.” Narain again flashed that soft, reassuring smile. “To hell with it: I’ll just keep them as a souvenir of a very wonderful time in my life.” As Michelle grinned shyly, Narain leaned over and planted a quick, affectionate kiss on her lips. “But you’re right; it is unfair that I’m always ‘in uniform’ while you’re in various stages of undress.” The doctor then turned and indicated the bed with a theatrical flourish of the hand. “Anyway, it’s time we moved on to the next phase of the examination. So… shall we move to the… examination table, Mrs Tay?”