You Are What You Eat

This story deals with strong themes of reluctant lesbian sex. If such material is likely to offend you then please find yourself another story.

Chapter 1

It was on my thirty-second birthday that he went down on one knee to me.

The pros?

He was handsome, wealthy, a considerate lover and shared my passion for the arts.

The cons?

He was seventeen years older than me, and still trailing the baggage of his first marriage in the shape of his nineteen year old step-daughter, but the biggest obstacle of all was his insistence that we live together in Portugal after the wedding.

In truth, my work as an artist meant that I could base myself anywhere and my friends were already scattered around the world but London would always be my spiritual home. For his part, his two galleries were in Lisbon and his daughter attended the University there.

In the end I proposed a compromise. I would live with him for twelve months in Portugal and then I would give him my answer. He was delighted, believing that, once I was there, the deal was as good as done, but in my own mind there was still a nagging doubt.

If you asked me if I loved him I would have said yes. I had never felt this way about a man before, and God knows there had been enough of them, but there was something missing, something indefinable and tantalizingly out of reach.

The house was a converted manor farm on the Sintra heights. I had visited twice before but now I saw it with different eyes and, I have to admit, it was a beautiful place in which to set up home.

As Mateus took my bags inside the joy seemed to radiate from him and the more so when he revealed his first surprise. He had had one of the stone barns converted into a studio with one wall, now entirely paneled with glass, giving a wonderful vista over the verdant slopes to the blue Atlantic in the distance.

We ate together on the terrace that first night and life seemed blissful. We made love until the early hours and when I eventually awoke, at mid morning, it was to find that he had already left for his business trip to Stuttgart.

I walked out onto the bedrooms small balcony, stretched slowly in the warm sunshine, and was then overcome with almost childish joy when I remembered that I now had a pool at my disposal.

With that thought I looked down at the patio and was surprised to see one of the sun beds already occupied. Mateus had not mentioned visitors and certainly not one as striking as this. The young woman was oblivious to her surroundings as she lay still in the sunshine whilst reflected flecks of sunlight from the surface of the pool sparked from her oiled body.

Her dark complexion and abundant mane of black curls suggested that she was a local and I found myself envying her taut young body. Many men have told me I am beautiful, and the years had been kind to me, but this woman was cover girl material.

As she lay there I appraised her with my artist's eye. Her, natural, unfettered breasts, surmounted with dark, almost perfectly circular, nipples were obviously heavy and I guessed at a large cupped thirty four inches. Her waist was thin and her stomach flat but she had the flared hips common to women of the region. Her long legs were toned, neither too fat nor too thin and I would be prepared to bet that she was a keen sportswoman.

I was tempted to fetch my sketch pad but at that moment she moved slightly, turning her face more fully to the sun, and the small shift was enough to bring instant recognition. The girl was Izabel, Mateus' step-daughter.

We had only met three times before and each time she had been dressed in sloppy student garb which, along with a complete absence of make-up, served to make her appear younger than her nineteen years. This was undoubtedly the same young woman but she now exuded a maturity and self confidence that had not been apparent before.

Looking at her then I experienced a momentary pang of jealousy. Had her mother, Mateus' first wife, been equally as beautiful?

It now seemed so wrong, standing there watching her, but, as I was about to turn away, she reached blindly for the bottle of sun oil. She held it over her stomach and allowed the dark viscous liquid to trickle slowly onto her skin. When a small pool had formed she started to work it over her body and I was fascinated by the way the combination of her glistening skin and the fall of sunlight emphasized the shape of her different muscle groups.

I had done some life painting, it was not my subject of choice, but, at that moment, it was almost like seeing the human body for the first time. I continued to watch as her hands moved slowly upwards until she was massaging her breasts and it took a few seconds to dawn on me that her touch was now more delicate. She was no longer working the oil into her skin; instead, her palms seemed to be gliding over the shallow mounds.

I willed myself to take a step back from the balconies edge but I remained rooted to the spot as I watched her fingertips gradually came together to delicately pinch the teats of her nipples. As she did so I felt my own nipples begin to tingle and then stiffen. I drew my robe more tightly around me, unconsciously blaming the slight breeze, but there were other signs which I guiltily tried to ignore.

For the next couple of minutes I hardly drew breath as I watched her teasing herself. She concentrated on her breasts but, every now and again she moved a hand down to draw lazy circles over her stomach.

In those minutes I tried to reason with myself. I had no intentions of trying to be a surrogate mother to Izabel I simply hoped that we could be friends. The atmosphere at our meetings had been cool but cordial and I put that down to her protective instincts. Mateus was not her natural father but he was the only father she had known.

However you looked at it there was no excuse. I should have crept away and respected her privacy but her fingertips were now grazing the waistband of her bikini bottoms and I found myself wondering just how far she would go. I suppose I was envious of her free spirit. I could never have touched myself in that way in such an open space even if I believed, as she no doubt did, that no one else was around.

As I continued to watch she arched her back slightly and held her stomach in. This created a slight gap where her bikini hugged her waist and her fingers, as though surprised at finding this opening, began a tentative exploration.

I watched as the back of her fingers bulged the blue satiny crotch and it was almost as if I could feel the touch on my own body. The temptation to slip my hand into my robe was almost overwhelming but that was a step too far even in my current reckless mood.

Her hand moved lower and I caught the briefest glimpse of dark pubic hair before the elasticated waistband trapped her wrist. Her movements were lazy, unhurried, as she stroked her oiled fingertips over her mound and I could hear the coursing of my blood in my eardrums as I stood unnaturally still in a silence broken only by the courting of insects.

I must have been there for more than ten minutes as she continued to maintain an easy rhythm and I wondered just how far she would take it. It would have been easy to believe that she was falling asleep, so languid were her movements, but then, at last, she gently arched her back and shivered into a long, lazy, orgasm.

When it was over her body relaxed once more and I was forced to retreat in haste as her head lolled towards me.

I found that I was breathing quickly and I wanted nothing more than to bring myself the same pleasure that I had just witnessed but my guilt won out and I disciplined myself to take a shower.

Afterwards, I went downstairs to find that the cook had laid out a simple, but extensive, breakfast buffet and I indulged myself with some ham, eggs and fresh baked bread whilst perusing the morning papers.

The temptation to take a swim was still strong but I was not sure that I could face Izabel quite so soon after the morning's events and so I refilled my coffee cup and made my way to the new studio. I had two commissions to be started but as I stood before the pristine canvas I could not focus my mind on landscapes. I picked up a fresh piece of charcoal and quickly began to dash off a series of bold curved lines.

I had started to draw a female form but, once again, I was pricked by my conscience. Almost without thinking I modified the outlined beginnings of muscles groups and what emerged was a drawing of a shoal of fish each one a firm, sleek, healthy specimen.

I was not a great fan of the Surrealists and their visual puns but I was enjoying myself and I began to apply paint to the canvas in bright vivid swirls. I worked feverishly for over an hour before I stepped back to take in the sweep of my creation and then I almost jumped out of my skin.

"It's beautiful."

Izabel was at my shoulder, having come in unheard, and I almost fell over her as I quickly turned.

"I'm sorry! You took me by surprise."

"My apologies. I should have announced myself, but I was fascinated watching you work."

She must have come directly from the pool as she was wearing a robe and simple pair of flip flops.

"Who is she?"

"She?"

"The woman you've painted."

For the second time I was taken by surprise. Most people would only have seen the superficial image but she had seen through to the subliminal motif.

"It is no one in particular."

"It's very clever. I would love to be painted like that. Would you paint me?..."

The last was said with almost schoolgirl excitement and sounded a little odd in her slightly stilted American English.

"...Let's do it now!"

With that she almost skipped across the room and draped herself in the single armchair in front of the window.

"Izabel, we haven't even had a chance to say hello."

"Paint me. We can talk while you work."

The truth was that I felt guilty looking at her but my artistic instincts won out. I set aside the wet canvas and replaced it with a large sketching tablet. She was sitting almost regally with her lower legs crossed and with her hands in her lap but she was far too stiff.

"You need to relax a little. Be more natural."

She adjusted her pose but she still looked awkward and she would almost certainly become cramped. Without thinking, I knelt in front of her and moved her leg slightly to ease the tension in her pose.

"Do I have a good body?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Is my body good? For Painting?"

I was still kneeling as she turned a few degrees and, as she did so, her robe opened slightly. I saw, immediately, that she was naked beneath it and I felt my breath catch. Hers was a rare beauty and she was fully aware of it.

"You are very beautiful."

Whilst I spoke as an artist I was speaking from the heart. I guess that I was also trying to flatter her, to make her like me, and to win her approval of the fact that I was now living with her step-father.

I looked up and caught her eye, expecting, I suppose, to find a little faux modesty but her expression was that of someone who had received no less than they believed was due to them.

We remained frozen there for a couple of seconds and I could not shake the feeling that I was being weighed up. She exuded a self possession beyond her years and it almost felt as though I were the teenager.

"I saw you...on the balcony."

"The balcony?"

I played dumb but the flush of my cheeks betrayed my embarrassment.

"You were watching."

Any lingering hopes that she had only glimpsed me at the very end evaporated.

"Did it excite you?...Watching me?"

I tried to recover myself.

"I wasn't watching you. I was just taking the air."

She simply smiled and we both knew that I had been caught in a lie. As her eyes held mine she slowly tugged at the belt of her robe freeing the loose knot.

I should have stood up and stopped it right then but I found myself transfixed. I was aware of her legs gradually moving apart; I knew I must not look but I felt myself wavering particularly as I saw that the look in her eyes had turned to one of mischievous amusement.

"Do you want to watch me now...?"

I had never had any sort of intimate relationship with a woman, nor did I desire to do so, but I could not help myself as she held her fingers in front of my face. Her hand slowly dropped between her legs and my eyes followed.

I have seen many naked bodies in my time, the life models in the studio and the bodies of lovers. I tried to remain dispassionate but she was affecting me in a way that I found totally unnerving.

"Izabel, stop this, we have to talk."

My body twitched as I tried to force myself to rise but I remained frozen.

"You must have seen many women. Is it pretty?"

She was running the tips of her fingers through the lush, almost unruly, growth of black hair covering her pubis.

The truth was that her sex could not be described as pretty. As she pressed gently I could clearly see her outer labia, thick, heavy, proud folds, and then, glimpsed within, the almost coy pink inner lips.

No, not pretty, but primal and she reveled in the power of it.

And then I caught the scent of her.

One is curious, but now I knew. The smell of one woman's arousal is much like another's. She must have seen it, the slightest flaring of my nostrils, and then it was if she could read my mind.

"You're a virgin aren't you? You've never been with another woman."

For a second or two I felt exactly that, a virgin. I regard myself as reasonably broad minded but this nineteen year old spoke with a self assurance that hinted at an experience beyond mine.

"Have you wondered ...how another woman tastes?"

As she said it she eased a finger inside herself and I finally managed to get a grip on reality. I got up from my knees and hurried from the studio with her laughter echoing behind me.

I walked for hours with my mind in a turmoil. Izabels's behaviour had been outrageous but then again I had been guilty of playing the voyeur. We needed to talk, to get things straight between us. It was early evening when I returned to the house but, having steeled my resolve, Izabel was nowhere to be found.

After a light supper I decided on an early night but I found it hard to sleep. When I eventually dozed off it was only to find that Izabel haunted my dreams.

The next morning I edged onto the balcony and peered over the parapet but the pool area was devoid of life. I learned from the cook that Izabel had returned unexpectedly from university and it would be another four weeks before she went back to her studies but she suspected that most of that time would be spent away from the house with friends.

For the rest of that day I disciplined myself to paint only putting aside my brushes once the sun had begun to set. Shortly after that Mateus arrived home and I immediately felt uplifted. I accompanied him to the bedroom and chatted to him whilst he changed catching up with all the news from Stuttgart. I was sorely tempted to seduce him on the spot but then he broke the news that Izabel would be joining us for dinner.

I felt myself blush as soon as I saw her at the table but she, by contrast, looked completely composed. She pecked me on the cheek before giving Mateus a more effusive welcome and then we sat down to eat. She did all the talking bringing her step father up to date on university life. I began to hope that the events of the previous day might be quietly forgotten and that we might be able to make a fresh start but then she steered the conversation around to "tastes."

She enquired about my tastes in music and literature and I answered politely but then she asked about my tastes in cuisine and enquired whether or not I had a sensitive palate. With a completely straight face she asked what sort of flavours I liked and if I could discern subtle differences.

Mateus looked pleased that we were getting along so well little realizing that I was squirming in my seat.

The following day I accompanied Mateus into the city to see his new acquisitions for the gallery and in the evening Izabel took dinner with us once again. She was going out afterwards and she was dressed to kill. Her skirt was short, showing off her legs to devastating effect, and she wore her flowing blouse loose to emphasize the fullness of her breasts. More than once during the meal my eyes were drawn to her chest as she gesticulated excitedly to stress a point.

That night Mateus and I made love but I could not help but wonder with whom Izabel was spending the night.

The next morning I was pleased to feel a reassuring warmth next to me not least because he had been supposed to make an early start. I smiled to myself, happy in the knowledge that I had obviously tired him out. I stretched lazily and thought about tiring him even more.

"Is he good in bed?"

My eyes opened with a start. Izabel was seated cross-legged on the bed still wearing the same clothes from the night before.

"That's a bloody impertinent question."

She shrugged her shoulders as if it was of no consequence.

I struggled to sit up but her weight was pinning the duvet and I was in danger of revealing my nakedness. I wound up propped halfway and I hoped that she would get the message.

She did not get up immediately and I was at the point of firmly telling her to leave when she reached forward and touched her fingertip to my mouth. Taken aback by this strange gesture I reflexively drew away from her but not before I had unwittingly licked at my lips.

"Oh my God."

Izabel laughed at my shock and sprang from the bed; she was gone from the room before I could react further.

The taste on my lips was unfamiliar but somehow I knew exactly what it was. It had an earthy quality that teased the bitter sensors on my tongue and then cloyed at the back of my throat. For a second or two I held my breath and then inhaled gently through my nostrils. The unmistakable scent was still there, just present.

She had been stimulating herself whilst I slept and now she had tricked me into an outrageous act of intimacy. I felt disgusted but I realized that it arose not because of the taste itself but because she had abused me. In fact, even as my anger grew, my tongue slipped out like a guilty traitor into the night and I licked my lips a second time.

Chapter 2

Shocked by my own behaviour I rushed to the bathroom. I filled the basin with water and scrubbed at my face before brushing my teeth with painful vigour. I dressed quickly and set off after her not really knowing what I was going to say but knowing that something had to be said.

She was nowhere to be found and the cook had no idea when she would be home. I was so overcome with frustration that I could not settle to work. Instead, I spent hours agonizing over whether or not I should say anything to Mateus but by the time he returned home that evening I had decided that it was something that I needed to deal with myself.

Our conversation over dinner was strained and I realized it was because I was trying to steer the conversation away from any mention of Izabel. He did not seem to notice. Afterwards, we made love but I could not relax and for the first time since I had known him I faked it.

The following morning he kissed me goodbye and, being the cook's day off, we agreed to meet up for lunch. Once he was gone I looked out my swim suit and got ready for the pool. I stood for a moment or two in front of the full length mirror and admired myself. I certainly did not look or feel my age and only the previous week a couple of photographers had mistaken me for Kate Winslet at the Tokai charity event. As the actress was in one of her thinner phases I took it as a particular compliment.