Jaws drop as Mrs P reveals all - Kevin Page
A warning comes attached to this weekly giggle: it contains subject matter which might be considered in some circles, well, shall we say, a bit saucy.
Basically, it contains references to a person being “naked” or maybe that should be “nude”. I’ve never quite been able to work that one out but, in my mind, I have to say the latter does seem a little more appropriate in this case.
Regardless, I make no apologies for either, Dear Reader, and offer this little tale as yet another snapshot of my life.
So, here we go.
The other morning,I lay back in the plushness of my bed blissfully celebrating the fact it was much, much more comfortable than the hospital bed I had spent the previous five nights in after an unexpected hiccup in my treatment.
Mrs P had spent the night curled up next to me, as you’d expect, and after some wake-up chatter she had left the vicinity of the marital bed and taken herself off for a shower.
The promise of a coffee upon her return – she makes the best first coffee of the day – saw me excitedly stuff some pillows behind me and prop myself up in anticipation.
Through the wall, I heard her turn the shower off and, before I could say “luckiest man in the world”, there she was, wrapped in just a towel, back in the bedroom sorting out her clobber for the day ahead.
Now, I am sure, Dear Readers, many of you will have been in this exact situation before – I can imagine all the nodding around the breakfast tables as you read this – but I’m not too sure your individual story will exactly line up with where mine is going.
So let me explain.
As I say, there she is looking, well, pretty damn hot if I do say so myself, sorting out her clothes. We’re talking about nothing. As you do.
Then she dropped the towel.
It hit the ground about the same time as my jaw.
Naturally, I mustered up a complimentary comment and My Beloved smiled, one of those big beamers of hers which let me know I would be getting an extra good coffee once she was fully dressed.
I followed the first compliment with another. The one that sent the whole thing rolling off in an unexpected direction.
“Someone should paint you,” I said smoothly, kind of proud of myself with such a great line.
She smiled. Again.
“I have been painted before,” she said. “Remember when we were in Paris and that old guy on the street painted my portrait.”
“No, I mean you’re beautiful. Someone could paint you nude,” I said, and I stress this is all in a totally non-sexual context.
“Oh, I have been a long time ago,” she replied so matter-of-factly that my jaw fell open again.
Naturally, I wanted details.
I mean, you would, wouldn’t you, although the Little Devil in me was also wondering if there was a spare copy of the work floating around. Ahem.
It seems some years before we met, Mrs P – who obviously went by a different name then - had a friend who was an enthusiastic amateur artist who showed some promise.
Obviously, his skills extended to persuasion because at some stage he’d had a similar view to me by the sound of it – literally – and had reached the same conclusion regarding a naked paint job
To be fair, Mrs P says she wasn’t coerced and at no stage felt uncomfortable. The artist was a good friend.
Plus, it goes without saying, she made sure people outside the studio were aware of what she was doing, including her brother who would have found a number of interesting locations for sticking the odd brush should there have been any shenanigans.
Apparently, a very tasteful work was produced which did not show any of the “bits” I get to view regularly. And I know you know what I’m talking about there.
It seems the single work was given to Mrs P on completion and she loved it. She had it for years until it was destroyed in a mishap.
By this stage, Mrs P is fully dressed and heading to the kitchen to sort the coffee. I’m still sitting up in bed trying to work out how I feel about it all. Not that it’s really got anything to do with me. Although I felt sorry for her loss. She said it was a beautiful painting.
That’s when an idea came to mind. And so I made my way to the kitchen where I told my lovely wife I would happily have a go at painting her nude.
Sadly, it seems her enthusiasm for such endeavours is long over.
She said the only thing I’d be painting any time soon was the ceiling in the bathroom.
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