MISTER FIXIT

BY MANDRAKE BODOBI

[ part 3 ]

The first time that Simon Florentin Duval saw Emma was at the controversial art exhibition, Decadent Youth, staged by his good friend, the artist, Josette Lambert. Lambert's PR, arranged by Duval, had said that she wanted to explore the simmering and deeply repressed sexuality of youth, but many of her lifelike paintings clearly depicted preteens, a fact that the local and national press had been quick to pick up on.

'Child porn,' they'd called it and they'd slated the gallery in the small Cornish, seaside town, seemingly all the more enraged for the fact that such a controversial exhibition could be held in such a genteel and family orientated place. Perhaps if it had been held in Paris, London or New York there may not have been so much of a fuss. Lambert and the art gallery itself defended the works on show by angrily stating that none of the paintings depicted sexual acts and all of the subjects were clothed. The statement did not mention the fact that sometimes the 'clothes' were nothing more than thongs.

Lambert said that her paintings were a reflection of the feelings of youth and represented their simmering, yet unnoticed sexuality, which they were not allowed to express. Decadent Youth was like a window on millions of human beings all over the world who were not allowed to indulge in the sexuality of their own bodies because they had not yet reached the appropriate birthday. It was, she said, a sexual prohibition and her paintings were designed to draw peoples' attention to it.

Duval had organized the purchase of all of the works through various agents with different names and so not a single painting could be purchased by collectors or the general public. Not surprisingly the publicity brought huge numbers of people, all of whom were suitably shocked although nonetheless keen to buy. Some were even annoyed when they discovered that collectors visiting early in the exhibition had purchased all of the works. The next time Lambert had an exhibition the sexuality would be toned down but the prices would treble. A good turn out and plenty of press coverage had, by this Cornish affair, been ensured by Mister Fixit, Simon Florentin Duval.

Amongst the paintings in the exhibition were beautiful pictures of children kissing, open mouthed, and in a variety of gender combinations. The most shocking of these seemed to be the one of two boys, dressed in the football shirts of opposing clubs, who appeared to be little more than 10 years old. Some pictures showed youngsters in fetish gear and although there was no sexual activity it was implied by the nature of the paintings and the sultry way the subjects stared out from the canvass. It was almost as if they were thinking, 'As soon as you've stopped looking we're gonna fuck.'

The big rush hadn't come until the day after the local paper had run the, 'Child porn in art gallery shock,' headlines, but Emma had gone almost straight from the news agent, a copy of the paper rolled up under her arm. She was a regular at the gallery so the staff there wouldn't be surprised to see her. It had taken her approximately twenty minutes to find 'Slut Child,' one of the worst examples of Lambert's work according to the paper. It was a picture of a girl of perhaps no more than nine with a Mohican haircut and a ring through her bottom lip. Perhaps worse was the fact that she was portrayed lighting a cigarette, casually leaning back against a graffiti covered wall, with one foot on the floor and the other on the wall behind her, knee bent.

As shocking was the fact that the girl was topless and wore only a pair of denim shorts. A little more shocking was the ring through her right nipple, which was little more than a dot on her flat chest. But it wasn't even this that had horrified the paper the most. The most sickening thing about this work, the paper had said, were the tattoos on the child's torso. One was a small pink heart on her chest near her right nipple, and the others were words written in black above and below her tummy button. Just above was the word: SUCK, and just below were the words MY CLIT.

Emma sucked in her bottom lip and tried to suppress a grin when she saw this. The paper hadn't even printed the words it had simply referred to an obscenity tattooed on the child's tummy. The painting was priced at £27,000 and if she had the money Emma would have bought it. She was too late though, a little tag that said, 'Sold,' hung from the bottom left corner of the frame.

Simon had been hurrying to the front desk when he saw her. At that moment no one other than Katie was looking at Slut Child and he saw her unmistakably bite her bottom lip and inhale deeply through her nose.

"Charming isn't she?" Simon had said, his eyes sparkling mischievously as he came up behind her.

Emma spun round unaware that anyone was close by and blushed deeply when she saw Simon staring directly at her with a sparkle in his eye and a confident look about him as if he could see into her very soul.

"The only problem," he continued without waiting for an answer, "is in deciding where to hang her." He looked up at the painting himself now and pursed his lips slightly, thinking. "One wouldn't hang her in the hall now would one?" His tone was sarcastic and mocking of the type of people who were clucking and tut-tuting at Lambert's work, and who normally visited the gallery to see the works of the masters and the modern young talent endorsed by the media. To the art intelligentsia this was porn and Simon was mocking them.

"You can have her if you like," he stated, casually, "I think I bought her in an adrenalin rush and when I think about it calmly I really haven't got anywhere to put her that would do her justice."

Emma looked at him shocked. This man was telling her quite openly that he liked the work and yet it was the most shocking in the exhibition. Not only that he was offering to give it to her!

"Oh, I couldn't, I really couldn't," Emma blushed, "I mean I don't even know you and you don't give away that kind of money to strangers.

Unwittingly she had confirmed that she liked the painting and that was all Simon needed to know. "Oh don't worry," he whispered conspiratorially, "I didn't really pay £27,000 for it. Hell no! That's just PR. I'm giving the artist twenty five quid and she's bumming a lift home with me, but don't breathe a word to the press! You're not a journalist are you?"

Emma laughed, still blushing, "No," she said, "I'm not a journalist."

With that Simon got her address and telephone number and a time when it would be convenient to drop off the painting the following day. Emma had felt like putty in his hands and a little light-headed as she considered the possibility that she had met a like-minded soul. Another human being who thought kids were hot. Was that possible? That had been almost six months ago and in the short time they had been together they had fallen in love and lust with each other and the fantasies they both shared.

Now Simon was sat in a high backed leather armchair, in what he liked to think of as his Scottish castle, awaiting the arrival of his beloved. If she was on time the helicopter that was bringing her should be just over the Firth of Lorne. He took a sip of red wine and then licked his lips as he wondered how she would react to the two real children, naked and tied up in the cellar, his dungeon.

Would she freak out and tell him to get rid of them quickly, or would she compose herself, give in to her burning desires, and make both of their fantasies come true?

His tongue licked his lips sensually.

Simon Florentin Duval thought he knew the answer.