Hard pressed to come up with a painting a week as called for by the contract she signed with Ira Cohen of Ira Roberts Gallery, the world famous artist, Rosamond, bought a projector, took it home, and cut a picture of a model out of a fashion magazine, and projected a anonymous young woman’s face onto a canvas.
Three days after Rena and I were together, she saw a young beauty on the cover of LIFE in a bikini in a store window.
“My sister is a model and told me she was on the cover of LIFE! Let’s go in and see if it is her.”
It was not. I never got her sister’s name, and believed I found her on the cover of LOOK magazine. However, the models name is Brigit Larsen of Denmark. I can not count out this was Rena Christiansen’s sister, who married a man from Denmark. Christiansen is a Scandinavian name. Rena and Brigit do look alike, which begs this question to be asked; Isn’t it ever man’s dream to be with a very beautiful woman on a Island, all to yourself.
For fifty days Rena and I camped in Northern California, and visited our secluded beach.
When Christine saw my painting of Rena, I believe she was inspired to take up art. My late sister was not a Lesbian. However, Rena’s other sister who modeled, was. The third model sister, was Robert Vesco’s mistress.
Rena was my Muse, and Christine’s Muse, as were her sisters, as were those Anonymous Models she took from magazines, and made famous all over the world.
Jon Presco
Copyright 2011
When Rena and I walked out on to the hot sand of Monte Rio beach. it was like I
was taking a beautiful chestnut filly to the Russian River for a swim. Everyone
looked up, and rested their sunglasses on the tip of their noses. Some had their
jaws wide open. Older woman exclaimed;
“My, my! Will you look at this beautiful creature!’
Rena was ten and half inched tall, with long wavy dark brown hair that fell like
a cape on her tan tapered back. No cute, plastic, bouncy, bubble butted babe,
was she. All her muscles were elongated and laid on a perfect skeletal frame.
When she walked you could see these muscles move under her copper colored skin.
When I first went to the paddock area at Golden Gates Fields, and when the
horses were walked out by their handlers, I saw Rena again. She was a Midwest
filly, corn fed and tanned in the vast fields of Nebraska. She knew the art of
being silent, basking in the pure heat of just being in our animal form. There
was not a scent of citied bullshit in her, and outside of her. She had a
commanding presence. No one ever challenged her in any manner in the forty five
days we spent together in California. People got out of her way, understanding
she was an entry in a contest. She never once looked at anyone, appeared to
notice anyone else was on that beach. We hardly spoke during the many hours we
spent there. I was just her handler. I chose the spot to lay down or towels and
ice chest, and, I left the rest up to her. It was – show time!
When Rena stood up, undid her halter top and let it fall on a towel, you could
hear a pin drop. All the ruckus play in the water stopped. When she undid the
hot metal button on her pair of Levi cutoffs, you could not hear as splash. When
those cutoffs were tossed onto the towel, one could hear a gentle breeze coming
twenty miles from the Ocean. And then she began her walk to the water in her
bikini.
I could try to be romantic, here, in a Greek manner, and say I saw a Centaur,
but, that would not do Rena justice. The word that came powerfully to mind, that
resonate in my heart, my mind, and my loins, was – WOMAN.
Rena was the complete package the full W and O, But then she arched her back,
and dove into the water, and I beheld a MERMAID. What boy, man who ever walked
this earth did not entertain the ancient longing to be loved by a Mermaid.
You don’t fuck Mermaids. You don’t poke them with sticks – or anything else!
Very rarely do you get to swim with one. This I know, because Rena would not let
me in the water when she was in the water. I understood she wanted to feel
pristine, be free of human male energy. I obeyed. But, this did not stop other
male humans on the beach from having a go at the Mer. Now for the second half of
the show.
I lay back on my elbows with a sigh, knowing what Rena had in store for these
flagrant intrusive rascals, these pokers: for no sooner did they dive into the
river, only to emerge near Rena, did they hurry ashore, and in panic look into
their swimsuit to behold this little wiggly thing about the size of your baby
finger!
“What the – fuck! That beautiful witch turned me into a pubescent little boy
again – and then some”
Rosamond Press 
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