It's no wonder the artists of old painted nudes.  Did their patrons want them just for beauty, or for lust?  Or was it both?

Opening a picture sent by a Lush friend, my breathing stopped, and my heart faltered. Perfection; pure beauty.

One leg was in the bath, the other kneeling on the edge, her hands flat on the wall, her magnificent arse centre-stage, bountiful and alluring, her breasts hanging to emphasise their flawlessness, and her face turned to see who was watching, innocent but happy to be seen.

Beauty, not lust, for sure.

Or maybe not so sure?