by Tara Wylde
I send my single-word text message.
What are you wearing?
I stare at my phone. A, that doesn’t answer my question, and B, why does he care?
Before I can shoot him another quizzical text, my cell phone chirps.
Is it what you’re going to wear to dinner tonight?
I wrinkle my nose and push my chair far enough away from the desk to look down at myself. Right after Dan agreed to have dinner with me, and he’d jumped on the opportunity the way a drowning man leaps on a deserted island, I’d imagined dressing up to the nines. But this morning, when I took a long, hard look at my schedule, I realized there simply wasn’t time.
Deciding that the best way to save time was wearing the same clothes to both work and my date, I opted for a black, knee-length dress whose tapered skirt does wonderful things to my legs, pulled a pretty, mauve and white striped silk blouse overtop of it, and added my grandmother’s pearls. I wore my shoulder length hair loose. It was a little fancier than what I normally wear during the work day and is a little more conservative than most women wear on dates, but I was pleased with my selection. Tonight, before I leave the office, all I have to do is freshen up my make-up and swap my sensible kitten-heeled pumps with the tall pair of stiletto boots and I’ll be good to go.
Totally put-together business woman to playful sex kitten in less than five minutes. At least that’s what I’m hoping for.
Even though I’m confused about why Mister No O cares what I’m wearing right now, my fingers tap out the response.
A dress. And yes it is.
His response appears almost as soon as I hit send. I can hardly believe he had time to read what I’d typed.
Great. Take off your panties.
My …
WTF ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT!!!!????!!!
My fingers fly over the on-screen keypad. I don’t bother checking for typos before hitting send. I can’t believe he suggested such a thing, but his words are right there in front of me.
Do it right now.
WHY THE FUCK SHOULD I?????!!!!
Again, the answer arrives faster than I would have thought possible.
Because it will make you feel dangerous and sexy, helping you get your mind and body in the right place for tonight. Both of you will find it hot. Promise.
A second later, a follow-up text appears on my screen.
Do it in your office. You’ll get more turned on that way.
I should be repelled. I’ve always been a good girl, for the most part. The kind that always makes sure she has clean underwear on when she walks out the door.
Still …
I can’t deny that there’s a part of me that has kind of wondered what it would be like to be the kind of person who goes commando. And while there are some definite good points to being a good girl, following the rules hasn’t helped me much in the dating department, has it? Sometimes I can’t help thinking how nice it would be to just throw caution to the wind and stop worrying about my reputation, and just concentrate on having a good time. Other people do it, so why shouldn’t I?
I double check that my office door is tightly closed and that the little shade covers the window that looks into my office before moving behind my chair.
Heart pounding and the blood roaring in my ears, I stand up and hurry behind my desk chair before I have time to second guess myself. Panting heavily, I keep my eyes glued to the window, alert to the slightest sign of movement. I grasp the hem of my skirt, pulling it up until I can slide my right hand under the lacy waistband of my Victoria Secret panties. I tug and wiggle until they slide clear and fall down my thighs. I leave them wrapped around my ankles for a second as I smooth my skirt back in place.
I shuffle to my chair, sit and kick off the scrap of material. Now that I’m no longer wearing my panties, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with them.
After a quick assessment of my office, I shove them into my bottom desk drawer, the only one that locks, and push them all the way to the back.
Please, I silently pray to whatever deity happens to be listening as I pick up my cell phone. Don’t let anything happen to me that would require Tracy or someone else to search my desk before I have a chance to take those home.
I tap the phone screen with my shaking fingers, and send a text.
I did it. I put them in my desk. Feels … really weird and naughty.
Great! Stay tuned for further instructions.
Oh boy!
Chapter Twelve
Erin
Two hours later, I balance my cell phone on my thigh, hiding it under my desk so that the client sitting across from me won’t know that she doesn’t have one hundred percent of my attention as I type out a message.
I keep waiting for Mr. No O to send me a text with more instructions, but so far there as been nothing but radio silence. Or in this case, cell phone silence.
I’m getting impatient.
Doing my best to keep my movements secret from my client, I start tapping out a quick message.
My undies are off. There’s a …
I glance at the clock.
Twenty-five minutes left before I leave for my dinner with Dan. Whatever ”further instructions” you have in mind, you’d better act sooner as opposed to later.
I hit send and direct my full attention to the tall, friendly woman on the opposite side of my desk.
“I really can’t thank you enough for all the hard work that you and Tracy have put into this project.” Donna Lackey, the client who owns The Sex Project, sweeps her eyes over the notes I gave her. “When I contacted you about the possibility of putting together some marketing material for my little charity event, I never imagined how much you’d end up doing.”
I smile reassuringly at her while trying to not think about the panties I locked in my desk. Since Donna walked into my office, I keep imagining that they’re like the heart in the old Edgar Allen Poe story. The one about the guy who killed his boss and buried the heart, only to have it keep beating until it eventually drove the murderer so insane that he confessed his crime to the police.
“Tracy and I have loved working for you,” I assure Donna. “This event has the potential to raise a lot of money for sex abuse survivors and looks like it’s going to be lots of fun.”
“But you and Tracy have already donated all the time and expenses you used promoting it.” Donna shakes her head and looks at me with damp eyes. “And your donating a gift certificate to the white auction.”
Her gratitude is making me uncomfortable. “We need to take advantage of some tax breaks just like every other business does.”
“Not every other business would do what you’ve done.”
“The community has been good to me., Donna says. “The least I can do is give something back.”
Any other client would call this the end of the meeting, but not Donna. She’s a friendly woman who makes an effort to get to know the people she does business with.
“Got any big plans tonight?” Donna laughs at herself. “Talk about a silly question. A pretty, smart woman like you, of course you’re doing something. You’re not the type to sit at home, alone, all night with a tub of Ben and Jerrys, are you?”
“Just a date,” I tell her. I don’t share the fact that it’s a date with a guy I recently dumped, to which I’m not going to wear any panties. Or that instead of going out with him, I’d rather sit at home, texting with the mystery guy who told me to drop my panties.
“Really?” her expression brightens. “How exciting. That’s the one thing I don’t like about being married. I love my husband, but I did love dating. The tension, the nervousness, the feeling of eventually settling into a nice ebb and flow with another person.” A far-away expression comes into her eyes and a soft smile curves her lips as she sighs happily. “Such good times.”
I grimace. Donna is currently on the back half of her seventies and has been married for more than thirty years. It’s been a long time since she was on the dat
ing scene, and if she has fond memories of it, then clearly dating has changed a lot since she and her husband exchanged their first kiss.
“I’ll take over your role as a wife if you want to give dating a try,” I tell her. “I’m tired of constantly looking. I want to settle down, be a part of a long-term couple.”
Donna smiles warmly and comes around the desk, catching me close in a warm hug that smells of fabric softener and lilac perfume. “I remember there were days that I felt the same way, then I met Rich. With him everything just clicked into place. How many times have you been out with this particular young man?”
“Four.”
Donna’s brows climb towards her hairline. “Well, isn’t that something? In this day and age, that’s a fair number of dates. Maybe this will turn out to be the one.”
“Maybe,” I mutter. There’s no point in telling her how the last date ended. “Time will tell.”
“And if you need some toys that’ll help keep things interesting in the bedroom, stop by the shop. If I don’t have what you’re looking for, I’ll order it for you.”
Her words remind me of my panty-less state and the fact that I’ve been texting a guy who I think of as Mister No O. If she knew, she’d have a field day. There’s no doubt in my mind that she’d promptly run down a list of all the various items in her store and give me at least a dozen suggestions.
A knock sounds on my office door, distracting both of us.
“It’s open,” I yell.
The door swings wide open, revealing a young man who’s probably about nineteen wearing the uniform of a local courier service. He’s holding a bouquet of roses and a brown box. He glances at the name printed on the top of the box.
“Erin Burkley?”
“That’s me,” I tell him.
He saunters across my office and sets the box on the table and thrusts the roses into my arms. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.” I accept the offering and bury my nose in the sweet blooms, inhaling deeply. I love roses and don’t receive them often enough.
Free of his burden, the boy unclips his smart phone from his hip, hits a few icons, and passes both it and a stylus to me. “You’ve got to sign for them.”
I do and without another word, he saunters out of my office, failing to close the door behind him.
“Oh,” Donna coos, “roses.” She reaches out and lightly brushes a finger across a delicate petal. “From your date tonight?”
“Maybe.” I find the card tucked inside the bouquet and tip it open.
Just a little something to help get you in the mood.
Donna unashamedly reads the card over my shoulder. “Oh, isn’t that romantic,” she breathes dreamily. “It’s been way too long since Rich sent me roses and promised me a night out. Time to light a fire under that boy.” She nudges me with her elbow. “What’s in the box?”
I slant a look at her. “You’re not very patient, are you?”
“Can’t stand to see an unopened box.” She grins impishly. “I’m hell to be around at Christmas time. Always begging and demanding to open presents early. Now snap to it.”
“Yes ma’am.” Laughing, I dig my letter opener out of my desk’s top draw and use it to slice the tape. Peeling back the flaps, I reveal a box within a box. The second one is high-quality white cardboard, the kind that doesn’t even feel like cardboard, and has fancy gold writing on it.
I lift the second box out of the first.
“Hey, that’s from my place,” Donna gasps.
Sure enough, the words ‘The Sex Project’ adorn the box top.
“Well, we know that your boyfriend has the sense to shop at the best stores in Tucson,” Donna says. “Now let’s see what his taste is like.”
I resist the urge to tell her that right now I don’t consider Dan my boyfriend, I don’t know what he is. I also decide that there’s no point in telling her that this package was sent from my anonymous sex coach.
I lift the cover off the box and fold back the pretty gold tissue paper, revealing a pile of goodies.
“Look at this!” Donna grabs a small, square packet off the top of the pile. “This stuff is amazing and one of our most popular products. I can barely keep it stocked.”
I look at the packet in her hand. It’s arousal oil. The packet contains a single use worth of the oil.
“Does that stuff really work?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“Most arousal oils don’t, or at least they don’t work well, but this brand does,” Donna confirms. “It’s the real McCoy. Which is why it sells so quickly. And I’m Arizona’s only registered retailer of it. Rub this oil on your clit and labia and you’ll be squirming in no time flat. It’s a great turn on, and Rich doesn’t rub it on himself, but when we’re having sex, he notices when it rubs off of me and onto him. He likes the hot, tingly sensation.”
She hands the packetto me. “You’ll start to feel the results within about three minutes of applying it. The only thing you have to be careful about is condoms.”
“I can’t use a condom with this stuff?” My heart sinks. Just my luck. There’s an oil that might help with my problem, but it prevents me from protecting myself. Talk about a kick in the teeth.
“You can,” Donna says. “You just have to make sure it’s a polyurethane condom and not a latex one. There’s some speculation that this arousal oil breaks down latex.”
Whew, dodged a bullet there.
Donna turns back to the box. “Let’s see what else he got you.” She tugs the next item out and lets out a low whistle. “Oh, very sexy, and they’ll look great with that dress you’re wearing.”
She’s holding a pair of thin, black silk stockings and a matching garter belt.
“I’ve never worn anything like that in my life.” I whisper.
“There’s a first time for everything.” Donna’s grin encompasses her entire face. She tosses the pile of black material back in the box. “Well, I’ll get going now. I’ve taken up way too much of your time and it looks like you’ve got a big, fun date to get ready for.” She hurries across my office but pauses and turns back when she reaches the door. “You’re already getting a pair of tickets to my little auction. Tracy too. I expect you to bring that gorgeous hunk of a man so that I can give him a big kiss and thank him for his patronage.”
Without another word, she walks out of my office, leaving me alone with my new gifts.
Chapter Thirteen
Erin
The combination of the faint tremor in my hands and the dim lighting in the restaurant’s bathroom makes it difficult to read the instructions printed in a tiny font on the back of the feminine lubricating oil, but eventually I manage. It doesn’t sound too complicated.
My phone, which I placed on top of the toilet paper holder, chirps. I’ve got a new text.
Wearing the stockings?
A smile tugs the corners of my mouth. I’ve never been the kind of girl who goes for fancy lingerie. Mostly because before someone needs clothing designed to spice up their love life, they need to actually have a steady love life, or at least the promise of one.
As soon as I rolled the stockings on and strapped the garter belt in place, I realized I was wrong. Something about the feel of the exotic underwear boosted my confidence, made me feel sexier than I’d ever felt before, even though no one knows what I have on under my dress. The combination of stockings, garter belt, and no undies makes me feel dangerous and sexy, two things I didn’t think I was even capable of.
Still, I hope I don’t get into a car accident before I have a chance to get home and put on new panties. My experience going commando is something that should only be shared with a few, select people, not the entire hospital staff.
Yes. I love them. Thanks!
Grinning, I send the text. Holding my breath, I wait for a response. It doesn’t take long.
And the lube?
Ah yes, the lube. I frown at the packet in my hand, not quite sure what to make o
f it.
It says that I shouldn’t put it on until right before I’m ready to have sex. And I haven’t even had dinner yet.
A second later, his response fills my screen.
Put it on now. It’ll turn you on while you eat. By the time you get to dessert, you’ll be desperate to fuck your perfect doctor. You’ll be lucky to make it out of the restaurant and into the car without embarrassing both of you.
I frown at my phone. This text is a huge change in his tone. He’s never used the work fuck before, kind of surprising, considering his profession. That word, combined with the rest, make him sound … bitter. But why would he be?
I open the packet of lube, squeeze the contents onto my fingertips and stare at it. The gelatinous blob smells faintly of primrose. Donna promised that this brand works, but so far it doesn’t seem any more interesting or magical than the hand cream I always carry in my purse.
Still, if I want my life to change, I have to be willing to try new things, and in the grand scheme of things, a female lubricant isn’t very scary.
Taking a deep breath, I widen my stance, which considering the height of my heels, isn’t easy, and use my free hand to hike my skirt up around my hips. Careful to not smear any of the lubricant on my stocking tops or garters, I carefully work the slippery stuff into my lady parts, taking care to make sure both my clit and labia are covered in a generous layer.
My phone chirps while I’m working with the lube. I ignore it.
Using my elbow to hold my skirt up, I slip my hand from between my legs and close my eyes, trying to tell if there’s any difference. Maybe a very faint tingling, but otherwise nothing.
