She prided herself on her efficiency and always had documents completed long before they were needed. “Of course, Mr. Gordon, I’ve got them whenever you’re ready.”
“I wondered with that day off you took yesterday. Bring them in here, will you?”
“Certainly, Mr. Gordon.” Barbara stood up, carefully arranged her black wool skirt and straightened the collar on her periwinkle blouse. As she walked into her boss’s office, he was bent over, rifling through his briefcase which lay open on the floor beside his desk. “Damn,” he swore, “I can’t find a thing in here. Barbara, help me, will you?”
“What are you looking for?” Barbara asked, putting the documents she held on his desk.
“The Norton file. I had it just before lunch.”
Barbara crouched, exposing a long expanse of thigh and began to systematically go through the contents of Mr. Gordon’s briefcase. “It’s right here,” she said, quickly locating the missing file. As she looked up, she saw Mr. Gordon staring at her.
“What have you done with yourself?” he asked.
“I just got a few new things.”
“And had your hair done, and got new makeup. Stand up.”
Barbara stood, trying not to back up under his intense scrutiny. She watched his eyes travel from her hair to her heels and back up, several times. Then he released a long, low wolf whistle. “Not bad.”
“Thank you, sit,” Barbara said, straightening her shoulders. “I just felt I could use a lift.”
“Well, you certainly got a lift.” He stared for another full minute, then cleared his throat. “Okay. I see you have the Sanderson closing documents. I think everything should be in order. I have some notes from court this morning that need to be typed up.”
Barbara sat in the small chair across from Steve Gordon’s desk, smoothed her skirt and crossed her legs. As she arranged her computer on her lap, she caught Mr. Gordon staring at her knees. She sat, waiting for him to begin. “Mr. Gordon, I’m ready whenever you are.”
“You know we’ve been together for how long? Almost two years?”
“Actually, it’s almost six years.”
“Well, don’t you think it’s about time you started calling me Steve?”
Totally taken aback, Barbara said, “I guess so, Mr. Gordon. I mean Steve.”
“Good.” He hesitated, then opened the folder in his hand. “I had a call from Mrs. Norton this morning. Take this down…”
At four-thirty, Barbara cleared the top of her desk, locked her laptop in her drawer and got her coat. As she was about to leave, Steve came out of his office. “Good night, Barbara,” he said cheerfully. “And by the way, that silver patch of hair is very, well, very attractive. Have a nice evening. Got a date?”
“No. sir, I mean Steve. No date.”
Steve put his arm around her waist and guided her toward the elevator. “Well then, maybe there will be time for me some evening.”
Unable to breathe, Barbara merely nodded as the elevator doors opened.
“Well, have a nice evening.”
“And he suggested that we might have dinner sometime,” Barbara told Maggie several hours later. It was all Maggie could do not to swear when Barbara mentioned the whistle. He reminds me more and more of Arnie Becker, she thought.
“He looked at me, Barbara continued, unaware of Maggie’s reaction. “I mean, really looked. He thought I looked good.”
“Well, you do look good. Did work go well, too?”
“Sure. We did the Sanderson closing. I had caught a few minor errors and fixed them before they became problems. I also checked on the title insurance for him.”
“What would he do without you?” Maggie said dryly.
“You’re not happy for me, Maggie,” Barbara said. “I don’t understand.”
“Sorry. I’m the one who helped you with the makeover and all and I’m glad you’re pleased. It’s just I have a basic dislike for men who only notice women when they’re attractive.”
“Oh, Maggie,” Barbara said, sipping a glass of Chardonnay while she sautéed chicken and vegetables. Since Maggie’s arrival, she was beginning to develop a taste for wine with dinner. “That’s not really true. He always knew I was there. He just, well, you know. He’s got other things on his mind.”
Maggie patted Barbara on the shoulder. “I do know, baby. And maybe he’ll ask you out. Is that what you want?”
“Oh, that would be wonderful. Dinner, maybe a little dancing.”
“Ah, yes. Slow dancing. A wonderful way to make love standing up.”
“You know, I never thought of it that way, but you’re right. Making love standing up.” Barbara placed the chicken mixture on two plates and sat across from her friend. In only two days it had become comfortable to have Maggie around. She had a friend.
“Do you like making love?” Maggie asked, anxious to move Barbara along to phase two of her makeover.
“It’s not like it is in the novels I like to read, but the few times I did it it was tolerable.”
“Tolerable. What a terrible way to think about making love. No bells? No stars? The earth didn’t move?”
“That doesn’t happen to people like me. That’s for glitzy novels and X-rated movies.”
“It can happen, and it does, and it should.”
Barbara sipped her wine, her curiosity aroused. “Did the earth move for you?”
“You mean did I climax?”
Blushing slightly, Barbara nodded.
“No, not every time I made love. It takes a bit of effort and consideration on the part of both partners for orgasm to occur. But I did more often than not. I found that my men friends liked it when I came even though they were paying me to be sure they climaxed.”
“But you only discovered good sex after your divorce.”
“That’s true and a bit sad. I regret that Chuck and I never found out what good sex was all about.”
“Do you and he still see each other? I mean, did you? Does he know what you do, er…did?”
“Boy, tenses are a problem, aren’t they. Anyway, no, I don’t see Chuck anymore. He and his new wife moved to the West Coast many years ago. We had no kids, no ties, not much in common except a lot of history, and reminiscing wears thin very quickly.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.” Maggie watched Barbara sip her wine as if searching for the right words. “Look, Barbara,” Maggie said, “you can ask anything you want. I may choose not to answer, but please, we’re friends and this is a really strange situation.”
“As a,…let’s say woman of the evening, you had to do all kinds of things with your customers. Is all that kinky stuff really fun?”
“You mean like oral sex and bondage?”
Barbara merely nodded.
“There are a thousand things people enjoy in the bedroom. Some enjoy plain straight sex, missionary position. Some enjoy telling stories in the dark, tying a partner up, spanking, anal sex. There are probably as many variations as you can dream of. Most I enjoy, a few I don’t. But that’s true with all things. I love almost all foods, but I hate liver and lima beans.”
Barbara laughed. “What sex-type things don’t you enjoy?”
“I already told you that I don’t find pain pleasurable.” Maggie thought a minute, then continued. “That’s about all.”
“Pain? That’s sick.”
“No, it’s not. Listen, I hate to sound preachy, but I think this is very important. Anything that two consenting adults get pleasure from is none of anyone else’s business and isn’t sick. As long as both partners know it’s important to say no if anything feels the least bit wrong, anything else is okay.”
“I guess. How did you discover which things you enjoyed and which you didn’t?”
“Trial and error. Lots of trial,” Maggie grinned, “and a few errors.”
“Errors?”
“Sure. I got myself into a few situations where I had to give someone his money back.”
“Were they mad?”
“Not really. There was one guy from the Midwest. I won’t go into details, but he wanted me to hurt him. Knowing that it would please him, I tried to do what he wanted, but I couldn’t. However, I had a friend who was more into the pain side of pleasure than I was so I called her. He put on his clothes and hustled over to her house. He was so grateful that he called me the next day. He told me it had been everything he had ever fantasized about.”
“No accounting for taste, is there?”
“No. And you may find as time passes that there are things you enjoy that you never dreamed of.”
Barbara looked startled. “I’m not interested in kinky stuff. I don’t mean to put you down, it’s just that I’m not that type of person.”
“You have no idea what type of person you are. I’ll bet you have no real idea of what gives you pleasure.”
“Of course I do.” Barbara got a dreamy look in her eyes.
“You want romance, slow dancing, kissing and hugging. Long, slow sex with gentle penetration and a long rest period afterward.”
“Sure. Why not?”
“No reason. But there’s much more to good fucking than that.”
“Fucking. Such a terrible word. It’s so animal.”
“That’s what we are, animals. And human beings enjoy a good fucking as much as the average animal does. You know when you think of it, sex is a really awkward and embarrassing thing to do. It violates any feelings of personal space you might have, you get into lots of not-too-comfortable positions, and it’s really messy.”
“I never thought about it that way.”
“So in order to create offspring, God, or Mother Nature, or evolution had to give the animals some reward for doing this ridiculous stuff. So that’s where the pleasure comes in. I read somewhere that animals will go through much more maze-running and the like for sexual gratification than for any other reward.”
“It’s really pleasurable, isn’t it?”
“It really is. I doubt you’ve ever experienced an orgasm.”
“Of course I have.”
Maggie raised an eyebrow and Barbara looked down and sipped her wine. “There’s no shame in not having climaxed. It takes time and an understanding of your own body. You’re not born knowing, you have to learn. Do you know where you like to be touched? What makes you hungry for more?”
Barbara continued to stare into her wineglass.
Maggie reached into her pocket and found the audiotape she had somehow known would be there. She pulled it out and stared at the label. “I don’t understand how this got into my pocket, but there’s a lot about my assignment I don’t quite get yet. This is one tape in a series that a friend of mine made. He creates sensational erotica and has a soft, sexy voice, so he found this unique way to package his stories.” She put the tape into Barbara’s hand. “I’m going to give you an assignment.”
Barbara looked up and giggled. “Homework?”
“Sort of. You must have a tape player.” When Barbara nodded, Maggie continued. “I want you to fill the bathtub with nice warm water and play this tape. Just play it. If you’re tempted to follow the instructions you’ll be given, do it. No one will be watching, no one judging. Just you. Will you do that for me?” When her friend hesitated, Maggie said, “Please?”
“If it’s important to you and your assignment.”
“It is.”
“Okay.”
“Good.” Maggie patted the back of Barbara’s hand. “And find a new bar of soap, one you’ve never used of a different brand than your usual. You’ll understand eventually. And I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”
Before Barbara could react, Maggie strode through the kitchen door and was gone.
An hour later, Barbara tidied up the kitchen and ran herself a bath. She had always loved the huge tub in the master bathroom. It was deep enough to fully cover her body almost to her shoulders. “This is pretty silly,” Barbara said out loud as she plugged in an old cassette player she had recovered from the back of her closet. But if it was important to Maggie, it was important to her, she realized. In two short days she had gone from incredulity and scorn to friendship. She rummaged in the back of the bathroom closet and found a new bar of soap, then pressed the cassette machine’s play button and stepped into the steamy water.
Music filled the bathroom, music with a quiet yet pulsing beat and a soft, slightly mournful clarinet and a baritone saxophone. The sounds that filled the room felt like soft summer nights with the sky filled with stars. Barbara thought of couples in open-topped cars staring down at city lights from darkened lover’s overlooks. She rolled a small towel and placed it at the back of her neck and stretched out. She sighed deeply and relaxed.
“Are you all relaxed?” a soft, sensuous man’s voice asked as the music faded slightly. “That’s very good.” Barbara started to sit up. “No, don’t move,” the voice said. “Just lie back and relax. Let the music fill you, create dreams, fantasies. Let it evoke pictures of teenagers in parked cars.”
How did that man know what she was thinking? Barbara wondered. The music swelled again, and for several minutes the voice was silent. Then the music faded slightly and the voice returned.
“I hope you’re naked, lying in a tub of warm water. The naked female body is such a wonder. It’s so beautiful.”
Yeah, right, Barbara thought. For all he knows, I’m a dog, a hundred pounds overweight with droopy boobs and three stomachs.
“Don’t think like that. All female bodies are beautiful regardless of the way they actually look. Breasts are soft, firm, large or small. Nipples are chocolate brown or dark pink. Skin is deep ebony or almost transparent white. God, I love a woman’s breasts. And your bellies are concave, with prominent hipbones, or full and round. I love to feel the pulse in a woman’s throat and know how it speeds up when she listens to me tell her how beautiful she is. Can you feel your pulse? Find it by stroking your throat. Go ahead. No one’s watching.”
Without really thinking, Barbara slid a wet finger up her neck and felt her pulsebeat.
“That’s your life flowing throughout your body. You can feel it all over, in your wrist, in your foot, at your temple, in your groin. If I tell you that I want you to imagine me touching your breasts, does your pulse speed up? I love that I can do that for you.”
Barbara felt her pulse. No silly man’s voice was going to make her pulse beat faster. But it did.
“I want you to make your hands all soapy. Please, for me. Feel the soap, so smooth and slippery. Rub your hands over the bar, touching its contours. Close your eyes and just feel the soap as your hands caress it.”
Barbara took the soap from the holder and rubbed it. She was strangely aware of the slick surface.
“Take the soap and make a rich lather, then slowly rub it on your throat. Feel the difference between the hard surface of the cake of soap and the soft, warm skin of your body. Move your hands around. Feel your jaw, the back of your neck. Now caress your cheeks. How smooth and soft they are through the lather. Keep your eyes closed and just feel. Feel rough and smooth spots, places that are warm and those that are cool. If you have fingernails, use them to scratch your shoulders, just lightly.”
Barbara did, her eyes closed, her head resting against the towel on the rim of the tub.
“You need more lather, so rub the soap again. Can you smell the perfume? Does your soap smell like flowers or spice? Can you picture a field of summer blossoms or an Oriental harem? Maybe lemons or blackberries. Inhale deeply. Fill your lungs with the scent and imagine.
As the music filled the room, Barbara breathed deeply and saw a Parisian boudoir with perfume bottles on a mirrored vanity. She vaguely remembered her mother buying her this soap many years before. She lay there seeing the boudoir. A woman sat at the vanity putting on makeup. She was dressed in a filmy negligee, waiting for her lover. Barbara opened her eyes. Now why had she created that scene? Waiting for her lover, indeed.
“I hope your eyes
are still closed,” the voice said softly. Barbara snapped her eyes shut. “I want you to feel other places on your body. Start with your breasts. Your soapy hands will feel so good on your soft flesh. I want you to use the pads of your fingers to stroke the flesh of your breasts, just around the outside. Press a bit and feel. Are your breasts full, or small and tight? As I told you, I like them all. Can you feel your ribs or is there deep softness? Please. I can’t be there to feel your skin so you must do it for me.”
Tentatively Barbara sat up slightly so the tops of her breasts were above the waterline. She slid her soapy fingers over the crests, then pressed her fingertips into the flesh. Deeply soft and pillowy, she thought.
“Find the areolas, just where the color changes, darkens. Open your eyes if you must, then close them again. Run one fingertip over the slight ridge there, all around. Keep swirling around that line. Can you feel your nipples tighten? No, not with your fingers, but feel it inside. Don’t look, feel. Can you feel your nipples contract? Yes, I know they will.”
They did.
“I wish I were there to touch your nipples. I would first swirl my fingers around the outside the way you are doing it. Then I wouldn’t be able to resist sliding toward the tightened buds. I want to feel them but I can’t, so you will have to do it for me. Touch. Squeeze. That’s what I would do. I would squeeze those tight nipples. It’s hard to feel it when you touch lightly so make yourself feel it. Do what you have to so that you know the touch of your fingers. Pinch, use your nails.”
Barbara used her newly manicured nails to tweak the tips of her breasts. She felt it, tight, slightly painful yet very stimulating.
“I know you think this is strange and maybe you feel a bit guilty, but it’s your body and you are entitled to touch it. It’s God’s creation and so beautiful. I know also that you’re noticing that you’re not just feeling your fingers touching your breasts. You are also starting to become aware of the flesh between your legs. You’re feeling full, maybe getting wet, not from your bath but from your excitement.”
Flesh For Fantasy Page 8
