Chapter 1 - Welcome
He didn’t care much for lingerie. It didn’t matter if it was the finest silk or satin, leather or lace, fishnet or vinyl. It was all just wrapping paper meant to be torn away. It would eventually, sooner rather than later, get discarded on the floor so he could play with the toy it had concealed. One exception happened to be something that I simply chanced upon during a shopping excursion in Manhattan.
My mother, of all people, shopped alongside me when I found it. I didn’t think she saw, momentarily browsing in another part of the store. The strange quality of her voice alerted me when she asked what I bought. Knowing she appreciated honesty above all else, I showed it to her. Ultimately I fibbed, saying I didn’t know why I had bought it. I suppose she hoped it made me feel sexy alone as opposed to having one night stands; it would never occur to her that I would have a secret lover. I normally told her nearly everything. In fact, I think I sometimes told her too much.
She knew nothing about the man I longed for each night, my insatiable appetites. I thought it best, despite her urgings that I end my Lone Ranger act and find someone. Mom, who thought herself progressive, said she didn’t care if my special somebody happened to be male or female as long as I was happy. She simply thought it unhealthy to always be alone.
I would argue (truthfully) that I had such wonderful family and friends I didn’t need a man. There was companionship, emotional support, and still my schedule was my own and no one else’s business or concern. That suited both my career and my personality just fine.
A small tight knit network of friends got together at least once every week, often for a movie or a show. Sometimes we’d just have dinner and a few drinks, maybe go dancing. I attended more often than not the bi-weekly meal with my parents. Sometimes it included all three of my brothers and their families. The day and time varied with everyone’s schedules. Usually held at my folks’ home in Brooklyn, sometimes the parties would be hosted by one of us siblings. We gathered at my loft more than a few times. Not if the entire extended family attended, though, for I didn’t have enough furniture for the growing brood.
I was eternally grateful for my brothers’ knack at reproducing. Not only honored as Auntie to some terrific kids, I had Mother kept at bay for the most part. Dad occasionally asked when I was going to settle down and give him another grandchild. I’d just laugh him off, thinking he really just enjoyed baiting me. Surely seven grandchildren was nothing to complain about. It’s a good thing I’m not an only child, my girlfriends subsequently the worst. If it was appropriate, the gals sometimes brought their little ones along on one of our outings and somebody would always start in.
“Don’t you want one? You’d make such a terrific mother!”
Honestly, I didn’t feel I had anything to offer a child. Not at this stage in my life, at least, when I enjoyed professionally productive and personally footloose existence. Being entirely too selfish and a bit of a narcissist to boot didn’t leave room for much of anyone, let alone someone who would be in constant need of my care and attention. So for now I would remain single and childless by choice.
If the dear woman who birthed me persisted down the avenue of romance, I would just look at her innocently. My vague air of disinterest on the whole subject of love connections hid my thought at what she really didn’t want to know.
The one serious attachment for me truly in the past, that poor guy had wanted to commit for life. And though I had loved him, acutely, it was clear I couldn’t be everything he wanted. Feeling unduly pressured, I actually told him once that he should find himself a little wife, buy a house in the suburbs with a white picket fence, and have fine sons with her. For my part, I would enter into the role of mistress.
The comment released my pressure valve and got my point across crudely, if effectively. Taken off guard, he actually laughed and, I think, felt some relief at the time that I still wanted him.
It seemed my needs were always put behind his, always my schedule altered to accommodate him. The biggest obstacle for me, however, was his tendency toward impossible aspirations. Each new career turn would make all his dreams come true. I don't mind failure if you learn from it. He just couldn't make up his mind. His enthusiasm would taper off and leave him dead in the water. A few weeks or months would go by and then he was on to something else, an unbearable pattern.
Despite our bond, I knew I couldn’t marry him. And eventually, honestly, I realized I didn’t need him. The sex remained great as the relationship dissolved, the physical side my only true objective. As I detached from him emotionally, that link irrevocably lost, it broke his heart. He was married now, finally having moved on as I’d learned to do. I could only hope for his happiness.
My family and friends had all seemed equally at ease with this development, none of them really thinking him quite good enough. There was a propensity for every last one of them to search for the perfect guy, and my increasing indifference caused some to speculate. Perhaps it wasn’t a guy at all that I wanted, perhaps the special someone I sought was a woman. Rather than being offended, I was amused by the development.
Not a living soul in my crowd had ever met my special friend, for whom I bought the garment Mom saw. I didn’t expect they ever would.
Of a leopard print material that faithfully imitated the big cat, the item was nearly invisible from the back. It had the thinnest of shoulder straps to hold it in place and a thong barely there at all. Perhaps that’s why he liked it. Or maybe it was the way my tits strained the thin bodice. Plus, it simply turned me on to model the low-cut swatch of satin knowing how he appreciated making me soak through it during foreplay. With a mere flick of his thumb he could gain easy access, as well, an important bonus for a man who knows what he wants.
He requested I wear it tonight.
I flaunted myself shamelessly. Riding in the car he sent, alone in the back, I wore only a thin swimsuit cover over the teddy. Itself a work of art, a robe of flowing white opened at the sides like a poncho. Small seashells dangled musically from silken cords at the wide neckline. It tied with a long soft belt that had played its own role in countless encounters.
The successful drivers, the ones who keep in steady employ, get along by faking professional detachment. And this young stud behind the wheel, to his credit, managed not to stare as I entered and exited the vehicle. He spoke not a word on our route. I could only assume he spoke English. Who knows? I wasn’t interested in making a new friend, just in visiting the one awaiting my arrival this evening.
The doorman was a little more fazed by my apparel. Even if it suitably covered my unmentionables, it clearly illustrated how much of a live wire I could be. All the staff probably pegged me as a high class hooker, at best. And I didn’t care a whit.
A garment bag held everything I would need for the night and included a cocktail dress with accessories. It remained to be seen whether it would be needed. For the time being my presence had been requested to attend a late party, making an entrance at his side and mingling with his clients. But if plans changed I may be on my way later tonight. Or would it be tomorrow morning? Sometimes, his welcome extended even further if our calendars allowed.
The uncertainty should have bothered me. It didn't. We had a very special rapport, my blonde bombshell and I. He hated when I called him that; said it made him sound like a forties screen queen. I used the term whenever I wanted to get under his skin.
“How’s my blonde bombshell tonight?” I might tease upon arriving.
It never failed to get things started out right.
To be continued...
No comments:
Post a Comment