Budgetary Control

She finished brushing her hair into shape, and admittedly, it did look amazing...but what would it look like red? Maybe Arturo could fit her in for a consult this evening...

But first, she had to get in touch with her consultant on everything else in the world—'Milla. Time to give her a call and see what she was doing. As she walks out the garage door to her Beamer, she hits the speed dial. Her traitorous pussy continues its twitching and leaking as she slides into the driver's seat.

"Hello, 'Milla? I need your help...badly. Are you free this afternoon?"

* * * *

'Milla listened sympathetically, nodding her head as her best friend shared her latest crisis with her.

"No, sweetie, I'm sure you're not going crazy—maybe overreacting a little, but not crazy. And I'm absolutely certain Tim is not having an affair. This town's too small to hide a thing like that; someone always knows and someone always tells. And when they do, someone always tells me. I get gossip from everyone in this burg, and if he were doing you dirty, I'd know.

"Of course I'd tell you! It would eat me alive to know he was betraying you...

"No, I don't know anyone named Althea. Do you? Be serious. Who has a name like that in this day and age? That's like something you'd find in 'Gone with the Wind'.

"Redhead? Brazilian? 'Both' her holes? Why that kinky little perv! I didn't know his mind ran that way...

"Are you kidding me? Half my clientele has Brazilians done regularly, and the rest—except you—have all been on my chairs getting some maintenance done...mostly landing strips, but you'd be surprised at the var...

"No, dear, it's perfectly normal. And practically painless. We've even got newer methods to make it completely so. You're really the only one I know who doesn't have some sort of work being done, above or below the waistband. It helps when you're naturally gorgeous, but seriously, I've always wondered about that 'untamed bushland' thing you've got going on. I just assumed it was because Tim...

"I've been in the women's showers with you, here, remember? And the sauna? And on the massage tables, and...

"Well, you shave your pits and legs, don't you? In some cultures that would be considered abnormal, too. But in America, in the new millenium...

"Honey, you are such a naïf; I could tell you stories! No one you know hasn't been into one of my clinics or spas for some sort of facial, hair or body work, but the details are all strictly confidential, naturally. No, I can't tell even you; we have doctors doing the work, so it's covered by doctor/patient privilege. Just trust me when I say that you're the unusual one. Not that you need any work...

"Yes, come on by. I'd planned to be here all afternoon, but I've just been working the books, and you know how much I enjoy that wonderful chore. I don't have any personal clients this afternoon; the rest of my day has already been cleared. Truth be told, I was hoping to hear from you; I could use the distraction.

"Love you too, sweetie. Hurry to 'Milla; she'll take good care of you. You can rescue me from my drudgery, we'll go somewhere nice, have a late lunch/early dinner cocktail or two, and you can pour your heart out."

'Milla smiled excitedly as she hung up, and began preparations to receive a visit from her friend.

* * * *

'I wonder where she went?' Tim found himself wondering for the 11th time since his wife left the house...and therefore, his screen monitors. 'Maybe I should call her. But about what? I told her I wouldn't have a break again until late. Maybe I should call 'Tasha'. I don't even know if it's safe for her to be out like this, unsupervised. Hell, in her condition, she could wind up screwing the bagboy—and the butcher and the cashier!—at the grocery store. Not that it would do her any good, except stoke her fires higher, but still.

'Nah, I'd better not. 'Tasha' told me this was perfectly safe; she also warned me not to contact her except in case of emergency, and then only through our original intermediaries. But I'm getting a little concerned, here. Maybe...awww, shit. What the hell do I do now? Hey, wait...maybe she's on her way here? No, definitely too soon to expect that.'

While he fretted and fumed, and tried to get some work done, the object of his worries was having a relaxing and enjoyable, intimate tête-à-tête with her best friend. If he had known, he would have breathed a sigh of relief, instead of becoming even more greatly concerned which, at this point, would have been a much more appropriate reaction.

* * * *

"These are great, 'Milla. What did you say they were called, again?"

"International Incidents. You can't get most bars to make them, but that's the reason I come here rather than those other bars. I'm glad you like. Care for another?"

"Well...maybe just one. Anyway, you were saying about Tim?" She squirmed unconsciously in her seat again, as she had been for most of her conversation.

"As I see it you have two choices." She signals their waiter for another round. "Keep on as you are, and trust your beloved hubby to continue to keep on as he has been. Or, make some changes and spice up both your love lives."

"But, 'Milla, although the idea sounds kind of excitingI'm really very happy with the status quo. I love my hubby deeplyand I know he loves me, just as I am. Why would he even want me to change?"

"You really don't know anything about men, do you, sweetie. Or people, for that matter. It's the nature of the beast to want something more, something different...simple variety. If you ate spinach every day, there would come a time when you'd rather starve than munch one more leaf. They say people's taste buds change out completely every 7 years; and I'm sure you've heard of the '7-year itch'...which is why most divorces happen between 5 and 8 years. Why do you need so many pairs of shoes? Variety. Women come to me every day with this same complaint and a wistful desire to be a little different, to be the one to provide that variety to their significant other. And frankly, the women almost always want some change, too. That's what keeps me in business."

"But I don't want to change Tim..."

"Sweetie, you're the exception to almost every rule I know. For most folks, the secret of a long and happy marriage is not to never change, but to change together, in the same directions. The question is, can you change in the way he wants? If it would make you desperately unhappy to change to suit your man's desires, then your best bet is to start looking for a new lover now."

"'Milla, that's not even an option! I love Tim!!I can't believe you'd even suggest such a thing..." Just then, the waiter interrupted to clear the four existing glasses and drop off another round of International Incidents.

When he'd gone, 'Milla continued. "Look, I'm not trying to do a sales job, here. You're my best friend. I don't want you to do anything to make yourself unhappy, and I'd be damned pissed at Tim if he were trying to make you unhappy. But that's not what I'm hearing here. I mean, I wasn't on the line with him, but it sounds as if he was casually joking—just like he always does—and this time you're getting all worked up about it.

"So the question is, why? What's up with you? Are you secretly hoping for an excuse to make some changes? Because if you're trying to lay this off on Tim, it won't work. That path leads to resentment. Either you want a little variety in your own life, or you don't. If you don't, you'd better not. You'd be better served just working at making Tim happier with 'the status quo'. Because I gotta tell you, if he's not going to stay happy with it, there's a lot of folks out there that would very happy to status your quo just as it is, baby girl. Assuming they could find their way through the 'forbidden forest' down there." She giggled and squeezed Andrea's hand to let her know she was kidding.

Andrea blushed to her roots. And continued squirming. "Well, as a matter of fact, I have noticed some 'changes' already, and I'm wondering if they aren't somehow connected, like you're suggesting. I definitely think you're right, I'm almost certainly overreacting, but I'm apparently going through some sort of hormonal surge, at the moment."

"You're telling me this whole thing is about you being PMS?"

"You've seen me PMSing before. Does this seem like PMS to you? I'm so horny I want to screw doorknobs, and so sensitive I can't even wipe myself." She puts her hand to her mouth, and gasps. "I can't believe I just said that to you. I don't talk like that! Do you see what I mean? I think I'm having some sort of episode..."

"Calm down, honey. It's okay; I'm your best friend. You can't offend me with a little sex talk. And they don't call these 'International Incidents' for nothing!" she grinned. "They've loosened more than a few lips inappropriately, in their time. But what else is going on with you? Can you describe it? You know your secrets are safe with me..."

"Well, I'm getting these 'images'...shocking, lurid...lewd images. And...and...well, I'm..." She couldn't continue, International Incident or no.

"Go on, sweetie, tell 'Milla. You know you can't shock me."

"Well," and here she lowered her voice to a whisper, "I can't make myself cum.I haven't done it in so long, I think I've forgotten how!" Again, she blushes a deep, bright red.

"Okay, I was wrong. I am shocked. You mean to tell me you don't masturbate? You haven't in...how long?"

"Shhhh, keep your voice down. Yes, that's right. I haven't really 'touched myself' down theresince I lost my virginity...at fifteen."

"Listen to you; you're so cute! 'Touched myself'. 'Down there'. You talk about sex like you're STILL a fifteen-year-old. No wonder Tim loves you so much! You haven't even really grown up yet, sexually. I bet he's just been hanging around waiting for that sleeping lion to wake up and roar. And no wonder you're so horny! You're on the cusp of your 30's, the time of a woman's greatest sexual maturity and desirability, and you're still stuck in high school, so to speak."

"That's not fair! Tim and I have great sex! We..."

"Let me guess. Missionary position only? Lights always out? Only under the covers? I bet you've even got a flannel nightie. Any of this hitting close to the mark? Come on, this is 'Milla you're talking to. I know you wear cotton granny panties, because I've seen you in them."

Now Andrea is getting flushed again, and this time it's not because of embarrassment. "They're not 'granny panties' they're sensible workout panties. And Tim loves that flannel nightie, bought it for me himse..."

"Sweetie, I'm not saying this to make you angry. Please understand, I'm your friend—your best friend. I love you. But none of that is particularly sexy. Believe me when I tell you Tim's not cheating on you, but seriously, when was the last time you left some fingernail marks down your husband's back because he screwed you so well, you lost control and nearly maimed him? When was the last time you thought, 'I hope I didn't wake the neighbors with my screaming,' and actually checked outside to make sure their lights weren't coming on?"

"When Tim and I make love, it's a beautiful experience; I'm not about to discuss it with anyone, but suffice it to say, I've never hurt him...or...or advertised what we're doing to the neighbors." Andrea was now full-blown angry.

"So, basically, you're repressed," 'Milla goaded her.

"I am not repressed. I'm just not a slut!" Andrea countered.

"Honey, you've got the wrong idea about sluts. Sluts have no self-respect and they don't discriminate; they'll fuck anyone. But a passionate partner, sharing the deepest depths of their sexuality, freely giving and receiving pleasure...that's a gift from the gods. By the way, sweetie, now you're the one that's getting a little loud."

Andrea looked around and saw a few curious eyes turned their way and deflated. "Sorry, 'Milla. It's just this...whatever it is...it's making me crazy. What am I gonna do? I DO want to change, but I don't know how. And I'm so horny I can't think straight." As if to emphasize the point, Andrea's pussy clenched and drooled a small river, wetting the back of her skirt.

"Poor baby. Look me in the eye. Do you really want to change, or are you just doing this for Tim?"

"I want to change. For me!I want to have the sort of experience you're talking about. I realize I have been holding myself back, and now for the life of me, I can't imagine why."

"Then trust me. This is what I do. I help people change and become all they can be, all they've dreamed of. I awaken their spirit of adventure, and make them feel like they can do bold and daring things and step outside their humdrum lives. But with you, I won't have to work as hard as I normally do; all we need to do is provide some variety on your curvaceous, gorgeous frame. You can act, right?"

"Well, yeah, but..."

"Then get ready to act sexy. What's this Althea chick got that you don't have? You're more beautiful and more talented, in better shape, and that black belt you've got didn't just happen. You've earned it all. You've busted your tail to keep yourself in shape, and your body is humming like a well-oiled machine. Now it wants sex...and rightly so. Sex is why other people work to get their bodies in the shape you've got, and you've been denying your body for far too long. You're finally prepared to reap the rewards of those hours spent at my place. You've got brains, a bod made for sex...and a friend who just happens to own a string of clinics, spas, gyms, salons and beauty parlors. I've been your personal trainer all these years...now let me be your beauty consultant. More than that, let me be your sex consultant! You'll thank me, I promise. Let this first visit be my treat; it's not often I get a 'virgin' in any of my shops."

"I'm not..." Andrea began to protest, but three International Incidents and a pussy with a mind of its own easily outvoted her; any reservations she might have been able to conjure up were washed away in a sea of hormones, perky nipples and sexual fantasies.

* * * *

That is, until she got to the salon. Suddenly, the old Andrea was back with a vengeance. "Let me get this straight. You expect me to get naked, lay on a couch sort of chair, put my feet in some stirrups for 'easier access' to my crotch, so some woman I don't know can...can...put hot wax on my hoo-ha and rip my pubes out by the roots? Are you frickin' nuts? I can't do this!!! What sane woman could? The obvious objection to the pain notwithstanding, I'd look like a little girl. I can't believe I let you talk me into even considering this. This is crazy talk!" Apparently, the half-life of three International Incidents didn't survive the 30-minute drive to the salon and the 1-1/2 minutes it took to free up a waxing room for the boss's VIP guest.

'Milla's assistant was suddenly very nervous, but 'Milla spoke calmly to her in Russian for a few moments, and guided her to the door with a reassuring pat on her shoulder. When the door was closed, she turned to her friend. "Look, Andrea, I get it. Change is scary. I understand if you can't do it. But we're not talking extreme pain here, despite the sound of it. And I have hair removal methods that involve no pain at all, if that's really what's worrying you. But I can tell that's not. You're not ready to change and that's perfectly okay. Let's just go work out. It'll help take your mind off your other problems..."

Which brought Andrea up short again; her very real problems weren't likely to go away because she was 'Sweatin' to the Oldies' or even beating up the heavy bag. She had a husband who was fantasizing about smooth-pussied, redheaded bimbosin sexy lingerie she wouldn't be caught dead in,impaling their asses on his cock.

And she was apparently a repressed prude whose body was rebelling against all those years of denial, and now she couldn't even make herself cum.

Just then, 'Milla's assistant returned with a tray, bearing what looked like another International Incident. 'Milla reached for it, with a murmured, "Spasibo" and started to take a drink.

"Hey, what about your guest?" Andrea protested.

"You're not my guest now, you're my trainee. Get your ass into the locker rooms and prepare for the worst. I'm gonna have you so worn out today, you'll only think you had problems. I, on the other hand, am going to enjoy another frosty adult beverage while you get changed into your workout clothes."

"Give me that!" Andrea grabbed the drink, spilling a little, and downed it in one long series of gulps. 'Milla's assistant stared in open-mouthed astonishment, while 'Milla hid her grin behind her hand. Andrea handed the glass back to the assistant, wiping her mouth. "Let's see if we can't come to some sort of compromise. But first I'm gonna need another one of those...Internal Incidences...or whatever they are."

'Milla nodded to her assistant and held up two fingers.

"And second, you've got to level with me, 'Milla. What you were saying back at the restaurant, about...you know...about me. And my bush. And...and everything. I know you have a fairly ritzy clientele...hell, if my husband wasn't filthy rich I couldn't afford to come here at all. And I know the rich are 'different', no offense."

"None taken. I'm well off, but I'm a far cry from the kind of wealth most of my upscale customers have. And you're right, the rich are different, but since they're so friggin' wealthy, we have to refer to them as 'eccentric'." 'Milla giggled. "But the type of stuff you're referring to is so common, and so normal across the board, I do this same sort of thing just as much, if not more, in my 'economy' shops for people with average incomes. I just charge lots less...and pamper them a little less, accordingly."

"You're saying, even normal people like us do this sort of thing. Is it really that common?"

"I can show you the books. Waxing, shaving, lasering, monogramming, anal bleaching, even pubic hair coloring—people messing with their nether areas accounts for a fourth of my business."

"Lasering??!? Dyeing their pubes??? People really do that? What's anal bleaching...and monogramming?"

"Lightening the color of their assholes and initials shaved into their thatch. Look, that's not important. The point is, not everyone is blessed with cuffs that match their collar and perfect pink assrings...so, yeah, we do dye jobs above and below. And lasering is the latest thing...completely painless. Of course, it's..."

"But I've had my bush since junior high."

"Which was the last time a full bush was really in fashion. Have you never seen a Playboy..." She quickly absorbed the look of shock from Andrea, so she hurriedly continued, "...or okaaaay, how about a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issue? Those bikinis show so much skin, and they're so thin, and hug the crotch so tightly, there's no doubt there's no hair underneath it. Trust me, I'm in the business...those models are as bare as river stones."

"Yeah, but again, we're not talking normal people. I'm not a porn star, or a Slutbunny...or even a fashion model."

"You could be any of them; you're built for it. You've got a body made for sex, for sin and for showing it off. The rest of us mere mortals have to work like demons to keep up with the naturally blessed like yourself."

Andrea blushed again, head to toe, as the assistant came back in with two more International Incidents. They both took the drinks and sipped, quietly, as the assistant made another hasty exit.

"'Milla, could we start with something else? I just can't get past it seeming so...perverse...so abnormal. It would make me feel like a pre-adolescent, not having a bush."