Plain Jane

Jane's day-job well provided for the 'bread and butter' of her life; her comfortable flat, the gourmet ready-meals she enjoyed so much and the occasional bottle of expensive wine. But her secret 'evening job' provided the 'jam', the expensive lingerie that felt so good adorning her near naked body, the ever more exotic sex toys that helped to bring her to the very pinnacle of orgasmic pleasure when she, so very often, engaged in auto-erotic stimulation. The props, costumes and sets; the high quality webcam, powerful computer and fast Internet access that she used for her 'shows'.

Relentlessly time moves on. More and more protective shells Jane builds around herself; and further and further she pushes down the confused and frightened teenage girl of her former self that still that lived inside her.

And the further down she pushed down her true self the more to the fore came to her addictive obsession. Jane had become addicted to masturbation or should I say the mechanically or digitally induced, reality blocking psychedelic firework display inducing, body quaking, screaming orgasmic highs she achieved from it. These were far more powerful highs than any of the chemically induced by expensive little packets of white powder, bought from frighteningly quiet snappily dressed mirror sunglasses wearing men who sat in expensive dark windowed cars outside certain pubs and clubs, highs that she had tried a few times.

As with every true addict just one hit is never enough. With perseverance she could build herself up until she could achieve almost continuous, repetitive waves of overwhelming orgasmic shocks until her sweat soaked, quivering, ravaged body simply dropped from utter exhaustion. Most mornings, just to get her day started, before donning the mantel and demeanour of Plain Jane and shuffling off to her day-job. She would masturbate while sitting naked at her table and take a couple of orgasmic hits along with her breakfast coffee and cereal.

Just occasionally on some mornings even this was not enough. On work days like that she would push a pair of ben-wa balls deep into her sopping, gaping, self-abused, ravaged vagina. Securely held in place under her sensible panties and hose and nestling snugly against her 'best friend in-all-the-world', her swollen, distended and sensitive clitoris, would be a discrete, remotely controlled butterfly vibrator. And even if that were not enough under her figure flattening sports bra her thick nipples would be tightly, painfully clamped with small but powerful steel clips. On days like that only the tightest grip of her cast iron self control could keep her demure Plain Jane demeanour in place whist at a touch of a button she could send jolts of orgasmic pleasure coursing through her body. On days like that she had to be sure to have a good supply of heavy-duty sanitary pads to hand to soak up the copious amounts of orgasmic juice that would gush forth almost on demand. It was supremely important that, on days like that, she should not show even the slightest sign of her secret obsessive pleasure whilst still appearing to be sitting quietly, normally working away at her job.

Yet still, buried deeply beneath the depths of her masturbatory desires was the image of her beloved late father. Not that she desired to have had made love with her father, the very speculation of the merest hint of that thought made her feel sick to her core. But though all the protective shells she had built up around herself, the one, the one and only true pure thing she desired was to be loved. Unreservedly, unequivocally, un-demandingly innocently loved, in the way that her father had loved her, for her real self alone.

Of her many cyber-lovers, especially her paying clients, none got close to the real Jane, they demanded their fantasies and that is what they received. Jane the wanton slut, the filthy whore and all those other horrible names her uncle had called her all those years ago, stepped up to give service to these men in what ever filthy degraded why they wanted. In whatever guise, costume, and alter ego she chose to use that day, the many-faced queen of cyber-sex ruled that particular sordid corner of the virtual world.

But there appeared one, just one in-all-the-virtual-world, for her, different man; he didn't want to be her Master or Her slave. He didn't demand that she repeatedly play out his favourite masturbatory fantasy, he just wanted to be a friend.

Slowly patiently over months, years, eventually via an exclusive, for-him-only Instant Messenger address; this one man chipped away at the many layers of Jane's protective shell. Revealing at last the poor hurt, frightened confused girl that still, after all this time, remained within her. He nurtured her, little by little gaining her hard won trust. Quietly listened while she poured forth her deepest most hurts and fears. Comforted her with soft words and the true concern of true deep held loving friendship.

Finally they met face to face, at first as friends in a neutral, public, place of safety. Over the course of many such meetings, bit by bit Jane cast off her cloak of invisibility. She let this man into her life and then into her body. Their lovemaking was easy and unspectacular. But while basking in the afterglow of that pleasurable coupling, naked and comfortable in the warm embrace of Michael her real flesh-and-blood lover, Jane's mind went back again to the vision of that enchanting, soft, beautiful lovemaking of her parents she had seen as a child. At last she had found the joy of true love and she was content.

To her office colleagues the change was both spectacular as it was sudden. On Friday there was poor plain Jane the office mouse sitting meekly at her desk just as she always was. The next Monday a new and different woman strode confidently into the office. Gone were the dowdy clothes, the flat shoes, flat chest and down cast eyes. This new woman this new Jane stood tall and proud. Her expensive and exquisitely tailored business suit discreetly accentuated her womanly curves and her soft white silk blouse open at the neck revealing, a very just slightly less than modest hint of; luxurious cleavage. Her long well toned, black nylon clad, legs emerged from her mid-thigh length skirt, their length, shapeliness and fine musculature highlighted to perfection by the four-inch high-heels that she wore. The only thing in common that her colleagues could see between the old Plain Jane and this new one was the name and photo on the ID badge she wore on a chain around her neck.

Only Jane herself, of course, knew about the outrageously expensive and very sexy lingerie bought for her by Michael as a 'coming out' present, that she wore under this ensemble. And how highly charged, aroused even, she felt for the first time appearing in public like this. This was not like, she thought, the hollow battery-powered, demanding to be satisfied dirty arousal of her former life. This was the pure simple innocent pleasure of true happiness. In a strong clear commanding voice, never heard before in that office, Jane announced that she was 'to be engaged to be married' and that on Friday night there was going to be a party in the local bar to which every one was invited and expected to attend.

Gone forever now was Poor Pain Jane the office mouse her old, sensible dowdy clothes ritually burnt. Gone also were 'Baby Jane', 'Dirty Amanda' and 'Mistress Isabella' the cyber-sex queens. Those characters only now appeared privately, behind closed doors and in 'real-time' for the exclusive pleasure of her husband-to-be. And what of 'Madame Charlotte' the virtual brothel keeper? Well she, very discreetly, remains. Even the most contented woman needs a little private hobby of her own.

The butterfly that had emerged from that sad and tawdry cocoon of her previous existence was the real, the true, powerful and in control Jane. That woman who should have been allowed long ago to grow, unhindered by shame hatred and humiliation, from that, now almost forgotten, carefree joyous and the 'apple of her father's eye', girl of past.

A further note from the author.

Although as already stated above this story is a work of pure fiction. That which I recounted here could have, in whole or in part, happened to any of those poor broken lives that we too often see around us. And frequently without the happy ending that I afforded to Jane.

However, this was not the story I first set out to write. Under the sub-title of 'the office mouse leads a double life' I set out to write a story about a shy and ordinary office worker who by night turns into an insatiable sexual vamp. I suppose that is at least in part what I have done. But at sometime during the long, cigarette and wine fuelled, night that I spent first wrestling this story from mind to PC screen, I believe that Jane herself got a hold of the reigns of the story and dragged it in unexpected directions of her own.

Regarding the rape that I had signposted early on to be the reason for Jane's shattered double life. That scene, when it came to be written, threatened to take the story in a new direction of its own, one of incest, either forced or willing, as its main theme. Was Uncle Bill's plan to take his selfish pleasure with the drunk and passive teenage Jane suddenly shattered when she started to enjoy his ministrations? Was Uncle Bill suddenly filled with feelings of self-loathing and remorse at his actions? Were these the reasons for his sudden anger? Who knows what direction this story might have taken if it had been allowed to write itself in a different way?

The pivotal moment for me was young Jane's witnessing of her parent's lovemaking. This vision became her icon, her epitome of pure and unselfish physical love. The fulfilment of this vision is what she eventually found with Michael.

I re-subtitled this story as "a different kind of romance" because I believe it to be a romance, a story of true love found and hope revived.

I hope that you found Jane's story enjoyable, or even thought provoking.

Thomas Drablézien, France January 2009