Robert & Rebecca Ch. 01

(Author's note. Two Silver Foxes is a nom de plume for two literotica.com contributors, Silverstag and Redneck Woman56 with Silverstag writing the dialogue for Robert and Redneck Woman56 the dialogue for Rebecca. The author's hope you enjoy the story and will continue the tale if your comments and votes indicate an interest. We would like to say that collaborating in this way has been an enjoyable and intellectually stimulating experience.)

ROBERT:

I was walking down Peachtree Street in downtown Atlanta with Miss Matilda Hawkins on my arm. We strolled on the cobblestone walk, past Victorian mansions, looking for a seamstress who came highly recommended. Miss Hawkins was to accompany me to the International Cotton Exposition of 1881, an event of considerable significance in post-war Atlanta and she needed a new dress for the occasion. Atlanta had prospered after the war and in fact had more than doubled in population since General Sherman's army had put it to the torch.

I had served the cause in the War of Northern Aggression on the staff of General Longstreet, thankfully always behind the lines but close enough to hear and witness much of the carnage. I was in my early 40s, Miss Hawkins was in her early 20s but the difference in our ages was not remarkable for the time and place. She was a giggly girl who seemed and acted younger than her age but she was attractive and her father was wealthy, not entirely a bad combination.

"Oh, Robert," she said to me, "Don't you just hate what they're doing to Atlanta, tearing down so many of those fine old homes to make room for government buildings?"

"That's progress, my dear."

"Progress? My daddy calls it rubbish and blames all those horrible carpet baggers," she said, with a pout.

"Be that as it may but your Daddy's bank is financing much of that reconstruction," I said.

"Reconstruction. I hate that word."

I started to reply but then noticed that we had come to our destination. We stopped at the door of a modest shop. The sign on the window read, Peachtree Millinery - Rebecca Hastings Proprietress.

We opened the door and walked in. Arrayed along one wall were bolts of fabric and in front of them stood books and illustrations of dress designs. On the other side of the room were finished dresses, some on hangars and a few on mannequins. The place was clean and orderly and obviously well maintained. A sign on the counter said Ring Bell for Service and there was a small silver bell standing beside it.

I rang the bell and a door opened behind the counter. A small woman came into the shop and smiled at us. She had chestnut colored hair drawn back in a bun with a pert nose and an aquiline face. She appeared to be about my age. The most striking thing about her were her eyes. They were the color of jade and had more than a spark of intelligence.

"May I help you?"

"We are looking for Mrs. Hastings," I said.

"I am Rebecca Hastings," she said, "Miss Hastings as it were."

"I am Robert Jenkins and this is Miss Matilda Hawkins. Miss Hawkins needs a dress for the grand ball at the Cotton Exposition," I said.

"Well, I'm sure we can manage that," Miss Hastings said.

"You made a delightful gown for my cousin Rachel," Matilda interjected, "and I hope you can make an even better one for me."

"I'm sure we can," Miss Hastings said. "I have some patterns you can look at or, if you wish, I can design something special."

"Oh I definitely want something special," Matilda said.

"Fine," Miss Hastings said. "If you'll excuse us Mr. Jenkins, we'll start with some measurements."

I tipped my hat and said, "Then I'll leave you ladies to your labors and return shortly."

I left the shop and strolled down Peachtree Street. I watched people riding by in their carriages but my thoughts were about the intriguing woman who I had just met. Independent business women were a rarity and I wondered what her background was. She had an intelligent, efficient way about her and I was eager to learn more about her. I was also curious as to what, if anything, she thought about me.

REBECCA:

I had first heard the bell on the shop door ring, and then the bell on the counter summoned me. I was irritated because it meant I would have to put down the newest novel I was reading, Great Expectations by Mr. Charles Dickens. Even though it was 20 years old it was new to me, I had bought it at a used bookseller I frequented. I had been fortunate after the War, my father had left me a small inheritance that I had put to good use opening this shop and had acquired the beginnings of a proper library through careful purchases. Still, all in all, it was a solitary life I led. I had taken care of Papa after Mama died, and by the time he was 'called home', as the Baptists are prone to say, I found myself a spinster who must make her way having no male relatives to whom I could turn, I opened this shop.

I carefully laid the book down, marking my place, and made my way from my private quarters in the back of the shop to greet my customers.

My hands ran over my hair to make sure it was smooth, during the humid summers in Atlanta my hair seemed to escape from the bun I usually wore to form little tight curls around my face.

I was taken aback when I went through the curtain into the shop. Before me stood a couple, a very unusual couple. The young woman was striking, of course. She was draped on the arm of a man in his forties, and it was he who held my attention.

He was of medium height, but solidly built with broad shoulders. He wore a gray suit, and had taken his hat off, as all gentlemen do when they enter a building, to show a remarkable head of black hair only just beginning to show silver at the temples. His eyes were dark and flashing, and somehow when he looked at me I trembled. He looked at me as though he knew what I looked like underneath my chemise.

Once the introductions were made and the purpose of their visit relayed to me, he left the shop and I was alone with Miss Hawkins. She went first to the mannequins and seeing nothing there she liked, she began to thumb through books of illustrations. While she did that I chose several bolts of satin that I thought she would like.

She finally decided on a pattern and came to the counter to look at the fabric I had chosen. "Oh, no," she said, "none of these will do at all. I must have something exquisite for the Ball. Something that will drive my cousin, Rachel, green with envy, and something to make Mr. Jenkins not take his eyes off me all night. You see we've been keeping company for the past month and I've decided I want to marry him." She then giggled as though she had made some kind of joke.

We decided on a pale rose silk with the proper amount of lace and frippery and frills. When she showed me the illustration in the book, she added, "I would like for the shoulders to come a bit lower as well as the neckline. I want to show a bit more décolleté than this picture shows. And, can you embroider it with seed pearls around the neckline?"

I quietly assured her I could and began taking her measurements. I wondered how Mr. Jenkins could put up with such a simpering, childish woman, but kept my voice level and business-like.

She went on and on about her Daddy, president of the bank, and about Mr. Jenkins and his land speculations which had gotten him very rich in the process as if they by their successes gave her some sort of self-worth.

We were just about finished when Mr. Jenkins came back in the shop to claim Miss Hawkins. She immediately went to him, babbling all along about the gown she was to have made. Although he patted her hand and said he was sure that the gown would make her the belle of the ball, his eyes never left me. Being embarrassed at such boldness, I averted my eyes, but not before I noticed a slight smile on his lips and I wondered how it might feel to have those lips pressed to mine. Shocked at this thought I blushed and his smile became a grin. It was almost like he could read my mind.

Finally Miss Hawkins had stopped her prattling and said, "We will come back next week for the first fitting." Dismissing me as though I weren't even there she turned to him and said, "Let's be on our way. Do you think we could stop for a lemonade?"

"Certainly, my dear."

He opened the door for her and as they were leaving he looked back at me and smiled. A sincere, handsome smile that made my breathe catch and my heart beat faster.

ROBERT:

I strolled along Peachtree, stopping to light up a Cuban cigar. As I walked I thought about the seamstress and tried to analyze my interest in her. She appeared to be nicely formed but no more than other women I had known and certainly not as voluptuous as Matilda. Perhaps it was her eyes, her jade-colored eyes that flashed with intelligence and seemed to connect with mine on a different, deeper level. I do not believe in love at first sight but I do believe in lust at first sight and decided that I wanted to get to know this woman better, much better.

After what I gauged to be an appropriate amount of killing time I returned to the shop to collect Matilda and to assess my reaction to Rebecca and her's to me. Matilda was as giggly and enthusiastic as ever. I tried to share her enthusiasm as best I could but my attention, frankly, was directed at the other woman. The contrast between the two in age, appearance and demeanor was striking. Again Rebeccas's jade eyes seemed to pierce mine and I could scarcely look away.

We made arrangements to return for a first fitting of the gown and left the shop, Matilda babbling and myself looking one more time deeply into Rebecca's eyes and trying to get behind them.

As we walked Matilda talked and I responded appropriately. I had learned through trial and error that with a talkative woman - and the majority of them are - all that was required of me was an occasional "yes: or "I see" or "I understand" or "I can see how you would feel that way." Matilda's repertoire of conversation was limited to fashion, society and gossip, none of which required a great deal of thought. I decided that what I really I needed was an intelligent conversation with an intelligent, articulate woman and I thought I knew just where to look.

I escorted Matilda to her home and, pleading a business appointment, left her there. I walked purposefully back toward the seamstress shop, formulating a plan to seduce the proprietress. As I turned a corner I saw her walking toward me, carrying a book in her hand. Our eyes connected and I said, "Miss Hastings. I was on my way to your shop. Will you be returning shortly?"

"I'm on my way to the tea room for lunch but I can postpone that if you like."

Thinking fast I responded, "Why don't you let me treat you to lunch?"

"Thank you for the offer, Mr. Jenkins, I would be delighted to join you for lunch but I would insist on paying my own way."

"Then I would be delighted to accompany you," I said, thinking to myself 'what an independent woman'.

We walked together to the tea room and were shortly seated at a cozy table for two near the front window. She placed the book she had been carrying on the table and I asked, "What are you reading?"

"Great Expectations by Charles Dickens."

"Ah, Mr. Dickens. I have read some of his work. I am especially fond of Oliver Twist and A Tale of Two Cities. I thought A Tale of Two Cities had some resonance with our war of northern aggression and I could relate to parts of Oliver Twist."

"You were perhaps a foundling?"

"No,' I said with a laugh, "more like Bill Sykes or Fagin."

She smiled and we began a lively conversation about books and authors we enjoyed. I was impressed by her range of reading and generally in awe of her looks and intellect. This woman certainly demanded closer inspection.

"Why were you coming to my shop?"

"I was wondering if you made men's clothing."

"I have," she paused, "on special occasions for special customers."

"And how does one attain special status?"

"Being a delightful luncheon companion doesn't hurt."

I laughed and said, "Then perhaps we can conduct some business after lunch."

We ate and talked and then walked back to her shop. We discussed clothing styles and fabrics and then she said, "I'll have to measure you."

'Madame, you have already taken my measurement', I thought to myself and I said, "Should I keep my suit on?"

"It appears to be a good fit," she said, "If you're happy with it I can probably take the measurements while you're wearing it."

She proceeded to measure my shoulders, chest, waist and the length of my arms. Then she said, "I'll have to measure your inseam to make sure the trousers are the proper length."

Her glance dropped to my legs and I felt my cheeks begin to flush, 'My God, I'm blushing" I thought,' but could only stammer, "Go, uh go ahead."

She dropped to her knees in front of me, placed one end of the tape measure at the cuff of my trousers and ran the other end up the inside of my leg, stopping just below my testicles. As if it had a mind of it's own my cock began to stir and stiffen.

REBECCA:

As we walked back to my shop after lunch I became increasing aware of Robert ... Robert? When had it changed from Mr. Jenkins to Robert?

He stopped briefly to light a cigar, "I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all" I said. Thinking it had been a long time since I had smelled the aroma of a fine cigar smoked by a dashing man. I was startled at my thoughts. I hadn't thought of anyone as dashing in years.

As we began walking again my thoughts wandered back to an effortless time. A time where men took their cigars and brandy in the study and women took an aperitif in the drawing room.

My mind was filled with nostalgia. I thought of the last man I had considered dashing standing before me in his gray uniform. He took me by the arm and led me into the gardens where he pulled me to him and kissed me. His kiss was at first very gentle but changed into one of desperation. He was leaving tomorrow. Suddenly I returned his kiss with a hunger that I knew matched his. He broke the kiss, and led me further into the garden. We walked without saying a word. He stopped in a rose bower, "Rebecca, I want you to wait for me."

"Oh Thomas, I will wait forever if that is what it takes."

"I don't expect it will take forever," he laughed, "I don't think this war will last more than a few months."

He kissed me again and I began to tremble. He looked at me with those dark eyes, his hands sliding up to cup my breast. When he heard my breath quicken he pulled me down to the ground with him. I remembered how it felt. How the pain of him entering me had changed. How I clung to him, wrapping myself around him to pull him closer. Then the exquisite moment when my whole body seemed to melt away, not knowing where I ended and he began ... and I remembered crying out.

The next day I watched as he rode off. It was the last time I ever saw him. I was brought back to the present by Mr. Jenkins saying, "A penny for your thoughts."

A penny indeed!

"I'm sorry," I said, "but the smell of your cigar took me back what seems like a hundred years." Thankfully we had reached my shop and I could pull myself back together as I opened the door, took my hat off, and gathered my tape to measure him.

"Now, Mr. Jenkins, if you'll just stand there I'll get your measurements and you can picked out some material and soon be on your way."

I began by measuring his arms and continued around to his shoulders. The smells of cigar, soap, his cologne and the underlying aroma of manly musk made me stop for an instant. I was aware of a stirring deep inside me and I fought to clear my head. As I stood behind him I noticed how broad his shoulders were, and as my hand grazed over those shoulders and the pretext of getting a measurement, I felt the muscles there and couldn't stop my hands from lingering for a moment.

I took a deep breath and walked around in front of him. We were both oddly quiet and he looked at me with those dark eyes holding an expression I couldn't quite read.

I put my arms around his waist and was aware of my head almost leaning against his chest. As my breast brushed up against him I felt my nipples harden. Suddenly my breast felt heavy and there was an aching deep in my belly unfamiliar for so many years. I quickly straightened up and said, "I'll be back in just a minute. I just remembered a swatch of new material in the back that you might like." And I hurried to my back room.

Once I was in the backroom I leaned on my work table for support. I was trembling and a light sweat had popped out on my forehead and upper lip. I took several deep breaths and splashed some water on my face, "Get a hold of yourself, Rebecca," I said. "He's merely a customer ... and a customer who brought in a fluffy young thing just hours ago." As I dried my face and retrieved a swatch of material the thought of him with the voluptuous Miss Hastings brought me back to reality, "What could he possibly see in me ... a spinster seamstress." The cold water on my face and the self-talk went a long way toward composing me as I went back in to face him.

"Here, I found it," thrusting the swatch into his hands. "We're almost through here, I only need to get your inseam and you can be on your way."

I knelt in front of him placing my measuring tape at the cuff of his pants. I pulled the tape upward and was abruptly aware of a stirring in his pants. I looked up and saw him flush. I opened my mouth to say something, but no words seemed come out . Before I knew what I was doing I had dropped the measuring tape but my hand drifted up on its own until it cupped his balls.

As I looked in his face I saw the shock of what I had done register there. I scrambled to my feet saying, "I'm dreadfully sorry Mr. Jenkins. My hand slipped." But he and I both knew that was a lie.

ROBERT:

I was startled when I felt her touch on my testicles and my cock immediately sprang from half to full mast. I looked down at her kneeling in front of me and noted the flush on her face in delightful contrast to her sparkling jade eyes. As she started to stand up I dropped the swatch of cloth she had handed me and reached down to help her up. Her arms were slightly spread holding the tape measure and I put my hands beside her breasts, under her arm pits, I could feel the heat from her petite body and a slight hint of perspiration. Obviously I was not the only one feeling the heat of the moment.

As I brought her to her feet my hands moved to touch the sides of her small firm breasts. She gasped but did not pull away. I smiled at her and said, "I'm sorry, Miss Hastings, my hands seemed to have slipped also." She looked at me with a shy smile and her lips slightly parted and said, "Accidents will happen."

"What some would call accidents others would call serendipity," I said and slowly lowered my face toward hers. She did not move away. Instead she brought her lips closer to mine. I put my lips on hers and gave her the gentlest of kisses. She responded by slightly moving her tongue into my mouth and pressing her body close to mine. I put my arms around her and moved them slowly up and down her back. She sighed and kissed me more fervently. I gently probed my tongue into her mouth and dropped one hand to caress her shapely rear. I knew she could feel the full force of my erection and she acknowledged it by moving her belly slightly.

Usually given this manner of response from an attractive woman I would have moved into full attack mode but something about her, about the moment, caused me to pause. Instead of forcing the issue I pulled away from her and brought both hands to her flushed face. I kissed her gently again and said, "Please excuse my boldness, I don't know what came over me."