She Learns Her Place

As we sat down to eat, I would have had to admit I was feeling pretty good. Here I was, with this delightful, beautiful young woman. She's laughing at my jokes. And what's more, we've just taken the necessary first step, we've completed a little project together. We've managed to put food on the table, and to share it, the most basic social function. Looking at you, I had to let my mind wander, to think where someone with my experience could take someone with your potential.

Our comfortable discussion continued. You mentioned that you had just performed in "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Raincoat." I mentioned that I had just listened to the entire soundtrack on tape! (A coincidence?) I told you that I thought the album was a lot of fun because it includes practically every popular musical style. That must be why it's such a popular play to perform, and also maybe why it's not usually noted as one of ALW's best. I also teased you by asking if you liked singing the chorus that consists of the words "grovel, grovel." You giggled, and wondered why I picked that line.

All in all, one of the best meals we had in a good long time, and we probably didn't notice the food. You offer ice cream for dessert, and neither of us rushed away from the table.

But then, another awkward moment. It's time to get some sleep. I arrived late, and our meal lasted a while. You being the polite host, you allowed me to use the bathroom first, and you had to suppress a smile when you saw me emerge in my sweats and a t-shirt. You couldn't have said exactly why you were smiling, but ...

I settled into the couch with the blanket and pillow you provided. "Good night," and you turned to walk to your bedroom.

You entered your bedroom, but you didn't want to turn on the light. You looked at your small bed. Empty. You looked around your room. It looked so feminine, your things scattered about. Was something missing?

You turned around to close the door, slowly, not wanting to disturb the person in the next room, the person who had just arrived that evening, but . . . you paused right before closing the door. You hesitated. Then you closed the door softly.

You remember standing at that door, not moving, for some moments -- long forgotten thoughts running through your mind.

-----

The next morning, you awoke groggily. Thursday mornings were usually slow for you, because you had no classes. What's more, this morning you were off work, so you weren't in a hurry to get out of bed. However, after a few moments you heard a stirring in the kitchen. You almost thought it was a prowler until you remembered your houseguest. You smiled.

After getting out of bed, you reached to put on your champagne robe, but you hesitated. For some reason, you just didn't feel comfortable wearing it, although you didn't permit yourself to realize that the reason you wouldn't wear it was that you were afraid it was too racy. Pulling on your thick, terry robe, you checked your hair in the mirror before stepping out to the living room.

I was there, sitting at the table eating a bowl of cereal. "Good morning," I said, "I hope you don't mind that I helped myself."

"Not at all," you replied, thinking, way in the back of your mind, "he could have helped himself to more than that."

Otherwise, the morning was quiet. We looked at the paper. I prefer a quiet morning, and I wouldn't want to intrude on your routine. I also was in no hurry, as my first appointment was not until 11am.

Eventually, I asked if you would mind if I showered first. "No problem," you said.

You watched, seemingly impassive, as I rose from the table, put my dishes in the kitchen, and went to my garment bag. I withdrew a few items you couldn't quite see and headed to the bathroom.

"There's a towel in there you can use," were your only words.

You sat at the table, no particular thoughts in your head. Were you listening? You heard movement in the bathroom for a few moments, then the sound of the shower.

You imagined the water flowing out of the shower-head. You remembered how often you had stood there, and felt the water flowing over your body. Vaguely, you thought about me in the same situation, though your thoughts were not yet what we could call "explicit."

Remaining at the table, your eyes moved from the wall which separated you from the shower, to my bags, sitting next to the couch. All that I had was a garment bag that looked half-full and a small knapsack. You had to wonder what was in those bags. Sitting there at the table, listening to the shower run, you were almost ready to get up, to walk in that direction, when you heard the shower stop. It occurred to you that I must be getting out of the shower. A seemingly obvious thought, but it lingered in your mind.

For only a moment that seemed much longer to you, you looked at the wall where you heard me shuffling around the bathroom. You felt something inside of you, a growing curiosity that you couldn't resist. Without thinking why you were doing so, you rose and went into the bedroom.

The door to the bathroom was cracked open, but you wouldn't, of course, even look in that direction. Instead, you moved to the other side of the room, looking for something in your dresser. On top of your dresser is a small mirror on a stand. As you looked up, you noticed you could see in the mirror through the cracked-open door of the bathroom. You didn't move.

After a moment, you saw me step into view, wearing a towel perched low, down around my hips. I had the body that I wish I had -- lean and toned, with lightly defined muscles covering my shoulders and chest, and a flat firm stomach leading down to muscular hips. You imagined, in a flash, putting your arms around that body as I leaned over yours, pulling those hips between your thighs, feeling me move -- so smooth, confident and graceful.

You still didn't move. Apparently, I hadn't noticed you as I spread the shaving cream on my face. You smiled a bit as you noticed how this practice played to a man's vanity, giving him an excuse to look at and caress his own face.

Still remaining motionless, you watched as the muscles in my arms, shoulders and back moved gently back and forth as I reached up to shave. The pressure from your crotch as your thighs pressed together was the only betrayal of your inner feelings.

After a seeming eternity, I finished shaving. I stood before the mirror for a moment, my eyes dropping to look at my chest, my stomach. You looked too. My right hand moved from my face to my left shoulder, then fell casually across my chest and the muscles of my abdomen, over my belly button, until it lingered at the towel ... "Do it," you thought to yourself.

We were both frozen in our reverie for just a moment, until I turned away from the mirror. Suddenly, without thinking, you panicked and scampered from the room.

Ten minutes later, you were sitting again at the table, and I emerged from your bedroom, looking refreshed and sleek in my slacks and dress shirt. Without a word to you, I went back to my bag to shuffle around for a tie. As I stood before the mirror to do my tie, you of course noticed the line of my slacks.

A few moments later, with just a casual goodbye, I was out the door.

Finally, you could breathe normally again, as you felt your body relax. You'd heard of a "zipperless fuck," but this time you hadn't even got your clothes off.

-----

You were left sitting at your dining table after I walked out. To coin a phrase, you were floored. Left wondering only how this man had insinuated himself so quickly and so perfectly into your life ... why I had such a powerful effect on you. And also wondering whether I was feeling the same thing.

But, eventually you had to get up and go about your normal life. You went to your class and, although thoughts of me remained in the back of your head, you gradually tried to work yourself out of the tizzy you'd been thrown into that morning. You tried to force yourself to realize that maybe you were just imagining things ... maybe you had been feeling a bit low recently, and you had latched onto this fantasy to pick yourself up. On the other hand, there was nothing wrong in feeling good about yourself, and I certainly seemed to help you do that.

With these thoughts running back and forth in your mind, you came home that afternoon to find me sitting in your living room. And for some odd reason, you found yourself completely surprised. You had given me a key, so the mere fact I was there wasn't what bothered you, and it wasn't that you'd worried that I had stolen something, or anything like that, it just seemed odd because I had said I wouldn't be back 'til much later. You wondered how long I had been there, and what I had been thinking. If you had looked further into your mind, you would have realized that you were wondering if I had been thinking of you.

Anyway, the first moments that we were back together seemed a bit awkward. Maybe we were both a bit embarrassed, after our first moments of tentative "intimacy" the night before, and the next morning, we were now thrown off by the contrast with our routine lives. After awhile, though, things eased back to normal and we resumed our friendly chatting, with just the slightest hint of electricity between us. Every once in a while, when our eyes met .... well, it just seemed we didn't want to look away.

I had to go, though. I was having dinner that evening with people who worked where I would be interviewing. I was therefore just a bit nervous, and you were very kind to give me some space.

That evening, you went through the same contrary emotions ... alternately thinking of me and then forcing yourself to be "realistic." You never thought to ask yourself, though, what was so great about reality.

Eleven pm rolled around, and I still wasn't back. No real surprise, but you hesitated about getting ready for bed. You just didn't know what would happen when I came back. Finally, you picked yourself up and went to your bedroom to change, because you would have to have an early start the next day. You went through your routine, enjoying the sensuality of brushing your hair, cleaning your face, etc. Gradually, as you moved about your bedroom and bathroom, you removed all of your clothes ... down to only the little lace panties you wore that day.

Normally, you would have slipped into your PJs and gone to bed, but this night you caught a glance of yourself in the mirror, and you didn't turn away. You also didn't rush to get dressed. A little shiver went through your body as you wondered what would happen if I opened the door at that moment.

But I didn't. Instead, you were alone in you apartment, finding yourself looking at yourself in the mirror ... looking at yourself with new eyes. Before I had arrived the day before, you had been critical of yourself. You had wondered what man would ever be interested in you. But now, there was a man who was interested in you (at least, I seemed to like you) without really looking at your body. I had seen you, of course, but somehow it seemed that in our conversations, I was more intrigued by what you had to say, by what was within your mind, than by your body.

Oddly, you found that this only increased, in a positive way, your desire to improve yourself. It was as if I was challenging you to be better. By neither rejecting you, nor immediately accepting you entirely ... you felt a bit like a racehorse, forced to run laps faster and faster for a trainer who, though always encouraging, was never completely satisfied.

Thus, you found yourself attempting to look at your own body the way I would examine it. Wondering whether I would be pleased by your soft hair, your full breasts, your tan tummy and your taut buns and thighs ... lost in this reverie, you turned back and forth before the mirror, wondering if you were up to the challenge I presented to you ... hoping that you were.

Eventually, it came time to choose what to wear to bed. By habit, you reached for the same silk outfit you'd worn the night before, but your hand stopped right before picking it up. Though you thought you were being silly, you thought that I wouldn't approve. Already, if you had been honest with yourself, you would have realized that you were dressing for me.

Almost compulsively, you dug around through your lingerie drawer -- way to the back, to items you hadn't worn in ages -- until your hand stopped, and withdrew a pair of silky bikinis that were so tiny, you wondered if you could still slip into them. With your heart beating, you slipped off the panties you were wearing and pulled the new pair up over your thighs, having to pull your legs tight together ("doesn't feel so bad") to slip them on. Slowly, you pulled the side straps over your hips as you saw yourself watching in the mirror, approvingly. They felt good. Letting your hand linger on one strap, you felt the pressure between your legs, and the tickle of the back up over your butt. They were so small, they soon rode up and slipped in between your buns. Feeling slightly naughty, you didn't move them back.

You let yourself fall back onto the bed and raised your legs in the air. You felt so alive! Then, you rolled over onto your stomach and, almost losing yourself, began to press into the bed. But you stopped suddenly when you realized there was only one image in your mind -- my face, smiling at you. For some reason, you didn't want to go too far...

Getting up, you were about to put on the terry cloth robe, when instead you took your silk champagne robe. Forcing yourself not to think about what you were doing, you pulled it tight around your waist, so that your naked breasts were evident beneath the thin material. ... You liked what you saw.

Even though I still hadn't returned, you checked your hair in the mirror before walking out into the living room.

But once you sat down, you instantly felt nervous. What would you do if I walked through the door at that moment. You tried to strike a casual pose and read a book, but you found yourself re-reading each sentence four times. You got up, and moved around your small living room, looking out the window to the night sky. Eventually, you felt you just had to lay down ... but you wouldn't get under the covers ... I might be back any moment. ...

You woke with a start when your alarm went off at 6 am. You groggily looked over to the clock and for a second you couldn't think where you were. Then, the night before came back to you, and you looked down to see that you were still in your robe, with no cover. It had been such a warm night ... that must account for the slight bit of sweat that covered your body.

Rising, as if still in a dream, you moved slowly to the door and peaked out. There I was, curled up on the couch in my sweats, dead to the world. It struck you that you had no idea when I returned, or what I had done then. You couldn't remember whether you had closed the bedroom door ...

Then, you remembered with alarm that it was Friday... not Friday! You had a workshop that met at 7am! You found yourself shaking your head as you walked to the shower.

When you came out, you moved to get dressed as quickly as possible. Just jeans and a light sweater, you told yourself. But you stopped when you saw those delicate panties where you had thrown them on the bed. Smiling slightly to yourself, you put them on again ... you didn't want that to change, even though you didn't know what "that" was.

Leaving a quick note for me, you were out the door at 6:45.

Again, the same experience, the same contradictory feelings in your head, all the while encouraged by those panties that just wouldn't stop tickling your butt!

When you came home that afternoon, I was there again, and it was as if the whole scene had changed again. My interview had gone great. I was on top of the world and, quite frankly, my enthusiasm was turning you on incredibly. For a moment, it seemed that I was just about to grab you and kiss you ... and you wouldn't have minded at all.

"This is my last night in town. We've got to go out and celebrate," I exclaimed, and you couldn't help but agree. Nevertheless, my choice of words struck you.

"Last night?" you thought to yourself, "Already?" But also, "Go out? ... Is this a date?"

As my happy babble continued, you found yourself becoming completely carried away. All you could do is happily agree ... perfectly willing to let me have my way tonight ... in every sense of the word ... until ...

"Hey," I said, "There's a neat place that some people suggested to me today. They said it was the best place in town ... it's called Candy's. Let's go there."

You were dumbstruck. You couldn't help but look at me and wonder if I had done this on purpose, or had I only been misled. Candy's was the most infamous singles' bar in town. The only reason someone would go there would be to pick up someone else. You'd never bring a date there! What did I think of you? Was I planning to just toss you aside.

But I kept on talking about how this was such a great place, how I'd like to meet some of the people in this new town ... you just didn't know what to say. You were very tempted to just back down, to let me go on my own ... but you couldn't do that either.

As it was only late afternoon, we still had a while to get ready. I had to make a few phone calls, etc. You piddled about the house, reluctant to get ready. When I had first mentioned going out, your mind had instantly raced through your outfits, rejecting them all. You were almost ready to run out and buy something new ... you still had time.

But when I mentioned Candy's, well, you just didn't care. What did it matter? Would I even be looking at you?

-----

You were left off feeling more than a little frustrated and disappointed by my choice of location to celebrate on Friday night ... you know, "Candy's". This was not at all what you had been expecting over the past two days, as I shared your apartment -- but then again, you asked yourself "why had I been expecting anything." With these gloomy thoughts in mind, you picked out a rather conservative outfit to wear that evening -- a sort of light brown pantsuit -- but it was not without its attractions. The slacks were just a bit tight and clingy to your firm little bottom, and the cropped jacket was tucked in at the waist to emphasize your bosom -- which was apparent beneath the white blouse you wore (three buttons open!).

When you gave a final check in the mirror, you noticed just one problem: given the clinginess and light color of your slacks, you had a definite VPL. At first you thought, "the hell with it, who'll notice." But then, something slightly changed inside of you, and you thought about that evening's possibilities. Almost unconsciously, you opened your lingerie drawer and rooted around for something you had bought ages ago, tried on once, but never dared to try again. Finally, you found what you knew would be perfect this evening -- your only thong underwear.

You slipped off your slacks and the prudish undies you had been wearing, and slipped on your thong -- taking just a moment to sneak a peak at your buns before covering them with your slacks, which now lay smoothly, and invitingly, over your cheeks. If you had allowed yourself to think about it, you would have noticed that at that moment, something changed. You had switched from being disappointed to seeing the opportunities that were before you this evening.

As you settled onto your dressing chair and began the final preparation of your hair, you felt the thong gently caressing you, giving you just the slightest stimulation that would continue throughout the evening. A few moments later, another turning point occurred. I gave a discrete tap at the door and, at your invitation, peeked in at you. As you turned to look up at my face, two emotions struck you.