a Desiderare

Author's Note: this story follows on from my stories Garter Belts and Cigarettes and Garter Belts and Whiskey .

While you don't need to read those stories for this one to make sense, you will get an introduction to two of the main characters, and there is a direct continuity between the three parts.

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Lizzie rolled off the couch to scramble in her bag for her phone, a message chime breaking through the soundtrack of the dumb movie she was only half watching.

She'd got home exhausted from a long shift earlier that evening, dropped the bag on the floor, and dragged herself into a shower to make herself almost human. She'd scraped together an uninteresting meal, which at least filled her empty belly. Since then, she'd passed time alone on the Saturday night, too tired to go out, too tired to contact friends.

Her days were long, but some nights were longer. Some days, the dragging days, were endless; and those nights went on forever. Lizzie would crawl awake in the morning, put on her face, and begin acting. She'd been doing it so long it was automatic, but inside herself, she wondered how long she could go on before something broke, or she wound down forever like a clockwork doll, all unwound, no key, all broken down.

- Lizzie, if you're working tomorrow morning, would you be a darling and reserve our usual table outside, for a late breakfast. If it's raining, the corner by the window will be fine. Thanks. Ruby -

Lizzie looked at the time, 11:34, and wondered what Ruby was doing, texting her late on a Saturday night, arranging breakfast for a Sunday morning. She'd never done that before - her reservations were always during the week, and never mentioned breakfast. Lizzie read the text again, 'our usual table'. Did that mean she was with Adam? It must do, late at night. On a Saturday night.

Without really thinking, Lizzie replied - Will do. See you then - and almost immediately received back a red lipped kiss emoji, the colour of it matching Ruby's red lips.

Lizzie studied the message, wishing it told her more, but somehow knowing it told her a lot already.

She'd known Adam for over a year. He'd been a regular at the café when Lizzie joined the staff, and she'd soon become accustomed to his charm and gentle affection, the way even tiny trivialities were important to him, if they were important to her. She found herself telling him little snippets from her life - what she was studying, bands on a Friday night down at the Emerald, breaking up with her boyfriend, that sort of thing. He had a way of paying attention to what she said, and even though she was half his age, she never felt trivialised or spoken down to.

Then Lizzie discovered that Juliette from her Psych tutorial had slept with Adam a couple of years before, and that fact placed a whole new layer of intrigue over the man. Lizzie began to pay more attention, to study Adam, and she soon had a fair collection of indicators to his various moods. And of his taste in women.

His taste varied, that much was certain. Juliette was her own age, for starters, but nothing like Lizzie at all, physically. Lizzie and Juliette bounced off against each other results-wise in their course work, so maybe intellectually they were similar. They ran hot and cold on a personal level, though; Juliette having a manipulative quality about her that Lizzie didn't like much.

This is ridiculous, Lizzie thought, comparing myself to Adam's women. That's absurd. But she did so anyway, thinking about tall, athletic Maddy and her smaller, curvaceous friend, the one with the bubbling over-the-top personality who was exhausting to be in the same room with, even if it was just in the café. What on earth was she like by herself, without an audience? Completely different, Lizzie guessed, a chameleon.

Lizzie had puzzled at the dynamic between Adam and the two women whenever she saw them - all three together, or in the different combinations of pairs. Lizzie was convinced there was something going on between all three, but she couldn't figure out exactly how it all worked. Whatever they had, it must be sexual. Lizzie had worked that much out, at least. She could feel their sexual energy stream from them some days, like ozone after a thunderstorm. So much energy, her skin prickled to be near it.

"I don't know how he does that," said Ruth, her boss; and Lizzie could see that even hard Ruth was occasionally smitten.

"Does what?" asked Lizzie.

"Concentrate, with so much oestrogen in the air around him."

Lizzie laughed. "It's probably why he's so still when he's here by himself. He's recovering."

It was Adam's stillness Lizzie wanted to drown in, and when she had him to herself, on quiet afternoons when sometimes he'd ask for a second coffee or a third, she puzzled more about herself than the others. Do I want him? And when one day he thanked her with his affectionate, "Thanks, honey," with his lazy smile that looked over her, she knew that she did. Her father never called her 'honey', never gave her endearments at all.

Then there was Ruby.

Lizzie first noticed her, how could she not, when the woman arrived one morning with an imperious presence that astonished Lizzie and impressed her. Here was a woman who dressed to show off her body with tight skirts, crisp white blouses and fuck-me red soles on her shoes, a woman who clearly didn't give a damn about political correctness and acceptable female role models, who carried herself like a black and white era movie star. A woman who smoked without a care in the world, tilting her head high with that first exhalation, a woman who got away with shocking red lipstick, shocking red nails. Even her name, when Lizzie discovered it, was appropriate. Ruby.

She'd seen Ruby get up that first time and touch Adam's shoulder as she walked by, then a day or two later Lizzie observed a brief exchange of words between them. Adam had followed Ruby with his eyes as she walked away from him, and when Lizzie did the same she could easily see the attraction. The sway of the woman's hips really was spectacular, and those long legs promised... well, they just promised. Lizzie was tall, but she thought the woman was taller, especially in those heels.

Lizzie envied women who could walk properly in heels. Not many could. Lizzie thought it must be a confidence thing, the chutzpah to do it. Especially those who wore shoes with high heels and red soles. Lizzie knew they weren't subtle, those shoes. She had a few pairs of heels, but rarely wore them. She was too self conscious, too tall and too thin, too gauche, and she could never wear red, just couldn't.

Then Ruby had come up to her that day and asked Lizzie to put out the reserved sign on Adam's usual table. And she gave Lizzie her name, Ruby, and Lizzie said Adam, thinking Ruby must know him, but realising from her appreciative smile that she didn't. They'd not even ordered drinks that day, going before they'd begun.

Going before they'd begun? Good god, Lizzie felt like a fly on their wall. They had to be sleeping together, surely. Nobody could be so intimate in public, giving such unguarded attention to each other, without knowing their pillow eyes, their waking morning eyes, not giving a damn. And the way Ruby had brushed the sticking curl of hair from her cheek last week... Lizzie craved for such a touch again, would die for it. She recognised intimacy when it was given her, even if she rarely knew it.

Lizzie grabbed at her thoughts to calm them. Then she picked up her phone and read the simple exchange again, looked at the red kiss emoji. They've sent me a message, she thought, a message saying... what? She pondered that for a moment. A couple who'd probably been fucking for ages were thinking about her on a Saturday night. A sudden thrill shivered through her, and Lizzie realised she'd felt it before, on occasion, when she'd walked away from them: a pull on the back of her neck, some animal, instinctive feeling. As they watched her? Silently calling her back?

She wondered if that was how prey felt, about to be taken by cats. Big cats. Adam and Ruby cats, and Lizzie their prey. Or a cub. That might be better, their little one. Her thoughts circled and slowed. She'd been studying and working long enough to know something of human interaction and social dynamics; and in her intelligent, inquisitive, academically trained way, she wondered about herself as an object of desire. Because if that's what she was, desired, didn't she have a role to play?

Lizzie pulled her laptop from its satchel on the floor, pushed books and junk from the table, and set it up. She sat cross-legged before it, and began searching for different meanings in different languages.

to be desired

à désirer

a desiderare

ser querido

à vouloir

to be coveted

She stopped typing, staring at the words she'd copied onto a page. Was she desirable? She wasn't sure. Lizzie had never particularly thought how others might see her. She got to her feet and went to the bathroom, where there was a large mirror, to find out.

She looked at herself in it, dispassionately, as an artist might, decomposing herself into her component parts. Being methodical, Lizzie started at the top, with her tousled, messy blonde hair. Coming from summer, it was losing the golden highlights that shone in the sun and crackled in the dry salt from the sea. She liked beaches, got to them when she could, but was sensible enough to cover herself, not to burn.

As a consequence, and this summer faded faster than others, Lizzie's hair was satisfyingly, naturally, blonde; darker under layers with curling highlights. She wasn't a Hitchcock ice blonde, she was warmer, a honey blonde girl. Ruby's finger, brushing away a sticky, untidy curl.

Ruby's hair, black and immaculate, not a hair out of place. Okay, that's good, there's a contrast, black and gold. Lizzie wondered how long Ruby's hair would be when she shook it loose in waves, like those women in the Pantene shampoo ads.

Lizzie pondered how she wore her hair at work, when Adam saw her. She coiled it up on her head to remind herself. This was her messy quick in the morning look which irritated her when strands fell loose and fell in her eyes... but Ruby touched them away from her cheek, so that was worth it. Lizzie pulled her hair back, pulling it tight to the back of her head, which she did on the afternoon shift when she had five minutes after lunch to smarten herself up. The pony tail was tidier, and flicked on her shoulders when she turned. Turned and walked away, their eyes dragging at her back.

Lizzie turned in the mirror to see, still holding her hair back tight between her fingers. Looking over her shoulder, she saw an intense look, a concentrated, slightly frowning look. It wasn't come hither, or bedroom eyes - she knew she couldn't do those - but it was frank, self-appraising. Lizzie decided she could easily hold anyone's gaze, her ability to do so honed by her waitress's attention, that knack needed to catch the quiet order from a mumbling patron on a noisy lunchtime break.

Lizzie thought Adam's gaze might be the challenging one, his blue eyes going deeper blue when he looked into hers. "Hello Lizzie, how are you today?"

He probably didn't really want to know, but she filled that closing space between them with her words, easy flowing; but hush, Lizzie, don't go on, he doesn't want to know. But he did, because he'd ask her something, and she'd tell him something more, just to see his lazy warm smile again. Lizzie would stand by Adam's table, chatting, close enough to touch his shoulder if she dared, but she didn't, until she had to turn away to attend to another customer, and Adam would turn back to his newspaper, carefully turning another page with his long fingers.

She'd walk away from him with her hair in a high ponytail, and he'd loosen the band and let her hair fall, and run his fingers through it to pull it away from her face. With his long fingers. Ruby's long red nails running over her skin, down Adam's arm and Lizzie's back. Had she been undressed already, in this appraisal of theirs?

Lizzie pulled at the soft cotton top she was wearing - grabbed from the clothes basket in her room because she hadn't done the week's laundry yet - pulling it up over her head and dropping it to the floor. Her bare torso was revealed in the mirror. Lizzie dropped her hands to her sides and looked upon herself. She was becoming quite the observer.

She saw a tall young woman, her head tilted as she studied herself. Her hair was messy around her face, but she knew her options there and could decide on the day - hair bands in your bag, Lizzie - she made a mental note. Her neck was slender, her clavicles probably too obvious. You're too thin, Lizzie. She shrugged. Nothing in the short term could be done about that. She turned sideways to observe the side of her boob, then faced the mirror again. Even though her breasts were small, sitting high on her chest, she could see, when she studied them, that her right breast was ever so slightly larger than the left.

She wondered if Adam would tell the difference. She thought he had sensitive hands, and maybe he would. There'd be no mistaking Ruby's breasts though, even with a double blind-fold on. Hers were much larger, and Lizzie understood that Ruby possibly liked her because she wasn't like Ruby at all. She nodded to herself. We're different. She pressed both her palms to the weight of her flesh, and it was soft. Her nipples were a very dark pink, but now, as soft as the breasts themselves. Lizzie liked the hard ache of cold and the hot ache of arousal, but right now she had neither.

Lizzie grinned. At least her boobs wouldn't sag like Ruby's as she got older. Score one, Lizzie. But no cleavage. She pouted. Score one, Ruby. Lizzie ran her fingers lightly over a scatter of freckles between her breasts, left over from summer. Score one for Adam's fingers if he counted them. Overall, Lizzie thought she was doing okay, so far as appearances and contrasts went. People covet what they don't have - a phrase from her earlier reading popped into her head. She thought she had something to offer, if she was to be desired. Lizzie dared think she might even be desirable.

She cupped her small breasts in her hands to make sure of their size and their weight. She wondered how heavy Ruby's full breasts would be when she pressed her hands against the older woman's flesh. Ruby's big, heavy breasts pressing up against her body, warm against her. Hot. Lizzie imagined a big, thick nipple filling her mouth as she suckled... filling her mouth, engorged. She'd nip it with her teeth, roll it with her tongue... and with wide eyed astonishment she realised she was becoming aroused. Lizzie was turning herself on, picturing herself with Ruby.

What the...? Lizzie had never been with another woman, only teenage girls when she was a teenager, too drunk at parties and not trusting the boys. But Ruby?

Lizzie imagined herself naked - and quickly pulled down her track pants to make herself so - to see herself as she would look standing in front of Ruby with Adam watching them both. The older couple would be dressed, and would want Lizzie naked, she was sure of it. She looked at her slender self in the mirror. She was fit from being on her feet all day, her belly flat, her thighs long and lean. They'd both want to see her body, her desirable body. Lizzie knew this now. To be wanted, a desiderare.

Did that give her some kind of power over them? She wasn't sure. She didn't know how all this worked, but suspected Adam and Ruby did. She grinned. She'd combined their numbers in her phone, made them a couple even if they weren't. How would they know?

She stood there, thinking about the dynamics of seduction for several long moments, pondering desire, her own fantasies. Suddenly Lizzie bent down to the bottom drawer, tugged it open and pulled out her razor. She plugged in the power cord, checked she had the Number 2 comb fitted, and swiftly and efficiently trimmed her dark blonde pubic hair. She stood on tip-toes close to the sink, leaning herself over so that most of the hair would fall into it. It only took twenty seconds, a series of efficient moves for she always kept her hair short, and there she was, her tidy fur even tidier. She ran a palm over herself, feeling how lovely and soft her hair was.

Ruby's pubic hair would be black. Short and a bit spiky, because her hair was straight and always pulled back tight, and Lizzie thought she'd apply the same immaculate, groomed approach all over. Left untouched, Ruby's pubis would surely be covered by a dark thatch of thick animal hair.

And Adam's hair... but Lizzie had no frame of reference for imagining Adam naked. With Ruby she did: the woman's tight clinging skirts, her sheer stockings, blatantly showing the curve of her ass and her slightly rounded belly, those magnificent tits with their deep cleavage. It was easy to peel back those layers in her mind and imagine a Goya-esque lush body underneath, and always Ruby's look to make sure that you did.

But Adam... yes, he was tall and embodied 'scrubs up well in a suit', but clues to him naked? Less so. Lizzie's view of him, when she brought his order, was looking down as he sat at a table. She knew his hands from the precise way he'd turn the pages of the courtesy paper, placing a cup on it if he had to, if he was outside with the wind cheekily flicking at his patience.

She'd seen him one day give up with a smile and come inside. "Wind got the better of me. It'll be rain, next." His eyes crinkled with delight, as if the weather was an adversary worth having.

"I know, it's a nuisance," Lizzie had replied. "Especially those customers who let their serviettes blow away. I'm constantly chasing flying away paper."

"It's not hard, is it, to put them under a plate, or drop them in the bin yourself?" His empathy dropped into her hands and she liked him all the more for it.

Lizzie knew from looking down at Adam, his shirt casually two buttons undone, that he had short curls of silver hair on his chest, and she could see how he cut his nails; but she couldn't imagine him naked. So that was something she'd have to wait for. His thick, hanging cock, swelling at the sight of her. It would, wouldn't it, respond to her young, lean body?

She observed herself some more. She turned again, to see the reflection of her taut ass cheeks in the mirror. Slim hipped, her body would have to do. At least she'd give Adam the pleasure of a contrast with Ruby. In her mind, Lizzie was listing all of the differences between herself and the older woman, thinking it better not to be compared, like for like. Besides, she was Lizzie, desirable in her own right. She was convincing herself of that, and with it came a growing confidence. Adam's cock would be fully erect for her, even if she couldn't picture it.

Lizzie suddenly imagined him with Ruby, and although she had nothing to base the vision on, she saw a long cock surrounded by Ruby's red fingernails. God, Ruby's red lips enclosing a splendid shaft! Lizzie pondered her own favourite lipstick, a younger, more delicate shade, and made a note to take extra care when she did her lips in the morning. Lizzie was sure Adam would notice, and of course Ruby would. She was measuring herself against the other woman, preparing herself as she did for tutorials. She laughed at her methodical self - should she be taking notes?

And there's no way, she said to herself, that Ruby's pussy lips will be as tidy as mine. Lizzie looked at her reflection in the mirror, seeing the bottom of her belly with its fine, tight crease, the single neat line of her labia. Lizzie loved her smooth pudenda and was sure Ruby would have thick, meaty lips, so different to her own, and they would ram their cunts up against each other in a hot, wet, older woman, younger woman mash, fighting to make the other come first. Lizzie knew she'd be shameless, knew she'd use fingers if she had to, to make Ruby come first.