A Gift in Disguise Ch. 05byTalespin©
Though it had not been terribly late when I fell into bed Saturday night, I slept until nearly 10 a.m. Sunday. After completing my usual morning ritual and pouring my second cup of coffee, I sat down in front of my iMac 21-1/2-inch desktop computer to do some work on my master's thesis.
Yeah, I know. Desktops are so last century, but for a grad student in electrical engineering, the large screen is a godsend for integrating technical graphics into the thesis. The laptops and tablets just aren't big enough.
The computer quickly booted up, and I saw there were some emails waiting. I clicked on the email icon and up popped the information about the five unread emails. The first one that caught my eye was from ShaMad.
ShaMad is Sharon Madison, my mom's friend back home. Like my mom, Sharon is 43. Her two sons were friends of mine in high school. During the summer after my high school graduation, her sons had invited me to come spend a day with their family at their lake cabin. They hadn't told me to arrive at any particular time, and it turned out that when I got there a little before noon, Sharon was there alone. Her husband Leonard and the boys had gone to gas up the boat at the marina across the lake.
I should explain that while their boys and I were still in high school, Sharon and Leonard had come to our house several times to meet with my parents about school issues. Sharon had been elected to the local school board. Sharon had then, and still has, a great figure. She was justifiably proud of it, though in our conservative town, many of the women (including my mom) thought Sharon showed too much of too much. When they came to our house, she always wore a skirt and stockings. I would peek out of my bedroom, hoping to get a look at her sexy, shapely legs. It seemed to me that with each visit her skirts got a little shorter, and she always sat where I could look right up her skirt. It became almost a Pavlovian reaction with me: She would cross her legs, and I had to close my bedroom door and jack off.
It was probably inevitable. During one visit at our house, Sharon caught me peeking out of my room and looking up her skirt. I was surprised and relieved she didn't say anything to my parents. Equally surprising, she didn't change either her attire or her position during subsequent visits. In fact, on more than one occasion she caught me looking at her, then apparently intentionally exposed a bit more of herself. She obviously enjoyed the attention of a pubescent high school senior. I became more bold myself and actually looked forward to our making eye contact after I had been "caught." It added to my own arousal.
So anyway, the day I went to their lake cabin and Sharon was there alone, she was wearing a skin-tight, one-piece swimsuit with a wraparound skirt. The swimsuit was so tight she could not have concealed a grain of sand under it. She told me she had noticed my looking at her legs at our house. I was embarrassed, but she said not to worry. With two boys of her own, Ted my age and Cody just a year older, she understood. Then she removed the wraparound skirt so I could get a better look at her legs. She said she didn't mind at all that I found them attractive, and she didn't even seem to mind that I was giving what could best be described as an x-ray stare at her tits and mound. I did not need to exercise my vivid imagination -- the suit revealed every delectable detail with absolute clarity.
Then without any warning, she walked to me, pulled down my shorts and my swimming suit underneath it, and then as my cock bobbed up and down in front of her, she stripped out of her one-piece swimsuit. We started kissing and fondling each other. She took my cock in her hand and started giving me a far better hand job that I could ever have imagined. We were both just about ready to fuck when we heard the roar of their boat returning with her husband and sons. We scrambled to get back into our clothes while they walked from the dock to the cabin.
I left for college after that summer, but whenever I would go home to visit my parents, I always seemed to see Sharon at the local coffee shop right next to her growing real estate business. We talked casually and maybe even flirted with each other a bit, but not so much any of the other customers or wait staff would notice. All during college and grad school, she stayed in touch by occasionally emailing the local news and gossip to me. Ted, her son my age, had married, but her older son Cody had not. Ted and his wife returned to town, and Ted started his own business which had become quite successful. Her older son, Cody, had gone to San Francisco and rarely returned home. Sharon's and my continuing contact seemed harmless, nothing that would have alarmed anyone. She was, after all, my mom's friend, and her boys had been my friends in high school.
During my current year of grad school, Sharon's emails had become more frequent and increasingly personal, even rather suggestive. I had begun to wonder if she and her husband were having marital problems. Occasionally she would include a photo of herself, almost always in business attire. The accompanying explanation was usually that the photo was for her latest advertisement. Her figure and especially her legs were still very-tight-sweater-, short-skirt-and-stocking-worthy, and I must admit I occasionally fantasized about having sex with her. Even though she is my mother's age, Sharon is still hot.
Then more recently, maybe a month ago, I had received another emailed photo from Sharon.
It showed her in a one-piece swimsuit identical to the one she had been wearing when we almost fucked six years earlier. Maybe it was my imagination, but in this photo she looked even better than she had at the lake. I doubted this swimsuit photo was for any advertisement, not even for lake property. She had posed provocatively so that I could see everything necessary to generate a hard-on. If that had been her intention, she was successful, and my reply email pretty much told her so.
Now today as I was sitting in front of my computer on a Sunday morning, here was yet another email from Sharon. It had been sent Saturday. I quietly cursed myself for not checking my email or phone messages before going to bed the night before!
I opened Sharon's email. It included a photo of Sharon in a tight one-piece swimsuit again, only this one revealed much more of her breasts and had very high-cut leg openings. This one left no doubt that it was not for any real estate company advertisement.
She was wearing high heels and had assumed a come-and-get-me-if-you're-man-enough pose, legs spread shoulder-distance with her hands defiantly on her hips to give me the best view of her legs and figure. Sharon must have remembered my fascination at the cabin with her thick pubic hair, because there was a good deal of it showing out around the rather narrow crotch of the swimsuit. The text of the message said, "Sorry - haven't shaved lately -- hope you don't mind too much ;). Call me on my cell phone between 2 and 4 p.m. Sunday if you can." She included her cell phone number after that.
My mouth went dry just looking at her. I looked at my cell phone clock. Noon. I entered her phone number into my speed dial. The phone told me I had one voice mail. I went into my voice mail and heard that the message had arrived Saturday night from Jamie.
"Tom, this is Jamie. When you get this message, please give me a call."
I was still staring at Sharon's current photo on the computer screen when I returned Jamie's call.
"Hi, Tom. Sorry I missed you yesterday, but it really wasn't anything too urgent. Could you possibly meet with Lorraine, Kim, Amanda, Marta and me either Tuesday evening or Wednesday evening around six? I decided that since I had all the right material, I would refabricate a version two-point-zero prosthetic penis for Lorraine in addition to the one we had already finished for Kim. Both have been bench-tested and are working even better than we expected for prototypes. I'd like to bench-demo them for everyone else and then schedule the initial live-human tests. There's no rush, but it would probably be easier for everyone if we all met together and got it going."
"Either evening would be fine with me. My schedule may be more flexible than theirs, so you all pick the date and time and just let me know."
"Actually, Marta said Wednesday would be better for her, but everyone else is fine with either night. Why don't we go ahead and set it for Wednesday night, six p.m., my lab?"
"Perfect. What do I need to do to prepare?"
"Nothing, really, Tom. So, how did your meeting with Amanda go yesterday?"
Jamie had probably already spoken with Amanda since yesterday to set up the meeting, but I didn't know how much, if anything, Amanda had told Jamie about either her plans for yesterday or the outcome, so I decided to keep my comments simple.
"Pretty well. She showed me the technology in her laboratory room. Pretty interesting stuff. A little spooky -- gets kind of close to mind control -- but it's still interesting. Did you work with her in designing the room?"
"Yeah, but we tried very hard to stay focused on facilitating people's natural reactions rather than forcing or directing them. Did she do the demo for you while you were in the room?"
"You mean with me sitting in the chair alone in the room? Yeah, she did."
"How hard did you cum?"
Jamie's very direct question was a little unnerving. Had Amanda told her about our ending up in bed during the supposed demonstration? Though she may not have known the underlying cause, Jamie sensed my uneasiness and came to my rescue before I could answer.
"I was the first test subject, Tom, so I know what happens. Neither I nor you have any sexual dysfunction, so when Amanda fires up the room-conditioning stimuli tailored to the person in the chair, an unimpaired person is almost always going to do what comes naturally -- have an orgasm!"
"Yep, that's pretty much what happened all right. I'm surprised at the intense and almost uncontrollable effect it had on me, though."
"I'm not," Jamie responded. "Given the probability that your neurochemistry is already primed for explosive orgasms, almost any external stimulation would have caused you to cum very hard. It did me, too. A couple flicks of my finger, and I was screaming like some high school girl having her first orgasm. Surprised the hell out of me, but Amanda said she would have been disappointed if I hadn't lost control."
"Maybe Amanda ought to put you and me in her magic room together sometime," I suggested jokingly.
There was no discernible humor in Jamie's voice when she answered, "Mmmm. We should definitely do that. Yeah. Definitely."
Jamie and I talked for a few more minutes, confirmed the time and place for the Wednesday meeting, and then disconnected. She had some work to do, and I needed to do laundry.
A little after two I brought a basket full of my clean laundry up from the dryer and put it in my bedroom.
Then I picked up the phone and hit the speed dial for Sharon.
"Hello, this is Sharon."
"Hi, Sharon, it's Tom Connors."
"Tom! Hi! I take it you got my email?"
"Oh, yeah. I got it. It made my day. You look wonderful. Have you been working out or what?"
"Thank you. Not really working out. Just exercising regularly and watching my diet more carefully."
"Well, whatever you're doing, please don't stop. I still swim two or three times a week, but that's mainly to control the stress of grad school. No more competition swimming, though. I'll bet you don't wear that suit when you swim, do you?"
"I take it you liked it." She sounded pleased. "You're right. I'd probably get arrested if I wore that to a public pool. No, that picture was just for you -- no one else.
Your mom was very proud of you, being on the university swim team for four years, Tom. She kept a scrapbook of all your photos and newspaper clippings. She even gave me copies of a few of your photos. I often wondered how you managed to get everything you've got into that tiny swimsuit, though," she laughed.
"Since you were nice enough to send me your photo, perhaps I should reciprocate," I suggested. I had fully expected her to laugh it off, but...
"I'd hoped you might offer to do that, Tom. But let me give you my special private email address. Wouldn't want Leonard or anyone else getting the wrong idea now, would we?" Or the right one, I thought to myself.
I wrote down her very nondescript email address. I already knew just the photo I'd take of myself and the caption I'd send to her.
"But Tom, the reason I wanted you to call is that I'm going to be in Harper next Saturday and Sunday on business, and I thought you might want to drive over Saturday night. We could visit, and you could be my dinner guest at an event I want to attend."
Harper is a town of 95,000 and about 20 miles from my university. It had not escaped my notice that she had said the invitation was to dine with her, not with her and her husband.
"I'd enjoy that, Sharon. I had planned on doing some studying, but having dinner with you sounds much better."
"Wonderful. Here's directions to get there." She proceeded to give me the driving route. Sharon went on to explain that it was a private estate, gated, and secluded.
"It's where I'm staying and where a small and very select group of business people from this ten-state region is having an annual meeting. When you get there, you'll have to identify yourself to the guard at the front gate. Just tell him you're Mr. Thomas with the Five-Twelve Party. That's how you will be identified on his list. You'll see parking alongside the building. Just walk in through the front door, go to the concierge, and tell her you're here to meet Sharon. You won't ever have to give your name. I'll come get you. And Tom, it would be very nice if you could wear a nice sports jacket and tie, or even a suit. The dining room here isn't exactly formal, but it's definitely not burger joint casual, either. Can you be here at 6:30 p.m.?"
"Sure. Easy. Six-thirty p.m., next Saturday, in my suit. Got it. Anything else."
"Do you prefer a beef, chicken, fish, or vegetarian dinner?"
"Fish will be fine, thanks."
"All right then. By the way, there is no alcohol served there. We don't want any of our guests getting pulled over for DUI on your way home later in the evening. I'm quite sure you will have a very nice evening. See you Saturday night."
Sharon's call had left my cock hard and fully erect, so I changed into my Speedo competition swimsuit. My cock head extended a bit above the waistband, but I seriously doubted Sharon would be offended. I took my full body length photo with my digital camera, mimicking her own provocative pose as closely as possible, then downloaded the high-res image to my computer. I figured by sending a high-res photo, she could zoom in on anything of particular interest. I added the caption, "Now, see what you've done!?" Then I fired off the message with attachment to her private email.
In fewer than ten minutes I heard my computer beep the "email waiting" signal. It was from Sharon's email address, though it had been sent with a pseudonym.
"Wow! I'm buying Speedo stock!!!!" Apparently Sharon had been just as turned on by my competition suit as Kim had. I hoped the results would be the same -- or even better if that was possible.
I pulled up Sharon's most recent swimsuit photo into my computer's photo editing software and began playing with it. Her power-woman pose against a plain background was perfect for editing. It required very little photo editing for me to reveal more of her breasts, emphasize her already pokey nipples under the material, and slightly increase her pussy hair. When I was satisfied with my editing work, I sent the photo to her discrete email address. Then I used my computer's secure overwrite software to securely delete all the emails and photos we had exchanged. No point in leaving anything on the computer that might raise eyebrows.
Before I got to my first Monday class, my master's thesis committee chairman stopped me and dropped a bombshell requirement. The committee wanted me to make some changes to my thesis and to have the latest draft ready to deliver to the committee on Thursday. Though I didn't show it outwardly, their unreasonably short demand upset me considerably. But, I agreed to do the best I could. Fortunately, I had only one morning class on Tuesday, no classes Tuesday afternoon, and only one important class Wednesday. The other two Wednesday classes I could cut. Monday night, though, I called Jamie to explain why I would only have a limited time available for the Wednesday night meeting at her office.
Much to my surprise, Jamie responded with laughter rather than sympathy.
"Tom, here's some insider information from someone who's been there. You're getting the post-graduate jerk-around that is normally not administered to master's candidates; it's normally reserved for PhD candidates. It may not seem like it, but your committee is actually paying you one huge compliment. They're testing your response rather than your knowledge. My guess is that they see you as an excellent candidate for a PhD program in double-E and they want to see how you handle serious academic pressure. Look, do the best you can to respond unemotionally and competently to their absolutely unreasonable demands. If you can't complete parts of them, tell the committee up front what you could not finish. Above all, do the very best you can, but don't worry."
"Actually, Jamie, I have all the information I need to respond. It's just that with the limited time they've given me, I can't respond as completely as I'd like."
"Perfect! That's exactly what you should do, and you should also outline for them exactly how you would have responded with more time. If you do that, you'll blow them away.
And Tom, don't worry about having to cut out early from Wednesday night's meeting. In fact, if you want to skip it altogether, I'm sure everyone will understand."
"Thanks, but by six o'clock Wednesday, I'm sure I'm going to be ready for a break. But I will need to get home afterward and finish my write-up to turn in on Thursday."
"Whatever works for you," she said brightly. Then we disconnected.
By the time I got to Jamie's laboratory on Wednesday night, I was pretty wrung out. I still needed a couple hours of word processor time to finish the redraft of my thesis, but during my drive to her lab, I was able to give some thought to her prosthetic phallus project.
I pushed the doorbell button alongside the lab's public entry door, and moments later, Jamie appeared to let me in.
"How's the thesis coming?" she asked.
I explained I'd need a couple hours on the computer and printer before going to bed. She seemed genuinely pleased that I had been able to respond almost completely to my committee's intentionally unreasonable requirements. She was also sympathetic to my obvious fatigue.
"Before we go in, Tom, I need to let you know Marta could not be here tonight. She called, and one of her clients had some emergency. She sent her paralegal, Emily, instead. I don't think you've met Emily yet, so I wanted to let you know so you wouldn't be uncomfortable when you saw a strange face at the table. Emily has worked closely with Marta and has read and reviewed all the material Lorraine, Kim, and I have sent about your case and the project."
With that, Jamie escorted me into her lab's conference room.
"Tom's here, so we can get started. He can only be here a short time tonight. His thesis committee is jerking him around. I think we all went through that or something like it in our post grad days."
Everyone nodded knowingly. There were a few murmurs of sympathy