Bimbo Ch. 01

He's not coming back. Either he has drowned inside the toilet, or he has hooked up with someone prettier and more interesting, and gone home with her instead.

Ellenor is disappointed. This one had seemed really nice. He had intelligent eyes, and a really cute smile. Tall and handsome. A nice boy, yet with that mischievous side to him... Ah! Who is she trying to fool? She doesn't know anything about him except for his name - if it really WAS Tom, he might have made that up. He was good-looking, yes, but she mustn't read in any character traits that she WISHES that he had had. The guy was a sleazeball, out looking for pussy, that was all. He didn't find her interesting enough, so he gave her the old I-have-to-go-to-the-bathroom-
I'll-be-right-back-wait-for-me-here-all-right? - routine. By now, he's probably on his way home with some drunk slut in a short skirt.

Ellenor finishes her water and puts the glass on the counter. That's the good thing about not drinking alcohol, you can save a fortune by drinking nothing but water all night. Plus you don't get a hangover. She hopes from the bottom of her evil heart that Mr Sleazeball and his slut wake up with really bad headaches tomorrow!

She straightens her handbag and leaves the bar, moving in zig-zag between the dancing people on the dancefloor, trying to reach the exit. Someone blows smoke right in her face, and she coughs. She shouldn't even be here, with her allergy for tobacco smoke and all. But where else to find a man? At least this will be the last clubbing she'll do for a long time! Even without paying for drinks, the entrance fee is $7, and she always ends up going home alone.

It's not that she's not attractive, she ponders, as she walks downtown to take the night bus home, and steals a glance at her reflection in a shop window. Without bragging, she considers herself to be rather pretty. She's tall and slender, has long, dark blonde hair, and big blue eyes. She's not the busty type, but she has nice legs, and she's been blessed with a metabolism that evaporates calories as fast as she can eat them.

The problem is her personality, she concludes, as she gets on the bus and pays for her ticket. She's just not interesting enough. She's a secretary at a law firm, who likes to read and surf on the internet in her spare time. She has a little cat, Mrs Case, and they live in a small but charming 2-room apartment with a view overlooking the park. She's nice and caring and generous, and she hasn't had a boyfriend for two years. Last time she had a one-night-stand was four months ago. She's about as exciting as a water-color landscape painting. And she gets about as much action and attention as one, too.

Ellenor gets off the bus and crosses the street. It's a good thing that the bus stops so close to her apartment building, it's pretty dark outside, and she's a little afraid of the dark. Not just because of the risk of getting mugged or raped, but also out of a primitive fear of danger hiding in the dark.

She enters the building and takes the elevator up to the 5th floor. She's just about to unlock the door to her apartment when a door opens across the hallway, and Sam, her neighbor, comes out with a garbage bag in his hand.

"Helloooooo, Ellenor!" he says, and deposits the bag in the garbage chute.

"Hello, Sam," she says, smiling. "You're up late."

"I've got a deadline for an article," he explains. "I just finished it. Want to step in for a cup of tea and celebrate with me?"

"Gladly," says Ellenor, and follows him inside.

Sam's an old friend. He works as a freelance writer for the local newspaper, and spends his free time in the gym. He's a regular health freak; doesn't drink, doesn't smoke, doesn't drink coffee, is a vegetarian, and he's drop-dead gorgeous with big, brown eyes, dark, perfect skin like polished walnut, and a tall, slim, toned body. If it weren't for the fact that he's gay, Ellenor would have jumped him years ago. Instead, he's her best friend and confidant. Some girls have girlfriends Ellenor has Sam.

"Persian or Russian?" he asks, holding up two tin boxes of tea.

"Persian," says Ellenor.

Sam makes the tea, and Ellenor carefully moves the stacks of papers that are covering the entire table, in order to make room for them. The table is the only thing that is messy in Sam's place. He's extremely organized and tidy, and everything in his home hints of quality and an expensive price tag.

"No luck tonight?" says Sam, and pours the steaming tea in her cup. "Or dry-out?"

Dry-out is their mutual term for when you go out and there are no cute, interesting guys anywhere.

"There was one, but he ran away," Ellenor sighs. "Bet he's pumping some bimbo right now. Ooooh! Oh, Tom! Ooooh!"

Sam laughs at her imitation of a high-pitched moan.

"He left with some panty-less Baywatch-wannabe?" he says.

"I don't know," she says. "He left me at the bar to go to the bathroom, and he never came back. Maybe we'll read about it in the newspaper tomorrow: MAN SLIPPED IN PUBLIC RESTROOM, FELL INTO TOILET AND DROWNED."

They drink their tea.

"Men are so shallow!" Ellenor complains.

"Tell me about it!" Sam rolls his eyes. "Did I tell you about the guy who refused to go on a second date with anyone who snored?"

Ellenor smiles.

"So what's your article about?" she says.

"It's about a woman who was so desperate to get married, that she took a bank loan and had plastic surgery to make herself look about 10 years younger," says Sam. "She filled her tits with silicone, did a tummy-tuck - the works!"

"No!"

"Yes! She traded in her whole self, and re-made herself to what she thought men would like, spent a fortune on it - and now she's broke, and didn't manage to land herself a husband anyway!"

"Why would anyone do something like that?" Ellenor shakes her head.

"Society norms, sweety," says Sam. "If you don't get married and have 2,2 children, a nice house, a nice car, and a well-paid job, you're a loser."

"Damn," Ellenor frowns. "I have to buy a car."

Sam grins at her.

"Or a lobotomy," he says. "Guys are scared of intelligent women."

"Surely they can't all be that bad?" Ellenor hates herself for the begging tone of her voice.

Sam leans over the table; the serious expression of his face and the grave tone in his voice is contradicted by the glittering humour in his eyes.

"They SAY... that there are men out there; men with intelligence and sensitivity and honesty," he says.

"Where?" Ellenor plays his game, pretending to be all serious and questioning.

"The legend says, that they are walking among us, disguised as regular Joes," says Sam. "And if you manage to find one - he'll be yours forever!"

Ellenor gasps in mock astonishment.

"Forever?" she says. "Not just for a night? Not just for a month? For EVER?"

"And ever!" says Sam. "They'll cuddle with you after sex, they'll hold you while you sleep, they will listen to you and respect your opinion - and they will even put the lid back on the toothpaste-tube after brushing their teeth!"

"OK," Ellenor says, in her usual tone. "You had me falling for it up to the toothpaste part."

Sam laughs. He pours himself another cup of tea.

"I know that I'm no model, " says Ellenor. "But I'm no dog either."

"You look fine," Sam assures her.

"And I dress OK," she goes on. "I mean, I don't go out looking like a $2-hooker, but I dress sexy when I go out."

Sam eyes her knee-length black dress and makes a gesture with his hand to indicate that he only agrees with her so-so.

"Hey, I've seen girls in baggy sweatpants and army boots pick up guys!" she says. "It's not my looks that's the problem, it's my personality. Guys come up to me and start talking to me - and then they run away after five minutes. Am I really that fucking boring?"

"What do you talk to them about?"

"Well, you know... they ask me what I do, and I tell them about my job. They say that it sounds interesting, so I tell them a little more about what I do, and stuff..."

"OK, that's your problem, right there," Sam holds up his hands to stop her. "When a guy asks you what you do, he doesn't really care, he's just making conversation. If the conversation isn't interesting, he'll leave."

"So what do you suggest that I do? Lie?"

"Yes," says Sam. "Tell him you're a stewardess. That's a classic. Or a masseuse. Or a teacher."

"A teacher?"

"Every boy has been in love with his teacher at least once."

"Even you?"

"I had a crush on ALL my teachers," Sam grins wickedly. "But Mr Stevens was my favourite..."

"There's just one little problem. I don't know squat about teaching or stewardessing - and what if he asks me to give him a back rub?"

"Anyone can give someone a backrub! As for the other stuff, that's where you turn the question over to him. What does he do? That sounds interesting. Does he like his job? Guys love to talk about themselves."

"You're saying that I should lie to make myself more interesting to the guys?" says Ellenor. "Just like the woman in your article?"

"Heavens, no!" Sam looks shocked. "She went too far. She changed herself. You're just going to change what guys think about you."

"You mean by hiding my intelligence and true personality?" says Ellenor. "By pretending to be one of those bimbos that we despise?"

"Do you wanna get laid or not?"

Ellenor looks at him, then helps herself to another cup of tea.

"Gimme details," she says. "What more do guys like?"

* * * * * * * * * * * *

She spends most of her lunchbreak shopping. She may have a whole closet full of great dresses and skirts, but when she and Sam went through it on Sunday afternoon; he told her that all of her clothes were great for more formal office parties. If she wants to pick up guys, she needs something that will "grab them by the balls and shake 'em up". She made him write her a list of what type of clothes men find sexy, and where to find these types of clothes. Armed with this list, she's now working her way through the shops Sam has listed, ticking the items off as she buys them. It's a good thing that most of these places are cheap, she would never be able to afford buying so many clothes in her regular shops, where a simple turtleneck sweater costs $80.

Black lace basque... check. Moving on to underwear. She argued that she already had underwear, and besides, guys wouldn't see her underwear until they got into the bedroom, and by then she had already gotten them where she wanted, and they weren't likely to back out then. But Sam pointed out that in order for her to get into character, she would have to dress the part to the skin. She had to give him right. She would probably not be able to act like a silly sex kitten with a pair of white cotton panties on. Sam has recommended a place called Timewarp, on Beech Street. She asked him how come he knows so much on where to find women's underwear, but he didn't answer her, just blinked and grinned.

As she finds Beech Street and Timewarp, she understands why Sam looked so amused. The shop isn't your regular lingerie store. All the items in the shop window are made out of leather and lace, and the shop lies right between Harold's Basement and The Booty Theatre. Ellenor hesitates a little, but draws a deep breath and enters the shop. If Sam can go there, so can she.

Much to her surprise, the shop isn't as tacky as she had expected it to be. The walls are covered with oil paintings and photos with erotic motives, there's a section in the back with books and video films, and the rest of the place looks like an ordinary clothes shop, with rotating hangers and a cabinet full of boxes containing pantyhose and stockings. That was on her list, she remembers, she moves over there and starts browsing.

"May I help you, darling?"

Ellenor turns around, and faces a very large transvestite. He's dressed in a baby pink corset, black stockings held up by a lacy garter belt, and high heeled shoes with little pink fluffy puffs on top of them. The make-up doesn't help very much; he's got one of those masculine faces with a broad chin and square jaws. The arched eyebrows and the tiny red mouth gives him a rather astonished expression.

"Eh, well, I... My friend recommended this place... I'm looking for underwear..."

"Spicing up your love-life, dear?" he smiles.

"Sort of..."

What kind of question is that?

"I want something sexy."

"That's what we got, sweety! What did you have in mind?"

She looks at Sam's note.

"Stockings, garter belt, cro..."

She coughs. Damned you, Sam! she thinks. I can't ask for THIS!

"Crotchless panties, dear? That should light his fire!"

The large he-woman starts picking out several sorts of garter belts and holds them up to Ellenor.

"We've got lace, satin, leather; red, black, white, baby blue, baby pink... Do you want to look innocent or sinful, honey?"'

"Sinful," says Ellenor. "I want something that grabs them by the balls and shake 'em up!"

His eyebrows almost touch his bleach blond wig when he stares at her.

"Wow, you've got ATTITUDE, girl!" he says. "One would never guess... you look so sweet and proper on the outside!"

"I'm doing a little experiment," Ellenor explains. "Guys aren't interested in fucking strong, intelligent women. I want to make guys think that I'm a sex kitten."

He laughs like a man. A deep, roaring laugh, that comes from the bottom of his belly. For a moment, she's actually worried that the corset's gonna burst.

"You are CRAZY!" he bellows. "I like that"

She's not sure if she's just been given an insult or a compliment.

"You don't wanna look at those, then, dear," he says, getting back into his girlish routine, and takes the packages of pantyhose out of her hand. "They're boring. You want something like THIS!"

He pulls down a few boxes from the shelves, and Ellenor finds herself staring at pictures of women in fishnet stockings, black lace stockings, sheer black nylon stockings, and even a pair of crotchless pantyhose.

"No fishnet," she protests. "My friend says that they'll make any woman look like a ham!"

He laughs again, and puts the fishnets back. Instead, he puts a fat arm around her shoulders, and leads her over to the Panty-section.

"We've got thongs, crotchless panties, G-strings, boxer shorts," he tells her, and holds up one garment after the other. "Velvet, latex, lace, satin, silk, cotton... And I simply WON'T let you leave without this!"

He trots behind the counter in his high heels, and picks up a box. Out of layers of wrapping paper, he lifts what looks like a black leather girdle. Ellenor walks closer.

"This might be a little pricey, but it's NAUGH-TEE," the transvestite explains to her. "I have a friend who imports these from Germany. They're hand-made."

"What is it?" says Ellenor, examining the weird garment.

It looks like a girdle with a tail at the back, and a little lock in the front.

"It's a chastity belt!" the shopkeeper beams.

When she walks out of the shop, she has spent more than $250, but she's really excited about the coming weekend.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"Nice," says Sam, when she shows him her purchases later that night. "I like this one."

He holds up a long, tight, red tube top.

"I made a real fool of myself when I bought that one," says Ellenor. "I asked the girl in the shop if it was a skirt or a top, and she told me that it's a dress!"

"You're kidding!" says Sam. "A dress this short? You're gonna have to get a Brazilian waxing before you put this on!"

"How do you know what a Brazilian waxing is, anyway?" she says, blushing wildly.

"Oh, please!" he says, and starts rummaging through her other bags. "I watch Sex And The City religiously!"

He picks up the box from Timewarp, and opens it.

"I don't believe it!" he says. "Alicia got you to buy the chastity belt?"

"Alicia?"

"Old friend of mine. He's always trying to sell these to people. I think he's getting a commission fee."

"How come you know about places like Timewarp and people like Alicia? Is he, like, an ex?"

"Ellenor, PLEASE!" Sam looks shocked. "He is SO not my type!"

"But you know him," she says. "Do you ever shop there yourself?"

"It has happened," Sam says shortly. "Now, come on, let me see you in one of these little things!"

"Why?"

"Humour an old man, will you?

Ellenor picks out an ensemble of black underwear, a short black skirt, and a stretchy tube top – also black.

"Nice, but you need something extra, says Sam. "Go on, get dressed! I’ll be right back!"

Ellenor has just gotten decent when he returns with one of his own shirts; white, elegant, and freshly ironed.

"Combine those two, and you got a killer look!" says Sam.

"A man’s shirt?" says Ellenor. "Doesn’t that send out the wrong signals?"

"Au contraire," says Sam, and gives it to her. "The combination of a sexy, short skirt and a basic white man’s shirt makes you look hot yet accessible. Put it on!"

Looking in the mirror, she has to give him right. She looks flirty, sassy – and she feels naughty.

"A little make-up, and I’m ready for battle!" she says.

"I’d let the hair out if I were you, though," says Sam.

"I can’t dance with my hair down," she protests. It keeps getting stuck in my lipstick!"

"That’s why you should go to the bathroom at least once per hour, to freshen up!" he says.

She takes out the needles that are holding her hair up in a bun, and Sam combs it with his fingers.

"I considered becoming a hair stylist when I was younger," he tells her. "But it turned out I got rashes from all the chemicals. How are you at dancing?"

"Pretty good," she says.

Sam flips through his huge collection of CD’s, puts one in his expensive CD player, that looks mostly like a space ship. LL Cool J’s Something Like A Phenomenon blurs through the speakers, and Sam starts grinding his hips to the beat. He’s a great dancer. She’d like to just stand and watch him, but he gestures to her to join him, so she starts dancing, a little stiff and timid. Sam moves up to her, grabs her by the waist and pulls her into his own rhythm. Her body is insecure at first with the strange movements, but Sam’s a good teacher, and pretty soon she’s bumping and grinding and swaying her hips and doing the hootchie-cootchie. Sam turns her around and presses himself against her, and she slides down his slim body like an exotic dancer at a vertical steel bar.

When the music stops, she collapses in the white sofa, giggling madly. Sam turns off the stereo.

"I’d say you’re ready for your first try," he says. "Can you dance like that in high heels, too?"

"Not without tripping," says Ellenor, trying to calm down, but the image appearing inside her head of herself staggering around in high heels and tripping over, makes her burst into a fit of giggles again.

"Good," says Sam. "That’s exactly how you should act. As if everything you see and hear is funny. And don’t worry about tripping – looking like that, someone’s BOUND to save you from falling!"

He follows her to the door, helps her to carry all her stuff over to her own place.

"By the way," he says, as he’s going back across the hall to his own home, "you’re gonna need another name."

"What’s wrong with Ellenor?" she says.

"Too serious. You need something that even a drunk guy can pronounce. Ellie… Elly… something like that. Unless you want to get yourself a complete alias and go with Trixie, Candy, Sherry...

"How about Alicia?" she teases him, and closes the door.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Friday night, the Chamber. Ellenor checks her coat in and walks over to the bar. She can feel their eyes following her, and she makes sure to adjust the shirt so that it doesn’t cover too much. The bartender takes her order, and within one minute, she’s sipping on a Diet Coke, eyeing the crowd. She’s chosen this club on purpose, because she normally never goes here. She wants a totally fresh audience for tonight, so it won’t matter if she makes a fool of herself.