Collected

"I don't know what your definition of 'very often' is, but no, just very special women."

"Like the women who hang around you at the table in the pub?"

"Only a few, very few, of them have been here. The rest are just groupies. They follow the leaders. Most of them have no idea why," he told me.

"Like me?"

"You're very special. Unique. I knew I wanted you in my collection as soon as I saw you."

"Your collection?" He had my attention. I could hardly wait to hear how he would explain the use of the word 'collection.'

"Maybe that was a bad choice of words."

"It certainly was. Would you like to explain it to me?"

"Truthfully, I like women. I study women and I want to know everything I can about all of them. That's impossible, so I try to get to know as many different types of women as I can. I learn what I can and keep a diary of sorts to record my impressions and thoughts. How the different types look, think and react. I collect women. Some people collect stamps or baseball cards. I collect women."

"Why me? You could have anyone of the women in the bar anytime you want."

"They're all mostly copies of each other. Clones. Each copy is slightly flawed from the previous one, like copy of a copy of a copy. They're cheaper by the dozen and they don't interest me."

"I interest you?"

"Incredibly. I've never met anyone like you. A beautiful woman who doesn't know her own power. A woman I know will someday flower, like a fall Chrysanthemum and I'll get to watch it happen."

"So, I'm in your collection?"

"Almost."

"Almost?"

"Yes, almost. I still need one thing from you."

"And that is?"

"A picture. No memory is complete without the picture."

"I don't have a picture to give you."

"I can take one if you'd like."

"Now?"

"Why not. I have a perfectly good camera I can get in a minute." Lonnie said.

"How would taking the picture work? I mean, would I have to take off my clothes again?"

"Not if you don't want to. I don't need to have a picture of you unclothed although I'd prefer it."

"What about the pictures of the other women in your collection. How are they dressed? Are they naked?" I asked.

"Most of them."

"Most of them? Some aren't naked?"

"Actually, they're all naked."

"You made them pose naked for you?"

"No. They all volunteered. They took off their clothing without my help."

"What to you do with the pictures?"

"I keep them safe. No one ever sees them except me."

"You don't post them on the internet?"

"Never. That would be violation of their trust in me and my respect for them. I couldn't do that to either of us. Think about it while I go get the camera."

I did think about it. Posing naked for a man I'd just met. I am inclined to do it. I'm not the first and don't think I'll be the last. He's in the bar with those other women and no one seems upset so I'm guessing he keeps his promise to keep the pictures private. What the hell."

I took off my shirt and bra again and was sitting on the sofa when Lonnie returned with a digital reflex camera and a tripod. "I see you've made a decision. Half of one anyway."

"Right," I said as I stood up and removed my skirt and panties. I kept my heels on since I thought they'd help with the shape of my calves. I have no idea why I thought that. I don't have any calves to speak of.

"Okay. Stand over here where the light is better."

I stood where he indicated.

"Now, try to look natural. Try not to be a statue or overly sexual. Just a normal pose like you're waiting in line at the market."

He took several shots from several angles including a close shot of just my head and shoulders. "Thank you. That was perfect. I'll choose two or three for myself and destroy the others."

"That's all?"

"It's official. You're a full fledged member of my collection."

I thought about that as I got dressed for the second time in the last hour.

Lonnie walked me back to my car at the pub. I got in the driver's seat, rolled down the window and he kissed me through the window. I backed out and began the short drive home. My mind was on everything except the driving. I pulled into a nearby bank parking lot, turned off the car and sat thinking about Lonnie, his collection and my being in it.

I was deep in thought with my hand between my legs when something knocked three times on the glass, hard. After I recovered from the adrenalin rush, I rolled down the window. A policeman was shining a flashlight into my face.

"Could you please shine that light lower so I can see you?" I asked.

He did and asked, "Ma'am, what are you doing parked here?"

"Officer, I was driving home and was distracted thinking, so I pulled in here to be safe while I sorted things out."

"Where were you coming from?" he asked.

"The pub about two blocks up."

"Have you been drinking?"

"No. Well maybe a sip of rum about an hour ago."

"Can I see your license and registration, please?"

"Of course," I answered. I found my wallet in my purse and removed the documents and gave them to him. He looked them over for a moment. "Please get out of the car," he said.

I did. He asked me to look at him and he held a pen in front of me. When he moved it side to side, I followed with my eyes. He asked me to walk along a line between the parking spaces and then walk back. Finally, he asked me to raise my arms to the side, close my eyes and touch my nose with my index fingers and then stand on one leg.

"Wait here," he said as he went back to his cruiser. When he came back, he asked me to blow into a tube connected to a device he held in his hand. He looked at the number displayed and sighed. I snuck a peek and saw '0.02%."

"Okay," he said as he handed me back my documents. "You can get back in your car."

When I was back in the car, he leaned on the windowsill and said, "You're parked in a private lot. I'm not sure the bank would approve. You should head home. You only have about a half mile to go."

"Thank you officer, I'll be more aware in the future."

As I backed up and turned to drive past him, he said, "Good Luck."

"Oh, I passed lucky hours ago," I said as I drove away.

A week later, I was back in the bar sitting on my usual stool. I had gained three pounds during the week. I have no idea how. I didn't change my diet, my eating habits or my exercise routine. However, my A-cup bras were fitting better. Actually, as I was getting ready to go out, I stood in front of the mirror examining my breasts feeling pretty good about the changes.

The bartender came over and asked, "Lime cosmo?"

"No. I'll have a double spiced rum," I answered.

"I think we have some of that here somewhere. Give me a minute," she said as she walked away.

The 'Collector' was in his usual booth surrounded by the usual gaggle of women. On a whim, I stood up and walked over to the table. The women parted, like the Red Sea for Moses. I reached the booth, kneeled with one knee on the seat, took Lonnie's chin in one hand and kissed him deeply for about ten seconds. I then returned to my seat at the bar as the now silent mob opened to let me pass.

My drink was waiting for me when I got back. I sat, warming the dark liquid in the bowl with my hands and sipping it occasionally until it was gone. When I turned to leave, Lonnie was alone in the booth and looking at me. I smiled slightly, winked and left.

A month later, I was back in the bar. I was eight pounds heaver. I was wearing one of my two new B-cup bras. The A-cup ones had become too tight. The B-cup ones were a little big yet but I had become a believer and sprung for them. I was spending more time in front of the mirror noticing the differences and squeezing my tits amazement.

I was earlier than usual. The Collector wasn't there yet. When he came in, he saw me, walked to the bar and sat down next to me.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi yourself," I replied.

"You shook up everybody the last time you were here," he said.

"That's the trouble with clones. They're out of touch with reality. You shake up one and they all shake together."

"You're funny, you know," he said.

"Thanks," I replied.

"See you again, soon?" he asked.

"I don't know. Collections suffer from too many duplicates. You should focus on adding new entries."

Lonnie walked to the booth and within minutes the gaggle had formed. I don't know where they came from. I hadn't noticed them in the pub just minutes earlier.

I sat, nursing my spiced rum, trying to ignore the flock surrounding the Collector, when the door opened. The sunlight from the open door shone across the floor until it was dimmed by a shadow. I hadn't heard the door close so I turned to see what was blocking the light. The largest woman I'd ever seen outside of a carnival sideshow was standing in the open door looking around the room. Saying she was large was an understatement. She had longish dark hair hanging down to her shoulders surrounding a round face and thick neck. Her shoulders under her one-piece smock were lineman sized, her biceps were larger than my thighs and her breasts were so large they could double as food aid for a small village. She apparently thought enough of the place to stay and began to walk to the bar as the door closed behind her.

I could hear the nylons she wore as her thighs rubbed together when she walked. She approached the stool next to me, moved it six or eight inches further away from me and sat. The stool took the beating in stride as her cheeks hung over the edge of the seat completely hiding it from view.

The bartender approached her and she ordered a long necked Yuengling Black and Tan.

"Carbs," I thought. "Too many carbs."

When the beer came, she ignored the glass and took a swig direct from the bottle. She looked at me. "Rachael," she said as she put out her hand.

"Peggy," I answered as I took it.

"Nice place," she said.

"I like it," I answered.

She turned, not without some difficulty, to survey the room. "What's the attraction over there?" she asked.

I turned around to see what she was referring to. "That's Lonnie's groupies," I said. "He's in there somewhere."

"Is he famous or something?"

"More infamous, likely," I replied and turned back to the bar.

She turned back as well and we struck up a conversation. She was interesting to talk to and we talked for over an hour. I actually liked her. A lesson for me not to judge a person too quickly.

Rachael looked over her shoulder frequently in Lonnie's direction. She was obviously curious about the gang of women and what drew them to Lonnie. I ignored her interest. At one point she turned around and stared for quite awhile. Why she hadn't turned back got me curious and I turned around as well. Lonnie was sitting alone in the booth. The gaggle had wandered off. I'd see this act before. As expected, Lonnie looked up and then gestured in our direction and patted the seat next to him in the booth.

"He wants you to come over and sit with him," said Rachael.

"Actually, he wants you to come," I said.

"Not possible," she said. "Look at me. No guy ever wants me to sit with him."

"Never-the-less, it's you he wants," I said. "Walk over and find out."

"Never."

"You'll never regret it if you do."

"I'll probably regret if I do."

"Just. Do. It," I said with emphasis.

Rachael looked at me with distain. "Shit," she said. She picked up her beer, slipped off the stood and started toward the booth. I watched and listened as she walked across the room.

Lonnie's initial reaction when Rachael got up was confusion. He hid it well and welcomed her when she reached to booth. He motioned for her to sit down and they began to talk. I watched for a minute or two and then turned back to the bar.

The bartender approached. "He wanted you to come over," she said.

"Been there. Done that," I said.

"Did he take your picture?" she asked.

"Since you asked that question, I assume he took your picture as well."

"He did. Bye the way, I'm Blaze," she said.

"Blaze. Interesting name. I'm Peggy."

"Hi Peggy. Blaze is really a stage name. I dance at the gentlemen's club up the street during the day. I bartend part time for extra money and a chance to meet fetish free men."

"Hi Blaze. Interesting combination of professions. After dancing naked in front of so many men I assume you have some embarrassing moments outside of the club."

"Occasionally, one of the oglers wanders in here and creates a problem but John, the owner, is a big guy and he usually sets them straight quickly. Between the two, the money's good. You should try it."

"Me. Nobody wants to watch me strip and I can't mix drinks worth a damn."

"Don't sell yourself short. I know dozens of men who would climb over the tables to get a better look at you."

"I'll think about it," I said. "No I won't," I thought.

Blaze and I watched as Rachael and Lonnie walked out of the bar together.

Four months later, I was back on the night the Collector frequented. My physician told me I was at an average weight for my height. I was decked out in a new wardrobe. My old clothing was too tight and I was forced to replace much of it. I opted for more stylish clothing. Nothing trendy, just less conservative. I was also wearing a new half bra that pushed up my C-cup tits and created a cleavage that showed between the opening of my blouse with the top three buttons undone.

I was using slightly more makeup than before as well. I spent some time with a professional makeup technician and he taught me some interesting things that I was experimenting with. The overall effect pleased me and I hoped it pleased others as well.

Over the last few months, I noticed more men approaching me and attempting idle conversation. A few had actually hit on me. It was an interesting change for me and I found I could be selective. I was sitting in my usual spot, warming another snifter of spiced rum in my palms when a cute guy walked into the bar and looked around. He looked younger than I. Maybe on college break or cruising after work. He was dressed in a clean denim shirt, clean jeans, white socks and Nikes. His hair was short and roughly parted and he was clean-shaven.

He noticed me sitting at the bar, walked over and sat down next to me. This was not unusual. It was happening every time I came into the pub. "Hi, I'm Ron," he said. "What'cha drinkin'?"

"I don't think you'll like it," I told him.

When Blaze came over, she gave me the smile and eyes combination that said, "If you don't get lucky send him my way." "What's your poison?" she asked Ron.

"I'll have what she's having," he said pointing toward me.

"You may regret it," I offered.

"Regret isn't my usual emotion," he said.

When Blaze brought him his drink, he took a sip and said, "Oh. What is this stuff?"

"I told you so," I said.

"I didn't say I regretted it. I just want to know what it is. I think I could get used to it, especially with your help."

"Not real smooth but at least he's trying," I thought. "Okay," I said. "I'm Peggy. What brings you in here?"

"Just passin' by. Lonely. Lookin' for company. When I saw you I knew my day had gotten better."

I have no idea why I found him entertaining. We sat there for over an hour talking and drinking spiced rum. Blaze watched from the other end of the bar. I think she was hoping I'd kiss him off and she could step in and save his day. She looked disappointed when we left the bar together.

I live about three quarters of a mile from the pub and I made Ron walk the entire way. Back in my apartment, after he made the usual inane comments about the décor, I moved the coffee table and made him stand in front of me while I sat on the sofa. It's incredible how pliable men are when their brains suffer from lack of blood and sufficient oxygen.

"Stand there," I said pointing to a spot in front of me. Ron stood where I indicated.

"Now turn around, slowly." He did.

"Again." He did again.

I stood up in front of him. I don't know what he expected when I reached up and started to unbutton his shirt. When he reached up to touch me, I said, "No touching. Yet. I'll tell you when. Meanwhile, just stand still and let me do my thing."

I unbuttoned his shirt completely and pulled the tail from the waistband of his jeans. I pushed it off his shoulders and pulled the sleeves, one after another, until I had it off completely. I tossed it behind me on the sofa. He was wearing a white crew necked t-shirt under his shirt. Soon, I had it off over his head and on the sofa as well.

His chest was hairless. When I ran my hands over it, I didn't feel any stubble. He wasn't shaving his chest; he didn't have hair on it.

I sat on the edge of the sofa, reached out and began to unbuckle his belt. I slipped it from the loops in his jeans until I had it free. It joined the shirts on the sofa. Then I changed the game a little. I got down on the floor and untied his left Nike. I lifted his leg and slipped it from his foot. He did an excellent job keeping his balance without reaching to steady himself on my head. I repeated the action with his other foot and then went back for the crew socks, one at a time.

With his feet bare, I sat back on the edge of the sofa and reached for the button on his jeans. I felt his body stiffen slightly from either nervousness or anticipation when I slipped the button from its hole. With the button undone, I gripped the zipper pull with one hand, the waistband above the zipper with other, and began to slowly unzip the fly of his jeans. When I looked up, he had his eyes closed. Exactly the reaction I was hoping for.

When I had the zipper all the way down, I separated his jeans and began to pull them down his legs. When they slipped over his ass, they pulled down his underwear slightly. I paused long enough to pull the underwear back up toward his waist. When I had his pants down to his knees, I pushed each leg individually down on his calves. I lifted his left leg and pulled the pant leg off. The right leg followed and the jeans ended in a pile on the sofa with his other clothing.

He was wearing dark blue briefs. They looked good on him and they accentuated his package nicely. I dragged my fingernails over and then up and down his junk through the briefs.

"Turn around," I said.

As he turned, I dragged my fingernails over his hips and cheeks until they rested on his pent up manhood again. I hefted his balls in my hand through the underwear and sat back on the sofa.

"Finish for me," I said.

Ron hesitated for just a moment and, using his thumbs in the waistband of his brief, began to slide them down over his hips as he watched me watching. He was careful to lift the elastic over his erection and then he quickly pushed them to his calves, bent over and took them off. He offered them to me and I motioned for him to toss them on the sofa.

He looked at me and I motioned for him to turn around again. When he was facing me again, I stood up, took his hand and led him to my bedroom. I pulled the covers off the bed. "Get up on the bed, in the middle," I said.

I stepped back and looking at his eyes, began to unbutton my blouse. He rolled on his side facing me and watched intently with his head in his hand supported by his arm on his elbow.

I took my time unbuttoning my blouse. When I removed it, my breasts were ballooning out of the green half-cup bra with the top of my nipples exposed. His smile broadened and his cock twitched.

I undid the button and zipper of my skirt, let it fall to the floor and stepped out of it. I stood in front of him in my bra, matching bikini panties and three-inch heels. With my hands on my hips, I turned around for him, slowly. I kicked off my heels and reached behind my back to unhook my bra. I could see the anticipation in his eyes change to admiration as my bra fell to the carpet.