If I had had any common sense, I would have torn up that "story" and thrown it in his face. Instead, I jokingly said that I would let him know if I liked it. Now, here I was, reaching for that single rose, a perfect shade of ....

I guess I'd better start from the beginning. I'd met this guy who had a business next to a shop I frequented. As I was killing time one day waiting for my appointment, I started talking with him. We bantered back and forth and, as the weeks wore on, he always commented on how nice I looked, or how he really liked my hair or some other part of me, I drank it all in. A girl can never have too many compliments right?

My downfall began when he asked if I wanted to read an erotic story he had written and, not wanting to sound like a prude, I said, "Only if it's 'good'".

I tucked it into my purse and mumbled something witty as I went across the hall to my appointment. Later that evening I remembered the story and figured, let's see how good a writer he is. Maybe he knows the difference between too, two and to. I could only hope.

I poured myself a glass of wine and curled up in an overstuffed chair and started reading. As I did, an envelope fluttered to the floor. It was sealed and I wondered whether he had given it to me by mistake.

Questions were answered immediately and new ones arose as it said to not open the envelope until I had finished reading the story. Well, OK, I'll play along.

It was a pretty simple story, a girl is given an erotic story to read, and an envelope falls out and...What the hell is this, Ground Hog Day? How stupid. A writer he wasn't.

He wrote that he had fantasized about me wearing different colored panties and wanted to know if I could figure out which color panties he would want me to wear the next time I came to visit.

Now I knew what his game was: pretty much a win-win for him. Why the hell should I play his game? So he could see me in my panties? I finished my wine in two quick swallows and went to the kitchen for a refill.

It continued, "I want you to shave yourself 'down there'". WHAT? Is he nuts or just delusional? There is NO way I would do that. I don't know whether it was the wine or my indignation but I felt myself blushing as I thought of it. I haven't been bare since I was 12.

"Red, Yellow, Pink, White", those were my possibilities he wrote.

So I was supposed to be his fantasy girl and pick out the right color rose which would match my panties; to dovetail into his erotic dreams.

"That's what they're going to stay, dreams", I muttered to my empty glass.

"Inside the envelope is the color of the rose that you should bring. If you would rather not play, bring the envelope back to me unopened. No harm done, just a few laughs. If you open the envelope..."

I sat there glancing at the story and then the envelope. Story, envelope, story, envelope.

This guy had been fantasizing about me for weeks. I was pissed. Now, I'm not naive, I know guys do that, but to have it be on such a personal level. He was fantasizing about ME. When he had me dressed in red panties, what was he thinking? That I was confident, powerful, and aggressive? Or would he worship me with little kisses all over my neck and ears. Kissing my eyes, then my nose, brushing my lips, nibbling my chin, then trailing down my neck... God, it had been so long.

Shaking my head, I thought I'd relax with a hot bath; that would calm me down. I filled the tub with my favorite bubble bath and slipped out of my clothes. Turning to look at myself in the mirror, I thought "Yeah, I can see why he fantasizes about me". I laughed at my own joke as I slipped into the hot water.

Yellow, what was he thinking about if I had yellow panties on? Impish, bright, bubbly? He probably wanted to wrestle me down to the ground, tickling me, pinching me, getting cheap feels of my butt and breasts as we tumbled on the floor until he was directly over me, pinning my shoulders to the ground, staring right into my eyes and slowly lowering his lips to mine.

God this water was getting hot. I noticed the razor sitting on the edge of the tub. No, I couldn't.

But I did. As I drew the razor across my lower lips, I was shaking and it wasn't from cold. Damn him and that story.

My fluffy towel felt great as it dried the beads of moisture from my body. All that volleyball had payed off in a nice little package if I did say so myself. As the towel went across my newly shaved mons, my knees went weak from the sensation.

Quickly toweling off, I entered my bedroom and slipped on some cotton panties and an old T. Ducking under the covers, I was suddenly aware of just how on edge I really was. The wine I had had, those vile fantasies he had placed in my brain, the fact that I had shaved myself. What was I thinking? He'll know, everyone will know. Everyone who looks at me will know. My clients will know.

"Stop it", I muttered to myself. No one will know but me. Comforted in my rationalization, my hand slid downwards.

Rolling out of bed in the morning, I realized that I was already running behind. I hadn't slept well, tossing and turning into the wee hours. Why I decided to read that story was beyond me. How could something so simplistic and quickly jotted down have such a hold on me. Without thinking, I pulled on a pair of pink panties. Pink, maybe that was the color in the envelope. Yes, I decided, it must be pink. He thinks of me as all vulnerable and soft and girly. Fantasizing about me being held wide open, his hands under my knees, his head between my legs kissing the inside of my thighs, going higher, ever higher until.

Damn, I'm going to be late and this is a new client. With all the stress of tax season, new clients and that damn story floating around in my brain, it's a wonder I can even think, let alone think straight.

Why I took that envelope with me to work I'll never understand. I clutched it like a drowning man clutches a life preserver. I don't want to lose this damn thing, and then he'll think I opened it and I was his to do with as he wanted. No, THAT will never happen.

Throughout the day, I was frazzled, I transposed numbers, was snippy with my secretary, almost yelled at a stupid client that was telling me he could deduct his bar tab at the country club. Breathing a sigh of relief that it was finally over, I retreated to my house to lick my wounds and restore some measure of sanity to my life.

All day, those crazy thoughts of his eyes looking at me, and knowing, just knowing that he was picturing me in those vile and disgusting poses. Wait a minute, vile and disgusting? What was I thinking; I was acting like a scared little virgin. God knows I wasn't that. Not that I was promiscuous, far from it. Selective, yes, selective, that was the right term. And I selected not to do anything with him. I mean, he could be my father, for that matter, my grandfather. Grandma was a little wild, I chuckled to myself. What was he, 60 maybe. How gross to think that he could have the privilege of touching this body and kissing it all over and playing with my most intimate parts all the while reveling in the little cries and moans I made as he played me like a violin; carefully, expertly, thinking only of my satisfaction. Not like some horny divorced guy with the goal of how many notches he could have on his bedpost. Grandma did say that older men make the best lovers. No, I didn't want that, I thought rather unconvincingly.

Mindlessly flipping through the channels, my eyes kept being drawn to that envelope sitting on the table. Red, Yellow, Pink, White. Which one? White, yeah it was white, I thought. Innocent, a schoolgirl. THAT'S why he wanted me shaved. He probably thought of himself as my teacher as he scolded me for some minor infraction. Grabbing my wrist and pulling me over his lap as he hoisted my sundress over my panty encased bottom. I thought of my bottom turning red as he delivered spank after spank as I bounced and squirmed on his lap, my sundress bunched around my waist. Sundress, where the hell did that come from? I grabbed the story again and noticed to my horror that I had overlooked the line about wearing a little sundress to meet him. This was taking things waaaaay too far. Only twentysomethings wore them. Them, and girls who wanted to lift up their dresses and show their panties.

OK, I'm done. He's taken it one step over the edge. I was put out by his telling me what color panties he wanted, the thought of him fantasizing about me, even the shaving of my private parts; but this, this was too much. I thought of myself standing there in front of him, wearing a little pair of bikini panties, shaved bare between my legs, feeling a Santa Anna breeze rippling under my light cotton sundress, making eye contact and him knowing, just knowing I was so aroused that I could hardly breathe.

I couldn't wait until the next time I saw him, I would take his envelope and with a smug grin tell him that his writing wasn't very good. As a matter of fact, it left a lot to be desired. I was thinking of what other witty comment I could throw at him as I stopped off to do some shopping. I was at Walmart just browsing through the clothes when my heart skipped a beat. There, hanging right at eyelevel was a cotton sundress, just like in the story. No, I couldn't, I wouldn't.

But I did. It's like I was in a trance. I shuffled to the register and was sure all eyes were on me. I was blushing furiously as I slid the dress to the young checker. She looked at it and held it up right in front of everyone saying, "Oh is this for your daughter? It's so cute; I've got one just like it". My face must have turned a dozen shades of red. I quickly paid and left the store. What was I thinking? Shaving was one thing, but this, this was something entirely different. I couldn't wear something like this. I'd just blown 25 dollars on something that I was never going to wear. Damn that stupid, stupid story.

All the next day, I kept looking at the envelope. Which color was in there? Red? White? Pink? Yellow? What about peach, ivory, all the other colors? I groaned; not another story. My mind was working overtime as I got ready for my appointment. I would finally have a chance to throw the envelope on his desk and laugh at his feeble efforts to seduce me.

All these thoughts were going through my head as I stood at the flower shop, leaning into the cooler, feeling the chill air wafting up under my cute little sundress, reaching for that special rose, there it was, just the right shade of.

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