DC Diane - The Second Visit Ch. 01

Prologue: this is the 2nd in a series. I have not post the first. Also, this work involves less dialogue and more what the characters are thinking. My favorite author in this genre is John D. MacDonald who was a social philosopher amidst his mystery novels. It develops into eroticism but is not XXX. It tends to be more romantic and personal relationship oriented. I know its weaknesses. I had all my finished edits stolen and just don't have it in me to rewrite it all. Hope you are able to still enjoy it. -LF

--- Second Chances ---

Chapter 1

Discovery had finally abandoned the restraint of permission. With words flowing mysteriously from her pen, Vera was finding them both innate and yet foreign, like a thing already known and yet at the same time strangely revelational. Neither the bonds of a pastoral father nor her own youthful ideals were now shielding her from the assault -not this time. She knew that it had been a vainful refusal to admit to the animal's existence. Terrifying yet cunning, it was the shadow of the serpent of old who now stood salient before her, tempting her imagination with sallies of salacious encouragement and deceitful justification to openly yearn for that which she had, before tonight, so foolishly pretended to hate.

In the penciling of her thoughts, the words seemed to hold the pretentious power of emancipation. Maybe if she had been a happy woman the episode would have passed her by as only a wistful amusement of her own fanciful infatuation. But the truth be told, she was neither happy nor content to leave things as they were. Naive to her own motives, she allowed herself the luxury of liberation. Subtle in its mastery, little did she realize that as a freed slave all she had accomplished was to merely exchanging the bonds of one type of desire for another.

Over the years Vera had purposely hidden herself from this longing, especially around him. His last visitation, a thing feared too long to long for, had produced just the right kind of light and warmth needed to germinate these desires which had laid dormant deep within her. But by leaving her untouched at his departure, he had unknowingly caused her to fall prey to the luring power of her own gender.

"Could a woman become a natural predator?" she quietly pondered to herself. Would it be all that unusual for a member of female species to use her sex as a means of power? The writing of words spoke of her love for him. But in their writing, there was also something empty and meaningless about them. Was it love or was it simply the idea of being loved? Did she simply love the idea of finally having someone to love or was she in lust for what she thought he represented to her --the availability of his manhood?

Lately his letters had puzzled her. For between their lines she divined that recently she had achieved a measure of control over him through a sexuality she had never consciously offered him. But control was a two edged sword. For now it was compelling her to manipulate her mastery. Vera was wise enough to acknowledge that, if satisfied through nothing more than the fleetingness of a sexual encounter, it would ultimately leave her devoid of feelings, destroying what little capacity to desire had been left to her over the years. She was fully aware of the distinct possibility that in the end, falling into a perpetual cycle of lust, it all might become as addicting as any other drug, leaving her in a state were she found herself passing her body from one lover to the next. Had she been duped? Were these words of invitation to lead to the captivation her very soul? Was this her self-willed inauguration into domesticated whoredom?

Vera found herself imaging reward all the while fearing punishment as the dull thud of her envelope reverberated within the empty belly of the faded blue mail box. With purpose and poise, she again practiced at whoredom as she walked back to her car.

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Through the years Warren had sporadically stayed in touch with Vera through letters and the occasional phone call. She was a friend. However, caught between expo and seminar, he had arrogantly managed an intervening visit. Now, as if chastened from God on high, he could recall the ill-advised and ill-fated weekend in only a fragmented fog. By means of skillfully trained logic, he reasoned that it had been Divine providence that had decreed the demonic sinus invasion at their last reunion. Reduced to an antihistamine haze his vision of her had been clouded during his entire stay. But now, settling back into his seat he vainly tried reeling in his racing libido while the imagination bounded off over the horizon.

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Vera sat patiently on a cracked naugahyde chair as those about her stirred restlessly through yet another declared delay. One after another, for more than an hour, the announcements had washed past her like the raging waters of a river flowing past some great immovable boulder. If any had noticed, none would comprehended the smile which slowly crept its way across the surface of her face. 'The humor of it,' she thought. After all, in reality, she had been sitting there in that time-worn seat all her adult life, patiently waiting for his arrival.

The ambush would soon be over. No more camouflage. No more acting under false pretenses. She had hidden behind the veil of her own obscurity far too long. To hell with the expectations of reality and now to think of it, to hell with his skepticism. No longer would she remain the secret of his fanciful hallucination. She was a contender. An opinion? She thought not. For Vera herself was acutely aware of the differences between being optimistic and merely having a misty optic. Her long gone husband had at least wakened her to that reality. 'No,' she found herself reasoning, 'It's simple accounting.'

Within her wrap of fanciful hope, seeing his silver goose finally being marshaled into its loft, she noticed the perspiring of hands. Momentarily returning to the safe confines of her tabernacle of non-sacrifice, she second guessed her chosen attire. Not yet secure in its maze of illusion, she had only recently begun to play the game.

Studying the many patroness' of her office, studying the shopping malls, yes, even while at the grocery store, she had studied each woman that caught her discerning eye. Cataloguing them all, she had become determined to mirror a little of each of their own peculiar attractions, hoping that the accumulative effect would afford her enough wealth of illusion to entrap him; little recordings of their conversations around men; shuttered glimpses of their subtle yet flirtatious movements during office banter; the heretofore unnoticed eroticisms of dress and an almost casual way of revealing hidden flesh. She had become an attentive student, incorporating each of these newly acquired allurements over the intervening months. Would she, could she, effectively mirror these subtleties? Most of all, would it be enough to win him over?

She had purposefully chosen the same dress that she had worn at their last uneventful meeting only this time with a purposefully altered hem. Deliberately selected, she knew now that it put ordinary men ill at ease. Arranged as bait, not for just anyone, but for the man who had announced a certain desperation in life through his letters of late, Vera hoped that the costume be enough to embolden him to finish his flight into fantasy. Would he be pleased with what he saw? Would she inspire his imagination?

Looking down at her hands, they reminded her of the past. Despite numerous trips to the tanning salon, her skin had remain as alabaster white as it always been. She inherited that from her British war bride mother and there was little she could do about. At least now, unlike the previous meeting, she was no longer a beached whale but rather a fit and trim temptress.

Patiently perched on the front half of airline waiting room furniture, Vera watched as two cute little feet in open toed heels rocked themselves back and forth on top of the stained carpet floor. "Pert," she remembered him once describing her posture. Relaxing for brief instant, she felt the pinions of his gift secretly embracing her. She sat painfully erect. Vera had always sat erect.

For the better part of an hour, the strategic placement of Vera's too-small-to-be-of-much-help purse had thwarted the impertinent eye of an elderly cowboy who had saddled himself down in a seat directly opposite her own. "Old coot," she had thought to herself as the man tipped his hat to her. Self conscious of the ultra-sheer hosiery which traipsed up from her twitching toes before disappearing behind the curtain of a hem that rose uncomfortably far above her knees, the beast within her finally coerced her to relax. Vera then had an idea. It was one of those little ruses that had been tempting her imagination of late.

As if to look down the aisle behind her chair, squinting her eyes in a false pretension of trying to read the far off flight board, Vera strategically removed her purse and allowed her legs to part slightly at her turning. No doubt, at that very moment, the ole coot was eyeing her offer. A slight quiver coursed its way through her body with unexpected excitement. Conscious of the fabric of her skirt rising higher and higher, Vera wondered if it was sufficient for the old codger to see other things. Safely tucked away in her purse, she had dared herself to remove the willow-wisp panties before leaving her car. How much was she revealing to this elderly cowboy? Worse yet, how much was he imagining? Amazed at her new self, Vera's normally prudish nature felt strangely unashamed at her offer. "And why should I feel ashamed?" she thought to herself. "After all, this cowboy certainly wasn't too ashamed to stare."

Vera wondered if the change in color had really made that much difference. Did black nylon really gather in the male eye faster than white? Was it, as Warren had quipped, that white was the color of married, matronly house bound brat-breaders?

Recalling the night that she had stood in the midst of a strewn mess of discarded trial and error, turning this way and that before her floor length closet door mirror, she had chosen then to wear the same pale green, flowing rayon dress that now clung to her sculptured figure. Professional conservatism had once deemed black seamed stocking too suggestive, particularly for the office. She had grown partial to white as she had grown older. Perhaps that was why her visitor had failed to take notice of her at his last visitation. "I'm not going to fail twice," she repeated to herself in mantra fashion.

Turning back to face her audience, the old man blushed a smile her way. How long had it been since he had last had such a sight, especially one so freely granted? Standing briefly, tugging at a corner of her hem, Vera sat back down and tried to ignore the eyes that looked at her in a sad-sack sort of way, as if trying to remember of time last when he had had such a pretty young lass offer such a view. And what had it cost her? Nothing but a fading twinge of embarrassment. But what life had it given him! Such a small thing and yet something of great value to both. Slowly Vera let her legs part slightly while openly smiling at the soft lined face that peered out beneath its feathered cowboy hat. Looking back away, she released his eyes to look freely into the fantasy.

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