Education of a Jezebel Pt. 08: Core Courses

Once he got a good look, he whistled. "Stripped to go and ready for action. That's the way I like it."

"I know you do, that's why I wore this. But you have to do one thing for me tonight, or you'll never get it again."

"What's that?" Kurt let his mind wander. Did she have whips and chains that she wanted him to use on her? Was she planning on tying him up and having her way with him - that could be fun. He recalled the time he'd given it to her up the ass, although he was more in the mood for pussy that evening.

The previous evening, Kelley had gone online and found some erotica. It was mundane and poorly written, most of it, but she'd been intrigued by the use of language in the stories. "I want you to talk dirty tonight. As dirty as you can."

"Get your ass in there woman, I want to fuck you hard!"

For the next forty minutes, in the living room then the bedroom, the air was blue with not only the F word, but also slut, whore, bitch, tits, pussy, asshole, cock, prick, balls, nuts, twat, snatch, gash, cum, jism, spunk, piss, cocksucker, motherfucker and the dirtiest of all, at least to Kelley's ears, Cunt.

Kelley tried to join into the festivity, but she wasn't really good at profanity, she'd been raised too well and never had desire or training, so when she said, "Fuck me" or "Let me suck on your huge dong," it just didn't come off as authentic.

After Kelley had her two orgasms and Kurt had filled her up once, they relaxed on the bed. "So, Andrew?" she asked.

"In a state of spiritual decay." The news made her glad and melancholy at the same time. "He wants a girlfriend, he misses what he had with you."

"You mean a steady fuck?" After the experiment, the four letter word didn't sound so bad.

"Well, that, yeah, but the idea of just hanging out with a girl, having fun. He was never a guy's guy, and when the boys are hanging out over a pool table and trying to pick up chicks, it's sort of sad. Should I tell him you miss him?"

"Yeah, sure," Kelley laughed. "'So there I was, banging your old girlfriend and she told me she still loves you.' Yeah, I can see that happening. No, don't. Besides, there's a guy in my life, sort of."

"And he wouldn't mind if I was here right now?"

"It's not like that," she revealed, "not yet anyway. But if I dated Andrew while I was dating Tom, he'd probably get all confused. No, better let the dead past rest in peace."

Kurt was inspired again by the lopsided tits he hadn't seen in some time, the snatch that was open and waiting, they went for a second round. It wasn't completely worthless, but not a rousing success either.

When he was nearly out the door, a little after midnight, he said, "See you again, sometime?"

She whooped. "You mean 'fuck me again sometime.' Yeah, sure, I won't block your number. But it's been seven weeks since the last time we screwed. If you can't get it up for me more often than once every two months, don't bother."

"Okay, I'll try not to be a stranger."

"And a meal wouldn't be the worst thing, either!"

Samantha kept giving her business books to read, professional papers to mull over. "You need to develop yourself," the boss required, somewhat mysteriously. "I've let you go too long."

She left work early on Friday, went home, took a nap, then packed. Not knowing exactly what Tom had in mind, her medium sized suitcase was filled with a variety of clothes. She showered and while she was under the water she felt her mons. Yes, there were a few bumps down there, she'd better schedule another session with the laser tech. Make-up, perfume, she was ready to go. She slipped into a long sleeved knitted dress appropriate for the wet and chilly evening, it covered her neck and fell to her knee, but from her chest to her hips it cleaved to her curves snugly. It was new, she thought Tom would like it. She covered herself in an umber waterfall coat, was ready.

She was only a few minutes late, found the parking garage easily, walked into the lobby. Tom buzzed her in, she rode the elevator to the 8th floor. The building was a late nineteenth century factory, renovated for a restaurant, flower shop and bakery at ground level, the upper floors held residential units. She found the door in the riddle of hallways, he opened it with a drink and kiss for her.

"Nice place," she admired. The exterior walls were of rust colored brick, the floors of hickory, the furniture modern and antiseptic. On one side a fireplace adorned the wall. Only a few rugs and a large multi hued glass sculpture on the interior wall gave it any color at all. Of course, the sound of classic rock filled the room, echoing off the walls and floors.

"Want the tour?"

"Sure."

He led her over to the corner. the windows on one side displayed the downtown skyscrapers a mile away, the other opened unto the darkened river almost at their feet. "Nice." She noticed the windows weren't protected by drapes or blinds, anyone could see in. Of course, there weren't any buildings of this height for half a mile, so... The kitchen was small but functional, a wet bar was on an interior wall, perfectly fine for a bachelor that dines out most nights. She noticed a bowl of white roses and various grasses on the dining table big enough for six. A short hall led to a half toilet guests could use during a party, the bedroom was large but there were no windows, being on the interior. The room had more color, the walls were painted in a muted blue, the king sized bed had a comforter of bright azure with ivory stripping, area rugs on the floor seemed soft and inviting. A large easy chair, a chest of drawers, a table with just a few mementos on it. Another door led to a master bathroom, fully equipped, double sink, stand up shower big enough for two (at least!) toilet and bidet hidden in a niche. The last room off the hall was a claustrophobic office, just big enough for a small desk and three bookcases. This was where his few personal photos were hung.

Back in the living room, Tom asked, "So, you didn't bring an overnight bag?"

"It's in my trunk, I didn't want to presume."

"Presume all you like. We'll bring it up after dinner. So what do you think?"

"Very nice. It could use a little color."

"A woman's touch, you mean. Yeah, my decorator got a little severe on me, and at the moment I was much too busy to supervise her very much. This is what I got, I can live with it for a few years I guess."

"And where's the spy cams?" Kelley asked. "They must be hidden pretty well. I know you want to keep videos of all the girls you bring up here."

"They're so advanced they're invisible until they're needed."

They finished their drinks, headed for the bistro. The hallmark of the place was Italian cuisine, fresh breads. Kelley let herself to be tempted into the trio of pasta. Servers roamed with copper skillets, you only need stop them and have your plate renewed with the tortellini or agnolotti until you'd had your fill. Kelley knew she'd be putting extra hours in at the gym.

They discussed their weeks, Tom had a bit of an emergency, he'd had to flip down to Charlotte to put out the fire. Kelley told of her visit to Glacier, how pleasant her father's live-in girlfriend had been. (She didn't want to use the word 'stepmother,' as she wasn't and never would be. There should be a better word for such a relationship.) Then she admitted she'd be spending the second weekend hence in New York, how she was perplexed at Samantha's efforts.

Of course, neither spoke of what they'd done in their evenings. There might be nothing to it on Tom's behalf, she thought, she'd seen no indication in his apartment that another girl was in his life. Of course, she expected that in a few days there'd be no sign of herself left. And she certainly didn't tell him of Kurt's visit, how she'd been so sore the next day that she'd applied ice packs between her legs. No, this wasn't a subject for conversation.

"How did you like Joe Jackson?"

"Not bad. There was some stuff I liked. Some were just a little, I don't know, hokey. He didn't seem to have much to his lyrics."

"If you dive down deep, you can find meaning, I guess. I see what you're saying."

"Who's next?"

"Oh, you want great lyrics and meaning. Paul Simon."

"I love Fifty Ways To Leave Your Lover."

"I think you'll like Graceland. South African influences."

As the previous week, they cuddled while he explained the music, a prelude to foreplay, which formed the prelude to insertion and nirvana. Which relaxed into more discussion of music, a second, extremely satisfying, round.

Kelley lazed in bed while Tom brought fresh croissants and jams for breakfast, coffee and juices. After rising, the shared time in the apartment was easy, each of them independently searching their laptop or iPad for interesting tidbits. They traipsed to the Produce Market under umbrellas for a late lunch, Tom encouraged her to search the boutiques, she picked up a ceramic frame for herself, purchased a dark sea glass candle holder he seemed to admire. Back at the apartment in the late afternoon, he placed it on the kitchen counter, was she marking her territory? And was he allowing her?

She found he enjoyed gin rummy, they played it over vodka/tonics. He wound up owing her $1.20, but she suspected he'd fudged and let her win a few hands he could have triumphed in. Dinner was delivered and eaten in the kitchen while he explained Leonard Cohen. There was no talk of Kelley leaving, it was assumed she'd spend the night again.

As she drove home in the dusky October twilight Sunday afternoon, she decided she was a very satisfied woman, not only sexually, but also in her soul.