Lady Libertine Ch. 02: The Ghostwriter

"You just have to think of something, Jeanette," pleaded Angie. She lifted the glass of chardonnay to her lips, which signaled that it was my turn to reply.

I studied the deep crimson cabernet as I swirled it, inhaled its scent, took a sip, and watched the light rainbow film cascaded down from the rim of my glass. The action always seemed to hone my thoughts as if looking into a gazing ball. Such reflection often reveals the sum total of a situation in an instant. Best friends since first grade, our lives have managed to remain entwined, crisscrossing over the decades even though we ended up on very different life paths.

I have been married since the age of twenty. Angie is single with two short marriages. While we both completed graduate school, I chose to postpone my career and stay home to raise our two children. I returned to the university for post-graduate school to begin my dream job when the kids entered junior high school. Angie is a successful divorce attorney who began creating her own practice soon after passing the bar. We are now in our early sixties. She never plans to retire. I went into semi-retirement early, because grandchildren came sooner then expected.

"Why look to me?" I complained. "You're the high-powered lawyer. I am just a grandmother."

"Stop stalling," commanded Angie. "Besides, I know you too well to fall for that line," Angie argued. I looked into her blue eyes set off perfectly by the rainbow of expensive blonde hues, wondering how she got herself into this predicament. "I thought you swore off men for at least a month after you broke up with Taylor. How do you pick these guys anyway?" But I already knew.

Angie had grown up in an affluent household. Yet, it was not as picture-perfect as it all seemed. Her mother had been a tall attractive blonde with multiple personalities. She was an alcoholic who became very mean or highly seductive when she drank. I never saw her mother drink, so I only saw her angelic side. Yet, I would still commend Angie on her survival skills if her stories were only half-true.

Her father was a social drinker; a user but not addicted. He was a very handsome and kind cuckold male who had to do his wife's bidding, because the money came from her side. Angie had adored her father when she was young. I did more than simply adore; well, at least in my mind.

His hair greyed early and was silver when I first met him. He had a dimpled smile, a twinkle in his eyes, and a generous nature that reminded me of Santa. I wondered if that was where my secret fantasy of Santa's love affair with Mrs. Santa came from. Santa adores his vixen of a wife who acts angelic. But, instead of being an alcoholic, Mrs. Santa has always been a strong liberated woman.

Anyway, it seems that any handsome silver-haired man who engages Angie in intelligent conversation followed by a good round of coitus seems to sweep her off her feet. Yet, intelligent conversation and combined with astute sexual knowledge does not necessarily lead to long-term relationships, because Angie's men never lasted in that way.

"Are you listening to me?" Angie asked.

"Yes, I heard you," I replied setting my glass back on the table. "This fellow is not like the others, so it does not matter how you picked them. He is different. I get it," I replied empathetically.

But will I help her? That is the question on my mind. Angie tells me everything about her life, but, fortunately, not everything about her men. A tad of jealousy is good for friendships, but that is all. She has been with at least fifty men. That is likely an understatement considering her Mae West figure, Marilyn Monroe magnetism, and fierce independence. She demonstrates the mindset of women portrayed in those early black and white films before censorship and media marketing stripped females of their power by making them sex objects instead of equal sex partners.

I am well aware that she tells me everything with the skills of a successful attorney; she has an amazing capacity to change the truth and then believe her own story afterwards. I, on the other hand, have been well trained; a victim of blushing. Truthfulness is the only way that works for me, because my face burns and turns red when I attempt a simple fib. That has kept me very pure and honest for over forty years with my husband, Todd. Well, at least pure in body—mostly.

Pure in mind? Well, that is a very different story. Thankfully, nobody can get a glimpse of my erotic thoughts and visions when I pleasure myself. Oh, and especially not Todd. What would he ever think of me?

"So, when will I have it?" asked Angie.

Fortunately, I have the amazing ability to remain fully engaged in conversation while falling into my own thoughts. "When did you say this 'date' is suppose to happen?"

I guess a date is any agreed-upon appointment between two or more people. And, it would have to be an appointment, because her new man lives about half a state away. Angie met him while attending a weekend course in Southern California for the bar's continuing education requirements. And, true to form, she met him in a bar. Angie and I live a couple of miles apart from each other in Northern California, and we have a standing once-a-month dinner date.

"Saturday night!" exclaimed Angie.

"That is only two days away," I complained.

"That is plenty of time for you, because you became a natural writer after helping your kids with so much homework," encouraged Angie. "Besides, you are very accomplished at this. You wrote a dissertation, and you write children's books. And don't you have stories from people you work with?"

I gave Angie my golden-eyes dagger stare that always works with the kids, but it only seemed to encourage her. "You know from your work as an attorney that client's stories are kept confidential."

"Oh, riiiight," she replied, purposely prolonging the vowel.

No, there are no real secrets between girlfriends who have spent half of a century together.

"And besides, don't play Miss Innocent with me. We both know that you have always had a higher sex drive than Todd," goaded Angie. "We both know how you have managed your passions while being married to the same man for all these years."

Suddenly, Angie put her hand to her mouth. "Oh, I am so sorry," she apologized. "My tongue still slips even though I never forget. I know that Todd has never been the same since, well, since ..."

"Since we lost our son? No worries. You know that I have grown through all that has happened. Problems have a way of working out. I'm fine," I replied. Yet, I had not said a word to Angie about my growing frustrations and writing my letter to Santa asking for help in rekindling Todd's desires for me. She would worry and might even think that I had finally lost my mind. I had to lighten up the conversation.

"But, I promised Todd that I would spend extra time with him over the next couple of days. I agreed to go golfing with him, even though I dislike the game. And there are the grandchildren." Angie frowned at me, and then a grin lifted the corners of her lips and wrinkled her nose in that same sensuous way that it has for over half a century. "Caught you in a lie. You're beginning to blush. But you did have me doubting for a moment," laughed Angie.

I shook my head and diverted my eyes from Angie's deep blue wide-eyed expression that was accompanied by the familiar pucker of her full pink lips. That was her way of striking the convincing argument that expressed, "I gotcha!" without uttering a word. Yes, it is useless to argue with one's attorney.

"Okay. I give up. But I don't understand why you cannot wing this telephone date," I said in an attempt to enter into one more defense over my reluctance. "Why don't you just use your imagination?"

"Because I have never had to?" came her question that was more like a conquering statement as her intonation rose in just that manner that pronounces her desirability. No, she never had to. She always seemed to be on a "first date" even when she had been in a relationship with the same man for several years. That's probably because she never allowed a man to live with her after her first divorce. Hell, her second marriage was long distance! Maybe that makes every time seem as if it is the first time.

"God!" I half prayed and half swore. Still, it is almost impossible to believe that she has never pleasured herself. And, now, here she is in a new long-distance tryst, and her new lover wants to have phone sex. But, she has never even imagined masturbating or pleasuring a man? "Oh, she has had it all in the sack, so her imagination seems stunted," I thought to myself and then giggled.

"Well?" asked Angie. "Okay, I said I'd write a script for you, so I will. I will be your ghostwriter. But, remember; I have never had telephone sex either."

"Oh, but I know you have," countered Angie. "Yes, you have had it many times . . . in your mind and when you are alone with your vibrator. I know you have a very active imagination. Adding creative eroticism will be easy."

I picked up my wine glass and repeated my ritual. Suddenly, the light dancing off the deep red liquid became a lantern that was inviting me to explore an unknown dark cavern within my mind. I found myself climbing down through a black crevice with only enough light to guide a few footsteps at a time. That has always been the safest way to allow my mind to grow into new ideas that challenged my sense of self.

Yes, Angie has always challenged me to expand my thinking. That is the main reason I love her. She challenges me to explore new styles for makeup and attire, and ideas from entertainment and vacations to lingerie, erotic novels, and legalities. I, on the other hand, inspire her to slow down, attend to domestic details, and even watch kids grow; from a safe distance.

Yes, we make a good pair. Plus, I never have to be concerned with the legalities of anything, because Angie gives me advice whether I ask or not. And, in regard to her sex life, she often reminds me that whatever goes on between consenting adults that does not have any chance of causing harm to others is legal. Well, that applies to her because she is not married.

"Well, I have one question for you at the moment?" I said.

Angie's nod said, "Go on."

"I am concerned about Todd. What if he finds out? Erotic writing seems like a form of infidelity. And, I would be so embarrassed if anyone found out."

Angie's deep sigh ending in a long harmonic "Hmmmm," signaled her lack of concern. "Sometimes, you just worry too much. How would he ever find out? Let your imagination go. Besides, I am only asking you to write a script for me to use with Taylor. I am the one who is going to have to perform it."

The expansion of the mind can be the most challenging, especially when I am being asked to reveal images and thoughts that only I know exist. Or maybe, it is much more than that this time. Angie is asking me to put my most personal thoughts, secrets, and even behaviors into the written word. Yet, I once heard that the mind must move forward or mediocrity sets in.

"Is that what has happened to Todd and me?" I wondered. "Has our love life moved into mediocrity?" I asked myself.

A plan suddenly popped into mind. "Well, I guess I could make something up from some situation somewhere," I concluded. "Yes, maybe I can make up something; imagine something just for you. That way, I would be able to keep my personal sexual fantasies to myself."

"Yes, yes!" exclaimed Angie. "That is what I am asking you to do. I need you to make up a story about how I am engaging in sexual self-stimulation while talking on the telephone. It's not you!"

Suddenly, I felt flooded with relief. "Oh, I see. It is not how I do it or what I imagine while I do it. It is about what I imagine that you are telling him you are fantasizing about doing with your body!" And then I knew I understood, because Angie rolled her eyes, combed her fingers through a golden strand of hair, and replied, "Isn't that what I asked of you in the beginning?"

Once again Angie insisted on taking the check. "It is the only way I can thank you," she smiled. That meant that I had received a down payment. Yet, I was surprised that erotic scenarios suddenly came pouring into my mind as I drove home. Then, I realized that I was becoming excited about writing, and I felt a kind of throbbing that was very new.

"How was your dinner with Angie?" asked Todd when I gave him my "I'm-back" peck on the lips. "Nothing a whole lot different this month; just a lot of girl talk," I said as I massaged his head.

"Girl talk is important, especially among such life-long friends. Your dinners are good for both of you," he added. I almost felt a bit guilty already. "Are you ready for bed?" Tom asked. I saw myself stripping off my clothes and inviting Todd to take me as I bent over the arm of the couch. But, I feared that he would feel pressured or worse. I feared that he might reject my advances. Instead, I agreed that we were tired and that it was time to turn in. That meant we would each sleep on our own side of the bed with backs turned towards each other.

I awakened at dawn and remained in bed with competing thoughts on my mind. There seemed to be two groups of boosters. One group shouted, "Use the theme '1970's Porn Sensations.' Tap into your erotic explorations before children and while going to the university." Another faction countered by shouting, "Use 'New Millennium Sexually Mature Women.' Tap into your current imagination from the perspective of a golden-age sensuous diva." Each side argued within my mind over why I should heed their way.

I closed my eyes and jiggled up my head as if to blend the sides into some kind of new thought. There must be agreement on what angle to write from, or I was going to have writers block. "I must choose a platform to write from," I said aloud. I suspected that writing such a script would not only stretch my imagination, but could change my benchmark around what I was willing to write about. I had to look on the bright side of Angie's wish.

Todd was already up, and I could smell the coffee. He was enjoying early forced "retirement" but continued to adhere to his early morning ritual of checking the stock market before heading to the gym for his workout. Afterwards, he came home to watch the closing of the stock market. I would not see him until the afternoon.

I took a cup of the streaming black caffeine to my desk and sat down at my computer. I looked down into the mug and saw my reflection looking back at me. Allowing my fingers to rest upon the keyboard, I closed my eyes for a moment as the aroma of the strong coffee drifted up my nostrils. Suddenly, words flowed across my mind, and I began to type.

"Angie?"

Taylor's voice sounded differently on the phone. "Not quite so self-assured as he was while holding me in his arms," thought Angie before answering.

"Yes, it's me, Taylor," she responded with her most sensuous intonation. Angie's confidence was high as she glanced over at the script. She had read it over several times, and knew she was more in her comfort zone than Taylor was. Her script was not much different than using legal briefs to argue her client's case in court. And Angie was very good in court, especially when the judge was male.

There was silence on the other line.

"Taylor, do you have any idea how much I have missed you? What room are you in? Are you on the couch where you first seduced me or on the bed in your bedroom?"

Angie heard a gentle throat clearing on the other side. Yes, the script warned of this. Men are so much more visual than women, while women can become very aroused by words. The script warned that Taylor's mind might become stagnant until his imagination was captured. The more visual the words, the quicker his mental juices would be recharged as he began to experience himself in a new way.

"Well, Taylor. I am lying across a red velvet bedspread on a huge king-size bed. For the moment, I am enjoying the caress of the soft fabric on my thighs, bare belly and bustline that is straining against the tight little triangles of my skimpy black lingerie. There is netting that goes around the back, attaches between my breasts but flares out to each hip. That leaves the front of me bare except for the tiny silk triangle of the black thongs. Ah, the netting lightly tickles my back when I move and draws your eye to the strap of the thong that rises up from the cheeks of my voluptuous ass."

"Oh, Taylor, before we begin, I must make a confession," added Angie.

Suddenly, there was the sound of a deep inhalation and a male's roused voice asked, "Oh?"

Angie smiled with the same self-assurance that she experiences when she hears that mesmerized tone from the judge. She only needs a simple syllable to identify it. She grabbed the script to make sure she got the next words right, because she was suddenly finding herself becoming aroused. Her pussy was throbbing and beginning to distract her; she did not want to make a mistake.

"Well, I am not at home, Taylor. I decided to go away for the weekend, and I am at a small beach town here in Central California. Even though it is off-season, weather is gorgeous and the waves are larger than usual. Can you hear the waves pounding?

Oh, how they thrill my body. How is it that each pound of the wave upon the shore causes me to imagine an immense cock hitting my clit and teasing my cunt into a state of engorged arousal? So, as you can see, it was not my fault." Angie paused for a moment.

Two silent seconds passed before Taylor asked hoarsely, "What was not your fault?"

"He was not my fault. You, see, I was walking on the pier and noticed that a telescope had been recently installed, and viewing was free. I swiveled it around as I moved around from scanning the ocean to watching the beach and then to the hillside. I was surprised that the hotel I am staying at came into close view. I found my room and pointed it to the window, but I only saw the afternoon sunlight reflected back."

"I shrugged my shoulders and walked out to the end of the pier. Then, while strolling back, I noticed two men below the railing. They were waist deep in the ocean. One caught a wave quickly and body surfed onto the sandy shore. That left just one man. All I could see was his tan back and silvery white curls. Yet, his build told me he was in his early sixties. I watched as he finally caught a wave that carried him onto the shore." Angie paused again.

"But what confession?" responded Taylor immediately. The hoarseness, now gone from his voice, was replaced by the sound of urgency.

"I watched him join two other men. Then I became aware of the pounding rhythmic waves, and my whole insides began to undulate. I asked myself to choose which man I would seduce in order to release this constant pressure. My eyes kept going to the man who was the last to surf onto shore. He reminded me of you. It was not just his body but also his assuredness that attracted me. And then, I remembered my date with you tonight as my eyes wandered to the telescope. Oh, my insides began to throb from my own naughty thoughts about that man, and suddenly I realized that my panties were wet."

The script showed, LONG PAUSE. So, Angie stopped speaking. She was trying to follow the script and instructions closely. Taylor responded just as Jeannette had predicted. "Angie? Are you still there? Are we still connected?" Taylor asked.

"Oh sorry, Taylor. I just could not stand lying on my belly anymore. I put the phone down to turn over and prop my back up with some pillows. Yes, that is so much better. I cannot believe how inflamed my vulva is getting just telling you what happened. These thongs have become unbearably tight over my swollen sweet lips. How does simply telling you my story cause me to swell with such desire? Wait, I need to pull the strap of these thongs to one side. Oh, this is so much better, because now I can stroke my hot labia as I continue. Ah, ohhh, that feels sooo good, but, no, I must wait," Angie groaned.