Life as Story Pt. 02

As I was driving home I was trying to imagine them together, but I couldn't make them fit. Had Clair told Susan about our first night together and about the masturbation massage? Doubt it, Susan would have said something or had some revealing reaction and so far I hadn't seen one. And that disappointed me because it might mean that Clair kept secrets from Susan and that bothered me because it was so in conflict with the way I thought of her. And her mother. I had concluded early that both women were completely genuine, completely open, completely trust-worthy. But maybe not. Maybe they could be as conniving and cunning as the rest of us, I'd have to watch out for this and I didn't want to, with either of them.

It came out of nowhere ... what felt like a panic attack. I quickly pulled over and with my hands still white knuckling the wheel I sat gulping air, trying to settle my nerves. This has never happened to me before but then, I have never been in this space before, this moral place.

I didn't go home, I needed to be alone. I went to a hotel, lay down and looked at the ceiling.

Clair hit me the next day so hard she knocked me over. I was walking to a meeting with a few others; I caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye, a blur and turned just enough to be off-balance and take the full force of her on my chest and then I was on the floor, out of breath, looking up. There was terror on her face, a guy was holding her roughly. I sat up trying to get my breath, waving at him. Someone helped me to my feet — it had all happened in an instant and then there she was a couple of feet away straining against the guy to let her go.

It was embarrassing, the stick figure had knocked me for a loop; I fought for control and to find some way to save face.

"Sorry, God, I didn't mean to do that." She pulled at the guy holding her. "Let me go, jeez."

"Let her go, Bill."

The moment he did she was in my arms, hugging me. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you."

"I haven't done anything yet," I pushed her away. "It's all up to the business plan."

"They're all over that; they're working full out on it. It's just so fucking exciting."

I stood with the group who all looked to be in a state of near shock. I was sure that by now they all had heard that the boss had showed up at a party on the weekend ... with a babe; this had to add to the mystery.

I waited for more from her, like for the reason she was here. She stood stupidly — that was it, to thank me, urgent, spontaneous, physical, Clair-like.

"You'll want a ride back, right?" It's hard to get out here by bus. "I'll take you; you can wait in my office until I'm ready if you promise not to touch anything, read anything, do anything. I'll be about 20 minutes." I nodded to one of the secretaries who took her away and we all continued into the meeting room.

But of course she had touched things, read things, done things, it was written all over her face. "This is like a palace in here. Susan told me about it; I didn't believe her. You're not like this, at least I didn't think you are. How many women have you slept with on that couch?"

"None."

"With all the skirts around here?"

"They're called employees."

"I know they're employees, that's my point. You own them, every one of them, you're a powerful man, if you said get on my couch to any one of them, even the men, they would ... the way I feel about you, now especially, if you told me to get on the couch I would."

"You're a lesbian."

"I'd get on the couch, are you kidding? Like that girl who brought me in here. You don't think she'd get on this couch if you told her to? You're way, way too nice a guy. You could get all the pussy you could possibly handle."

"That's enough."

"Susan would get on that couch, now that you're about to own her." She thought for a moment, and seemed to reconsider. "Do you think that's true? I think she would ... I'm going to ask her, she'll deny it of course but I'll know, she's had sex with a guy before, her boyfriend, she said it didn't do anything for her but," she grinned, "you could."

"I thought you wanted me for your mother."

"I do, but it turns me on that all the women here would do anything for you. 'Sit down on the couch,' she said in a deep voice pretending to be me. She did, she sat down on the couch and looked at me. "You're an underwear guy, do you want to see my bra?"

It was after 5, every one was either gone or going, my door was closed, I called her bluff, I hated constantly being bullied by this itty bitty thing. "Sure."

It wasn't a bra but a singlet, red — it had made her white shirt appear rose. When I said, 'Nice,' she laughed and so did I, then she stood up and dropped her pants ... just like that she dropped her pants.

"I love power, I didn't know anything about it but I do." She sat back down on the couch, then lay down looking at me, slowly slipping her fingers under her white underwear. "Say there's a middle age woman out there; she's been working for you for ten years; you see her everyday; you talk to her, nothing personal; today you ask her to go to your office at 5, she does ..."

"Come on Clair."

"Just follow along with me ... she's awkward when she comes in, she sits down here when you tell her to; you look at her, you wait, you shouldn't have to ask and you shouldn't have to wait; you're all-powerful here, she knows that; she starts slowly, uncertainly wondering if she's doing the right thing, wondering if she's doing it the right way; she's never done anything like this before." She takes her fingers out of her pussy, sucks them with a grin, leaves a big ball of spit on them then returns them, stretching her legs wider apart. "You like watching me, don't you?"

"You're a 22 year old woman."

She grinned and got back to her story. "She's wearing a yellow bra, big, tight, you can see her nipples through the fabric, she's proud of her breasts, she's secretly thrilled you want to see them — she doesn't want to show you she's thrilled but she is and you can see it ... that's the way we are, we know we owe you a debt, we want to pay and we want to pay you with interest."

She looked so natural there rubbing beneath her underwear; it is hard to object to something that appears just so natural.

"She pushes her pants down. She wishes she has matching panties but she doesn't, in fact they are quite ugly, she takes them off immediately and drops them on the floor."

I was fighting to stay stoic through this, admiring her for her creativity. She knew she had my full attention,

She leaned onto her side, closing her legs. "You know you're like that rich guy who buys everyone presents at Christmas and insists he doesn't want anything — it just pisses everyone off, they know they can't afford to give what he can but they want to give him something; they feel they have to give him something. The least you can do is masturbate with me." With that she jumped to her feet came over to the desk and threw her panties at me, "Catch yourself in these ... I know how far you squirt."

The moment she got back on the couch, she started in again, on herself and the story. I felt her panties in my fingers, soft and warm and I wanted to put them to my face. Hidden behind the desk I undid my pants, slid them down with my underwear, looked at her and did exactly what she wanted.

A huge smile changed the tension in the room to a kind of joy. Her fingers sped up. "You weren't going to abuse her, she knew that, all you wanted was a little closeness, a little intimacy. She knew you did nothing but work; she knew you were lonely, she knew you have your needs ... just like her husband. She was happy to let you see her; she was happy to take her bra off for you; to open her legs for you ... she was relieved when she could feel you weakening in front of her." She sat up a little, looked with fascinations at her flying fingers. She was panting and squealing quietly, her boney knees pointing east and west, her toes curled impossibly.

I didn't want to take her panties from my nose, I didn't want to break the intimacy, the bond connecting us, the permission, but I did just in time to catch myself. Immediately I fought off the shame that was assaulting me but I didn't have much time: she was on my lap, her arm was around my neck, squeezing herself to me, her little breast was just inches from my face.

I relaxed and enjoyed the honesty.

"I love you; you excite me, if I wasn't who I am I'd totally put out for you, just like that woman did, just like all the women around here would. We love powerful good looking men who are good to us but I love you a lot more than she ever could." When she kissed me on the forehead and squeezed me about as hard as she could ... I was feeling something indescribably wonderful.

I watched her as she dressed, marvelling at her innocence. And I felt her beside me as I drove her home.

"Tell me about my power. What did you tell your mother? Why did she come?"

"I told her you're pretty, you're nice, you're rich, you're powerful and that you're a drone. You just work, beyond work you have no interests, no imagination, no experience, no life. I told her you'd be perfect for her because she doesn't either ... so get your ass over here and land the motherfucker ... make him my mother's fucker." She laughed. "That's actually what I said."

"My power. How can I use it?"

"You're in the condo, mum's there. It's Monday morning. Mum is going downstairs to work. You have no job, you're wondering what to do. It can be anything because you're in a new story, you're out of the old one which had become a prison to you. You have no power in this new story because you're into a rebirth, you have all kinds of exciting possibilities ... opportunities ... to succeed or to fail; you have no power; it isn't like before, now you have all kinds of vulnerabilities. This is where you want to be. Don't let your old story use up any more of your time. Write the new one with mum, there can be excitement and adventure on every page, you won't be shackled by who you are, you'll be free to be who you want to become. My dad for one. It's a second act. How many of us get one of those? You can have one and you can give one to mum and you'll always have me."

We drove in silence for about ten minutes, me not so much thinking but working not to think, allowing what she just said to wash over me, to seep into my consciousness. It seemed perfectly reasonable.

"Do you want to hear something really weird. Every time I have sex with Susan, every time, I think of you in bed with mum with your hands on her, on her tits, on her back, on her ass. She can't tell you how much she loves you, she doesn't have those words but I can. I think of you all the time and I know she does. It feels like you're living inside my life and that just fills me with awe. She's like that, too, she's filled with awe, you're living in her life — she has a story she wants to write and she wants you there on every page. When are you going to tell her?"

"I'll wash the underwear and put it in your drawer." It was in my pocket. I dropped her off at Susan's.

There was a strange car in the driveway. Only when I was out of mine and walking to the door did I remember Patricia. I looked back to see her getting out then quickly looked at my watch. She was early. I hugged her, surprised at how tall she is, then led her in, took her jacket then we climbed the stairs together.

"I've never had a massage, I've meant to, I've never had a reason, no injuries, nothing like that."

"I hope you enjoy it." I wasn't in the mood but I took the scrubs from the table and exited leaving her to change into whatever she wanted to.

She was lying face down on the table in her underwear; she has a wonderfully pert body for someone her age; everything about her is elegant, the long tanned legs, the tight perky ass, the thin torso and strong shoulders; the woman is impressive. I turned on some oriental mood music and drizzled oil up both legs, right to the top then took my time working the oil in, on her feet, calves, thighs, all the time trying to remember what I saw on the videos. I took no liberties, hinted at none and when I got up high I went no higher, instead, I went around the table and started in on her shoulders.

"I've thought of that night, a lot ... it changed everything ... for me and I think for Donald."

Sally had told me I should try to get her talking; I had been wondering how, looks like I wasn't going to have to. I worked the oil into her back hoping it would encourage her to continue.

"I told Sally I followed him to a highway rest stop once. He met a man there, it didn't look like he knew the guy; he was just waiting in his car until a man tapped on his window."

She got silent, I wondered if she was waiting for my comment. I stayed silent.

"My mother gave my sister and me stuffed pink rabbits when we were young, about the size of real rabbits. I didn't care about stuffed toys until one night my sister came into my room, got my rabbit, put it between her legs and had sex on it on the floor — it didn't take her very long. When she finished she handed the rabbit to me, grinned and said, 'thanks mum.' She wore her rabbit out, she showed it to me. I still have mine. I put it between my legs the night after Sally came over. It took me awhile."

I undid her bra, let the straps fall apart and I rubbed on the small red welts that remained then I went down to the small of her back, worked that for a bit before I let my fingertips push under her panties just below the elastic.

I felt I had to contribute. "Sally and I went to a swing party the other night — there may have been 20 people there, more maybe. Do you want to hear about it?"

Immediately she turned over, dropping her bra to the floor. Her eyes seemed to sparkle with excitement. "God, yes."

I told her that when we went in most everyone was undressed so we quickly got that way, putting our clothes in a pile and pushing them behind a couch. That's when it got weird. Sally immediately headed off to a corner of the large room and within seconds, as if a signal had been sent, she was down on the floor and I couldn't see her any more, maybe a leg or an arm. I was going to go there too and got part way when some women stopped me and put my slight erection in her mouth. The whole deal was a turn off to me. I turned back to get my clothes when I saw a black girl, the only black in the place, sitting off to the side looking decidedly forlorn. I went over and sat down with my back to the writhing throng. "Not interested?" I said to her.

"My now ex-boyfriend is in there, I say 'ex' because any guy who cares so little about me to bring me here is going to be an 'ex.' He's got the car," she looked up and said quickly, "suck my breast, now." I bent down and did just that and noticed two hairy legs next to me. I thought he might be bending down so I quickly put my hand between her legs and pressed into her crotch as if to lay claim to it. The two feet moved away.

"I've got to get out of here," she struggled to stand up, pushing off my shoulder.

"Can I join you?"

I got my clothes from behind the couch, not looking over to the corner, not knowing how I'd deal with it. I was in the hall when she joined me and we went outside and found a bench in a small park across the street.

We talked for almost two hours when Sally finally showed up. I introduced them — it wasn't hard to see that Dorathea wasn't in the mood to be impressed with Sally but I certainly had been with her: she is sensible, wise, frank, aware and delightfully outspoken. I liked her a lot, plus, while she wasn't all that good looking, she has the nicest set of breasts I had ever seen, not that that matters.

The moment her boyfriend came out she quickly went over to him; she was anxious to get home ... and get rid of him. When she left I said to Sally, "That is one impressive woman." The moment I said this Sally rushed after her, caught up, talked to her for a bit, punched something in her phone and was quickly back.

"What did you just do?" I said, confused.

"I asked her to dinner on Friday. If we're looking to get social we have to start looking for interesting people."

I had worked the oil all over her front concentrating on her breasts. "I want you to come, too, Donald, too, if you want."

"No, I want you two to for myself; I think I'm going to need you."

I leaned over her and pressed my fingers down past her stomach to the edge of her panties then quickly backed off and concentrated on her arms. Her eyes were closed, her chest barely moving. When I stopped I noted I had been massaging for almost exactly an hour. When I put the top back on the oil her eyes opened. "I don't think I can move, really, it feels like I can't move."

I put a towel over her chest. "So don't. Lay there and relax, I'm going to take a shower, then you can have one if you want, or a bath."

When I came in about 20 minutes later she was standing by the table fully dressed. "That was wonderful, thanks. It totally did me in, I want nothing so much as to get home, get in bed and nod off — I don't think I've ever felt this way before, relaxed but weak, entirely done in. Is that the way I'm supposed to feel?"

I didn't actually know. "People react in different ways." I walked her downstairs then to her car. She kissed me on the cheek, thanked me again and was gone, telling me she would call Sally.

I sat in the living room for half an hour thinking about it, wondering if I should have made it more sexual. I didn't, mainly because she didn't give me the vibe but it was fun teasing myself and the orgasm I had in the shower was wonderful, as, frankly, was the experience. I love women's bodies, I even thought back to Wendy's with some positive nostalgia that I had no idea I had stored away.

When Sally came in I was still on the couch. She threw her purse and notebook down and sat beside me, resting her forehead on my shoulder. I had called her last night from the hotel, told her I needed a little space, she said she understood. "Why didn't you tell me? That's really not fair — Clair had to tell me."

I thought I knew what she was talking about and wondered how much Clair had said. "I just agreed to look at their business plan, that's all."

"No, you told them to write one for you."

"Doesn't mean I'm going to fund them."

She took my hand and pressed it as if with a signal. "Gail called me this morning, I had coffee with her this afternoon ..."

"Gail?"

"Susan's student. She wants to meet with you. I thought you could call her, take her out to lunch or dinner, something like that."

I didn't really have my heart in this ... for a number of reasons, not least that I thought the story idea — that we create one together then try to live it, was somewhat ridiculous. I likened it to a business plan which is built on facts only and wondered how a plan could possibly work if the facts were fiction or just guesses or hopes. "Did you show her your notebook?" I got us comfortable then slipped my hand under her t-shirt, cupping her breast over her bra.

She pulled her t-shirt up a bit to make it easier for me. "I told her about it; I told her I would show it to her down the line, if she's interested in taking us on."

Odd, I thought this was about her ... us doing a student a favour.

"Have you ever had sex on this couch?" I've noticed she, like her daughter, has mastered the non sequitur. If she was referencing my earlier time with Clair I was surprised but I found I didn't care.

I told her about my wife and how, before the accident, she occasionally would feel guilt about her failed role as a wife and would try to make up for lost time. Those make-up sessions as she called them were frantic and physical ... and annoying. I knew it was all about duty.