Orchid Ch. 02

I've never seen anything like her. The way she uses her body, and uses her desire like a weapon, is intoxicating. Even my own wanton behavior toward...

...and then I realize that, for a little while, I didn't think even once about Calvin.

***

"Wow," Susan says, sitting back on her heels with a grin. I fall back against the wall of the shower stall, panting, as she runs her fingertip through the streak of cum laid delicately over her collarbone. "Mmmm."

"Glad you..." I shake my head, blushing as my train of thought derails pretty spectacularly.

"I do," she laughs. "It's thinner, right?"

I nod, still panting. "Yeah, it's... uh... my cum isn't as thick as it used to be."

She gathers another jet on her fingertip, this one sitting more properly on the inside of her right breast, and sucks it clean while nodding. Impatient with her delivery method, she scoops up her left breast and cranes her neck to run her tongue slowly along the top of her nipple. Powerful shivers up and down my spine as she swallows.

"That," she says, as she rolls backwards into a squat, "was exactly what I needed. Good God."

"I'm glad," I say, proud that I could manage something close to a normal voice.

"Are you going to be here tomorrow night? I've got a long day scheduled, and a good unwind might be just what I need. Again."

My stomach twists, and I bite down hard on my lip. "Ummm... listen—"

"Uh oh." She arches an eyebrow at me as she turns on the water. "What does that mean?"

I wring my hands together and look down. "I'm not really, like..."

"Into women?" she interjects.

"What? No. No!" I shake my head and try to recover. "No, I'm just not..." I take a deep breath, and it takes all of my willpower to assert myself. "I'm not usually big on one night stands."

"That was the second time this week," she says with a cocky smile. "Tomorrow would make three."

"Yeah," I say, crumbling just a little and looking down. "I know. And, you know, it's one thing when this... whatever this is... is happening spur of the moment, but..."

"But making plans to be spur of the moment feels wrong?"

I nod. "I still don't even know your last name."

Susan nods slowly.

"I want to be taken out on a date."

Amused incredulity creeps into her expression, and Susan folds her arms across her chest. "Negotiating. I'm impressed."

"I like you," I say, proud of how calm it comes out. "You seem really nice, and I'm, yanno, clearly attracted to you."

"Clearly," she repeats, gathering a drop of cum from her shoulder and sucking it off with a grin. It's really, really hard not to shiver.

"I want to get to know you too."

"Is that a hard offer? A date, or no more sex?"

I nod, and it's just about the hardest thing I've ever done.

Susan cocks her head slightly to the side. Her gaze travels over my nakedness, and it takes every ounce of will to not retreat into a different, more protective, posture. Her expression betrays nothing as she grabs her towel and leaves, and after her footsteps have traveled out of earshot, I sigh. Hard. I liked her. I finish showering, wrap the long towel around myself just beneath my arms, and head out.

The yellow post-it note draws my eye long before I get to my locker, and it's a relief when the blue ink scrawled across it resolves into a phone number.

***

I feel a little underdressed when I walk in. My blue dress is a splash of color in the restaurant Susan picked, where nearly everyone else is in black of some kind. Including Susan herself, although her black dress is of a similar cut and length as mine. The more I look around, the more I think that maybe it's not that I'm underdressed and more that I stand out. Which is always terrifying.

She gets up and meets me in the middle of the floor, taking both of my hands with a tight squeeze before leading me back to the table. I blush as we sit down in the relatively private booth, and before I've had a chance to fidget a little and get comfortable our waiter comes around to take our drink orders.

Susan seems content with the quiet, regarding me over the lip of her glass of red. Or at least, she's more comfortable than I am. I take a sip of my white, the house Riesling, and—

"I like watching you build yourself up," she says abruptly. Heat on my cheeks. "It's like I can see the moment when thoughts occur to you and you want to say something. You sit up, or stand up, really straight, and your expression becomes more neutral, and you take a deep breath..."

"You're very observant," I say, while immediately dismissing the idea that I need to be less transparent.

"Comes with the job." She narrows her eyes ever so slightly, appraising, and continues without having to be prodded. "I'm a judge."

"Oh," I say, feeling the sudden need to adjust my posture. "What kind of judge?"

"Federal," she says. "District Court."

"Are there Secret Service agents here?" I ask, leaning in closer to her and looking around. "Should I be worried?"

She laughs, a beautifully husky sound, and shakes her head. "Not unless I'm laundering counterfeit money and didn't know it."

"I feel... I don't know. Awed? Kind of like I shouldn't even... that maybe I don't belong at the same table?"

Susan just smiles. "Some of my colleagues really enjoy the trappings. They like that their opinion means as much as it does and build their lives around feeding and justifying their own egos. Between you and me, the bench attracts a lot of self-important jackasses, but that's not me."

"No," I say, regarding her. "That isn't you, is it?"

She shakes her head. "I like the nuance of it. The overlaps and the gaps between laws. The gray areas. I like feeling like I help my community. Sort of like... buying from a small business."

"I am..." I lay my hand flat against my chest and nod. "I'm really impressed."

"I usually don't tell the people I meet casually. Federal judges aren't elected, so it's not like I put my face out there in TV spots to appeal to voters. I'm not well known. It's not... it's not common knowledge."

I nod for a moment, quietly letting that sink in. "Well... thank you for telling me."

The waiter returns, smiling politely as he takes our orders. Once I place mine, Susan casually and quietly makes me aware of the fact that she will insist on paying, and suggests that I might prefer a slightly more expensive cut of steak. After a moment of consideration, I happily take her advice.

"So why did you decide to tell me?" I ask, as soon as the waiter is gone.

She plants her elbow on the table and rests her chin on her thumb. Two fingers pressed to her temple. Her black dress is sleeveless, and I find myself enjoying her arms. They're not overly toned, but there's a shape to them that I find more than pleasing.

They have an aesthetic. I like that.

"Well," Susan said, breaking a moment of silent contemplation, "you strike me as the kind of woman who can keep a confidence. My position is hardly a secret, but it's also not anyone else's business."

I nod, joyfully filing away that I strike her as a woman.

"Also, I've been feeling a little... like we're imbalanced. I've known something about you that was very much private, and I felt like you deserved to know some things about me."

"I like how you danced around the word 'guilty'." I say, smiling broadly. I also like the way she laughs.

"This may surprise you, but that's not a word I use lightly."

"Understandable."

"But like I said... that wasn't a secret. It's something important, but it doesn't address the imbalance. Not completely, anyway. I told you that, largely, to tell you this; I am nearly deaf."

She smiles, shifting her weight slightly and resting more fully on the arm planted on the table. Her eyes on me, darting across my features. Taking in my reaction.

"Right now, you're trying to remember if you've ever had a conversation with me when I wasn't watching your face."

"I think just the one time on the treadmills," I mumble in shock, "and you were very terse." How did she know that's what I was thinking?

Susan nods, sliding a little more toward me. "I had a bad rash of fevers when I was little. Ear infections and sinus infections. Something in my genes made me prone to them. I still get a few every winter, and after one year my hearing was just never the same. Had another really late one in my twenties that made it much worse, but then for a while it was stable. I could function. I picked up reading lips to supplement what I couldn't understand otherwise, and that was fine. In the last ten years or so, though, it's umm... it's gotten a little worse.

"I run a tight court," she says, sitting up a little, "and while do I prefer the proceedings to be systematic, that's also a necessity for me because of my hearing. No one knows about that, professionally. I hide it, and I'm not afraid to hold anyone in contempt if they all start talking at once. Everyone just thinks I'm some bitch with a preference for order, but...

"I struggle. Especially with a noisy environment. You know, I picked this restaurant on purpose. The mood here is always very... restrained, and that makes it easier for me."

"I'm so sorry," I say, laying my hand over hers.

"Don't be." She smiles, but she also doesn't pull her hand out from under mine. "In some ways, it's the best thing that ever happened to me. I'm very self-conscious about it, but at the same time, it's really shaped me as an adult. Losing my hearing helped me realize how easily anything can be, just.... taken away. It's helped me be appreciative of the things I have.

"Not only that," she continues, "but it's affected the way I approach things. I don't take achievements for granted because I have to work for them. I have to work hard. Everything is a challenge, and I treat them like that. Challenges. Something to be conquered."

"What about me?" I ask.

"So far, you've been doing the conquering." The coy curve of her lips gives way to a full blown smile a moment later. Bare toes brush against my calf, and I shiver. "And I have to say that I'm... intrigued."

"I can't believe I'm going to say this, but... down girl."

Susan blinks, clearly taken aback.

"We're still getting to know each other, and that's important to me."

"Ok."

"I'm not trying to shut you down, and I'm certainly not against... you know... trying to... get away with things in public, but-"

"No no," Susan says, nodding respectfully. "Understood."

"Good."

"I like that you stand up for yourself. That carries a lot of weight with me."

"Thank you," I say, trying hard not to completely deflate from relief.

"Sometimes I need someone to put me in check. It's not easy to admit, but that's... that's maybe been lacking in my life." She opens her mouth to say more, but our waiter returns with our entrees. As soon as he's gone, she continues, "Most of the people around me, both personally and professionally, just sort of follow my lead. Very few will stand up to me, even if it's just a question of 'what should we get for lunch'."

"That could go really wrong too, don't you think?" For a moment, it feels like my stomach has just fallen through a trap door. "I mean, what if you find you don't like someone challenging you like that?"

"Isn't that the essence of being in a relationship? Finding a way through the competing pull of what we need versus what we want? I want to win the lottery, ergo, I should spend all of my money on lottery tickets? Of course not, and only a completely self-absorbed buffoon wouldn't be able to admit that."

"Okay," I say, nodding.

"Of course I won't like it but that doesn't mean I don't need it, and I can always admit that at the end of the day." She gives me a weighing look, and then smiles more genuinely than I've ever seen. The kind of smile that shines in the eyes. "You have a way about you."

"Thank you." The color really starts to rise in my cheeks.

"Let me say it again more clearly. You seem like a very honest girl. You're up front, and you're brave, and I need that in my life. I don't say that to put pressure on you to fix me, but... I'm trying to be honest too. I would like to have you... around."

I nod.

"May I make a request?"

"Of course," I say.

"This restaurant has a fantastic cheesecake. Deliciously creamy and rich, but also a little heavy. I don't know how you feel about cheesecake—"

"Love it," I say, and she nods.

"—but I would very much like to get that 'to go'. I would like to wait and share it with you later, after we've gone back to my home and fucked."

I blink and nod slowly.

"I don't say that to shortcut our date. I am having a lovely time, and this has been a lovely conversation, but I would very much like to fuck you tonight."

Hard. Very hard. I bite my lip and fidget, as much from being uncomfortable with praise as to shift my panties to not be so painfully restrictive. Not only is her directness about her intentions thoroughly flattering, but her understanding of me, and her want for me, is magnetic.

"I'm having a lovely time too," I say, and she laughs when I leave it there. "One step at a time."

"Okay," she says with a big smile. "Okay."

"Thank you," I murmur, and she nods. A few quick breaths to settle the nerves, and meanwhile she looks completely prepared to engage me on whatever battlefield I choose. I lick my lips and take a moment to make my move.

"You're doing it again," she says. "Building up to saying something."

"I am."

She nods, smiling lightly, and tilts her head.

"Why me?"

Susan leans back a bit and narrows her eyes. Not maliciously, just... thoughtfully.

"I mean there are... tons of good looking people there. At the gym, I mean."

"That's true," she says, leaning forward a bit. Elbow planted on the table, with her shoulders curled inward. She has to know she's shaping her cleavage right where—

Of course she knows.

"And, just so you know," she continues, "I have. Lots of good-looking young guys."

"Lots, huh?"

"Lots." There's something in the intensity of her gaze. It's not... it's not arrogance. It's not boastful. It's more like... yes I have, and now I'm here.

"Lots of good-looking girls too?"

Susan shakes her head.

"No?"

"No."

God, that gaze. I know, logically, that some of it is her reading lips, and reading my expression, to help with her hearing, but it's still hard to take the way she looks at me. Because she looks at me like she wants me. I want her to want me.

"Honestly, that's very new for me."

"Being attracted to women?"

She nods. "There was a time when another woman being attractive, looking or dressing attractively, anywhere near me was..." She takes a deep breath through her nostrils and puts a sharp bend in her eyebrow. "What is it about you?"

"Me?"

"I don't know if it's because you're so honest and that... that... draws the same out of me? Like I'm empathetically mirroring you? Or if it's that you make others feel comfortable. I don't know what it is."

"That's just the drugs kicking in," I say with a nod. "It's best not to fight it."

"Clever girl," she laughs. I like the way she laughs. I like the sound of it. "There was a time when another woman being attractive was not something I handled well. That's what I was going to say."

I nod, listening.

"I got that from my mother. I remember getting into a really vicious argument with another girl at Columbia. I dismantled her in class about... God, I can't even remember. I think it was discussion about subpoenas and client-attorney privilege, and she was in tears when she left. I hated her. I'd been looking for an excuse to rip her apart all semester."

"Because she was pretty?"

"I think so," she said, that pin-point focus in her eyes relaxing for a few moments. "At the time I was sure she was getting more attention than I was because she wore shorter skirts. That she was somehow getting in the way of my education, or that there was only room in the class for one of us." She nods slowly, finding me across the table from her again. "I'm not proud of that.

"Now, as I'm getting older, I've found that I'm more attracted to women. Is that... Is that my tastes changing? Is it that I've always been attracted to women and just am finally getting over not allowing myself to admit that? Is that why I immediately noticed Elizabeth's skirts? Because I liked her legs?"

"Did she have nice legs?"

"She would wear these heels," Susan said, leaning forward just a little more, "and she... There would be me, and a room full of men, and these legs. You could see her coming down the hall, through a forest of pants, from a mile away."

"You have nice legs too," she added a moment later. "That was 'why you', to circle back around. Everything came from that."

I blush and nod tightly, more as a fidgeting reaction than as any kind of agreement.

***

"This is beautiful," I say, unable to mask the awe as she leads me into the foyer. Susan smiles as she takes our doggie bags into the kitchen, and returns a moment later to where I'm still flabbergasted. The paintings on the wall are stunning. I don't recognize them or the signature, but there is a style to the brushwork that I'm just in love with. The way it's heavy with the paint in some areas and light in others. I love the crafting of it. The artistry in the artwork. "You have a lovely home."

"Thank you," she says, taking my hand gently and leading me toward the stairs. It's a wide staircase with a gentle curve. My hand slips from hers as I lag a little, still taking in the little touches in the architecture, and that presents me with a delightful bonus when she gets just a little bit ahead of me on the stairs.

Hips. Beautifully-outlined hips in a dress tight enough to accentuate her features without descending into trashy explicitness. It's hard not to be transfixed on the idea of a woman with this kind of means wanting me in her life, but if there's one thing that could draw me away from that alluring thought it's the sight of her stalking in front of me. The way she chooses her steps as she walks, each foot crossing slightly over the path of the other. Like a great black cat. She turns down the hallway and, without looking back at me, reaches behind herself to pull down on the zipper of her dress.

The sound of a zipper traveling slowly is shiver-inducing. It's a deliberate sound, made by one who is in no hurry. The click-clack-click-clack is lower pitched, and speaks volumes about the nature of the journey and its position above the destination in a hierarchy of importance. A slow pull on a zipper is a decadent kind of sensuality. Luxurious.

I am helpless against my desire to follow her, and I don't think I would resist even if I could.

She looks back, if not quite turning her head far enough to look at me, as her dress slips from her shoulders. Little by little, with each step, the sheer black fabric slips. Past her elbows. Down her sides. She draws her arms free and gives it just the slightest push to get it around her hips. Three inch black heels. Black stockings. A black lace garter belt. A smile. Nothing more.

Love the smile. Don't get me wrong, I love it all, but there's something about a smile glimpsed from so far to the side that all you can make out is that outermost upturn of the lips, and the way the skin around the eyes pulls tight.

Dear God, do I love it all. I follow her quietly, walking small. Not because she's imposing, or for any lack of self-respect, but from not wanting to break the spell she's casting.

Eventually though, as I cross the threshold into the bedroom, I start reaching back as well.