Portmanteau: More Than a Feeling

A few women in chairs were getting cut and colored as Mayla asked the front desk girl if she could get her hair done. One of the stylists had a cancellation and was more than happy to fill her chair.

Kayleigh Coleman was an adorable bundle of energy. She had short hair, a round face, and gorgeous plump lips. She wore psychedelic leggings and a loose top, which offered a glimpse of her black demi bra whenever she leaned over.

More than once, Mayla caught herself peeking. Was Kayleigh doing this on purpose?

Mayla asked for her hair cut shorter than its current shoulder length. Not a bob, not as short as Kayleigh's, leave enough to scrunch up and go.

Kayleigh carried on about her new girlfriend, who happened to be her classmate in high school, although they didn't spend time together back then.

Mayla was delighted by the sexual freedom of this young Irish Catholic firecracker who, despite having been brought up never missing church on Sunday, found her sexual identity and had no issue sharing it.

Kayleigh dreamed of someday owning a salon and was saving every penny toward her goal. Mayla left her a large tip and emerged feeling refreshed, rejuvenated, and sexier than before she entered.

Randomly walking through the city, she was enjoying her time away from the laptop and the pressure of polishing a steaming pile of crap when she spotted the Elizabeth Gardner Museum and decided to take in an afternoon of intellectual stimulation.

Being a weekday, the museum was mostly empty as Mayla wandered the galleries. Despite this, security was heavy as the Gardner Museum had been the victim of the most significant art theft in US history in the 1980s.

She was taken by a large oil painting by Titian. A pale-skinned nude woman reclining on an off-white-colored bed. This was Princess Danae, locked in a tower by her father, only to be seduced by Zeus, seen approaching her as a cloud of gold.

Mayla sat and gazed, then noticed another woman sitting on the bench. She was a stunning redhead wearing a black leather coat. Her skin was alabaster white, and she held a sketch pad. She was painstakingly sketching the painting and the entire gallery of artwork.

Mayla was spellbound by this radiant young woman and strained to see her sketching.

"Beautiful," Mayla said, breaking the ice.

"I find it sexual and wanting. It's an incredible representation of the woman's humanity and the fleshiness of the body," the stunning redhead responded.

Mayla was now transfixed on the mysterious woman who kept sketching.

Looking down at her phone, she saw a text from Colin asking her to call. She exited the building.

"So, how's my smut book coming along?"

"I'm looking for a new way to approach. I'm out gathering characters."

"You're procrastinating."

"What? No. I like to people-watch."

"I'm messing with you. I was calling because I was giving your novel another read. Forgive me if I get personal, this Christa, in the book. She's you, isn't she?"

"For the most part, yes."

"She comes to Los Angeles to be an actress," Colin continued.

"I came to be a model."

"She meets a powerful movie director."

"I met a photographer—a European debonair type named Gunnar. For the book, I upgraded him to a movie director."

"He treats her like property. Trades her for favors and his success," Colin continued.

Mayla didn't respond.

"I'm sorry. I'm prying. Your descriptions are so vivid that they feel drawn from experience. Do you really want to publish this story? It's so personal."

Mayla smiled.

"It's been read by everyone I know, and here you are, pretty much a stranger, and you've decoded it already."

"It's powerful. The girl in the story reminds me of Marylin Monroe. Every man loves her. Every man thinks they are the one who could save her. None of them can. Don't you think there has to be someone who can save her? A Prince Charming?"

"So far, no Prince Charmings. So no, she doesn't get saved."

Colin felt the need to retreat.

"If you don't mind the extra work, I would love to keep discussing the novel so we can get it ready to show upstairs when you finish Fuckfest-o-rama."

"Oh, such a good title for the Monique porn book," Mayla said facetiously. "I've got some good thoughts on Fuckfest-o-rama, so how about we Zoom tomorrow, and I can run them by you."

"Deal. I'm putting in on my calendar, Fuckfest, say 9:00 AM?"

Mayla finished her morning run with enough time to shower before her Zoom with Colin. Out of the shower and wrapped in a tiny towel, she tore her closet apart, looking for the perfect outfit.

She laid out three tops with varying degrees of sexiness, finally choosing a sleek silk blouse in platinum grey and opting for no bra. She did a quick run into the bathroom for a bit of makeup. Once a model, always a model, she thought as she applied eyeliner then ruffled her new hairdo to make it look a little unkempt in an attractive way.

It was almost nine. She knew how punctual Colin was.

Looking at a pair of pants, she realized the slacks did not matter since this was a Zoom, and no one could see below her untucked blouse.

The computer chimed, and Colin came on the screen. Mayla maneuvered to a bench in her bedroom, allowing natural light to spill upon her.

"Wow, you changed your hair. It looks great," Colin began.

Mayla blushed at the compliment, which caused parts unseen to swell.

"Thank you. I found the best hair stylist by chance. I'm going to make her into a character for one of my stories."

"Mayla, before we continue, can I ask you to move your laptop."

Mayla was confused.

"There's a mirror behind you, and it wouldn't be right not to let you know."

Mayla clicked on her laptop to see what Colin was seeing. There she was, looking cute as anything on camera. Nice! Then she noticed the standing mirror behind her reflected a perfect view of her bare ass. It was anyone's worst Zoom nightmare come true.

With a click, she muted the screen, moved the mirror, grabbed a pair of sweatpants, and then returned to the screen red-faced.

"Ok, so embarrassing."

"I think this is the part where I make a joke, and we end up talking to Janice in HR," Colin replied with a laugh. "I would show you my ass, only it might not suffice. So, I'll tell you something embarrassing about me; then we're even."

"You don't have to," Maya insisted, wishing they would move on.

"I was with my ex-girlfriend and butt-dialed my mother."

"Oh, I do that all the time," Mayla replied.

"No, I sat my naked ass on my phone during a moment that could easily be a scene from a porn movie and literally butt-dialed a Facetime call with my mom," Colin said with pride, "and she picked up."

"Wow. You win. In fact, I'm glad you got a glimpse of my butt in exchange for that pearl," Mayla said with a snorting laugh.

The conversation never turned to Mayla's novel or the ghostwriting project. Instead, they spent almost three hours trading stories, telling about their likes and dislikes, and even twenty minutes building a list of defunct breakfast cereals they wished were still on the shelves. They agreed to try and Zoom again in two days with the promise that they would get some real work done during their next meeting.

Mayla sat down again to work on the smut book, yet every time she got a start, she backspaced it out—time for another Boston walkabout.

Hours later, she sat sipping her third coffee of the day on the steps of St. Cecelia's Cathedral when she saw a young nun standing on the steps of the Catholic high school across the street.

She wasn't dressed as a nun. She wore jeans and a Red Sox sweatshirt. She held a rosary as she carefully folded a nun's veil and placed it into her luggage.

A car with a Maine license plate arrived, and the young woman, who could not have been more than 25, was about to get in when a student came out of the school and gave her a present and a hug. She gave the student her rosary, climbed in the car, and was gone. Who was she? Why did she go? Where did she go? Was this a happily ever after moment, or something sad? The writer in her imagined numerous scenarios.

She drank the last sip of her coffee when the epiphany hit. The erotic story was all around her, everywhere she looked. It was in the real people she saw every day. It was the intimate moments, the ones you don't share. It was like connecting the dots to see the hidden image. She needed to get home and start writing.

Hours later, she was typing madly, the stories flowing from her mind. Drinking one espresso after another, she was pumped full of adrenaline and ready to write when she smacked into a creative wall.

This part of the story called for a first-time encounter between three people, a man and two women. Each awkward, each unsure of their orientation.

Mayla had been with a woman before; there was no mystery there. She had been with two men before; that was no mystery. However, she had never been with a man and another woman.

Choosing to rest her eyes, she stopped writing and hit a Google search for MFF three-way. She scrolled the video stills, looking for three people who fit the descriptions she had in mind. The results were endless, giving her every variation imaginable. Finally, she landed on First Time MFF Threesome!

It was practically made to order. The video was amateur at best, and that's what Mayla wanted, real people, not botoxed porn queens with bad boob jobs.

The video wasted no time with two attractive twenty-somethings going at it on a leather couch. A dark brunette was approaching the perfectly shaved vagina of her reclined partner while the male in the room worked the camera.

The brunette hovered over the sandy brown-haired girl's pussy admiring its perfect look. Diving in with an aggressive tongue, the brunette kept her eyes on her partner, coming up only to say, "You taste delicious."

The brunette moaned as her natural young breasts moved back and forth with her body as she rocked from the pleasure. Pancaking her tongue, she gave long licks. The brunette then took her fingers and spread her partner's labia wide for better access. Seconds later, via horrible editing, the brunette was on the couch, and the sandy blonde was going down on her sliding a middle finger in and out of her slit while chasing her fleeting clitoris with her tongue.

There was something genuine about this video. Not once did the women say, oh yeah or fuck yeah, they simply moaned and complemented their partner.

The sandy blonde paid particular attention to the brunette's opening, giving tiny bites to her partner's labia, then following with a gentle lick. Adding several fingers to the penetration, every sound was picked up by the amateurish cameraman: sounds of moistness and panting.

Another lousy edit and the cameraman was in on the action as he fucked the sandy blond from behind while she was kneeling, her face deep in the folds of the brunette's pussy. "I'm going to cum really fast," he said.

How could he not, thought Mayla. These women were real, enjoying the moment, and any man with even half an erection would be lucky to last a minute in there. Still, she thought, kudos to this guy for trying to hold on.

The man's penis was thick, and Mayla assumed it to be significant, but the length was hard to see as only the shaft was seen sliding in and out of the sandy blonde's vagina.

Acting without thought, Mayla's right hand crept down her stomach under her sweatpants and began massaging herself over her mesh panties. Her hand worked slowly and rhythmically, and only when she slipped her finger into her watering slit did Mayla realize what she was doing. With a smile, she continued viewing the video while tantalizing her clit with her long fingers.

Another lousy edit, and now the brunette was on her back, the sandy blonde was above licking her breasts, and the guy was balls deep into the brunette's pussy.

Mayla brought her fingers out of her pants, up to her mouth, and gave them a lick to transport more moisture to her vulva.

The bad camera work finally showed the man. Muscular physique with a slightly shaven face, he was handsome and reminded Mayla of Colin.

She closed her eyes and allowed her imagination to bring her into the video. She was the one getting fucked; the sandy blond was licking her breasts. She looked up at the man who was deep inside her, and it was Colin. He smiled passionately as he gently pushed his cock deep inside her and held it there. She could feel the walls of her pussy contract and grip his cock creating a suction pleasurable to them both.

Mayla's eyes were closed, but she could hear the moaning of the porn video. Now, inside her fantasy, the other girl was gone, and it was only her and Colin as she opened her legs wider. His kissing grew more passionate as their tongues explored each other's mouths. Mayla could feel the end approaching. A distant tingling in her toes emanated up her legs, racing toward the center of her core, and then it hit. In her fantasy, Colin remained inside her, filling her with his heat. The man could be heard blowing his load on the video, which auditorily added to Mayla's fantasy.

She kept her eyes shut, hoping to extend the moment with fantasy Colin, but post-orgasm awareness pushed the fantasy into the darkness. She opened her eyes, her body sweating from the self-induced friction, only to see the two women in the video snowballing the man's semen from mouth to mouth. Maybe, she thought, they were pros after all.

Still breathing hard, she looked down at her sweatpants soaked from her effluence. She could not recall an orgasm as vital or a masturbation fantasy as accurate. Relaxed and euphoric, she closed her eyes to catch some sleep before returning to writing.

Her laptop chimed several times before it woke her up. On-screen, she could see it was an incoming Zoom call from Colin. It was one in the afternoon.; she had overslept by several hours.

Answering the Zoom, she shuzzed her hair and sat up in the bed, the MacBook sitting on her lap. She adjusted her V-neck T-shirt top, not bothering to cover the fact she was braless.

"Hey, we had an 11 o'clock scheduled," Colin began.

"Sorry, sorry," Mayla responded. "I pulled an all-nighter and was dead to the world."

"That's my girl. I love your work ethic."

'My girl,' Mayla thought momentarily, lost in the memory of the fantasy of him penetrating her. She felt her heart race, but that was something he couldn't see. He could see her face as it blushed and her left nipple as it stiffened under her thin t-shirt top.

"I'm coming to Boston next week. I'll be there for a few days," Colin said.

"Really? Great!" Mayla replied. As the words left her mouth, she knew she sounded overanxious.

"I'm doing a guest lecture at Tufts, but I made time for us to review some of your material. Also, if you are free, we could have a dinner to officially celebrate the writing of Fuckfest-o-rama."

"We really need to find an actual name for this book," she replied.

"I'll put that on the agenda," he replied.

Mayla's excitement about meeting Colin in person made her heart race faster. Feeling like a teeny bopper, she wanted to end the Zoom call before saying something to embarrass herself.

"Oh, God. There's the door. My doordash is here. So, yeah, text me your itinerary, and I'll try to make time," she said, trailing the sentence to indicate her need to disconnect.

"I'll text. Keep at it, kiddo," he offered.

Mayla took a deep breath of near exhaustion as the Zoom call ended. Laying back, she reviewed the conversation while her hand crept down her naval and into her pants again.

Her writing continued day and night. Colin's trip to Boston was now a few days away. While the ghostwriting work was unfinished, Mayla felt confident enough to send Colin the work in progress so he could offer some editorial thoughts when they met.

Continued in LONG COOL WOMAN IN A BLACK DRESS - Part II

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DIAMONDS ARE FOREVER

Well, that was fucked, the dark-haired woman thought as she ran through the doors of Christie's Auction House on Boston's fashionable Newbury Street. No sooner had she exited the building when alarms sounded. So fucked.

Wearing a black Dolce & Gabbana double-breasted trench coat, which matched her jet-black hair, she walked fast with purpose toward a parked Tesla, clicking the remote. The car started, and the gullwing driver's door automatically opened.

Stick to the plan, she thought.

Moments earlier, the 3-minute countdown began when her gun came out. Clockwork. The guards walked the Red Scarlet to the auction room down an empty hallway—a quick and silent zap with the stun gun. The jolt was a lot, but they needed to stay down.

The box was grabbed, opened, the necklace removed, slipped between her tits, and secured by her bra. Quick and easy. One minute to go.

A brisk walk to the exit. Too easy. Alarms blared. Shit, they found the guards.

The lobby was chaos as security guards tried to lock the doors. Blending in with the crowd of auction attendees, she needed to get to the doors before they secured. She needed a distraction. Pulling the trigger on the tiny Baretta secluded in her right hand, she fired into the floor. The loud report of the gun sent people running and screaming.

"They've shot the guards," she screamed. The room became chaos, and she slyly joined the surge of the auction house patrons as they pushed through the doors and outside.

Three minutes over budget, but since she was about to get in the car, the extra time was a moot point.

It was not.

From around the corner, several police cars streamed onto the scene, blue lights flashing. The thief walked past the Tesla and headed for the subway station half a block ahead.

She was just 100 yards from the subway entrance when a squad car blocked the entry.

Stay coo l, she repeated in her head. Panic kills.

She looked around at the trendy shops in the area and then noticed a chic hair salon, Hannah and Her Scissor Sisters, at the basement level of the fancy brownstone shops. Heading down the stairs away from the action, she entered the salon, locking the door behind her.

Kaylin McCardle was swiping left on a dating app, cringing at each personality she found when she saw the woman hurry into the salon and lock the door behind her.

"I'm Sorry," Kaylin said. We don't take walk-ins, so you'll need to call or go online to make an appointment."

"Close this place for the rest of the day. I'll pay you $1,000 to close it," the woman said.

"I can't ...$1,000? You'll pay me $1,000 to close?" Kaylin asked, unsure if she heard right.

The negotiation ended when the woman pulled out a handgun and held it to Kaylin.

"Ok, yeah, sure, we're closed," Kaylin stated.

"Move away from the door and windows," the woman said, guiding Kaylin to the back of the salon out of view of the front of the shop.

In the light, Kaylin noticed her striking features. Sculpted cheekbones and dark glasses set against alabaster skin contrasted with her long jet-black hair.

As the woman headed to the back, Kaylin noticed the blue strobe lights of squad cars through the window that looked up to the sidewalk.

"Something going on out there?" Kaylin asked.

"Nothing you need to worry about."

"And here you are with a gun, and I'll stop talking now," Kaylin replied.

"Wise idea. I have no problem with you. I need to lie low, and then I'll go. Get me a garbage bag."

Kaylin grabbed a garbage bag from the shelf. Then she turned back to see the dangerous stranger had taken off her black leather trench coat revealing a skintight Furstenberg minnie long sleeved cross over ribbed top with a cold shoulder that descended to a V below her cleavage, offering an eye-popping view of the curvature of her large round breasts. Her black leather leggings outlined an athlete's muscular legs and an alluring thigh gap.