Psychology 1 - Virginity 0

"It's a little sore." She winced as his index finger explored a fraction too far. "But... If you want to..."

He smiled at her offer. "Not this morning." He noted how crestfallen she suddenly looked. "Sweet Patricia, there isn't time. You have a busy day ahead of you. Go and have a quick shower to freshen up because you're due at The Sanctuary in less than an hour."

"The Sanctuary?"

"Its sort of a health club. I booked you an appointment yesterday for the works: A full make-over. You want to look your very best for Elena's opening night, don't you?"

"Yes, but-"

"No buts. Except maybe your butt out of bed and into the bathroom, right now." He slapped what little of her bottom he could reach to punctuate the order.

While Patricia showered, Andrew sat on the edge of the tub and explained her itinerary for the day.

"You'll love it. The Sanctuary is a women only health club. Elena goes there quite often. I'm surprised she hasn't told you about it. You must promise me one thing though. I want you to put yourself entirely in their hands. Think of them as your fairy godmothers because, Cinderella, you are going to the ball tonight.

"What are they going to do?" She wasn't sure what they would do that might require such a promise.

"Just promise to trust them...and me. Ok?"

"Ok."

"Is that a promise? No crossed fingers?"

Patricia laughed for the first time in days. "It's a promise. No crossed anything." She faced him with feet apart and hands and fingers outstretched.

They were five minutes late getting to The Sanctuary in Covent Garden. At the reception desk, Andrew handed Patricia over to the tender mercies of two pretty blondes in white tunics. As soon as she was out of earshot, he turned to the receptionist.

"She has some self esteem issues. I need her to be a swan by 6pm: Everything from hair to toenails - everything. No expense spared."

The receptionist nodded her understanding. "We don't usually do hair but Trevor Sorbie, just next door, usually manage to fit our clients in.

"Fine. I also need all her measurements. I have..." he glanced at his watch. "Less than 8 hours to get her an evening dress and all the trimmings."

"Less than 6 hours." The receptionist corrected. "If you want her makeup to match her outfit."

"Good point." Andrew was grateful for the insight. He wouldn't have thought of it.

"If you'll just take a seat, I'll get those sizes for you." The receptionist disappeared through a door and was back in about 10 seconds. "Cleo will bring them to you in a few minutes."

"Thank you." Andrew sat and waited. Cleo turned out to be one of the white clad blondes who'd taken Patricia away. She handed him a folded slip of paper, smiled warmly and went back to her work. As he rose to leave, a thought struck him and he turned to the receptionist. "Miss. One more question if I may."

"Certainly Sir."

"I thought perhaps something in a deep wine red. D'you think that would go with her colouring?"

"As long as it's very deep. Black is always a good second choice."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, Sir."

He got to Selfridge's a few minutes later and headed for the women's formalwear department.

It wasn't difficult to find a shop assistant. All he had to do was stand in the middle of the shop looking out of place.

"Can I help you, Sir?" A very well presented sales assistant asked. Andrew was pleased to see she was over 18. He needed someone with judgement and experience for this.

"Yes. I need a complete outfit for the theatre tonight. Here are the young lady's measurements." He handed her the folded paper. Cleo had thoughtfully jotted down Patricia's colouring too - Auburn hair, brown eyes, light tan.

"I see. It will not have to be too fitted." She gestured what fitted meant in this context.

"No. She also has a slight curvature of the spine. Only slight though. It looks like bad posture but she is very self-conscious about it so nothing low cut at the back. Low at the front is fine. She has a rather impressive front."

"I see." The assistant glanced at the measurements again. "Indeed. Any particular colour Sir?"

"I thought perhaps a dark wine colour... or black." He remembered the receptionist's advice.

"Very well Sir. I'll see what we have. One moment please."

She came back with an armful of dresses but one really caught his eye as the top half - the bodice, she called it - was semi-transparent Lycra. It was only decent because of a matching pashmina shawl. The skirt was three layers of equally gossamer fabric and long and full. It was just the colour he'd envisaged - deep port wine red. Realizing that he had made his choice, the assistant put that dress to one side and handed the rest to another girl to return to the rails.

In the next half hour she selected, and he approved, a black bra with gold embroidery that would show through the dress to great effect, matching panties, thong backed at his insistence, moiré hold-up stockings, black patent pumps with medium high heels and a matching clutch bag.

Relieved at the ease with which he'd got a whole ensemble, he handed over his credit card and signed on the line.

Back at the Sanctuary, there was a hitch. Patricia was adamant nobody was going near her bikini line. Andrew had half expected this. He wrote her a note and one of the staff took it through to her.

"Patricia, You promised. Love, Andrew."

It did the trick. He left the clothes with the receptionist and told her he would be back at 6pm. Then he went home to call Elena.

* * * * *

"Did my little Iberian bunny sleep well?" Andrew asked.

"Good morning Darling. Yes, I slept well...but I missed you." Elena sounded sleepy.

"I missed you too, Honey Bunny."

"Poo! You were sleeping with my sister. I bet you didn't even notice I wasn't there until you had to make your own coffee." There wasn't a hint of jealousy in Elena's voice, which was a relief.

"I did miss you. Patricia has no technique. Besides, I only did it because I love you."

"And I love you. Did you make her very happy?"

"I think so but you must ask her yourself, tonight. She's getting her Cinderella treatment right now. We had a little difficulty getting her to let them do her bikini line. I had to get all bossy."

"Was it very bad?"

"Honey, you wouldn't believe it. She looked like one of those 1940's dirty postcards. More Brazilian rainforest than Brazilian."

"Poor boy!" Her voice dripped amused sarcasm.

"Elena..." He hesitates.

"Yes?"

"Whatever else happens tonight... you mustn't let Patricia go back to the guest room. She'd cry herself to sleep and wake up with enough guilt to screw her up for life."

"I know. Relax, Darling. Nobody's sleeping in the guest room tonight."

"Hmm." Andrew can only view the prospect with optimism. "Meanwhile, all set for the performance?"

"All set. You'll come backstage afterwards, yes? I've put your names on the list at stage door."

"Of course."

"Darling, I have to love you and leave you. Bettina wants me for something."

"Ok Honey. I'll see you later. Love you."

"Love you too." She blew him a kiss and hung up.

Andrew sat back and smiled to himself. What a girl!

* * * * *

A few minutes shy of 6PM, Andrew turned up at The Sanctuary togged out in his best suit. He'd found time to get his own haircut during the afternoon and felt he looked about as sharp as he could at his age.

The receptionist was a different girl, which made sense when he thought about it. He explained he was here to collect a customer called Patricia. This the receptionist knew about: She called another member of staff to fetch the client. Andrew offered his credit card to settle the bill while he waited, glancing at the bottom line and nearly fainting. Ouch! He just hoped it was gonna be worth it.

Patricia came through the twin doors into reception looking... radiant. Andrew swallowed and immediately forgot about the cost. She beamed at his reaction and twirled, letting the skirt flare.

"Well?" She asked.

"Cinderella, you shall go to the ball!" He grinned and offered her his arm. "Thank you ladies. I, for one, appreciate the magic you have wrought." He felt his arm squeezed against Patricia's side in sort of a semi-hug and turned to kiss her cheek. No more than that: he didn't want to mess with her make-up.

As they strolled arm in arm through Covent Garden, to the Opera Terrace, for a pre-theatre dinner, Andrew marvelled at the change in Patricia's deportment. She moved with more confidence, seeming to walk with more swing in her hips. Her skirt - she loved his choice - swished against his leg, rustling gently. It was a mild evening and she let the pashmina slip down to her elbows, revealing for the first time just how sheer the bodice was. Andrew pulled up short to use a shop window as an impromptu mirror. Her bosom looked spectacular, the gold threads shimmering through the gossamer.

"What are you looking at?" Patricia asked, seeing nothing in the shop window worth so much attention.

"You're breasts." He breathed. His voice was low and a little husky.

"Oh!" Her body language changed immediately, she looked shy, about to blush.

"They're... If you'd looking like this yesterday, you could have given your virginity to any man."

"I couldn't have looked like this yesterday." She turned to face him, taking both his hands in hers. "Andrew, thank you for last night. I'm so glad it was you who..."

To hell with her make-up. He leant in to kiss her and was met halfway. He was surprised that she still had her lippy on when they separated.

"Kiss proof lipstick." She explained. "I hoped I'd need it." She looked coyly from beneath immaculate lashes. Shyness suited her - in small doses.

Once they were seated at a suitably quiet table, with drinks ordered, Andrew wanted to know everything about her make over.

"Waxing is horrible...And you made them do that to me." She tried to look cross. "And down there..."

"Down where?" he played dumb.

"You know where I mean." She blushed a little at the thought of it.

"But I want to hear you say it." He grinned at her discomposure.

"My pussy." She whispered, blushing yet more. "There! Are you satisfied now?"

"Hardly. Patricia, you are beautiful. Tonight men will see you and want you. They will kiss your hand and want to kiss your pussy. They will touch your arm and want to touch your breasts. They will see you dressed like this and want to see you undressed. Just allow yourself to be desired and men will desire you. You are beautiful. Say it."

"I am beautiful." She sounded uncertain.

"Say it and believe it."

"I am beautiful." This time she sounded more sincere.

"Better. Keep saying it to yourself and keep believing it. Now, what else did they do to you?"

"There was the spray tan-"

"You already had a tan."

"Not all over." She blushed again.

"Interesting. Go on." He prompted.

"A sauna and a massage. That was very relaxing. Hair." She flounced the cascade of ringlets that had been flat and straight that morning. The hairdresser had been very sensitive to her concerns about her back. He'd layered her hair and lightly permed it so it completely de-emphasised her 'hump'.

"It looks terrific." Andrew felt another compliment was due.

"Nails." She held up her hands to show him her manicure. Shimmering nail polish matched her dress. "Toes too. Then Cleo did my eyebrows and make-up. Then you arrived." She finished, looking for all the world like a little girl who's just reeled off the memorized list of all her birthday presents in one breath.

Throughout dinner, his gaze kept wandering to her breasts. She smiled to herself, strangely unembarrassed by his fixation. She actually wiggled them to get his attention. He glanced up. It was his turn to feel embarrassed.

"I love your sister but I've always been what we Brits call a tit-man and," He looked wistful, "the one thing Elena doesn't have is cleavage. She's going to turn green with envy when she sees you."

"Elena will never be jealous of me."

"Not you, your cleavage, because she knows what I like." He gestured to a waiter for their bill. "Shall we go?" He stood, and offered her a hand.

* * * * *

They took a black cab south of the river to the Young Vic. Patricia clung to his arm as they mingled among the familiar faces in the foyer. Andrew made introductions here and there but Patricia was more than a little shy. She smiled sweetly enough but she was very quiet and her shawl was clutched tightly about her.

It didn't go unnoticed. At the first convenient moment he guided her out of the throng and into a suitably secluded corner to administer some direct therapy. When he'd finished kissing her, he pointed her in the direction of the ladies room to freshen up her lipstick. It wasn't entirely kiss proof. He didn't have long to wait and, as Patricia returned looking suitably unmolested, the bell signalled that it was time to take their seats.

In the dark silence of the auditorium, her hand nestled in his. Watching Elena gyrate and leap about the stage he was reminded of all the interesting applications of grace and flexibility that had become such a feature of their private lives. She really was exceptionally sexy - even clothed. His erotic daydreaming was interrupted by warm breath against his ear.

"She's wonderful, isn't she?" Patricia whispered.

Andrew turned to whisper back "Yes, but I'm biased."

Dance is a physical language. Right now, ricocheting between to male dancers, Elena's movements said to Andrew, somewhere beyond the footlights, "Fuck me!" and every possible synonym. Andrew was rigid, a common reaction to Elena's performances. Her work almost always turned him on. On an impulse, he guided Patricia's hand to his thigh, letting her feel the hot hard bulge of his excitement. He leant within whispering range again without taking his eyes off the dance.

"Like I said - biased."

"Patricia left her hand where he'd put it, feeling the monster throb as they watched her sister fall into Bettina's arms and the two girls sink into a slow adagio death scene.

The performance ended, the cast took their bows to rapturous applause, the house lights came up and Andrew and Patricia headed out of the theatre.

"This is not for me, is it?" Patricia had stopped them, turned to face Andrew and had her hand on his only slightly softening erection. She looked sad, as if realizing that here too she could not hope to compete with Elena.

"It's for both of you." He held both her shoulders and looked serious. "Tonight I have the difficult job of pleasing both of the Albuquerque sisters. Do you think for one instant that I won't enjoy trying?"

"But you love her." There were the first traces of tears in the corners of her eyes but she hadn't let go of his penis, which was a good sign.

"So do you. We both love her and she loves both of us."

"And...I love you." Patricia struggled to say it. She meant it, or thought she did.

"Patricia, You're a very sweet girl but yesterday you were still a virgin. Circumstances being what they are, I'm not surprised your emotions are playing merry hell with you. You're attracted to me: this I knew some time back. I'm attracted to you: this you know because the penis never lies." That made her realize where her hand was. It fell to her side. "Desire and attraction are reasons enough but they're not the same as love. Now dry your eyes and lets go dangle you in front of some more men. Maybe one of them will make you a better offer for tonight." He smiled at her and kissed her forehead. She managed to smile back.

As they reached the stage door, she stopped him again. "Andrew."

"Hmm?"

"I-I don't want any better offers for tonight." She was blushing as she peered up at him through her lashes, looking vulnerable in a way contrived to make any man want to take advantage.

It occurred to Andrew that Patricia was a very quick learner. "Good. Let's go and see your sister."

* * * * *

"Honey Bunny! You were terrific." Andrew pushed through the press of assorted theatricals dragging Patricia in his wake. He swept Elena into a one armed embrace and kissed her firmly. "Allow me to introduce Miss Patricia Albuquerque, your sister." He relaxed his grip on Elena's waist and drew Patricia forward.

Elena's mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her eyes widened, she glanced at Andrew then back at Patricia, then her vocal cords caught up. She squealed delightedly and bounced forward to hug her sister.

"What a change! I leave you alone for a couple of days and... this!" She stepped back and guided Patricia into a self-conscious twirl. "Sis, you look beautiful. Take off the pashmina. Let me see this dress properly." Elena drew the shawl from Patricia's unprotesting grip. "Oh my! You walked around London in this?"

"He made me." Patricia nodded towards Andrew. "I'd better have the shawl back. People stare."

"I'll bet they do, Sis. Let them. I couldn't wear that, even with a Wonderbra."

"I told you she'd be envious." Andrew interjected.

"I'm not envious." Elena chided him. "I'm in awe of my beautiful sister. Here, hold this." She thrust the shawl into Andrew's hands. "Patricia, come and meet the company." Elena took her sister's hand and bounced off with her in tow.

"Bettina! Bettina, this is my sister, Patricia. Patricia, Bettina choreographed the show as well as dancing. Didn't she do a simply marvellous job?"

"Hello." Patricia smiled a greeting. "It was a wonderful show. Congratulations."

"Thank you. You live in Cascais, yes? Are you staying in London long?" Bettina had heard quite a bit about Elena's sister, being Elena's closest friend as well as dance partner.

"Lisbon. The rest of the family lives in Cascais. How long I'm staying depends on the BBC."

"Sis has applied for a job with the World Service." Elena filled in.

"Really? Well, fingers crossed..." She held up two fingers, crossed. "Sorry Darlings. I really must love you and leave you. My husband's in this crowd somewhere." And pausing only to air kiss the sisters, she was gone.

Elena urged Patricia through the throng, accepting congratulations from various people that she introduced Patricia to before using her sister as an excuse to not get into long conversations. Eventually, they found the two male members of the company, chatting with Andrew.

"Boys! Where have you been? I've been searching high and low."

In unison, two very well toned, and very 'pretty' men turned to face Patricia.

"We were just getting a rave revue off The Shrink." One opined.

"Boys! Boys!" Andrew laughed "I've told you before. That shower was running cold." Then he looked at Patricia. "You're my friend, Patricia, make them stop picking on me."

"Picking on you?" Patricia looked amused but puzzled.

"One cold shower and for the rest of eternity I'm 'The Shrink'. It's so unfair." He made a show of looking put upon.

Patricia looked blank. This was way over her head. Elena rattled off a few seconds in Portuguese and Patricia burst out laughing.

"Et tu Patricia." Andrew looked hurt. "Boys, meet Elena's sister. Patricia, these two hideously deformed parodies of the masculine form are Carl and Steven." He pointed first left then right.

Carl reached for Patricia's hand, which she let him take, raise to his lips and gently kiss. "Enchanted." He bowed fractionally and stepped back. Steven was less formal, air kissing both her cheeks while clasping both her hands in his.

Patricia could smell the sweat on them. It was somehow, from her new perspective, quite arousing.

She recalled hearing about them from Elena. She recalled being disgusted to hear they were a couple. Her Catholic background had imbued her with strong views on homosexuals. She recalled the great lengths Elena had gone to, to explain that they were really very sweet guys. She recalled how their conspicuously tight tights had held her attention so much on stage while Andrew's cock pulsed under her fingers. She blushed.