Socks and Stockings Ch. 06bylivinglines©
I realize that this chapter has been a long time in the making and for that I apologize. I was dealing with chronic illness and several moves and job changes. For those of you who claim that Eve is very naive, this story is about going from what is widely considered "normal" to what is actual. Some people aren't taught from day one, the things you or I may know about sex. Even the lessons you know may have only come after years of experimentation and self-discovery. Her brand of naivety is actually fairly common, especially to girls who are virgins when they marry. Not everyone has or entertains his or her natural sexual curiosities, so be charitable and thoughtful before criticizing my choice of her actions. I meant for this to be a story about metamorphosis and I believe, as a whole, it is but you readers might have to be patient with the story and with Eve as a character. If you aren't familiar with this story, go back and read the preceding chapters to get used to the characters and situations - they are all quite sexy. And as always, thanks for reading. Hope you enjoy!
"That's great news!" Tessa said over her yogurt at lunch.
"I guess so." I shifted in my chair. "I'm actually still a little sore; not sure why." My knees knocked together under the blue frills of my skirt.
"Well, it had been a while, right?" Tessa said, scraping the bottom of her plastic Yoplait container.
"Yeah." My chicken and roasted red-pepper sandwich was still in its wrapper on my desk.
"So I've been giving it a little thought. I wonder if you should ask your sex shrink how often men lie about what they want in the bedroom," Tessa said, twirling her plastic spoon in her cup.
"That's a good question to ask," I said, retrieving my planner and flipping to a blank note page. I grabbed a pen to take down the question.
"How was your first visit? Did the treatment help?" she asked, wiping a glob of yogurt from the corner of her mouth.
"Yeah, it helped. He was very thorough," I said, knocking my knees again.
"Awesome! So make another appointment. If he's good at what he does, he'll be able to answer questions as they come up."
I was lost in my own world, day-dreaming, mentally calling up details to ask the doctor about. Segments of Tessa's sentences floated in my left ear and out the right. Until finally she flicked my shoulder.
"Ouch! What?" I said, rubbing my shoulder like an injured child.
"Aren't you listening?"
"A little... I'm sorry. I'm just preoccupied."
"Well, you missed my news while you were out in space."
"I was saying... I'm pregnant."
The resulting celebration was sprinkled with hugs and exaltation.
"I'm due in December, around Christmas. We're hoping for a boy but my mom thinks it will be a girl." Her face was alight with smiles and every pore and dimple was full of optimism and joy. We both tried our best to eat our lunches, discussing baby showers, schedules and other fun mommy stuff. But as soon as Tessa finished her yogurt, she left for a meeting and I found myself alone in a distressingly quiet cubicle.
I fell back into the old pattern, asking myself why things had to be the way they were. Why couldn't life be simple and people act the way you expected them to? But, I had to remind myself, there was no point in speculating, only to handle this situation as best as possible. I felt flooded with helplessness all of a sudden. It was lucky all of my work was done for the day, because I couldn't concentrate. Coffee would do the trick, it would wake me up and maybe give me more ideas for questions to ask the doctor.
With my planner in tow, I took the elevator to the cafeteria and got my favorite iced coffee. When I turned away from the counter, my eyes met with none other than Jason Krawley's. He'd been watching me buy my coffee, no doubt. Instead of walking directly away or ignoring him, a quick glance at my planner gave me an idea. Instead of leaving, I decided I could use his opinion. But how to convince him to talk to me? 'Be sexy... well... as sexy as you know how to be,' I thought. I tossed my hair over my shoulder, walked a tick slower than usual, jutting my hips out with each stride until I came to his table. I'd worn a slightly sexy outfit. A tight black, skirt that came down to my mid-thigh and a somewhat revealing v-neck blouse under a well-cut blazer. I set my book on the table along with my latte, Jason, obviously taken aback, sat straight up. His eyes wide, his mouth clamped shut, his fingers squeezing his coffee cup.
I bent over, my face coming dangerously close to his. I'm sure he could smell my perfume and possibly see down my shirt despite the coat.
"Jason, would you mind if I asked you a few questions?" I smiled and tried to look smoldering - unsure of whether it was working or not.
"Uh," his mouth hung open in silence for a minute then he muttered, "Okay..."
"Good." I sat down quickly and threw open my date book to a note page.
"This is unexpected..." he said slowly. "I figured after... the elevator you'd never speak to me again." He took a sip of his coffee, trying, I assumed, to steady himself. "It's been two weeks and every time I've said hello, I got the cold shoulder." His words held a hint of indignation.
"What do you expect? You basically assaulted me in the elevator." I quirked an eyebrow at him. He winced a little then sipped his coffee.
"Now, questions," I said matter-of-factly. "What do you like in the bedroom?" The ease with which the words came out of my mouth surprised even me. His eyes were wide and I'm sure his mouth would never shut again.
"Um, what?" He might not budge if I didn't give him a little something to motivate him...
I sipped my latte, set my pen down and began unbuttoning my blazer. Slowly, one button at a time. He noticed my hands. Then he noticed I wore a push-up bra.
"What do you mean specifically?" he asked, swallowing hard.
"What do you like in a woman you intend to sleep with?" I rephrased.
"One who has dark hair, dark eyes, soft skin, is a great kisser, is willing to please as well as willing to be pleased."
"Hold on I can't write that fast. '... soft... skin.'" I stopped and looked up. He was grinning.
"Are you describing me? Cause that's not funny." I shook my head.
He leaned over the table. "Isn't that what you want to hear?"
"No. I want to know the truth. I've had it with being lied to." I tossed my pen at the table and it skid before flipping against his chest. I dropped my back against the chair's back, crossing my hands over my chest. "Fuck, I'm so tired of being lied to."
"Hey, calm down. Fine. Serious this time. What I like in a woman?" He picked up my pen and offered it back to me. I frowned and rubbed my forehead. "What I like in a woman:" he began, sliding my date book towards him. He began to write and after punctuating a few lines, he slid the notebook to me. "Read."
"'Dark hair, dark eyes, soft skin, great kisser, is willing to please as well as willing to be pleased. Confidence, power, intelligence. Things I avoid: Flaky, ridiculous, super... supercilious...' What the hell does supercilious mean?" I looked up. He was grinning again.
"Disdainful. I don't like hateful women," he said.
"You could have just said hateful," I said drawing a width-wise line under his list.
"I like the word 'supercilious', it sounds smarter," he said, still grinning.
"Well this isn't going into a newspaper. It's staying in this book between us," I started to close the book, but he grabbed it away.
"Oh really? Okay I forgot a few things then."
He scribbled a few things below his list but I grabbed the book back before he could write much, "Great ass, like yours. Great face, like yours. Long beautiful legs that go on for miles, like yours." He pointed to the last item on the list.
"So you can wrap them around me," he added. I laughed stupidly and scratched through the added list.
"My husband would go crazy if he saw this." It seemed that no matter how many times I marked through the words, they wouldn't disappear.
"I have a feeling he won't see it," Jason said, his voice sure.
"I write the answers from now on," I countered. He was grinning again when I looked up. "To save time." The corner of my post-it note peaked out from the page behind which it was tucked. I cleared my throat. "How often do you lie to women about what you like in the bedroom?"
"That's a hard one. How long have I known the woman?" He said, tucking his chin in his hand and rubbing at the stubble there.
"Years... and," I added, "you have a developed sexual relationship."
"I dated a girl for a few years. Her name was Allie. We met in a bar and from the very first night we met the sex was amazing. I mean hours and hours. Neither of us got tired. She was amazing. Independent, drop-dead gorgeous, talented. I was in Heaven. I figured it would be just a one-night stand. Then she called me the next day. After a few months, we moved in together. Two years went by and I made the choice that I wanted to marry her. But the night before I was going to propose to her, we had sex. Which normally would have been a good thing. But this time, in the heat of the moment, I did something new..."
I was enraptured... waiting for him to say what it was exactly he'd done.
"And anyway, she freaked out and here we are. After that, I've been wary about mentioning new things," he said quickly.
"Well?..." I asked.
"What was it?" I was grinning so wide my cheeks hurt.
"She was on all fours and I was behind her... and I... spanked her."
I couldn't suppress laughing out loud. "Wow Krawley, you surprise me. I wouldn't have pegged you as a guy who liked bedroom games and role-playing." I chuckled.
"Hey, it was my first time taking a step in that direction. I always wanted to do it and I decided to try it. Turned out she thought I was a freak because of it, even though there are much much more worse things in the world then getting a swat on the ass. Needless to say, though, it didn't work out." He took a long drink of his coffee.
"I don't think you should stay away from being honest about the bedroom just because she took it wrong. There just needs to be a buffer. She has to get used to the idea." He looked thoughtfully into his coffee cup. "If you want to know the truth... I think it's kind of hot," I said, before I could stop myself. 'Shit! Where the hell did that come from!?' I thought.
"Really? I'll make sure to remember that," he said, his confidence and grin returning. He seemed to forget Allie altogether.
"Don't remember it for my sake!" I said, shaking my head with a frown. I closed my book. "You didn't even answer the question. This interview is over."
"No, no, no, no! I'm sorry. I promise to be good," He said, giving me a boyscout sign with one hand, his other, probably following some backward instinct had reached out to grab my hand. I yanked my hand away and sat down quickly. "You have to admit you're asking for me to say stuff like that with that blouse you're wearing."
I huffed. "Is this your definition of good?"
"As good as I can be without an emergency button and an elevator." He grinned even wider, if that were possible. I rolled my eyes.
"Why are you asking me all these questions, anyway? Trouble with the Mister?" He chuckled and drained his coffee cup.
"No. No... It's for a... book I'm writing." I opened my book back up, twirling my pen. "Next question..."
"So you're becoming an expert on sex, aye? You can always try your theories out on me," He said, tracing the top edge of my book.
"That's it, I'm done," I shut the notebook again, squishing his finger between the pages.
"No, no! I'm sorry. I can't help it. Please!" His finger was holding down the book, which was holding me down.
"You can help it..." I said.
"Eve, you know what you do to me. And then you come up like this out of the blue. I can't help but remember what we did last time we were alone together. And I have to say that blouse is very... effective."
"We didn't do that together. You did that to me," I pointed out, pulling the v-neck of my blouse closed.
"There's so much more I'd still like to do." I wretched my book away from his hand.
"Well you won't get to do any of it. Especially since I'm about this close to never talking to you again!" I pinched a millimeter of air between my index finger and thumb.
"Eve," he said, sounding more serious than ever. He was looking into my eyes again. "I'm sorry. I will stop. If you want to talk to me, talk. I won't interrupt. I won't say anything out of hand, unless it's an answer to something you've asked me. Finish asking your questions." His hand was on mine. Then his fingers wrapped around my hand... tucked into my palm. The contact was warm and sincere. My pulse quickened and I gently slid my hand out of his, tucking it in my lap between my knees. I took a deep breath.
"We aren't having sex," I said suddenly.
"Hm? You and me? I could have told you that."
"No, Bryan and me. We're not having sex. It's a dry spell, I guess."
"When was the last time? ... If you don't mind me asking."
"Well, it was last night." My cheeks were immediately hot.
"Last night..." he repeated slowly.
"Well, yeah... but before that it was weeks and weeks. It's been that way for something like six months," I explained.
"I hate to sound irreverent but what the fuck is wrong with him?" he ejected as he shook his head.
"I don't think anything is wrong with him. I know he has sexual needs. I found him... having some alone time, so I know he has sexual urges. I've come on to him countless times. I've tried everything. It just doesn't work for some reason," my eyes were getting misty as my frustration made my chest ache.
"Wow. I know you love this guy and you're married to him and all... but he's a damn idiot," he shook his head.
"What? Why?" I felt injured for Bryan's sake.
"With a woman like you, unless you were out of town and completely out of reach, I wouldn't ever need to jack off. Why would I when I had a smoking hot wife? Unless you're a bitch to him. Are you a bitch to him?" he asked quickly.
"Um. Not that I know of..." I said, slightly annoyed.
"Then there's definitely no excuse. I'd do everything I could to get your attention and then if you weren't interested, maybe then I'd jack off and only as a last resort," he said, thumbing the rim of his empty coffee cup.
A jolt of anxiety struck my heart. "You're just saying that because you're single and you don't get laid," I answered. "If we were married it might be a different case altogether," I said trying not to think of the endless fucking he and I would end up doing.
"Hey!... First of all, I get laid. I get laid a lot. Like... so much. And if were married to you, you'd be complaining that were having too much sex... so don't go there."
"Fine whatever, the point is-"
"No. The point is, for some reason, you find it hard to believe that, out there, there is a man who enjoys making love to his wife more than masturbating?" Jason shook his head. "That's sad. And, your husband's an idiot."
"Please stop saying that. He's just complex," I tried to not to sound too insistent.
"Well then I must be fucking simple, cause I don't get it," he leaned back comfortably in his chair.
"I just can't help but feel like he wants something and he's not telling me about it. I went to see this shrink and he helped a little. Now I'm trying to figure out what might be going on in his head." I took a deep breath.
"So that's what this interview is about," he said nodding. I drank half my latte in one sip. "I'm the wrong person to ask why a man wouldn't want to sleep with you. Cause every time I see you, I want to sleep with you. And I'm sure no amount of closeness or familiarity would change that. I'm pretty sure you and I wouldn't have any trouble communicating about what we want. I'd spend time getting to know what you wanted. And I'm sure you'd do the same with me. Fear keeps us from saying what we really want." I could feel his body heat from across the table, sinking into my clothes, turning my sweat to steam. "Thinking about it isn't enough. Talking about it isn't enough. Sometimes, you have to just do it."
My whole body blushed, on fire at the thought of what he said. For the first time, hypothetical situations between he and I entered my mind. The idea of being touched head to toe was intensely arousing to think about. But these myriad fantasies were pictures in a far away gallery, to be dreamt of but never truly experienced.
"Thanks for your help," I stood, my knees quivering a little.
"What about your other questions?" he asked, not making any attempt to restrain me from leaving.
"I've got all the answers I need." I took a step away but stopped. "If I come up with any questions I'll let you know," I said over my shoulder.
The last hour of my day, I poured over the list he'd written down. I knew the first few things he'd written down were almost certainly directed at me. Some of the other items were brewing in my brain, "power" being foremost of them. But what kind of power? Simply, sexual power? The kind that gives you enough courage to spank someone? For clarity's sake, I decided to go to the dictionary.
"Pow•er - noun
1. ability to do or act; capability of doing or accomplishing something.
2. political or national strength
3. great or marked ability to do or act; strength; might; force.
4. the possession of control or command over others; authority; ascendancy:
power over men's minds.
5. political ascendancy or control in the government of a country, state etc."
Ability. Strength. Might. Force. All were words that seemed foreign to me in the bedroom. The fourth definition especially struck me as the most interesting. Control or command. Authority. Power over a man's mind.
Was this what I was really looking for? Power? Did I want control over Bryan's mind? I'd never thought about it before. Was it right to want to control someone's mind? To have ultimate power over them? I was raised to believe in equality, in fairness and justice - in giving every man his due. Could I pursue a course of action that went against that tenet?... Ones that might take away his rights as a lover, perhaps his ability to make choices regarding sex and love?
Why did one question's answer always lead to more? I picked up the phone and dialed Dr. Morgan's office. I set an appointment for the next day.
My day didn't end soon enough. I was still lost deep in thought. This was becoming less about finding out what was wrong with me and more about discovering what I was made of, the lengths to which I was willing to go. What was I willing to give up? The complexity of the question, "What do I want?" increased several fold.
What did I really want from this whole experience? This wasn't just simple inquest anymore, it was evolving into an epic list of questions. While driving home, I nearly hit someone at an intersection because of my distraction. When I finally pulled into the driveway, I couldn't have been more relieved. I slid my key into the lock, opened the door and heard from upstairs a faint but definite moan. Panic flooded my chest. It was going to happen again. I was going to go upstairs. He would be there, doing... that again. But I had come to peace with the fact that this was going to take work and the first thing I had to accept is that whatever I wasn't giving him, required him to spend time alone.
I stalled on each step, straining my ears to hear. Bryan was moaning, only every once in a while, softly. On the landing, I summoned my courage, dug my toes into the soles of my shoes. I knew what to expect. I had handled this before. I curled my fingers around the bedroom doorknob and turned it. I opened the door and saw...