From Barbara to Barbiebybobfr©
Barbara's tears fell on the white pillow case. After sobbing for several minutes, she reflected on what she had heard. She couldn't have imagined that comments regarding a photograph that had been taken twenty-years ago--nearly half a lifetime ago--could hurt so much. The photograph of Gordon and her displayed in the antique, sterling silver frame that sat on the grand piano in the study, was her favorite. It had been snapped at the beach. They were hugging each other and smiling. She wore a modest one-piece bathing suit but it did little to hide her perfect figure. They were about as attractive as a couple could be. It was what had been said, a few minutes earlier, about that picture that caused her to run to her room and bury her head in her pillow.
"Who's the fox in the photo with your dad?" Asked Troy, Megan's new boyfriend. Troy was a junior and Megan was a sophomore at state college. Barbara thought they may be getting serious. She remembered that she was also a sophomore, but Gordon had been a senior, when she met his family and he met hers for the first time. She never became a junior because they were married when Gordon graduated, then she worked full-time to put him through law school.
Neither Megan nor Troy knew that Barbara was standing just around the corner from the study, or they would never have said what they did. They weren't being cruel, just candid. Barbara hadn't intended to eavesdrop on their conversation but she clearly heard every word.
"That's my mom in the photo with my dad," answered Megan.
"You must be kidding! Well, tell me . . . what happened to her? Did she get sick or something?"
"No," Megan sighed, then, with a touch of embarrassment, she explained. "She just got old."
"Gee Meg, your dad looks better today than he did in the picture but . . . your mom . . . well she must have gained a lot of weight and the grey hair sure doesn't help," he said candidly and sympathetically.
"Yeah," Megan agreed. "She doesn't take care of herself like she used to when I was a little girl. She never goes to the beauty parlor anymore," she said. We've sort of given up . . . neither of us push her anymore, maybe we should," said Megan.
"How old are your folks?" Asked Troy.
"My dad's forty-five, mom's forty-three."
"Forty-three! I can't believe it, my mom's older than that . . . you've seen her, she's still hot."
Megan sighed again and turned away from Troy. She wished this unpleasant conversation would end. "She really is forty-three, Troy, like I told you. I know, I know she looks much older than that. I guess some people just age faster than others."
"I'll say. She looks more like sixty. Too bad."
Barbara couldn't bear to just stand there and listen to one more word. She turned and ran to the master bedroom that she had shared with Gordon since they moved into the house fifteen years ago. She remembered that when they moved into the house she still looked very much as she did in the picture on the piano. She was trim, well groomed, some called her beautiful. Not just Gordon, he had to say that she was beautiful because he was her husband, but she knew that others frequently referred to her as beautiful. Then, she was tall, elegant and moved gracefully. Back then, long brown, glistening hair crowned her head and framed her gorgeous face. Her big eyes were brown, her complexion creamy and without a blemish.
She wasn't stupid, she knew that what they had said was the truth and sometimes the truth hurts, this was one of those times. She once was a fox, as the kids called sexy women today and as Troy had called the smiling woman in the photograph with Gordon. That seemed so very long ago. Now, she was carrying an extra sixty pounds, no wonder she was always tired. Her waist was nearly as big around as her hips and bosom. It seemed that her dress size had been increasing one size each year until now it was a size fourteen. Her hair was no longer brown and shining but grey and dull. Her face had been her best feature, now it was the puffy, sad face of a woman who had aged before her time. The lines at the corners of her eyes that had been so fine when she first noticed them, were now deeply etched into the surface of her skin. Her lips were seldom covered with lipstick anymore and when they were it didn't take long for the color to flare into the small cracks. She had stopped wearing contact lenses several years ago. They were just too much trouble and had been replaced by sensible but unflattering glasses. She knew she was a mess and she hated it.
The worst thing about her deterioration was that she no longer liked for Gordon to see or touch her naked body. When she slipped into the big bed at night, she always wore a comfortable nightgown that left only her feet and arms uncovered. But when they first moved into the house she longed for his caresses. She loved for him to see her naked, to make love to her, the more frequently, the better. Then, she was always moist and ready. Now, she literally seemed to be drying up.
She had heard Troy ask Megan, "did your mom get sick?" Megan said that she hadn't, she had just gotten old but forty-three wasn't old, thought Barbara. Maybe Megan was wrong, maybe she was ill, maybe her illness was depression or some other psychological problem. No matter what the reason, she knew that she couldn't go on like this. Something had to change and change very soon. She wanted to become, once again, the woman in the photo. Alive, eager, beautiful, sexy, sexual, in other words, as Troy had said, a fox.
Barbara wished that Gordon would hurry home from the office. She so desperately needed to talk with him.
As Gordon Barton aimed the silver Mercedes 500 S north along the lake shore, he thought that he should be the happiest man on earth. He was a partner in a prestigious law-firm. He loved his work. Megan, his daughter, was the apple of his eye. She was smart as a whip. Everything should have been perfect, but it wasn't perfect. He was very worried about his wife. He had been worried about her for years. He wasn't at all proud of one aspect, an intimate side, of his personal life.
God, how he loved her. But their relationship had evolved into one that was much more like a brother sister relationship than a husband wife relationship. It had been more than a month since they had made hasty love one morning before the sun came up. They both knew that his desire for her did not cause his morning erections, or anything that she had done because of her desire for him, but by the pressure from his bladder. Now, it would have been impossible for her to place her legs over his shoulders and pound up against him. Yet that was the way it had been for them for several years, a dramatic reduction not only in frequency but also the intensity of their love making. Her weight and the nightgowns she wore were like layers of armor and a real turn- off for him. Nonetheless, he deeply cared for her. He had almost resigned himself to a relationship that was becoming only platonic. They did cuddle in the big king-size bed but that was about it except for the infrequent, furtive morning couplings.
They had planned on a sister or a brother for Megan but it was not to be. They tried and tried by Barbara didn't get pregnant. Finally, a fertility specialist ran several tests and reported that he produced enough potent sperm to create an army but, because of scarring, Barbara would never create and bear another child. He really believed that there might be a correlation between her weight gain, disinterest in her appearance, the waning of her libido and the early end of her child bearing years.
Half his partners had solved similar problems in a way that was distasteful to him. They had married second wives, trophy wives. Though the firm had a policy against it, most of their trophy wives had been young associates, para-legals, receptionists or assistants at the firm or someone that they had met from the client side. He wasn't blind or dead and found himself surrounded every day by beautiful, sexy, bright women. Women whom he knew found him attractive and let it be known, oh so subtly, that they were available and would welcome an advance from him. The availability was tempting and sure wasn't easy to resist but he had never strayed. Well, he had never strayed in Chicago.
His practice, securities law, required that he travel to New York City several times a year. After the day's work was completed, more often than not, he found himself alone with nothing to do and he really hated being alone. Hell, he was only in his forties. He didn't want the life of a seventy-year-old until he was a seventy-year-old, or maybe even an eighty-year-old.
Gordon had no idea what possessed him to do it but, for some reason, one night nearly a year ago when he was in New York, he was restless and wandered into a topless bar near his hotel. He felt out of place. He took a seat in the shadows against a wall as far from the stage as possible. What he saw excited him in a way that he hadn't been excited since the old Barbara was absorbed into the enlarged body of the asexual new Barbara. Two young, very beautiful dancers were on the stage. They weren't just topless, as he expected them to be, they were bottomless as well. They were smiling at the men who were leering up at them and tossing dollar bills on the wooden stage. They brazenly rubbed their breasts and tweaked their swollen nipples. Then, they would crouch down and spread their legs giving those men seated around the stage a bird's eye, gynecological view of their trimmed vaginas.
As he watched the dancers and the audience's reaction to them, he too found himself becoming aroused. He stayed at the club and watched the dancers for half an hour. He couldn't relax in the place because he feared he would be discovered by a client or a colleague. As he was leaving, he noticed a stack of tabloid newspapers near the entrance door and a sign above them inviting customers to "take one." He took a copy of "New York After Dark," rolled it up and slipped it into his jacket pocket.
Back in his hotel room he turned the pages of the newspaper and saw that it was essentially just advertisements. There were several full page ads for escort services. And several pages of smaller ads offering the same services. They seemed to be screaming at him. "Are you alone?" "Want some company tonight?" "Beautiful models direct to you." "NY's most beautiful women?" "Call now, we'll be there in minutes. Call 24 hours."
Gordon wasn't naive, but he wasn't a player either. For the first time in his life he considered calling an escort service. Prior to that moment, he couldn't imagine a man paying for sex. But, he reasoned, he was out of town. He surely wouldn't get emotionally involved with a working girl so, what harm could there be in calling and at least getting some information, he asked himself. He sure didn't have to go through with anything. On the other hand, wouldn't this make him just like all the men whose behavior he condemned? As he was pondering whether or not to place a call, just to get details of course, he told himself, he came across a small ad that read, "I'm thirty and I'm told I'm very beautiful. My place or yours. Not a service. Marlene."
Without further thought, he punched 9 and waited for the outside line then dialed the telephone number on Marlene's ad. She answered on the second ring. Her voice was earthy and captivating. "This is Marlene, may I help you?"
"I saw your ad."
"Where are you staying, honey?"
"I'm at the Carlisle."
"Are you interested in some company?"
"How does it work?" He questioned.
"Give me your name, I'll call you back and explain everything."
"And your last name, honey?"
"My last name? Sorry, I thought that this would be anonymous."
"It's to make sure that I don't spend a lot of time calling back people who don't really exist. Also, the Carlisle won't put a call through to just a room number. You have to give them the registered name of the guest."
"I'm sorry. I wouldn't be comfortable with that."
"I'm sorry too, you sound real nice, I'm sure we would have a great time. Look, if you change your mind, give me a call. If I don't answer you can leave the information on my answering machine and I'll call you back."
He hung up without saying goodbye. He called home and talked with Barbara. Then, he tried to watch television but kept coming back to the ad in the tabloid newspaper. A half hour later he called the number again. This time it was answered on the fourth ring but not by Marlene, by her answering machine. "Can't come to the phone right now but I do, I really do want to talk with you. Please, pretty please, leave your name and number and I'll call you back as soon as I can. Wait for the beep."
He was about to hang up when he heard the universal beep and said, "Marlene this is Gordon Barton we talked briefly earlier. I'm in room 2735 at the Carlisle, the number here is 351- 4400." When he hung up the receiver he questioned the wisdom of what he had just done. You're getting reckless Barton, he said to himself. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was nearly 11:00. He doubted that he would hear from Marlene, she had probably gone to bed.
He almost always slept in his underwear. For some reason, that night he crawled between the cool sheets naked. He channel surfed, looked at some securities registration drafts and finally turned off the lamp at his beside and fell asleep.
The ringing of the phone jarred him awake. He cleared his throat before saying, "hello."
"Hi Gordon, it's Marlene. Sorry to call so late. It's nearly 1:00."
"That's okay, I wasn't sleeping," he lied.
"Are you still looking for some company?"
"Tell me about the arrangements."
"Well, I would come to your room. How long would you want me to stay?"
"I don't know, maybe an hour or two."
"An hour is $300 plus cab fare and I appreciate tips. Would that work for you?"
He had the information. Now, what was he going to do with it? While he was thinking about what to say next she said, "I can be there in twenty minutes."
Twenty minutes he thought. He knew she was thirty, at least that's what the ad read but he didn't know anything else about her. "What do you look like Marlene?"
She chuckled. "I'm five-seven, hundred and fifteen pounds, short blond hair, blue eyes, 36B. I'm sure you'll be pleased."
He wasn't thinking rationally. Hell, he wasn't thinking at all. "Okay, that would be fine."
"Great! I'll call you from a house phone before I come up. See you soon. And, Gordon, I hope you're rested up, I'm feeling frisky. Bye," she said in a sexy voice that had been lowered at least an octave since they had struck an agreement.
He spent a few minutes straightening the room. He slipped on his trousers and shirt. He didn't bother with underwear. Then, he found a radio station that was playing soft background music. He left only one lamp and the bathroom light on. He brushed his teeth, applied deodorant and splashed shaving lotion on his cheeks. Gees, Barton, you're acting like a school boy, get a grip, he chastised himself. The red light on the telephone flashed even before he heard the ring. "Hi."
"Be right up honey," she said and then hung up.
A few minutes later he heard the soft knock on the door. Before he opened it, he looked through the peep hole and was pleasantly surprised. Though slightly distorted by the small glass lens, the woman who stood on the other side of the door was everything and more that she had described. He opened the door and she slipped into his room.
She was dressed in a business suit, elegant, almost conservative. She was very beautiful. For him the moment was awkward. For her it was routine. "Where are you from?" She asked as she walked to the chair in the corner and sat down, not being at all careful with her skirt.
"Chicago," he said trying not to stare too hard at the skin that flashed above the top of the nylon stocking that encased the leg that was crossed and gently swinging over her other leg.
"Shall we take care of business first?" She asked with a big smile.
He was quickly reminded that this wasn't a date. She was here for only one reason. He reached for his wallet fished out three one hundred dollar bills and handed them to her. They disappeared into her purse. She looked around the room and asked, "do you have anything to drink?"
"In the mini-bar. What do you want?" He asked
"Is there any white wine?"
He bent down opened the mini-bar and took out a half bottle of California Chardonnay. He emptied the small bottle by pouring each of them an equal portion in the wine glasses on top of the mini-bar.
She took a sip, set the glass down on the coffee table, stood up and said, "can I use your bathroom?"
"Why don't you get comfortable, honey?" Then she walked into the bathroom and closed the door.
He slipped off his shirt, dropped his trousers and crawled under the sheets.
On the other side of the bathroom door Marlene was thinking that this would be very interesting. This guy, Gordon, sure didn't need to pay for it. He was movie star handsome. She would bet that this wasn't something he did very often. Hell, she would bet he was a virgin to call-girls. She had noticed the band of gold on his finger and would have bet that his lucky wife didn't have a husband who was accustomed to straying.
The door opened and the bathroom light was turned off before she walked into the room. The business suit was gone. Her breasts were bare, their nipples hard. She wore no panties, only a black garter belt, black stockings and her high heels.
She smiled at him and walked to the bed. "Is there room for me in there?" She teased.
She dropped a small gold foil packet on the night stand, stepped out of her shoes and climbed in beside him. She hardly ever kissed johns but she kissed his forehead, his cheeks, the tip of his nose, his eyelids. Then she looked down into his blue eyes with her blue eyes, separated by less than a foot, and smiled. She licked her lips and lowered them to his.
For Gordon, it was like his first kiss at a party when the bottle he spun stopped spinning and was pointed at Doris Murphy, he was thirteen. Marlene made him feel like he was thirteen again. As their lips were locked together, his hand tentatively reached between them and touched her breasts. He cupped them. She was communicating without words, the way women do, that she liked what he was doing. Was she acting, he wondered, or did her throaty moans indicate she was truly excited?
Her delicate hand touched his hard chest. While he was tweaking her nipples she was doing the same with his. He hadn't realized how sensitive his nipples were. When he didn't resist, she pinched harder. Then her hand traced the spattering of hair on his chest down his flat stomach. She stopped at his navel for a few seconds teasing him. Then her hand was touching his cock, encircling it. She broke the kiss, set up a little and said, "My God Gordon, that's a very nice package. Your wife's a lucky woman."
"How did you know I'm married?"
"Well, most of my dates are with married men." She laughed took his left hand, held it up in front of his face and said, "And, the band of gold on your finger is a dead give away." Again she leaned down and kissed him. She spread her thighs and straddled his thigh. He could feel her wetness and nearly lost it. She was rocking from side to side. Her experience told her that it was time. With one hand she cupped his balls. With the other hand she tweaked a nipple while her lips were locked on the other nipple. Then she took the tiny nipple between her white teeth and gently bit. He thought he would explode. The pain/pleasure experience was new to him and he was surprised by his body's reaction. But his chest and his nipples were only penultimate targets. She threw the covers off of them and lowered her head.