Finished, I lay back exhausted, the adrenalin rush slowly easing off. Dammit. Damn you, Alex! You could have had him! You could have had him. He was yours and he wanted you. A real man…and look what you got!
I went to sleep trying to forget about that night, but the picture wouldn’t go away. I wanted to go back…to Jeff, to the bar, to Jane. I almost began to rub myself again, but I put on the brakes. Alex, go to sleep! I insisted until I finally did.
My head throbbed with a dull ache the next morning, and suddenly everything in my apartment reminded me of my mother. My behavior of the night before disgusted me. Dirty. Disgusting. Sleazy. Everything I was not! Or so I told myself until I was starting to believe it again.
I dressed for work in the most conservative thing I could find in my closet, a long grey skirt, high-necked blouse and bulky sweater.
Chapter Three
I went to work, furiously rehearsing in my head the excuses for my hasty exit. However, when I poured them out to Jane, they felt flat. She knew the truth and I was a terrible liar. I was frightened of my own feelings and my physical body, and sex, yes sex. I would never confess that in so many words and thankfully, she didn’t seem compelled to explore my motives.
“You’ll have to come with me again,” she stated simply, and the subject was closed. Yet in spite of her easy acceptance, I knew she was aware of my fears. I could hide nothing from her.
On the way home that evening I drove by the bar, seeing the blinking pink flamingo in the twilight hour, beckoning me inside. My body reacted as I knew it would, warming, pulsing as it had the night before. What was I doing, anyway? I’d never go back there. Never!
That night instead of fantasizing about the bar with neon and flamingos, I imagined myself in a seedy roadside tavern. The ‘Red Rose.’ There were burly men in leather and dirty jeans, playing pool, guzzling beer, smoking joints and fondling their women like toys.
I dressed myself in leather pants and a cut off t-shirt that stretched across my breasts revealing every nuance of my erect nipples. The men in the Red Rose didn’t make love, they fucked and screwed like hellions. They used their women hard, knowing the sluts would come back for more. My body ached to be taken over the nearest table, and fucked from behind, pawed at, used, demeaned. Yes! Yes! My body screamed back at me.
The gruff-voiced man ran his hands over my flesh, roughly squeezing my tits.
“C’mon, bitch!” he growled, pulling me out the door into the firecracker night. Lightning and thunder in the distance charged the air with electricity and fired the animal inside the brute who held me close to his side. He dragged me to the edge of the woods, where, barely hidden by the brush, he threw me down on hands and knees…
Writhing in my bed, it didn’t take long. Tonight, as I imagined the crude violation, my hands pulled and tugged at my pubic hair. I even slapped myself and pinched my nipples. Mad, angry thoughts pierced through all the pretty fantasy to these rough ones. I wanted rough. I wanted the Red Rose and its beastly men.
When the cumming was over, my shame was even greater, my outrageous thoughts deeply despised. Once the dream was just a fading memory, I completed my ritual, washing my hands and donning the pink nightgown that buttoned to my neck. I swore to myself that I’d never indulge myself that way again. All the while I knew I was lying to myself.
***
“Hey, girl, we’re going shopping tomorrow,” Jane said as we were headed toward the elevator at the end of the day. It wasn’t a question, or offer, but a stated fact.
“Okay, but—?”
“You need some clothes,” she cut me off, “ones that don’t hide that gorgeous body.” A wave of excitement swept through me as I understood her plan. No she wasn’t giving up on me after the debacle of our last fateful adventure.
“You have some place in mind?” I asked.
“There’s a boutique on 2nd Street, I think you’ll like it.”
My clothes were sweet. How many years I’d picked them knowing my mother would wear them, too. Stylish but sweet, not cheap, but prim. Cotton shirts, functionally cool shorts for summer. Neutral suits and knee length hems for winter. Every blouse or sweater I owned buttoned at the neck, making me a picture of propriety.
I wondered how Jane would dress me. Low cut tops. Short skirts. Filmy fabrics. My heart raced just thinking of them. All evening long, every time I thought of that shopping trip, I felt my crotch begin its slow dance with desire. Edgy, slinky, slutty dangerous clothes. I was embarrassed by my thoughts but too turned on to make them go away.
The next morning, I wore my blue spring suit, but rather than button my blouse to my neck, I left a couple buttons open, smiling giddily in the mirror as I did. No one could see my bra beneath, and I couldn’t be accused of being risqué, but at least I didn’t look so prim. The best I could do with what I had.
***
“No, Alex, take off the bra,” Jane demanded. Once we arrived at her favorite boutique, she pulled a dozen items off the rack with the assistance of a shop owner, a rotund but beautiful French women who spoke with a thick accent. Half the time they were conversing in French and I didn’t understand a word they said. When it came time to try on the clothes, Jane insisted on joining me in the dressing room – I don’t know when I’d last been shopping with a girlfriend.
“No bra?” I asked in response to her direction. My eyes must have been as big as saucers. “I can’t do that… I just…well…”
“Maybe not in public, but this isn’t public, is it? It’s an exercise in breaking rules. Time you got used to it.”
Taking a deep breath, I shed the bra, nervous about her seeing me naked, and quickly pulled the t-shirt over my naked chest. Jane eyed me with a whimsical smile, which made me wonder what she was thinking. She could be so damn intimidating, especially how she seemed so pleased by what she saw.
“So what do you think? Look at yourself.”
I turned toward the mirror and the first thing, the only thing that caught my eyes were my nipples, sticking a good ¾ of an inch from my chest, poking through the thin fabric. Jane must have seen my look of horror as I turned away.
She only smiled. “C’mon Alex, take a deep breath and look at yourself. Really look.”
“What if I don’t want to look?”
“Do it anyway. You need to see yourself for who you are.”
No I didn’t. I wanted to shout right back, but I obeyed the order as if I had no choice. Perhaps for the first time in my life, I allowed myself to look at my prominent nipples and appreciate, not despise them. I had no problem with this sort of thing in my fantasies, why now?
“You are one sexy woman, you just don’t realize it,” she exclaimed. Suddenly, she was on her feet, standing behind me, loosening my hair, fluffing it with her hands. The way she ran her fingers through the soft waves sent shivers through me, and I realized how aroused I’d become. I had the overwhelming desire to touch her back, but I squelched the idea. What the hell was I doing? I could feel my old self grabbing me back.
“Oh, I don’t know.” I shook my head. “This really isn’t me.”
“I beg to differ,” she answered, as she turned me back to the mirror with firm hands.
“It just seems so indecent.”
“There’s nothing indecent about enjoying your body, and letting other people enjoy it too. You’ll never get over being bored with your life unless you make some radical changes.” Her hands caressed my arms and my back, and I shivered from the touch. I couldn’t decide whether her affection was sisterly or that of a lover. I could feel the sensation all the way to my fingertips and more and more alarming, directly between my thighs. “Let’s face it, Alex, you’ve been under your mother’s thumb long enough. It’s time you discovered the real Alex under all your rules and appropriate behavior.”
Boy, did she hit me squarely where it hurt, although I certainly wasn’t surprised by her appraisal. I was tired of living my life to please my mother. Tired of her judgment and the way I j
udged myself because of her. I dreamed of an exciting life – handsome men, hot sex, affairs of the heart, travel, adventure, laughing, loving, getting screwed, even if it meant a broken heart. I wanted a life! I hated who I’d become in my twenty-eight years. I was ordinary, nothing special, and I hated myself. Perhaps this could be a new start. Why not?
“It’s time you started living your fantasies,” she pressed. “You think too much.”
“My fantasies?” What did she know about my fantasies?
“You told me a lot the other night, in very few words. You certainly don’t think you’re the only one with racy thoughts?”
My mind was swimming. I felt afraid, but I don’t know when I’d been this excited.
As I looked in the mirror and stared at my chest, I liked what I saw. There was something about me I hadn’t seen before.
“I’ll buy it, and the jeans too,” I announced. I also chose a purple silk top with sequins around the low neckline. Jane said it was long enough to wear as a dress, but I wasn’t about to go that far. I could wear it over leggings. Then as we were leaving the dressing room, I impulsively grabbed a short denim skirt, that I initially discarded as way too outside my comfort zone.
“Really?” I noted Jane’s look of surprise.
“Yeah, why not?” I guess she was rubbing off on me.
“Okay then, tomorrow night you wear the skirt and t-shirt, we’ll go out again.” I hardly flinched at the thought.
That night, I came twice – so fast the first time that my body needed more. Rather than getting up right away after the first orgasm died away, I found the Red Rose tavern in my fantasies, arriving there on the back of a motorcycle, where in my dreams a burly biker roughly massaged my breasts and his bearded mouth fastened itself on mine. His tongue forcefully thrust its way between my lips and I could feel his warm crotch pressed tightly against me. I came quickly, before my fantasy man had a chance to remove my clothes or slide his cock inside.
I couldn’t believe the heat of my desires. I smelled the musty odor of my hands and relished that raw perfume. This time, I didn’t wash the smell away. And the flannel nightgown . . . I let it hang inside my closet and slept nude.
Chapter Four
Arriving at Jane’s apartment, I was surprised by the modest building. I climbed three flights of stairs to number 327, where a very different Jane greeted me at the door in red leather boots, leggings and a sexy, lace tee. She was positively gorgeous, while I trembled in fear, knowing that eventually, I’d have to remove the shirt I’d worn over the sexy t-shirt. Though I felt bold enough to wear the t-shirt and denim skirt, any confidence I’d had in the dressing room had vanished. My nipples showed through the fabric exactly as they had in the dressing room. I wish I’d worn the bra.
“C’mon, Alex. I’ve already seen those pretty babies,” Jane laughed as she stripped the shirt away and handed me a glass of wine. “Sit down and relax. I’ve need to finish getting ready.” She walked into another room, calling back to me as she went – “And have another glass of wine when you’re done with that one.”
“I really shouldn’t, I’m driving,” I called to her.
“Oh, stop worrying, I’ll drive if you can’t.”
Her apartment was just like her. Color, lots of color, turquoise and red and pink and yellow, and black and white. Nothing matched, but everything went together, from the sofa with its abundant pillows, to the dark wood tables, and the smattering of expressionist and modern art, framed in gilded gold and brass and silver. It seemed thrown together in marvelous abandon, with each piece having landed comfortably into a pattern that was naturally like Jane herself.
“Let’s go,” she finally announced, sweeping back into the room. “You okay to drive?”
I hadn’t had the second glass of wine and my head was clear, very clear. “I’m fine,” I answered.
I was glad it was dark out, so no one on the street would notice how I was dressed. Once in the car, Jane led me across the bridge and out of town, where we turned onto a narrow highway and continued another few miles. At the junction of two country roads sat a tavern. The weathered and decaying framework made it look as if the building itself was dying, yet from inside, the lights glowed brightly at the windows. The sign that beckoned one to stop read simply, Red Rose, and suddenly my skin began to crawl. No, no. This couldn’t be happening again! What had I done to make this happen? I don’t know how I managed to park the car, get out, and make my way to the long front porch. I was in an altered state, too numb to even think.
To know each board in the crumbling facade, to have heard the creaking porch floor echoing through my mind, to see the red rose just as my fantasies had painted it; to have my imagination come alive twice in as many weeks, the reality finally made me stop in my tracks.
I stood motionless for the better part of several minutes trying to pry myself from the spot. Standing just inside the door, just as in my fantasy, I gazed into a large rustic room filled with loud-mouthed bikers and their women, drinking beer and playing pool. The smell of drugs was in the air. I didn’t know whether to scream or cry, or run or slap myself awake from this nightmare.
Jane practically shoved me toward a table as several pairs of eyes noticed our arrival. Immediately, my body heat began to rise. Thankfully, I didn’t even think about the t-shirt with my ridged nipples poking through the fabric.
“You’re acting strange again, Alex, what phantom is it this time?”
Rock music blared from an enormous sound system, pounding my ears so that my head began to ache.
“It’s happening again,” I told her, my voice so withered I’m surprised she heard me. I took a huge swallow of the drink in front of me, a strong tasting something that Jane had ordered.
“What’s happening again?”
How could she forget? “I’ve been here, but haven’t really been here.”
“You mean those wicked fantasies of yours?”
“Yes, I mean those wicked fantasies.”
She stared at me amazed. “You’re remarkable.” She honestly meant that.
The drink seemed to settle me a bit, and I began to search the room, looking closely at the people around me. I stared at one dark skinned man – Mexican or Portuguese, handsome in his roughness, with closely clipped hair and a well trimmed mustache. He wore a sleeveless t-shirt, so his tattooed arms were bare and his thick muscles gleamed in the low light. His tight chest stretched the fabric of the shirt so well that his small nipples showed, and the definition of his muscled chest was unmistakable. The energy from his dark eyes grabbed me right between my legs. I could only stand to look at him for a second before my gaze turned elsewhere.
“Have you ever met a man like that?” Jane asked.
“No!”
“Don’t look so frightened.”
“He’s so…so.” I couldn’t find the words.
“So raw? Animal?” she suggested.
Exactly.
“Maybe I need another drink,” I said, and we ordered a second.
“I can’t believe it happened again. This isn’t something that happens to sane people.”
Jane looked a bit exasperated. “You know, Alex, you can spend your evening worrying about how this happened, or you can relax and enjoy yourself.”
Of course she was right. I took a deep breath, and then another. At least for a moment the tense feeling in my body eased off. Within a few minutes, I could feel the drink starting to have an effect, and my anxiety receded further.
I could feel myself responding to the music, the heavy beat, the crazy noise, all of it infecting me just like the liquor. I could do this. Yes, I could do this, I told myself until my mind was too far gone to think at all. All of a sudden, I wanted to dance, wanted to flirt, wanted everything my fantasies gave me. At least for the moment, I was sure that the inhibitions that had held me back before had finally been driven away.
Rising from my seat to go to the restroom, the first rush of blood made me dizzy; but gat
hering up my courage, I walked like any brazen slut, my hips slowly gyrating in a sensuous fluid stroll across the room.
I was noticed – a pair of eyes, maybe two or three, zeroing in on my chest. These were not sweet-smelling city men with well groomed hair and properly matching clothes. There was no glint of gold, no polished suits, no impeccably clean shaven faces. These were denim men in cowboy boots dusted with the earth. The potent smell of leather made me want to climb into their laps and smell their scent. They were rugged, earthy, comfortable with danger, extreme players, participant actors, creators of experience doing what others only dreamed of.
As the flames inside my body climbed higher, fueled by my almost drunken stupor, I became more deliberate with my body. Once in the restroom, I looked in the mirror, liking what I saw and feeling a fresh wave of desire sweep through my fired up crotch. On my way back to the our table, I suddenly found myself pushed against the wall by a leather clad biker whose large frame loomed a good six inches above my small one. He was the same burly brute who’d stared at me as I strolled to the restroom, although now he looked more formidable than alluring. He peered directly into my eyes.
“You want some fun, sweetheart?” I could smell the liquor on his breath and my stomach soured. I couldn’t reply. I had no answer and in my silence my fired up body led him on.
He reached beneath my t-shirt to fondle a tit, and I gasped.
“Like that, blondie?”
His hard body moved in closer, so I could smell his scent, a redolent wave of lusty pheromones that went straight to my sex. I responded naturally and I pressed myself against his thrusting groin. Pressing his mouth to mine, his tongue probed deeply, while the memory of my fantasy biker prodded me on. My body flooded with a fiery heat. Then something else in me, not fear or disgust, but something sassy and provocative, pushed him off. He stood back a little stunned, while I grinned and walked away. Something raw but unspoken linked us now, but as I realized what I’d just done my courage began to fade.
The Alexandra Series Page 3