The Switch

by Diane Whiteside

  And the look on her face when he dropped his pants…

  He fondled his cock as he remembered that slow trickle of crimson running down her hand while her chocolate-brown eyes devoured him.

  A moment later he was very hard as he imagined the same lady, now a priestess in scarlet silk with hair pinned up to bare her neck, ordering him to perform for her. Trails of water slid over him, silken as a woman’s hair, as he stroked himself, responding to the priestess’ detailed instructions. He imagined the lady’s mouth wrapped around his cock, drinking him down.

  He closed his eyes and fought back the rising pressure in his balls, intent on building his fantasy for as long as possible. He imagined her long fingers cupping his balls, squeezing them slowly as the tension built into painful demand. He swore, imagining how her white teeth would delicately scrape his shaft. He gave himself over to his imagination, finally shuddering when the priestess’ finger probed his ass and demanded his climax. He groaned as white jets splashed the tiled wall.

  Sean opened his eyes and sighed, enjoying a harder-edged satisfaction than he usually took from his hand.

  Still, fantasies were great but usually remained just that: fantasy, not real life. Maybe she really would come back tonight. If she did, he’d do a lot to make this fantasy live as long as possible.

  Mike couldn’t know about it of course. Kids needed to believe in fidelity, not one-night stands.

  He got dressed quickly and carried his blue sweater. Months ago, Mike’s girlfriend Carol had said that Sean was too hot for women to resist in anything that color. He’d avoided wearing it since but now he needed all the ammunition he could get. If Beth liked him in blue, he’d wear it.

  Mike’s eyes widened when he saw the sweater that Sean dropped on the table by the door. He glanced at his father’s face but quickly went back to serving dinner.

  “What’s in that box, Mike?” Sean asked as he sat down to dinner.

  “Jenny’s mom, Mrs. Davison, dropped it off. She made some chocolate truffles and thought we might like some. There’s also some of Ms. Anderson’s apple pie.”

  Sean flinched at the mention of the women who kept chasing him. He’d never given them any encouragement.

  “I’ll take the candy and pie to the women’s shelter tomorrow,” Sean decided. The ladies there always liked sweets.

  They talked about Mike’s science project during the rest of meal, stopping only when a horn blew from in front. Mike jumped up and started clearing dishes rapidly. Dudley came to his feet carefully, tail wagging as he begged for an opportunity to investigate the visitor in person.

  “Go on, Mike. I’ll finish that. Try not to stay up too late tonight at Sam’s house.”

  “Sure, Dad. I’ll take Dudley with me too, okay? You know he likes playing with Sam’s collie.”

  Dudley’s tail wagged faster at the mention of his name. Sean looked down into the pleading brown eyes and chuckled.

  “Fine. You two have fun and I’ll find something to do on my own.”

  Mike grabbed his coat and bag then came back to the table, reaching into his pocket. A small packet hit the table and Mike stepped back.

  “In case you need a few extra.”

  Sean looked down at the table then laughed out loud at the box of condoms lying there. So the young master was helping out the old man. Well, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d bought any and hopefully they’d be useful.

  He hugged Mike briefly and then lightly pushed him out the door. He had dishes to wash and preparations to make.

  Sean arrived at the PTSA meeting a few minutes early and took a seat in the front on the aisle.

  Linda Davison showed up a few minutes late, announced by her usual cloud of stale cigarette smoke. She stood next to Sean and pointed at the chair beside him, ignoring Pete Andrews’ opening remarks. Sean groaned inside but came to his feet, trying not to disturb the people around them more than necessary.

  He returned to his seat but shifted as far towards the aisle as he could, trying not to touch or smell the woman. She was dressed in her favorite outfit, which emphasized three different shades of green. Four shades if you counted the corrosion on her watchband. The combination reminded Sean of the Florida swamps he’d first met in Ranger School.

  Linda pushed her foot against Sean’s and he smelled her sour perfume. He shifted away but she followed, rubbing her leg against his. Sean stared straight ahead, looking forward for once to standing up before a crowd.

  The meeting was as boring as ever, with the usual speakers rambling on about the usual subjects. Thankfully, Pete introduced him soon and he gave his standard treasurer’s account, wincing at Linda’s enthusiastic applause. Who did she think she was impressing, clapping for a routine talk about money?

  He sat down next to Pete afterwards. Unfortunately, Linda stood up a few minutes later to talk about the upcoming school play and found a seat beside Sean afterwards. She leaned over to whisper to him as soon as the next speaker began. Mercifully, Deirdre hissed at Linda from the row behind to be silent.

  He made two more reports, talking about the annual ski trip and repairing the school’s ornate façade, glad he’d written the reports in advance. The time spent addressing the meeting was unusually welcome, as it gave him time to breathe some clean air away from Linda. Then he returned to his seat, ready for the meeting’s open discussion portion.

  Sean’s mind slid to his approaching encounter with Beth and he began to review his preparations, barely listening to the long-winded talk about fund raising. Nobody mentioned anything that he needed to answer as treasurer. He wondered what Beth would want to do; his body promptly, and enthusiastically, responded. He shifted slightly in his chair to ease the tightness of his pants.

  Linda Davison glanced at him and he went very still to avoid further notice. He shifted the financial report on his lap, hoping to hide the swelling behind his fly. He tried to focus on something messy, like cleaning up the school’s usual burden of graffiti, to soften his arousal but failed.

  His pants kept getting tighter, as he thought about the coming rendezvous, until his zipper bit into him. He bit down hard on the inside of his lip. He forced himself to relive that Florida swamp, remembering every detail of its mud and water moccasins and damnit stumps. He reviewed every type of poisonous snake found in that Florida swamp, all the details that he’d memorized as a Ranger instructor. But even thoughts of those dangerous snakes or the tree stumps, waiting below the water for an exhausted hiker, couldn’t calm his unruly body.

  Heat stayed coiled in his gut, even as the pain built in his cock.

  His arousal finally disappeared when Mrs. Davison leaned over to whisper a question about the school’s sewers. One whiff of her hair almost erased the memory of Beth’s perfume.

  Even so, it seemed forever until the meeting ended. Linda Davison immediately started talking to him and he concentrated warily on her words.

  “Did you have a good meal tonight, Sean?” she cooed. Sean managed not to cringe at her breath’s reek.

  “Yes, thank you. Mike made spaghetti. His mother’s recipe, which we both enjoy.” He smiled to himself, when her eyes flashed at the mention of another woman, and kept talking. “Thanks for the candy. I’ll take it to the women’s shelter tomorrow as a treat for those ladies.”

  Linda’s mouth opened and shut. Unfortunately, she found an alternate tack.

  “Perhaps you’d like to come over to my house now,” she cooed.

  Sean’s eyes narrowed slightly at her tone.

  “I’ve got some more chocolate that you could taste, just to make sure those poor ladies would enjoy it. We could have some wine too and tell each other all about the good times and the bad.”

  Sean stiffened and began running excuses through his head. Linda kept talking, oblivious to his withdrawal.

  “I’ve just had the most dreadful weekend. The toilet in my bathroom keeps running all the time,” she whined. “I’m sure you could help me with it. And,
afterwards, we could get to know each other better.” She walked her fingers up his arm. He reshuffled his papers, forcing her hand to drop.

  “Have you called a plumber?” Sean refused to think of how many times she had mentioned her toilets to him.

  “Well, no, I haven’t. I wasn’t sure what to say.” Her voice trailed off, inviting Sean to step in.

  “Just tell him what you said to me, Linda.”

  Linda’s eyes narrowed and she started to say something else, determined to get his assistance. Mercifully, Deirdre Hemmings cut in then, her eyes laughing at him over Linda’s head.

  “Linda, aren’t you one of the chaperones for Thursday’s Drama Club field trip?”

  Linda stuttered, caught by the reference to hers and her daughter’s obsession, then turned to Deirdre, losing contact with him.

  “Why, yes, I am, Deirdre. Did you have any questions?”

  Sean escaped swiftly, grateful to Deirdre for covering his retreat, and fled the school without making even the slightest promise to Linda of future contact.

  He parked his pickup behind the bookstore and ran upstairs to Gary’s old apartment, a furnished one-bedroom directly over the store. A few minutes’ work and Sean had the scene set for seduction: dim lights, candles, wine. A quick check showed a variety of coffees in case the lady wanted something non-alcoholic.

  Then he scattered some of his favorite books of erotica around the living room and bedroom: Exit to Eden, Venus in Furs, the Beauty trilogy, and others. Hopefully the same things would turn Beth on and she’d take the hint.

  Mrs. Wolcott wouldn’t have given a damn about the books. She swore that she only did what felt right, whether it was a demand for oral sex or to lay a belt on her husband’s ass. He’d caught them at it from time to time when he was a hired hand, seen Mr. Wolcott iron-hard under his wife’s punishing hand just before he exploded into a climax.

  She’d told Sean the same thing on the Saturday night she spent with him as a graduation present. He’d enjoyed his hours with Mrs. Wolcott but he knew there’d only be that one time. He’d departed that small town for West Point the next day, finished with high school and intent on his future.

  He’d never talked about it. But sometimes he allowed himself to remember. How alive he had felt, more intensely than at any time except in combat. Or with Beth just now.

  Beth was so different from Mrs. Wolcott that she seemed a dream come to life. He’d dreamed so many times of having a woman watch him, while he jacked off. She’d cared about his comfort, too.

  He trusted her, at least enough to suggest going further. That rich voice of hers had led him on so smoothly that he hoped she knew more, especially of things mentioned in his books and videos.

  The books looked unfamiliar when seen in the open air, not engulfed in his hand or locked in a cabinet, hidden from Tiffany’s shouted prejudices or Mike’s youthful curiosity.

  Old fears rose to haunt him but he set them aside fiercely. He’d do whatever felt good, as long as everyone was pleased and not harmed. And Mike didn’t find out, of course.

  A glance at the clock showed that there was still time left before her arrival and Sean sat down in the bedroom to refresh his dreams. Seconds later, he lost himself in his favorite scene in The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty. His cock strengthened under the intimate words but he refused to touch it, simply enjoying the ache as he waited for his flesh and blood lady.

  He lifted his head when the wind blew a gust of rain hard against the roof. The clock caught his eye and he cursed at the time shown there. He dropped the book on the bed and ran outside to wait.

  Chapter Three

  Monday, 9 PM

  Beth kept a polite mask on her face and continued chatting about predicted price fluctuations for Singapore dollars and Malaysian ringgits, as she covertly watched Akiro Ono observe her. Another ten minutes and she’d leave for the bookstore, to hunt more of the excitement Sean brought. An adrenaline rush that only the living could feel.

  Pressured as these meetings were, they were still only low-level discussions to prepare for the time when the true decision makers would come to an agreement. Beth had been abruptly assigned to help arrange this conference after the new Administration decided to pay more attention, albeit “informally” and “privately,” to concerns over the Japanese banks’ debt portfolios and possible impact on the Japanese economy.

  It was disconcerting to see the most senior Japanese banker present hover where he could snatch a few words with her. She’d dodged him earlier, letting Ed Johnson spout the necessary formalities. Akiro had obviously waited until only a few people remained at the opening reception. Most of the attendees had left for smaller, more informal gatherings, to renew old connections before beginning the real discussions tomorrow.

  Who was he looking at: the Treasury bureaucrat, with colleagues that could help or hinder his bank, or the Western female, too ugly to be welcome in his family? The countess, his sister-in-law, had described Beth as too tall, too fat, mouth too wide, and a voice too deep for a woman. The marquise, Beth’s grandmother, had judged Beth “not enticing enough” in a voice colder than an Antarctic ice flow, during the confrontation with Catriona Nakamura.

  She snapped her mind away from past humiliation. Both families had been right about one thing: she was far too Western to settle into a Japanese marriage, to a Japanese man and enacted according to Japanese customs.

  But why was Akiro so eager to see her? For her connections now or because of their clans’ history? She could think of multiple reasons why he would want to talk to the woman who’d been his nephew’s fiancé. He wouldn’t create a scene, not here. But things could still get very nasty.

  Professor Hiroki Nakamura could probably make some guesses about Akiro Ono’s intentions. But Beth hadn’t spoken more than formalities to her father since that dreadful day in Tokyo. He’d been mute while her grandmother and mother dueled over the broken engagement. Her mother had shot torrents of scalding vehemence in Beth’s defense, while her grandmother had parried and finally thrust with icy words that cut as deep as a glacier’s crevasses.

  Both women’s words had hurt but not as much as her beloved father’s silence. Her Japanese blood understood the need not to attack the family head in public, no matter how disastrously grandmother had been proven wrong. Her Scots blood hungered for warmth and reassurance from her favorite parent. Beth still couldn’t forget that he hadn’t wrapped his support around her in front of his mother.

  Beth eased out of the conversation and watched the two bankers depart for the hotel’s bar to further dissect currency, a safe conversational topic before tomorrow’s talk of debt restructuring. Akiro approached and she greeted him formally, her words soft and her spine stiff as she bowed the smallest amount consonant with propriety.

  “Good evening, Mr. Ono. It is an honor to see you here.”

  “Greetings, Miss Nakamura.” His answering bow was lower than required. “I am delighted to be here and have this opportunity to speak to you in person.”

  She nodded politely and waited.

  “It is a pleasure seeing old acquaintances, is it not, in unfamiliar places? But then, travel can take anyone to enlivening experiences.”

  What on earth was he leading up to?

  “Indeed, the contrast of old and new can be fascinating to see,” Beth responded courteously.

  “Exactly.” Akiro smiled in genuine relief, which baffled her. “A good parent should ensure that his child has the broadest education possible, which travel helps provide. My brother, for example, has just sent his son Genichi to Algeria.”

  Genichi? The pampered youngest son in an Islamic part of Africa? Beth blinked, trying to imagine how her ex-fiancé would behave far from Tokyo’s nightlife. “An ancient country with connections to both East and West.”

  “Precisely.” Akiro beamed at her but controlled himself quickly. “Your grandmother recommended the broadening effects of travel and my brother thought Algeria offered
the greatest potential for learning. Indeed, he insisted that Genichi spend all his time there except when he is at home in Japan.”

  Beth nodded and bit down on the inside of her lip, trying not to snicker. Where on earth would Genichi find in Algeria the lavish lifestyle he demanded? What would he do for nightclubs? Shopping? Or gossip? Who would pay compliments to his wardrobe? And Algeria had been engaged in a civil war, although there hadn’t been much talk of that recently.

  “The count and the marquise are famous for their wisdom. I’m sure Algeria has much to offer the studious mind,” Beth answered piously, invoking the aristocratic pasts of Akiro’s family and her own.

  “Quite so,” Akiro agreed heartily. “My son Daisuke plans to study at Berkeley, under your esteemed father, next year. It is our hope that his sojourn will result in many blessings, including warmer ties between our kin.”

  Beth’s eyes widened briefly. The two families had feuded for years, exacerbated when her father had ignored the unspoken assumption that he would marry an Ono daughter, and chosen Catriona McKenna, daughter of a British naval officer and granddaughter of an Orkney fisherman, instead. As balance, Beth’s grandmother Keiko had strongly encouraged the engagement to Genichi and been furious when Beth ended it, no matter how great Genichi’s insult to the Nakamura family. For Daisuke Ono to become Professor Nakamura’s protégé meant that both clans seriously wanted to end the dispute.

  “I will pray for many such blessings for both our families,” Beth answered in all sincerity. She roused herself from contemplating the implications of this news to offer an olive branch of her own. “Have you spoken much to Mr. Johnson yet? His wife is an ardent fancier of antique roses and he might be interested in your gardens.”