Letters Around Midnight

by Carla Croft

  “I...err...I mean we haven’t umm” he offered.

  “Oh,” was all I could offer.

  He was obviously confident she was going to say yes. Mind you, the line I was pushing would make me think twice before refusing. We’re talking a decent cash investment here.

  “Okay,” I tried to kick-start the conversation again.

  “Well, if the lady doesn’t like it I am sure she can always return it.”

  He nodded, and paused again pretending to look around the shop. I didn’t move and he sort of shuffled on the spot.

  “Size?” I said again

  “I need to have some idea, even a guess” He looked blankly at me and flushed again. Oh for heaven’s sake, I thought and stood in front of him, arms by my side.

  “My size, bigger or smaller?”

  “Sorry?” it was the first time he had made eye contact with me. I noticed he had these piercing ice blue eyes. I felt embarrassed and wondered if I hadn’t been too terse with him.

  “My size, bigger or smaller?” I managed to soften my voice.

  “Which er, I mean, um”

  “Well, let’s start with up top shall we,” without thinking I placed my hands either side of my breasts in demonstration.

  “Same” he blurted out and looked away, and coughed.

  “Same er all over.”

  “Okay then.”

  “Thong, G or brief.” The look of horror on his face was priceless and I couldn’t help but giggle a bit. More out of embarrassment for him than at him. He cracked a smile which surprised me. Doesn’t take himself too seriously then; nice white teeth, strong jaw. He was handsome in his own way. The eyes, mouth and nose didn’t look great by themselves but taken together; well yeah I thought I could see myself falling for him: especially if he spent this kind of money on me as a special treat.

  “What would you err...”

  “Recommend?” He nodded.

  “Let’s go with thong shall we.” I much prefer thongs myself especially for lingerie, although it does depend on the style of the set. I find thongs are, well, more sexy. He nodded.

  “Anything else?” he shook his head.

  I took him to the till, rang up the prices and ticked the item off my stock list. I wrapped the items carefully in tissue paper and popped them in a bag. Again a look of horror.

  “I have a plain bag if you don’t want to give the game away.” He nodded again.

  We always keep plain brown bags for men who get embarrassed by taking lingerie back to their offices or on the tube. It’s all part of the service. Discretion assured.

  He handed me his card and I swiped it through the till.

  “I’ve put my business card in the bag, in case the lady herself wants to pop in,”

  “Okay thanks”,

  “Pin?” He punched in his number.

  “Okay, here you go, bag, receipt, and your card” I handed the bag over to him. He had nice hands.

  “Thanks for your help.” It was his first coherent sentence.

  “No problem” I smiled at him and he smiled back.

  I remember thinking, if I had played it right “she” might come in. If I had pitched it perfect he might come back. Once a man has dipped a toe in the water, you generally see him back. They get drawn into it. They begin to look forward to the ritual of shopping for something sexy that their girl will enjoy wearing for them. So I secretly hoped he would be back soon. I was intrigued by him. Buying lingerie for her for their first time was a bold move. A risk-taker, I decided, rather than cocky. Cocky didn’t fit him at all.

  Mark became a regular. I looked forward to each next visit. He grew in confidence in choosing items. If he was stuck, he asked for help. It was easy, his lady had similar taste to mine and if we were stuck, I would tell him what I would go for and he ran with it. I never had any items returned so she must have liked them all. The lucky lady was getting an extremely good collection of my best merchandise. I found Mark easy to be with. I wondered what she was like. Probably an equally high flyer in the City and wondered whether she had been into the shop and I had served her and not realised. The lines Mark chose were pricey but we did sell a lot of them and the sizes were pretty common. If I were her, I would definitely have at least visited the shop where my lover was buying me all this gorgeous stuff.

  A month ago, Mark came into the shop at lunchtime. He looked distracted. I tried to cheer him up as we looked for a new outfit together,

  “So did she like the last set?” I was talking and browsing along the rails at the same time.

  “Yes, yes perfect.”

  “Do you have anything in the same line but, well, more colourful?” I had noticed he, or perhaps she, was getting a bit more adventurous.

  “Okay, what about her skin tone.” Men generally go for red. It probably explains why it’s the most returned colour. He looked at me oddly,

  “It makes a difference.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, yes. What looks good on a coloured girl looks different on someone pale like me. Haven’t I taught you anything?” I ribbed him, flashing a smile I hoped would make him laugh,

  “Oh,” he was nodding his head and looking along the rails. He missed my smile. I felt disappointed; and when I noted my disappointment, it melted into confusion.

  “Porcelain,” he said. I blinked.

  “Porcelain,” he repeated it. I could have understood “pale” but “porcelain”?

  “What are you, a poet?”

  His short laugh made me feel better but I was still confused. He flicked through panties and bras. He was getting more adventurous. For the first time, I noticed his aftershave. A deep daywear mixture of citrus and spices. It picked at the inside of my nose. I shifted uneasily. I make it a rule not to get involved with male customers. Not that they don’t try, more than you would think, considering they are coming to get underwear for their wives and girlfriends. They come here to buy items for their lovers and if I get in the way then I can’t concentrate on asking the right questions. I need to focus to ensure their lady gets the best of what I have to offer. He sensed I was off,

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah sure.”

  “I didn’t upset you?”

  “No, no of course not.”

  I carried on searching the rails, handing him garments for him to look at. He examined each one attentively. I kept thinking of those blue eyes being on me. I began to feel jealous of the lingerie. I wanted to be wearing it when he was looking at it. I wanted to have his eyes on me, those hands on me. I wanted to smell of his aftershave after we had made love and smell of his sex, our sex. I wanted to have a rash on my neck where his stubble had scratched me and little bruises on my bum where his fingers had dug into me when he had come inside me.

  “I think this is perfect” his pronouncement brought me back to earth. He looked at me. I flushed.

  “Is everything okay?” he was looking at me. His eyes narrowed with concern had turned into piercing blue shards of ice. He was looking into me, not at me. I hated that he might not like what he saw. I turned away so he might not see further into me than he should.

  “No, fine. Good choice” It was. It was the most expensive set in the shop. For the first ever time, I didn’t want to send the items out. I wanted to yell “No they’re not for sale. You can’t have them.” I hated this girl I had never seen, whoever she was. This girl who would wear these for him; would stain them with her perfume and leave them misshapen with her shape as they fell undone by his hands. I tried not to think of them lying on the floor as he walked over them, taking her to their bed. Kissing her not me, stroking her not me. All the while leaving these poor things lying abandoned and unnoticed, like me.

  I was getting so upset I walked to the door and though it was still too early to do so I put the closed sign up. The gar
ments weighed heavy on my heart as I walked to the till. The fabric scratched my hands as I searched for the tags. My eyes were glistening.

  “Closing early?” He asked searching in his wallet for his card.

  “Yeah” was all I managed, putting on a brave face,

  “Gotta celebrate, best set in the shop, break open the champagne,” I laughed it off.

  “You look sad to see them go,”

  “No, oh no. Good home. I’m sure she’ll love them.”

  “I hope so,” was all he said.

  The tags were taking an age to undo. My fingers wouldn’t work. I fumbled at the knots. They refused to come undone.

  “Here let me” he took the bra from my hands and deftly took off the tag,

  “Oh ...thanks, want a job?” I managed a weak smile.

  “Oh God” I thought to myself. I wish he wouldn’t look at me. I didn’t want him to, I wanted him to tell me not to be silly, to get a grip, shout at me, scream at me, anything but be nice to me.

  My breathing was shallow and rapid and I kept getting short sharp snatches of his aftershave. My tummy was water and my knees were trembling. I wanted to get the sale done, get him out and go to the back of the shop and cry my eyes out. I had never so wanted a man in my life and here I was trying to get rid of him.

  Somehow, heaven knows how I eventually managed to get the tag off the thong and punch the price in, swipe his card and pack the items into a plain brown bag. I stifled a sniff and pushed the bag over the counter at him. Now, take it and go, I thought. He still stood there.

  “Can I have a shop bag?”

  “Sorry?”

  “A proper shop bag, one of the nice ones”

  “Oh sorry...I... men prefer plain bags.” I rolled my eyes mockingly. I got a shop bag out and re packed the items.

  “Here you are”

  “Thanks”

  “No problem” I stood at the till. Rooted to the spot. I wanted him to leave so that I could be alone.

  “Thanks” he said again. I tried a smile but it came out lopsided.

  “I’ll be off then,” he stood across the till from me. I folded my arms, which was about as much of a dismissal as I could muster. I wanted to run into his arms and kiss him but I fought myself back. He turned away as I went to speak, and seeing me stutter, he turned back. I forgot what it was I wanted to say.

  “Sorry what?”

  “Nothing,” I said

  “Oh sorry I thought you said something,”

  “I...I’m sorry...I have to lock up... early lunch... celebrate” I did a silly face and a little shimmy dance on the spot in mock celebration.

  “Oh yeah right...celebrate” he turned again and walked towards the door a few steps.

  “One last thing, Susie.” he turned back.

  “This is for you.” He handed the carrier back to me across the counter.

  “I’m sorry, what?” my mouth formed the words but nothing came out. I coughed.

  “I’m sorry, what?” I managed to get out.

  “This... these... they’re for you.”

  “And, the others.” He added. I was speechless.

  “They’re all for you. It’s all been for you.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t get it.”

  “Susie, I’m crazy about you. Can’t you tell? Everything I’ve bought, your size, your colour, your choice. It’s all been for you. It always has been.”

  My hand shot to my mouth. My knees turned to water. I swept past the till, past the outstretched carrier and into his arms. I bathed myself in his aftershave, buried my cheek against his stubble. My breasts forced themselves against his chest. I held him. My tears stained with mascara seeped into his collar.

  “It’s always been about you.”

  The words came again but his time soft in my ear. I pressed my lips to his, forced them apart and pushed my tongue into the sweet cavern of his mouth. He tasted so good. His hands were around my waist pulling me to him. The carrier dropped to the floor. It was all I could to breathe.

  I stood there on tiptoe in his arms. I pulled him back into the changing area at the back of the shop. We stripped each other naked as we walked, a sexual beast with four legs joined at the lips. A line of clothes stretched from the shop floor to the changing rooms. I hit the light switch with my elbow as we went. The lights dimmed. My blouse came off as he took off his jacket and tie. My bra went as his shirt came off. We clung to each other to feel the flesh of our bodies against each other for the first time. His trousers and my skirt came down at the same time, both of us hopping together as shoes came off. He was in his boxers and I had my briefs on. We stood there, a heartbeat away from being totally naked together for the first time. I pushed him back onto an upholstered chair, and stood before him, like a stage magician, for the final reveal.

  I peeled down my briefs and straddled him with a sigh against his cheek. His cock pushed its way toward me. His chest was hard and taught, his chest hair tickling my nipples. I kissed him. He pushed his boxers down as I lifted myself up, poised above his shaft. He held his cock in one hand and then ever so slowly I eased myself down onto it. It felt so gorgeously thick. He filled me completely as I softly impaled myself on it. Claiming it. Taking it inside me with no intention of ever giving it back. I felt the hair of his legs under my thighs as he grabbed my bum, pulling me deeper onto him. I wrapped my arms around his neck kissing his blue eyes as they closed; his beautiful face upturned to mine. I rode him slowly and then faster. I varied my rhythm. I varied the motion. First, up and down, then side to side, made circles and used my stomach muscles to massage his cock inside me. His breathing was erratic. I was seeing the effect of my lovemaking on his face. Each movement, each pulse, had a different effect. I pushed a hand down between us working myself and the top of his cock. I circled it with my hand, as I rocked my pelvis back and forth along his shaft. I felt his balls tightening as I gripped him tighter, prolonging his orgasm as he came. His face pushed against my neck.

  “Oh Susie.” He whispered my name for the first time into the well of my ear. I had his cock inside me and my name on his lips. I had everything I wanted. His come dribbled out of me making my fingers slippery. I put them to my mouth to taste us and then put my hand down to bring myself off on him. I rubbed my clit urgently and moved up and down on his cock. Every delicious corrugation of it sent a thrill through me until the glorious moment of final release when I came in a flood of rippling emotion. It cascaded out of me, a waterfall of pleasure, tumbling down from the tip of my head through my pussy. We kissed: a long and languorous kiss submerged in the warm afterglow. All the pain, all the hurt, all the jealousy had gone. It was make up sex and revenge sex all in one.

  ***

  Susie had finished her story. We sat quietly in the shop for a long while, not saying anything. It might have been the noise of the late night shoppers outside but for a moment it sounded as if the lingerie in the shop was cheering.

  “We’ve been together ever since. He still buys me lingerie but he picks it out for me. He has great taste. We make love in here occasionally when we get the chance amongst the stock. It’s our private place, a place we can escape to from the outside world. I love lingerie more now that I have someone to wear it for. He is putting money into the business and we might be able to start a chain. It would be fantastic. But everyone is going to be trained to love lingerie as much as I do.”

  “And, all the lingerie he bought?” I asked

  “Oh, yes, well surprise, surprise...it fits.”

  Emily - The Cellist

  Emily had gone to College in America to study music, majoring in the cello. First reports from her were great, she loved the campus, the city and the people. We kept in touch via Facebook; but I was worried. She hardly ever mentioned her cello. A mutual friend summed it up,

  “There was a time when you could never
get her to shut up about the bloody thing,” she said one day

  “Now you can’t get her to talk about it at all.”

  Things were worse than I feared. Emily called me one day, her voice hoarse from panic and crying. She had flunked her first year, and the College was seriously considering letting her go. She was at her wits’ end. But, the thing about Em’ is, she is not a quitter; and despite her situation, she soldiered on. Miraculously, in the first term of her retake year, things started to get better. Her grades improved and she was selected to play for the College orchestra. No one had any idea what the reason was. No one wanted to ask. We were simply glad at the turnaround.

  Not so long ago, Emily called me. She was in London for few weeks and asked me to pop round to see her. I was only too happy to oblige. It gave me the chance to find out what had happened. Of course, I had my suspicions, and wanted to see if I was right.

  I arrived at her house later in the evening and as soon as the taxi rattled away, I could hear the unmistakable strains of Emily’s cello. It was achingly beautiful. I hadn’t a clue what the piece was but it pulled at your heartstrings.

  My knock on the door stopped the music mid-flow. Emily answered, full of life, as if there had never been a problem.

  “It was such a shame to make you stop” I said as we embraced,

  “That music was something else.”

  “You liked it?” She looked pleased.

  “A friend of mine wrote it.” It’s what Em’ didn’t say that spoke volumes. The thing about listening to people for a living is you can hear when they are itching to tell you a secret. This one was written in letters of sexual fire six feet high.

  “Okay, tell me his name,”

  “God, is it obvious?”

  “Uh huh.” She bit her lip.

  “Do you still collect those stories?” she asked.

  “Uh huh.”

  She looked at me, then looked to the door of the front room where I guessed her cello was. The look of indecision on her face was intriguing. There was a time when nothing could have stopped her playing. There had been a change in her. She took me past the door to the back kitchen where we could sit and chat. She told me her story.