Flesh For Fantasy

by Joan Elizabeth Lloyd

  Barbara was aware of her groin. This is ridiculous, she thought, yanking herself from her dreamy state. It’s dirty.

  “I know you feel that what you’re doing isn’t what nice girls are supposed to do, but that’s nonsense. Feeling sexual and sensual is wonderful. It is what I would want you to be experiencing if I were there. Relax. You and I are alone. No one will know, or care, what you’re doing. You are just making your body feel good. What is wrong with that?”

  Nothing, Barbara thought, taking a deep breath. Nothing at all. He’s right. It is my body and I can touch it. That’s why it was designed to feel good.

  “I know you want to touch the flesh between your legs and that’s so good. I get so much pleasure out of knowing I excite you. I know the water covers the parts of you that you want to touch, but you must make your hands soapy and slippery anyway. Do it for me since I can’t caress you myself. Rub the soap while I tell you what I’d like to be doing if I were there.”

  Barbara picked up the soap and rubbed, closing her eyes as she did so.

  “If I were there with you I would cup your beautiful breasts in my hands and lick the water off the tips with my rough tongue. I would suckle and lick, and maybe nip the erect tip from time to time with my sharp teeth. Can you feel me? I hope so. Don’t touch yourself, just rub the soap and imagine my teeth and lips and tongue. Imagine what they are doing and how they make you feel. Are you getting tight between your legs? Do you want to touch? That hunger is what I want you to feel. Think of how my fingers would feel touching your ribs, your sides, your belly. If you’re ticklish, I can touch you so it feels good, yet not make you laugh. I don’t want you to giggle right now, although laughter is wonderful. Do you want me to touch you?”

  The erotic music and the man’s voice filled Barbara’s ears, penetrating to her soul. Yes, she admitted, she did want him to touch her.

  “I can’t touch you, you know, and that makes me so sad. But you can touch all those places I cannot. Rub your palm over your belly. Scratch the skin on your sides. Now the insides of your thighs. Rub, caress, stroke. It’s your skin and it feels so good.”

  Barbara had never touched herself like this before and it was a bit embarrassing. But it felt good and she didn’t really consider stopping.

  “Move your fingers closer to the center of all that you need. You want to touch. Do you know how? Do you know what would feel good? Well, I do. It would feel good if you rubbed the wet, slippery place. Find that place and know the difference between the water and your own slippery juices. Feel that slick, slithery substance? Your body is making that to make it easier for me to penetrate you, but, of course, I cannot. But you can.

  “Have you ever wondered what you feel like inside? Under the water, make sure your fingers have no soap left on them. Then slide one into your passage. Touch the slick walls, rub all the places you can and find out which feels the best. I would learn that if I were there. I would know when you moan or purr, when your hips move to take me in more deeply, when you become wetter and more slippery. I would know the secrets of your pleasure, and you know them now, too. Run your fingers over the outside folds. Use the other hand if you like the feel of that finger inside you.”

  Barbara did have one finger inside her channel, in a place she had never touched before. It felt very good and she wanted more. She used the middle finger of her other hand to rub the deep crevices, moving from side to side, enjoying her own flesh.

  “Have you found your clit? I would have by now. I would have rubbed up and down both sides, feeling the tight nub swell and reach for me. I would have put one finger on either side and rubbed. Oh, that does feel good, doesn’t it. I can almost see your back arch, your eyes close, and your mouth open. Put a second finger inside your body to fill it up, and a third if that feels good. Rub your clit and all the places that feel as good.”

  Barbara was stroking her body, marveling at all the spots that gave her pleasure.

  “If I were there, I would use my mouth now. No, it’s not a bad thing. It’s a beautiful experience. I would lick your clit, flick my tongue over the end, then wrap my lips around it and draw it into my mouth. Just a slight vacuum to suck it in and hold it while my tongue rubs the surface. Just don’t stop what you’re doing while I lick you.”

  Barbara filled her pussy with her fingers and rubbed her clit, feeling the pressure in her belly. This was dirty, but so good. She didn’t want to stop, and she didn’t. The words and the music and the rubbing and the fullness inside all drove her higher. She felt something build deep in her belly, then suddenly waves of ecstatic pleasure spasmed through her.

  “Oh, yes, my wonderful girl,” the voice said. “Make it feel so good.”

  Barbara continued as the clenching subsided.

  “I will not talk anymore, but leave you to the music and to your pleasure,” the voice said. “Until the next time.”

  Oh,” Barbara said, panting. “Oh.”

  Chapter

  5

  For the next several days, the tape was never far from Barbara’s mind. She thought about that night in the tub and, with guilty pleasure, repeated the experience several times, twice while listening to the tape and, more recently, once while picturing Steve Gordon. That had happened at almost three in the morning when Barbara awakened from an erotic dream, a dream she couldn’t remember but one that left her so excited that she had to reach beneath her nightgown and touch herself to relieve the tension. As she touched her body, now able to find the places that gave her pleasure, she thought about her boss, his slender hands with their long fingers and carefully trimmed nails. She could almost feel those hands on her body as she climaxed.

  Maggie showed up at dinner time every two or three days and they talked about inconsequentials. Barbara was dying to ask questions about Maggie’s life as a prostitute but never seemed to be able to work up the nerve.

  One evening almost two weeks after Maggie’s first visit, Barbara said, “There’s an office party tomorrow night. It’s a celebration for a big case the firm won, and they’ve invited all of their clients, all of the staff and who knows who else. Steve, Mr. Gordon, told me that he’s looking forward to seeing me there. I think he might be ready to ask me to dinner.”

  “That’s great. Will you go if he asks you?”

  “Sure. It makes my palms sweat just thinking about it.”

  “I’m sure it does.” Maggie grinned and arched an eyebrow. “So. He makes you hot, does he?”

  “Maggie!” Barbara said. “That’s not it at all. He’s a very nice man and I’d like to get to know him better. That’s all.” The thought of her middle-of-the-night fantasies made her blush slightly.

  “Okay. I won’t tease. But being hot, horny, and hungry isn’t a crime. As a matter of fact, it’s delightful. It’s a high, frustrating but delicious.” Maggie hesitated. “I’ve been meaning to ask, did you like that tape?”

  Barbara blushed several shades darker. “I’ll get it for you. I’m sorry. I forgot to return it and now I’m not too sure where I put it.”

  Maggie reached out and covered Barbara’s hand with her own, calming the nervous fingers. “Don’t. Just don’t. You and I both know you’re lying. That tape is meant to do exactly what it did. It woke you up to things about your body you didn’t know. That’s why I gave it to you and that’s why you can keep it. Sensuality is a joy and, once awakened, well, let’s just say that it’s very difficult to get the genie back into the bottle.”

  Barbara sighed. She couldn’t hide anything from Maggie. The woman was too perceptive. And anyway, there was so much that Barbara didn’t know. “Maggie, you’re right. This is silly. But it’s very difficult, after thirty-one years on this earth to admit that I’m such a dunce about sex.”

  “How are you supposed to learn?” Maggie said. “All those articles in Cosmo? How to have an orgasm any hour of the day or night. How to lure the man of your dreams into your camper. The things about men that women don’t want men to know they know. Oh,
please. Give me a break.”

  Barbara laughed. “I read those,” she said.

  “And many of them have good information. But many others are pure crap. How to climax seven times in three hours. Everyone in those articles is a stud, male and female. Let’s hear it for people who like to make love, climax once or twice and cuddle. Sex is so much more than how many times a man ejaculates or a woman has an orgasm.”

  “It is?”

  “Oh, Lord, darling,” Maggie said. “Sex isn’t the destination, it’s the journey. It’s how you get to that wonderful level of excitement that allows both partners to soar together, then relax. Did you even think that if it weren’t for orgasm and the calm afterward, we’d be chasing each other all the time and we’d never get anything else done. Orgasm is the final chord in the symphony, but it’s the music before that counts.”

  “Oh” was all that Barbara could say.

  “I don’t mean to preach, but I just love making love.”

  “But isn’t there one right man, one person, who knocks your socks off? One man with whom you’d like to climb into bed for the next hundred years? What about your husband?”

  “When Chuck and I were married I thought it was forever and I settled down, worked, fucked, and enjoyed. But even then I used to imagine handsome men adoring me, licking and touching me. I wasn’t quite clear on exactly what they would be doing, just doing kinky things to my quivering body.”

  “Really?” Barbara said, grinning.

  “Sure. Chuck and I had a good relationship, but it wasn’t enough for either of us. He found his SueAnn. She’s probably a lovely girl, and because of her I was pushed out of the plain-vanilla nest I had been in, into the world of Heavenly Hash.” Maggie grinned. “And let’s hear it for all twenty-eight flavors.”

  “There’s no one special? No one man who you ever wished would take you away to a deserted cabin and keep you there forever?”

  “Not really. I love the deserted cabin idea for a weekend, but one man? For life? I don’t think so. Someone once said that if the plural of louse is lice, then the plural of spouse should be spice. I just happen to like lots of spice.”

  “Well, I’m not like you,” Barbara said, somehow wondering whether what she was saying was entirely true. “I just want one man to love me and make a life with me.”

  “That’s wonderful. Everyone should try to figure out what his or her dream is, then go for it. If that’s what you want, then let’s see what we can do to make it come true. Steve Gordon?”

  Barbara’s grin widened. “He could be the one.”

  “Why?” Maggie asked.

  “Why?”

  “Yes. What about him that makes him the right one. I don’t know him much at all. Tell me. Does he have a great sense of humor? Do you two share many common interests? Is he moody or more placid? Is he easy to be with?”

  “Actually, I don’t really know. I haven’t spent much time with him. He’s not too bad to work for. He understood about my mom and let me take time off when I needed it. And he depends on me to keep him going. I’m valuable to him.”

  “That’s not a reason to make a life with someone. He has to be valuable to you as well.”

  “Of course he is,” Barbara said. “He’s wonderful.”

  “Okay, great.” Maggie stood up. “What about this party? How dressed up is it?”

  “It’s cocktail dress.”

  “So. What are you going to wear? You want him to notice you, don’t you?”

  “I do. I mean, he does.” Actually, he had noticed her the first few days after her dramatic makeover, but since then it had been business as usual. Several of the other men in the office seemed to pay more attention to her new persona than Steve did. One man had actually asked her to dinner, but she had politely refused, preferring to meet with Maggie and concentrate on Steve.

  “All right then, let’s decide what you should wear. I saw a dress in the back of your closet the first night I was here.”

  The two women went upstairs and Maggie quickly pulled out the dress. “How about this?”

  “Oh, Maggie. I bought that as a favor to my mom. It was one of the last shopping trips we took together before she became bedridden. I’ve never even worn it.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s so, I don’t know, obvious.” She took the hanger from Maggie. The halter shaped chiffon bodice was soft blue with a full skirt that shaded from the pale blue of the top to a deep royal at the hem. She pointed to the low-cut back. “You can’t even wear a bra. I couldn’t wear this.”

  “Try it on for me,” Maggie asked. “Come on, what will it hurt. Only I will see you.”

  With a deep sigh, Barbara stripped off her clothes and slipped into the dress. She adjusted the wide medium-blue belt and fastened the rhinestone buckle. While she was doing that, Maggie was rummaging around on the floor of Barbara’s closet. Suddenly there was a triumphant “Taa Daa” and Maggie tossed out a pair of strappy black patent-leather sandals. “Put those on.”

  Barbara did, then the two women looked at Barbara in the full-length mirror. Maggie stood behind her and pulled her hair into an upswept mass, with a few strands artfully caressing her neck and the white streak prominently displayed. “God, I wish I had hair like this,” Maggie sighed. “Mine’s so tight and curly, I had to keep it short all the time.”

  “That’s not me,” Barbara said, looking at the striking brunette who looked back at her. “That dress and hairstyle are meant for a beautiful woman. And I’m certainly not beautiful.”

  “Not classically beautiful, no,” Maggie said. “But a woman who looks comfortable in her skin, and particularly one who has that gleam of sensuality that you will have if I have anything to say about it, is attractive. And you are.”

  “Oh, Maggie. I couldn’t.” Could I?

  “You can if you want to.”

  “Do you really think so? Could I knock ’em dead? Could I really get Steve to notice me?”

  Maggie grinned. “I know so and I think maybe you’re beginning to also.”

  Barbara suddenly realized things about herself she hadn’t understood until that moment. She wanted to be that woman she saw in the mirror. Like Cinderella. No, not like Cinderella, she corrected herself. I don’t want to be someone else for just one night. She thought about her new hairstyle and her new clothes. She realized, as she looked at herself, that in this dress she stood up straighter, looked herself in the eye. And she glowed.

  “Maybe just a little,” Barbara said.

  “Good. That’s all I ask. Enjoy the party, and don’t dance only with Prince Charming. Cindy missed a lot of other really great folks at that ball.”

  The party was being held in the King’s Room of a local hotel. Almost two hundred people were expected. When Barbara arrived, there was a four-piece dance combo playing innocuous music. Uniformed waiters and waitresses circulated with hot and cold hors d’oeuvres, glasses of red and white wine, and flutes of champagne. There was also an open bar for those who enjoyed soft drinks or hard liquor.

  Barbara stood off to one side trying to figure out how to join one of the groups of laughing people. She searched the crowd for Steve, but could not find his familiar tall, slender shape. I wonder whether he’s bringing someone, she thought. She looked down at the yards of bright blue skirt and thought about the hour it had taken for Maggie to fix her makeup and choose her accessories. As she moved her head, Barbara felt the large rhinestone earrings brush against her neck. Why had she allowed Maggie to talk her into those chandeliers? Why the wide bracelet? Why not her plain gold chain around her neck and her gold studs in her ears? She’d certainly feel more comfortable.

  For want of something to do, she took a glass of white wine from one waiter’s tray and a salmon puff from another.

  “You’ve changed your hair,” a voice said behind her. “I like it.”

  She turned and recognized Jay Preston, an investigator whom the firm employed for divorce work and other secret projects. �
�Thank you, Mr. Preston. I’m surprised you noticed.” I never noticed how cute he is, she thought, still scanning the room for her boss.

  “I have noticed a lot about you in the past few weeks. And it’s Jay.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Barbara said. God, he was sexy. Not handsome, Barbara thought, but the gleam in his deep gray eyes was directed entirely at her. His hair was almost black with just the beginnings of silver at the temples. Because Barbara wore two-inch heels she was only an inch shorter than he was, but he seemed to tower over her, making her think of some desert chieftain holding a sweet young woman captive. Now where had that thought come from? Barbara wondered.

  “Don’t say anything,” Jay said. “Just tell me, are you alone tonight?”

  “If you mean did I bring a date, the answer is no.”

  “Bring a date. You don’t have to be a detective to know that that phrase means you’re not married or engaged. This must be my lucky night.” He took her elbow, his fingers on her naked skin causing shivers up her spine.

  “You are a bit too fast for me,” she said.

  “I’m sorry. I just don’t believe in wasting time when I see something I want.”

  Barbara took a step back. “It feels like you’re using up all the air in here,” she said honestly, sipping her wine.

  Jay didn’t try to close the distance between them. “Tell me about you. What do you do when you’re not being Steve Gordon’s Ms. Everything?”

  They stood and talked for about half an hour, and found out they shared an interest in old TV comedies and cooking and abhorred partisan politics and snow. “I tried skiing once,” Jay said, “and, well, I guess it’s not macho to admit that after I fell more times than I could count, I took off my skis and walked down the baby slope.”