Allure of the Vixen

by Morian, C. C.

  “Sounds like you think everyone is a sleazeball.”

  “ Most of them are harmless. Those are just some of the guys who bother me.”

  “It’s tough, being so attractive. Everyone staring at you all the time.” I said it offhand, if it had been any other woman I might have put more of an edge in my voice, taking her down a notch.

  “I didn’t think you noticed.”

  “Hard not to notice a woman like you.” This was dangerous territory for me, but I’d sound like an idiot if I didn’t mention the obvious.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. You get noticed as well.”

  “Hopefully not because I’m one of the creeps.”

  “Not at all. A lot of the women talk about you.”

  “Huh. I don’t really care.”

  “Really? No interest at all?”

  I shrugged. “Okay, I’ll play. What do they say?”

  “They don’t quite know what to make of you.”

  “I’m just a regular guy.”

  “I don’t believe that any more than you do.” Joanne glanced back over at our crowd. “Marie thinks you are nice.” Her voice was flat.

  “Interesting. Actually, not really.”

  “I’m not sure I agree with her.”

  “So I’m not nice?” I didn’t give a shit what Marie thought. Joanne, though, was another matter.

  “Dan is nice. You’re not like Dan. He’s more of a sweet nice, if you know what I mean.”

  “I’m not sure I do.”

  Joanne looked away briefly, as if deciding what to say or how to say it. “There are a lot of nuances to nice, especially to a woman. There’s sweet, there’s kind. There’s polite. Some men can be all of them, and that’s pretty much it. Some men can be none of those. Others can be some of them, but also have something else, an edge.”

  “I’m not sure I follow all that,” I admitted.

  “That’s because you are a man. Well, that’s not all of it. If you were a man who just took what he wanted, and didn’t care what anyone thought, including the person he was taking from, you’d certainly be aware of that. That’s one kind of man. A lot of woman like that in a man. Maybe not for a husband, but for a fantasy.” Joanne paused. “Or a lover.”

  My heart started beating a little faster, this conversation taking a decidedly personal turn. Was Joanne telling me that she had a lover, as opposed to a boyfriend? Or that she fantasized about rough powerful men?

  “There are other types of men too,” she went on, seemingly unaware of my unease; she was assuming I was interested, which probably wasn’t too hard to fathom. “Powerful men. Confident men. Funny men. All of them attractive in their own way.”

  “I didn’t know women did so much male classification,” I said.

  “I’m sure men do, too. Certainly about looks. Don’t you have a type of woman you are attracted to?” Joanne lifted her eyes to mine.

  I couldn’t tell if she was just bullshitting to pass the time, or teasing me, or flirting. My first instinct was to say, ‘Sure I do, and you are my perfect type, with your sexy voice and your incredible body and your sparkling eyes that speak to me and suck me in.’ That’s what I might have said to a woman in a different situation, a woman I didn’t work with.

  Joanne gave me a second to respond, but when it was clear that I wasn’t going to say anything, she went on, “And it’s not just looks. I bet men have preferences for personalities. Take Marie, for instance, fun loving Marie. I bet some men love all that not so veiled sex talk, those almost slutty dresses she wears to the office, those fuck me shoes.”

  I picked up one of the drinks to cover my surprise at Joanne’s sudden shift in tone, the drink wasn’t even mine but I took a swig of it anyway. I was certainly comfortable with the word fuck, even from a woman, but hearing it from Joanne sounded so sexy, so intimate.

  When I’d recovered, I said, “I like Marie, but you’re right, she’s not my personality type.”

  “She did ask a good question, though. What’s your story?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean. Word gets around the office. You haven’t hit on anyone. Why is that?”

  “Maybe I’m gay,” I said.

  Joanne picked up the other drink, which wasn’t hers either, it was a shot, she had been drinking wine. She took the full hit. “You aren’t. I can tell.”

  “Really?” I was intrigued.

  “Really.”

  “How do you know? I could be just in the closet.”

  “I think it’s something chemical.”

  “Chemical.”

  “Hormonal. Whatever it is, I’m sure of it.”

  I laughed, getting a little more comfortable with the conversation, even though it had an undertone of illicitness beneath it. Even under Joanne’s influence, I was still confident in my ability to resist doing anything stupid. Not that I wouldn’t think it, not that I wouldn’t fantasize about it later, maybe even beat myself up for not doing anything, but knowing Joanne was probably doing this just because she knew I was safe. I didn’t fool around in the office, and I think everyone knew it.

  “I know many a guy who went after a woman who turned out to be a lesbian,” I said. “They were driven by hormones too. And totally fooled by them.”

  “That’s because they were listening to just their own hormones,” Joanne said. “I bet none of those guys ever really got close to those women, or touched them.” Joanne brushed my arm with her long fingers, hot pokers of communication. “Even with all their testosterone, the stop sign would have shut them down.”

  “Maybe,” I said, trying to not visibly respond to Joanne’s touch, thinking of a woman a friend of mine had lusted after that I later learned was gay. I never did get close enough to her to test Joanne’s theory. And even if that woman had been straight, I can’t imagine if I had touched her it would have been anything like what Joanne had just done to me.

  “You sound pretty sure of yourself,” I said. “Have you tested it on gay guys?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have,” she said, matter of factly. “And I have no—reaction—to most straight men either. But certain men, I know. And not only about them being not gay.”

  Now I was totally ensnared, not able to think of anything else, wondering what Joanne was alluding to, as I’m sure was her plan. “Okay, I’ll play along,” I said, as if I had a choice. “What else do you know about them?”

  “What I told you before. What kind of man they are.”

  My hand was resting on the bar, and Joanne reached under my arm for my drink, the bare skin of her forearm pushing under my fingers. Again I felt the heat, like a fire, but a fire I wanted to put my hands into instead of pulling away. With just that one touch, my cock grew rock hard.

  Joanne grasped the glass and slowly pulled her arm away, sinuously dragging it across my hand. She brought the glass to her lips and sipped, looking at me over the top of the rim.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “My skin is sometimes cold to the touch.”

  “It felt pretty hot to me,” I said.

  “Now you understand how I know you aren’t gay. And who I respond to.”

  For a second, everything froze in time. I couldn’t hear the music, I couldn’t sense anyone else in the crowded room. I fell into Joanne’s eyes, totally smitten, no longer able to resist her charms, her power, her sensuality. I knew I would remember that moment forever.

  It was a dream, the pot at the end of the rainbow, but one that was never to be reached.

  Maybe I could get her to quit her job. Or maybe she’d be worth quitting my own job. Could any woman be that good?

  I was saved from having to respond by the return of the bartender with the rest of the drinks.

  “We should be getting back,” I said.

  “Too bad,” said Joanne. “We were just getting to the good stuff.”

  I picked up a couple of glasses, realizing that we were two drinks short, because of the ones we had abs
conded. I signaled for the bartender to get us refills on those.

  “It has been interesting,” I said.

  “I’ve learned quite a bit about you.”

  “Really now.” I couldn’t imagine what she thought she had learned. I’d learned little about her; her beauty and magnetic attraction I had already known, although now I realized how truly powerful it was. If she had asked me to leave right then with her, I don’t think I could have resisted.

  But that was egotistical talk. She must have a boyfriend. The lover she alluded to, an odd choice of words, maybe her European upbringing.

  Or maybe she was just a tease, and this was something I was learning. Yet another reason to avoid her.

  Still, I couldn’t help but ask, falling neatly into her trap, “So what have you learned?”

  “You want me,” she said.

  And then, without waiting for the drinks, she walked away from the bar.

  It was pretty rare for me to be at a loss for thoughts or words, or flummoxed by someone. But Joanne had me. It was masterful, the way she had manipulated the conversation to something personal, and then to something sexual, talking about men leering at her. Touching me, talking about being hot around me. Getting me thinking she was interested, accessible. Then dismissing me as another lecher, and walking away.

  The entire act was so good it took away some of the sting of her jerking me around, and I laughed.

  The joke was on me. If she hadn’t been so good at her act, I would have been pissed, and called her on it. She’d actually done me a favor, now I had another reason to avoid Joanne in the office.

  Still chuckling, I grabbed as many drinks as I could carry and went back to join the group.

  I handed out the drinks. “I’ll get the rest of them.”

  “I thought Joanne was helping you,” said Marie.

  I shrugged. “She disappeared.”

  “Scare her off?”

  “I doubt anyone scares Joanne.”

  “She scares me sometimes,” muttered Dan.

  “I know what you mean,” said another guy. “Those eyes, and those—.” He stopped, seeing the women all looking askance at him.

  I was wondering what he was going to say. I would have voted for legs, I’d never seen better. But he was right to list the eyes first; Joanne’s whole body could have been covered with a dull blanket, and she would still be able to snare you with just her eyes.

  I went back to the bar, Dan trailing along.

  “Shit, man, you were gone a long time. I thought you and Joanne had snuck off somewhere.”

  “The bartender had to get more soda water. Besides, I don’t fool around with anyone in the office.”

  “I’ve heard.” When I gave him a quizzical look, he added, “I’ve overheard some of the women talking. You have quite a harem, or could have, if you wanted one.”

  I’d had harems. They were overrated. “You look like you’re doing okay yourself,” I said.

  “You mean Marie? I admit it, she’s pretty enticing. But if I ever did anything with her, it would be all over the office in a few days. I don’t think I want that.”

  “I hear you.”

  “She’s divorced, did you know that? We started working here about the same time, about seven years ago. She was sleeping around even when she was married.”

  We’d reached the bar and picked up the drinks. “I wouldn’t do that,” I said. “Sleep with a married woman. Or sleep with another woman if I was married.” What as the point of getting married if you still wanted to fuck around?

  At that very moment Joanne reappeared, walking past the other side of the bar, out toward the middle of the room, not looking our way. The crowd partially parted for her, the men following her with their eyes, even the women giving her room, the lioness in the den.

  Dan was openly staring. “I don’t think I could either. Cheat, I mean. But that woman, Joanne, she certainly would tempt me.”

  I watched as Joanne left the room, leaving behind a wake of unleashed hormones, thinking the same thing.

  A week went by. I was on the road for some out of town meetings, trying to put the events at the party out of my mind, still somewhat intoxicated by Joanne’s allure. I studiously avoided going anywhere near the part of the office where she worked.

  The phone rang, and when I picked it up, without preamble, a sultry voice, somewhat hushed, said, “I want to apologize for last week.”

  Even without looking at the internal caller ID I knew her voice. Joanne.

  “No apology necessary.”

  “I think there is.”

  “Okay, then, I accept.”

  “I can’t talk now, you know I don’t have my own office. I want to do it in person.”

  “I’m not hard to find. You know where my office is,” I said.

  “People will talk if I come there, I’ve got no business up on you floor. Is that what you want?”

  It wasn’t. But I wasn’t sure what I did want. Actually, I knew what I wanted. Her. But that wasn’t going to happen.

  “Lunch, tomorrow,” she said.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said, maybe trying to convince myself instead of her.

  “You afraid of being seen with me?”

  That too, I thought. And a sneaking, perhaps unfair, thought. I didn’t know this woman from Eve. She might be Eve, tempting me to do something I didn’t want to do, perhaps something to hold over my head.

  “Joanne.”

  “I guess I was wrong about you.” Her voice had changed, a little disappointment, maybe some anger, maybe some surprise.

  “I don’t know what you were thinking, which kind of guy classification you had me in. So I can’t respond to that.”

  “I thought you’d at least give a woman a chance to say she was sorry.”

  I didn’t for a minute believe that Joanne was sorry about anything. “What do you want, Joanne?” As beautiful as she was, I was getting a little tired of the game. If this was her idea of teasing, it was having the wrong effect.

  “To see you during my lunch break,” she said. “You have to eat, don’t you?”

  I usually grabbed takeout and brought it back to my desk. Sometimes I ate at the brasserie on the first floor of the building, but so did almost half the office; if I ate lunch with Joanne there everyone would see us, and not for a minute did I think anyone would believe that it had been a coincidence. And maybe that’s what Joanne wanted, to manipulate me into a position where everyone would see us together.

  A silence can send its own communication. Joanne’s was infused with patience. “You’re not going to give up, are you,” I said.

  “Never,” she said, and now her sultry voice was back.

  “People will see us and talk. I don’t want that, and I suspect you don’t either.” I’d never heard a whisper of Joanne doing anything with anyone in the office, and I’m sure that kind of talk would have spread like fire.

  “You have an apartment just a few blocks from the office.”

  I did, but I wondered how she knew about that. It was no secret, but I hadn’t mentioned it to her. I lived outside the city, the apartment was a simple pied-a-terre, a bachelor one bedroom so I wouldn’t have to make the long commute on late nights.

  I should have just said no. I didn’t think she was the type to make a scene in the office, make up some kind of story about me. But I also knew she wouldn’t go away, there was something she had set her sights on, something she needed to do.

  And there were those eyes, and those fucking legs.

  Against my better judgment, I said, “Tomorrow. Noon.” And I gave her the address.

  When I hung up the phone, I couldn’t decide if what I feared more was seeing her, or not seeing her.

  The next day I didn’t even go into the office. I worked from my apartment, as I often did, my job being somewhat mobile. Mostly though, I wanted to avoid walking the few blocks from the office to my place at about the same time Joanne would be on tha
t same walk.

  I really had no idea exactly what she wanted. A few thoughts did come to mind. Maybe she hoped I could help her get ahead in the office. I was an executive, she wasn’t, but we worked in totally different groups; I can’t imagine what I could have done for her, or what she thought I could do for her. Talk to her boss maybe? Joanne couldn’t be so naïve to not see how ridiculous that would be. Hey, there’s this woman in your department, I haven’t worked with her or anything, I don’t even exactly know what she does or how well she does it, but I want you to give her a promotion. The guy would think I was an idiot, and he’d be right.

  Some kind of money scam? That also appeared unrealistic, Joanne was always dressed in stylish, expensive outfits, and wore good jewelry. I’d seen her in diamond earrings a few times, big ones. I’d heard the women in the office talk about her shoes, I knew nothing about shoes, but from what they said Joanne spent plenty on her wardrobe. Could she possibly want a sugar daddy?

  I didn’t have enough to go on, so I put it out of my head, as much as I could. I admit I was a bit more careful that morning getting ready, shaving off the three day stubble I frequently sported, thinking more than usual about my tie selection. I’d be going in to the office after our lunch, and was dressed for the work day. I’m a bit into clothes, it’s where I spent my money, having learned a long time ago that if you were going to spend a long day in a suit, it was amazing how much more comfortable you’d be in cashmere, even if the suit did cost three grand.

  Joanne’s job was on the clock, I knew she’d only have an hour. At quarter to twelve I set out a salad, grilled chicken I’d picked up at the deli, and some cheese and crackers. Soda water and tea. I had forgotten to ask what she liked to eat.

  On the dot of twelve the apartment buzzer went off, a little surprising to me, since my building had a doorman who was supposed to announce all visitors.

  I opened the door.

  Joanne brushed past me in the small entry, touching my arm briefly, personally, my soft cotton shirt no protection for the warmth in her fingers. Caught between arousal and bemusement, I followed her into my own apartment.