Chapter One

 

I straightened my skirt before I entered the bar. The pink and green neon flamingo blinked against the white painted walls. It took some time for my eyes to adjust to the dim lights. But once they had, I noticed several pairs of eyes noticing me. My low cut blouse showed them just enough breast to keep them looking. Wait until I lean over, I thought. With just the right bounce I moved to the long shiny bar. The eyes followed.

"Gin and tonic," I ordered. The bartender smiled. I peered out of the corner of my eye at the man next to me. What shoulders!

"You waiting for someone?" I asked.

"Just you, he said, smiling.

We sat at a small table, my black skirt rising high on my thigh. He noticed. So did several other men. I leaned forward so he could look down my blouse. He did and my body heat soared.

I didn't want to talk, so we danced. I moved to Tina Turner's raspy voice, letting every bit of thigh and beckoning glimpse of cleavage be seen. I watched the bulge grow between his legs, and rubbed myself against it as the slow dance began. He hiked my skirt to rub my ass, and I ground my groin against his.

"You want it right on the dance floor, don't you, baby?"

"And what's wrong with that?" I replied.

"Nothing, nothing at all."

I chose closing time to make my moves. Most of the women are gone, and I'd have the men in the bar all to myself. Tonight was the best. Just six, the bartender, and the music arousing me.

When the man reached for my tit, I gasped, delighted. He was even bold enough to reach down and kiss it, his lips lingering on my soft skin.

Another man approached, in jeans and cowboy boots. Hot! I could see the bulge in his pants too. Maybe, I'd have them both.

"How many of us do you want?"

"I chuckled to myself. "I'll have you all," I thought.

"What did you have in mind?' I asked.

"We could close the bar," the cowboy said.

They swarmed around me, knowing what I wanted. Did I have no shame? Not anymore. This would be heaven. . .

 

The phone rang, jangling rudely in my ears. It brought me out of the bar, out of my fantasy, back into the room where I lay. Alone, as usual. By the time my conversation was over, and I'd hung the phone back on the cradle, my body heat was gone . . . leaving me with only shame, the dreadful shame of my hidden fantasies.

As I pulled myself from my bed, the morning sunlight was just streaming through the ruffled curtains. It seemed to dance on the papered flowered walls. It was spring outside, but there were clouds in the sky. I couldn't decide what to wear . . . the pale pink jersey or the brown tweed. I chose the tweed. Both were dull and boring, like my life. Both were sweet and appropriate, like me.

As I began to dress, I looked at myself in the full length mirror, at my blonde hair that cascaded to my shoulders. Naturally curly, I always considered it a curse, so I wore it in a tight bun, or tied at the nape of my neck with a scarf. My mom had shown me how to control it that way. Today, looking again, I wondered, could those curly shoulder length tresses be fashionably sexy now? I tried a coy expression to match their wildness, and the allure of my sensuous pose. There was a fire in my eyes I'd not seen before. I began to feel warm heat in my groin again.

"You've got to go to work, Alex," I reminded myself, and promptly pulled on my slip and skirt and blouse. I pinned my hair in a tight bun.

Looking in the mirror again, I saw myself, neat, trim from hours of aerobic workouts, and totally proper.

"You've got fantastic legs," I remembered him saying, that boy I dated for a time when I was twenty. Now at twenty-eight, my milky white legs were still smooth and thin, ending neatly at my rear. I suppose a lot of men would like to look at them, even now, though I rarely gave them the chance.

"Wait for the right man," Mom always said. "He will come along, dear, and want you for your mind, not your body."

"I'm tired of waiting," I thought. "Damn, I'm tired of waiting." I looked in the mirror displeased with the Alex I saw, but totally at a loss as to how to change her.

At work, I abandoned my fantasies and my identity crisis, burying myself in my work, a stack of invoices a foot deep, my boss having a sniveling fit over missed deadlines, and the secretarial pool jabbering away about trips to Hawaii, spring clothes and their children's dental visits. I was too caught up in work to be interested in their babble.

Half-way through the stack of invoices by lunch, I took my sandwich, apple and newspaper to the lunchroom. Glancing through the entertainment section, as I slowly chewed tuna on whole wheat, I found the movie ads. TOPLESS REVIEW-NIGHTLY. I squirmed in my chair, feeling a familiar heat in my loins. Breathing deeply, I attempted to push back the thoughts that threatened to come raging into my mind. Why did those ads do that to me? I wondered.

My body pulsed all afternoon, the heat in me wanting an outlet. As soon as it started, I knew I'd be driven all afternoon, all day, until tonight, when I could complete what I'd begun in the morning. It had happened hundreds of time before, always the same. The fire ignited by the least little thing, the desire would beckon, and I'd succumb, propelled by my fantasies until orgasm.

I tried all day to drive away the feelings, but any success I had was thwarted as I drove home. An errand in an unfamiliar part of town took me down the street where by 5:30 the lights were already blazing advertisements for sex, movies, porno. TOPLESS REVUE-NIGHTLY beckoned in brilliant white and red neon. The tingling in me rose again. This time, I couldn't ignore it.

At home, I tried my evening routine, but it was hard to hold back the rush in my body. When the telephone rang, I was almost thankful to hear my friend Kathy's voice. We chatted about the bazaar that weekend, Kathy rambling on endlessly; and I was beginning not to care. I was bored, bored to tears, bored with the conversation and bored with my life.

"So what are you doing Saturday night?" she asked.

"I don't know," I replied.

"That new movie is out, the one we've been waiting for."

"That's great," I said, less than enthusiastically. "Listen, Kathy, I'll call you in a couple of days. I'm not feeling well tonight."

Truthfully, I couldn't wait for the evening to end, for my pleasure to begin. Digging into my chicken pot pie at dinner, I watched the news, the ads for jeans and new videos; the dancing hard bodies reminded me of what I didn't have, sex.

A little cleaning, a little laundry and a little more television occupied my time until it was nearly ten o'clock. I reached my room feeling fire in my loins, fire I didn't need to contain any longer. The deeper I breathed, the more sensations filled me, pulsing with waves of pleasure. My fingers deftly found their way inside my panties; I lay back on the bed, the lights of the bar going on in my mind, and I could again smell the smoke and the liquor . . . Music in the bar vibrated through my body, and I was dancing with a man who danced to my body rhythm, moving his hips to mine, his thighs to mine, his broad chest to mine. And when he moved closer to me, I moved closer to him. He reached out, and felt for my chest.

We moved groin to groin as if we were already cock to cunt. When I felt his hand on my breast, I shuddered, letting the tingling sensations move about my body. And then, his hand was unbuttoning my blouse, the sheer material drop away, sending my surges higher still. And when the cool air caressed my exposed breast, and he leaned into suck my erect nipple, the surging nearly made me dizzy.

As his hands massaged my body, so my own hands played with my real body. As his hands dropped to my thighs and my belly, so did my own. I could feel the fever in my body rise. A delicious orgasm began to build within, and for one sweet moment my body tensed and then rippled in joyous abandon, sensations splashing around me . . . the lights in the bar faded and with them, all the faces and bodies disappeared . . . I opened my eyes gazing at the wholesomeness of daffodils splashed across the bedroom curtains and on the comforter that covered my bed.

My room returned me to my appropriate senses even before the last pulsing throb of my sex was dying away. I quickly jumped out of bed. I washed my hands and peed, slipped my flannel nightgown over my head, allowing it to fall softly to my ankles. As each pearl button slipped through a delicate loop of fabric, the furor of my body became a more distant memory. I brushed the curls from my hair, washed the makeup from my face and brushed my teeth until they were shiny white. Slipping into bed, my body is relaxed, still soothed by gentle quiet waves of pleasure. But in my mind, I felt pangs of guilt and shame over my excursion. I wanted only to forget it had taken place. It was only a reminder that there was another woman inside me begging to get out, and she was fast destroying the perfect little world I'd so carefully constructed. I was afraid of anyone ever knowing that that other woman was there.