Made For Sex (42 page)

“I can understand that. I can write about mine in the privacy of my bedroom-office, but to say it out loud?” She made a face.

Clark turned and stared off into space. “I've always wanted to seduce a virgin.”

“I've read lots of stories about that. Can you explain why that excites you?”

“Wow, you sure do ask difficult questions.”

“Sorry again. They just slip out. I guess I've had a bit too much wine.” She put her glass on the side table. “Let's change the subject.”

“No. It's an honest question so let me try to give you an honest answer.” Clark leaned back, let his head rest on the back of the sofa, and stared at the ceiling. “I want a girl who's never had anyone else, someone who I can watch enjoy sex for the first time. And, of course, someone who has no one to compare me to.”

“Interesting.” She thought about Carla's little pink dress with the black Mary Janes. “Would she be a child?”

“I guess she'd be about fourteen, with a small body just becoming a woman.” He turned and stared at her. “I would never actually do that, you understand.”

Fran spoke immediately. “Of course not. We're talking about fantasies.” She understood her own dreams, but she was now really interested in what illusions men created so she pressed on. “In the fantasy she's in school, I guess.”

“Right. And she's wearing a uniform, green and blue plaid skirt, and a white blouse.”

As Clark returned his gaze to the ceiling, Fran rested her head beside his and reached out to take his hand. Then she let her mind float. “And how did you meet her?”

“She walks home from school every day, just as I'm getting home from work. We say hello and I ask her about her school-work and she asks me about my office work. It's become something of a joke.” He let out a long breath. “I don't believe I'm telling you this.”

“And why not? It's not unlike fantasies of mine.”

“Really?”

“Don't ever think you're the only one.” Fran wanted to explore more, so she encouraged him to continue by picking up the story. “If I were writing this, one afternoon, she would tell you that her parents aren't going to be home until very late and she's really upset that she's forgotten her key. She's not sure she can get into the house.”

“Right,” Clark said, his grip on her hand tightening.

“You could invite her into
your
house,” Fran suggested.

“I could. Should I?”

“Why not?” Fran said. Sharing erotic stories was so much better than writing them alone in her room.

“Phew. This is really getting into scary things.”

“They aren't scary if they're just stories and this is just a dream. We both know that you'd never act on it. But it's really hot to think about, isn't it?”

“You have no idea.”

“So let's say in the story you invite her in. She's so happy that she won't have to sit on the front porch all afternoon. You give her a soda and make sandwiches. It's sort of like a party. Tell me what she looks like.”

“She's got blond hair, kind of like yours, but she wears it down around her shoulders.”

Fran ran her fingers through her hair, undoing all the blow drying so it flowed softly. She pulled off her earrings and removed her necklace and ring.

“She's got blue eyes like yours,” Clark said.

“And she's very grateful for your help.”

“Yes, she is.”

Although Fran wanted to continue the story, Clark seemed reluctant to go further. So Fran said, “Maybe she had gym class that afternoon and she's feeling all sweaty and dirty. Maybe she asks if she can use your shower. She always showers when she gets home after gym class.” Fran felt Clark's fingers tighten still further around her hand. “Is that all right? Can she use your bathroom?”

“Yes,” Clark said, his voice hoarse.

“She takes a long time in the shower and you just sit in the living room, thinking about what she must be doing, rubbing her soapy hands all over that young body. And when she comes out, she's wrapped in a towel, rubbing her wet hair. ‘Thanks,' she says. ‘That feels so much better.'”

“I'm sure it does,” Clark says, slipping into the role of the man in the story.

“The towel is slipping,” Fran said, “and she can't quite manage to hold it up and dry her hair. Suddenly it slips all the way to the floor and she is standing in the middle of the living room, naked. How does she look?”

“She's smooth and soft. Her breasts are small but the nipples are erect from the cool air. Her mound is covered with soft hair. It's blond like the hair on her head.”

Could Fran do it? He could have fantasized about Dolly Parton, but he didn't. His fantasy involved someone with a boyish shape, like hers. Well, nothing ventured, she thought. She opened the buttons on her silk shirt, unhooked the front clasp on her bra and bared her breasts. She took Clark's hand and placed it on her flesh.

“Oh God,” Clark said. “This isn't happening.”

“Do you want to stop?”

“God, no.”

“Well then, maybe you reach out from your seat near the girl and touch her naked body. Is she afraid?”

“No,” Clark said, his hand resting on Fran's breast. “She's curious really.”

“So she says, ‘Would you show me?' And you agree. What should she do now?”

“‘Come over here, sweetheart,' he says and she slowly walks over so he can touch all of her. She's so soft.”

Fran pulled off her blouse and bra and knelt at his feet. “Does he want to kiss her?”

“Oh yes.” Clark sat up and stared down at Fran, his eyes clouded. His mouth enveloped hers, the kiss hungry.

“‘Oh, mister, that's such a big kiss for such a little me,' she says.”

“Right,” Clark said. Then he kissed her softly, his hands stroking her hair. He kissed her eyes and her cheeks gently, like the first kiss of a new lover. “I want to touch all of you,” he said, and Fran didn't know whether he was talking to her or to the girl in the story. It didn't matter.

She stood up and slowly peeled off the rest of her clothes until she was naked, standing between his knees. His hands were almost reverent as they caressed her. He leaned forward and placed a small kiss on her belly. “So beautiful,” he whispered.

“I like the way your fingers feel on me,” she said.

“Would you undress me?” Clark asked tentatively.

“Yes,” Fran said and unbuttoned his shirt. Quickly he was naked. “How would you make love to this little girl?”

“I would put her on my lap,” he said.

Fran took a condom from her purse and unrolled it on Clark's erection. Then, with her knees on either side of his hips on the couch, she held her body above his. She adjusted the pitch of her voice upward. “‘Is this how I'm supposed to do this?' the little girl asks.”

“Oh baby, yes,” Clark said, grabbing Fran's waist and driving her down onto his rock-hard cock. The two rocked together, and quickly Fran felt the now-familiar heat blazing in her belly. She clenched her vaginal muscles and felt Clark's body tense. With a groan, he came and only moments later, Fran's orgasm joined his. She collapsed in his arms.

Later, when they had both cleaned up, Clark said, “I don't believe that. Are you sure you're not a professional at getting men to discuss their deepest desires? I never imagined I could tell you the things I told you much less act them out.”

“I have a wonderful friend who has taught me a lot about sexual freedom and the joy of living your dreams in every way. You really must meet her sometime.”

“If she's the one responsible for this evening I love her already.” When Clark realized that it was after midnight, he got his coat. “I'm not sure of my schedule for next week. Can I call you?”

“I hope you will,” Fran said at the front door. “It was wonderful.” She looked at his face and thought she saw doubts, like the ones she had had after her evening with O'Malley. “And damn the second thoughts.”

Clark grinned and kissed her on the cheek. “Yes, damn the second thoughts.”

Over the next week Fran had one date each with Clark and O'Malley. With Clark there was lots of conversation, but after the initial fantasy evening, the sex was satisfying but ordinary, despite her efforts to improve things. On the other hand, with O'Malley, it was all hot sex with very little personal interaction.

On the Friday afternoon of her second week in New York, Fran got to sit and visit with Carla, who had been really busy with her children and her business. She discussed her relationships with each of the men and the two women agreed each man gave Fran only half of what she needed. Each man was fun in his own way, but neither was complete. But there was nothing wrong with fun, and neither was troublesome enough to give up.

“Don't you ever want a long-term relationship?” Fran asked.

Carla gave it almost no thought. “Not really. I had a very unsatisfying marriage and right now I'm happy. I like my life, strange though it might seem to an outsider, and I'm not about to change it. Do you know what you want?”

“I thought I did. The Fran Caputo who lived in Omaha wanted a husband and children, but she was also happy just being a writer and an employee. Now, I'm not really sure what I want.”

“Well, if you ever decide to move to New York, you could join me. I know you and Ronnie would hit it off and we've got more business than we can handle, pardon the double entendre.”

Fran's laugh was immediate. “You know, stranger things have been known to happen.” She studied Carla's face. “You really are happy doing what you do.”

“I really am.”

“Tell me what it's like, doing what you do,” Fran said.

“I love it. I make people happy and I get my pleasure, too. What could be better?”

“Are most of the men horny guys who just need to get their kicks, or do they want really unusual stuff?”

“A lot of them are out-of-town businessmen who know someone who's been with either Ronnie or me before and know that we're discreet and, let's say, flexible.”

“I'm dying of curiosity. Tell me about your most recent experience, if it's not too personal.”

“Oh, I have no problem telling you about my friends. It's just that most of them are pretty ordinary. A hotel room, a bottle of champagne and some time spent on the bed.” Fran watched as Carla's eyes glazed over. “A few stand out in my mind.”

“Like?”

“Oh, a man named Alex a few months ago. He called me up and we talked on the phone for a while. It seemed that the guys at work were making fun of his lack of success with women. He had a record of one-date then strike-out and he wanted to show them that he was more than just that. We met for a drink and, as we talked, I wondered why he was having any problem with women. It certainly wasn't his looks. He was in his early thirties yet boyishly attractive with sandy hair that flopped over his brow, green eyes and an inviting smile. I guessed that it was his defeatist attitude that turned women off.

“At one point he said, ‘I have no clue why I'm on this losing streak, but the guys at the office are getting to be a real pain in the ass. I get jokes on my desk, silly innuendos in my e-mail and remarks, even dares, from my friends. It's humiliating. So I've come up with a plan.' He spent quite a while telling me what he wanted and we discussed and refined his idea until it sounded like it might work. He paid me in advance and we set a meeting for the following evening at five-thirty at a local watering hole.”

As Carla talked, the picture was so clear in Fran's mind, that she could see it.

Carla sat at the bar, sipping a white wine until Alex arrived with three of his office buddies. The four men sat in a booth across the room, but if Carla listened closely she could make out the conversation. As the jokes began, Carla pointedly looked at her watch, then at the door, as if waiting for someone to arrive. She crossed her legs so that a goodly length of shapely thigh showed beneath her conservative suit-skirt.

Drinks arrived at Alex's table and voices rose. Carla again looked at her watch, and recrossed her legs, allowing the skirt to ride higher. Then she stood and removed her jacket to reveal a very tailored print blouse that was a size too tight and spanned across her ample breasts. Again she sat and ordered another glass of wine.

Over the next few minutes, she checked and rechecked her watch, then got up and walked toward the ladies' room. Her path took her past Alex's table. When she returned, she caught Alex's eye and smiled softly.

“Hey guy, there's your date for the evening,” one of his buddies, a flaming redhead with a face full of faded freckles said as she passed the table.

“Yeah,” another, a Latin-looking man said. “She's hot for you. And wouldn't you like to get your hands on those tits?” Carla winced as she returned to her seat at the bar, still able to hear the ribald conversation from Alex's table.