Читать книгу Flesh For Fantasy - Joan Elizabeth Lloyd - Страница 10

“Now this doesn’t mean I’m going to jump into someone’s bed so fast,” Barbara said under her breath as they walked into the Galleria Mall in White Plains. “You can’t make a silk purse and all that.”

“Let’s first get you dressed and looking like the attractive woman you are,” Maggie said. As they walked, the few shoppers they saw walked around Barbara but seemed unaware that Maggie was there. “You know,” Maggie said, turning to stare at a woman with a stroller who had just missed bumping into her, “I don’t think anyone can see me.”

“But I can see you just fine,” Barbara said.

They walked passed a large clothing store and paused in front of a mirrored section of wall. “I can see us both,” Barbara said as Maggie dodged to avoid a mother pushing a blue-and-white stroller.

“It’s really weird,” Maggie said. “I’m here. I can see me.” She rubbed her arms. “I can feel me, hear me. You can, too. But to judge by the people walking by, I don’t exist.”

“But you do exist,” Barbara said.

“Mommy,” a little girl said as she passed, “why is that woman talking to herself?”

“Let’s go, darling,” the mother said, hustling the tot off. “It’s not nice to talk about…”

As the woman’s voice faded, Maggie said, “We better be careful. People will think you’re nuts.”

As they strolled around the mall, getting the lay of the land, Barbara was careful not to speak to Maggie where anyone might overhear. Together the two women stopped periodically so Maggie could show Barbara outfits and shoes that would fit her new image. With Maggie steering, the two walked toward a hair salon called Expert Tresses. “We really should start with your hair.”

“I like my hair,” Barbara said, reflexively tucking a strand behind her ear. “It’s easy and comfortable.”

Maggie raised an eyebrow. “Easy and comfortable. Two of the most awful adjectives I can think of.” She stopped and turned Barbara to face her. She peered at a section of hair just above her right temple. “What’s this? The roots are white here.”

“I was hoping we could overlook that. It’s a white streak. My mother used to call it a witch’s mark.”

“You dye it?”

“My mother started doing that for me when I was a kid. It’s just dyed to match the rest of my hair.”

“It’s sexy as hell. I want you to get someone to style this mop,” Maggie said, staring at Barbara’s soft, medium-brown hair. “And get the dye out of that section.”

“But it’s unlucky and creepy. I won’t.”

“Barbara, baby. It’s unique and beautiful and it looks great. Your mother was a wonderful lady, but in this one instance, she was wrong. Please. Cooperate. Try this.”

“No.”

“Look,” Maggie said, guiding Barbara into a small alcove. “Do this for me and for this project. Let someone do your hair. My way. Then give it one week. If you don’t like it, you can dye it back. Okay? Please. I have a job to do here.”

When Barbara hesitated, Maggie continued. “And get your nails done, too.”

“But…”

Maggie put a hand in the small of Barbara’s back and pushed, aiming her toward Expert Tresses. Since the salon was almost empty, three women walked toward her as she walked in. “May we help you?”

“I need a haircut,” Barbara said.

“You want it styled,” Maggie said, knowing that no one else could hear.

“I want it styled.”

One of the women looked her over. “My name’s Candy and I think you’re mine this morning. Come on over here.” The pink-smocked woman led Barbara to a chair at one side of the studio.

“I have a streak right here,” Barbara said, fingering a section of hair as Candy covered Barbara’s clothes with a plastic apron.

“Yes, I see,” Candy said. “Why do you dye it?”

“It’s a witch’s mark.”

“And it’s so kinky.” Candy lifted a strand of her long blond hair from her temple. “It wouldn’t look as good on me, she said. She returned her attention to Barbara. “But on you…”

“Well…”

As they started to talk about styles, Maggie said, “She sounds like she knows what she’s talking about, so let her do whatever she wants. I’ll be back.” Over her shoulder, she called, “And don’t forget the nails.”

Maggie left the salon and walked purposefully back to the mirrored section of wall. With people unable to see her, Maggie stood staring at herself. Since no one could hear her, she talked aloud to herself. “It’s been six months since I, whatever, and my hair hasn’t grown nor does it need to be colored.” She looked down. “My nails are perfect and I don’t look any older.” She walked close to the mirror and stared at her skin. “No new lines. No signs of age. Nothing.”

“And you won’t age,” a voice she recognized as Angela’s said. “You’ll just continue as you were on the day you died. That’s one of the advantages of an assignment like this.”

“Have you done this kind of thing often?” Maggie asked.

“Not really, but it does happen occasionally,” Lucy said. “How’s it going?”

“Don’t you know?”

“Not really,” Angela said. “We don’t have the time to watch what’s happening. We just drop in from time to time.”

“Could Barbara hear you if she were here?”

“No,” Angela continued. “Only you can hear us, and see us if it becomes necessary. But creating corporeal images on earth is very energy inefficient and in most cases unnecessary.”

“How do you like Barbara?” Lucy asked.

“Actually, she’s really nice. But mousy. She’s got zero self-confidence. Even with a good hairstyle and attractive clothes, she’s not going to be a beauty.”

“You’re not a Miss America candidate yourself,” Lucy said.

“Oh now, Lucy,” Angela said, “that’s unkind.”

“Look you two,” Maggie said, “I know I’m not gorgeous, but I’m attractive. I use what I’ve got and I’ve never wanted for companions, paid and unpaid.”

“That’s the first lesson your friend Barbara has to learn,” Angela said. “It’s the gleam in the eye not the meat on the bones that makes a woman sexy.”

“Listen, we’ve got other fish to fry, as it were,” Lucy said. “Go pick Barbara up. She’s waiting for you.”

“But it’s only been about five minutes,” Maggie protested.

“You already know that time has little meaning in your existence, Angela said. “Go pick her up.”

Her head now empty of voices, Maggie walked back to Expert Tresses and, sure enough, Barbara had just finished signing the charge slip. Maggie looked her friend over. The white streak was now prominent in Barbara’s slightly darkened, carefully cut brown hair. Styled so it fell just at her shoulders, her hair curled up at the ends and moved gracefully as Barbara moved. She looked at Maggie and shrugged.

“You look just great,” Maggie said. “What an improvement. And you’ve got makeup on.”

Barbara stuffed the charge-card receipt into her wallet and walked out of the salon. “It’s hard remembering not to talk to you where anyone might hear.”

“Sorry.”

“Candy gave me a few tips about foundation and eye makeup so I bought a few things and she and another woman helped me put this stuff on. Does it look okay?”

Maggie studied Barbara’s light taupe shadow, soft brown liner, blush, and lipstick. “You really look nice. You’ll need more for evenings, of course, but for day wear, it’s just great.”

Barbara stopped at the same mirrored section of the wall. “You really think so? It’s so obvious. I look made up.”

“You look like you took some time to enhance your looks. That’s great. You don’t always have to look like you got up late for work.”

“I don’t…”

“You do most of the time. There’s nothing wrong with taking a little time to look good.”

“It’s vain.”

“It’s just good sense. Vanity in large doses is bad. Feeling good about the way you look is good. Let’s see what we can do now about your wardrobe.”

“After lunch. I’m starving.”

“We just had breakfast.”

Barbara looked at her watch. “That was almost five hours ago and I, for one, am famished.”

In the food court, Barbara bought a corned beef sandwich with fries and a pickle. With her plate in one hand and a 7Up in the other, she found a small table off to one side of the seating area. She sat with her back to the other shoppers so she could talk to Maggie without everyone thinking she was nuts. As they talked, Maggie occasionally picked up a french fry and nibbled on it. Barbara wondered what others would see if they looked. Would a french fry just lift up into the air, then disappear?

The two women then spent the afternoon doing serious damage to Barbara’s credit card. They bought several soft bright-colored silk blouses and two skirts, considerably shorter than Barbara had been used to. “You have great legs,” Maggie said several times. “Show them off. You want to catch the eye of that boss of yours, don’t you?”

Unable to argue without seeming like a nut, Barbara went along. In a shoe boutique, Maggie bullied Barbara into purchasing a pair of black, two-and-a-half-inch high opera pumps and a pair of knee-high brown butter-soft suede boots with stiletto heels.

As they started for the parking lot of the mall, Maggie spotted a Victoria’s Secret store. “Let’s go in,” she said.

“I have underwear,” Barbara said.

“I’ll bet not the right kind.”

Barbara had just about given up arguing so together the two women entered the store. Maggie all but dragged her friend to a display of lacy bra and panty sets. Both the bra and the panty were mostly net with flowers embroidered in strategic places. “Get the black one, the white one, and the light blue.”

“But, Maggie,” Barbara said, “they’re so slutty.”

A saleswoman whirled around. “Yes,” she said, “can I help you? I’m sorry I didn’t hear your last question.”

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

The saleswoman looked around, then shrugged. “Those lace sets are on sale, she said. “It’s buy two and get the third for a dollar.”

“The black, the white, and the light blue,” Maggie said, knowing she couldn’t be heard by anyone but Barbara. “And don’t argue. You know you want them and you don’t ever have to wear them. just indulge me.”

“Okay,” Barbara said, looking at the pleasant saleswoman. “I’ll take the light blue and the white.”

“A third set will only cost a dollar more.”

Maggie tapped her foot and arched an eyebrow.

“Okay,” Barbara agreed. “I guess I’ll take the black as well.”

“Good choice,” the woman said. “And the size?”

“It’s been a long time since I bought undies. Maybe I better try them on.” She selected bras in three different sizes.

“Certainly,” the woman said and showed Barbara to the fitting room.

In the tiny room, Barbara pulled off her shirt and bra and put the new white one on. Maggie appeared in the corner of the mirrored room and let out a low whistle. “You’ve got a great body, you know.”

Barbara turned sideways, raised her rib cage and sucked in her tummy. “I could have if I never breathed again.” When she relaxed, her belly bulged a bit and her diaphragm protruded.

“You’ve got a very nice figure,” Maggie said. “And those bits of stuff you’re wearing do wonders.”

Barbara looked at the white lace bra she wore. She really didn’t look half bad, she had to admit. The flowers woven into the fabric were designed so that leaves and blossoms covered her nipples but the rest was almost transparent.

“Very sexy,” Maggie said. “Yes, very nice. I think your boss would approve.”

Barbara blushed. “He will never see me like this,” she said, replacing the silk with her serviceable cotton undies.

“He will if you want him to. He’ll notice you and he’d be a fool not to be impressed. You will go into the office tomorrow a different woman.”

Barbara smiled.

The following morning, Barbara showered and, when she returned to her bedroom, Maggie was sitting on her bed. “Wear that new cornflower blue blouse with the black skirt. And the light-blue bra and panties.”

As Barbara reached for her traditional underwear, she asked, “What difference does it make what I wear underneath?”

“If you feet sexy under your clothes, it affects the way you behave. I want you to spend the day knowing that your breasts are being held by that wonderful erotic fabric.”

“But…”

“Do what I ask, Barbara,” Maggie said. “Trust me. You want him to notice you, don’t you?”

“Well, yes.”

“Good. So do it my way, just this once.”

Barbara sighed and dressed as Maggie had suggested. After a quick breakfast, Barbara put on her coat. “Will you be at work with me today?”

“No,” Maggie answered. “I’ll see you here tonight and you can tell me all about it.”

Barbara arrived at work at two minutes before eight, got her coffee and settled down to work. Her boss was in court that morning and wasn’t due in until after lunch. Except for a quick trip to the ladies’ room, Barbara stayed huddled at her desk all morning. The people who passed by noticed her new hairstyle and makeup and several commented cheerfully on how lovely she looked. One woman complimented her on the silver streak in her hair and a young male associate actually winked at her, something that had never happened before.

Throughout her almost solitary morning, she occasionally forgot her makeover, but then she would look down at her hands typing or dialing the phone and her nicely shaped nails, polished in a medium pink, reminded her again. Maybe Steve would notice her, like in one of those romantic movies. “Oh my goodness, Barbara,” he would say, “I never realized.” She smiled at the thought, then shook her head and got back to work.

As she usually did, Barbara ate lunch at her desk, then returned to work, her eyes glued on the screen of her word processor. At one-thirty, she jumped as her intercom buzzer sounded. She picked up the phone and her boss said, without preamble, “Barbara, I hope you finished the Sanderson documents. Mr. and Mrs. Sanderson are due here at two for the closing.” Barbara realized that she had been so engrossed in hiding her new look that she hadn’t even heard Steve come in.

She prided herself on her efficiency and always had documents completed long before they were needed. “Of course, Mr. Gordon, I’ve got them whenever you’re ready.”

“I wondered with that day off you took yesterday. Bring them in here, will you?”

“Certainly, Mr. Gordon.” Barbara stood up, carefully arranged her black wool skirt and straightened the collar on her periwinkle blouse. As she walked into her boss’s office, he was bent over, rifling through his briefcase which lay open on the floor beside his desk. “Damn,” he swore, “I can’t find a thing in here. Barbara, help me, will you?”

“What are you looking for?” Barbara asked, putting the documents she held on his desk.

“The Norton file. I had it just before lunch.”

Barbara crouched, exposing a long expanse of thigh and began to systematically go through the contents of Mr. Gordon’s briefcase. “It’s right here,” she said, quickly locating the missing file. As she looked up, she saw Mr. Gordon staring at her.

“What have you done with yourself?” he asked.

“I just got a few new things.”

“And had your hair done, and got new makeup. Stand up.”

Barbara stood, trying not to back up under his intense scrutiny. She watched his eyes travel from her hair to her heels and back up, several times. Then he released a long, low wolf whistle. “Not bad.”

“Thank you, sit,” Barbara said, straightening her shoulders. “I just felt I could use a lift.”

“Well, you certainly got a lift.” He stared for another full minute, then cleared his throat. “Okay. I see you have the Sanderson closing documents. I think everything should be in order. I have some notes from court this morning that need to be typed up.”

Barbara sat in the small chair across from Steve Gordon’s desk, smoothed her skirt and crossed her legs. As she arranged her computer on her lap, she caught Mr. Gordon staring at her knees. She sat, waiting for him to begin. “Mr. Gordon, I’m ready whenever you are.”

“You know we’ve been together for how long? Almost two years?”

“Actually, it’s almost six years.”

“Well, don’t you think it’s about time you started calling me Steve?”

Totally taken aback, Barbara said, “I guess so, Mr. Gordon. I mean Steve.”

“Good.” He hesitated, then opened the folder in his hand. “I had a call from Mrs. Norton this morning. Take this down…”

At four-thirty, Barbara cleared the top of her desk, locked her laptop in her drawer and got her coat. As she was about to leave, Steve came out of his office. “Good night, Barbara,” he said cheerfully. “And by the way, that silver patch of hair is very, well, very attractive. Have a nice evening. Got a date?”

“No. sir, I mean Steve. No date.”

Steve put his arm around her waist and guided her toward the elevator. “Well then, maybe there will be time for me some evening.”

Unable to breathe, Barbara merely nodded as the elevator doors opened.

“Well, have a nice evening.”

“And he suggested that we might have dinner sometime,” Barbara told Maggie several hours later. It was all Maggie could do not to swear when Barbara mentioned the whistle. He reminds me more and more of Arnie Becker, she thought.

“He looked at me, Barbara continued, unaware of Maggie’s reaction. “I mean, really looked. He thought I looked good.”

“Well, you do look good. Did work go well, too?”

“Sure. We did the Sanderson closing. I had caught a few minor errors and fixed them before they became problems. I also checked on the title insurance for him.”

“What would he do without you?” Maggie said dryly.

“You’re not happy for me, Maggie,” Barbara said. “I don’t understand.”

“Sorry. I’m the one who helped you with the makeover and all and I’m glad you’re pleased. It’s just I have a basic dislike for men who only notice women when they’re attractive.”

“Oh, Maggie,” Barbara said, sipping a glass of Chardonnay while she sautéed chicken and vegetables. Since Maggie’s arrival, she was beginning to develop a taste for wine with dinner. “That’s not really true. He always knew I was there. He just, well, you know. He’s got other things on his mind.”

Maggie patted Barbara on the shoulder. “I do know, baby. And maybe he’ll ask you out. Is that what you want?”

“Oh, that would be wonderful. Dinner, maybe a little dancing.”

“Ah, yes. Slow dancing. A wonderful way to make love standing up.”

“You know, I never thought of it that way, but you’re right. Making love standing up.” Barbara placed the chicken mixture on two plates and sat across from her friend. In only two days it had become comfortable to have Maggie around. She had a friend.

“Do you like making love?” Maggie asked, anxious to move Barbara along to phase two of her makeover.

“It’s not like it is in the novels I like to read, but the few times I did it it was tolerable.”

“Tolerable. What a terrible way to think about making love. No bells? No stars? The earth didn’t move?”

“That doesn’t happen to people like me. That’s for glitzy novels and X-rated movies.”

“It can happen, and it does, and it should.”

Barbara sipped her wine, her curiosity aroused. “Did the earth move for you?”

“You mean did I climax?”

Blushing slightly, Barbara nodded.

“No, not every time I made love. It takes a bit of effort and consideration on the part of both partners for orgasm to occur. But I did more often than not. I found that my men friends liked it when I came even though they were paying me to be sure they climaxed.”

“But you only discovered good sex after your divorce.”

“That’s true and a bit sad. I regret that Chuck and I never found out what good sex was all about.”

“Do you and he still see each other? I mean, did you? Does he know what you do, er…did?”

“Boy, tenses are a problem, aren’t they. Anyway, no, I don’t see Chuck anymore. He and his new wife moved to the West Coast many years ago. We had no kids, no ties, not much in common except a lot of history, and reminiscing wears thin very quickly.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” Maggie watched Barbara sip her wine as if searching for the right words. “Look, Barbara,” Maggie said, “you can ask anything you want. I may choose not to answer, but please, we’re friends and this is a really strange situation.”

“As a,…let’s say woman of the evening, you had to do all kinds of things with your customers. Is all that kinky stuff really fun?”

“You mean like oral sex and bondage?”

Barbara merely nodded.

“There are a thousand things people enjoy in the bedroom. Some enjoy plain straight sex, missionary position. Some enjoy telling stories in the dark, tying a partner up, spanking, anal sex. There are probably as many variations as you can dream of. Most I enjoy, a few I don’t. But that’s true with all things. I love almost all foods, but I hate liver and lima beans.”

Barbara laughed. “What sex-type things don’t you enjoy?”

“I already told you that I don’t find pain pleasurable.” Maggie thought a minute, then continued. “That’s about all.”

“Pain? That’s sick.”

“No, it’s not. Listen, I hate to sound preachy, but I think this is very important. Anything that two consenting adults get pleasure from is none of anyone else’s business and isn’t sick. As long as both partners know it’s important to say no if anything feels the least bit wrong, anything else is okay.”

“I guess. How did you discover which things you enjoyed and which you didn’t?”

“Trial and error. Lots of trial,” Maggie grinned, “and a few errors.”

“Errors?”

“Sure. I got myself into a few situations where I had to give someone his money back.”

“Were they mad?”

“Not really. There was one guy from the Midwest. I won’t go into details, but he wanted me to hurt him. Knowing that it would please him, I tried to do what he wanted, but I couldn’t. However, I had a friend who was more into the pain side of pleasure than I was so I called her. He put on his clothes and hustled over to her house. He was so grateful that he called me the next day. He told me it had been everything he had ever fantasized about.”

“No accounting for taste, is there?”

“No. And you may find as time passes that there are things you enjoy that you never dreamed of.”

Barbara looked startled. “I’m not interested in kinky stuff. I don’t mean to put you down, it’s just that I’m not that type of person.”

“You have no idea what type of person you are. I’ll bet you have no real idea of what gives you pleasure.”

“Of course I do.” Barbara got a dreamy look in her eyes.

“You want romance, slow dancing, kissing and hugging. Long, slow sex with gentle penetration and a long rest period afterward.”

“Sure. Why not?”

“No reason. But there’s much more to good fucking than that.”

“Fucking. Such a terrible word. It’s so animal.”

“That’s what we are, animals. And human beings enjoy a good fucking as much as the average animal does. You know when you think of it, sex is a really awkward and embarrassing thing to do. It violates any feelings of personal space you might have, you get into lots of not-too-comfortable positions, and it’s really messy.”

“I never thought about it that way.”

“So in order to create offspring, God, or Mother Nature, or evolution had to give the animals some reward for doing this ridiculous stuff. So that’s where the pleasure comes in. I read somewhere that animals will go through much more maze-running and the like for sexual gratification than for any other reward.”

“It’s really pleasurable, isn’t it?”

“It really is. I doubt you’ve ever experienced an orgasm.”

“Of course I have.”

Maggie raised an eyebrow and Barbara looked down and sipped her wine. “There’s no shame in not having climaxed. It takes time and an understanding of your own body. You’re not born knowing, you have to learn. Do you know where you like to be touched? What makes you hungry for more?”

Barbara continued to stare into her wineglass.

Maggie reached into her pocket and found the audiotape she had somehow known would be there. She pulled it out and stared at the label. “I don’t understand how this got into my pocket, but there’s a lot about my assignment I don’t quite get yet. This is one tape in a series that a friend of mine made. He creates sensational erotica and has a soft, sexy voice, so he found this unique way to package his stories.” She put the tape into Barbara’s hand. “I’m going to give you an assignment.”

Barbara looked up and giggled. “Homework?”

“Sort of. You must have a tape player.” When Barbara nodded, Maggie continued. “I want you to fill the bathtub with nice warm water and play this tape. Just play it. If you’re tempted to follow the instructions you’ll be given, do it. No one will be watching, no one judging. Just you. Will you do that for me?” When her friend hesitated, Maggie said, “Please?”

“If it’s important to you and your assignment.”

“It is.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Maggie patted the back of Barbara’s hand. “And find a new bar of soap, one you’ve never used of a different brand than your usual. You’ll understand eventually. And I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

Before Barbara could react, Maggie strode through the kitchen door and was gone.

An hour later, Barbara tidied up the kitchen and ran herself a bath. She had always loved the huge tub in the master bathroom. It was deep enough to fully cover her body almost to her shoulders. “This is pretty silly,” Barbara said out loud as she plugged in an old cassette player she had recovered from the back of her closet. But if it was important to Maggie, it was important to her, she realized. In two short days she had gone from incredulity and scorn to friendship. She rummaged in the back of the bathroom closet and found a new bar of soap, then pressed the cassette machine’s play button and stepped into the steamy water.

Music filled the bathroom, music with a quiet yet pulsing beat and a soft, slightly mournful clarinet and a baritone saxophone. The sounds that filled the room felt like soft summer nights with the sky filled with stars. Barbara thought of couples in open-topped cars staring down at city lights from darkened lover’s overlooks. She rolled a small towel and placed it at the back of her neck and stretched out. She sighed deeply and relaxed.

“Are you all relaxed?” a soft, sensuous man’s voice asked as the music faded slightly. “That’s very good.” Barbara started to sit up. “No, don’t move,” the voice said. “Just lie back and relax. Let the music fill you, create dreams, fantasies. Let it evoke pictures of teenagers in parked cars.”

How did that man know what she was thinking? Barbara wondered. The music swelled again, and for several minutes the voice was silent. Then the music faded slightly and the voice returned.

“I hope you’re naked, lying in a tub of warm water. The naked female body is such a wonder. It’s so beautiful.”

Yeah, right, Barbara thought. For all he knows, I’m a dog, a hundred pounds overweight with droopy boobs and three stomachs.

“Don’t think like that. All female bodies are beautiful regardless of the way they actually look. Breasts are soft, firm, large or small. Nipples are chocolate brown or dark pink. Skin is deep ebony or almost transparent white. God, I love a woman’s breasts. And your bellies are concave, with prominent hipbones, or full and round. I love to feel the pulse in a woman’s throat and know how it speeds up when she listens to me tell her how beautiful she is. Can you feel your pulse? Find it by stroking your throat. Go ahead. No one’s watching.”

Without really thinking, Barbara slid a wet finger up her neck and felt her pulsebeat.

“That’s your life flowing throughout your body. You can feel it all over, in your wrist, in your foot, at your temple, in your groin. If I tell you that I want you to imagine me touching your breasts, does your pulse speed up? I love that I can do that for you.”

Barbara felt her pulse. No silly man’s voice was going to make her pulse beat faster. But it did.

“I want you to make your hands all soapy. Please, for me. Feel the soap, so smooth and slippery. Rub your hands over the bar, touching its contours. Close your eyes and just feel the soap as your hands caress it.”

Barbara took the soap from the holder and rubbed it. She was strangely aware of the slick surface.

“Take the soap and make a rich lather, then slowly rub it on your throat. Feel the difference between the hard surface of the cake of soap and the soft, warm skin of your body. Move your hands around. Feel your jaw, the back of your neck. Now caress your cheeks. How smooth and soft they are through the lather. Keep your eyes closed and just feel. Feel rough and smooth spots, places that are warm and those that are cool. If you have fingernails, use them to scratch your shoulders, just lightly.”

Barbara did, her eyes closed, her head resting against the towel on the rim of the tub.

“You need more lather, so rub the soap again. Can you smell the perfume? Does your soap smell like flowers or spice? Can you picture a field of summer blossoms or an Oriental harem? Maybe lemons or blackberries. Inhale deeply. Fill your lungs with the scent and imagine.

As the music filled the room, Barbara breathed deeply and saw a Parisian boudoir with perfume bottles on a mirrored vanity. She vaguely remembered her mother buying her this soap many years before. She lay there seeing the boudoir. A woman sat at the vanity putting on makeup. She was dressed in a filmy negligee, waiting for her lover. Barbara opened her eyes. Now why had she created that scene? Waiting for her lover, indeed.

“I hope your eyes are still closed,” the voice said softly. Barbara snapped her eyes shut. “I want you to feel other places on your body. Start with your breasts. Your soapy hands will feel so good on your soft flesh. I want you to use the pads of your fingers to stroke the flesh of your breasts, just around the outside. Press a bit and feel. Are your breasts full, or small and tight? As I told you, I like them all. Can you feel your ribs or is there deep softness? Please. I can’t be there to feel your skin so you must do it for me.”

Tentatively Barbara sat up slightly so the tops of her breasts were above the waterline. She slid her soapy fingers over the crests, then pressed her fingertips into the flesh. Deeply soft and pillowy, she thought.

“Find the areolas, just where the color changes, darkens. Open your eyes if you must, then close them again. Run one fingertip over the slight ridge there, all around. Keep swirling around that line. Can you feel your nipples tighten? No, not with your fingers, but feel it inside. Don’t look, feel. Can you feel your nipples contract? Yes, I know they will.”

They did.

“I wish I were there to touch your nipples. I would first swirl my fingers around the outside the way you are doing it. Then I wouldn’t be able to resist sliding toward the tightened buds. I want to feel them but I can’t, so you will have to do it for me. Touch. Squeeze. That’s what I would do. I would squeeze those tight nipples. It’s hard to feel it when you touch lightly so make yourself feel it. Do what you have to so that you know the touch of your fingers. Pinch, use your nails.”

Barbara used her newly manicured nails to tweak the tips of her breasts. She felt it, tight, slightly painful yet very stimulating.

“I know you think this is strange and maybe you feel a bit guilty, but it’s your body and you are entitled to touch it. It’s God’s creation and so beautiful. I know also that you’re noticing that you’re not just feeling your fingers touching your breasts. You are also starting to become aware of the flesh between your legs. You’re feeling full, maybe getting wet, not from your bath but from your excitement.”

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.”