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Jane went shopping at lunch, punctually returning to her desk with two brown bags in hand at one o’clock. I wished I could look so confident and effortless. By the day’s end, I was droopy and bedraggled. Jane remained the same, so much herself, nothing would alter her, not the hour or the work or the interruptions or anything for that matter.
When it was time to leave, I straightened my skirt, which was all askew from sitting and twisting so long in my seat. My scarf had come loose and needed adjusting as well. That done, I slipped into the arms of my jacket.
“Alex, how about you join me for a drink?” I heard her speak and looked up surprised.
“Ah…um…ah,” I stumbled over my reply like a silly schoolgirl. “Thank you, but tonight is…I, uh, grocery shop. Maybe some other time.”
She smiled, “Yes, we’ll do that sometime. Have a good evening.” She turned and walked down the corridor.
Grocery shop! Oh, good god, Alex, was that really the best you could do!
I thought of Jane all evening, imagining conversations, or my going places with her, dressing in her kind of clothes. Trendy, a little bohemian, perhaps, but not so much as to be out of place in the company working environment. She was so poised, so self-assured, while never felt as if I belonged anywhere.
I wondered if she went to the bar without me. Would she just walk into a place and talk to strangers? Would she go home with a man? Oh, but she wanted a break from men. Maybe she’d go home with a woman! A warm feeling grew inside me imagining her life. My body heat rose, but it wasn’t the compulsive heat that needed to be released in a flurry of masturbation, just a warmth that I could bask in forever. I fell asleep thinking of her.
I didn’t get another invitation from Jane for several days, and had begun to think I’d passed up an opportunity forever. She left each day smiling at me warmly, but made no further offers. Perhaps she’d just been gracious that first day. I watched her with great interest, picking up more clues to her character. She read foreign novels, plays and poetry. She often shopped on her lunch hour bringing back bags from various boutiques around town. I tried finding one of the novels in a bookstore, but they were out. Did I want to order it? the clerk asked. Oh no, I’d find something else.
I thought of Jane some nights as I lay down to sleep, some phrase or gesture catching my imagination and I’d be off in her life, at the theatre or a film festival, always surrounded by sexy men. And yet, when my body demanded physical satisfaction, I’d still go to that bar in my mind, the lights would turn on in my head and I’d feel my raging need ready to break loose.
One night as I masturbated, I dressed myself in a red knit skirt and top, close fitting and designed to show off a seductive figure. The low cut top fastened with snaps and the skirt was short. I even left a couple of snaps undone so my bare midriff was exposed. I wore black stilettos and plenty of red lipstick, having prepared myself for the dancing contest where I could be brave, outrageous and as improper as my desires. Time to break some rules.
The contest started late in the evening, when the small crowd was filled with liquor and growing boisterous. The pink flamingo on the wall blinked brightly and the glaring stage lights accentuated every movement as a small stream of sexy females took the stage. I spent little time watching the others dance; I didn’t need them to inspire me. I went on stage with one thing only in mind – having every man desiring me.
As the music came through the speakers, my hips began to move to the seductive rhythm. The floodlights made me sweat. Hearing cheers from the audience, I knew they were pleased, so I hiked my skirt up further to show off my gleaming thighs. My body warmed from the excitement and from the feel of the eyes riveted on me. As I danced, the little snaps that held the clinging fabric of the top opened one at a time – a slow striptease. The crowd of men cheered for more. When only two remained, I bit my lip, batted my lashes coyly at my admirers, and ripped the top wide open, allowing the red cloth to drop to the dance floor like a rag. As planned, my breasts jiggled loose from the low cut bra. The layer of sweat made my chest glow in the spotlights.
Since the ultimate focal point of my exhibition was still hiding underneath the knit skirt. The audience threw money, urging me to take it off. My mind quickly created a long line of snaps on the side of the skirt, so that with each offering, each bill thrown to the stage, another snap opened. When the skirt finally fell away, I shivered before my cheering audience, and danced naked – nothing remained between me and their hungry eyes but the tiniest g-string in front, covering my pubic mound with a triangle of cloth. A single strand of black cord ran between the cheeks of my ass.
Even then, they wanted more of me – an orgasm right before their eyes. They wanted to witness my pleasure, all my secrets exposed. No longer able to simply watch, their hands began to caress my legs. Then one man jumped to the stage, with his eager hands ready to explore every inch of my body.
I was gone a moment later – in my fantasy and in my bed at home, I was lost to the ecstasy. When the last whimper of orgasm passed from my body and the lights in the bar went out, I opened my eyes and immediately jumped from bed and headed to the bathroom to wash the juices from my hands. After slipping into my nightgown, I went to bed.
On a Thursday even some weeks Jane approached me after work again. “How about that drink?”
I was ready for her this time, although I still managed to stumble over my reply, “Y-yes, sounds great!” I had no idea what I was getting myself into, but I felt a nervous excitement all through my body.
“Great,
there’s a place not far from my apartment, we’ll take your car so you can go home from there.”
“What about your car?” I asked.
“Don’t have one,” she smiled.
“Oh.” No car? A liberated woman without a car?
Jane directed me to an unfamiliar part of town, a mixed neighborhood with ethnic restaurants, old buildings, store front businesses and an occasional corner grocery. I could smell the mix of fragrances as they bombarded the street with exotic perfumes from India, the Orient and Mexico. Each aroma seemed to enter my body at a different spot, touching off a sensitivity in places I hadn’t imagined could come alive.
We parked on the street a couple of blocks from the flashing neon where Jane directed me, and as we walked, I felt a curious tingling dart up my spine. I had the feeling that I’d walked this street before, but then again, I was sure I’d never been anywhere near the neighborhood. Still, some inner part of me seemed to recognize each cobblestone in the sidewalk, the noise from each cafe, the lettering on the windows, the taste of the air. When we reached the bar, a pink and green neon flamingo blinked against a painted wall, and in cursive script, ‘The Tropics’ flashed red.
“Oh my god!” I stood there stunned.
“Where’s the ghost?” Jane asked, seeing my startled expression.
“This place...I’ve seen it before.”
“Really?”
“In a fantasy.”
