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“Really?” I noted Jane’s look of surprise.
“Yeah, why not?” I guess she was rubbing off on me.
“Okay then, tomorrow night you wear the skirt and t-shirt, we’ll go out again.” I hardly flinched at the thought.
That night, I came twice – so fast the first time that my body needed more. Rather than getting up right away after the first orgasm died away, I found the Red Rose tavern in my fantasies, arriving there on the back of a motorcycle, where in my dreams a burly biker roughly massaged my breasts and his bearded mouth fastened itself on mine. His tongue forcefully thrust its way between my lips and I could feel his warm crotch pressed tightly against me. I came quickly, before my fantasy man had a chance to remove my clothes or slide his cock inside.
I couldn’t believe the heat of my desires. I smelled the musty odor of my hands and relished that raw perfume. This time, I didn’t wash the smell away. And the flannel nightgown . . . I let it hang inside my closet and slept nude.
Chapter Four
Arriving at Jane’s apartment, I was surprised by the modest building. I climbed three flights of stairs to number 327, where a very different Jane greeted me at the door in red leather boots, leggings and a sexy, lace tee. She was positively gorgeous, while I trembled in fear, knowing that eventually, I’d have to remove the shirt I’d worn over the sexy t-shirt. Though I felt bold enough to wear the t-shirt and denim skirt, any confidence I’d had in the dressing room had vanished. My nipples showed through the fabric exactly as they had in the dressing room. I wish I’d worn the bra.
“C’mon, Alex. I’ve already seen those pretty babies,” Jane laughed as she stripped the shirt away and handed me a glass of wine. “Sit down and relax. I’ve need to finish getting ready.” She walked into another room, calling back to me as she went – “And have another glass of wine when you’re done with that one.”
“I really shouldn’t, I’m driving,” I called to her.
“Oh, stop worrying, I’ll drive if you can’t.”
Her apartment was just like her. Color, lots of color, turquoise and red and pink and yellow, and black and white. Nothing matched, but everything went together, from the sofa with its abundant pillows, to the dark wood tables, and the smattering of expressionist and modern art, framed in gilded gold and brass and silver. It seemed thrown together in marvelous abandon, with each piece having landed comfortably into a pattern that was naturally like Jane herself.
“Let’s go,” she finally announced, sweeping back into the room. “You okay to drive?”
I hadn’t had the second glass of wine and my head was clear, very clear. “I’m fine,” I answered.
I was glad it was dark out, so no one on the street would notice how I was dressed. Once in the car, Jane led me across the bridge and out of town, where we turned onto a narrow highway and continued another few miles. At the junction of two country roads sat a tavern. The weathered and decaying framework made it look as if the building itself was dying, yet from inside, the lights glowed brightly at the windows. The sign that beckoned one to stop read simply, Red Rose, and suddenly my skin began to crawl. No, no. This couldn’t be happening again! What had I done to make this happen? I don’t know how I managed to park the car, get out, and make my way to the long front porch. I was in an altered state, too numb to even think.
To know each board in the crumbling facade, to have heard the creaking porch floor echoing through my mind, to see the red rose just as my fantasies had painted it; to have my imagination come alive twice in as many weeks, the reality finally made me stop in my tracks.
I stood motionless for the better part of several minutes trying to pry myself from the spot. Standing just inside the door, just as in my fantasy, I gazed into a large rustic room filled with loud-mouthed bikers and their women, drinking beer and playing pool. The smell of drugs was in the air. I didn’t know whether to scream or cry, or run or slap myself awake from this nightmare.
Jane practically shoved me toward a table as several pairs of eyes noticed our arrival. Immediately, my body heat began to rise. Thankfully, I didn’t even think about the t-shirt with my ridged nipples poking through the fabric.
“You’re acting strange again, Alex, what phantom is it this time?”
Rock music blared from an enormous sound system, pounding my ears so that my head began to ache.
“It’s happening again,” I told her, my voice so withered I’m surprised she heard me. I took a huge swallow of the drink in front of me, a strong tasting something that Jane had ordered.
“What’s happening again?”
How could she forget? “I’ve been here, but haven’t really been here.”
“You mean those wicked fantasies of yours?”
“Yes, I mean those wicked fantasies.”
She stared at me amazed. “You’re remarkable.” She honestly meant that.
The drink seemed to settle me a bit, and I began to search the room, looking closely at the people around me. I stared at one dark skinned man – Mexican or Portuguese, handsome in his roughness, with closely clipped hair and a well trimmed mustache. He wore a sleeveless t-shirt, so his tattooed arms were bare and his thick muscles gleamed in the low light. His tight chest stretched the fabric of the shirt so well that his small nipples showed, and the definition of his muscled chest was unmistakable. The energy from his dark eyes grabbed me right between my legs. I could only stand to look at him for a second before my gaze turned elsewhere.
“Have you ever met a man like that?” Jane asked.
“No!”
“Don’t look so frightened.”
“He’s so…so.” I couldn’t find the words.
