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What Would Aristippus Think

By Raziel Moore
Invisible Lines (Novella)

Caitlin Comes Clean
© 2003 by Jerry Rightson 

Told with Caitlin's permission

Caitlin is twenty-seven.  She's my partner's administrative assistant; with a Masters in Fine Arts she is definitely underemployed.  When Cait's out of earshot, my partner describes her as office landscape or eye candy.  If you met her, you would remember her big smile.  Truth is she has an enormous mouth—it seems to cut from ear to ear.  Where others use wit, tight blue jeans, or the flutter of eyelashes, Cait uses her smile.  It works magic, and consequently everyone loves her.  She is a genius at gestures.  The way she tosses her silky red hair just before she begins to speak, the little tug on her skirt when it rides too far up her thigh, and the little flecks of green you see in her eyes when she draws close enough are all masterstrokes.

Until last February she was married to an outfielder for the Milwaukee Brewers.  He was traded to the Seattle Mariners, and Cait decided a divorce was better than moving.  She ended up with their comfortable Lake Drive home, a yellow Humvee, and a "work is strictly optional" cash settlement.

We became friends during the black days of her divorce, when she needed a shoulder and an ear.  She confided most things in me, but we tiptoed around anything that smacked of crossing the line between friendship and flirtation.  At fifty-one, who am I kidding?

My assistant Christine was visiting her mother in England, so Cait ("Hell, I don't have a life anyway") volunteered to stay after work to help me move into my new office.  Eventually we were done but famished, so we ordered take-out Chinese.  Enjoying sesame chicken and orange beef,

I brought her up to date on my wife and kids.  She listened with her trademark big smile.  I then asked, "So, what's new?"

She hesitated a few beats. "I'm dying to tell you about something that happened to me.  I'm just afraid you'll think I'm a slut, or worse, a perv.  The Catholic schoolgirl in me wants me to hit my knees, but I don't want or need absolution.  Since you've listened to the rest of my shit—wanna hear my confession?"

I hesitated, but curiosity overcame my propriety. "Come on, Cait, you know you can tell me anything, and I would never judge you or think you were anything but Cait.  Besides you know I can't resist a story."

"Okay—you asked for it."

"Last month I received a greeting card.  Someone other than my regular mail-lady put it in my mailbox—no stamp.  It had a picture of a tabby cat on the front, and inside there was a fifty-dollar bill." She rustled in her oversized Louie Vitton purse and handed me the card.  The note read

Dear Caitlin:

I think you are so hot—whenever I see you I am completely and incomprehensibly distracted.  I am too shy to speak to you.  I dream of making love to you but I know that is impossible.  I have enclosed fifty dollars to purchase a pair of your panties.  I know you must be thinking I am a terrible pervert, but I am not.  I just know this is the only way I can get close to you.  I am hoping you will find some odd little pleasure in doing this for me—if you would simply put your panties in an envelope and send them to The Admirer POB 34275 Whitefish Bay Post Office 54217.

The Admirer

"I was frightened.  I considered calling the police.  I felt unsafe.  Unsure what this meant.  Every man at work, every neighbor, the men at my tennis club were all suspect."

"Wow, what did you do?"

"The card remained on my night table—I tried to ignore it—but it was all I could think about.  You know I've no one in my life—not even a fuck buddy."

"You're too damn choosy."

With a giggle, "Come on, ya want to hear my story or not?"


"I went out shopping for cousin Alfie's wedding.  I was on the prowl for the perfect little black dress."

"Your closet must be full of them."

"That's not the point.  I found myself standing outside Victoria's Secret, and in the window was this whimsical diaphanous pair of lacey panties."

"Whimsical and diaphanous?"

"Okay that's what the sign said in the window—I thought you'd enjoy the turn of phrase."

"Noted and appreciated."

"I had to buy them.  They made me feel hopeful, ya know? Maybe one day soon I'd have an occasion to wear them.  I went in and found a medium—they turned out to be quite expensive—but what the hell, I deserved a present.  I fished in my bag, found my wallet and without looking pulled out the fifty-dollar bill.  I had marked the bill with an 'A' and planned to mail it back to the crazy guy and tell him to leave me alone.  I was so flummoxed when I saw the bill in my hand my heart raced with panic.  I took a few deep yoga breaths, and once again under control thought what the fuck, if only he knew I was using his money to buy this pair of very sexy panties he would totally lose it.  I felt whoreish as the salesgirl handed me the little package.  Despite my fears, if I'm being honest, some part of me liked the feeling.  I found a perfect little black beaded dress at Valentino's and took off for home.

"Driving home I couldn't believe what I'd done, but I felt powerful, almost giddy.  That night when I climbed into bed I looked at the card for a long time—the handwriting was strong—the letters well formed.  It somehow appeared gentle and assertive all at once.  I put the card down and rolled over on my stomach.  Placing my pillow between my legs.  I began to 'play.'"

"Do I really need these details?"

"If you're going to appreciate my story you'll need the fine print—I can stop anytime."

Stop, she must be kidding.  I was hanging on every word. "I can handle the details, but I want your solemn oath that you won't wake up tomorrow and be so embarrassed you'll never speak to me again."

"I promise.  When I was a girl I would have golly gee wow orgasms if I masturbated on my stomach with a pillow wedged between my legs—I can get off in a few minutes or take as long as I want.  I often think about being fucked by some huge faceless stud who takes me from behind—holds my hair in one hand and slaps my ass with the other.  I don't know why I like that fantasy—but I do.  Even though my ex knew about this bit of whimsy, he would never play the role.  That night I conjured up my regular play-dream but then my mind wandered to my new undies and the mystery guy.  I imagined he was banging me.  It was amazing.  I decided I was a sick fuck.  I drifted off to sleep in my own wet spot."

"I'll reserve judgment." Cait's legs were crossed in such way that her skirt had ridden pretty far up her legs.  I shifted in my chair to see if I could get a peek under her skirt.  She caught me—shit—but she only flashed a coy smile.

"The next morning I showered—did my yoga and while I brushed my hair, decided to wear my little present.  Just the decision to wear them was an enormous step—I slipped them on.  I looked at myself in the three-paneled mirror and decided I liked what I saw.  They're not a thong or a G-string—they look like a sheer black scarf with a lacey V crotch—completely sheer in the back.  My ass cheeks looked pretty goddamned good.  I was in no mood for panty hose, so I wore patterned thigh-highs—a sheer, unconstricting bra—slipped on my shoes and chose a pretty silk blouse that my ex had given me for my twenty-fifth birthday."

"I remember—I thought you were dressed up because you had somewhere special to go after work.  I assumed you had a date."

"Nah," Cait flashed her Pepsident Girl smile.  That day I walked around the entire office.I hoped whoever sent the card would get an eyeful.  It was really erotic.  I couldn't stop thinking about how I looked in the new panties.  I was horny all day.  By quitting time my breasts felt tender—I was wet and I couldn't stop thinking about the card guy."

"I went home and started to change into tennis gear to meet my friend Karen at the North Shore Racket Club.  When I took off my skirt and caught another glimpse in the mirror I couldn't wait any longer.  I just had to get off.  Still wearing the new panties I got into bed, rolled onto my belly, stuffed the pillow and slipped my hand into my underwear—before I could begin in earnest I exploded! I nearly passed out, it was an incredible orgasm—countless deep shudders.  When my heart slowed down I fell asleep.

"It was only a catnap, but now I was late—I called Karen on her cell phone and apologized.  I got dressed, leaving my moist panties on the pillow.

"I beat Karen in straight sets.  That's unusual because she's a better player, but I felt so strong, so in control, I clobbered her.  We had dinner at the club.  She made a bunch of lame excuses for losing. ' I was distracted, I started my period yesterday, why was the net so damn limp?'

"Driving home it hit me—I had to mail my panties to The Admirer.

"I almost ran for my bedroom.  They were still damp.  I sealed them in a plastic bag and scribbled a note."

"What on earth did you write?"

"I drew a picture of a can-can dancer, bending over with her petticoats flipped up and ass bare: 'The devil made me do it—Cait.'

"I found an envelope and some stamps, drove off to the post office, and tossed them in the box.  Nothing happened for a few days.  I kept looking at every guy in the office—even you—wondering who was my Admirer.  Every day I came home and ran to the mailbox anticipating another letter.  Three days later there was a card in the mail—again hand-delivered.  I didn't rip it open.  I took it inside and settled down in my favorite chair—rolled a joint—put on the stereo and listened to Adiemus's Songs of Sanctuary, and just held the card in my hand.  After a while, when my head was swimming from the dope, I carefully opened the envelope.

"This time there was a painting of a woman holding a pitcher of milk.  Vermeer, sixteenth century.

Dear Caitlin:

I am so grateful.  Your panties still smelled unmistakably of you.  I suppose you have a right to know what I did with them.  For the longest time I just held them, smelled them, tasted them.  Absent-mindedly I unzipped my jeans.  With your panties held up to my face and with very little effort—I came.  I just stood there, my pants around my ankles, knees shaking, unable to control my breathing.  I know there's little hope we will ever meet.  I must appear deranged.  There's madness in obsession, but I am quite sane when I tell you I can only think of you.  I am almost embarrassed to ask for another favor, but I can't resist.  The enclosed money is to buy a small tape recorder just in case you don't have one—I want you to record your most private reverie as you pleasure yourself, and then mail me the tape.

The Admirer

"This time there was a crisp hundred-dollar bill enclosed."

"My God, Cait—you really got into this."

"There's much more—be patient." Cait straitened her skirt with a tug and a jiggle of her ass, there was something about the motion that made me wonder if she had ben wah balls tumbling inside her.

"I know sending him my little present was nuts, the craziest thing I ever did but this tape recorder thing was different and I was determined to put a stop to the whole thing before it went any farther.  Maybe he was a blackmailer.  Maybe he had something against me and copies of the tape would be passed around the office or the club.  I was smart enough to be afraid.  A week passed.  I received another note."

Cait reached into her purse, unfolded a simple piece of lined yellow legal paper.

Dear Caitlin:

I'm sorry if I went too far.  You have every right to think I am a weirdo, a stalker—a dangerous stranger.  But I promise I'm not.  I'm simply infatuated with you.  You sneak into my thoughts—my daydreams.  I can't stop myself.  You have become my obsession.  Maybe obsession is itself a word that frightens you but I can find no other word.  I know at least for a short time you were turned on by my attention.  Even as I write this note your panties are on my table a few inches from the paper.  So I beg you to not be afraid of me but rather take this journey with me.  I will do you no harm.  I completely trust you.  I have enclosed a key to my safe-deposit box at University National Bank.  In it you will find a very large sum of cash.  If I do anything you feel is beyond being playful, the cash is yours, no questions asked.  Please go to the bank as soon as possible and see that the money is really there.  I want you to know I completely trust you and that you can completely trust me.  When you feel I have earned your trust, simply return the key to me.  I impatiently await your tape.

The Admirer

"Did you use the key? How much money was in the box?"

"I never checked.  I thought about the money, but somehow I knew he wouldn't hurt me, so I never checked.  I went out that evening to Circuit City and bought a little Sony tape recorder and returned home.  I took a luxurious bath—used my scented tub oils—dried myself off and dusted my body with some exotic powder I keep for special occasions.

"I played with the tape recorder until I got the hang of it and climbed into bed."

Cait reached into her purse and pulled out the tape recorder, and without flinching she hit the play button.

"Hello Admirer."

Her voice was soft and breathy almost dreamy.

"I've never done anything this kinky, so I'm in new territory.  We'll both have to be patient.  I'm in bed—I just took a hot bath and used some wonderful smelling body powder—I usually shower, so my bath was in your honor.  I am lying on my stomach and I have my pillow between my legs—it is my favorite position for solo pleasures.  I am playing quiet music in the background.  The CD is Buddha Bar V.  I just slid my right hand between my legs—my fingers slip effortlessly.  Oh fuck, this feels so so good.  I've answered an ad that says summer job—$10,000, be my harem girl—everything for the master.  I'm going to the interview.  Ah—I'm lightly touching my clit, it's slippery and very sensitive.  I wear a short little skirt and a tight sweater—I want to look sexy but sophisticated.  A woman at the door of an enormous Soho loft greets me—oh shit this feels good—I need to slow down a little.  I'm handed a glass of wine and brought to a section of the loft that is clearly his study—a sleek ebony desk dominates the room.  There're dark paintings on the walls next to overfilled bookcases.  The woman tells me to sit down and make myself comfortable—I cross my legs provocatively.  Ooh, a little more pressure—she looks at me seriously and says during the interview I must do everything I'm asked if I hope to be chosen.  The master comes in wearing a brocade bathrobe—he is tall with wispy white hair and enormous hands.  He has a slight English accent.  He asks my name—the woman answers for me.  He comes over to my chair and extends his hand, drawing me to towards him.  He removes my sweater—the woman comes over and unhooks my bra and carefully shows my breasts to the master.  My nipples are hard—Ooh are you still listening to me? I'm beginning to rub a little faster—press a little harder slide a tentative finger inside my cunt.  He nods his approval—he treats me like a favorite possession.  The woman leads me to his desk with authority and pushes me forward.  I bend over and feel the cool wood against my breasts.  She lifts my skirt, spreads my legs, and pulls aside my panties.  They speak approvingly of my ass and my gleaming slit.  I feel a little juice run down my thigh, I want the master to fuck me.  Oh, this feels so good—I'm touching my G-spot with my curved finger.  I'm moving quickly.  I'm expecting his cock, but I feel his fingers, maybe three, thrust deep in my pussy Oh, oh, I'm—oooh ahhhh ooh ooh."

She clicked the recorder off and put it back in her purse.

"I fell asleep without listening to the tape.  When I woke it was morning.  I immediately grabbed the recorder, rewound the tape and played it back.  I sat for a moment mesmerized by my own voice.  I got hot just thinking about the Admirer listening to my tape, and for the first time in years I masturbated while lying on my back—needless to say, I came quickly.

"I eventually got out of bed.  Took my shower, hurriedly dressed, and found an envelope for the tape.  This time I wrote—'I hope this is as good for you as it was for me.' I tossed it in a post office box on my way to work."

I'm speechless—my cock is agate.  Cait's face is gentle with an open innocence, and her skin is china white.  I notice a small blemish that has been hidden by the lines of her smile.  For a brief moment our eyes meet, but I turn away feeling the blood rise to my face.  This girl that I tried so hard to never think of in a sexual way was tormenting me with her story.  I considered excusing myself to go to the bathroom and beat off—instead I managed to mutter, "Shit, Cait—I think your inner slut has taken over your brain.  Have you figured out who this guy is?"

Laughing, "There's more—be patient."

I was fidgeting with some file folders that I tried to put on my lap to cover my hard-on.  She busted me.

Conspiratorially, she drew her chair closer. "I can see you like my story.  It's okay, I like your reaction—I'm pretty turned on myself."

I wanted to tell her that this was going too far, but I couldn't wait to learn what happened next.  Lamely I asked. "Did he write to you again?"

"You bet—four days later there was another hand-delivered card." This time she quickly found the note.  A beautiful stallion was on the front of the card—captioned Madagascar Grand Kentucky Stud—Taylor Farms.

Dear Caitlin:

Your fantasy was so hot; I listened to the tape in bed.  Your gentle words filled my head.  Then I turned off the tape and imagined I was the Master.  I pictured you bent over the desk.  I reached for your panties on my night table and stroked myself furiously until I came.  When I received the tape I knew you trusted me.  I have another assignment.  Go to Black's on Capitol and purchase a digital camera.  I want you to take some sexy pictures.  Seduce me with your image.  Send them to  I give you my solemn word that I will never share them with anyone.  They will always be safe with me, and I will make sure the files are destroyed after I enjoy them.


The Admirer

"He enclosed five crisp hundred-dollar bills.

"I went to Black's and bought a camera.  I made sure it had a self-timer.  It also had an auto focus, an automatic advance, and worked intuitively.  The salesman, when he heard I was interested in taking self-portraits, recommended I buy an extension shutter cable and tripod so I could take several pictures at a time.  I did as he suggested.

"When I came home I immediately started playing with the camera.  It didn't take very long until I got the hang of digital photography, screwed the camera to the tripod, and got the extension trigger hooked up.  I used Johnnie, my large teddy bear, for practice.  I took about a dozen shots of Johnnie, and when they were framed just right I erased them.  I was ready.

"For my first photo I sat on the edge of the bed and unbuttoned my blouse and pulled one arm out of my bra exposing my left breast.  I smiled my best come and get me smile and snapped the shutter.  The flash startled me.  I took off my blouse and my bra and, with my tongue just reaching my left nipple squeezed off another shot.  I was into it.  This time I unzipped my pants just a little so only the top of my panties peeked through.  I was wearing an old-fashioned pair of Lollypop white cotton underpants, but I thought they would look great with my blue jeans.  I snapped off the shot.  I unzipped all the way and slipped my hand in my panties and buried my middle finger in my pussy—I was getting really worked up and it felt very nice.  I took the picture.  I then sucked on my wet finger and took another picture.  I kicked off my shoes and dropped my jeans to the floor with my legs still in my pants.  I bent over the bed, giving him a great shot of my ass, and squeezed the bulb for another picture.

"I wriggled free of my jeans and positioned my panties just above my knees—bent back over the bed and took the next photo.  I was in a trance.  I was trying to seduce him frame by frame, and I loved the sensation.  I imagined The Admirer standing quietly in the corner of my room his hand around his cock.  I took off my panties and stood completely naked in front of the camera, legs crossed and one arm hiding my breasts, and took the picture.  I uncrossed my legs dropped my arm and snapped another.  I sat back on the bed and spread my legs—I keep my bush trimmed—not shaved smooth just shaped into a neat little fiery red triangle, and I know it looks good.  The camera flashed.

"I got up and set the timer and climbed back into bed.  This time I used both hands to part the lips of my pussy so he could take a good look.  There was a shutter click and flash.

"I returned to bed and positioned myself on my stomach and jammed my pillow in its familiar place.  I started to play with myself.  I kept thinking of The Admirer standing in the corner watching me.  Working his cock.  It felt so good.  I held the camera-bulb in one hand and touched the best places with the other and began to shoot several pictures in a row.  I started to rub my clit with the rubber bulb.  I was on autopilot—and just as I let go with a gasp I took one photo after another.  After catching my breath I smiled a happy blissful smile and took another photo.  I grabbed my pillow and holding it over my chest I smiled a big relaxed after sex grin and took one more.

"Still naked I tried several times to download the pictures to my computer.  The neighbor kid usually helps me solve computer problems—this time I was on my own.  I ended up calling the customer service help desk at Fujifilm, and this nice man helped me download my photos.  All at once they began to pop onto my screen.

"I studied each image.  My skin looked a little blotchy around my face—I hated the tiny roll at my waist that might portend things to come.  I became self-conscious about my photos but that very self-consciousness quickly became erotic.

"I squirmed in my chair—as I flipped from through them I began to touch myself instinctually.  When the shot of me on my stomach and pillow appeared—I lost all ability to concentrate—closed my eyes, licked my fingers, and began to rub with purpose.  I imagined the Admirer looking at my pictures and rubbing his cock.  I felt the blood rush to my pussy lips, I tried to match my rhythm to what I imagined was his.  My fingers were wet and glided easily, each touch begged for another.  I could feel my ass tighten.  I pictured him standing over me and just as his hot come hit my tits I shoved two fingers in my cunt and began to tremble with waves of pleasure.

"I opened my eyes and enjoyed the sensation of my slowing pulse.  When I could thinkagain.  I chose eight of the best pictures, and without pausing to reconsider, I emailed them to the Admirer."

I was drawn into Cait's story and hung on every word.  I could feel the sweat on the small of my back and between my toes.  This luscious woman, sitting a few feet from me—telling me her most intimate tale—was saving no detail for imagination.  Cait was clearly aware that my cock strained against my pants.  Never once losing her confidence as she unraveled her story, the tension became almost unbearable, yet I couldn't ask her to quit—she'd gotten hold of me.

"I can't believe you actually sent the pictures." She reached over and lightly touched my hand.  Her warmth caught me by surprise and I pulled away.

"Neither can I, but I wanted to please him.  I know it's ridiculous.  I'm a nasty little slut—a fantasy whore—the victim of someone else's fantasy.  But I had to see it through—I couldn't stop thinking of him, particularly after I took the pictures.  I've never posed naked for anyone—let alone sexual pictures.  My ex wanted me to pose, but I didn't trust him—always thought he would pass them around to the other guys on the team.  Yet here I was trusting a guy I didn't know."

"You're a high-wire artist—so what happened next?"

"More than a week passed, each day after work, before I did anything else, I checked my e-mail and snail mail.  I was disappointed every day.  I began to think he didn't like my pictures.  Maybe they weren't what he wanted—maybe they weren't that sexy.  I was angry and considered visiting the safe-deposit box.  I'm sure he received the photos shortly after I sent them, but not even a thank you or a small compliment.  I regretted having sent him the photos.  I sent him an e-mail 'How can you leave me hanging out in the breeze, so exposed?'

"Last Monday, when I had just about given up, a florist left three-dozen long-stem American Beauties arranged in a Lalique crystal vase on my screen-porch table.  Accompanying the flowers was a sumptuously wrapped gift—this time there was no card.  I ripped off the ribbons, and foil wrap.  Nestled in crimson tissue paper were a black blindfold and a letter.  Nothing else.  At first I felt disappointed—the wrapping paper was so elaborate I expected jewelry.  I held the letter in my hands for a long time as I stared without blinking at the roses, they smelled so good.  My father raises roses, and for my 21st birthday he presented me with a hybridized rose plant that had lacey green petals.  The rose was a new variety and he had named it 'Caitlin's Lace' in my honor.  The scent of roses always takes me home.  After a long lapse of appreciation I found my dope and rolled a joint—took a deep hit, and when I could feel the weed I opened his letter."

She carefully unfolded the letter—I could see it was written on thick creamy stock, the sort used for invitations to afternoon tea parties in Chappaqua.

Dearest Caitlin:

The photos were exquisite.  I knew they would be.  The ones you chose are perfect.  I wanted to answer your e-mail immediately, but sending you an e-mail just didn't seem right.  There were three photos I particularly loved the one of you sucking your finger; the one where you smiled holding the pillow in front of your breasts; and the one with the pillow held tightly between your legs.  I know it seems impossible, but I feel close to you.  I love your voice, your smell, your smile and the sweet look in your eyes when you're making love to me—dare I say that? I hope that's what I'm seeing in your eyes, because that's how I feel.

I have one more request—I will understand if you decide not to grant me this final favor.  On Saturday evening I want to visit you.  I will know you want me to show up if you leave your garage open and empty and light candles all around your bedroom.  Leave a path of rose petals from your door to your bedroom.  I want to find you on your stomach with your pillow between your legs.

I will arrive at 900 p.m.  You must wear the blindfold during our entire visit.  Just as you trusted me with your most intimate photographs, I must trust you to wear the blindfold no matter what happens during our visit.  If you are afraid, and from where you sit you have every reason to be afraid, don't leave the garage door open.  I will understand.

With tenderness,

The Admirer

"My god, Cait, you have actually been with this guy, I can't believe you let it go all the way! You're still breathing, so I know you weren't murdered." "You're right, I let it go all the way—I needed more than just my fingers.  I was more preoccupied with this anonymous guy than I had ever been with any man in my life, so no matter how weird, I wanted him.

"Our date called for new lingerie.  I didn't want to wear anything another man had ever seen me wear.  I cajoled Karen into shopping with me for a second opinion.  I told her I had a secret beau and I thought we might be getting close to going to bed.  She wanted details—I refused because I wasn 't prepared to tell her the real story and I didn't want to describe him inaccurately, just in case I introduced him to Karen one day.

"We went to I See London's.  They have the corner on French silk in Milwaukee.  After looking carefully at everything, Karen and I agreed that a particular black floral lace chemise with matching G-string was perfect.  I asked if I could try it on.

"Karen thought I looked 'tres sexy'—she even lifted up the chemise and checked out my G-string.  She blessed me as irresistible.  I bought the outfit.

"When Saturday arrived I had to distract myself just to keep sane.  I played tennis in the morning—had lunch with JeanAnne from accounting and then caught a matinee of Nowhere in Africa.  Have you seen that movie? It' s a German film that won the Oscar for best foreign film.  It was so good it took my mind off my evening plans—for a little while.

"I went home and had a salad for dinner and a joint for dessert.  At 800 I filled a hot bath.  It felt wonderful but I was too excited to relax in the tub—the oils made my skin silky, and by 830 I was ready to get out.  I took a few minutes to sharpen my bush's trim line.  I dusted myself with powder.  I lit the candles.  My bedroom was aglow in orange light.  I played Leonard Cohen's Susan album on my stereo.  It was five minutes to nine.  I'd left my car in the drive when I came home.  Still naked I ran and opened the garage door and left the door to the house slightly ajar.

"As instructed, I plucked the petals from his roses and dropped them Hansel and Gretel style leading a path back to my bed.  I took the key to his safe-deposit box, encircled it with petals, and illuminated it with a little candle just before the door to my bedroom.  I wanted him to know I trusted him completely.  I slipped the chemise over my head and put on the G-string.  I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror—I looked radiant in the candlelight.

"I found my position on the bed.  I placed my chemise just right to show off my ass, and when everything was just so, I put on the blindfold and waited in the quiet.  I listened keenly for any sound.  I was so excited I could hear my heart banging.  I couldn't stand it any longer and slipped a finger between my legs.  I heard a soft footstep.  Gently a hand took hold of my wrist and moved it away from my pussy.

"The next sensation was warm hands caressing my ass.  There were full lips against my skin, delicately tasting rather than trying to devour me.  Strong arms urged me to rotate on to my back.  A gentleman's fingers with manicured nails hooked under my G-sting, my legs lifted involuntarily, and my panties were slid off.  Taking hold of my knees, he parted my legs.  There is nothing more naked more exposed than lying on your back wearing a blindfold, legs apart while someone you have never seen carefully appraises the very center of you.  Now his hands were on my inner thigh, long hair dangled against my legs followed by the warm and delightful sensation of sensuous lips devouring lips, as a knowing tongue artfully rolled my clit.  The Admirer's face was smooth and almost boy-like as his cheeks rubbed against my thigh.  Something didn't fit The tongue work was exquisite, but the touch of the hands was too light.  The skin too smooth—a finger probed my pussy, but unlike any other man, seemed to know just what I wanted—oh shit—oh fucking shit, oh my fucking God—I'm being fucked by girl! I was stunned—I lost my groove.  I've never even been bi-curious, but her insistent fingers—first one then two then three—her tongue teasing my clit, the way she understood just what I wanted was as if Mother Earth had opened just for me.  Perhaps it was her rhythmic persistence that overpowered me—I was helpless as I gave myself over to feelings that were lush and primal and went beyond rationalization—beyond control.  She knew I was close, and with her fingers reaching as far as they could, she stopped working with her tongue—I could feel her bare nipples through the lacey chemise as they pressed against my back.  It was the first time I smelled the musk of another woman—until now sex had always been about hardness—a hard cock, hard muscles.  My ex was an athlete and his body was like iron—when he fucked me it made my body feel even softer and more pliant.  This was the first time lovemaking was about softness—with one hand she fingered my pussy while her thumb pressed against my just-starting- to-loosen ass—she lightly rimmed my ass with her tongue and this time there was no resistance as her thumb went deep into my ass.  She grabbed my hair and pulled my head back.  Now she was slamming her fingers into me—she had me completely in her power.  I wanted to come but she wouldn't let me—she curled her body around me and brought a breast to my lips, all the time keeping up her cunt pounding.  I greedily sucked and licked her nipple.  I begged her to make me come—I pleaded and moaned.  I was on fire and was humping anything I could press up against my cunt.  I was on the edge, and then she began to spank me—each crack of her hand sounded like the snap of whip.  Flames danced in my brain.  Just when I couldn't take it anymore she replaced her thumb with something larger and harder.  Seconds later, I was screaming at the top of my lungs as my muscles contracted spasmodically—oh fuck, oh fuck—I couldn't hold on any longer.  She held me tightly, her breasts against mine—her lips against mine—and then I could feel her reach between her own legs and in what seemed like only seconds—her breathing grew rapid and loud in a short time she made deep groaning sighs as her entire body quivered with in release.

"She got out of bed—I begged her to let me take off my blindfold—she placed her hands over my eyes and made it clear that I couldn't.  She dressed quickly.  I heard her footsteps pad softly towards the garage—I ripped off the blindfold.  There on the floor were the beautiful panties and my tape recording.

"I sat in dumbstruck silence.  I eventually got up and took a shower.  I dried myself off and climbed back into my bed.  There was still a faint odor of our lovemaking.  The next morning I found a note tucked into my New York Times."

Cait rummaged through her purse once more, producing a note written on the back of Scheherazade's takeout Middle Eastern menu.

Dearest Cait:

You are delicious—I couldn't tell you before—but I wore your panties when I got myself off—in fact I have worn them every day since you sent them.  I will always remember you.  Sadly, for reasons I have no right to share, I must bring our affair to an end.  You needn't write, as I have canceled my post office box and my e-mail address.

I wish you a juicy life filled with love and trust—deep happiness and an abundance of lovemaking so hot it scalds your soul.

Your Admirer

I just sat there not knowing what to say.  My mouth agape—my cock painfully hard, Cait sat opposite me with eyes bright with unspent tears.  After a long silence she looked up.

"I'm obsessed with her, I think of her all the time! I don't know how it's possible.I've never been attracted to a woman, let alone made love to one.  I'm no lesbian—I'm not even bi, but I'm consumed with this woman.  Just the thought of her makes me tingle with delight.  Since that evening, whenever one of our female co-workers smiles at me, my nipples stiffen.  I am out of control.

"On one hand I'm ecstatic.  My mystery woman gave me the best sex of my life—expanded my notions of gender—improved my wardrobe.  On the other, she has become Aesop's grapes.  I see her, I know she's there, but forever she remains just out of reach.  Even now, I'm wearing the panties she returned."

Cait got up and slowly lifted her skirt to show me her panties.  Her legs were lean and well muscled, her inner thighs were as sinewy as her calves.  The precise triangle of fiery red hair peeked through the lace.  I approached Cait.  My hand trembled as I gently touched her cheek—my fingers lingered in the soft tears.  She smelled of roses.  Cait hungrily began to kiss me.  My self-control evaporated.  Time stood still as I lost myself in her arms.  I tugged off her sweater and pushing the shoulder strap down, freed one breast.  It was eggshell white with a delicately brushed hint of blue veins that made the mauve of her areola all the more dramatic.  It was firm but so velvety and yielding that it begged for my caress.  I carefully cupped her breast, it seemed much larger than I had imagined.  I found its weight and shape and for a moment I was a blind man reading her beauty with gentle touches.  Her skin melted in my mouth.  She made throaty growling almost-cat-like-purring sounds as her nipple stiffened in my mouth.

I put my hands under her skirt and pulled her tightly against me.  Her hips were muscular, full and round—they gave way to my grasp.  We hung in suspended animation.  Again we found each other's lips and tongues.  The very same mouth that always smiled with such charm was now entirely focused on exploring mine.  She enveloped me with kisses like no other.  I sat down on the floor and adoringly removed her panties pausing to venerate her sumptuous patch of red hair.  The folds of her labia, although pink with anticipation, stood out in delicious contrast to her soft red hair.

Cait lowered herself to my lips.  She steadied her body against the wall and I began to tease her with my tongue.  I eased two fingers into the dark of her.  My nose was filled with her spicy aromatic smells.  She tasted sweet and salty.

In a breathy voice she whispered, "This feels so so nice, don't stop, please don't stop."

I eagerly licked and sucked.  Moving my tongue lightly along the base of her ebony-hard clit.  She pressed against my face.  My thumb slipped into her ass. "Ooh ohh—oh my God—ohhh fuck." With that she pressed against my mouth until we melted into one.  Her juices ran down my face.  I was intoxicated by her taste.  My tongue strained to explore all that was in reach.  Then without warning there was a gathering of energy.  She quivered against my lips and her juices swamped my face.  Bit by bit her muscles relaxed and she slid down the wall into my arms.  We held each other.  My cock pulsed in anticipation.

After a while she stood up, took my hands and pulled me to my feet.  Cait loosened my pants and gently took hold of my cock.  I closed my eyes and felt myself grow harder in response to her fingers.  The eagerness of her touch made me desperate for her.  As she kneeled she pulled off what remained of my clothing.  I could feel her hot breath wash over my cock.  She gently cupped my balls and with tenderness and determination, ran her tongue along the ridge.  With teasing patience she used her tongue to define and minutely examine me as I throbbed in answer to her lips.  She took me into her mouth with one hand sliding up down my shaft and the other never losing contact with my balls.  I opened my eyes and looked down as her lovely red tresses danced on her shoulders as she devoured me.  Without pause she opened her eyes and seemed to look into my soul.  She sensed I was about to come and with a firm squeeze at the base of my cock kept me from going over the edge.

Still holding tightly, she stood up.  She found my lips and we kissed again—this time it was deliberate, it was the kiss of lovers.  With a graceful pirouette she turned away and bent over the back of my chair.  I lifted her skirt and effortlessly slipped into her pussy.  Our love thrusts felt even greedier than her kisses as we began to move in a slow rhythm.  With a dancers grace she pushed back against me taking me even deeper.  Slowly, a little bit at a time, she allowed me to take control.  I was overcome with delight.  I tried to pace myself.  But then she wet her fingers and began touching herself.  The extra pressures drove me wild.  I was feral, out of control, consumed by own pleasure.  We began to move more quickly—I felt a tightening deep in my ass.  I reached for her hair "Oohh Cait."

We pressed together as if caught in a vice.  I moaned and Cait covered her mouth to muffle a shriek.  Sparks flickered in my brain—I couldn't resist coming.  As our hearts continued to pound, I kept my arms around her, not wanting to let go.

After we were quiet for some time Cait took the initiative and pulled away.  She turned around and kissed me softly.  Our skin glistened in the office lights.  There was a prominent Clinton stain on the back of her green silk skirt.  Her face relaxed.  She looked at me with her electric smile. "I guess you liked my story."

We dressed without any more words.  She gathered her things and reached into her purse, handing me a card sealed in an envelope.  She walked away quickly.  I was alone in my new office.  I sat down at my desk and opened the envelope.  On the front of the card was a line drawing from the Kama Sutra captioned "Position of the Wife of Indra"

Dear Jerry:

Are you sitting at your desk in shock? I need to come clean—hit my knees one more time.  What's better foreplay than a good story? If you hit the notes flawlessly, it's like turning down the lights, putting on Frank Sinatra, drinking a bottle of '83 Bordeaux, and eating a plate of oysters all at once.  I have wanted to make love to you ever since we began our conversations.

I'm well aware you are twenty-four years older than me—happily married.  In love with your wife—and I know you weren't looking for a quickie with your partner's administrative assistant.  The real truth—the whole truth and nothing but the truth—I have been offered a place at the Iowa Writer's Workshop.  I turned in my letter of resignation after work today.

I will always be grateful to you.  When I am lonely or bereft of passion, the sweet memories of tonight will fill the dark corners.

I hope you can forgive both of us.  Goodbye.

Your Admirer, Cait

© 2003 Jerry Rightson.  All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

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