Goody Two Shoes (13 page)

“Jonathon’s messing with you isn’t he?”

I look up at the petite blond hovering over me.  The combination of fading light, glistening floors and her blond halo makes me feel like I’m approaching the Pearly Gates.  Until this moment, I haven’t met any other members of the Club, and clearly she is, so I’m taken aback by her upfront comment.

“It’s uh… not so horrible,” but my teeth are chattering from the now constant vibrations.  I grind them to stop the clicking.

“Mind if I sit?”

“No, please,” I motion towards the chair next to me.

“If he gets out of hand you let me know, alright?”

“I take it you know Jonathon pretty well?”

The blond laughs and I notice that she’s absolutely one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.  Green eyes peer at me through thick lashes.  There is no way to judge her age anymore, lines that would normally mark double digit birthdays are missing.  I know she’s had ‘work’ done, because well we’re sitting in a plastic surgeon’s office, but I’ll be damned if I can tell what.  Breasts?  Most likely, they’re as large as mine but perky.  As for the rest, there’s just no telling because her skin is rosy and unscathed.  I’m fascinated and want to ask.

“Yes, I know Jonathon.  Well.”

I’m not going to deny that I feel intimidated by her comment.  In my mind Jonathon Galloway belongs to me now.  It’s not true, of course, anywhere but my fantasies.  But the woman is chuckling at the muffled vibrations that are coming from my lap.  “Oh dear!  That boy is so naughty I just want to take him over my knee and spank the living daylights out of him.  I’m Elise Devereux, darling, and you are?”

“Tara Townsend,” I say as she offers a hand laden with a diamond the size of Texas.  I take her hand and immediately am struck by its softness, “Oh my!  Your hands are so soft!  What lotion do you use?”

“Tell Stephan I said to give you a bottle, magic stuff I tell you.  So what are you here for Tara?  If you don’t mind my asking.”

Normally I would mind someone asking why I’m sitting in a plastic surgeons lobby, but Elise has that same enchanting demeanor that Jonathon possesses and already I am past the self conscious stage of our meeting.  “I think I should get a face lift, what do you think?”  I use my hands to push up the skin in the hollows of my cheeks as a demonstration.

Leaning forward she inspects me closely, “What I heard is that you are lovely beyond imagination.  That’s a pretty fair assessment in my book.  Stephan can rearrange some things if you want, but I don’t think I’d go haywire with it.  Maybe a smidgen off the eyelids and a little tuck at the ears, I just wouldn’t do much other than that.”

“I was thinking of lifting the ladies up too,” I say looking into my cleavage.

She giggles, “I had mine done, but you’ve got plenty of time for that.  All you need is a better bra.  Where did you buy that one?”

For the life of me I can’t remember, but you can bet it was a discount store.

“Here, take this card,” She fiddles in her handbag and hands me a business card with the title Brassiere Specialist typed on the front.  “She’ll fit you into something that’ll make you look like you’re twenty again!”

“I haven’t seen twenty in a while.  Thanks!”

“And aren’t you glad!  I wouldn’t redo my twenties for all the gold in the world.  All that baby poo and spit up.  Yuck!  They were cute little ducklings though and I’m glad I did it.  My sister never had children and I want you to know she still looks young.  Those midgets aged me I tell you!  How about you, kids?”

“Three, one Grand-daughter,” I answer with a proud grin.

“Ah yes, the Grands are so much better.”  She’s distracted by the continuous buzzing coming from my lap.

I’m extremely distracted by it and it’s taking all I have to force it to the back of my mind.

Her voice softens at my state of affairs, “Wouldn’t it be easier to just come and get it over with?”

I look around the near empty waiting room as the obvious answer for why that’s not possible.  “Of course it would, but…”

“But what?  Here, take my hand and let it go.”  Her soft hand clasps mine and she leans forward in front of me as if she’s going to hide my orgasm from the rest of the room.

I giggle uncomfortably, have I mentioned that this kind of interaction makes me as nervous as a June bug?  “No, I don’t think I can do that.”

“Just close your eyes, imagine no one is here and let it go.  Not a single person will know.”

I’d like to tell her the million excuses for why this isn’t possible but Vagina and Clitoris are throwing a key party between my thighs and things are getting out of hand.  It’s like having a splinter; the only thing on my mind is getting it out of my skin.  Trust me when I say that if I had another option I would’ve taken it in a flash, but there are no options.  Jonathon has left me with none.  I grasp her hand and let it go, the orgasm flushes through my skin making me as rosy and unscathed as the woman I’m clinging to.

*-*-*-*-*

By the time Friday comes around I can honestly say that I’ve never felt as refreshed.  I’ve taken the time - from my busy schedule – to buy new bras, slather my body with Dr. Kellar’s lotion, and have my hair highlighted.  I feel like a new woman.

I arrive at O’Malley’s exactly at four, and I’m ushered into the closed establishment by the same waitress that we’d had the other day.  “Good afternoon Tara!” she bubbles as though I’m her long lost sorority sister.  “Just so you know, Jonathon called and he’s going to be late.  He says to go ahead and get you started.  I hope that’s okay with you?” The waitress, Grace, smiles brightly.  Almost too brightly I think.  She reminds me of one of those nurses at the mammogram office; they’re creepy and we all know it.  They’re like female gynecologists; at what point in their lives did they say, ‘I like pussy so much that I think I’d like to look at them all day long?’  Just strange, and hell no it’s not okay that Jonathon’s not here today.  And what the hell does she mean
she’s
going to get me started?  My nerves strike a new chord and move into an entirely new level of apprehension.

Grace’s arm moves to mine and she holds my forearm gently as she gazes into my eyes, “We’ve all been here dear.  I swear it’ll be worth it.”  There it is again… it’ll all be worth it.  Of course Simmons will be happy, and no, you aren’t cheating on him.  I’m beginning to wonder if I’m not going to be asked to rehearse those lines over and over again just so I can repeat them just as perfectly.  But she can see the look of terror in my eyes and softens, “Alright listen, don’t tell Jonathon I told you this, but today is about surroundings.  I’m here to tell you that the men’s bathroom isn’t a very sensually inspiring place.”

“Bathroom?” I say nervously, ignoring the fact that she’s still holding my arm a tad too romantically.

“Right, you need to go into the men’s bathroom and sit in the stall next to the door and wait.  The lesson will present itself,” the tinted redhead grins and guffaws at her own comment.

I groan audibly, “Down that hall?”

“Yep!  Have a great time sweetie.”  She practically bounces as she speaks which makes me wonder how much
those
perky, perfect boobs cost in the free market.

I sigh, “Any way I could get a shot of vodka?”

Grace giggles, “Already got one chillin’ for ya!”

Following her to the bar I’m caught by my own twisted mind.  It’s roaming around the possibilities of what could be waiting for me in the men’s bathroom stall.  And this isn’t the guilty Catholic girl imagining these scenarios either; it’s the new split part of my personality that seems to be a raving slut.  I really should go ahead and name her at some point, the alter ego to Goody Two Shoes.  I swear it’s as though a lifetime of ladylike behavior has been erased and Clitoris is twitching like a horse at the starting gate.  Right here and now I’ll apologize to those girls I called a slut in High School.  You dressed like sleazes and I made fun of you, but who’s the sleaze now?  That’s right, prim and proper Tara Townsend.  You’ll remember me as the one in kilts and monogrammed button downs.  But today, ladies, I’m wearing a black - must be nylon - dress that I bought on a whim, five years and ten pounds ago.  Not only that, but I’m in a public place speaking to others as though this unlikely attire isn’t unusual.  Truth be told, you were right all along.  It makes me feel appealing and you know what?  It’s really, really comfortable.  Until this moment I considered the words sexy and comfortable, antonyms.  You were right, I was wrong, enough said.

So I slam the chilled vodka shot, alarmed by the bitter taste.  Grace grins with a giggle, “Dill Pickle Vodka.”

I nod sharply as the burn melts my esophagus.  Lucky for me I like pickles.  Simmons can’t stand them.  He relegates them to the far left corner of the refrigerator and would have a heart attack if one was accidentally placed on his plate.  But I push the thoughts of him from my mind.  “So to the men’s room it is then,” I smack the small shot glass down on the wooden bar.

“Have fun!” Grace encourages as I slink off to my fate.

I cautiously wander into the men’s room as though I’m searching for a ghost.  Peering into both stalls, I find the room vacant and breathe a small sigh of relief.  I have to say that I’m pleasantly surprised to find it very clean and nice.  Jonathon spared no expense to ensure that his patrons have the cleanest amenities.  I step into the stall closest to the door, which is twice as large as any other; handicap capable.  A note taped to the stall wall simply says, “On your knees, and remove the toilet paper container from the wall.”

I stare at the unlikely toilet paper holder; its metal like any other in a public bathroom.  But I lift it upwards and it slides from its bracket into my hands.  I set it on the floor and peer through the small hole behind it in the wall.  It’s the other bathroom stall of course, I don’t know why I even bothered to bend down and look.  In my defense, life has gotten a bit crazy lately, so a magical world appearing on the other side of the hole probably wouldn’t shock me at this point.  Narnia could be over there with all that’s been going on in my life.

I’ve read about Glory Holes in my recent internet research.  I’ve even seen a few videos.  As a matter of fact, I’ve even thought the concept of sucking a strange cock might not offend my virginal senses quite so much if I didn’t have to actually face the person attached to it.

A rush of excitement floods my veins as I hear the bathroom door open and footsteps sound on the tile floor.  A figure moves into the bathroom and steps into the stall beside me.  I hear some shuffling and I’m sure I hear the distinct sound of a zipper being worked.  It must be a lot like being blindfolded, I consider.  Because you only have a few visual hints, your entire being absorbs every detail and creates an imaginary vision.  I’m intrigued.  Personally I chose to imagine that it’s Simmons’ cock that suddenly peers through the hole, bobbing its head to attract my attention.  I’m here to tell you I’m a slut because I grab it, and stroke it as gently as a kitten until it hardens in my hands without a passing thought of guilt.  I lower my lips to the protruding cock and pull it into my mouth.  Someone has flipped the switch on my vibrating panties and I can feel my juices begin to boil.  Having a strange cock in my mouth isn’t unappealing.  As a matter of fact, it tastes extremely masculine and salty, like the beach.  Strangely I find myself craving it now; the thought turns Vagina and Clitoris on.  I wonder if Simmons will appreciate my new found hunger for oral sex?  A laugh breaks free at the thought, and the man in the stall next to me must have considered my outburst some kind of condemnation of his manhood; his member wavers.  I catch it in my lips and say, “No!  Oh I’m so sorry, I was imagining my husband’s face if he could see me right now!”

He responds by pushing his furious member deep past my lips.  His angry cock becomes more and more inflamed as he prods it against the back of my throat.  “Open your fucking mouth, bitch!” his gruff voice sounds.  I try to murmur that it
is
open as far as it goes, but all that comes out is a strand of saliva and a mumble.  With a conscious effort I relax my jaw, allowing him deeper into my mouth per his orders.  My lips are pressed hard against the bathroom stall, but the fleeting concern over cleanliness is erased by the heavy pounding of my own inner walls.  Need is building inside me as though each thrust is a building block towards orgasm.  Certainly a woman can’t come by giving a blow job?  But this man is rock solid, and his need and desire ia so apparent that my body responds without further consideration.  Groans from the other side of the wall are caught within my own passion and become the background music I need to pursue my orgasm.  As his cock throbs and pushes, my hand strays between my thighs to comfort my precious Clitoris who screams for human touch despite the vibrations from the silver egg in my panties.

But before my needs are met, a thick guttural groan comes over the wall, and milky come fills my mouth.  I swallow, even though no one would know if I spit it into the toilet beside me.  I can’t help it; I like it.  Just as quickly, the man removes his cock, a loud ‘plop’ issues with his withdrawal.  Instantly I feel like complaining, and the protests and screams from Vagina and her sister keep me from hearing him leave the bathroom.  It’s not until I hear the door shut that I realize I am alone.  Screw this shit!  My body isn’t going to take no for an answer this time.  My fingers push inside and find the spot that’s shrieking for a touch, any touch.  I moan at the instant comfort, but that’s when I hear the door open again and a new set of shoes step into the stall next to me.

Fresh hope fills me as another cock presents itself through the hole in the stall wall.  I lick it, and then yank it into my mouth like a starving wolf.  I can hear a man say, “Damn woman.  Slow down!”  But blood racing through my veins has temporarily rendered me deaf.  My fingers are prodding inside me, but they are a long way from filling me, and that’s when the thought occurs.  I stand and lift my dress, turn around, pressing Vagina against the wall directly onto the bobbing cock.  Already dripping with need, I slide backwards and moan loudly as it fills me.