By Claire Thompson
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After a dull day gliding silently through the archives and stacks of the university library where she worked, Rachel would drop into her lovely red leather recliner, letting it enfold her in buoyant comfort as she quickly lost herself among princes and rascals, castles and caves. ” Rachel looked down at her gray T-shirt rumpling over tattered tennis shorts. “I love the way this makes my big tits look, Jim. It’s a black negligee, but it’s a teeny, tiny bit tight, you know? My nipples are hard now because you’re on the phone.
Or maybe she was only just beginning to accept that she didn’t have to be. * * * * * She drove nervously into the parking lot. She had been expecting a seedy dive, poorly lit with men in trench coats glancing furtively around before grabbing the girly magazines or packages of blow-up plastic dolls with mouths that promised a piece of heaven. Instead, the Purple Pussycat was brightly lit with clean, broad shelves lined with every kind of sexual contraption imaginable! The person behind the counter wasn’t some dirty old lecher with a burnt-out cigar dangling from his lip as she had imagined, but a woman younger than Rachel with spiked white-blonde hair and piercings in her eyebrow, nostril and lip.
That part of her was eager, thirsty, for whatever he was offering. The two hours ended too quickly and as Richard began to talk about when he could call her again, Rachel interrupted. “Listen, Richard. About that. ” She paused, suddenly unsure of herself. She plunged on. “I was thinking. There’s no reason we have to talk like this. I mean, I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to call me directly. ” She waited. After a moment, Richard said, “I’d love to call you directly. ” Rachel felt a weird grip in her belly.
A Lover's Call by Claire Thompson