Flesh For Fantasy Read online

  “Please.”

  “Yes, I will. I lower myself onto you, pulling you deep inside. You fill me up so well, baby. I raise up and drop, over and over, fucking you so good. Do you want to come now? I’m almost ready.” With his eyes closed, Frank groaned. Maggie rubbed her foot along the length of his cock under the tablecloth.

  “I’m almost ready. Almost. Wait for me, baby.” Maggie was so turned on by her description of Frank’s fantasy that if she reached under the table and touched herself, she would come. But she didn’t.

  “Yes, baby,” she said. “I’m coming now. You can feel my pussy squeezing your cock. Come with me.”

  “Yes,” Frank groaned. Then his eyes flew open. “No.” He pushed Maggie’s foot from his lap. “Not here.”

  “No. Not here,” Maggie said. “But I need a trip to the ladies’ room first.” To remove her pantyhose. When she returned, Frank was waiting for her with her coat in his hands. “My hotel is just around the corner.”

  Maggie slipped her arms into the sleeves. “Good,” she said. “I find I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

  “Are you sure you’re not a professional at this? No offense.”

  “No offense taken. And no, I’m not a pro.”

  “Well, you should be. I’ve been with my share of professional entertainers and no one holds a candle to you.”

  As they walked out of the restaurant, Maggie asked, “You’ve been with call girls?”

  “Sure. Sometimes the company provides entertainment for the out-of-town reps. And not one of them could come close to the way you turn me on. That little story back there…” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Holy shit.”

  “I enjoy turning men on. I dated a lot before I met Bob, and then he taught me about fantasy and lots of variations on straight sex. I love it all.”

  “You should get paid for it.”

  “How much do call girls make?”

  “The classy ones like you make hundreds a night.”

  “Hundreds of dollars?” Maggie gasped.

  They turned the corner and approached Frank’s hotel. “Sure. I know a few people and I could introduce you.”

  “Hmmm.”

  Maggie looked at Barbara. “The evening went exactly like the fantasy we had created.” She took a drink from her coffee cup. “And he introduced me to someone who introduced me to someone else and, as they say, the rest is history.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yes. Wow. And I entertained men for twenty years.”

  “Did you ever have any bad experiences? You read about hookers getting beaten up and stuff.”

  “I had one or two men who didn’t get the message when I told them to knock it off, but I know how to defend myself and I seldom take chances. All the men I entertain, er…entertained—it’s so hard for me to think of myself in the past tense. The men I entertained were all recommended, lonely business types who just wanted someone to have some fun with. You know, do the things they wouldn’t do with their wives.”

  “Like?”

  “Mostly oral sex and anal sex. Some were into power fantasies, both giving and receiving and a few were into pain.”

  “You mean like whips?”

  “I slapped a few men on the ass, but I never did whips because I can’t get pleasure out of that. Heavy pain is such a turn-off for me that I made it clear I wouldn’t play those games. But most other things were as exciting for me as they were for the men I was with.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  Maggie looked at her watch. “It’s getting late. Get your pocketbook and your credit cards and we’re off to shop.”

  Barbara stood up. “I can’t wait.”

  Chapter

  4

  “Now this doesn’t mean I’m going to jump into someone’s bed so fast,” Barbara said under her breath as they walked into the Galleria Mall in White Plains. “You can’t make a silk purse and all that.”

  “Let’s first get you dressed and looking like the attractive woman you are,” Maggie said. As they walked, the few shoppers they saw walked around Barbara but seemed unaware that Maggie was there. “You know,” Maggie said, turning to stare at a woman with a stroller who had just missed bumping into her, “I don’t think anyone can see me.”

  “But I can see you just fine,” Barbara said.

  They walked passed a large clothing store and paused in front of a mirrored section of wall. “I can see us both,” Barbara said as Maggie dodged to avoid a mother pushing a blue-and-white stroller.

  “It’s really weird,” Maggie said. “I’m here. I can see me.” She rubbed her arms. “I can feel me, hear me. You can, too. But to judge by the people walking by, I don’t exist.”

  “But you do exist,” Barbara said.

  “Mommy,” a little girl said as she passed, “why is that woman talking to herself?”

  “Let’s go, darling,” the mother said, hustling the tot off. “It’s not nice to talk about…”

  As the woman’s voice faded, Maggie said, “We better be careful. People will think you’re nuts.”

  As they strolled around the mall, getting the lay of the land, Barbara was careful not to speak to Maggie where anyone might overhear. Together the two women stopped periodically so Maggie could show Barbara outfits and shoes that would fit her new image. With Maggie steering, the two walked toward a hair salon called Expert Tresses. “We really should start with your hair.”

  “I like my hair,” Barbara said, reflexively tucking a strand behind her ear. “It’s easy and comfortable.”

  Maggie raised an eyebrow. “Easy and comfortable. Two of the most awful adjectives I can think of.” She stopped and turned Barbara to face her. She peered at a section of hair just above her right temple. “What’s this? The roots are white here.”

  “I was hoping we could overlook that. It’s a white streak. My mother used to call it a witch’s mark.”

  “You dye it?”

  “My mother started doing that for me when I was a kid. It’s just dyed to match the rest of my hair.”

  “It’s sexy as hell. I want you to get someone to style this mop,” Maggie said, staring at Barbara’s soft, medium-brown hair. “And get the dye out of that section.”

  “But it’s unlucky and creepy. I won’t.”

  “Barbara, baby. It’s unique and beautiful and it looks great. Your mother was a wonderful lady, but in this one instance, she was wrong. Please. Cooperate. Try this.”

  “No.”

  “Look,” Maggie said, guiding Barbara into a small alcove. “Do this for me and for this project. Let someone do your hair. My way. Then give it one week. If you don’t like it, you can dye it back. Okay? Please. I have a job to do here.”

  When Barbara hesitated, Maggie continued. “And get your nails done, too.”

  “But…”

  Maggie put a hand in the small of Barbara’s back and pushed, aiming her toward Expert Tresses. Since the salon was almost empty, three women walked toward her as she walked in. “May we help you?”

  “I need a haircut,” Barbara said.

  “You want it styled,” Maggie said, knowing that no one else could hear.

  “I want it styled.”

  One of the women looked her over. “My name’s Candy and I think you’re mine this morning. Come on over here.” The pink-smocked woman led Barbara to a chair at one side of the studio.

  “I have a streak right here,” Barbara said, fingering a section of hair as Candy covered Barbara’s clothes with a plastic apron.

  “Yes, I see,” Candy said. “Why do you dye it?”

  “It’s a witch’s mark.”

  “And it’s so kinky.” Candy lifted a strand of her long blond hair from her temple. “It wouldn’t look as good on me, she said. She returned her attention to Barbara. “But on you…”

  “Well…”

  As they started to talk about styles, Maggie said, “She sounds like she knows what she’s talking about, so let her do whatever she wants. I’ll be
back.” Over her shoulder, she called, “And don’t forget the nails.”

  Maggie left the salon and walked purposefully back to the mirrored section of wall. With people unable to see her, Maggie stood staring at herself. Since no one could hear her, she talked aloud to herself. “It’s been six months since I, whatever, and my hair hasn’t grown nor does it need to be colored.” She looked down. “My nails are perfect and I don’t look any older.” She walked close to the mirror and stared at her skin. “No new lines. No signs of age. Nothing.”

  “And you won’t age,” a voice she recognized as Angela’s said. “You’ll just continue as you were on the day you died. That’s one of the advantages of an assignment like this.”

  “Have you done this kind of thing often?” Maggie asked.

  “Not really, but it does happen occasionally,” Lucy said. “How’s it going?”

  “Don’t you know?”

  “Not really,” Angela said. “We don’t have the time to watch what’s happening. We just drop in from time to time.”

  “Could Barbara hear you if she were here?”

  “No,” Angela continued. “Only you can hear us, and see us if it becomes necessary. But creating corporeal images on earth is very energy inefficient and in most cases unnecessary.”

  “How do you like Barbara?” Lucy asked.

  “Actually, she’s really nice. But mousy. She’s got zero self-confidence. Even with a good hairstyle and attractive clothes, she’s not going to be a beauty.”

  “You’re not a Miss America candidate yourself,” Lucy said.

  “Oh now, Lucy,” Angela said, “that’s unkind.”

  “Look you two,” Maggie said, “I know I’m not gorgeous, but I’m attractive. I use what I’ve got and I’ve never wanted for companions, paid and unpaid.”

  “That’s the first lesson your friend Barbara has to learn,” Angela said. “It’s the gleam in the eye not the meat on the bones that makes a woman sexy.”

  “Listen, we’ve got other fish to fry, as it were,” Lucy said. “Go pick Barbara up. She’s waiting for you.”

  “But it’s only been about five minutes,” Maggie protested.

  “You already know that time has little meaning in your existence, Angela said. “Go pick her up.”

  Her head now empty of voices, Maggie walked back to Expert Tresses and, sure enough, Barbara had just finished signing the charge slip. Maggie looked her friend over. The white streak was now prominent in Barbara’s slightly darkened, carefully cut brown hair. Styled so it fell just at her shoulders, her hair curled up at the ends and moved gracefully as Barbara moved. She looked at Maggie and shrugged.

  “You look just great,” Maggie said. “What an improvement. And you’ve got makeup on.”

  Barbara stuffed the charge-card receipt into her wallet and walked out of the salon. “It’s hard remembering not to talk to you where anyone might hear.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Candy gave me a few tips about foundation and eye makeup so I bought a few things and she and another woman helped me put this stuff on. Does it look okay?”

  Maggie studied Barbara’s light taupe shadow, soft brown liner, blush, and lipstick. “You really look nice. You’ll need more for evenings, of course, but for day wear, it’s just great.”

  Barbara stopped at the same mirrored section of the wall. “You really think so? It’s so obvious. I look made up.”

  “You look like you took some time to enhance your looks. That’s great. You don’t always have to look like you got up late for work.”

  “I don’t…”

  “You do most of the time. There’s nothing wrong with taking a little time to look good.”

  “It’s vain.”

  “It’s just good sense. Vanity in large doses is bad. Feeling good about the way you look is good. Let’s see what we can do now about your wardrobe.”

  “After lunch. I’m starving.”

  “We just had breakfast.”

  Barbara looked at her watch. “That was almost five hours ago and I, for one, am famished.”

  In the food court, Barbara bought a corned beef sandwich with fries and a pickle. With her plate in one hand and a 7Up in the other, she found a small table off to one side of the seating area. She sat with her back to the other shoppers so she could talk to Maggie without everyone thinking she was nuts. As they talked, Maggie occasionally picked up a french fry and nibbled on it. Barbara wondered what others would see if they looked. Would a french fry just lift up into the air, then disappear?

  The two women then spent the afternoon doing serious damage to Barbara’s credit card. They bought several soft bright-colored silk blouses and two skirts, considerably shorter than Barbara had been used to. “You have great legs,” Maggie said several times. “Show them off. You want to catch the eye of that boss of yours, don’t you?”

  Unable to argue without seeming like a nut, Barbara went along. In a shoe boutique, Maggie bullied Barbara into purchasing a pair of black, two-and-a-half-inch high opera pumps and a pair of knee-high brown butter-soft suede boots with stiletto heels.

  As they started for the parking lot of the mall, Maggie spotted a Victoria’s Secret store. “Let’s go in,” she said.

  “I have underwear,” Barbara said.

  “I’ll bet not the right kind.”

  Barbara had just about given up arguing so together the two women entered the store. Maggie all but dragged her friend to a display of lacy bra and panty sets. Both the bra and the panty were mostly net with flowers embroidered in strategic places. “Get the black one, the white one, and the light blue.”

  “But, Maggie,” Barbara said, “they’re so slutty.”

  A saleswoman whirled around. “Yes,” she said, “can I help you? I’m sorry I didn’t hear your last question.”

  “I wasn’t talking to you.”

  The saleswoman looked around, then shrugged. “Those lace sets are on sale, she said. “It’s buy two and get the third for a dollar.”

  “The black, the white, and the light blue,” Maggie said, knowing she couldn’t be heard by anyone but Barbara. “And don’t argue. You know you want them and you don’t ever have to wear them. just indulge me.”

  “Okay,” Barbara said, looking at the pleasant saleswoman. “I’ll take the light blue and the white.”

  “A third set will only cost a dollar more.”

  Maggie tapped her foot and arched an eyebrow.

  “Okay,” Barbara agreed. “I guess I’ll take the black as well.”

  “Good choice,” the woman said. “And the size?”

  “It’s been a long time since I bought undies. Maybe I better try them on.” She selected bras in three different sizes.

  “Certainly,” the woman said and showed Barbara to the fitting room.

  In the tiny room, Barbara pulled off her shirt and bra and put the new white one on. Maggie appeared in the corner of the mirrored room and let out a low whistle. “You’ve got a great body, you know.”

  Barbara turned sideways, raised her rib cage and sucked in her tummy. “I could have if I never breathed again.” When she relaxed, her belly bulged a bit and her diaphragm protruded.

  “You’ve got a very nice figure,” Maggie said. “And those bits of stuff you’re wearing do wonders.”

  Barbara looked at the white lace bra she wore. She really didn’t look half bad, she had to admit. The flowers woven into the fabric were designed so that leaves and blossoms covered her nipples but the rest was almost transparent.

  “Very sexy,” Maggie said. “Yes, very nice. I think your boss would approve.”

  Barbara blushed. “He will never see me like this,” she said, replacing the silk with her serviceable cotton undies.

  “He will if you want him to. He’ll notice you and he’d be a fool not to be impressed. You will go into the office tomorrow a different woman.”

  Barbara smiled.

  The following morning, Barbara showered and, when she returned t
o her bedroom, Maggie was sitting on her bed. “Wear that new cornflower blue blouse with the black skirt. And the light-blue bra and panties.”

  As Barbara reached for her traditional underwear, she asked, “What difference does it make what I wear underneath?”

  “If you feet sexy under your clothes, it affects the way you behave. I want you to spend the day knowing that your breasts are being held by that wonderful erotic fabric.”

  “But…”

  “Do what I ask, Barbara,” Maggie said. “Trust me. You want him to notice you, don’t you?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Good. So do it my way, just this once.”

  Barbara sighed and dressed as Maggie had suggested. After a quick breakfast, Barbara put on her coat. “Will you be at work with me today?”

  “No,” Maggie answered. “I’ll see you here tonight and you can tell me all about it.”

  Barbara arrived at work at two minutes before eight, got her coffee and settled down to work. Her boss was in court that morning and wasn’t due in until after lunch. Except for a quick trip to the ladies’ room, Barbara stayed huddled at her desk all morning. The people who passed by noticed her new hairstyle and makeup and several commented cheerfully on how lovely she looked. One woman complimented her on the silver streak in her hair and a young male associate actually winked at her, something that had never happened before.

  Throughout her almost solitary morning, she occasionally forgot her makeover, but then she would look down at her hands typing or dialing the phone and her nicely shaped nails, polished in a medium pink, reminded her again. Maybe Steve would notice her, like in one of those romantic movies. “Oh my goodness, Barbara,” he would say, “I never realized.” She smiled at the thought, then shook her head and got back to work.

  As she usually did, Barbara ate lunch at her desk, then returned to work, her eyes glued on the screen of her word processor. At one-thirty, she jumped as her intercom buzzer sounded. She picked up the phone and her boss said, without preamble, “Barbara, I hope you finished the Sanderson documents. Mr. and Mrs. Sanderson are due here at two for the closing.” Barbara realized that she had been so engrossed in hiding her new look that she hadn’t even heard Steve come in.