By M. Luc LaForce
Allie didn't know why she was like this. At first she had tried to tell herself what she'd been taught in Sex Ed: that masturbation was OK and that everyone did it, that it was natural to explore your own body, but deep down she knew her appetite for pleasure was unnaturally voracious. By twenty-four, you'd think she'd have discovered all there was to find on her trim runner's physique and gotten bored, having explored every curve of her silken skin for almost a decade, but Allie had the wanderlust of a Columbus—always seeking new and more pleasurable horizons.
Unfortunately, her desire to touch from sea to shining sea was so overwhelming that it had led to some pretty embarrassing situations, which in turn led to her being plagued by guilt. She was miserable and frustrated on the best of days. She hated herself on the worst, her mind spinning with the cruel taunts she'd endured in high school after she had been caught masturbating in the locker room. Her college roommate's horrified screams when she had caught her borrowing her vibrator still rang in Allie's ears when she closed her eyes. She had tried psychotherapy only to be turned away by her analyst after one of his missing Cross pens fell from between her legs when she uncrossed them.
Transference, he had said. Or something like that.
When she closed her eyes at night, there was still only one thing she wanted to do. It wasn't sleep. But even in the privacy of her own apartment, behind a bedroom door that had no need of being locked, in a place where she was free to pleasure herself, she could no longer enjoy it. And whenever she was with a man—which wasn't as often as it could've been with looks like hers—well... she'd discovered that most men her age were still boys. Those who weren't of the "wham bam thank you ma'am" variety made her too nervous with their constant need for reassurance. If she had a dime for every time her last boyfriend had ruined the moment by asking "did you come yet?" she wouldn't have needed to take a job.
She was glad for her work at the firm, though. Not only did it pay well for part-time, I'm-still-finishing-my-Bachelor's-Degree-type labor, but the law office of Williams, Williams and Lowe was always busy. The work kept her mind occupied and her hands too busy during the day to become idle and seek to "do the Devil's work."
The file could've waited until tomorrow. She could have left it on his desk, gone home, watched whatever reality TV show was on, and then frantically and fruitlessly masturbated to fantasies of her office crush as she had done practically every night since she first saw him. Instead, she pulled up to the curb in front of Mr. Lowe's stately Tudor home, put her aging Civic in park, and sighed.
Even the Devil himself would've given up on making her come by now, and she knew she was tempting her demons by making this delivery in person. John Lowe, Jr., the youngest partner at the firm, was a very beguiling devil indeed, one who sparked her wicked urges with the slightest glance of his piercing green eyes. The office rumors about him didn't make things any easier. Word around the water cooler was that he was into some pretty strange stuff.
One thing Allie thought was strange was the fact that he made a six-figure salary and didn't hire someone to mow his lawn for him. There he was, this curiosity of a man, bare-chested and sweating with grass clippings clinging to his ankles. His green eyes flashed in the August sunlight when they caught sight of her coming up his driveway and a dazzling smile came to his full lips. As the mower died, the sounds of cicadas wound up to match the growing thrum in her loins.
"Good afternoon, Allison," he said in his soft baritone, an almost imperceptible twang revealing the Mississippi roots he'd left behind in favor of an ocean breeze. "You didn't have to come all the way out here. Did those assholes not give you my personal fax number? The Donalds get a kick out of being cruel to new hires."
Allison chirped a little laugh. "No, sir, I mean they gave me your fax number, sir, but I know how important this case is." Allie blushed as she held the thick manila envelope out to him. She prayed that he'd think it was simply the heat bringing the color to her face. "I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep tonight unless I put this in your hand myself."
"Well, we wouldn't want that," John said. His fingers brushed against hers as he took the envelope. "With how hard we work you and your classes, I'm amazed you're still on your feet. How many hours you taking this semester?"
Allison thumbed the moisture on her finger.
His sweat
, she thought. She began to feel moist elsewhere at the thought of rubbing that sweat in someplace other than on her thumb.
"Eighteen," she said. "But they're pretty easy."
"Maybe pretty easy for a girl like you," John replied with a smile which was more than just a touch on the wolfish side. He wiped sweat from his brow with his free hand. "Sure is hot out here."
Oh yeah,
she thought.
He's totally flirting with me. That much of the rumor is true. I wonder about the rest...
"You thirsty?" He asked.
Allison hadn't been, but her mouth suddenly went dry. "A bit."
"My housekeeper makes the
best
lemonade," John said. "It would be a crime to let you leave without having a glass on such a hot day."
She couldn't let this happen. This was a good job. Might even turn into a career once school was over. She shook her head. "I've got some studying to do for my Legal Ethics class tonight."
"At the U?" John cocked his head. "You enjoying the class?"
Allison frowned. "It's kinda dull."
John smirked. "You know I helped write the curriculum for it, right?"
Allison's eyes widened. "Err... no."
"Don't worry. I wrote the fun parts," John said. He chuckled. "I promise I was just as bored writing it as you are learning it. You wanna know everything you
really
need to know? The one practical thing Dr. Harding will never tell you about legal ethics?"
Allison nodded.
"In order to be able to sleep at night, a lawyer's ethics must be
flexible.
"
"How about
yours
?" Allison chuckled, then realized what she had said. "I mean... would you ever tell a class that?"
John's smile widened. "Tell you what. Why don't you come inside? Have a glass of ice cold lemonade, and I'll teach you all you need to know."
OK, Allison
, she thought.
Sure he's a notorious flirt and GOD is he hot, but can you seriously turn down an offer to be tutored by a man who made partner at thirty?
"Well, I suppose that'd be OK," she said.
"Great," John said. "I was hoping you'd opt to come into the air-conditioning. This heat is about to kill me."
Allison followed him to his front door. He opened it and held it for her. When the refrigerated air hit his glistening chest, John's nipples jumped to attention. He sighed.
"Ah... air-conditioning. The pinnacle achievement of Western civilization," John said as he strolled through the house toward the kitchen. "This way."
Allison followed, surprised at her own lack of hesitance. When they reached the kitchen, John pointed to a cupboard. "Glasses are up there. Lemonade's in the fridge. I'd get it for you myself, but as you can see..." He raised his hands, showing their filthy state. "Pour us each a glass. I'm gonna hop in the shower and get some of this dirt and grass off of me."
Allison nodded and John disappeared from the room. She
was
thirsty, so she helped herself to the lemonade. John wasn't lying. It was indeed the best she'd ever had. She poured herself another glass, poured one for John, and walked back to the living room. She sat on his sofa, the brown leather cool against her tan legs.
She surveyed the room, which was pretty much exactly what she thought a lawyer's living room would look like: giant flat screen TV, shelves of old books and golfing trophies, and leather. Lots and lots of leather. She was running her palm across the couch, wondering how much it cost when she heard the shower cut on.
The thought of John, naked and steaming from a hot shower, immediately changed her thoughts about the sofa from how much it cost to how the leather would feel against her nipples if John bent her over and fucked her on it. Before she even realized she was doing it, Allison had placed her hand between her legs and had begun to massage herself.
What the fuck are you doing, Allison?
