The routine of Jenna Ranier's life varied only slightly from day to day. She typically woke around 8AM, breakfasted on fruit and coffee, then worked out for two hours in the well-appointed gym her husband built for her. Her husband agreed to the considerable expense of gutting two rooms and filling it with enough fitness equipment to satisfy a pro basketball team after she told him about the buff young men who relentlessly flirted with her at their club. Jenna knew her husband well enough that the little green imp of jealousy need only dance a few mocking steps before he catered to her every whim.
Her workouts provided some variety. Monday and Wednesday she did her hard cardiovascular work, running on the treadmill, spinning, aerobics. Tuesdays and Thursdays were dedicated to weight-training, using the gleaming machines for her heavier lifting and barbells for sculpting. Every Friday she went to her spa for massage, and her Saturday workouts focused exclusively on stretching and yoga. Sunday was her day to rest and recuperate. She didn't work out with a partner. No one needed to motivate Jenna to keep her body at the peak of physical perfection.
If she took her exercise at home, Jenna would shower quickly with cold water and lay out by the pool for exactly one hour. Then she would take a hot shower in her ornate marble bathroom and dress for the afternoon. She lunched with friends every day at 1PM, Jenna usually picking up the check, and then she would spend the rest of the day shopping. If her husband was in town she would arrive back at the house by 5PM so she could dress for dinner. She and her husband would dine and talk about each other's day, and when they returned home Jenna would take her husband to bed and make love to him until he was completely exhausted.
If her husband was out of town, as he inevitably was these days, Jenna would either scan through her vast mental Rolodex of men she could easily seduce and select one, or she would just find someone during the course of the day who interested her. She would allow the man she picked to ask her to dinner, and afterwards she would take him to her bed and make love to him until he was completely exhausted.
Her exercise, her meals, and her lovers provided the only changes of melody in the symphony of her life.
That particular day was a Friday, and though Jenna could not have known it, this would be the last Friday of her life. She showered quickly, put on lipstick, and filled a bag with clothes to wear after she left the spa. She also tossed her silver Beretta automatic in the bag. After the incident yesterday she wasn't going out unarmed.
She'd made love to the sexy bodybuilder who worked for her lawn company, finally indulging herself with the handsome, hunky man who propositioned in the crudest and most direct manner every time he worked on the grounds. He had one of the largest penises she'd ever enjoyed, but he was barely passable as a lover, with no self-control, and no stamina. When she playfully taunted him after he ran out of steam after just two orgasms he flattened her with one fearsome swat and might have done worse had she not had her pistol handy. Her muscular lover was one of those tiresome macho types who couldn't abide any criticism of his virility. He'd threatened to kill her, and Jenna knew enough about men and sexual rage to sense that he was serious. In case of any unpleasantness the gun would tilt the playing field in her favor.
She drove to the spa in her Mercedes and parked in the secured lot at the back of the building. Had she looked in her rear-view mirror during the drive she might have noticed a BMW convertible following her, but she hadn't looked. She went to the locker room, removed her clothes, and went to her assigned room. She lay face down on the cool, soft couch and waited for Marcel to appear. A minute later the door opened, and a deep voice said, "Ah, Madame Rainer, how are you today?"
"Fine, thank you," she said in a voice that was also rather deep, surprisingly so for such a lithe woman.
"Any troubles, any pains we should concern ourselves with today?"
"I took a bit of a tumble yesterday by the pool, my shoulder is a bit sore."
He removed the towel and looked her over. "Ah, yes, we have some bruising there. Just a bit, but still." He took a bottle of oil from the small table next to the couch. She rested her head on her folded arms and felt oil drizzling over her bare back. Marcel's strong hands dug into her flesh, kneading and probing. His were not the soft caresses of a lover, but the powerful, healing touches of a shaman.
Jenna had never gone to bed with Marcel, because she knew that if they made love he would never again be able to touch her body without desire, and she valued him too much as a masseur to risk that. She knew Marcel would never dare cross that line because she was one of his best customers, always tipping him very generously. Maybe, if Marcel decided to go back to France, she would fuck him. It would probably be very good, and she found herself looking forward to the day when she had sex with this talented man. In a life filled with easy, instant gratification, forcing herself to be patient was rather exciting.
He worked her over for forty minutes, and when he finished her body felt loose and limber. She thanked Marcel, handed him his envelope, and wrapped a towel around her body. She walked upstairs and took a seat before a slim Asian woman wearing a surgical mask. Jenna daydreamed during her manicure, thinking about the day before, the good parts, when she had squatted over her gardener and slid up and down his gigantic penis. She preferred a man with a large cock, but he had been TOO big, it took forever for him to get hard in her mouth and even while fucking her she felt him going doughy inside her.
She thought about her husband's cock, much smaller than Diego's, but always hard as a rock for her. And when they made love he could go three, four times in one night, she excited him so much that when his dick finally gave up for the night the two of them were usually covered in sweat, panting for breath, unable to even speak. She missed him terribly, missing feeling him on top of her, thrusting inside her. She hated him leaving her so often, jetting all over the world, trying to drum up new business, all because he needed to impress his witch of a mother. He could stay home, fuck her every single day, and let some money manager double his money every eight years, but that wasn't enough. He had to prove himself to that living corpse.
And Jenna, bored, lonely, and horny, passed the time by indulging herself with every man she wished.
Her nails sculpted and buffed to perfection, Jenna checked the clock and decided she had time for the sauna. She walked down to the ladies' locker room and, opening the heavy wood door, saw three familiar faces clustered on the back bench. She joined them and the four women spent twenty minutes gossiping about those women they knew who hadn't shown up that week. Jenna waited until glistening sweat covered her body, and then she wished them a good day and headed for the showers. She let the cool water caress her skin, tightening the pores, and washed herself with fragrant soap. She slipped into a pale-blue sundress, wearing no brassiere or panties, and stepped into her favorite white sandals. She brushed out her long, golden hair, put on a bit of lipstick, and left to meet her friends at the restaurant.
This time she did notice the BMW convertible, because it pulled into the spot right next to her. She looked out her window and saw a tall, blond, and very handsome man speaking on a cell phone. Jenna opened her door and looked at the man as he too got out of his vehicle. He was dressed in a loose white shirt open at the throat and sand-colored slacks, and as he talked into the cell phone she was surprised to hear him speaking with a pronounced Irish accent.
"Of course, Oscar, I unnerstan' " the blond man said. "I'm a' the place now, if you make it, good, if not, doan worry about it. Cheers."
The man wasn't looking at her, hadn't as yet even acknowledged her presence, but as they approached the door he skipped past and pulled it open for her. "Thank you," she said.
"My pleasure," he said in a surprisingly neutral tone. Jenna was used to handsome men jumping at the chance to be solicitous to her, but this man appeared to act out of simple courtesy. Inside the restaurant she saw her friends waiting at their usual table and waved, but before she left the foyer she heard the blond man tell the hostess, "I'm waitin' on a friend, I'll sit a' tha bar, if that's a' right." As she walked to her table she watched the blond man pull up a stool and say something that made the bartender laugh. She accepted the hugs and kisses of her friends, took her seat, and saw the bartender bring the blond man a pint of dark beer.
For lunch Jenna had grilled sea bass with summer squash, and then fresh pineapple for dessert. She held up her end of the conversation, but most of her attention was focused on the man at the bar. He read a newspaper while he drank his beer and waited for his friend, and she saw him check his watch twice, not showing any annoyance or impatience at what it told him. When he raised his hand for the bartender she caught the motion out of the corner of her eye and her head swiveled, and her friend Claudia saw where her gaze fell. "I noticed him too," Claudia whispered. "He's gorgeous."
"He's Irish," Jenna said. "He was talking on his cell phone when we came in, he has the sexiest accent."
"Ooh, I love Irish men. Pierce Brosnan, Sean Connery..."
"I think Sean Connery is Scottish."
Claudia shrugged. "Same thing."
While they waited for the check Jenna looked over at the man almost every other minute, and she was somewhat irritated that not once did she catch him staring back. She was used to men's eyes roaming over her body, and when a handsome man didn't show the proper amount of interest she started wondering, wondering what it would take to make him interested in her. Perhaps if she sat down next to him, crossed her legs, and gave him the full Medusa force of her blue eyes, then she would break that cool façade.
But she didn't get the chance, because the blond man suddenly stood up, tossed a bill on the counter, and walked to the door. He was a well-built man, but he glided across the floor like a dancer. "Oh well, there's one that got away from you." Claudia said.
Jenna sipped her iced tea. "Who said I wanted him?"
