For no single reason she could ever subsequently explain, Scarlett simply stepped from the shower one morning and set about radically altering her life. I'm tired of this dull daily routine, she thought. I want to behave differently and have new experiences. And how do you intend to go about that? enquired her subconscious. Hadn't got that far, admitted Scarlett. Tell you what, just follow your instincts and do what feels right at the time, take each situation as it comes and don't overanalyse, suggested the inner voice. Seemed like a plan.
"Wow!" mutter at least three co-workers appreciatively when she enters the office; sotto voce obviously, overt objectification being rightly frowned upon. Not that Scarlett was previously dowdy or unkempt, her customary scraped-back ponytail hair, trouser suit and flatties 'style' serve the intentional purpose of suppressing any suggestion of femininity in favour of a strictly business-like and slightly scary outward appearance.
Scarlett has worn this armour-like outfit since starting with the firm. Since her professionalism is unimpeachable and long gone the days when bosses dictated sartorial choices it has gone unremarked and uncelebrated.
Until this dramatic transformation. Scarlett's glossy hair swings silkily as she strides across the floor in heels which emphasise her legs, altering her posture to subtly emphasise a hitherto hidden shapely figure. Red nails match red lips, mascara accentuates big blue eyes. Other less tangible changes will become evident as the day proceeds.
During her first meeting Aaron, an important client who has encountered Scarlett before, is initially taken aback by her outward metamorphosis. Although momentarily distracted by tantalising glimpses of female thigh he correctly guesses this is nothing so crude as a seduction. Not yet anyway.
Meanwhile, she covertly reassesses Aaron, not her usual physical type, which leans towards Southern Mediterranean - hello Greek and Italian guys. In contrast, he's more of a Scandinavian archetype, fair of complexion, the physique of a runner, not (thankfully) a gym bunny. Most of all, Scarlett is disconcertingly aware, fanciable, evidenced by a familiar twinge between her thighs. Where previously she'd have repressed such a response, Scarlett discovers herself open to persuasion. perhaps even coercion. Quite where the latter idea springs from is unclear.
Fortunately, the attraction is shared, and despite expecting a rebuff Aaron suggests dinner later. To his amazement she readily accepts. Why not? thinks Scarlett. He's an attractive guy. Time to be guided by my instincts.
Their date goes well. Is it a date.? What does the quaint term mean these days? Amid the confusion, Scarlett becomes certain of one thing. Wholly out of character, she wants sex, urgently and ardently. Anything else, a personal connection, is a bonus.
Fortunately, Aaron is an engaging companion. Honest too.
"Until this moment," he confesses, "I'm not the only one who found you.... well, to be frank, a little intimidating."
"That was partly the intention," admits Scarlett, two glasses of wine down, in vino veritas. "Keep everyone at arm's length. Work-related interaction only."
"So, why the sudden alteration?" Truthfully having no idea, Scarlett deflects the question and Aaron is astute enough not to push too far, too soon. There's a spark between them though and another date is arranged for the weekend.
Back home, in the middle of a session with her favourite vibrator, Scarlett's subconscious inexplicably switches from her usual fantasies of straight intercourse to - confusing and embarrassing but no denying its lubricious effect - submission. Her subsequent orgasm is the best in ages.
What to expect when Saturday comes? Aaron, up for anything, is certainly not disappointed when the two meet at a bar. Scarlett's dress leaves little to the imagination.
"What do you fancy doing tonight?" he enquires. You, thinks Scarlett, lowering her lashes coquettishly.
