"Tell me a fantasy."
"What? No way. I don't know you nearly well enough."
"Come on, Rachel, we've worked together what - four years now?"
"But do we really know the people we work with? What they really think?"
"And which ones wear leather underwear?"
"Ewww...thongs would be gross enough."
"So what sort of underwear do you wear?"
"I won't tell you."
"So will you show me?"
Rachel blushed a charming shade of pink, her cheeks matching her lipstick. Spring had finally sprung, and I had convinced her to play hookey just this once, extending our lunch hour into a long walk in the park. The tulips were just emerging. Under the trees, squirrels played amongst patches of snow. Rachel looked fetching in her beaten up bomber jacket, lace up boots and short skirt. The spiky layered black dyed hair looked tough, but the lipstick made her look like a little girl dressed in Mommy's clothes. If Mommy was a rock star's groupie.
Rachel remained silent as she sat on a picnic table, her skirt tucked around her thighs. It surprised me when she pulled out a battered pack of Marlboros. She shook one out of the pack and lit up, blowing a plume of smoke into the crisp air. She silently offered me the pack. I was tempted to share the moment but instinct guided me not to let her direct the action.
"I didn't think anyone smoked anymore."
"Shows what you know." She scrunched her shoulders tight as a cool breeze invaded the park. One more drag and she dropped the cigarette under her boot, grinding it harshly into the wood. Rachel shifted a bit away from me, her chin ducked into her collar.
"What are you thinking, Rachel bear?" I teased. She had told me that 'Rachel bear' was her Dad's pet name for her. Dad had abandoned them when she was 14. She had been an awkward chubby teen, I knew, a class mate of my younger brother. Rachel had outgrown the ugly duckling phase. Her silence, her brooding character, spoke of depths of need. Need of male attention. She had never developed the confidence to expect men to desire her the way that we did. At least I did. Her essential vulnerability wrapped in the tough shell was irresistible. Just looking at her made me throb with desire.
I didn't need to be an expert on women to realize that Rachel longed for a strong man, one just like she imagined her Daddy would be. Using her Dad's pet name built on that. Acting in control was the next stage.
Rachel shook her head, sunlight bouncing off the shiny darkness. "Sorry, Mitch. It's just a private thought."
"More secrets. First, no give on the underwear, now no sharing your thoughts. I ought to punish you for that."
"Oh, you should, should you?"
"Of course. A girl like you needs a firm hand."
"You're such a big talker Mitch."
"What do you mean?"
"I suppose you think you're just the man to do it?"
Now it was my turn to blush. Fortunately, Rachel's face was still turned away. "Just try me."
"Yeah. I've been with lots of guys that talk big. Then they just want a quick blow job in their car, or take me to some smelly motel by the freeway. It's all just so boring and dumb. And, Mitch, nothing personal, but you seem like another vanilla guy to me."
I smiled. There's nothing I love like a challenge.
"Try me. What's your fantasy?" "That again."
"I bet I would fulfill your wildest fantasy. But in order to play the bet, you need to tell me."
Rachel paused again, lighting another cigarette. She turned her face to me, smiling slyly, and blew smoke in my face. Without a word, I reached out and plucked the butt from her lips. I took one long drag then ground it out on the arm of her jacket. "Did I say that you could smoke?"
Her eyes met mine and stared deep into my soul. I held her gaze, admiring the way her pupils spread wide in surprise, the lovely green irises almost vanishing. After a moment, Rachel's mock toughness reappeared. She shrugged theatrically.
"Okay, Mitch, you asked for it. Are you sure you're ready?"
"Just do it."
"Okay, then. My biggest fantasy is to have sex in public. In a secluded wooded area. I imagine a strong man, silently taking me. Not needing to ask if I'm ready. The kind of man who knows I'm wet just thinking of fucking him."
"What are you wearing in this fantasy?"
"A long flowing skirt..."
"Well, there aren't enough trees in the park to really say it's secluded anyway, and you're wearing the wrong skirt...."