. 20

Standard disclaimers.

This is a story about sexual exploration and, open relationships. Open relationships can and do happily exist; but they are not for everyone. If you do not believe it is at all possible for open relationships to exist without damage to any and all involved parties, please do yourself a favor and don't waste your time reading this.

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Also, this story takes place in a world where STDs don't exist and only babies planned for and wanted do—in other words, a fantasy world. Any resemblance to real-life people is purely coincidental.

*****

Tim smiled to himself as the Georgia landscape rolled by. So much about the woman in the passenger seat had changed, all to his advantage, but her need for punctuality had not. They had been on the road to Atlanta at 7 that morning although he knew and she agreed it meant they likely would arrive early. But appointments were one of those areas Gwen Nelson did not like to leave things to chance and wanted plenty of time to spare should there be any issues along the way.

He had to admit she might have been right when they turned on to a decidedly residential-looking street and started the countdown to Broadmoor. They drove slowly past turn-of-the-century row houses built right on top of one another, the kind where a person could reach out their kitchen window and shake hands with their neighbor in theirs. Some of the houses were showing their age, others had been kept up a bit better, but none looked like the location for an equestrian supply store. "You sure on the address?"

"Barofsky's, Broadmoor Street, Greenbriar," she replied, looking down at the piece of paper she had written it on when making the appointment. Gwen had her doubts as well; she thought she knew all of the tack shops and horse supply outlets in the state, and most of the others in the surrounding areas, but she had never heard of this one. Must be one that caters to a very exclusive clientele, like Sylvia Danning, she had decided at the time. Now, she wasn't so sure. The neighborhood was perfectly respectable, but not a place she could imagine one of America's richest women frequenting. She wouldn't be, Gwen reminded herself. Her help would, today you're the help. Still, nothing looked at all like a store, much less one dealing in things for large animals.

"One, Twenty, Four," Tim said as he rolled to a stop in front of a neatly-kept grey two-story house. "Mailbox says Barofsky?"

"It does," Gwen agreed. "Maybe I somehow got the owner's home address by mistake?"

"Maybe. Want me to go find out what the right one is?"

"I can do it." She hopped out of the truck as soon as he had come to a stop in the short driveway behind an immaculate 40-year old Cadillac and climbed the porch steps to the front door.

Her knock was quickly answered by an old man, a crown of silver hair circling his bald head. His round, chubby face was highlighted by bright red cheeks while very bushy silver brows sat above sparkling eyes. His head sat on top of an equally round body covered in a white dress shirt, reminding Gwen of a snowman, albeit one where the lowest boulder had been replaced by skinny legs made of kindling and covered in grey cloth. "Uh, hello, I was looking for Barofsky's—they sell Equestrian clothing—for people who ride horses?"

"And you have found it," the old man beamed "You must be Gwen Nelson. Morris Barofsky," he proudly announced, extending his hand. "Please, please come in—and please, invite your...husband?" he looked past her at the truck, "in as well."

"Are you sure this is the right place?" she asked, "I was expecting—"

"You were sent here by Sylvia Danning, no? Trust, it is the right place and I am not some crazy old man."

"Al-alright then," she stammered, turning back to Tim and waving him in.

"I know it doesn't look like much," Morris apologized after Tim had joined her on the porch and they had stepped into the little living room. "I am a tailor, or was. My shop is downtown but I'm retired now and my sons run it. I still do some work for Mrs. Danning when she asks, though. Nice woman, very generous, she is how rich people should be."

"You're a tailor?" Gwen asked, trying to hide the doubt in her voice. "But Mrs. Danning wanted me measured for a, uhh, riding outfit?"

Morris waved his hand dismissively. "Business suit, show jacket, the skills needed are the same. Instead of flannel or cotton, I work with fabrics more suitable for athletic endeavors. Attention to detail and a practiced hand still count for something, regardless of the material." He shrugged. "I was Mr. Danning's personal tailor for many years until he passed, God rest his soul. Mrs. Danning—the second one-liked my work, so she gave me a try on an outfit she wanted for one of her riders. Turns out she liked it enough to continue giving me special projects ever since. It does not hurt that one of my sons is quite skilled in leatherwork, which she appreciates as well!" He winked as if sharing a secret, one that Gwen could not devine the meaning of. "Would you like a cup of coffee or some tea?" he continued. "Perhaps use the restroom before we begin?"

"No, thank you, I'm fine," Gwen demurred, looking to Tim to confirm her answer.

Morris smiled and paused, as if giving her a last chance to change her mind. "Well then, I don't want to take any more of your time than absolutely necessary," he finally announced. "Would you follow me?" The Nelsons trailed after the old man down the home's center hallway, stopping at a door on the left. The smell of warm dust and fabric wafted from a room filled with work tables and various pieces of clothing under construction. "My workshop, for when my sons have decided I have meddled enough downtown and need to go home," he said with a laugh. "I bring some of the work back with me and finish it in peace. Mr. Nelson, please, have a seat and relax. Mrs. Nelson, if you would, uhh, well, excuse me, but might I ask you to undress so I may begin taking your measurements? I understand it is unusual, but for what Mrs. Danning has in mind I must be precise. I am terribly sorry, but I don't have the luxury of a changing room here...I assure you I am a professional and a gentleman."

Gwen smiled at him and nodded. The old man turned to busy himself at a nearby bench, whether out of genuine need for the things he was collecting or to give her some small measure of privacy, she couldn't tell. She looked at Tim and got a smile and shrug in return. Gwen was businesslike in her disrobing, slipping out of her shoes before removing her shirt and jeans and handing them to Tim. Her underwear was next, and the Lady pointedly reminded her she now stood naked in a strange man's home. I'm pretty sure we could outrun him if he managed to get by Tim, the Slut laughed.

Morris began to turn back to her, looking down at the tape measure he held. "I tend to be rather exact in my meas—" he stopped short as he looked up at the naked woman standing in the middle of his workshop. "Oh, I, uhh," he stammered, momentarily at a loss for words, "I uhh, hadn't realized you weren't wearing underwear. I'm so sorry for not asking first."

"I was," Gwen replied, frantically scrambling to reclaim it from her husband. "Oh God, I'm so sorry, I thought when you said undress you meant everything!"

"No, no, it is quite alright, Mrs. Nelson, it is better this way if you are willing. It's just that most women aren't...but I forget how self-assured equestriennes can be. Please, you do not need to put it back on for me. As I was saying, I like to be exact in my measurements and underwear can get in the way...once again I assure you my intentions are purely professional."

Gwen stopped with her hand on her panties. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable..." Make HIM uncomfortable? The Lady screamed. What about you?

"Please Mrs. Nelson, it does not make me uncomfortable at all. I am a tailor with more years of experience than I wish to count and have measured naked women before. Including Mrs. Danning," he added with a wink. "But that is just between us, yes?" He looked at Tim. "Provided this does not make your husband uncomfortable, of course."

Tim shrugged and smiled. "Since you've seen naked women before..."

Morris looked back to Gwen, waiting for her answer. "Where would you like me to stand?" she asked, releasing her grip on the underwear.

"Right where you are is fine, right where you are," he said, shuffling towards her. The tape measure was soon around her neck and then her arms, the old tailor mumbling numbers to himself as he slowly worked the tape up or down in small movements, frequently stopping to write something down then returning for more.

"I will be working close to your more...intimate areas...now," he said slowly, almost apologetically. "Please understand I am not taking liberties, but I must have the measurements in order to have an accurate fit. Mrs. Danning is thinking your first outfit will be something stylish, perhaps a bit form-fitting, but not out of place in the show ring."

Gwen laughed, remembering her clothing choices had been first and foremost made with propriety in mind when she had competed. "The competition ring can be a very formal place. Form-fitting is frowned upon."

"Not necessarily so," Morris said gravely. "I have done it before at Mrs. Danning's request—the trick is to have something that catches and keeps the judges' eye without them having to condemn it as too scandalous for such a serious setting. You, you will not have judges watching your every move, but there will be a camera...and you are too elegant a woman to be wearing sleazy outfits." You won't be wearing anything at all for that camera—how's that for sleazy, the Lady asked, but was pointedly ignored.

"You said first outfit. Will there be more than one?"

"Two, as far as I know," the tailor said while examining his notes. "Something for the show ring, and something more Western in appearance."

Oh God, slutty cowgirl, Gwen groaned to herself but remained quiet. She thought back to the calendar in the tackroom at Peachtree Stables where the male stablehands hung out. Her much younger self had accidentally found herself in there one day and had been shocked by the image of a tall blonde with huge breasts wearing leather chaps and a vest, boots, a cowboy hat and nothing else. There was no way she could pull that off like the blonde had..."Western?" she squeaked.

"Perhaps country might be a bit more accurate," Morris replied. "Something more casual, properly fitted jeans—not too tight, but something that will highlight, if I may be so rude, your magnificent derriere? A shirt, also properly fitted of course, and some appropriate boots. That one will be easy to put together, I think, once it is decided exactly what is desired. So, may I start collecting measurements of your more, well, personal areas?"

She nodded. He moved behind her and wrapped the tape about the top of her chest, where the swell of her mounds started. "If I may be so forward as to ask, Mrs. Nelson, what is your bra size?"

"I'm a B cup," she admitted, "not much there, I'm afraid."

"Oh, I disagree," he quickly retorted. "They are just right for a petite woman such as yourself. I've worked with other more, err, voluptuous riders who always just appear to be top-heavy. I spend a lot of time and effort trying to keep their bosoms under control with the tops I create. Some movement is fine, it helps attract and keep the judge's eye, too much is distracting. Speaking of which, if I may ask, do you prefer your bosom be firmly supported when you ride?"

She smiled, thinking back on how most of her rides were now done topless. "I used to like a lot of...support, but I prefer a bit more freedom now."

"Excellent! I'll see what I can't do to make you both stylish and comfortable." The tape continued to work its way down her breasts in small increments, Morris looking over her shoulder, his labored breathing warm on her neck, ensuring he had it positioned correctly before taking it away and recording the measurement. The tape was eventually over her nipples, Gwen hoping that he didn't take notice they were erect despite the fact Morris Barofsky obviously did not believe in wasting good money on lots of air conditioning. If he did notice, he didn't say anything and Gwen breathed a small sigh of relief as the measurements continued down her stomach.

"I'd like to get the measurements of your legs and...other places now. Please excuse my touch," he mumbled to both the Nelsons as he knelt behind her. He started at the small of her back and work down across her buttocks, his fingers always pulling the tape together at the split of her cheeks. Finally satisfied, he rose with a groan and moved to Gwen's front before kneeling again. Morris started at her ankles and worked up, pausing at the top of her knee. "Now, Mrs. Nelson, I need to get your thighs and inseams. Again, I assure you, my intentions are purely professional. Might you stand with your legs a bit more apart, please?"

Gwen walked her feet away from each other as the old tailor straightened from his hunched-over crouch, now at eye level with her bare sex. She could feel his warm breath occasionally rustling her tuft of hair as he leaned in to repeatedly wrap the tape around each thigh, slowly working his way up to where her legs met her body. He stopped short of the mark, his thick fingers just inches from her exposed lips. "I'm going to get your inseam measurements now," he announced, reminding her of a doctor alerting her to his next move. The tape was run from her ankle all the way up to where there was no more leg, his knuckle accidentally brushing against her lips and making her flinch. "My apologies," he said hastily, withdrawing both hand and tape to try again, brushing her more lightly this time. "My fingers are not quite so nimble as they once were. A bit arthritic, I'm afraid."

Am I wet? Gwen suddenly wondered in panic. I'm certainly excited enough to be. Not by the wizened gnome himself kneeling at her feet, she knew, but by what he represented and the similarity to some of the most twisted parts of her fantasies. All it would take to complete the lewd image would be for him to whip it out and show his appreciation with a few good strokes...he's old, I wonder if he even could get that way any more, she reasoned. And am I even enough to get him excited? You're only making things worse, the Lady intoned. The more you wallow in your flithy imagination, the wetter you're going to get. He's sure to notice if he hasn't already, and what will he think of you then?

The process was repeated on the other leg, only one press of his knuckle against the side of her swollen labia this time while she tried to focus on anything other than a crowd of men openly admiring her. "Mrs. Nelson, if I may be so rude yet again..." Oh God, hear it comes, he knows..."I see a little redness between your leg and your...well, where your leg meets your body. Do you chafe easily there?"

"A little, sometimes, when I...perspire."

Morris laughed. "It is probably a combination of your delicate skin and your choice of underwear. You won't be wearing any with these outfits—I know from experience Mrs. Danning dislikes panty lines—but I promise what I make will fit you perfectly and not cause you any discomfort...there...or anywhere else." With another groan and wheeze, the old man struggled to his feet, is eyes traveling slowly up her body to get one last look as he rose. "Very good, Mrs. Nelson, I believe I have what I need. You may get dressed now."

Gwen put her clothes back on only a little faster than she had taken them off while the tailor finished his notes. Task done, he turned and smiled, eyes still sparkling. "Thank you for being so patient—and so lovely! I'm very excited to make sure you have the outfits a woman such as you deserves! I'll start today—after some reflection and a nap, of course!"

Gwen smiled back. "Thank you Mr. Barofsky, you made this very easy," she fibbed. "I'm excited to see your work. If we're finished, we'll be going now to give you some peace and quiet for your reflection."

The old man saw them out, smiling and waving as the truck backed out of his driveway. "He seemed nice," Gwen said thoughtfully, waving back.

Tim snorted a laugh. "He had a pretty girl naked in his house—how could he be cranky? Hell, I'd be nice too if you ran around our shop like that."

"You're already nice without me doing that. But I can from time to time if it makes you happy."

"Makes me happy? What do you think?"

"I think it would have to be after hours, when it's just you in there that I would be making happy."

"If you gotta...so what's next?"

Gwen looked at her watch. "We have a little time before our next appointment...maybe we should get lunch?"

Tim groaned theatrically. "Oh yeah, the next appointment. Well, can't say I've ever had a problem getting it up on a full stomach. Got a place in mind?"

Gwen didn't, but it was easy enough to find something not too far from their next stop, close enough to be in no hurry to arrive on-time without undue stress. Tim allowed himself a single beer while they ate to help quiet the nervousness that had been growing since they had left the house.

He followed his wife's instructions to Sensual Sensations, pleasantly surprised to be parking in front of a neat little storefront rather than a seedy roadside sex mart, just as Gwen had been pleasantly surprised on her first visit. "They did a good job disguising it," Tim said with a smile. "Wonder how many little old ladies wander in looking for craft supplies?"

"I would bet not as many as the little old ladies who know exactly what it is and go in anyways," Gwen replied with a smile. "C'mon."

He was again surprised when he followed her in, this time by the interior, clean, well-lit and well-organized, wood floors rather than garish stained carpet. The inventory was another point of interest, an incredible variety of wares up front, clothing towards the back, all out in the open and all very sexual. Gwen was right about the little old ladies, he thought with a smile as a silver haired woman approached. "Gwen," she cried throwing her arms open to embrace her. "So good to see you again!"

His wife returned the hug. "Dorothy! It's so nice to see you, too! And this is my husband, Tim."

The older woman turned to him and hesitated, as if debating whether this man was the hugging type. She played it safe with a handshake. "It's very nice to meet you."

"You as well, ma'am."

The older woman turned her attention back to Gwen. "Cho said you were coming in today. So, this is your model?" she asked, nodding in Tim's direction. "I must say, you have excellent taste. Come on, I'll take you back." His head was on a swivel as he followed the two women between aisles packed with every imaginable kind of vibrator and dildo, then on into a forest of sheer and lacy garments, many too small to determine exactly what they were. Dorothy opened the door to what appeared to be a small break room, and a heavyset young woman looked up from the piece of modern furniture in the center of the room she was attending to. "Charlene? Your appointment. Gwen and Tim Nelson."

The woman, in her mid-twenties, Gwen guessed, with short black hair and wearing dark jeans with a bright blue golf shirt, extended her hand. "I'm Charlene. Please, come in."

"Much as I'd like to see exactly what you're asking to have reproduced," Dorothy said with a wink at a startled Tim, "I'll leave you three some privacy. Do me a favor and find me before you leave, Gwen. I have something for you." The door closed softly behind her.

Tim looked about the room. It was non-descript, a couch and an easy chair along one wall, a flat screen TV hanging opposite them. He looked at whatever it was in the middle of the floor more closely. It looked like a padded triangle with rounded corners, the triangle itself fairly narrow in width and covered in blue faux-leather, with a sculpted base to keep it upright.