National Nude Day was coming up. I was only just realizing my future ways. I hadn't planned this as a step toward a lifestyle; I just felt that this was a chance to be exposed in a socially safe way. It was either this or being a model in a life drawing class, but in life drawing, you're not supposed to get hard.
"Why do you come here? What is your name? Do you know what we do here? She never gave me a chance to speak, but it didn't matter because her flowing black hair and blue eyes had me mesmerized. Add that tiny waist and pair of thirty eights and I was slain.
"Well, uh, I heard..."
"What did you hear? Who did you talk to?" She wasn't the most patient woman, but she was gorgeous.
"Solie"
"Madam Solie? How do you know her, where did you meet?"
"I ... uh ... Well, believe it or not, I met her at the grocery store. Uh, she was very forward. She simply slipped her hand inside my belt and felt my ass."
"That's Madam! Ok come on in ... you know you'll be getting naked right? I nodded. She said, "My name is Claire, I'll be your controller. Go into the next room and strip. Then climb onto the coffee table on all fours. No, better yet. Just walk in and talk to Rani. She'll tell you what to do."
45 miles outside of a small town in upstate New York an Elizabethan mansion stands in a copse of Northern Spruce that is dotted with maple and white birch trees. The house sits well back, up a half mile drive on a hilltop overlooking a calm blue lake.
Everything, it seemed, was perfect.
Since it's a private lake it was quiet, there is no one out on the dock tonight. The air is cool. There are lights in a couple of cottages on the other side. Female laughter echoes easily across the lake ensuring that there is activity and even partying on the far shore.
Once inside I was impressed by this newly refurbished classic structure. Inside the door a foyer with a fireplace framed by tiny laid tiles and appointed by dark hardwoods, welcomed you. Off to the right I glanced at sitting room laid out and styled in the fashion of the era. This was the kind of room that no one sits in because it was so perfect. To the left a large table stood in what was clearly the dining room and beyond that could be seen activity in the kitchen. A strange set of stairs ran up, immediately next to the hearth.
Half way up, they split. Turning to the right, at the landing took you up to the second floor. If you went forward you went down about five steps. Down took you into the living room, from which I could hear voices, feminine voices!
I had been staying with my friend Ander and his mother Helena back in town, a former Swedish settlement, now turned college town, nestled into the foothills of the Catskills. Mixed in with the stunning descendants of northern Europe was a growing population comprised of émigrés from Bangalore and other exotic places attracted by the research going on at St Olaf's Hospital and the fertility clinic attached to the university. In my second year post grad, I studied psychology.
The mansion and it was much more than a cottage was totally refurbished, luxuriously appointed, cozy and comfortable. As I stepped down into the living room the first thing I saw was Mrs. Rani Das sitting on the stuffed cushioned sofa. Her back was to a picture window beyond which was the lake which you could still see in the fading dusk and shadows through the trees. The draperies were still open.
