Part II: What Now?
I awoke suddenly. Not typically how I wake up. This isn't my apartment! Daylight flooded the room and then my memory. Oh god! The things I did! The things I said! Panic set in. Where's George? What time is it? What must he think of me?
I did my best to calm myself. Looking about, I saw a digital clock on the nightstand. Almost ten? Shit! I never sleep this late. Then I spied the note next to the clock and nervously snatched it up.
Linda,
You were sleeping so soundly and peacefully, I didn't have the heart to wake you. I've left my robe on the bed for you. In the bathroom, you'll find a towel if you wish to shower. Also a toothbrush and toothpaste. If you need anything else, just poke around. When you're ready, come downstairs. There's coffee and croissants, if you're interested. Take your time, but I'll be counting the minutes until I see you.
Kisses,
George
How sweet! It nearly brought tears to my eyes and there's the robe, white terry and neatly folded at the foot of the bed. Still, facing him this morning would have its challenges. My behavior last night was so uncharacteristic. Maybe, the bigger problem is reconciling it with myself. He'd given me what I'd craved for so long. And then some! I'd never imagined I would ever follow through, and kept those desires safely secreted in my head. Did my desperation of not becoming Betty cloud my judgement?
His note seemed, what? Pleased? Unfazed even - as if it were all so normal? For him, maybe, but certainly not for me!
Having only noticed the brass bed last night, I took in my surroundings. Through the three windows opposite the bed, there was the sun drenched version of what I viewed last night. To the right, the same arrangement as downstairs, a gas fireplace centered on the wall, a flatscreen TV above it and windows flanking each side. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that a techie would love symmetry - the hardwood flooring duplicated, with similar oriental carpets and window treatments. Centered on the wall opposite the fireplace about fifteen feet from the bed were two doors, one of which I presumed led to the bath. In the corner to the left of the doors, was a large, sleek black desk with triple monitors on top, obviously his work space. With this view, it was no wonder he worked from home.
Damn, I gotta pee! Tossing back the covers, I sat on the edge of the bed - still in your stockings I see, and there are your heels standing next to the brass footboard. I don't remember taking them off.! My body clearly reminding me of the exertions from last night, I stood slowly, checking the worthiness of my legs. I gingerly made my way across the room. Oops, the door on the left was for a damned big walk-in closet. Opening the other door, I urgently stepped past a large, glass doored shower and sat on the toilet. Ah, relief.
Resting a bit to get my bearings, I looked around. What a fabulous bath! The floors in a black and white mosaic with white half-wall tile, a band matching the floor running near its top and capped in black. Above the walls were painted in a rich, deep burgundy. To my left, at the far end, a really big white claw-foot tub was surmounted by two large double hung widows trimmed in white. Oh to luxuriate in steamy hot water and gaze out the windows. I already knew it was an incredible view. I bet two could fit in there.
Across from me, and opposite the shower, a molded double sink vanity. Wood cabinetry, probably maple. The top resembling black marble, white veins running through it, bright chrome faucets, and a mirror running the length above. A large towel sat on the sink top. Reflected in the mirror, was the shower. Damn it was huge. A good six feet wide, the same black marble along the back and sides, showerheads at either end and fronted in frameless clear glass. Yes, I definitely need that.
Got to get rid of these stockings first. Damn, runs in both knees. Well, that's not surprising, and I rationalized it was acceptable collateral damage. Off they went and I just left them in a rumpled heap on the floor to be dealt with later. I flushed the toilet and stood. Oh my god! The mirror! Is that me? What a mess! My hair's a total bird's nest and my mascara had run down my cheeks, confirming last night's pandemonium. Off to the shower with you!
The hot water cascading over me was divine and, for a couple of minutes, I just savored it. After washing my face, I shampooed my hair and applied conditioner. I noticed a blue nylon scrubby and lathered it up. The slightly rough yet slippery sensations conjured memories from last night, my mind trying to rationalize it against how I'd perceived myself just the previous morning. Doubtless, I'd tumbled down a rabbit hole. But where did it lead?
I rinsed off, turned off the water, stepped out and grabbed the towel -- a rich purple, oversized and soft. Once dried, I wrapped myself up in it. Atop the vanity I spied a hairbrush, more of a guy type, but it would do, toothpaste and toothbrush, still in its original packaging. With my hair back to normal, I picked up and unwrapped the toothbrush.
Doubt flooded my mind as Betty's warning invaded. Did George keep a stock of new ones for his "guests?" Where did I fit in that metric? Would this just be a one night stand? Oh god, that would be so demeaning!
My lower lip quivered. No! This is no time for tears. Only one way to find out. With renewed purpose, I finished brushing, hung the towel on a bar in the bath, tossed the stockings in the trash, strode into the bedroom and quickly put on the robe. Tying the sash as I walked, I headed downstairs, but stopped short of the sitting room entrance and peered inside, suddenly fearful of...of what? George, dressed in red pajama bottoms and a black tee shirt was sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, sipping coffee and reading a tablet. I stepped into the room and he turned.
With broad grin, he said, "Good morning. I thought I heard you upstairs."
I paused and issued a soft "Good Morning."
He motioned me over. "Pull up a stool. Would you like some coffee?"
"Yes, please," I replied as I sat next to him.
The counter held a stainless carafe, an orange juice carton, two glasses, a creamer, sugar bowl, two dessert plates and a small platter with croissants, butter and raspberry jam. He took a second mug, poured coffee into it and placed it in front of me with a spoon.
"Cream or sugar?" he asked.
"Sugar, thanks."
He handed me the sugar bowl, watched me stir some in and take a sip.
"Mmmm, good coffee," I said, but my eyes avoided his.
"Thanks. Are you okay?" he asked, genuinely concerned.
I took another sip, stalling for time. I really wasn't sure how to start.
"Can we talk?"
"Of course," he replied, "I was hoping we would."
"What does this all mean?"
"What does all what mean?" he repeated, perplexed.
"Last night. This morning. I mean last night, that wasn't really me. I'd never done anything like that before." The flood gates were opening. "Where do we go from here? Am I just another of your conquests that Betty was talking about? Will I ever see you again?"
As much as I tried to fight it, my eyes watered and a tears ran down my nose.
He picked up a napkin and gently wiped away the tears, deep concern filling his face.
"First, get some mental floss and clean Betty's vindictive rumor mongering out of your head. Conquests, what a crock of shit! Second, I beg to differ. That was you last night, wonderful, passionate you. All that happened was that you discovered something about yourself. Unless you switched with your stunt double when I wasn't looking."
I nervously laughed. I should have known better than to give credence to Betty's venomous comments.
"Besides," he continued, "what two people do in private is their own damned business."
"True," I replied, "but it wasn't exactly private."
"You have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. As far as I know, embarrassment isn't fatal, and, more to the point, didn't you enjoy yourself last night?"
"I did, but you've got to believe me, I've never...it was so...I don't know..."
"Naughty?" he prompted. I just blushed. "So the real question is do you want to keep being naughty?"
"Yes," I croaked, as I considered the alternatives. I didn't want to live regretting saying no, but there was still the burning question. "And...am I your...bitch?"
"Right now, no. Last night, most definitely. But that was just us having a bit of fun. It's not twenty four-seven."
I nodded, "That's a relief."
"As to what now?" he continued, "While you were upstairs, I was sitting here thinking that I'd really like to get to know you better, but worried that you'd be looking to get the hell out of here as fast as you could and never see me again. As a matter of fact, I was relieved that you didn't sneak out in the middle of the night."
