Conrad's First Girl

Conrad had three particular qualities that suited him most advantageously for the endeavors of his new predilections. First, his physical appearance that was a tender beauty almost beyond belief in a representative of the male sex. Second, a talent for understanding the nature of each individual encountered which seemed to border nearly on clairvoyance. And third, a strength of will culminating in a patience which suggested that he was, or at least believed himself to be, operating within the constraint of geologic time rather than within the fleeting term of a mere human life. A fourth quality, which was certainly no liability, was an unshakable confidence that he would succeed in everything he attempted, and that it was inevitable that everyone he attempted to charm and seduce would, eventually, succumb.

Conrad implemented his plan. He began modestly. Waiting in line one day at a coffee shop he initiated a conversation with the woman in line behind him. He knew he had his mark when, as he let her watch his gaze slide over her, delicate cherry blossoms bloomed in her cheeks. He gave her a grin to let her know he had seen her blush, and then turned his back on her, stepping to the counter to place his order. He paid her no more attention as he collected his drink and took a table by a window. He did not allow her to catch him watching her as she waited for her beverage, or as she carried her cup and her heavy book bag to a table across the room from him. Discreetly he kept an eye on her as she somewhat awkwardly arranged her books upon the table and began her studious endeavor, flipping through pages of multiple books, scribbling notes on a legal pad.

She was very young and rather average. Average hair. Average face. Average body. But her manner, her posture, suggested a girl painfully shy. Insecure, perhaps. Closed in on herself, imagining away the outside world and its inhabitants. He wondered if she had ever been fucked.

He let thirty or forty minutes go by. Then he approached her. He stood at the edge of her table, looking down at her, waiting for her to look up. It took her a long time, as if she were certain that he were standing there looking at some art on the wall, or maybe looking for a table. But at last, she raised her head and met his gaze. He gave her his warmest, sweetest grin… utterly innocent. No hint in it of the wicked intentions he had.

“Marx, Keynes, Veblen, Galbraith. I wonder if you have time for any other men?”

“Sorry?”

She gave an awkward little laugh, obviously embarrassed at not understanding.

“I’m wondering, my dear, if these gentlemen could spare you some evening, so that I could enjoy the pleasure of your company.”

She just stared at him.

He laughed a soft, warm, disarming laugh.

“I’m Conrad. What’s your name?”

“Elsie.”

“What a pretty name.”

Another blush.

“May I join you? Just for a moment—I promise not to distract you from your studies for too long.”

She gestured toward the empty chair opposite her. She looked distinctly like someone being beckoned by a sidewalk huckster.

“You study economics?”

She nodded her head in affirmation.

“I’m afraid it’s a topic I know nothing about.”

He sat there, gazing at her in the silence following his confession, watching her flush once more under his stare. She kept glancing down, trying to evade his penetrating stare, but each time she raised her eyes once more she found him still looking, in a brazen, almost challenging manner. She was getting more and more flustered. Her chest was swelling and dipping with excited breath beneath her sweater. Finally, desperate to break the power of his holding stare, she spoke.

“You’re British?”

“Right. London.”

She tried a smile. She was pretty when she smiled.

“I love London.”

“You’ve been there?”

“Last year.”

“And what was the most memorable moment of your time in London, then?”

“Oh…”

She giggled again, on the spot.

“…seeing Warhol at the Tate Modern.”

“A match made in heaven.”

No hint of the condescension in his mind was evident in his voice.

She nodded, smiling a little less awkwardly now.

“Well, Elsie,” he said, giving her the most affectionate smile he was capable of, “I’m afraid I’ve got to go. But I’d really like to see you again. May I have your number?”

“My number?”

She looked suspicious again.

“Yes.”

He laughed without malice.

“I don’t pretend to be as clever as Mr. Marx, there, but I assure you I have other qualities he lacks. If you like art, perhaps we could go to a gallery opening on Friday.”

Conrad drew a little notebook forth from his pocket.

“May I borrow your pen?”

She handed over her cheap ballpoint.

“So, Elsie,” he said, penning her name neatly at the top of a small sheet, “what’s your number?”

She gave it to him and he duly recorded it, put the cap back on her pen, and handed it back to her with a smile.

“I’m so glad I came here for my coffee today, Elsie. It’s not my usual spot. I look forward to seeing you again very soon.”

One last flash of his charming smile, and he was gone.

Half an hour later, Elsie packed up her books and went home, having been unable to concentrate on her studies.

The next day Conrad called her and invited her out for dinner and an art opening on Friday night. The thing about a girl like Elsie is that there was no need for game playing, for waiting three or four days before calling. There was no chance of her taking his interest for granted. Not that Conrad was insecure…. It was only that, for his plan to be effective, she had to be emotionally involved. Losing his attention would need to be a problem. It would ensure cooperation. But, the sound of Elsie’s voice when she realized it was him revealed, with no room for doubt, that she had been hoping, every second since their meeting that he really would call.

When he picked her up at six on Friday, she had transformed herself into a creature little resembling the girl he had met at the coffee shop. Conrad smoothly disguised the nature of his smile as he took in the change.

She possibly had been to the hairdresser. The shapeless sweater and baggy khakis of her study session had been replaced by a simple dress of pale blue, delicate fabric. Her feet were transformed in the constraint of pointing toes and spiky heels. She blushed when he greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. With her outfit, the flush showed on her chest as well as in her cheeks.

They had wine with dinner. After the first glass Elsie became nearly gregarious, chatting away about this and that as Conrad watched, bemused. And at last, when she paused for another little sip of wine, Conrad asked a question.

“Do you have very many men in your life, Elsie?”

Her wine-fuelled composure evaporated, and once more she was blushing in confused silence.

“I don’t mean to be impolite. I was just curious to know if you date much.”

“No, not really.”

She was looking down at her half-consumed plate of risotto.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty.”

“I’m thirty two. You don’t mind being out with an older man, do you?”

“No.”

She smiled.

They went to the opening at Roq la Rue. Conrad rather smoothly prevented his young date from drinking more wine. He wanted her sober. After they circled the space, looking at the art, Conrad honed in on the artist, took Elsie with him as he approached her, introduced himself and his date, made a few insightful observations, asked a few incisive questions, and finally, made the young artist laugh for three consecutive minutes, simultaneously impressing and intimidating Elsie. Then he took her home.

He parked the car in front of her apartment building, hopped out, and opened Elsie’s door for her. This was not an act of old-fashioned gallantry. It was a way of ensuring his control over a crucial moment. He proffered his hand, helped her out of the car, and closed the door. With her right hand in his left, Elsie was caught between Conrad and his car. He leaned in close.

“I’d like to come in with you.”

She had thought he was leaning in for a polite goodnight kiss. Hopeful for a gesture appropriate to his respectful treatment of her through the course of the date. It had been more wonderful than she could have fantasized. Her hopeful little smile faded to a nervous frown.

“Oh…I don’t…I’m afraid we’ll wake my roommate.”

“We’ll be quiet.”

She was slowly shaking her head ‘no,’ as she tried to summon the courage to refuse him.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“But it is, Elsie. It’s a lovely idea. Though I should tell you in advance, I don’t fuck on the first date.”

Then he gave her that irrefutable grin, the smile she could not help but mirror, and he led her up the steps toward the entrance to her building. They took the elevator up to the sixth floor, walked down a fluorescent nightmare of a hallway, and entered a dark apartment. Elsie twisted the round knob of a dimmer switch, illuminating the cubicle-sized living room enough to allow them to pick their way around the cramped furniture to sit on the sofa. She led Conrad over and gestured for him to have a seat. He smiled, his face very near hers, and wrapped his fingers tightly around her arm.

“Not here, Elsie. Your room.”

She could not even understand it herself. Yet, in spite of the fear that was rising up within her second by second, she still allowed him to lead her away from that sofa, toward the dark little hallway where her bedroom door faced her roommate’s. She could not understand why, as they stood between those two doors, she opened hers and let him into her little room.

It was he who felt for the switch and flooded the room with light. In the dark, she had been ready to surrender an embrace, a kiss, but now, with the comforting veil of darkness ripped away she could hardly even meet his eyes. Thus, she pulled her arm from his grip, unconsciously backing away from him.

He grinned, allowing her for the first time to catch a glimpse of his lascivious nature. Then, taking one swift stride forward he recaptured her arm, and caught the other as well. He pushed her backward toward her bed. Real terror transformed her face as she felt his physical strength, unhampered by the gentle warmth she had seen in his eyes all evening, displaced now by excited determination. He pushed her down, into a sitting position at the edge of her bed. If he had pushed her back, made her lie down, thrown himself on her, she would have pleaded and screamed. But as soon as he had her seated, trembling, upon her mattress he let go of her arms, and backed away, grinning down on her.

Perching casually on the windowsill just two feet from her, he sat there for a few long moments, slowly devouring her frightened look, drawing in each timorous little exhale of hers as she sat there. He was wondering what he was about to do to her. He felt his power over her, and it swelled him with dark satisfaction… it made him hard.

“Not tonight, but one night very soon, Elsie, you’re going to feel my cock inside of you.”

He watched as his words transformed her face once more. It was not fear. It was shock and angry embarrassment that shaped her features now. His smug confidence, the audacity and crudeness of his words were a cruel violation deliberately calculated to contrast his carefully decorous behavior earlier in the evening.

“Have you ever had a man’s cock inside you, Elsie?”

She just sat there in angry, trembling silence.

“I’m fairly certain you haven’t. Not even in your mouth. Am I right?”

She wanted to scream her indignation at him, throw him out, but she sat frozen and silent.

“In fact, if I were to hazard a guess, you’ve never so much as touched a man, or even seen a stiff, swollen prick… except, maybe, in a photo or a film.”

And with that, sitting there on that windowsill, his knees almost touching hers, he unbuckled his belt. He watched as her eyes, moist with tears of frustration and rage, were veiled by her lids and lashes as she turned her indignant stare from his face to his hands…now slowly stripping off his pants. Then, watching her gazing at him, he pushed his hand down his pants. He slid his palm over his underwear, over the bulge of his already hard prick, down, giving his balls a gentle squeeze, up the firm cylinder of his cock. She was still staring when he moved his hand away, giving her a good long look at the shape of his stiff prick perfectly outlined under the snug fabric of his briefs.

He gave a low chuckle. Humiliated as she was, she was transfixed.

“Now you’re going to sit there like a good girl and watch me stroke it.”

Slowly pulling down the band of his briefs, inch by inch he revealed himself to her, showing her that stiff, manly thing.

“While you watch me stroke it, Elsie, I want you to think about taking me in your mouth, all hot and soft and wet.”

He let his fingers lightly embrace his rigid shaft, trailing them up and down, slowly, as he spoke.

“Imagine circling that little pink tongue of yours around the tip...”

He ran one index finger slowly around the head of his cock.

“…then sliding my prick between those lovely full lips, feeling me sliding back, over your tongue, deep into your mouth.”

Up and down he moved the circle of his fingers, still languidly.

Now that her fear had ebbed, her embarrassment was not enough to keep away the tender ache that was throbbing between her legs.

“My cock utterly filling that hot, wet mouth of yours. Imagine sucking me, sweet Elsie, taking me all the way in, then pulling back, letting me slide out from between your slurping, sucking lips, as you massage me with your tongue.”

Stroking himself in earnest now, his grip tighter, his hips pumping his cock into his fist, he watched her staring, her chest palpitating with excited breath, her lips just slightly parted. Almost as if she were hoping for the command to drop to her knees and suck him right then.

“Then, darling, it won’t be you sucking me anymore. It will be me, fucking your mouth, holding your head, my fingers sunk into your hair, gripping it in fistfuls and thrusting between your lips until I’m ready to cum. And when I get very close, Elsie, when I’m just about to cum, I’ll pull back, and you, dear Elsie, will keep your mouth open. I want you to taste my cum, but I want to see, so in the final moment, as I pull free of your tender, sucking, licking mouth I’ll give myself the finishing stroke, and shoot my hot, sticky cum into your mouth, onto your tongue and lips, and watch you lick your lips clean and swallow.”

And with that, Conrad leaned forward, grasped Elsie’s wrist and shot off into her dainty, cupped palm as Elsie watched all the goo spurting out. Even at the moment of climax, even in the panting, shuddering seconds after, he did not take his eyes from her face. She had watched every single second.

He pulled up his briefs, did up his pants and belt. Then he bent over, gave her a warm kiss on her flushed cheek, and whispered in her ear.

“I look forward to our next date, Elsie.”

He let himself out, leaving her sitting on the edge of her bed, her cunt throbbing, her hand cradling the still-warm pool of cum.