A WOMAN'S TOUCH
Danielle arrived at the door of the sprawling suburban detached, breathless and half an hour later than she had intended. She paused momentarily to regain her composure and smooth down her dress before seeking the doorbell. Still she hesitated, her perfectly manicured finger hovering over the button, the glossy red nail shimmering in the early evening sunlight.
She had been uncertain about coming here ever since the invitation over a week before. This whole set-up just wasn't Danielle Clark's usual thing. She was the introverted, curl-up-with-a-book kinda girl, only vicariously exploring human sexulaity courtesy of the latest Mitzi Szereto novel. But how many friends had urged her to get out more -- to live a little, and get laid a lot?
Danielle took a deep breath and pressed the doorbell, once and hard. Well maybe her friends were right, although whether they'd had this sort of thing in mind when they doled out their advice was hardly likely. Having said that, she could well imagine Imogen from the typing pool being an aficionado!
It seemed to take forever for anyone to answer the door, long enough for Danielle to admire the large front garden hemmed in by Leyland hedges, and perfumed with the honeyed scent of alyssium carpeting immaculate borders. Long enough, also, for Danielle to reconsider making a run for it down the long drive....
Too late. She heard someone fumbling with the lock, and the stout hardwood door swung soundlessly open. Suddenly self-conscious, Danielle had trouble making eye contact so that the first thing she noticed was the luxurious crimson shagpile which swept down a broad staircase and into the expansive hallway.
"Now I'm guessing you must be Danielle," the warm and slightly husky voice said, and Danielle finally found the courage to raise her eyes to meet those of the attractive brunette with the looks of Teri Hatcher framed in the doorway. "Everyone else is here, but don't worry. You haven't missed much of the fun!"
"Heavy traffic," Danielle lied as she stepped into the hallway, but the woman dismissed her excuse with a shake of her head and an extended hand.
"I told you not to worry," she rebuked gently. "I'm Clarissa; we spoke on the phone."
Danielle nodded. How could she forget? The spur of the moment telephone call she had made during her lunchbreak at the shipping company. All week she had been left wondering what it might have been that had possessed her to throw caution to the wind like that. Answering a small ad for a second-hand sofa or something was one thing. But this?
Part of her was still hufely tempted to run for the door. The trouble was, another, greater part was more tempted to stay! She took a deep breath and told herself to get a grip. For God's sake, you only lived once!
Up until a few months before, Danielle had never been into other women. But whether she had spent too many evenings in with rather one-too-many erotic novels, she didn't know. All she did know was that she suddenly began to find herself attracted to certain members of her own sex. Imogen from the typing pool had been one of the first to catch her eye; the way her short skirt had clung to every beautiful inch of her arse as she had draped herself over the photocopier looking for the switch! After a few minutes, it wasn't just the photocopier that Imogen had succeeded in turning on!
And today, Clarissa. Danielle felt her eyes drawn to her host's figure-hugging blue dress, and the particularly daring neckline which offered a tantalising glimpse of a near-fathomless cleavage. Danielle's eyes stayed there and stared -- too long, she realised, for Clarissa not to have noticed the fevered fixation.
Coughing her way awkwardly out of her reverie, Danielle looked up to see confirmation of her fears in Clarissa's smiling sapphire eyes. Should she say something? Apologise perhaps?
"Sorry," she began, but was silenced as Clarissa took hold of her hand.
