Abigail 8

This is a very long and very slow-burn tale. If you expect torrid love scenes from page one, you will be disappointed. This is about seduction more than sex, but it is about sex too.

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Abigail

By Christina di Filippo

On a Monday morning, my boss asked me to join him on an initial visit to a potential client. I work in a medium-sized architecture studio specializing in the internal design of business offices. I did not graduate in architecture but in fine arts, yet I have an uncanny spatial vision and the ability to quickly and accurately translate ideas into sketches, the sketches into drawings, and the drawings into 3D views. I know AI is making inroads into my domain, but so far, I have consistently given better results.

Much as I have that special gift, I have my share of unusual quirks. The two most important are that I hate waking up early and I hate cold showers. My boss called me at 06:30, ticking the first of them. I then discovered that the gas supply to my area had been cut for maintenance, which meant no hot water. That ticked the second. I met my boss at the client's place, not in my best mood.

We were introduced to the client and to his assistant, Abi. I later found that her name was Abigail and that she hated it with all her might. Abi was a very interesting sample of womankind, interesting enough to change my foul mood. She was a very tall brunette (my guess was 5'10"+), lean, with medium-sized boobs, very pretty, and extremely elegant. Elegant in her clothes, elegant in her demeanor, and elegant in the way she put her thoughts on. With the exception that she rarely put any thoughts on. She was shy beyond measure.

The client had purchased two very old and identical industrial warehouses. They were beautiful buildings from the beginning of the 20th century, in a state of moderate disrepair. The client wanted to tear them down and build one single building, but due to planning restrictions, he could not get a license for additional space. We visited the buildings that were parallel to each other, and tall enough for 3 floors each (ground floor plus two). After a few discussions, I proposed to retrofit the two warehouses to their former grandeur and build some ultra-modern glass "bridges" linking the two warehouses at each of the floors.

Initially, nobody understood my proposal, so I got my sketchpad and translated it into a couple of sketches. The client liked the concept. Less construction costs, less time to completion, and a sustainable final product — sustainable is fashionable nowadays. Abi, whom I later discovered graduated in Architecture and was pursuing a MArch, also loved the idea and asked if she could keep my sketches. My boss was very happy because we were landing a new client before lunch on Monday.

After a few weeks of spec detailing and price haggling between the client and my boss, we got the contract, and I got a bonus. Not a bad one, to compensate for waking up early to a cold shower. Abi became our counterpart in this project. Our company had a team of architects plus me. Considering Abi, we had lots of men plus the two of us. She had the double disadvantage of having me as her sole "partner in crime", and of being extremely shy. She was very impressed with my ability to translate ideas into sketches and feed the results to the technical designers with all their CAD programs, so she stuck to me as an oyster to a rock.

One day we were in the meeting room at the construction site office, and she had a rather long call. I had nothing to do so I got my sketchpad and drew her. One sheet, with three different drawings from different perspectives. I was giving the final touches to the last one when she ended her call.

"What are you drawing so furiously?"

"Furiously, me? I'm sketching a few things while I wait for you to end your call so that we can go to the site."

"Are you having another architectural inspiration? Are you going to change the whole project?"

"No. It's just an inspiration based on beauty."

"Let me see!" And she came around the table to look at my 'masterpiece'. When she saw it, she went red, almost crimson. She stammered, went back around the table, and started to gather her belongings. I signed and dated the sheet and pushed it to her.

"When I cut my ear off and become as famous as Van Gogh this will be worth something." She smiled, visibly embarrassed, and said "Let's go." But she kept the drawings.

We visited the site, checking a few details and talking to the foreman. He suggested a modification that would make the construction easier and cheaper. I promptly sketched it, and he proposed a few changes to my sketch which I promptly incorporated. I promised to send it to the architects that same evening. Abi was observing the exchange in a dazzle.

"How can you capture a 3D idea given to you verbally and translate it into a semi-finished construction design?"

"It's a gift. I have been able to do that since I was very little. I guess my mum ate a CAD software disc when she was pregnant with me." She smiled and shook her head.

We walked towards our cars in silence, but when we parted ways, she asked why I had drawn her. "As I said, I had an inspiration based on beauty." She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "Don't joke! The drawing itself is beautiful, not the model."

"Can we discuss that tomorrow at lunch?"

"OK."

In Brazil, we have a costume in which we exchange kisses when we meet or leave a close friend, male or female. It is more of a cheek-to-cheek thing than an actual smooch. With time, the custom became so generalized that now, except for men who usually don't kiss men, everybody kisses almost everybody.

So, very naturally, I moved forward to kiss her, but she moved backward, startled.

"Oh sorry! Anything wrong?"

"I apologize. It's just that I don't have the habit of kissing people."

"Well, now you have. At least with me!" And I approached my face again. She reluctantly smooched my face and became very red again.

"Seeya!"

I will not say that I wasn't sexually attracted to Abi from day one, but now a new, more objective plan started forming in my brain. I haven't told you yet, dear reader, that I'm a 31-year-old bisexual girl who loves enlightening straight girls on the joys of sapphic love.

We didn't see each other for a couple of days, but when we did, I kissed her. She reacted as if she would withdraw her face, but then allowed me to plant a kiss rather in the middle of her cheek. She went red again.

"Do you know you are even prettier when you blush?"

She became redder and made her dismissive hand gesture, saying, "Oh stop!"

"Hadn't we agreed to discuss that at lunch?"

"I agreed to have lunch with you. I hadn't agreed to any discussions regarding my prettiness or lack thereof."

So, we had lunch together and I didn't push the subject of her prettiness. I wanted her to open up to me and making her uncomfortable was not the way to do it. In fact, we had several lunches together and each time I was able to make a millimetric inroad into that shy soul. On each occasion, she would ask 90% of the questions and I would talk 90% of the time. Her questions were never personal. About college, about my drawing abilities, about projects I had participated in, etc. That was when I discovered that she was pursuing a MArch.

She seemed happy each time we met (and we kissed each other each time we met or left). One day I invited her to dinner the next Friday. She got a bit confused as if I had invaded her comfort zone. "I usually don't go out at night."

"Why not?"

"I don't have company."

"Whaa! Now you do!"

"I don't know what to dress!"

"Oh, come on! You are one of the most elegant women I ever met professionally, and you don't know what to dress for a dinner with a friend? Don't mess with me!"

"Really, I'm always dressed like this. Pleated skirt, white blouse, pantyhose, and heels. I don't know how to dress like young people."

"If I may ask, how old are you?"

"26."

"Then stop behaving like you are 62. When we finish here today, we are going shopping."

"Are we?"

"Yes, and that is an order!" I said giggling.

After work, we went to a very fancy shopping mall. I wanted to find a pair of designer jeans for her and an elegant blouse. The trouble with the jeans was that, because she was so tall, we couldn't find one that fitted. Until we did. It was tight, revealing an - until then - unsuspected pair of legs. Wow.

"It is too tight."

"Your head is too tight, girl. These jeans will make the men fall over themselves when they see you. And a lot of women too!"

"Won't I look vulgar? Exhibitionist?"

"No, you will look delicious. Pay for it and let's find a silk blouse."

On the way to the cashier, I found a delicate faux-crocodile belt that I added to her cart. Ain't it good to spend other people's money?

We then found the ivory silk blouse I had in mind. When she tried it, I had the impression that her boobs were compressed under some sort of sports bra.

"What sort of bra are you wearing?"

She blushed and answered, "It is a sports bra."

"Na-na-ni-na-na!"

I told the salesgirl, "Hold that blouse. We are coming back."

We went to a lingerie shop, and we had a long conference with their salesgirl. Abi said that her boobs were big, and she was sort of ashamed of flaunting them. I said, "No, silly girl. That is the whole point. Let's try something light, flimsy, and feminine." Blushing: "But they are heavy!"

"Do they sag?"

Blushing more: "No."

"Then our friend here will find something that will fit you, won't you."

"I'm sure we have something that will be perfect for your friend."

The two of them got lost in the shop and came back with two options, one chosen by Abi, and the other by the salesgirl. I had to decide. Much to my surprise, Abi's choice was sexier.

"Abi, I'm ashamed of making you spend so much money. Sure, you can afford all of that?"

"Yes, I am."

She went to pay, and I asked the salesgirl on the side: "Do you have the panties that go with it?"

"Yes, just a sec."

I paid for the panties separately. We then went back to the other store where she tried the blouse with the new bra. Oh boy! What a difference! She had breasts between B and C cups that were now free from their torture, and the silk blouse highlighted their perfect shape.

"I feel naked!"

"You are not, but most certainly a lot of men will imagine it."

"You are not helping."

"Buy it and let's go home. I have a busy day tomorrow."

She left the mall happily with a new pair of jeans, a new belt, a new bra, and a new blouse, and quite a bit less money in the bank. I didn't dare talk about shoes. When we got to the car park, I gave her the panties I had bought, as a gift, and she became really emotional.

"Thank you, Chris. I don't know what I will need a matching pair of panties for."

"You never know! Better to be safe than to be sorry!"

"Oh Chris, I'm not sure whether you are an angel or the devil. I'm not sure whether I will be brave enough to use all that, but thanks anyway."

"You will. All at the same time. On Friday. If not, I will get hold of your new belt and beat you with it."

She kissed me goodbye and this time it was a real kiss. She even hugged me despite all the bags she was holding.

On Friday I asked where she wanted to go, but she said she didn't know any places, so I took charge of the reservation. I chose a fancy Italian restaurant I knew, but not too fancy.

I took an Uber - so that I wouldn't have to worry about my drinking - and got to the restaurant first. I was enjoying a Cosmo when she came in. Wow. I had thought she would turn heads, and turn she did. As I said, she has an elegant demeanor, and she was displaying all that elegance without a care in the world. The jeans encased a long and shapely pair of legs, and the blouse softly covered a spectacular pair of breasts. I don't appreciate huge tits. They remind me of cow's udders. To me, a B-cup is ideal, a C-cup, tops. That is precisely Abi's range.

She kissed me and then sat down. She was very comfortable with the kissing thing now.

"I felt sort of naked crossing the restaurant with everybody looking at me."

"Yes, girl! That is the desired effect. Show your beauty to the whole world. You are too beautiful to hide it."

She blushed adorably and gave me her trademark dismissive gesture. "Oh, Chris stop!" The waiter offered her a drink and she didn't know what to ask.

"You are not used to drinking, are you?"

"I'm afraid not."

"So, you should keep to wine. I'll ask for a bottle of rosé that will keep us to the end of our meal, ok?

"If you say so."

I negotiated with the sommelier an adequate bottle.

"So, pretty girl. I don't want to say that you are not beautiful, on a day-to-day basis, as I see you at work. You are. You are always so elegant... But today, oh my, you are a head-turner. If Prince Charming is dining here tonight, he will certainly kidnap you." The dismissive gesture again. "Oh Chris, stop! You are always commenting on my beauty. I feel embarrassed."

"I was just saying that the Abi sports version is as interesting but sexier than the Abi classic version, that's all. We chose the right clothes for you. Elegant, discreet but sexy."

"I feel a bit exhibitionist."

"Don't. You are perfect."

"If you say so... But those panties are the nearest thing to nothing ever invented." "Good! Now, for the subject matter! We have been lunching together for a couple of months already and I know nothing about you. I know you are 26, have a degree in Architecture, and have a very restricted albeit elegant wardrobe. Why don't you tell me what you have been doing in the last 26 years?"

She giggled and said, sort of sadly: "As if I had much to tell."

She then told me that she has no siblings - I have an older sister and a younger brother - that her father died in her early teens - mine still alive but not kicking anymore - and that her mother, after her father died, became very strict - mine had never the time and energy to be strict with three kids. As a teenager, she was not much of a partygoer, because of her mother.

"Is she still strict? At 26 does your mother still control your life?"

"No, it was unfair of me to say that. Ever since I started at university, she set me free" making inverted commas in the air. "I believe I got afraid of socializing, and I just kept at home, looking at my navel."

"Don't you have a boyfriend? Never had one?"

"There was one boy at school I had a crush on. We went to the movies once and he caressed my boobs, just like that. I was so shocked that I left him there and went home immediately, to cry alone. Then a second one, in my first year at university. We were not even friends yet ('friends' with the inverted commas in the air, again) but he got my hand and put it over his... you know. I went home to cry again and sort of wrote men off my life."

"Men are complicated beasts, but don't write them off so quickly. They have their uses. What about girls?"

"What?"

"Have you never had a girlfriend?"

"Chriiiiiiiiis! What sort of question is this?" Her eyes filled with tears.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. It's just that to me it is so natural that it didn't occur that I might be offending you. I'm very, very sorry."

"What do you mean? Natural?"

At this point, I was saved by the arrival of our food. I just said: "Let's eat and then we can talk. Or better, let us not spoil your 'dressed to kill evening' (It was my turn to use inverted commas in the air). We can discuss this some other time."

The conversation went to the dangers of eating spaghetti, and I told her a family anecdote:

"When my father was still working, he would come home for lunch sometimes. If spaghetti were on the menu, my mother would get one of those polyethylene bags used by the laundry to return clothes and make him use it as if it were a vest. Even so, he might drop sauce on his sleeve, to the joy of we kids."

"What a band of little monsters!" Then, pensive: "I miss not having siblings. I would love to have had an older sister to guide me, teach me." Then she looked at me and said, "I don't know whether it's the wine, or it's you, or the fact that my boobs are free, but I never had a conversation like that about me before. You are the kind of older sister I wanted."

I answered giggling: "If you are very, but very rich, I will let you adopt me. But only if you are a millionaire. Otherwise, I have no interest!" She laughed "You don't take anything seriously." We then had dessert, and the sommelier talked us into a small glass of Vin Santo with it.

As a usual customer, I knew the cashier and had left my credit card with him when I entered. When we decided to go home Abi wanted to go Dutch, but it was too late. "I invited you, remember?" I just had to input my password on the way out and off he went.

I was feeling well, I had not drunk too much by my standards. The same cannot be said about Abi. She was not used to drinking and was a little wobbly. I took her arm, and we walked across the room with great class, like two princesses. When we reached the lobby, we sat on a sofa and couldn't stop laughing.

"You came by taxi, I hope."

"No, I drove!"

"Shit! Gimme the keys."

She gave me the keys and we went to the parking lot in search of her car. I opened the passenger door, fastened her seat belt, got into the driver's seat, and asked: "Where to?"

Her explanation didn't make sense, so I looked into the car's GPS and found the link to Home. It was not far, and we got there without a glitch. She fell asleep as soon as we left the car park, and, upon arrival, I had to prop her up to the door of her house. Her mum was awake and opened the door, anxious.

I said laughing "I have a delivery for you." And helped Abi to the kitchen, where I sat her. "She is not used to drinking. We shared a bottle of light rosé wine, and it got to her head. I apologize for having such a bad influence on your daughter."

Her mother made the same dismissive gesture that Abi uses and said, "Stop that. You must be Chris."

"Yes, I'm glad to meet you."

"It's I that am glad. You have achieved the impossible that is getting this girl out of the house."

Giggling I said: "And I apologize for returning her in such a bad state."

Her mother laughed and looked at Abi: "She is so beautiful. She really wanted to make an impression on the whole world tonight."

"And she did. When she crossed the dining room everybody stopped to look at her.

And now I can see well where those princess' genes came from."

Same gesture, same words: "Oh stop that."

"Here are her car keys. She should not drive when she goes out at night because of her low resistance to alcohol. I will call an Uber now and get out of your hair."

"Are you sure you don't want to spend the night with us? Isn't it dangerous to take an Uber at this late hour?"

I opened my purse and showed my pepper spray: "I'm prepared."

"Well, thanks anyway. Abigail needs friends her age."

"Count on me!"

The Uber came quickly, and I went home happy. I obtained a lot of new information to develop my plan of seducing little Abi. Abigail?

When Abi and I went to lunch on Monday, she smiled and accused me of attempted murder. "I had a headache that lasted until Sunday."

"This is called a hangover girl. I'm sorry, I didn't know you were that weak with alcohol.

Did you enjoy the evening, at least?"

"I enjoyed it a lot!"

"Did you feel empowered when you entered the restaurant wearing your new clothes? Did you feel that the new bra enhanced your boobs?"

She blushed and nodded.

"What about your new panties?"