Customer Profiling Pt 02

This is a follow up to Customer Profiling, published on December 6

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, 2024. As in that example, this part is SEXY, I think, but it's relatively light on genital-on-genital contact. The emphasis is on our heroine's emerging, unfulfilled desires. The ball keeps rolling in this installation - as for future installations? Well, who knows! Please read the tags for some light spoilers, in case you'd like to know what you're in for. As always, I'd love comments and critiques!

Eggs were on the table at 7 a.m. sharp on the first Monday after the holiday break. Amy, clad in black leggings and a flannel button-down shirt, with her orange hair tied back in a loose, damp ponytail, called up the stairs.

"Boys!" She said. "Get down here and eat some breakfast!"

Brian and Brendan trampled down the stairs like a pack of elephants, creating noise far in excess of their weight. At 10 and 8 years old, respectively, they had no business creating such a racket with their little footsteps alone, but somehow, they found a way. At least they were old enough to dress themselves, now. Amy washed the pan as they took up their seats at the table, gorging themselves on scrambled eggs and buttered toast. Amy didn't know how elephants ate their food, but she assumed it was more dignified than whatever her sons were doing.

"So," Amy said, scrubbing bits of egg off the stainless steel. "Are you excited to go back to school?"

"No," Brian said, bits of egg flying from his mouth.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, mister."

The pan washed, Amy pulled her phone from her shirt pocket. Her husband hadn't yet responded to the 6:30 a.m. "I love you" she had sent. He typically caught the 5:45 a.m. train to the city, a half hour before Amy usually woke up, and he might still be making his way to the office. She closed the text, and scrolled down past all the New Years' wishes she'd gotten from friends and family to the text marked "S Tutoring."

Sarah.

Shielding the phone, she scrolled back through the messages they'd exchanged around Christmas. The picture of Amy in the bustier. The picture of Sarah's legs in the bath tub.

"The things I would do to you."

Amy put the phone away when she heard the silverware clatter on the table.

"Go brush your teeth," Amy commanded, "And then let's get your coats and shoes on!"

Amy shepherded her boys to the bus stop on the corner, looking at each house they passed. Oyster Bay was a relatively affluent town on Long Island. The schools were good. The homes were nice, especially on Hilltop Road, where they had just moved into the smallest house on the block in the past year, stretching their budget and using most of the last several years' worth of bonuses that Sean had earned.

Amy hated it.

She hated the cold atmosphere of the new block, the houses sitting like fortresses behind huge, immaculate lawns and curving driveways. She hated the monotony her lifestyle. She hated the routine of making breakfast, getting the kids to school, keeping the house clean until it was time to retrieve them from the bus stop, supervising the homework, making the dinner. And for what? A kiss on the forehead when Sean came home, an hour of television in the evenings before bed. A 6:30 a.m. alarm, an empty bed and another trip around the sun on the same terms.

Meeting Sarah had taken a sledgehammer to all that. She had been sleepwalking, Amy thought, and now she was awake. There could be so much more to life than this, she knew. She just had to make it happen.

"Happy new year!" Her neighbor Melinda called out from the corner, waving a gloved hand. Melinda and her husband Peter lived a few doors down from Amy on Hilltop Road in a much larger house. They had three children about Brian and Brendan's age, and had all gotten know each other somewhat during the last several months.

"Happy new year!" Amy said, waving back to the other mother and smiling broadly.

Brian and Brendan ran ahead to chat with Melinda's brood, just in time for the bus to roll up to the corner.

Amy and Melinda waved goodbye to the school bus and turned toward their homes, their rubber boots slapping the slushy puddles on the sidewalk as they walked and chatted.

"Good break?" Melinda asked.

"Pretty good," Amy said. "We stayed local this year. Flights just got too expensive. Waited too long. How about you guys?"

"Tell me about it. Cost us nearly three grand just to visit my parents in Boca Raton. I don't know how people do it."

Both of their husbands worked in finance. Money was rarely an issue for either family. But it was polite to pretend, while the headlines spoke of the struggles most people faced this time of year. They felt guilty, Amy supposed, and acted like they understood.

Pretending was a survival mechanism.

"Get anything good for Christmas?" Melinda asked with a smile, putting the poverty roleplaying to the side for a moment.

"I got this," Amy said, drawing attention to the cream-colored Pashmina draped around her neck and tucked into her coat. Melinda reached out and felt it.

"Ooh, I love!"

Amy thought about the other gifts she had gotten. The bustier and the teddy. The late-night text exchanges with Sarah. The browsing and bookmarking of Ravir's online catalogue. She wanted more. And she wanted someone besides Sean to share them with. Someone who would appreciate them, desire them, who would take the time to admire their details. To admire her. To truly admire her. Who wouldn't just see them as disposable kindling for a fire that burned all too quickly. She was desperate for the attention Sarah had showed her in the dressing room. She was desperate to recreate it.

"And I got a little something for myself..."

Melinda smiled conspiratorially.

"Jewelry?"

Amy looked at her neighbor. Melinda was about a year older than she was, with wavy black hair she had blow-dried and styled for the bus stop walk, and pale skin, made paler by the concealer she used to hide the bags that spoiled her bright green eyes. She hid her body under a black wool pea coat, much like Amy's own, with the requisite standard issue black leggings and Hunter boots rounding out the ensemble. Their outfits were so similar. Their lifestyles were so similar. They were friends, Amy thought. She guessed you could say that. But beyond the basics - where she lived (three doors down), where she had gone to college (Fairfield), what her kids' names were (Dylan, Cody and Paige) - Amy didn't know all that much about her.

"Lingerie," Amy said, pronouncing each syllable distinctly, framing it like a question, as if to ask "if you know what I mean?"

"Ooh," Melinda replied in a sing song voice, but her eyes darted back to the sidewalk, Amy noticed. Had she misjudged their friendship? Was this too intimate a conversation topic? Amy stiffened, and fixed her own eyes down the street, thinking quickly for a new subject to --

"What kind?"

Amy looked back to Melinda, whose face told the story of idle curiosity. A little too idle, Amy thought, like she didn't want to seem too interested. She thought she'd perhaps caught a live one.

"Oh, nothing too racy," Amy said, taking her time. "A bustier and a babydoll. I got them from a little place called Ravir, in the city."

"I think I've heard of them," Melinda said, nodding thoughtfully, her breath steaming in the cold January air. "They were on some year-end thing I read somewhere."

They approached Amy's house. Ordinarily, this is where the two said their goodbyes, before Melinda marched on to her larger Tudor-style home down the street. Amy didn't have anywhere else to be, anything else to do - she didn't, most school days - and thought she might like to talk to Melinda some more.

"Want to come in for some tea or coffee?" Amy asked. "I could show you what I got..."

Melinda opened her mouth to respond, looking back and forth between Amy, Amy's brick colonial and her own house down the street.

"Uh, ok!" Melinda said. "Sure. I've got some time."

The kettle had just begun to whine when Amy returned to the kitchen with her intimates on two sets of hangers. She hooked them onto the overhead cabinets and brought down two mugs.

"Take any milk or sugar with your coffee?" Amy asked.

"I'm fine," Melinda said, craning her neck to get a better look at the garments while Amy poured the coffee. They each blew on the mugs, thawing their hands and feeling the warmth radiate through the porcelain.

"So... are you going to show me?"

Amy placed her mug on the table and retrieved the hangers from the cabinets. She held them up in front of her, holding her hands steady and letting Melinda get a good look at each of the pieces. Amy watched as Melinda's eyes went wide, moving back and forth between the pieces. Melinda stood up and walked over, feeling the fabrics between her fingertips.

"I love the roses on this one," Melinda said, touching the embroidered red roses on the black bustier. "And this one is sheer! That's very naughty, Amy..."

Amy beamed. The smile faded when she remembered the night she had worn the sheer babydoll for Sean. It was a few nights after Christmas, the boys had gone to sleep, and Sean was watching a hockey game in the living room. Amy wore the babydoll over a white pair of panties. She wished that she had had something a little more revealing in the front, and cursed her insecurities for leaving her underwear drawer devoid of thongs, G-strings and other such unmentionables. But she liked the way they looked. She enjoyed the contrast of bright white under the soft lavender, and hoped Sean would, too.

She tiptoed down the stairs, her fingers dancing on the banister, as she put herself in the mind of the seductress. She pictured Sean's face when he saw her. He would turn off the TV, she thought, carry her upstairs, and ravage her like he used to, in their 20s, dating in New York City and keeping their roommates up with the sounds of their fucking. The fantasy made her wet, and she felt the sheer fabric covering her torso, felt her breasts and her hair. She felt like a woman. But her man couldn't do his part.

"New pajamas?" He had asked, before turning back to the game.

"No," Amy said, surprised she would need to explain herself. Maybe her choice of underwear hadn't made her intentions clear. "It's called a babydoll. I thought we could, you know..."

"Oh... Okay." Sean said, taking a sip of his beer bottle. "Give me, like, ten minutes. It's the third period and they're down one. The boys are totally collapsing. I don't get it."

Amy didn't get it, either. But she would be sure to be asleep before ten minutes had elapsed.

"Did I say something wrong?" Melinda asked.

Amy snapped out of her reverie, searching her memory for the last thing she'd heard Melinda say.

"No!" Amy said, shaking the lingerie. "Sorry. It's just. Well. I don't know how much I should say."

Melinda sat back down and sipped her coffee.

"Spill it," she said. "I don't have anywhere to be for a couple of hours."

Amy draped the lingerie on the kitchen table and sat down. She had never talked to anyone besides her priest about her marital frustrations, and even her priest hadn't heard anything in months. What was the point? Amy said. Each time, she got the same advice. Love your husband, the priest said. Focus on your children. Asking a Catholic priest for help in the bedroom was like asking an artist for help in creating the universe. They could get guess at the broad strokes needed, but they weren't exactly an expert.

"Well, I got them to sort of spice things up. You know how it is."

Melinda nodded.

"But they haven't exactly had the effect I wanted."

"How could that be," Melinda said. "They're darling."

"I don't know if it's me. Maybe he's just not attracted to me anymore."

"He'd better be!" Melinda said. "If you can't turn his head any more, what chance do the rest of us have?"

Amy blushed. She didn't think she was any prettier than Melinda. And other than the attention she had gotten from Sarah last month, she wasn't used to receiving compliments on her looks.

"Well, somebody had better tell my husband. I wore the babydoll the other night, you know, to try to get things going. And he wanted to finish watching the game first."

Melinda's eyes rolled so hard her head fell back.

"I can relate," Melinda said. "I don't even bother, anymore. Peter will tap my shoulder once a month when he gets sick of porn or whatever."

"Peter watches porn?" Amy asked.

"They all do," Melinda said. "On their phones, their computers. I needed to look something up on his phone just the other day, and the autocomplete sent me to some website full of videos of 18-year-old girls doing, well, you can use your imagination."

"They should make porn for women," Amy said. "For all the frustrated wives."

"You should join my book club," Melinda said, smiling and taking another sip of coffee. "It's all young adult romance. Basically porn for women. I feel a little bad for all the younger women reading them. They're going to grow up with all kinds of false hopes."

Amy looked at the lingerie again. She found herself wondering what it would look like on Melinda. What Melinda would look like naked. What sort of lingerie would suit her best.

"Have you ever tried anything to get the mojo back?" Amy asked. "Lingerie, or..."

Melinda shook her head and waved her hand away.

"No," she said. "I mean, not like that. Not in a long time. I don't really have the figure for it. Peter's even suggested -- " she mouthed the word 'implants' -- "but I --"

"That's absurd," Amy said, shocked at the idea. "You don't need breast implants!"

Melinda shrugged.

"I know," she said. "And I'm not getting them. Believe me, I'm not going to cut up my body just so Peter looks at me more than once every few weeks. Forget it."

Amy felt fidgety. She tapped her heel on the ground and squeezed the coffee mug.

"You know," she said. "I was maybe going to take another trip to that store I mentioned. Ravir."

"You're going back?" Melinda asked. "Even though Sean doesn't give a shit?"

"He doesn't, but I do," Amy said. "And the woman who runs the shop is amazing. I can't even tell you the amount of confidence she gave me. Picked things out for my body type, my skin tone. It was really amazing." Amy neglected to mention Sarah's particular sales techniques. "You wanna come?"

Melinda looked at the lingerie, and then back to Amy. Her face was unreadable. Amy regretted saying anything.

"No pressure, of course," Amy said.

"When?"

Amy took a deep breath.

"Whenever," she said. "Today, even."

"I can't today," Melinda said. "I've got the cleaning lady coming at eleven. But tomorrow?"

"Okay," Amy said, nodding and suppressing a smile. "Tomorrow. We can catch a train to the city before lunch time. That will give us enough time to be home for school pickup."

"Tomorrow," Melinda said, smiling. "It's a date."

#

"I think I've found you a new customer," Amy texted, lying down on the sofa while the morning shows played. A few minutes later, Sarah texted back.

"Oh?" Sarah said. "Friend of yours?"

"Neighbor," Amy said. "I showed her what I bought. She's intrigued, but needs a little push. Something I'm sure the best lingerie saleswoman in the business can handle, no sweat haha."

A little "haha" reaction popped up on the last text. Amy scrolled up again, looking at the picture Sarah had sent on Christmas, her long legs emerging from a bubble bath. She wondered where Sarah was right now. What she was doing.

Amy slid her fingers beneath the front of her leggings' waistband.

"Tell me about her," Sarah said.

"She's about my age," Amy said. "Dark hair, pale skin. Green eyes. 3 kids. Hates her boobs."

"What do you think about her boobs?" Sarah asked.

Amy pushed her hand lower, feeling the soft tangle of her pubic hair against her fingertips. She had never seen Melinda's naked breasts, of course, but she had seen her in the warmer months when sparser clothing was called for. She had seen her in sundresses, for instance, or button-down shirts like the one she was still wearing. Amy unbuttoned two buttons, feeling the living room's cool air on her skin, and picked the phone back up.

"I think they're nice," Amy said. "They suit her frame."

"Ever fuck her?" Sarah asked.

The message sent a jolt through Amy's body. She hadn't, of course. She hadn't ever fucked any woman, unless you counted getting masturbated by Sarah in Ravir's dressing room as fucking. But Sarah had asked the question so casually. As if the answer could have easily been yes. Knowing Sarah, she might have regularly fucked her friends, Amy thought.

"No!" Amy responded. "Lol of course not."

Amy watched the three little dots of Sarah's drafting and pushed her hand even further into her pants, finding the top of her pussy with her middle finger, pressing it between her lips and feeling the electric shock when she touched her clit. She wished Sarah was there with her. She had been searching for an excuse to go see her again without seeming too interested, too desperate. She half-heartedly hoped Melinda would cancel, that Sarah would close the store, that they could finish what they had started last month. Sarah had said she wanted to.

"The things I would do to you."

Amy pushed her hand further.

"Too bad," Sarah said. "Do you want to?"

Amy had never thought about Melinda that way. She had never thought about any woman that way, until Sarah. Even earlier, when she was so eager to show Melinda her lingerie, when she wondered how it might look on her friend, she hadn't identified those thoughts as "wanting" her. But Melinda was pretty, Amy thought. And she was funny and kind, when she wasn't being sarcastic. Did she want to fuck her?

"Could be fun," Amy said, picking up the pace down below.

"I bet she'll want to fuck you when I'm done with her."

Amy was breathing heavily now, slowly typing her responses with her left thumb and spreading her juices across her clit with her right hand. She could barely focus on her typing as she moved her hips against her hand, picturing Sarah coaching her and Melinda in the art of lesbian lovemaking. Their breasts touching. Their tongues touching. Sarah guiding them, telling them what to do. Telling them how to fuck each other.

"You'd have to show us the ropes," Amy said.

"Ropes," Sarah said. "Whips. Chains."

A smiling devil emoji.

Amy shuddered, clenching her teeth as the orgasm ripped through her. Her belly flexed involuntarily as she dug her palm into her swollen clit, rocking the side of her hand quickly back and forth across its tender surface. She licked her lips and struggled to catch her breath. She became aware again of the yammering voices on the television, the sounds of cars driving by on the street outside. The air felt cool, again.

"When will I see you?" Sarah asked.

"Tomorrow," Amy said, pulling her wet fingers from her leggings, her heart still hammering in her chest.

"I can't wait."

#

The next day, Melinda was all pleasant smiles at the bus stop, and gave no indication she expected anything other than a friendly girls' trip to the city. Amy had to remind herself that she hadn't been a part of yesterday's exchange. That she didn't know the proprietor of Ravir delighted in getting women out of their underwear as much as she enjoyed putting them into it.

Amy texted Sarah when she got home.

"Our train gets to Penn Station around 11," Amy said. "And remember, Melinda is going to be feeling shy!"

She hoped that reminder at the end wouldn't cause offense. Her own anxieties had been doing somersaults in her stomach all morning. She began to worry whether this had all been a terrible idea, that Amy's fantasies had run before she herself could walk, that bringing Melinda to Ravir would see her worlds colliding in catastrophic ways. Her phone buzzed.