Customer Profiling Pt 03

Amy floated through the castle hallway past doors she knew to contain her children's bedrooms, though the shapes were unfamiliar. The hall was unfamiliar. The frock that cosseted her body was unfamiliar. Her toenails dragged on the stone as she was carried toward the flickering black light at the end of the hall, and try as she might, she could not turn around.

"There you are."

She cradled Sean's body, stroking his cheek and lifting her knee over his stomach. The sheets were tangled around him, and however much she tried to slide them away, they doubled back, wrapping his body like a silk cocoon, keeping her away from her husband.

"I've been here this whole time," she said. "Where have you been?"

He mounted her, looking away and thrusting his hips into her in short, staccato bursts. She lifted her legs, but felt nothing. She grabbed at him, pulled him closer.

"Nothing?" he asked.

She shook her head and reached between his legs, feeling for his penis and finding nothing there.

"Where have you been?" Sarah asked.

"Oh, thank God," Amy said, touching Sarah's face, feeling her long, black hair and staring into her sharp, green eyes.

"You're not Sarah?"

Amy kissed her. Her frock was gone, now, and her legs were wet. She felt warm all over as Sarah/Not-Sarah penetrated her, driving her thick cock deeper and deeper between Amy's legs. Amy clawed her back, grunting with each successive thrust, spreading her legs for her lover, soaring high above the bed, now.

"Amy!" Sean screamed in the doorway, pulling his hair. "You slut!"

Amy awoke with a gasp, her eyes fixed on the crack in the pale white curtains through which the moonlight shone. She was in her bed. Sean lay on his side beside her, lightly snoring. Her heart beat at pace, and she flipped her phone over on the nightstand. It was just before 3 o'clock in the morning.

The dream had felt so real, at least the parts of it she could remember. Sarah had been there. At least she thought it was Sarah. It hadn't looked like Sarah, she realized. It hadn't looked like anyone.

Amy closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing. She could still get another three-and-a-half hours of good sleep if she could just drift off, now. It was Tuesday morning, and she wanted to be well-rested before the book club gathering at Melinda's house that later that morning. But sleep didn't come. She was agitated, and as the fading scenes of her dream replayed and shifted in her mind, she became too aroused to ignore.

"Sean," she whispered, nudging her husband, savoring the idea of midnight sex and comforting herself with the fact that it had only been dream Sean who had scolded her. "Sean!"

He grunted what sounded like a question, but after a moment the snoring resumed. Amy rolled onto her back and blew her breath out. She wouldn't be able to get back to sleep in this state, she knew.

In the bathroom, with the faucet running, Amy navigated to Pornhub and typed "mature amateur lesbian" into the search bar, as she had done all too often during the last week. She was amused by the porn community's understanding of maturity, as the qualifying ages seemed to range from late twenties up through the sixties and beyond. But it was the only way she knew to find videos of women who looked like her. And all she could think about lately was a woman like her fucking another woman.

Seated on the vanity with her pajama bottoms and panties around her ankles, scrolling through a mix of thumbnails, she settled upon a video featuring a blonde and a brunette who looked to be in their late thirties or early forties. They wore matching blue bikinis and sat on a large, grey sofa. An "OnlyFans" watermark in the corner undermined the amateur element she was after, but at least the video seemed amateurly-made. Amy pressed play, and put her hand between her legs as the women began to kiss and rub each other.

The camera zoomed out, showing their long legs and enormous platform heels. The brunette slipped one of the blonde's fake, spherical, nipple-pierced breasts out of her bikini top and, pointing it toward the camera, began to lick the nipple, flicking her tongue back and forth and jiggling the piercing. The blonde threw her head back in an exaggerated show of ecstasy. Amy mimicked the shape of the blonde's mouth, imagining the brunette licking her own breasts in such fashion. The women were writhing, now, and Amy followed suit, rocking her hips against her hand, watching the blonde pull down the brunette's bikini top, revealing another set of enormous, fake breasts.

Amy clicked back to the search results, scrolling again past rows and rows of similar fare: living, plastic sex dolls dressed up like strippers, feigning pleasure for their male audiences. It was no use.

She closed the tab and then the browser app, navigating instead to her text message from Melinda. Amy continued to rub her clit while she scrolled up to last week's picture exchange, enlarging the selfie Melinda had sent while wearing her new, black teddy. She exhaled as her eyes found Melinda's nipples, and she flicked her tongue in the air as she'd seen the blonde do on video, pretending that Melinda's breasts were in front of her, that Melinda's fingers were circling her clit. She squeezed her thighs together as she came, grateful for the sound-dampening effect of the running water as she hyperventilated into her arm.

#

Eggs were on the table at 7 a.m. sharp later that morning. Amy called up the stairs and summoned her boys to breakfast.

"Brian," she said to her eldest, setting glasses of orange juice by their plates, "no phones at the table."

Brian rolled his eyes and put his phone back in his pocket. Amy let the slight go by without comment. She had long since learned not to make a federal case out of every minor transgression. Amy and Sean thought a little rebellion was healthy in a growing boy. Let them roll their eyes, she thought, so long as they obey.

Amy greeted Melinda at the bus stop, and shooed her children toward Melinda's so the women could talk.

"I'm excited for the book club!" Amy said, trying hard not to think of Melinda's part in her late-night exercise in self-care. Amy wondered if she had spent the same amount of time in Melinda's own imagination since they'd exchanged pictures last week. Their bus stop conversations had been comparatively chaste after that, and if Melinda had been wanting to see any more of Amy, she had given no indication.

"You get through the reading?" Melinda asked. "I'm curious to hear what you thought."

Amy hesitated.

"I... may have some notes," she said.

"Uh oh," Melinda said, laughing. "It was my choice, so please be kind! I'm suddenly remembering you were an English major, right?"

"English and Comparative Literature, yeah," Amy said, nodding. "Not that I use it a whole lot."

Amy didn't need to call upon her undergraduate work in literature to criticize Where Silk Meets Soil. As she listened to the novel over the past week, her initial impressions proved accurate. The writing was thin, the characters were cliched. But it was steamy, she granted, and she supposed that was arguably the whole point. The book's heroine, Guela, ended up with the prince of the realm, of course. But not before the Lord of the Manor had had his way with her, to say nothing of the errant knight who rescued Guela and the Lord's comically wicked daughter Lilibet from Lord What's-His-Face's entourage. The novel was as heavy on penetration as it was on exposition, and Amy had a lot to say about it. In particular, she planned to point out how the only pairing the novel had actually earned, in her opinion, was between Guela and Lilibet. She wondered how in depth these discussions would get, or if it would just be an excuse to drink wine in the middle of the day.

"I did Marketing," Melinda said. "Other than the weekly visit to Stop and Shop, I don't do a whole lot of marketing, either."

They laughed as the bus pulled up, and waved goodbye to the kids.

"Speaking of Stop and Shop," Melinda said as they began the walk back up Hilltop Road, "I'm going to head over in a few to pick up some snacks. Any requests?"

Amy shook her head.

"Nothing in particular," she said. "Salty things, maybe. And I'm not much for dairy."

"The best part of hosting these things is when it's your turn, you get to pick the snacks. But it's always, like, a cheese and crackers arms race. Who wants to eat a hundred dollars' worth of cheese?"

They laughed again. Amy wondered if Melinda had given any more thought to the idea she had suggested in Ravir's dressing room, of proposing the ladies wear lingerie during their discussion sections. Like the picture exchange, they hadn't discussed it since, and Amy considered whether it might have just been a case of Melinda getting swept up in the spirit of the afternoon. Ravir could have that effect on people, she thought. The more Amy thought about it, the crazier the idea seemed. Even proposing such a thing could get Melinda shunned in a town like Oyster Bay. But then again, she didn't know these women. Surely, Melinda wouldn't have suggested something like that in front of Amy if she thought it was totally dead in the water.

"Well, I'll see you at eleven," Melinda said, stopping at the top of Amy's walkway. "Feel free to come a little early, if you want. You can help me set up."

"Or get my first pick of the snacks," Amy said.

"That too," Melinda said, waggling her fingers in the air as she continued down the street.

Amy rifled through her walk-in closet for a dress to wear; something flattering that straddled the line between sexy and conservative. She knew one woman, Dana, whose son Hunter was in Brian and Dylan's fifth grade class, but the rest were an assortment of strangers whom Melinda knew from elsewhere. Amy knew nothing about them, but wanted to make a good first impression.

She located a ribbed, forest green, long-sleeved sweater dress that ran to her mid-thigh, which seemed to strike the appropriate tone, and pulled off the sweater and leggings she had worn to the bus stop. Lifting the dress over her head, Amy caught sight of her underwear in the small mirror on the closet's back wall. She wore that old pair of maroon boyshorts that wrinkled around her hips and a sad, white bra that provided support, but no shape. The day might come where she replaced all of her underwear with the type of finery Sarah displayed in her store, but today was not yet that day. The better part of her knew it shouldn't matter what underwear she wore to a book club discussion, but the budding pervert inside of her still hoped that not only would Melinda suggest they spice up their meetings with displays of lingerie, but that they should get started post haste. It was extremely unlikely, Amy knew, to the point of near impossibility, but still, she didn't want to be caught unprepared.

Neither her bustier nor her babydoll would work, she knew. The bustier's lines might show under the dress, and in the unlikely event the dress came off, the half cups would leave her tits exposed. An exciting thought, but perhaps not the right message to send to a group of strange women she hoped to befriend. The babydoll wasn't something one wore under a dress, and as much as she didn't want to appear too eager, she didn't want to appear clueless, either.

The velvet rope teddy was right out, Amy thought, but she allowed herself a moment to imagine donning such a garment in the event Melinda called for a general disrobing and the assorted gals were game. Her tits and pussy alike would be on full display. In the ideal scenario, she might be crowned the Queen of Lingerie on the spot. She might even get to order her subjects to worship her accordingly. Amy took a deep breath and pushed the thought out of her mind.

Instead, Amy found the nicest matching black pair of bra and panties that she had in her drawer, and slipped them on. She examined herself in the mirror, sucking in her stomach just a teensy bit and congratulating herself on the idea to change. She pulled on a pair of sheer, black pantyhose to boot, and after donning the dress, found a pair of smart, gold earrings to complete the outfit, hoping against hope that she'd have occasion to take it all off.

If her arguments about Guela and Lilibet being the two characters most suited to sex played as well in the discussion as they did in her imagination, Amy thought, then she might not need hope.

#

"Can we please... PLEASE read something besides romantasy for next week?"

The group laughed as Bari protested the week's selection. The six women were seated on opposite-facing sofas in Melinda's living room, separated by a glass coffee table crowded with bowls of chips, pretzels, snack mix and, of course, a large cutting board topped with cheese, crackers and cured meats. What little space was left was taken up by wine glasses full of Sauvignon Blanc.

Bari was short and curvy, with a big nose and even bigger breasts, and had imposed herself on the proceedings early on, standing out to Amy as the one most likely to make the group laugh. She wore a bright red turtleneck over black leggings, and her long, black hair was blow-dried straight. She wore too much make-up, Amy thought, but carried her extra weight well and was generally quite pretty.

They all were, as a matter of fact, and Amy hoped the group didn't think she was the exception. Besides Dana, the dirty blonde whose kid was in Brian's class, the group included Morgan, a striking brunette whom Amy suspected had had a nose job, and Colette, whose curly blonde hair, soft blue eyes and light smattering of freckles marked her as the only other Irish-American besides Amy. Amy thought she would have to ask Colette where she got her darling light blue dress with the white polka dots. The three new-to-her women had been very welcoming to Amy, particularly when Melinda announced that Amy had come "prepared to talk some English degree shit" about the hostess's choice of novel.

"My house, my choice!" Melinda exclaimed, sticking her tongue out at Bari as the other woman took a healthy sip of wine.

"So, how do things usually begin?" Amy asked. "Does someone propose a topic, or..."

"Oh, you actually want to talk about the book!" Bari said, sending the women into fits of laughter. Amy blushed, looking to Melinda for guidance.

"Bari's just being a bitch," Melinda said, still laughing. "We do talk about the books."

"Well, I liked it," Colette said, sitting up straight like she was preparing to defend an unpopular view. "Sure, it was tropey, but I liked that Guela's farming knowledge actually came in handy, and wasn't just some random, meaningless back story."

"Well they had to make farming relevant," Dana said. "'Soil' is right there in the title."

"It's a double entendre, too," Amy said. The women stared at her. "You know... soil... fertile soil..." Amy sighed. "Like vaginas?"

"Ohhhh." The group reacted in unison.

"That's kinda racy!" Bari shouted. "Where silk meets soil." Bari pointed to her groin, nodding appreciatively. "Wow. I think I like the book better, now! Way to put that English degree to work!"

They all laughed again.

"First time in, like, two decades!" Amy said, taking a sip of wine and enjoying the reactions her comment had provoked. If Melinda had been serious about the lingerie idea, Amy thought, then Bari seemed a likely participant, maybe even the type of ringleader to get the other three off the fence.

"I liked it, too," Melinda said, "and not just because I proposed it. Sure, the author telegraphed just about everything, but it was a page turner, the prince sounded hot, and he didn't just want to jump Guela's bones right away. She had to earn it, and so it felt satisfying when he carried her away in the end."

Amy bit into a pretzel stick and surreptitiously looked around the room. Morgan was in her blind spot, sitting on the other side of Dana, and Amy found herself turning her head every so often to try to get a better look at the woman, regardless of who was speaking. While each of them was attractive, Amy thought, Morgan was a knock-out. She had perfect hair, perfect make-up, and what promised to be a perfect physique under her blue Oxford shirt and white jeans. She had barely gotten a word in since sitting down. Amy wondered how Melinda knew her.

"Amy," Melinda said, causing Amy to snap her attention away from Morgan and back across the table. "Give us your report."

Amy pulled her cell phone from her bag and opened the Notes app.

"Did you take notes?!" Bari asked, laughing. "Of course you did!"

"Well, I wanted to be organized if I was going to come at the hostess..." Melinda took a slight bow. "I mean, the book is what it is. It's romance. It's fantasy. It's easy, breezy, and you're not supposed to think too hard. But instead of criticizing it, I want to talk about something that I liked, and that I wish had been more of a focus. And that's the relationship between Guela and Lilibet."

That provoked some thoughtful "hmms" around the room. Amy caught Morgan looking at her, and shied away from the intensity of the other woman's gaze, looking back to Melinda's friendly and encouraging face.

"I agree that the ending with Prince Nyander felt more or less earned, but the rest of the book was just full of, you know, lots of boring guys and obvious sex. Like, that scene with Sir Ranathor came out of nowhere. It was just like 'oh, he saved us, guess I better let him get it.'"

The women laughed again, and all took a synchronized wine break while Amy continued.

"But was I the only one who thought Guela and Lilibet were going to, you know, sleep together? Obviously, they weren't going to end up together, but they had this tense rivalry throughout the whole first and second act. They were in close quarters, they were captured together, rescued together. They had that heart to heart about the different expectations placed upon them by the men in their lives. I wanted it to happen!"

"Well, what does our resident lesbian think about that?" Bari asked.

Amy froze. She realized she was clutching the stem of her wine glass so tightly it could break. She took a long pull of the wine, and nearly spat it out when Morgan started to speak.

"Well, obviously there's nothing more interesting than straight girls fucking each other," she said.

The women laughed uproariously at that, and Amy joined them, before considering that Morgan had perhaps just made fun of her observations.

"But I picked up on that, too," she continued, saving herself from Amy's reconsideration of her good looks. "I thought I was just projecting, maybe. But unless it's explicitly Sapphic, or it's written by a man for men, you just don't really see it in popular books."

"You see it with younger authors sometimes," Colette said. "Or fanfics."

"Fanfics?" Dana asked. Colette blushed.

"Yeah, like, fan fiction," Colette said, looking like she wished she'd kept her mouth shut. "The internet is full of it."

The group recounted all the novels they could think of that had included lesbian romances. The Color Purple. The Hours. Fried Green Tomatoes.

"Summer Sisters!" Amy said, coming up for air after draining her wine glass. "You know, by Judy Blume."

The conversation split at that point, with neighbors comparing notes on other things they had read. Melinda stood up and waved Amy over, wanting some help in the kitchen picking out another couple bottles of wine. Amy caught Morgan's eyes and smiled as she stood, fixing her dress after the skirt had clung to her pantyhose on the way up.

"Having fun?" Melinda asked, opening a tall wine fridge and pulling out one of the drawers. She wore a white polyester tennis dress with a halter neck, which, while looking great on her, Amy thought, meant she couldn't possibly be wearing her sexy, sheer teddy underneath. It would have shown on her shoulders.