Getting serious, it's big girls stuff now!
Before reading this it's highly recommended that you read the earlier parts.
We did it with Tom two or three more times, and each time it just got better and better. The odd thing about it was that, although Sharon and I had very enthusiastic and uninhibited sex together with Tom present we never actually did it on our own. On a couple of occasions we did try but somehow we ended up giggling and that took all of the intimacy and sexiness out of it. A few months later Tom got promoted to another office and then Sharon left and although we kept in touch for a while our lives drifted apart and I don't think I've seen her since those heady days. Tom did ask me on a date a couple of times but rather spoiled it by adding, "and you can bring another girl as well if you like!"
Working in the center of London in a trendy advertising agency I met loads of people from the theatre and the arts worlds as well as advertising and I was running with a fairly racy and very liberal bunch of people. There was plenty of booze and drugs around but I was very careful with both and hardly ever took anything other than a little speed.
My involvement with women went on hold again as, I suppose, I honed my sexual skills with men. Whilst it seemed as though I was very prolific I only had sex with half a dozen or so men during those crazy two years after leaving university and taking up with Kevin who eventually became my husband.
I met Marcia on a shoot for a commercial where I was a junior copywriter. She was the assistant producer, a very powerful person on a shoot. She was also known to be one of the best in London and was quite famous in the ad agency at the time. She was in her mid thirties at least. Very slim, and just about my height with an almost boy like figure she had jet black hair and very dark, mysterious eyes. She was very powerful and authoritative around the shoot hurling as much abuse at the senior art directors as she did at the cameramen when they screwed things up.
We were filming in Scotland just outside Perth and were staying on a hunting and fishing complex that had a number of lodges scattered around a central reception, bar and restaurant. Each cabin was quite luxurious some being one bedroomed and others two or three. We had just about finished and were having a sort of wrap party in the bar of the complex on the last night of shooting even though I as the junior and Marcia in her role were staying on for most of the next day to tidy things up. The rest of the crew and agency people were leaving early the next day to get back to London.
Hence it was a rather lack-lustre party for most just wanted to get to bed early and set off home. Before that, though, we all had dinner together and I found myself next to Marcia who, obviously I knew, but hadn't chatted to her much up until then. At the dinner she was very attentive asking me loads of questions about my job and career aspirations, about why I'd left uni., about the agency and boy friends. She was surprisingly easy to talk to and I found myself a little in awe of her and the fact that such a senior person in the industry was bothering with a young, junior copywriter like me.
I drank quite a bit as I thought everyone had and was laughing and joking at her witty and rather sacrilegious views on the ad industry. She told me about her production company and how that had enabled her to have a house in Hampstead and an apartment in Marbella, to drive a Porsche and to have a boat. I had heard rumours of her possible lesbian tendencies so when her attention became a little closer than with a straight woman I was not only not scared but really was quite flattered by it. So when she rested her fingertips on my wrist a couple of times or placed her hand on my shoulder to emphasise points I didn't flinch or move away. I may even, I suppose, have looked her in the eyes as she made those gestures. I didn't know for sure that they were attempts to check me out for they were only fleeting moments so I just ignored them and did nothing to overtly indicate whether I would be interested or not. In any case, I thought, she probably wouldn't be interested in a kid like me and in all probability the touches were her just her being a bit lovey as many in the film industry are. But when she leaned back and let her hand fall on the seat of my chair so that it brushed against my bottom I wasn't quite so sure.
Dinner broke up and we all adjourned to the very small bar. I was in a corner at the end of the bar sitting on a bar stool when Marcia and most of the film crew came in making the bar even more crowded. She stood at the bar and bought everyone drinks edging a little closer to me as people picked theirs up. When the serving was finished she stood half in front of me leaning back against the bar her body shielding my legs from the others view. I was wearing a rather short skirt and that had ridden well up my thighs so quite a lot of my legs were on view. Everyone was talking and laughing and having a roaring time when I felt something on my knee. I looked down and saw her hand moving away. Another accident or an overt gesture, I wondered still not sure?
It happened again a few minutes later and then a third time. What she was doing was seemingly accidentally just letting her hand fall down so that if we wanted it could be seen as an inadvertent gesture. A mistake I suppose. But what I felt was becoming clear was that they were not mistakes. Especially when on the fourth time the back of her hand ran all the way up my leg from the knee to the bottom of the skirt. A little panicky I looked around to make sure no one could see but was reassured on that for Marcia had, if anything, moved more round in front of me blocking my legs completely from anyone's view.
Still though she was acting if nothing was happening, turning from chatting to me stuck in the corner and other members of the crew across the bar separating what she was doing to me from them. Still, though, there was nothing too overt and I realised that she was still making sure that there was a way out without her losing face for now she had both her hands wrapped around her wine glass and was asking me about my next shoot as if nothing at all was happening. But then as a group of the crew burst into loud laughter at probably some really filthy joke she turned to look at them so that her back was towards me. I watched her hand once more slip down and behind her. This time it did not brush my bare leg. This time it was not a quick or surreptitious movement. No this time I watched as the perfectly manicured nails stretched over the fleshy part of my leg just above my knee and saw the fingers encircle it. They lingered there squeezing gently. There was no way that this could be anything other than a very obvious caress. A suggestive gesture. An invitation to me.
I didn't know what to do. I was excited and flattered at her attention. I was, though, slightly alarmed and concerned. This was clearly big girl's stuff. It was beyond the messing around with the girls at college and well beyond what Sharon and I had done. It was also with someone that had the reputation of being a lesbian and I didn't look at myself as having such tendencies. No my messing around had been part of growing up hadn't it? Many girls I knew or read about in Cosmo had done similar things to me and they weren't lesbian. But hints and gossip intimated that the woman whose hand was on my leg was just that. I was also a little confused by the drink and the party atmosphere. Confused for sure but also somewhat excited and I have to admit aroused I suppose. Sitting there on that stool my skirt above mid thigh looking down and seeing Marcia's fingers, almost idly now, gently touching my bare leg some four or five inches above my knee I just didn't know how to react. I didn't know what I wanted to happen or what I thought might happen. My heart was beating and my mid was racing as I simply stared at that hand and those tempting, suggestive fingers on my leg.
I could move and I guess no face would be lost. I could slip, off the stool, go to the loo, join another group or move away so that I would show I wasn't interested. Or I could, perhaps, place my hand on hers showing that I was interested, maybe press my leg more firmly or even touch her back to show that I was receptive to her. In the end I took the line of least resistance. I did nothing. Nothing to encourage or deter her. I in fact put the ball firmly back in her court, or so I thought.
Marcia was though too experienced to be put off or discouraged by such a simple gesture. No she'd been here before I reckoned. She knew what to do. She must have recognised something in me, some signs or signals. She must have known that she'd primed me. Built me up perfectly. Aroused my interest and reduced my resistance.
She immediately recognised the signal I was transmitting about events now being back in her court. And she was able, ready and so eager to return them right back in mine. After a moment or two instead of just removing her hand she slid it up my legs briefly letting her fingers go under the hem of my skirt and giving the inside of my thigh a little squeeze. Turning she stared right into my eyes with a look of relief, pleasure and assurance on her face. She knew that she had got me.
