I, obviously knew her from the shoot, 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 newspaper and boy-friends. She was surprisingly easy to talk with, although 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, bird like me.
We all drank quite a lot and everyone was laughing, particularly 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, but then the guys gossiped about most women who were either 'right slags,' 'real goers' or 'lessies,' this was well before PC reared its ugly head. Hence, when her attention became a bit closer than with straight woman I was a little scared, but also hugely flattered. After all she was an older, experienced woman, a luminary in the ad industry and a very striking and, I suppose, sexy woman. Other than some brief fumblings with other girls at parties, there was nothing in my experience to call upon, I had no idea how to handle her or what to do. 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 for I had no idea what to do. It hit me as she looked into my eyes while her fingers lightly touched the back of my hand that also I didn't want to do anything for I was enjoying it.
When she turned her head, which accentuated her long, slender neck, and looked at me she held my gaze probably longer than was needed. Although my womanly instincts told me one thing, I wasn't at all sure that I was even reading the situation correctly; after all creative people are very 'touchy feely.' I suppose, though, that I may have sent out some signals to her for I also held her gaze as she did mine. I didn't know for sure whether 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 industry are. When she leaned back and let her hand fall on the seat of my chair so that it brushed against my leg I wasn't quite so sure. When she left it there and gently rubbed the side of my bottom I didn't become sure, but I did think she was probably suggesting something.
Dinner broke up and a number of us went to the very small bar. I was in a corner at the end of the bar sitting on a stool when Marcia and most of 'brass' 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. The rather short skirt had ridden well up my thighs so quite a lot of my legs were on view, but in the thick, black tights that didn't matter. 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 being 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. However, 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 hem 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 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 brandy glass and was asking me about my job as if nothing at all was happening. 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 nylon covered leg. This time it was not a quick or surreptitious movement. No this time I watched as the perfectly manicured, white, square cut nails stretched over the fleshy part of my leg just above my knee and I 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 and 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. I was well outside my comfort zone and area of familiarity. This was clearly big girl's stuff. It was beyond the messing around with girls, the limited sex with boys and the fling with the older guy that my short sex life had experienced. It was also with someone who it was rumoured could be lesbian, even though she was married and had children.
Whilst I didn't consider that I had such tendencies, I was by no means sure of my sexuality. Recently, I had become alarmed at the way I felt with men, the odd combination of feelings I had when I held, or had a cock in me. The blend of excitement and revulsion, of desire and guilt and of curiosity and fear. The stronger feelings I was recently experiencing when I looked at women and saw a little too much leg or breasts. So yes I was mixed up and so unsure about just what I wanted from sex.
I was also a little confused by the drink and the party atmosphere. Confused for sure, but also very excited and I have to admit aroused. Sitting there on that bar stool my skirt above mid-thigh looking down and seeing Marcia's fingers, almost idly now, gently touching my leg some eight 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 or indeed if anything would happen. My heart was beating and my mind 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. I knew that I couldn't do that for I was not particularly attracted to her, at least not on a sexual level, well I was I suppose, but hadn't yet admitted that to myself. In the end I took the line of least resistance. I did nothing. I did nothing to encourage or deter her. I in fact put the ball firmly back in her court, or so I thought.
Marcia was, though, clearly too experienced to be put off or discouraged by such a simple gesture. No, obviously she had been here before. She knew what to do. She must have recognised something in me, some signs or signals. I had no idea that I had transmitted any indication of either, being bi, interested in her or being available. She must have known that somehow she'd primed me, built me up perfectly, maybe 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 it 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. There was absolutely no way that could be a mistake and that gesture could be nothing but a come on, a request, an asking for something from me. Turning she stared right into my eyes and with a look of relief, pleasure and assurance on her face she smiled and raised her thin eyebrows. I did nothing, but smiled back. I think it was then that she felt she had got me. I just couldn't think. I didn't know what to do or even think. I had no clear idea on what I was feeling or what I wanted. I couldn't recall ever really having a lesbian feeling in my life. I had only rarely recently wondered what another girl or woman looked like naked and I had never had a strong urge to go beyond the brief kisses and cuddles that young women exchange. Yet here I was sitting on a bar stool as a much older woman made an overtly lesbian gesture towards me. I suppose by sitting there as her fingertips ran along the hem of my skirt I was accepting her invitation. But what was the invitation for, I wondered in my slightly tipsy state?
The party started breaking up shortly after that and following the usual rather exaggerated kisses and hugs. I should have left with the others from the newspaper, but something stopped me. There were only four or five of the film unit left with Marcia and me. The others were sitting round the fire in easy chairs with Marcia standing with them. They were finishing a bottle of the local single malt. I was still where I had been all evening in the corner by the bar. I had remained sitting on the stool and forgetfully I had not pulled my skirt down so it was now almost up to my crutch. Fortunately, in some ways, tights provide a woman with security and to an extent, protection. It seems far more reasonable to show most of your legs when in tights than with bare legs or when wearing stockings. That's why I guess we tend to 'flash our pins' more when wearing them, that and knowing almost whatever happens our panties will not be exposed through the nylon, particularly if they are the same colours and mine were, black.
Marcia turned, looked at me, smiled and raised her whisky glass. She mouthed what looked like 'salute' said something to the guys and walked over to me. I was hellishly nervous as she came up close to me and bought me another drink. She smiled at me very confidently and said lightly.
"Your place or mine Tina?" I stammered out that I didn't know and she said. "Why don't you make your goodbyes now and wait in your cabin for me? I'll only be twenty minutes or so."
Almost transfixed with the situation and the awe I suppose of firstly being so comprehensively 'pulled' and secondly by such a rich, famous and glamorous woman wanting me I did as she said. As I said my good nights to the camera crew I hardly thought about what I was doing. It didn't really hit me that I had just accepted a lesbian advance and that I had agreed to her visiting my room presumably for us to have sex. It also didn't occur to me that the four guys might have realised what was happening between Marcia and me as equally I didn't even consider that this might be quite the norm for her.
In the room, though, the nerves really set in and I didn't know what to do. I wondered for a moment if I was dreaming and I would wake up. Could this really be happening? Could a mature and worldly-wise, successful woman like Marcia really want me? More to the point, I realised, could a young, rather sexually naïve junior writer, with as good as no bi experience and no previous desires to have sex with another woman, be receptive to such a situation? Smiling to myself as I recalled the feel of Marcia's fingers on my leg, I realised that yes she could be receptive. I realised that for accompanying the nerves was a tingling all over my skin, a heat in my tummy and fullness in my breasts, which seemed to feel heavier and warmer than usual. I recognised that I was sexually aroused and that Marcia was causing that.
But I didn't know what to do. I had no experience bank to call on. I'd never had sex in a hotel only in a guy's flat, my bed at home once and a few times in cars. I had never had to wait in my room for 'my lover' and of course, I had never been in a position where sex with another woman was the only agenda item.
