Author's Note:
This is a tale of seduction. The art of seduction involves many subtle phrases and patiently crafted opportunities before the trap is set and then sprung, catching the willing victim. Likewise, this tale of seduction takes time to develop as Margot crafts her words and situations, slowly seducing Sheila while she directs her in a porn video requested by her husband.
For those readers who prefer action without delay, I suggest you select from among the many other fine submissions. But, for my readers who do enjoy a more developed erotic landscape and fleshed-out characters; may you find yourself willingly seduced while immersed in this tale of Sheila's simmerin' surprise summer seduction. --SandyMarl
+++++
"So, do you ever get lonely?"
Margot asked her question with a sideways glance, implying there was a deeper meaning wrapped within its veneer of conversational curiosity.
I hesitated.
I understood the phrasing of Margot's question. She had drawn out her pronunciation of the word 'lonely,' letting the syllables linger and then drip off the tongue. Margot was subtle, but she was unmistakably probing into my sex life.
Sure, I'd confided to Margot many of my intimate moments over the years. I relied on my good friend for advice in those giddy, gushing moments of budding romance and for support during times of anger and pain when those romances failed. Margot always knew what to say, she was a comfort to me. Margot was also gifted in understanding men, something that I envied and admired.
Still, I hesitated. Margot was prying, and I wasn't sure I wanted to come clean on what I considered another intimate failure. I watched as she topped off the glass I had cupped between my hands, my eyes following the lime green liquid as it flowed from the margarita pitcher, floating the ice cubes in my saltless rimmed glass. I focused on my glass, avoiding Margot's gaze.
Like a prowling cat, Margot studied my face as she poured. Margot kept still, sleek and silent; being the good mouser that she was. Margot sat across the table waiting in her cat-silence as she patiently worried her prey - me.
I slumped into the shadows of our corner booth, hoping to conceal my personal secret. My secret shame churned in my chest, getting hotter as I held it tight. It expanded inside me, growing more uncomfortable. The tighter I held my personal failure, the pricklier it grew inside me. I fought to keep my secret hidden. Across from me, Margot crouched in silent expectation.
Margot was folded in dim light, waiting for me to break my silence, loosen my lips and allow my feelings to make a frantic dash into the open where she would pounce like a stalking cat. I held my breath, keeping those suppressed feelings in check. I clenched my jaw, wrestling with those burning embers within to keep them from bursting from my emotional core like a frightened mouse dashing into the open.
I knew this game of emotional cat and mouse quite well. It always ended the same. I don't think that I ever regretted confiding in Margot, but sometimes I wished I was able to keep some secrets to myself. Sometimes, I wished I could be a mysterious woman like Margot.
I lifted my eyes. I was breaking, losing hold of my secret inner life and thoughts. Margot's large brown eyes gripped me, "What's it been? Six, seven weeks? Sheila, it looks like this is a long, long, lonely summer for you."
"Actually, a little more than eight weeks since Rainier left for his remote project. We talk pretty regularly; that is when he can get to a place that gets decent cell phone reception. He tells me about the progress, or lack thereof, on the project. He asks about how I'm doing and if I'm keeping up with the bills and the house maintenance chores while he's gone."
"Bills and chores? Utility bills and household chores?" Margot repeated my statement with a tone of disappointment meant to coax the deeper truth from her confessing confidant. "Sheila, I'd be so disappointed if all Rainier asked from you was to keep up with the bills and chores. I don't know if I'd be more disappointed in my ability to read men, or more disappointed in the character of your man, if bills and chores were the whole truth of what he wanted from you. Hell, eight and one-half weeks?"
"Yeah, it's been a long stretch, but I'm busy at work and I find plenty of things to keep..."
Margot interrupted in her understated voice, a voice that was effective in knocking me back to the original question; "Are you lonely? That's my question. Eight and a half weeks is not healthy or sustainable for a couple. Even nice girls like you need to find some relief and release from the buildup of her inner tensions and intimate desires. Some personal self-care during times like these is only natural and healthy, especially for nice girls -- it keeps them from turning into alley cats," Margot paused, then added in her understated voice, "like me."
"Margot!" I hissed in an indignant whisper, "I don't have to tell you every little intimate detail of my sex life," I insisted as I swiveled my head around, checking for eavesdropping patrons in the mostly empty cantina.
"No. No you don't." Margot moved the half-empty pitcher to the side, folded her arms on the table in front of her, leaned forward perching her full bosom onto her forearms, allowing her low-cut blouse to part under the force from the contents of her bra bunching against the buttons.
Noting her provocative posture, my mind wandered for a brief instant, thinking that Margot was intentionally displaying her seductive and sultry side. Her dangerous side. I quickly corrected my mental course, assuming it meant nothing sexual, only a way for Margot to position herself closer for 'girl talk.' Still, in a secret, wistful way, I admired her figure and wished I could easily assume a casual sexual, seductive posture like Margot. Margot was a mysterious woman, and I was the nice girl. Margot was an alley cat and I wondered if it would be fun to be like Margot -- maybe for just a week.
