All the barfly's heads turned and all conversations stopped when Dr. Margo Svensen-Barnes walked into the rustic but chic hotel bar. Young female single guests, as was Dr. Svensen-Barnes, often turned heads and stopped idle talk. She was one of a series of women who came in here alone, met a handsome dude, had a few drinks, danced a few slow numbers, and disappeared into the hotel. Every barfly understood she was off limits to them, but the vicarious thrill of watching the action was the highlight they had come to witness.
Some were young and beautiful, but this one was something else again. As she bounced along in a red skirt and white blouse with a generous amount of cleavage, she resembled a high school cheer leader more than she resembled a grown woman waiting for her lover.
Margie, her chosen nickname, was used to attention, but not this type. She made her way to the end of the bar where she took a seat on what the barflies called the fuck stool. It was the farthermost stool at the far end of the bar. That's where women awaiting their lovers sat. Margie had been told that and she knew she was being watched. She thought, "Oh god I hope he's on time. I don't want to do something gauche, like throw up,"
The veteran bartender had seen them all for a number of years, but this one was the best of the bunch. He regained control long enough to ask, "What will it be maam?
She had been told to show off a bit, as would a classy lady on a lark, "A glass of 2006 Chateau Montelena estate Cabernet Sauvignon please." If she was going to emulate an alley cat later, she would first drown her butterflies with good booze. She hoped that cabernet sauvignon was good stuff. For all her knowledge she knew little about wine.
The bartender was impressed, but not enough to jeopardize his job. "I'm afraid I'll have to ask for an ID maam."
She smiled up at him, even leaned forward to give him a better look down her cleavage and answered, "Of course." Then she showed him her driver's license.
Surely this young kid couldn't be twenty-four! He'd have to have more verification, but he hoped he could keep her in the joint. A good show by one of the special guests kept the bar filled and the tips coming. And this one was just so sexy. Whatever she was up to figured to be exciting. But, business was business and no excuses were allowed, "Maam I'm sorry but I'll need to see another ID. I'm afraid it's the law."
Oh hell! She had practiced her role so much, and wanted the evening to go perfectly. And if she couldn't convince him she was an adult she might have to show her card from the Jet Propulsion Laboratory. Could he even believe a little girl in a ponytail had a doctorate in astrophysicist? Having both beauty and a brain could be such a pain, especially when she had stepped out of character and changed her white smock for a bouncy skirt and blouse.
Just as Margo started to rummage through her purse for the card embossed with the seal of the National Air and Space Administration, an authoritative voice interceded. "Dammit Henry, stop heckling the young lady. She's twenty-four years old, and , my date for the evening. Now bring her the fancy wine so I can go about my business of seducing her." It came from a tall buff dude who had quietly slipped in and was watching this evening's sex partner from a few stools away.
Oh the incongruity! A mixture of wanton sex, a scientist of things in outer space, and a buff lover with a sense of humor! It was more than Margo could handle. She broke into giggles nearly falling off her stool. As for Henry, he had a story he would tell for years, if only he knew whom he was dealing with. But first he scurried off to fetch the drink.
The newcomer gave her a smile as broad as his shoulders. He leaned over and asked, "Little nervous are we, young lady?"
"I was when I came in, all dolled up like a high school trollop, but this takes the cake. You broke the spell for nervousness, and I'm all agog for what comes next." Then she held out her hand and said, "Oh I'm Margie, and you're the guy who's going to seduce me?"
"Well, I'm Sam, and yes I am. But, let's do it right. Remember seduction implies your having some reluctance in being seduced. Please don't overdo the reluctance. A woman who can laugh at my jokes ought to make a good lover." As he was talking his eyes examined every bit of her partially covered body. .
She gave him even more to see. She deliberately moved so her skirt moved higher up her thighs and a slight stretch made her boobs protrude into her cleavage even more.
The wine arrived along with a shot and a beer for Sam. Sam must have been a regular in the place. He paid for the drinks and tipped the bartender a twenty. "Now get lost Henry. I have some serious business to discuss with this young lady."
They sipped their drinks. Finally the young lady reminded him she was there, "Ahem! Just how does a good seduction work?"
"Indeed! I think the logical first step is for us to dance slowly and rub our bodies together,"
The small dance floor was obviously designed for intimacy. Two other couples were sharing it -- both holding each other tight and hands moving. Taking the cue from the others, Margie moved in close, put one arm around Sam and pressed her tits against his thin shirt. She said, "Let's leave logic out of it. I'm willing to abandon it in favor of emotion now."
A little dancing to nestle their bodies, then she turned her face to his, pulled his head down and gave him a quick brush across the lips. He smiled down at her and returned the kiss, this time a classic and expert French kiss. She did her part by opening her mouth slightly. Soon their tongues were playing a miniature version of the body dancing that was scheduled to come later. She moved her body against his and gave with a little gasp as she felt his hand on her ass.
Only one man had ever put his hands there, and she what knew a lady was expected to do if another tried it. She did no such thing! She just moved in closer until she felt a distinct hardness in his crotch as his hand fondled her. When she backed away her face was flushed. Almost breathless she said. "Sam, I have to do something. Please wait for me. I will be right back. I promise." Then she looked him in the eye, kissed her fingers, laid them to his lips, and walked away to the lady's room. On the way she paid obeisance to the bar flies with a big smile and made her way into the loo.
***
Margo's story, including her planned seduction, is an unusual one. But, then Dr. Margo Svenson-Barnes was an unusual woman. She had been born twenty-four years earlier, the daughter of a Berkeley mathematics professor, and his wife, the editor of a large magazine. Both were PhDs. The parents' most fervent hope was that little Margie, as they dubbed her, would be just be a bright, but normal, kid. They were half right. She was bright indeed. Normal children do not start talking in complete sentences at age two. Nor do they start reading adult books before they are four.
Indeed, Margie started reading before she was strong enough to hold any of her favorite tomes, a volume of the Encyclopaedia Brittanica. Rather than sitting in front of the boob tube, she would more likely be found lying on the floor turning the pages of the huge volume. When questioned on it she seemed to have memorized it. At the rate she was going she would always know more than any of her teachers. Her mom pulled some strings and got the producers of Jeopardy to give her the preliminary test for the children's annual contest. She aced it. Then she took the preliminary test for adults. Again she aced it with a score higher than Ken Jennings had made on his audition. She was never offered a spot on the show. Nobody would believe a little kid could know that much.
The doctors Barnes had a super genius on their hands, but they refused acknowledge the IQ test which qualified her for the Triple Nine Club. They knew a public school could not be where their child would matriculate. Two loving, educated, and bright parents would teach the kid at home, and the world of academia was anxious to help them The University of California had just such a program, complete with tests designed for standard textbooks and the curriculum for each grade. Margie aced them years earlier than other children her age.
In addition, her mom and dad tried to teach her how to act normal. As elated as the parents were as having a super smart kid, they also determined to imbue her with common sense to keep her from being considered a freak.
It was successful only to a point. When some of her little friends giggled and showed her the fixins of anatomically correct dolls, Margie gave them the scientifically correct names for what they called Barbie and Ken's titties, peters, and pee pee holes. Five-year-olds would go home after playing with Margie intending to talk about milk ducts, aureoles, penises, vaginas and labia. Fortunately for their own well being none remembered such words long enough to get in trouble.
Margie's abilities to learn astounded the professors, as they lined up to both teach her and to try to figure out just what her brain was capable of. One compared her to a computer with an infinite amount of free space where knowledge stayed in her brain waiting to be called up on a moment's notice. Her only problem was staying normal, and that was because she was simply out of step with other students. When most girls were struggling with algebra they were also learning how to deal with menstruation. Margie confronted algebra when she was seven, long before she developed "up there." She continued and got a perfect score on every test en route to calculus via trigonometry. She graduated at age twelve. The only questions missed were those where she extrapolated items from the textbook and got logically right answers on a new level.
Moving away to college was out of the question. Socially she would be far behind her more experienced classmates in the school of life as learned from their interactive socially activities. She entered UC Berkeley where Dad was part of the faculty. Margo graduated summa cum laude at fifteen with two majors, bachelors of science in biology and physics. Her post graduate education was assured when Cal Tech came a'running.
Her dad made arrangements with the doctors Joseph and Harriet Gladstone, a professor and his wife at Cal Tech to house their daughter and watch out for her. Again Margie aced the courses and ere long was assigned a mentor for her post graduate work. Harriett Gladstone the professor's wife was a gynecologist. Aunt Harriet, as Margie called her, not only watched out for the prodigy, she included a comprehensive tutoring in sex, including orgasms, erogenous zones, menstrual cycles, and how they all worked together to populate the earth.
For the first time the girl's curiosity went beyond mere curiosity. These things weren't something happening billions of light years away. As she grew she could feel them in her body, and most of the things she felt, felt good. Harriett knew the kid was masturbating but accepted it without question. It was part of the normality her parents wanted. When Margies's questions dealt with things beyond staid facts, Aunt Harriet patiently tried to explain the excitement of an erotic feeling. She knew the young scientist couldn't quite comprehend the feelings of utter bliss but she would recognize it and welcome it, not fear the unknown.
Her mentor Dr. Charles Barnes saw an extremely intelligent and extremely vibrant woman, albeit one some twenty-five younger than he was. Margie adored him. By the time she was awarded her PhD in astrophysics she was eighteen and eager to finally do what many girls her age had been doing for several years. The marriage was a natural.
