What to do with two gorgeous women?
I want to thank the readers of my story Living Works of Art not just for your generous ratings of stars, but also for your wonderful comments! I hope you are not disappointed with this sequel, but at least the sale of the ten-million-dollar apartment is included. I tried to write the story so that you do not really have to read the preceding story.
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Susan had stayed over at my place again. She still wanted to keep her own place. Neither one of us was ready to take the step of living together even if by now Susan had taken over one of the closets in my big two-bedroom apartment. She kept duplicates of all her feminine products too at my place. These ranged from make-up remover to a panoply of nail polish in an enormous array of colors to several different perfumes to banal items such as tampons. Luckily my apartment has one and one half baths, so I gave her all the counter space in the main bathroom and banished myself to the small one off the kitchen. Women need a lot of space. Her periods were beginning to get irregular and she felt the dreaded menopause was around the corner.
Susan was simply born a pretty woman. Even when she woke in the morning she looked gorgeous. After a cup of coffee, she could melt a heart of stone with her smile. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and when they looked at me, they shone with love. I was living a dream.
The problem with living a dream is that dreams tend to end when you wake up. I was determined never to wake up from this one, but when the telephone rang and I saw the caller ID, I woke up. Who calls at 6AM? Only one person would do that. I knew who it was even before I saw the caller ID.
"Good morning, Carol. How are you?" I said into the phone. 6AM in New York is 3AM in California and it's a strange time to be calling your ex. Carol is my ex-wife. The one flaw Susan has is that I suspect she is jealous of Carol. This is silly. I'm over Carol. Susan silently brought me a coffee as I listened to Carol on the other end of the phone. Susan saw my expression and she gave me some privacy. She knew whatever was going on over the phone was heavy.
One of the things about getting older is that your friends and family die around you if you live long enough. I had lost both of my parents long ago. Now apparently it was Carol's turn, and her mother had gone to sleep and never waked. Carol was coming to New York for the funeral. Our daughter Samantha was coming, too. I had not seen Samantha for years. This had been due to Samantha's refusal to see me.
I had loved Carol's mother. She had treated me as the long-lost son she had never had. Carol has a brother, true, but I represented the kind of son Carol's mother wanted to have had, not the son she actually did have. She even took my side in the divorce. I had stayed in touch with her after the divorce. At times I'm sure she felt closer to me than she did to Carol. Carol had moved to California to pursue her Silicon Valley dreams and was out of the picture.
Susan seemed to know everything even before I spoke. I have a transparent face and Susan was remarkably adept at reading it. She was disarmingly talented at inference. Give the woman a few scraps of information and a few facial expressions and she will weave together a story which is right more often than not.
Susan and I sat together in silence, sipping our morning coffee. I made us eggs and toast and we sat at the table for breakfast. Over easy for Susan and scrambled for me. Susan was a relocation specialist in the real estate industry. She had an executive coming in from St. Louis that day and she had twelve properties lined up for him to see, all in one long day. He had been abruptly transferred to New York for at least the next five years. The company was paying him a fortune for relocation expenses. Susan only had a half hour before she had to meet him.
I assured Susan I would be fine, and she left for the Sotheby's office where she was to meet the guy. I was always a little leery about Susan showing apartments to men who were prepared to pay over five million dollars for an apartment. My anxiety stemmed from the story she had told me about the time she showed an apartment to a man who was close to making an offer. The asking price was ten million dollars. Susan's commission if she sold such an apartment would be around $300,000 before taxes.
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Susan is not a twenty something bimbo. No, she's in her mid-forties but she has the body of a hot twenty something woman and the face of a Greek goddess. She told me a story about the first time she had sold an apartment to a member of the mega rich. At the time of this story she was in her mid-thirties. One can only imagine how sexy she was ten years earlier, given how sexy I find her this very day!
Sometimes when she shows off an apartment she tries to emphasize its sex appeal, if she intuits that's a way to get to the buyer. She gave me a sample when we began dating. She sat in the powder room area and pretended to be putting on make-up and asked if I could not imagine my wife sitting right there, perhaps in her bra and panties, applying make-up as she got ready for the day.
What I imagined of course was Susan herself sitting there in her bra and panties. She told me she had done this for a zillionaire who was close to making an offer on a ten-million-dollar apartment. He was from Bangalore, and his name was Mr. Ravishankar. It's easy for me to remember because I grew up with the music of Ravi Shankar and his influence on George Harrison of the Beatles.
The client Mr. Ravishankar told Susan he had a poor imagination and could she model using the powder room table for him in her bra and panties? Susan smiled politely at him, giggled to make light of his request, and declined. She quickly moved to another part of the huge apartment to show him the picture windows.
"Can people see in via these windows?" Ravishankar asked.
"Mostly, no. We're too high. Only the windows of buildings the same height or higher would be able to see into this window. This limits it severely," Susan said. "You'd have lots of privacy. Only a few windows might be able to see into your apartment when the drapes are open."
"I want you to prove it. Take off your clothes, Miss Hansen," he said.
"Excuse me?" Susan replied.
"I want you to demonstrate the privacy of these windows by removing your clothes right in front of them," he said.
"You like to make jokes, don't you?" Susan replied, laughing nervously. Susan had a quite fetching nervous laugh.
"Miss Hansen, I'm willing to pay around ten million dollars for this apartment. At the very least you can back up your claims by putting your clothes where your quite beautiful mouth is, now can't you?" he said.
"I think this is inappropriate behavior. I'm trying to convince you to buy this apartment, true, but I think you can decide how private it is or not is without me getting naked right here and right now. Maybe you would like to see the wine cellar and the storage facilities in the basement now?" Susan said, and she flashed one of her brilliant smiles.
"Let me sweeten things, Miss Hansen. Regardless of whether or not I make a successful bid on this apartment, I will give you five thousand dollars cash right now if you demonstrate its privacy by stripping naked for me," Mr. Ravishankar said.
At the time, Susan needed money. She did not need money so badly that she had to make the sale on the apartment. If she did she would be in clover. But $5,000 would go a long way to putting her personal finances above water regardless of the sale of the apartment.
A thought flashed through her mind. It was a time when Susan was rather casual about all things sexual. It was just one of many delightful features of the woman. She made a decision.
"I always tell the truth, Mr. Ravishankar," Susan said, as she began to remove her blouse.
"Call me Ravi, Miss Hansen," he said, his eyes glued to her every movement.
"You may call me Susan," Susan said as she removed her pantyhose, putting her leg on a chair and sexily peeling the hose down, one leg at a time. Susan noticed the lump in Ravi's pants as it grew, and he adjusted his stance for comfort. His evident arousal amused her.
"Do you have the money with you, on your person? Five thousand dollars in cash is a lot of money for a man to carry around," Susan said as she released the catch on her skirt and unzipped it.
"My servant has it. I'll text him right now to bring it up here. Don't worry I'll meet him at the door. You won't be exposed," Ravi said.
"Thank you," Susan said, as her skirt dropped to the floor. She stood in front of Ravi in her bra and panties. I know from my own personal enjoyable experiences that Susan favors lace bra and panty sets. A consequence of such a sartorial choice is that it is easy to see the important lady bits right through the lace. She has one bra which is especially revealing. I love it when she wears that bra.
