Although some people clearly don't like slow build-ups and tease I am gratified by the feedback to some of my stories that other folk really like them. I have tried to cater for both in this chapter as I build up to the next chapter(s?) which will bring Joan's tale to a climax.
Partly for my own enjoyment and partly to help the story along I really do like to develop characters and their feelings, reactions, etc. As well as hopefully building up a tease I feel it also makes the characters a bit more real too.
FOR THOSE WHOP PREFER TO GET STRAIGHT TO THE ACTION I HAVE FLAGGED WHERE IT STARTS WITH A ROW OF -*-*-*-*- AS OPPOSED TO JUST ______.
Hope you enjoy it – if you do I would value your comments
ALL CHARACTERS AND PLACE NAMES ARE FICTIONAL
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As she drove, Joan's felt the same mixture of excitement, nervousness and shame that she had felt earlier when on her way to meet her first blind date, who had turned out to be her former neighbor, David. Snapshot-like scenes came to her mind. The initial shock of recognising him when he turned round to face her. The cat-and-mouse game in the bar until they both agreed to retire to the room she had booked. The provocative glimpses of herself she had given him. The way she had stood astride him to let him gaze up her skirt. The French maid role-play.
She recalled with a thrill the hunger in his eyes, the burning desire that he had felt – and nurtured – for her over several years, and the intensity of its release as he came inside her. She thought of the feel of his younger body, his tender and ardent caresses and kisses, and of the naughty role-play. She felt a surge of squishy delight as the images flooded her mind.
But just a few hours after having sex three times with David, she was now heading to meet another stranger, a man who was a few years older than she was and who was married. And she was hoping that the encounter would lead to sex. She felt a twinge of shock at her wantonness.
She tried not to guess Laurence's appearance to avoid disappointment. She tried, too, not to try to speculate about his liking to be "dominated a little". She tried instead to think about mundane things like what to add to her shopping list, and tasks that needed to be done in the garden. And over and over again she reminded herself that for the time ahead she was Brenda, not Joan.
Her nervous excitement grew as each motorway roadsign she passed counted down the distance to her destination. At last she left the motorway and approached the outskirts of the city. She looked at her watch, reassuring herself that she was on schedule.
Her stomach churned as she saw and approached the Black Bull pub and pulled into the car park. A navy blue BMW was among the parked cars, and she wondered whether it was Laurence's. She sat for a few moments to compose herself. She played with her wedding ring. It seemed futile to remove it – it would leave a visible mark around her finger where it had been anyway, so she left it in place.
A couple in their thirties approached the pub doorway as she got out of the car. Joan's partly unbuttoned skirt flashed a glimpse of her thigh as she did so, and the bloke furtively checked her out before entering the pub with his partner. Joan took it as a good omen and followed a few yards behind them.
She pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside. It was a weeknight and not too busy. She made herself look straight ahead at the bar to avoid making eye contact with the wrong man. She had described herself on the telephone and would wait for Laurence to approach her. The suspense was agonising but after just a few steps a voice she recognised spoke just behind her, questioningly, "Brenda?"
She turned round.
He was about her own height. He was not hugely overweight but, as he had said, he was carrying a few more pounds than he should. He wore glasses, and was balding. The crescent of hair he had was short and greying. He was clean-shaven and although dressed casually, his trousers, jacket, and shoes, and even his shirt, were clearly well made and expensive.
She smiled, though she felt silly and out of her depth, unsure whether to shake hands, offer him a peck on the cheek, or neither. Laurence, however, beamed reassuringly at her and guided her to a quiet table. He enquired what she would like to drink and returned with a Britvic orange for her and what looked like a pint of shandy for himself.
Despite his plain appearance, he proved to be engaging and witty. He looked into her face as they chatted. And although he allowed his eyes to drift to her breasts form time to time, she felt flattered rather than uncomfortable. His glance alighted on her wedding ring. She was tempted to explain that she only wore it to protect her from unwanted attention. But she decided against it. It felt deliciously naughty to pretend she was still married and playing away from home. In fact it felt like payback on her cheating ex-husband.
After a brief awkward lull in the conversation they discovered a mutual interest in cats. Laurence was flattered that she knew of the unusual breeds that he owned, and was quite a raconteur about their antics. He also had some amusing anecdotes from his legal career. They both began to feel more relaxed together.
The younger man and his partner who had seen her get out of her car were sitting at a table not far from Laurence and her. Joan saw the man furtively glancing at her thigh. She was embarrassed yet glad that she had left some of the buttons at the side of her skirt unfastened. She was showing enough to catch the eye yet little enough to appear respectable and innocent of any intention to arouse. She shuffled forward to make her skirt fall open just a little more. It felt very naughty to court deliberately the gaze of other men while she chatted to her "date". The man's girlfriend glared and hit him on the arm. Joan had to hide her gratified smirk behind her glass.
And as she chatted with Laurence and enjoyed the glances of the bloke at the nearby table she called to mind with a thrill what neither Laurence, nor her secret admirer, nor anybody else in the quiet pub would ever guess. Under her respectable outer clothes she was dressed to kill in her appearance, she was dressed to kill in her stockings, suspenders, corset and matching panties. And in her bag she had scarlet satin gloves. And a packet of condoms – flavoured ones at that!
Joan smiled to herself at her outrageousness.
"Anyway, Brenda," Laurence said in his soft, refined voice, "let's be honest. We didn't meet to chat about Abyssinian and Somali cats and their antics."
Fortunately Joan had been making a conscious effort throughout to listen for, and respond to, her pseudonym. Laurence casually looked around to ensure that nobody could overhear, then leaned forward.
"About your advert and my response, my dear," Laurence continued. "I am flattered that you agreed to meet me. I tried to explain that I am nothing to look at and that I am past my prime. I also mentioned my marital status and my, ah... PENCHANT to you."
Joan smiled to herself at his formality and especially at the way he said "penchant" in an emphatically French accent. Besides seeming quaint, it also reminded her of her earlier French maid naughty role-play with David.
