I climbed the steps to the secluded house in good cheer. I hadn't seen Matt in almost 20 years, since the summer between our freshman and sophomore years in college. It wasn't that we didn't like each other; I thought he was great. But for differing reasons, neither of us was good at keeping up with people.
I rang the bell. A woman answered it. She wore a maid's outfit that might not clear customs at the border of scandalous. The skirt was so short that bending over at all was sure to display her panties, assuming she was wearing any, and it displayed her cleavage prominently. She would have been six inches taller than I before putting on the four inch heels, but was obviously about my age. Very attractive, mind you, in an aristocratic way but in a mature way. It was quite a spectacle to greet one when renewing acquaintances with an old friend.
I smiled at the sight of her.
"You must be Heather." Her voice was proper, but she posed herself in a way that dripped sex.
"Indeed." I'm sure I smirked.
She stood aside, holding the door and motioned for me to enter. "The Master is in the living room and asked me to show you there. Let me take your bag."
After closing the door, she took the lead. I watched her ass twitch as she walked.
"You look familiar. Do I know you?" she asked, a bit timidly.
"You should. We went to high school together."
***
Six months earlier, I'd been sitting at an outdoor café, waiting to meet an attorney. I'm normally a very patient person, but I drummed my fingers on the table in anticipation. She was late. I didn't really have any legal questions other than some fiction I had concocted. I had an entirely different purpose in mind.
Finally, the click-clack of a professional woman's shoes approached from behind me, and the lawyer in question sat down across from me. "Heather James?"
"That's me," I replied. The sun shone directly over her shoulder, preventing me from getting a good look.
She sat down. "So," she said brusquely, "you need help with a patent."
I nodded, examining her carefully now that I could see her. She'd changed, but not enough to keep her from resembling the Amy Colston I remembered. Her blonde hair was in a much more expensive cut, the gray silk suit was nothing like jeans and a t-shirt and her eyes were mostly hidden by a pair of designer sunglasses, but the face was the same. I'd lusted after her as a teenager, and was already starting to do so again in middle age.
Her laptop landed on the table and she opened it up. "I usually prefer to meet in my office, but I suppose this will do." She still hadn't really looked at me. "You mentioned something about subliminal persuasion on the phone."
"Yes. I have a way of convincing people to do something that you want them to do. I don't know that it's really subliminal. That just seemed like the best way to describe it in shorthand." She reached over and picked up her water. I watched in triumph as she took a swallow.
Amy looked at me with an obviously skeptical expression. "Subliminals don't work. That's been shown over and over again."
"Oh, no. This really works. It could be worth a fortune to the advertising industry." I could almost see her wondering why she'd even taken this meeting. I could have answered that for her, but then it went directly to the claim I'd made. The funny thing was that I'd spoken the truth. I really did have a way to make people do things I wanted, as she was about to learn. The only bit of dishonesty was that it would never, ever go to a patent office.
***
Amy's ass led me to a room decorated in a modern style, all chrome, glass and black leather. Dust and disorder were nowhere in sight. Matt Reynolds stood up as we entered. He'd put on weight and his hairline had drifted backwards a couple of inches, but otherwise looked just the same. "Heather!" He stepped forward, holding out his hand. "It's great to see you."
I ignored the offer to shake hands and stepped up to embrace him. He returned the hug enthusiastically. "Sit down," he insisted when we parted. "God, we have a lot of catching up to do."
I accepted the invitation, noting that Amy stood to his side, within easy reach. "Indeed. What have you been up to? It certainly seems to pay well."
He shrugged. "I guess. First, would you like something to drink?"
"That would be fabulous. Could I get a vodka Collins?"
Matt grinned. "Of course." He looked up at Amy, simultaneously running one hand up the back of her thigh, producing a shiver. "Slut, fetch our guest her drink and I'll have a bourbon." He delivered the insult casually, as if without thinking, but it produced a brief flush of shame in its target.
The maid bowed slightly. "Yes, Master." She left the room, still emphasizing her butt.
We caught up briefly. Matt was in tech, some sort of network engineer. I didn't pursue, because playing to stereotype, I don't understand computers at all. It really is genetic, but not so much because I'm a girl. I claimed that I was research psychologist, which is close enough to being true that it's really just a fudge. Amy returned with two glasses on a tray before I had to go into detail.
I stopped talking to watch her. She bent over far more than was necessary to set the vodka on the table next to me, ensuring I could look down her bodice. It was impressive. When she did the same for Matt, I saw that my surmise about the panties was correct. They even looked a bit damp, which did nothing for the dryness of my own.
"Is that who I think it is?" I asked unnecessarily when she had returned to her station.
Matt laughed. "Oh, yes. Amy Colston, indeed. Slut, this is Heather James. I'm sure you remember her from Groverdale High as well as you do me." She turned a bright crimson.
"Really?" I put as much surprise into my voice as possible.
"Actually," Matt continued, "she's the reason I tracked you down and invited you to stay with me for a weekend." He stroked her thigh again. "She just showed up one day a few months ago. Said she was really sorry for the way she'd treated me in school." He looked up at her as his hand slid between her legs. "What was it you said again?
"
***
I watched with satisfaction as Amy drank the rest of her water. Now the deed was done. "You don't recognize me, do you?"
She looked at me sharply, studying me for the first time.
"I go by Genevieve Étrange now, but it's really just kind of a stage name. I'm Heather James."
