Thrill Seekers: Erotic Encounters. Elizabeth Coldwell

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СКАЧАТЬ scooter.’

      Bella guffawed. ‘A baby bike! That’s so precious. I wish I could tuck you in my back pocket and take you home.’

      I wish you could, too, I thought. Home for me was an apartment in North Beach without even a cat for company.

      ‘Look,’ she said, leveling her gaze to meet the query in my eyes. ‘I’m embroiled in a sticky situation right now. We made a connection and I really like you. Give me your number and I’ll call when I’m not so … complicated.’

      I shrugged. It was a ridiculous ritual but one that begged to be gotten through. I wrote my info on a cocktail napkin and watched Bella hop on her motorcycle. She drove a Yamaha Route 66: a real bike.

      I watched her pull away knowing I’d never see her again. Still, I didn’t regret meeting Ms. Sex on Wheels. That was the most excitement I’d ever had in my life. The next time I masturbated, I would simply close my eyes and think of Bella. She tried to look tough but her heart-shaped face, soft hands and delicate mouth betrayed how beautiful she really was.

      And the way she kissed and caressed my bottom after the spanking proved she was a giver not just a taker. If only she had looked over her shoulder as she pulled out of the parking lot; I would have followed her to the moon if she had dared me.

      ***

      In the morning, I considered calling in sick but knew my voice would have sounded too elated to fool anyone. I had a dreary, albeit well-paying, job at an insurance company and I didn’t dare lose it. I had moved to a very expensive city. My employer was a severe woman who never smiled and always wore pantsuits with those embarrassing frilly shells that went out of style in the 70s. She caught me daydreaming twice and pulled me into her office.

      ‘You’re having difficulty concentrating today, Ashley. Is there a problem?’

      ‘No, Ma’am.’ And then, because her lips made no effort to move and she wasn’t going to dismiss me without further explanation, I added, ‘I met someone.’

      ‘Indeed.’ Steepling her branchlike fingers, she sat up straight in her leather wingback chair. ‘If I catch you dawdling again I’ll require you to compose a memo to me explicating the exact reasons for your inability to focus. If that’s not enough to rein in your imagination you’ll want to have a contingency plan.’

      No doubt about it: Ms. Swanson was a first-rate bitch. To this day, I can’t remember her first name. It began with a ‘P’, I think. Once, during my first week on the job, I addressed her as something other than ‘Ms. Swanson’. She pulled me aside and said, ‘Ashley, in this office, superiors will be addressed by their surnames.’

      The faux pas was reflected in a fun house mirror of other transgressions I’d make until finally mastering a labyrinth of office etiquette rules.

      Of course this superior was the object of relentless fantasies. She wasn’t a woman I wanted to have sex with but she loomed large in an imagination that would not be quashed.

      If Ms. Swanson knew how I climaxed to images of her working as a spandex-clad dominatrix, spanking bosomy secretaries prone to coffee spills and typos, she would have sent me manacled and defeated to Alcatraz for sure.

      Funny how movies filmed in San Francisco never focus on the working class. All the shots would have to be black and white and everyone would look the same because working stiffs all shop at the same thrift stores. Since I didn’t come from a rich family, I had to experience glamour obliquely. Let my body be my passport.

      ***

      When Bella surprised me with a phone call, I was more than ready for another adventure.

      ‘Hi, hot chick,’ she said, by way of greeting. ‘You forgot to tell me where you’ve been all my life.’

      ‘Ha. I moved here from Florida. Had to work a lot of jobs before I could save up to come here, the Promised Land.’ Florida! For all the sweet manna in heaven I would never go back to that state. I keep hoping the bugs will carry it off so the alligators can cavort without the constant threat of human malice.

      ‘Hmm. Well, I’m calling to invite you to a party tomorrow. In fact, let’s make a day of it. I’ll take you to lunch, we’ll do a little sightseeing and then it’s off to Twin Peaks for a good time in the hills. Sound doable?’

      I scratched my chin. ‘As luck would have it, I’m only working in the morning tomorrow. Our office is shutting down for some asbestos cleaning. Only … I don’t have any Kim Novak outfits to wear to a gala in the Peaks.’

      ‘You really are a femme! We’ll go shopping tomorrow. Ashley, hon, I’m going to show you the real San Francisco and you’re going to like it very much.’

      I had no doubt about that.

      ***

      First we went to Fisherman’s Wharf for some whiskey crab soup. Next stop: Ghirardelli Square to gorge on hot-fudge sundaes.

      There was a boutique that seemed custom-made for wayward blondes travelling with well-heeled lesbian friends on their way to a party in the hills. Bella picked out and purchased a pair of Capri pants along with an embroidered madras shirt.

      ‘Voilà!’ my new friend said, handing over the glossy embossed bags. ‘Instant, appropriate, soirée attire.’

      When Bella took me by the hand and dragged me into the Wax Museum, I said, ‘You’ve got to be kidding.’

      ‘C’mon. It’ll be fun. It’s probably deserted on a weekday.’

      ‘All the more reason not to be trapped in the Chamber of Horrors.’

      Who would have thought a wax museum would be the best place in the city to make out? As I shuddered at the Titanic display, Bella slipped her warm palms under my shirt and cupped my breasts, grazing each nipple with her thumbs.

      We didn’t last long in the Bloody Chamber. Every time I shrieked, she covered my mouth with her sensual lips. After making out in every room, we left the dark strange world for the promise held by the rest of the day.

      ‘You left your bike at home,’ I said, stating the obvious when she opened her car door for me. A shiny new BMW.

      ‘What do you do for a living, Bella?’

      She checked her rearview mirror before backing out into traffic. ‘I’m a bartender.’

      ‘No, seriously.’

      Giving me a sideways glance, she said, ‘Seriously. This car was a gift from my aunt.’

      OK. So I was on my way to a bash with a woman who trussed her boobs and was possibly mafia connected. Welcome to my world.

      ***

      An elegant woman wearing a white silk tank over perfectly tan skin answered the door. She ushered us past the tiled foyer into the main living room where women were huddled in pairs and groups. I was instantly aroused before checking my naughty thoughts at the door. Bella could unspool the very threads off my back, leaving me naked and hitching a ride if I so much as ogled another woman’s décolletage.

      Was she the jealous type? СКАЧАТЬ