“You will always be my fantasy, because you were and always will be everything she is not.” – C. Carroll
I sat there watching her move from afar, waiting for her to acknowledge my presence. I wasn’t able to hear what she was saying but whatever the conversation she was passionate, describing each word with her hands, stopping every few seconds to move the stray hairs from her face. She was flawless, she was perfection; she was the epitome of class and grace. She stood all of five foot-three inches tall with her heels giving her an extra four and a half inches to about five-nine. Her frame was slender underneath her black form fitting dress that showed off each curve ever so graciously. Her skin was fair and flawless, eyes a frightening shade of grey that made me wonder if she stared long enough would she be able to see inside my soul. Her hair was long and dark but on this particular day she wore it in a neat bun atop her head. She was gorgeous, there was just no other way to describe her; her presence in itself made me feel like a kid in the principal’s office waiting to be chastised, my palms were sweating and I couldn’t stop fidgeting. I kept straightening my tie and wiping my pants as I waited for my one o’clock meeting that was now fifteen minutes past due.
“Mr. Price, a pleasure.” She held out her hand to mine as I rose to greet her as a lady should be greeted. “Please, accept my sincerest of apologies on having you wait; the acquisition of fine art can be and is a very taxing task at times. Shall we head back to my office and chat?” I was almost lost in a trance watching and listening to her speak hanging on to her every word; until I remembered why I was there to begin with. “The wait was no problem at all, I am honored you were able to take the time to meet with I know you are in high demand. So the pleasure truly is all mine.” I followed closely behind her studying her every move trying to learn her during the brief walk back to her office. Once inside I was again impressed, her office walls were adorned with pieces of art that only a true collector and appreciator of beauty could understand, the statues and other items strategically placed spoke volumes of who she was and what she liked. I kept my eyes locked on her as she walked around to take a seat behind her desk, now we were face to face and I was losing myself inside of all things that were her.
“Nice tie, Ferragamo? The polka dot pattern is a great contrast against the Japanese madras pattern of your shirt, you have an eye I see. Is your taste in art comparable or will you need me to teach you a few things?” Her compliments and question both flattered and amused me, it had been quite some time since I’d conversed about either of the two with a woman other than my mother. Who always told me I looked nice even in sweatpants because that’s what mothers are supposed to do. “Ferragamo? Yes and my taste in art is more closely related to my taste in women.” My mouth was moving faster than my brain because I was speaking aloud before completing the thought in my head. “Oh? And what is your taste in women if you don’t mind my inquisition? You have me intrigued.” She sat back in her chair and crossed her legs showing off the definition in the muscle in her calf that only a true runner like myself could appreciate as well as the red bottom to her shoes. Her eyes locked intensely on mine undoubtly checking to see if I was uncomfortable and surely waiting on my response. “I am only interested in the highly unattainable. Those finer more exquisite pieces that take time, effort and patience to acquire. The easy pieces are the cheap, usually the fakes or replicas rather, I prefer authentic, rare and expensive.” I watched her closely as she repositioned herself in the white leather chair, this time crossing her legs in the opposite direction.
“Interesting. So when we spoke on the phone in plans of this meeting you talked briefly of your art history students at the local college you tenure at, tell me more about them and your work. But most importantly tell me how I can be of a service to you and them.”
She wanted me to tell her about some college kids and art history shit and all I could think about was taking her out of that tight ass black dress and laying her softly across that glass top desk she was perched behind; I didn’t mind the shoes she could keep those on. There was no way possible I could continue this meeting with my dick continually rising in my slacks at the thought of penetrating something so sweet that I was sure it dripped honey and peach juice. I needed to adjust myself but her eyes were locked in on me waiting for my reply. “I’m going to be honest with you Ms. Outlaw, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes and your intellect makes you that much more attractive. Let’s just cut through the bullshit and be honest, you are sexy as shit, no disrespect and given the chance I would do things to you, you’ve only dreamed about. So pardon my silence because as I am sitting here trying to gather myself as a professional all I can think about is what color panties you have on underneath that dress.”
“Panties? I don’t mean to disappoint you Mr. Price, but panties didn’t really go with this dress?”
Take a glimpse into chapter 3 “Like Father like Daughter” of “Sleeping With the Enemy” here
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