The Making of a Gigolo (10)- Elizabeth Sinderson
by Lubrican
Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8
Chapter Three
Elizabeth's first call to Bobby was both terrifying and exciting for
her. It felt terrifying to call a man, knowing she was going
to talk to him about hiring him for sex. Oddly, it was
exciting for the same reason.
Liz did remember Bobby Dalton. He'd been cute, back
then. She remembered him as smiling a lot, which caused her
to wonder why she remembered him so well, because they'd only spoken
that one time. She'd been busy with pep club, and
cheerleading activities, and classes, and boyfriends. She was
on all the committees for social events, such as planning and
decorating for dances, and fund raisers for the pep club and all
that. She didn't remember Bobby being at many
dances or other extracurricular events. She assumed she'd
seen him in the stands during football or basketball games.
Another thing that made it terrifying was that she didn't know whether
or not he knew why she was really calling him. Felicity had
said she had to talk to him first. Would he know that when
she called, it would be about sex, even though she was going to ask him
to fix something? Would he expect her to have sex
with him? That wasn't what she wanted.
She just wanted to titillate Jeff ... to get him going.
As she heard the phone ringing at the other end, she almost hung up,
but, as she was thinking about that, a bright female voice answered.
"Dalton residence, this is Matilda speaking."
"Oh ... hi," said Liz. "This is Elizabeth
Sinderson. I was trying to reach Bobby Dalton ... about a
repair I need done."
"Okay," said the cheerful voice. "I'll try to find
him. He might be out in the chicken coop. Hang on."
While she waited, she thought about hanging up too. Chicken
coop? Why would a grown man be spending time in a chicken
coop? What would he say? What would she
say? She half expected a male voice to come on the
phone, gloating, saying something crude, like "Hey, baby, why did it
take you so long to call me? I've wanted to get in your
panties for ages."
"Hello," came a deep voice.
That was it ... just "Hello". She felt a shiver of
anticipation. His voice seemed to strum some chord in her
body.
"Hi," she said. "This is Elizabeth Sinderson." She
waited, not knowing what else to say. She felt tongue tied.
"Hi," said the deep voice. "Mrs. Chumley said you might
call. What can I do for you?"
He sounded so urbane. Had this man really just been in a
chicken coop?
"Um ... there are some things broken," she said. "Around the
house," she added, feeling foolish.
"Well, I could come by and see if they're the kinds of things I can
fix," he said.
"That would be good," she said, weakly.
"How about this afternoon?" he asked.
"Okay," she said, feeling like a little girl, for some reason.
"I'll see you then."
She hung up. Her hand was trembling. She felt like
she had just made some kind of horrible
mistake. She worried about it all
morning, and found herself doing the same things over and over
again. She changed the towel on the rack in the kitchen three
times, and, the last time, tugged on it so hard, while she was
straightening it, that one of the two ends that held the bar in place
pulled off the wall. The rod slipped out of the other side
and the whole thing went clanging to the floor. She almost
giggled hysterically as she realized there was something else for him
to fix now.
Then she couldn't decide what to wear when he came. When
would he come? She was still trying to decide
whether to wear jeans and the blouse she already had on, or a skirt,
when she realized she hadn't given him her address. He might
not come at all! She jumped - almost let out a little scream
as the doorbell rang. She dropped the skirt in her hands, in
her nervous reaction. She was so rattled that she just left
it lying on the floor and found herself running to the door.
She opened it ... and there he was.
"I looked you up in the book," he said, smiling.
Bobby remembered Elizabeth. Everybody probably remembered
her. She had been a whirlwind of activity while he was in
school. She was involved in everything, and he saw her
everywhere. He remembered her as one of those girls that most
guys dream about, but never expect to actually interact with.
She was pretty, popular, always had a boyfriend, and was moving so fast
that she didn't notice him.
She was still pretty, though she wasn't the drop dead gorgeous woman he
expected. She was obviously older, though he
couldn't put his finger on anything that made her look that
way. She still looked like he remembered
her. Of course that had only been seven years ago, so maybe
that wasn't so strange. She looked nervous, and was
panting.
She stood there, looking at him with wide eyes, like a deer in the
headlights. He recognized that look. She was
scared. He kept what he hoped looked like a friendly smile on
his face. Why was it that women were so nervous around
him? Surely it wasn't the sex thing. This woman had
had her pick of boys. She'd probably had more sex by the time
they'd graduated than he'd had since then.
He decided to break the silence. "I brought my tools, just in
case." He lifted the strap of the tool bag off his shoulder,
and gripped the handles. His cheeks were beginning to feel the
strain of holding the smile.
"Oh! Of course!" she said, nervously.
She stepped back and he stepped in. She was still staring at
him.
This was not the boy she remembered. She remembered a tallish
boy, not thin, but not big either, who smiled shyly and never said
much. She was sure she'd been in at least one class with him,
but she couldn't remember which one. He had been ...
unnoticeable.
He was anything but unnoticeable now. He was more
than "tallish", standing four inches over her own
height. His shoulders looked like a brick wall,
filling the doorway. She hadn't known he had blue
eyes. His hair had that slightly shaggy look of a
man needing a trim, except it looked good on him and you wouldn't want
him to get one. A lock of hair had fallen forward on his
forehead. And that smile! It
had made her knees weak.
She tried to get a grip on herself. This was just a
man she'd known in high school. Well, hadn't known ... but
had been familiar with anyway. It had to be this
sex thing that was making this so strange. Surely he wouldn't
affect her like this if she just bumped into him on the street.
"So," he said. "Why don't you show me the things that need
repair."
She blushed.
"I'm sorry," she said. "It's just that you don't look much
like I remember you."
He laughed. "Farm work has a tendency to put muscle on," he
said. "You don't look like you've changed a bit, though."
"Me?" she said. "I'm surprised you even remember me."
"Of course I remember you," he said, the smile leaving his
face. "Everybody in school remembers you."
She had just been chastised, and she knew it. But he hadn't
been mean about it. And, truth to tell, she hadn't actually
meant what she'd said. It was just one of those things you
say to generate conversation.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm just nervous."
"Well, you don't need to be nervous because of me," he said, smiling
again.
She felt calmer. For some reason, she believed
him. He hadn't postured, or bragged, or done any of
the things she associated with men who thought the sun rose and set on
their masculinity. He hadn't barged in and
suggested that he needed to see her bedroom. He hadn't said
she should get naked. He hadn't even, come to think of it,
let his eyes rake up and down her body!
She had just naturally gravitated to the dining room, where the china
cabinet was. She picked up the piece of the handle that had
fallen off and held it out to him.
He ignored her and examined the part of the handle that was still fastened to the
door of the hutch. He got into his tool bag and came out with
what she knew was a pair of vice grips. The piece that had
fallen off was a circle of metal that had dangled from a loop screwed
onto the door of the hutch. That loop wasn't a complete
circle, and had spread apart, allowing the finger pull to drop
out. He simply inserted the finger pull back in the loop and
used the vice grips to squeeze it closed again.
Just like that, it was fixed.
"Next?" he asked, smiling at her.
She thought of the towel bar in the kitchen that she had just broken,
and took him there. He picked up the piece that had come off
the wall, and the bar. When was he going to ask her
about the sex?
"I think the set screw that holds this side on just worked loose," he
said. "The mount is still firm on the wall."
He took what she had thought was a pen from his pocket, and
she realized it was a tiny screwdriver, with a clip, like a ball point
pen had, that clipped it to a pocket. He
reassembled the parts of the towel rack, had her help him hold it all
in place, and used the screwdriver underneath somewhere. When
he let go, it was firmly attached to the wall again.
He asked about more things, and when she couldn't think of any, asked
her questions. A drawer that squeaked got pulled out and he
used her own hand soap to lubricate the parts that rubbed against each
other. She found that it was fun to watch him analyze a
problem and come up with a solution she never would have thought of.
She was watching him pulling the hinge pins from a squeaky door and
oiling them, when he caught her unawares.
"So, tell me about your husband."
The nervousness crashed back in on her. He had been thinking
about the other reason he was there. He did know
there was another reason. That made his prior
behavior even more confusing. For a man
who ... supplied sex ... he didn't act very ... sexual!
"This is so strange," she said. "I'm really embarrassed about
this."
He kept his eyes on the door.
"You don't need to be embarrassed," he said. "From what I
understand, there are lots of men who get a thrill out of having a sexy
wife, and knowing that other men see her that way."
"It seems odd to me," she said, before she could stop
herself. He seemed to be taking this so
calmly. This was not the shy boy she remembered.
He stood up, a hinge pin in his fingers, and looked at her.
"When you go out in public ... say to the grocery store ... do you put
on makeup first?"
She blinked. "Sure," she said.
"Why?" he asked.
"I want to look nice," she said, thinking that was obvious.
Why did women ever wear makeup? They wanted to look nice!
"Okay," he said. "But why do you want to look nice?"
"That's a silly question," she said automatically.
"No it's not," he said, his voice calm. "When you
weren't married, you wanted to look nice to catch a man's
eye. But you got your man. You have him
now. Why do you want to look nice for strangers?"
"I don't know!" she said, feeling some frustration. Why was
he asking her these questions?
"It's normal to want to look attractive," he said. "I'm not
trying to suggest otherwise. I just want you to think about
it. Do you try to look nice for the women who will
see you?"
"No," she said. She frowned. "At least I don't
think so." Something about that nagged at her a little
bit. "Why are you asking me these questions?"
"Well," he said. "I think about things from a male
perspective. I don't really understand women very well, even
though I've lived with eight of them for most of my
life. It's just that I think your husband is
reacting to things the same way you are, really. I mean you
want to look nice, and be attractive. He wants you to look
nice and be attractive too. Most women won't admit
it, but I think one reason they want to look nice is so that men will
notice them. It makes them feel good.
Your husband just enjoys that too. When other men notice you,
he feels proud, because just like you got him, as a husband, he got you
too."
She thought about that. It sounded so reasonable.
"I've never really thought about it like that," she said.
"I don't know if I'm right or not," he said. "Like I said,
I'm a man. What I can tell you is that if I'm out with a
woman, and other men are interested in her, it kind of makes me proud
that she's with me ... that she chose me ... instead of one of them."
That made sense too. But there was a disconnect there.
"Okay," she said. "I get that part. But why would he
want me to do things with other men, when I chose him to be my husband?"
"Well," said Bobby. "I don't understand that part either,
except that, in the end, you always go back to him. Maybe he
gets excited about how, with all the other men available ... with the
temptation there ... you always choose to stay with him." He
put the hinge pin back in the hinge and moved the door. It
didn't squeak any more.
"Maybe it strokes his ego when another man tempts you, but you choose
to stay with him," said Bobby.
"But I'm not tempted by these other men," she said. "I dance
with them and things like that, because I know it gets Jeff excited ...
that he likes that ... but I don't want to do anything with them."
"Maybe that's what makes it so exciting for him," said Bobby.
"A man is always worried that some other man may come along and steal
his girl away. Every time you don't let that happen, it makes
him feel great."
"Wow!" she said. "That actually makes sense! Maybe
you're right!"
"I'm just saying that I don't think he's all that odd," said
Bobby. "He just acts it out in a way most men wouldn't have
the courage to."
"I would never have characterized what he does as being ...
courageous," she said, doubtfully.
"Are you kidding?" asked Bobby. "Think about it.
Every time he puts you in that situation, he risks losing you."
"That's how he lost his first wife!" gasped Liz. "She left
with another man!"
"Well, then," said Bobby. "There you go. He found
another wife. She's a good looking woman with a great body,
and he's got to have guts to risk losing her too."
Liz felt a tremor of thrill. He did notice her
looks ... her body.
"I've never done anything like this before," she said.
"Like what?" he asked.
"Hiring ... a man." She flushed red.
"I'm not hired yet," he said, his voice level. "I'm just here
to find out what you need. I don't know if I can
help you or not."
"Most men would jump at the chance," she said. She wasn't
being vain, or at least she wasn't trying to be vain. She
knew she was good looking. She was used to men looking at her
... wanting her. It had been that way since she grew breasts.
"I'm not most men," he said.
She looked at him. He was right. He was different,
somehow.
"I don't really know what I need," she said. "This is all for
him."
"Okay, then," said Bobby. "Let's talk about what you don't
need."
That was easy. That was something she'd been worried about
ever since calling him.
"I don't want to have sex," she said. "Not with somebody
other than Jeff."
"Okay," he said. "What else?"
This was amazing! Liz was almost shocked at his ability to
talk about this so calmly. She had never had this kind of
conversation with a man.
"Would you like a cup of coffee?" she asked, suddenly.
Standing in the hallway, talking to a strange man about sex, was
suddenly just weird.
"Okay," he said. "But you're on the clock." He
grinned.
That grin was something she remembered from high school. He'd
always had a ready smile. She couldn't remember why she had
noticed that, but she had.
She felt better once they were seated, with cups in front of
them. This was a more social setting. The table was
between them. She wondered why that made her feel better.
"It's his birthday," she said. "In the past, when we did
this, he took me to Wichita or someplace, where people didn't know us."
"What does he want you to do?" asked Bobby.
"Mostly dance," she said. "Sometimes he'll sit a few
barstools away, so it looks like I'm alone. Then, when a man
wants to buy me a drink, or dance with me, I'm supposed to flirt with
him ... just a little. If I dance with him, it's okay for me to
dance close ... things like that."
"And you say his first wife did this too?"
"I think she did lots more than just dancing. I
think she let men grope her. I don't know what
else. He doesn't talk about that much."
"So, you just want me to dance with you?" asked Bobby.
"I guess so," she said. "I don't really
know. I haven't talked to him about it.
It's supposed to be a surprise."
"What if he objects?" asked Bobby.
"Then you'd have to leave," she said firmly.
"Okay ... what if he wants me to do more than just dance with you?"
"Like what?" she asked, suddenly nervous.
"Touch you ... kiss you," said Bobby.
"I don't know about that," she said, uncertainly.
"How about if we let him call the shots?" asked Bobby.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"I'll come over. You introduce us, and tell him what's going
on. Tell him he's in charge ... like this is a movie
rehearsal, and he's the director."
"I don't know if he'd do that," she said. "What if he wants
you to do something I don't want to do?"
"I don't think he's going to tell me to make love to you," said Bobby.
"I guess not," she said. "Like I said, I've never done
anything like this before."
"We can play that by ear, I suppose," said Bobby. "You can
always just tell me if something is too much, and I'll back off ...
give you a chance to catch your breath."
"Why would I need to catch my breath?" she asked.
"I know how to treat a woman," he said simply. "You may get
excited yourself."
"You're awfully sure of yourself," she said, leaning back in her chair.
"I don't get many complaints," he said softly.
He sounded more like a man, now, and that made her feel better,
oddly. He was attractive - there was no doubt about that -
but she was quite sure that he wouldn't affect her.
When she'd danced with men in the past, she'd watched Jeff, most of the
time. It was his smiles that had made her feel good
... his reaction to what she was doing that made her anticipate what
would happen later. Yes, she could handle Bobby
Dalton. As different and interesting as he was, she was sure
she wouldn't get turned on. Not by him, anyway. If
Jeff was having a good time, that would turn her on.
"What's all this going to cost?" she asked, putting things on a less
emotional level.
"This will be at night, right?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Then it won't take away from my regular work," he said. "Why
don't we just try it, and see how things go. If it works out,
you can pay me what you think it was worth."
That shocked her too. He wasn't acting like a
businessman. Not about that, anyway. She
stood up.
"What do I owe you already?" she asked.
He looked at his watch.
"You got a ten dollar bill?" he asked.
She nodded. He'd been there an hour and a
half. She'd had to call servicemen before, and most
of them charged at least twenty-five dollars, just for showing up.
She was still thinking about this strange man, an hour after he'd left.
Two nights later, Liz was a mess. Jeff was home,
and didn't suspect a thing. She'd told him she had a birthday
surprise for him, and that she'd give it to him
later. He'd had a rough day. A car they
had worked on had come back to the shop, and the owner was unhappy
because whatever they'd done before hadn't fixed the problem.
It had taken Jeff himself to find the real problem, and three hours to
fix it.
Now it was almost eight, and she should be getting
ready. Bobby had actually examined the dresses in
her closet, once she had committed to this "date". He had
picked the dress she knew Jeff would have picked. It was
backless, and thin. It came to well above her
knees, and she knew she looked like dynamite in it.
It had inserts that were supposed to take the place of a bra.
He'd told her to leave them out, so that, if she got excited, it would
show.
"What if I don't get excited?" she asked, stubbornly.
"Then you don't," he said. "Nothing is lost. He'll
like you braless just as much as I will."
That comment had sent another thrill through her body, and she had been
astonished to feel her nipples react to it. He was
so casual about saying he was ... interested in her.
"Be sure to wear panties," he'd added, holding the dress out, like he
was thinking about buying it. "But make them sexy."
"Of course I'll wear panties!" she'd gasped.
"You might want to flash him," said Bobby, ignoring her
discomfiture. "I bet he'd get a kick out of that. I
can spin you in this dress, and they might show."
That had generated a trip to the record collection, below the stereo,
and a discussion about what kind of dancing she could do.
He'd picked out songs from ten different albums.
"So many?" she asked.
"We don't know how long he'll want to watch," said Bobby.
"And, while I change the record, you can go flirt with him ... kiss him
... grope him ... let him know he's your man."
"Good idea!" she said, thinking about how much fun it would be to do
that. She loved to tease Jeff. It made him
wild. She hadn't been able to do that in the past,
because they'd had to maintain the fiction that she was alone, at least
until she went home with him. She had always known when he
was ready to leave, because he either asked her to dance himself, or
cut in on whoever she was dancing with.
Now, though, as she looked at herself in the mirror, she felt both sexy
and vulnerable. She was ashamed that her nipples were already
half erect, and clearly visible through the thin cloth of the
dress. The black panties she had on were thin
too. Jeff had gotten them for her on a whim. They
fit, but were so small that she'd had to trim off even more of her
pubic hair than she'd had to trim when he bought her the bikini.
Her hair was perfect, and her makeup was perfect.
Bobby should already be outside, waiting, but wouldn't knock on the
door until she turned off the porch light, which she had turned on when
she met Jeff at the door, after work. Dinner was over, and
Jeff was sitting in his favorite chair, where she'd told him to sit,
while she got his surprise ready.
What would Jeff do? She was suddenly scared.
It was too late now. It would be totally embarrassing if she
didn't at least try.
She left the room, barefoot, and walked down the hall, into the living
room.
"Wow!" said Jeff, looking at her. "You should have told me we
were going out. I'm not ready."
"We're not going out," she said, dropping into the rehearsed speech
she'd been saying to no one all afternoon. "Someone is coming
here," she said.
"What?" he asked, confused.
"I met a man the other day," she said. "I went to school with
him. He's coming here ... tonight ... to dance with me ...
for you."
The range of looks on Jeff's face was both swift and
complicated. She saw confusion there, and questions, and then
... excitement.
"Was he your boyfriend?" asked Jeff, a little frown on his face.
"No," she said. "I only talked to him once, back then."
"I don't understand," said Jeff.
"Miranda knows him," she said, telling the little lie that was
necessary for this to work. "He's just a nice guy,
who hasn't settled down yet, and likes to have fun.
I asked him to do this favor for us ... to dance with me here, while
you watch. He agreed that you'll be in complete control."
"Why would he do that?" asked Jeff, who would never have agreed to do
something like that in a million years. If he were the man
coming over, he'd have been intent on getting under that beautiful
dress she was wearing.
She sat on Jeff's lap, and kissed his cheek carefully, so she wouldn't
mess up her lipstick.
"I don't like going to bars, and having to dance with strangers," she
said. "I don't know him very well, but at least he's not a
stranger, and Miranda remembers him from school. She says
he's nice ... polite. I kind of hired him." She said it off
handedly, like it was normal to hire a man to come do
this. "He's a handyman. He probably needs
the money."
"You hired him?" Jeff's voice went up a notch.
"Like an actor," she said, quickly, remembering what Bobby had said
about Jeff being the director. She kissed Jeff again on the
corner of his mouth. "It will just be playacting.
You'll be here all the time, and you can tell him what to do and what
not to do. That's my birthday present to
you." She kissed him a third time. "I hired him so
I can send him home whenever you want me to. And,
when he's gone, you can take this dress off of me and make love to me
... without a rubber."
She didn't know it, but she had just given her husband the best
birthday present he could have imagined. His lust
blew all the doubts out of his brain ... all the other questions about
why a man would agree to do something like this. He knew he
was kinky, and different from most men. He didn't understand
why he got so turned on by seeing his wife in another man's
arms. He'd agonized over it more than a dozen times, but the
urge always came back. All he knew was that this
kind of thing made him hard as steel, when he got her in
bed. And to be able to fuck her bareback!
This fit his fantasy perfectly.
"If you don't want me to do this, I'll send him home," she said, unsure
as to what he was thinking.
"He's here?" asked Jeff, looking around.
"He's outside ... waiting," she said.
Jeff's hand went to cup her breast. He could feel her nipple
through the fabric. He wondered what it would be
like to see another man do that ... feel her
breasts. He felt himself getting stiff.
"Call him in," he whispered.
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