The Making of a Gigolo (13) - Misty Compton

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

Chapter Six

Misty was mildly astonished when he drove the truck up to the mansion. That was what it was. There was no other word for it. The place was gorgeous, with carefully tended lawns and gardens, and trees all over the place. That he felt welcome in a place like this was obvious when, instead of knocking and waiting, he just opened the front door and walked in.

"Anybody home?" he called.

There was a muffled female squeal and Misty watched in shock as a uniformed woman ran and jumped up on him, wrapping her legs around his hips. Her uniform skirt rose to show a pair of black panties under it. She kissed Bobby firmly, for a long time, before pulling back. Then, the maid saw that he wasn't alone and clearly panicked.

"Oh no!" she gasped, as her face flamed bright red.

"This is Misty Compton," said Bobby, smiling for some reason that Misty had no clue about. "She's going to give a concert over in Hutch tonight. Is Felicity home?"

"Ohhhh you should have told me you weren't alone!" moaned the maid, still blushing, and unable to look at Misty. With her eyes lowered she turned toward Misty, obviously mortified. "I'm so sorry, Miss. I'll see if Madame is free."

She scurried off, while Misty looked curiously at Bobby.

"She's kind of sweet on me," he said, grinning.

"I guess so!"

Things got more confusing when a blond woman perhaps in her late twenties, came into the hallway and began walking toward them.

"Wait!" came an anguished cry, softened by distance in the big house.

Two toddlers, a boy and a girl came running, in that almost falling down way that very young children have, that requires them to keep running, because they haven't learned quite how to regulate speed yet, but they know if they try to stop they'll topple forward. They passed the blond woman, who stopped, and then started up again, obviously trying to catch the two children.

Then, further baffled, Misty watched Bobby take a knee and hold his arms out. He caught the two children about the same time as the blond woman caught up with them, and scooped them up into his arms, standing up with them. They giggled and squealed as he began raining kisses on their cheeks and faces.

Misty looked at the blond woman, who was standing and watching too, smiling. The maid came running down the hallway.

"I'm sorry!" she wailed. "They got away from me!"

"No harm done," said the blond woman, her voice throaty. "They just wanted to see their ..." She looked startled, for some reason. Then she finished. "Bobby."

Meanwhile Bobby was asking the children if they'd been good. Both proclaimed loudly that they had, as he lifted them into a more comfortable position, with their legs straddling his sides. Both began talking a mile a minute.

"Wait a minute!" he proclaimed. "I have to talk to your mommy," he said, kissing the boy on the nose. "Then we'll play, okay?"

In a surprising economy of words Bobby explained why they'd come. What made it all so mystifying was that, during the speech, he said, "I thought about that outfit you wore in Kansas City."

Then he was gone, carrying the children off, and Misty stood there, her mouth open.

"Hi," said the woman, holding her hand out. "I'm Felicity Chumley. Welcome to our home." She grinned. "Bobby can be a little ... odd sometimes."

"You can say that again," sighed Misty.

"He thinks about things a little differently than most men. He wouldn't understand how you might not want to wear another woman's clothes." She looked at his retreating back as he disappeared around a corner. "He means well, though." She looked Misty up and down. "You're performing at the festival over in Hutchinson?"

"Yes Ma'am," said Misty. She recognized that she was in the presence of an important woman. She hadn't seen much of Granger, but she'd seen enough to know that it didn't have many houses like this one. No place, except maybe Hollywood, had a lot of houses like this one for that matter. She'd bought her mother a fine, fancy house, but this one made it look shabby by comparison.

"And your luggage was misrouted?"

"Yes Ma'am," said Misty, feeling drab and plain beside this beautiful woman.

"Felicity ... please," said the woman. "I could have someone go and see if they've gotten it back yet," she offered.

"Um ... Bobby was going to take me shopping in Wichita, or to see if they found it, but we're running out of time. I have a photo shoot, and I need to rehearse."

"Ahhh," said Felicity. "I see now why Bobby thought of me. He can be very clever sometimes." She cast another appraising look at Misty. "I do have an ... outfit. I got it to go dancing in. I actually have two outfits, but Bobby doesn't know about one of them. It's not really my style. Not really. It's a little fancy for me. Would you like to see them?"

What Felicity was talking about were the two western ensembles that Bobby had, in fact seen her in. He had picked them both out. The first, she had vetoed. It was a lavender sequined tank top, with a denim skirt with fringe on the hem. The skirt was very short and when she had complained that her panties would show if she bent over in it, he had calmly said, "That's why you don't wear panties with an outfit like that." She had kept the purple boots and hat that he'd chosen to go with that outfit, but had made him choose something else for her to wear in front of her high school friends. Since then, however, her relationship with Bobby had changed drastically and she had returned to the store and purchased the original ensemble. She'd been holding onto it, with a somewhat vague and unformed idea that there would come a special occasion to spring it on Bobby when it was her turn to have him for a night in bed.

The other outfit was the one she had worn when she danced with Bobby at a western club in Kansas City. It was a doeskin shirt, with built in cups for her breasts to go in, but which left them free to wobble enticingly. It had almost no back, other than soft strings that crisscrossed the bare back of the wearer. It went with a dark maroon skirt with a weighted hem so that when the woman wearing it was spun, the skirt flared out and rippled, showing all of her upper thighs.

When Misty saw them, she had mixed reactions. Performance clothing, by and large, is cheaply made, and intended to be worn only once or twice before being discarded. While flashy and glitzy, the person wearing it can both see and feel the poor quality of the construction.

Felicity's clothes, though, while skimpy, were expensive and well made. Misty could tell that instantly. While a part of her mind noted that she'd feel almost naked wearing either outfit, her performer's sensibilities knew immediately that the crowd would love something like this.

"They're beautiful," she sighed.

"What there is of them," chuckled Felicity. "You are most definitely aware you're a woman while wearing them." She grinned. "So is every man in sight."

"I can see that!" sighed Misty as she held up the doeskin shirt.

She looked at Felicity, her critical eye running up and down the older woman's body.

"You're bigger than I am," she said. "This would hang loose on me."

"We can take care of that with a little alteration," said Felicity. "The strings in the back can be tied differently. The tank top isn't a problem. It's really too tight on me anyway. It's your choice, though. I'd be happy to send you in my car to Wichita. My driver knows all the right places to go."

Misty tried to imagine herself, bare-backed, singing and turning on stage in these beautiful clothes. She couldn't, but that didn't stop her.

"No, I need the time for other things," she said. "If you really don't mind, I'd love to borrow these."

"I'd be honored," said Felicity. Her voice carried the truth of that comment to Misty, who felt the thrill of being honestly complimented. "Annie bought your album, and I've been teaching my husband to two step to some of your songs."

"Really!" squealed Misty. "That's great!"

"You're pretty good," said Felicity. "Not that I'm much of a critic of your kind of music. I never listened to it at all before Bo ..." She stopped, and frowned. "Before I learned to two step," she finished. "You want to try them on, so we can make the adjustments?"

That took only fifteen minutes, as it turned out. The tank top was snug, but didn't crush Misty's breasts, like it did when Felicity wore it, and the strings on the back of the doeskin shirt were easily retied to pull it tight against her front. Both skirts fit her perfectly.

"I've always had a big butt," she said, arching her neck to look at how the maroon skirt fit her. She suddenly realized she had just suggested that Felicity had a big butt too, since this skirt fit her, and covered her mouth with her hand. "I didn't mean that you ..."

Felicity just smiled and waved her hand. "I don't get any complaints," she said. "I prefer to think of it as my mommy hips." She grinned. "It looks good on you."

That business taken care of, Misty changed back into her other borrowed clothes and Felicity took her to find Bobby.

They found him in the den, and stopped in the doorway, to survey what was going on. He was on his back on the floor, and had taken his shoes off. The maid was sitting on the edge of a chair near him. The little boy Misty had seen earlier was running around Bobby, while he held the little girl aloft on his feet, which were raised straight above his stomach. His legs were waving slowly to and fro and the little girl's arms were stretched out as she giggled.

"You're flying, Junior! Look at you!" Bobby sounded excited.

His leg movements got wilder. "Watch out!" he said, with false panic in his voice. "Turbulence! Turbulence! You're going to crash!"

His feet suddenly snapped apart, and the little girl fell shrieking to be caught by his hands and pulled into a hug.

"Gotcha!" he laughed.

"Me, me, me" called the little boy, grabbing a foot and trying to pull himself up.

Bobby rolled the girl off of him and pulled the boy onto his feet, raising the boy up like the girl had been. The little girl levered herself up and toddled erratically toward the maid.

"I crashed Mommy!" she said brightly.

The maid scooped her up and pretended to examine her for injuries, kissing her on her hands and cheeks and head, while Bobby "flew" the little boy, like he had done with the girl. Again there was "turbulence" and Bobby's feet went up and down erratically, until the boy, too, fell to be caught and hugged while he laughed.

"Anyway," said the maid, obviously picking up a conversation that had been interrupted by the play that was going on, "when he just walked up to me and asked me to go out on a date with him, I didn't know what to do!"

"I thought you said you went to school with him," said Bobby, putting the boy back up on his feet. He held the toddler's hands until he was comfortably arranged, and then began weaving his feet back and forth slowly.

"I did," said the maid. "But he never even talked to me back then."

"Is he a nice guy?"

"I think so," she said. "He was in the model rocketing club, and I saw him around school. He was pretty quiet back then."

"I think you should go out with him," said Bobby, starting the "turbulence routine" with the boy on his feet. "Just get to know him a little and see what he's like."

"I haven't been on a date in years!" sighed the maid.

"You'll do fine," said Bobby. He stopped to call "Turbulence! Turbulence!" and the little boy started shrieking "Ima crash!"

In the process of dropping and catching the boy, Bobby rolled and saw the two women standing in the doorway watching.

"Hi!" he said.

The maid turned her head and she looked pale, suddenly.

"That's what I told her too," said Felicity, stepping forward. "She never listens to me, though." It was said with no anger or chastisement in her voice. To Misty it sounded more like what one friend would say to another, joking.

The little boy rolled to the floor and levered himself up, with a little help from Bobby. He, too, ran to his mother, squealing "I crash Mamma!"

"I saw that," said Felicity, kneeling to pick him up and hug him. "Bobby caught you and saved you! Did you say thank you?"

"Tankoo," said the little boy, turning his head toward the man, who was getting up off the floor.

"You're welcome!" said Bobby, jumping up off the floor and landing with his knees bent and his arms out.

"Nooooooo," squealed the little boy. "Mamma! Mister Buzz Buzz!"

Bobby extended one finger, pointing it at Felicity and her son. He began making a noise that was, basically "Bzzzzzzzzzzzzz", and his finger began weaving around as he stalked toward the boy.

Then he poked the boy, making the "Bzzz" louder when he touched him, tickling him. Misty watched, almost in awe, as this man also poked the woman holding the boy.

"Stop that!" barked Felicity, slapping at his hand. "Misty is ready to go!"

Somehow, it seemed to Misty that her name had been used not so much to inform him she was ready to go, but to remind Bobby that she was actually there.

Instead of stopping, though, Bobby turned and advanced on the little girl, who was in the maid's arms, and poked both of them too. Misty blinked as it looked like Bobby actually pinched the maid's breast briefly!

"Bobby!" squealed the maid.

Then, almost as if magic was involved, he was suddenly standing and looking completely normal. He retrieved his shoes and pulled them on. Then he stood back up, looked at Misty, and said "Okay, where to now, Boss lady?"

Where-to-next turned out to be a house on a cul-de-sac, instead of a photo studio, like Misty expected. She glanced, a little dismally at the sign in the window: "Brown Photography", but kept her silence. Several things Bobby Dalton was involved with had turned out wildly different than she had expected.

On impulse, she stood to the side, where someone opening the door would not see her. She couldn't have explained why she did that, but that's what she chose to do. She was therefore mystified when, as he had done at the Chumley mansion, Bobby simply turned the knob and walked into the house.

"Anybody home?" he called out.

Misty stepped in behind him to hear squeals of excitement, and saw two children, a boy and a girl, running toward Bobby. Again, he went to one knee and scooped the two children up into a bear hug that was made more real by growling sounds he made as he roughly nuzzled their necks. They squirmed, but held on to him as if he were a life raft.

"Where's your Mamma?" he asked.

"In the darkroom!" said the girl.

"In the kitchen!" said the boy. He added: "Are you going to stay all night Uncle Bob?"

"Not tonight, squirt!" said Bobby, setting them down.

"You're late!" Misty was surprised by the contralto voice of a woman she hadn't seen come into the room. "We expected you much earlier."

"Had to get her something to wear," said Bobby, as if Misty wasn't there. Then he waved a hand toward her, without looking at her. "Misty Compton, soon-to-be country legend. I'd say make her beautiful, but she's already mostly there, so just do what you do so well."

The woman, who appeared to be a few years older than Bobby, with blond hair and the appearance of a sports addict, smiled at Misty.

"Hi, I'm Jill. Christy is in the dark room getting everything ready. This is a rush job, and the chemicals have to be the right temperature and all that kind of thing. I'll take you to the studio and you can get dressed."

For whatever reason, Misty couldn't get past Bobby being addressed as "Uncle Bob", and she had to ask. "Bobby's your brother?"

Bobby coughed, reached for the children's hands and said "Come on, squirts. Come with Uncle Bob. Let's go play a game."

Jill's eyes widened, and something passed over her face, but her response was only a second or two off.

"Not my brother," she said. She almost looked uncomfortable, for a second or two, but then recovered. "It's sort of an honorary name for him."

"Oh," said Misty, "I see."

That wasn't really true. She didn't see that at all. Why a woman older than Bobby would want her children to call him Uncle was beyond her. And that little boy had asked if he was going to stay all night. If he wasn't a real relative, why would that happen? But she didn't dwell on that. She was just trying to be polite. In fact, she went another step down that road.

"Your children are cute," she said.

"Only one of them is mine," said Jill, smiling. "Steven is mine. Jillian is Christy's. We live together."

"Oh," said Misty, a little weakly. "I see."

Again, she didn't see. She had heard of women living together before. She had two aunts who lived together, for that matter. But they were in their sixties and didn't have husbands or children. She wondered briefly how two families could manage to live in the same house, but then put that out of her mind. She needed to get this photo shoot done and get to the rehearsal.

It wasn't until they went into the studio that Misty remembered her mother saying "You can't judge a book by its cover." The studio was state of the art, with lights everywhere, and cameras on tripods, and backdrops on rolls that could be put into place quickly. The room was spotless and bright and looked very professional.

"So, what are you wearing?" asked Jill.

It was then that Misty realized she'd left her borrowed performance clothes in the truck. She said she'd go out and get them, and felt even more stupid when Jill asked if she'd brought her guitar with her too. She'd sat for dozens and dozens of pictures before, and she'd had her guitar with her in every one. She felt her cheeks staining red as she ran back to the truck to get everything.

When she got back, another woman was in the studio with Jill.

"Hi, I'm so glad to meet you," said the auburn-haired woman. "I like your music a lot."

"Thanks," panted Misty softly. "I've got everything now. Sorry. This whole trip has been ... difficult."

"Well, we'll try to get this done without making it difficult for you," said Christy.

Misty showed the women her clothing, which both held up and looked at critically. Then they held it up against Misty.

"Can I ask you a question?" It was Christy who spoke.

"Sure."

"I get it that you want to wear this to perform in ... that you want to be flashy on stage. I'd like to make a suggestion about your publicity shots though. Would you consider wearing exactly what you already have on?"

Misty looked down at the faded jeans she was wearing, and the checkered shirt that Mirriam had given her to wear. They looked dull and dusty to her.

"Why?" she gaped.

"You're beautiful," said Christy simply. "I think that the clothes will just distract from your natural beauty. I've got an old cowboy hat around here. I have an idea about posing you that will make people look at your face, and not what you're wearing."

"But this is so old," complained Misty, pulling at her shirt sleeve. "It's not even mine! My luggage got lost and Mirriam gave me this to wear!"

"You've met Mirriam?" The surprise in Jill's voice was obvious.

"I had to stay there last night," sighed Misty. "The bed and breakfast I was supposed to stay in caught on fire yesterday."

"I thought that shirt looked familiar," said Jill, and then looked surprised that she'd said it. She blushed. "I mean ... we've spent some time at Bobby's ... I mean Mirriam's." She looked stricken, blushed and turned away.

"What she means is that Mirriam is a friend of ours," said Christy, smiling. "We go over there for parties, and such. Anyway, will you let me take a couple of shots with you dressed like that first? Then you can change and we'll take more. You can take your pick when we're done. I can get a proof sheet done in ten minutes, and then you can see them all."

"I guess so." Misty's voice was doubtful.

Then there was a more familiar whirlwind of activity as Christy placed Misty in various poses, holding the guitar as if she were playing it, or just on her lap, and one with her standing, the guitar at her side. The old hat that Christy came up with was faded white straw, and looked like it had been worn by generations of cowboys or farmers, but Misty wore it, cocked back on her head, and down low over her eyes.

The wardrobe change was done right there in the studio, which left Misty a little agitated. When she put on the doeskin shirt, she had to take her bra off in front of the two women. Standing only in panties, she felt vulnerable, but the women rushed her through it and helped her get the outfit on for the second time.

"Boy, you'll knock them dead in that thing," sighed Jill. She looked at Christy. "I'm not so sure you're right this time."

"We'll see," said Christy, looking at Misty critically. "We need some make up with this outfit."

Jill, it turned out, was also the makeup artist. Misty could tell by the fluid motions she used that she was good at what she was doing. She was a little nervous that no mirror was present, but then she was being posed again. This time the poses were different in ways that made Misty wonder what in the world this woman was thinking, but she went along with it.

"Leave your bra off for the tank top," said Christy, as another wardrobe change was made.

"But my nipples will show!" squeaked Misty.

"Exactly!" said Christy, smiling. "I'll manage the lights so it isn't obvious. We want just a hint of sexuality."

That part of the shoot actually took the longest. Christy kept moving the guitar around, and the lights, between each shot. The frantic atmosphere in the studio left Misty feeling out of breath, even though all she did was sit there, or stand there.

Then it was done, and, without a word, both women left the room. Misty looked around, suddenly alone. She changed back into the jeans and work shirt, putting her bra back on first, and bundled up the other clothes before going out of the studio.

She heard Bobby's voice, and followed it, to find him in a big overstuffed chair, the two children perched on his lap. They were reading a book.

"Snow White put her head out the window and said, 'Go away!'"

"Noooooo," whined the little boy. "That's not right!"

Bobby sighed. "Okay, Snow white put her head out of the window and said 'I must not let anyone in. The seven dwarfs have forbidden me to do so!" He stopped. "Why can't I change it sometimes? Don't you get bored? I've read this to you a hundred times."

"Read the story!" said the little girl.

Bobby looked up. "Uh oh! Look who's here. It's Misty Compton. She's a famous singing star."

The children looked up at Misty, who had her performance clothes in one arm, and her guitar in the other. She could see the war going on in their minds as they decided whether the story ... which they had heard a hundred times, if Bobby could be believed ... or this new person was more interesting.

"Will you sing us a song?" piped the little girl.

"I'd love to!" said Misty, pleased she had won the competition.

Three songs later Misty was feeling good. Her voice hadn't suffered because of the problems she'd had. She counted what she was doing as rehearsal, in one sense, so she didn't mind taking the time. And the enthusiasm of the children, and to her chagrin, the smile on Bobby's face, told her that she was singing well. Singing like this, just sitting there with her guitar, was how her whole career had started, and it brought back wonderful memories.

She was on the last few measures of the third song when Christy appeared, holding several pieces of paper in her hand.

"The proofs are ready," she announced, as Misty let the last chord die.

"Great!" said the young woman. "Except I need to go to the bathroom first."

"Jill's in the one in the hall. Just use the one in my bedroom," said Christy. "I'll see what Bobby thinks about these while you're gone."

Christy pointed vaguely down the hall, and Misty hurried to the first room that had a bed in it. Inside was a vibrantly decorated room, with the walls split into sections by diagonal lines. Each wall had more than one color on it and the walls were lined with framed photographs. She was in too much of a hurry to ease the pain in her bladder to stop and look, but after she came out of the bathroom, she glanced at the pictures. The first one she looked at was of an old house, obviously vacant. It looked sad, because there were beautiful huge old trees around it. A tire swing hanging from one, suggested memories of children playing there. The photographer, probably Christy, had somehow captured a feeling that the house didn't want to be empty, but had no choice.

Her eyes drifted to other pictures. All of them were gorgeous, and she suddenly felt much better about the photo shoot, even though she hadn't seen the proofs yet. With that in mind, she turned to leave. Another picture caught her eye. It was over the bed.

It was Bobby!

Not only was it Bobby Dalton ... he was naked!

She stepped closer to the bed, and peered at the picture. He was standing in an open window. No, the window had been broken out, and he was standing on the inside, looking out. The look on his face suggested he was looking for someone - his lover, maybe - waiting for her ... hoping she would come. She examined the man in the photograph. There were muscles on his muscles. He looked like some young warrior, perhaps, between battles, or in a rare moment of rest when he didn't have to be vigilant. She leaned closer, putting one hand on the bed to steady herself. The penis in the picture was half hard ... long and thick, but not rigid. When Misty had lost her virginity, in basement of her aunt's house, she hadn't gotten the chance to really examine the penis that had plunged into her body, causing more pain than she'd believed it would. It had been a hurried affair, quickly over and full of a mixture of excitement, embarrassment, pleasure and shame. Afterward, her cousin had moved to get a job. She hadn't wanted to try that with anyone else, and had always felt like things had been left only half-done somehow.

Three years later, when she was finally getting up the courage to explore men again, the talent scout had heard her singing, and she hadn't had time for boyfriends since then. In any case, the kind of men she met in the music business all seemed a little greasy somehow ... a little soiled or something. They weren't the kind of men she felt any passion for.

Now, however, seeing this man in this picture ... this man who was so maddening ... who made her want to rage and shout at one moment, and then somehow made her eyes get damp when he simply played with children ... seeing this man like this made something in her stomach jump and squirm. He was gorgeous ... a magnificent animal in his environment. That that environment was a broken down old house somewhere didn't seem odd to her. It seemed fitting somehow, like he was also seeking something, and couldn't find it.

She looked around. There were more pictures of him ... many more. He wasn't naked in all of them. In one, he was just wearing jeans, lounging against an old dry sink, probably in that same old broken down house. He had a half smile on his face, as if he knew some small joke that he wanted to tell the viewer.

It occurred to her that "the viewer", when this picture was taken, must have been Christy. There was no doubt that Christy had taken these pictures ... had seen this gorgeous man like this ... had been with him when he was naked ... and gorgeous.

Then she saw a picture of Christy, also naked, and standing in the same open window as Bobby had been. It was obvious to her that they had taken pictures of each other like that. She peered at Christy's face in the picture. She wasn't looking longingly out the window for some lost lover. She looked excited. The nipples on her bare breasts were elongated ... obviously stiff. Misty felt her own nipples crinkle inside the bra she was wearing, perhaps in sympathy with whatever Christy had been thinking when that picture was taken.

Her stomach felt upset, suddenly, and she turned and left the room. Bobby was still sitting in the chair, though the children were now playing on the floor. Christy was sitting on one arm of the chair, pointing at something on the proof sheet he was looking at. Jill was on her knees, on the other side of the chair. Her hand was on his thigh, inches from his crotch. That hand lifted and a long finger pointed.

"I think that one is the best," she said. "Look at her face. You can see how she's in love with that guitar. It's perfect." She looked up and saw Misty. "She's back! Get up, Bobby!"

Why they thought Misty had to sit in that chair to look at the proof sheet was a mystery, but she sat down between the two women. Bobby stood, looking down as she sat and the proof sheets were handed to her.

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