The Making of a Gigolo (13) - Misty Compton

by Lubrican

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

Chapter Eight

The house was dark when they went in.

"Where is everybody?" she asked. Mirriam and the twins had left before she and Bobby had, and she'd assumed they'd be home by now.

"They're probably over at Prudence's," he said. "They play cards on Friday night, as a rule."

"Oh," she said, sounding disappointed. "I was looking forward to that massage you were talking about."

"Well, then, go lie down and we'll get right to it."

"What?" She looked at him as he turned on a light. "Who's going to do it?"

"Me, of course," he said.

"You?!" She blinked. "But you're a man!"

He grinned. "I am indeed. What does that have to do with anything?"

"But I'm a girl!"

"You are indeed," he said, still grinning. "I noticed that right away."

"But I hardly know you!" she yipped.

"True," he said. "You can stay sore if you like. I'm just offering, that's all."

"But how do I know I can trust you?" It was hardly out of her mouth before she regretted it.

"Let's not start this all over again," he said, no longer smiling. "All I'm offering is a massage, to loosen you up so you can sleep. I'm not going to molest you. How would that look in the papers when you screamed your head off?"

"That's not what I meant," she said weakly.

"What did you mean?"

She felt so tired she didn't want to argue. "I don't know. Just promise me there won't be any funny business."

"I won't laugh once," he said, his face straight.

They were in the kitchen, so she pulled a chair out from the kitchen table and sat down on it, straddling the seat and facing the back of the chair.

"Don't you want to do this on your bed?" he asked. "So you can just fall asleep?"

"If you think I'm going to let you put your hands on me in my nightgown, you have another think coming, buster!" she snorted.

"I wasn't thinking of your nightgown," he said. "But that's not a bad idea, I guess." He paused. "Actually, what you have on right now will work as well as anything."

She was trying to figure out what he meant by, "not thinking of her nightgown." The only thing she could think of was that he wanted her naked, and that wasn't possible, but she couldn't think of anything else that made sense. Her brain was shutting down. She was exhausted and just wanted the pain to go away so she could sleep. Later, when she thought about that night, she would change her mind about how things happened several times. By that time, though, it would only be an academic exercise, because it would be something in her past ... something that involved Bobby Dalton ... and something that would not bring either tenseness or unhappiness to her mind.

But that would be later.

Somehow she ended up lying on her bed, dressed in the doeskin shirt, and burgundy skirt, under which she wore a pair of one of Bobby's sister's panties, plain, white cotton ones. She didn't remember kicking the purple boots off but, when his hands touched her, she wasn't wearing them.

Almost instantly, when his fingers started prodding and poking and rubbing, she felt the exquisite pain of release, and her muscles gave up the fight to stay tense.

She only vaguely felt his fingers flicking at the straps that crisscrossed her back, and the cool of the air as it caressed the sides of her breasts. Her mind rallied when she felt the skirt being raised, and his hands on those panties, kneading her buttocks. He said something soothing and, somehow, the objection her mind insisted she make never quite made it to her throat, which was too busy moaning and groaning with the pleasure of what his fingers were doing to her sore muscles. When his fingers left her buttocks, without wandering between her legs, her mind relaxed too.

She was dimly aware that he lifted each foot, and worked over each aching leg. She was a little more aware when his hands reached her inner thighs, but they didn't go too far. He had worked his way back up her body and was doing the back of her scalp when she drifted off to sleep, too exhausted to stay awake any longer.

Misty Compton awoke to impossibly bright light streaming through the bedroom windows. She stretched, and remembered the pain in her muscles the night before. It was gone. She felt wonderful.

That lasted until she sat up, and the covers fell to reveal that all she was wearing were her borrowed panties. She looked around. The doeskin shirt and the burgundy skirt were folded neatly and draped over the back of a chair at the desk in the room. Her suitcase was sitting on the seat of that chair. The purple boots were standing beside it on the floor.

Bobby Dalton had obviously undressed her the night before.

Her mind flashed to the part of her body that she assumed had been violated. She felt nothing there. Unbelieving, her hand went between her legs, to feel and press.


She'd been sore the morning after giving up her virginity. She hadn't had sex since then, but she was sure, somehow, that if that had happened, she'd know. Now, feeling nothing, she wasn't so sure any more.

She got up and opened her suitcase. Everything was just as she'd packed it. She pulled out clothes and pulled them on, happier to be in her own panties and bra, and her own shirt and jeans. She put on tennis shoes and left the room.

She followed her nose to the kitchen, to see Bobby standing at the stove, pancakes on a big cast iron skillet. He looked over his shoulder.

"Good. Right on time. Breakfast is almost ready."

"I was naked!" she almost yelled.

"No you weren't," he said calmly. "I left your panties on."

"But you took everything else off!" she complained.

"It wouldn't have been comfortable sleeping in clothing," he said. "Anyway, the shirt was already mostly off when I got done with you, and it seemed silly to leave the skirt on. How do you feel?"

He was so calm about it that she was taken aback. He was acting like it was completely normal for him to undress a woman and leave her in her bed after running his hands all over her. It was so odd that her breath caught in her throat.

"What did you do to me?" she finally asked.

"I gave you a massage. How do you feel?"

She thought about that for a few seconds. She felt great. There was no doubt about that.

"Better." It was all she could let him hear.

"Good. Hungry?"

She thought about that too. She was hungry. In fact, she was starving.

"I could eat something." It was all she could admit to him.

"You want syrup or jam? We have some peanut butter too."

"Peanut butter on pancakes?" She was astonished.

"Several of my sisters won't eat pancakes without it," he said. "There's no accounting for taste."

"Syrup is fine," she said. It occurred to her that she was having trouble staying outraged.

He went through the "Milk or juice or both" question, and put butter on the table and then sat a plate of steaming pancakes in front of a chair. She was still standing in the open doorway of the kitchen.

"Eat 'em while they're hot," he said. "Looks like Mamma and the girls stayed over at Prudence's."

She sat, thinking about how she'd been there all night ... alone ... with him in the house. He'd obviously seen her naked. Almost naked, she admitted to herself grudgingly. Apparently nothing else had happened. She couldn't get her brain to process that. He hadn't molested her. She didn't think he had molested her. She remembered what he looked like naked, standing there in that window. Then, for some reason, Christy's picture came to her mind. He'd seen Christy naked too ... when he took that picture.

Her stomach growled. She gave up trying to figure Bobby Dalton out and went to sit down. The pancakes were delicious. Eggs appeared and she ate them too. Finally, realizing she had eaten too much, she pushed the plate away from her. Bobby was sitting across the table, eating one pancake, and drinking a cup of coffee.

"Can I get a cup of that?" she asked.

He waved at the counter and she saw the coffee pot on the stove.

Now that she was full she could think again. As she got coffee she tried to remember how he'd looked at her when she came into the kitchen. As far as she could tell, it wasn't any differently than any other time he'd looked at her. She sat back down with the coffee and stared at him.

He glanced up.


"Nothing," she said. He wasn't looking at her breasts. He'd seen them naked last night, but he wasn't looking at them now. She didn't understand that.

"Whatever it is, just get it off your chest," he said.

She suddenly wanted to giggle. Here she was thinking about him looking at her chest, and he said that. He hadn't looked at her chest when he'd used the word, either.

"You're very strange," she said suddenly.

"Really? How so?"

"You saw me naked."

"Okay. I've seen a lot of women naked. How does that make me strange?"

He sounded so matter-of-fact about it. It made her think that he had, in fact, seen a lot of women naked. With any other man she'd have thought he was bragging, but it wasn't that way with this one.

"Only one other man has ever seen me like that," she said.


Oh? Just "Oh"? She felt irked that all she rated was an "Oh."

"Sorry," he added. "If I'd have known it would bother you so much, I wouldn't have done it." He took another bite, chewed and swallowed. "Like I said, the shirt was already falling off of you, and you looked kind of silly in just the skirt. I didn't think it would bother you, what with men looking at you all the time when you perform."

"I don't perform naked," she said, her voice measured.

"Well you were close last night." He grinned. "I knew you were wearing Betty's panties after the second song."

Oddly, instead of feeling upset that he had seen them, what took priority in Misty's mind was how he had known they were Betty's panties. She hadn't known whose they were when she put them on. How did he?

"You promised not to molest me," she complained.

"I didn't molest you," he said with a sigh. "I was only trying to make you more comfortable."

"I suppose now you'll tell me you closed your eyes while you did it," she snorted.

"Not at all," he said. "You're a good looking woman. And," he grinned again, "I am, after all, a man."

His picture popped into her mind again ... with all those muscles ... and that long, thick penis. She closed her eyes, trying to will that out of her mind. It didn't work.

"Tell you what," he said. "I won't tell anybody I saw you in next to nothing, if you don't say anything about it either."

Her eyes popped open, her mind clear of his image at last.

"Of course I won't say anything!" she blurted.

"Okay, then, problem solved."

She sat and watched him clean up the kitchen. He washed the dishes and didn't ask her to help. He didn't say anything else and she was left with her thoughts. Looking at his back, she had an errant thought, wondering what he looked like from the back ... naked. She blushed and looked away.

"What are we doing today?" she asked, trying to fill the silence.

"Well, I suppose that's up to you," he answered. "I'm just your driver."

"And my masseur," she thought to herself. "And the man who kept you from being raped after the concert," her mind added. That was followed by, "And the man who just served you a wonderful breakfast and didn't assume you'd clean up the mess." She was figuratively batting at all the other "ands" that kept following, one after another, as she remembered things this man had done for her to make her stay a little more successful after the initial failure of practically everything. She didn't want to feel beholden to this man. She didn't want to like him. Most of all ... she wished she could stop thinking about him naked.

"I'm going for a walk!" she almost yelped, standing up.

"Okay," was the only response she got.

Misty did a lot of thinking on that walk. She spent most of it thinking about Bobby Dalton. She needed to put him in some kind of category, because that was what she was used to doing. She didn't like feeling a lot of the things she had felt since meeting him, and "deciding" what kind of man he was seemed like it would make him easier to deal with in the future. Eventually she decided that she had met one of the men her mother would have termed "a gentleman". There were a number of things that seemed to conflict with that assessment, but by the time she turned back, he was characterized in that way ... primarily ... in her mind.

Mirriam and the girls were back when she returned from her walk. After the initial "You were so fantastic" comments were gotten through, things calmed down and life got back to normal. Mirriam started laundry, and the twins went outside to do "chores", whatever that meant. Bobby was reading a book in the living room, and Misty just naturally gravitated toward Mirriam, just to have someone to talk to, if nothing else.

"Do you have anything that needs washing?" asked the woman.

"Just the things you loaned me," said Misty, thinking that the doeskin shirt and the skirt would need to be dry cleaned. "Thank you for that. It turns out I got some of my pictures done in that outfit."

"I saw that last night." Mirriam smiled. "Suzie will just die when I tell her her jeans have been immortalized with you in them."

"She's another one of your daughters?" asked Misty.

"Yes, she's off at college, becoming a doctor."

That led to a recitation of what the other daughters were doing, and turned into a general reminiscing about things from both women's point of view. At one point Bobby poked his head in at them.

"If you don't need anything, I'm going to take a nap," he said.

Both women thought he was talking to them, and both waved him on.

"Is he treating you more respectfully?" asked Mirriam.

"Yes," said Misty, automatically. "He's actually been quite a gentleman."

Something like relief seemed to flicker across Mirriam's face. Misty just naturally assumed that was because Mirriam didn't want to be embarrassed by her son's behavior to a "famous" singing star.

"Can I ask you a question?" It came out before Misty realized she'd said it.

"Of course," said the older woman.

Mirriam seemed so friendly ... so much like family ... that Misty went ahead.

"Does Bobby have a girlfriend?"

The look that flickered on Mirriam's face now was anything but relief. Something guarded settled into her eyes.

"Has he done something to make you uncomfortable?"

"No!" said Misty, again automatically. Again, she felt so comfortable with Mirriam that she said more than she intended. "I mean he gave me a massage last night, but he was a gentleman about it, mostly."

She hadn't planned on saying "mostly" either, and almost groaned.

"Mostly?" Mirriam's eyes narrowed.

"It was nothing," insisted Misty. "I was exhausted, and I guess I fell asleep while he was doing it. He just made me more comfortable. That's all."

"More comfortable?" Mirriam frowned.

"Well, he sort of undressed me when he was done ... I guess."

"I'll speak to him immediately," said Mirriam, her voice heavy with concern.

"No!" Misty felt something like panic. He hadn't really done anything to her. She didn't want things to get unsettled again. "He didn't do anything. I was just surprised. That's all. Please don't say anything to him. It was nothing. I was just surprised. Really."

"He had no business doing that," said Mirriam, heavily. "You are a guest in our home, and I'll not have him acting like that. Not with you!"

What stood out from that sentence to Misty was, "Not with you!". It was almost as if he'd done something like this before, and that his mother knew about it. But he wasn't some pervert. Somehow she was convinced of that. He hadn't done anything to her other than the massage. He could have ... but he hadn't. Mirriam stood, and Misty's hand went out to grab her wrist.

"Please," she said, her voice urgent. "We talked about it. He didn't do anything wrong. Not really. All he did was try to make me more comfortable. I slept like a baby. He fed me breakfast, and I went for a walk. That's all that happened. Don't say anything to him. I shouldn't have mentioned it."

Mirriam's face twisted a little, and then relaxed. She sat back down and leaned toward Misty.

"It's just that Bobby has a way with women," she explained. "He's a good man, but women sometimes lose their heads around him. I don't want you to leave here thinking badly of us. He doesn't do it on purpose. He's just being Bobby, but he needs to think about that sometimes, and he doesn't."

Misty thought of the women she'd seen hugging him ... kissing him ... even holding his hand. That all made so much more sense after what Mirriam had just explained. This mysterious power he had over women didn't make any sense, but it did explain why so many different women seemed to be attracted to him so strongly. She thought about how good he was with children. That would make most women like him, especially their mothers. And she, herself, was halfway attracted to him too. She could admit that now. She could blame it on his "way" with women.

"I'll be fine," said Misty, squeezing Mirriam's hand. "He was a perfect gentleman with me. We got off to a rough start, but we're getting along much better now."

Mirriam didn't say what she was thinking at the moment. If she had, it would have come out "That's what worries me, young lady ... that's what worries me."

After lunch Misty had Bobby take her to town, where she arranged to have Felicity's clothing dry cleaned. The girl behind the counter recognized her.

"I was at the concert last night!" she said, with awe in her voice. "You were fantastic!"

"Thank you so much," cooed Misty. "I'm glad you liked it." She handed the girl the doeskin shirt and the skirt.

"This is what you were wearing!" said the girl, almost giggling with the emotion of holding the clothing.

"Yes, I borrowed it from Felicity Chumley," said Misty. "I need to get it cleaned so I can take it back to her."

"I'll do that for you!" said the excited girl. "I know where the Chumley mansion is. I'll take it back to her for you!"

"Oh, you don't have to do that," said Misty, smiling.

"Could I have your autograph?" asked the girl, leaning forward. "The pictures were all gone when I got there, but I'd sure love to have your autograph."

Misty turned to Bobby.

"They're making more, right?"

He nodded. "They've probably been up all night, if Amanda got her way."

She turned back to the girl.

"Tell you what. If you take care of that for me, I'll get you an autographed picture, okay?"

"Sure!" said the excited girl. "You bet!"

That led to another trip to Christy's. Again, they went in without knocking. Christy came out of the dark room, looking haggard.

"Oh, it's you," she said. She smiled weakly. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded. We've been up most of the night. You're making me a ton of money, but we're going to have to take a couple of days off when it's all over."

"We're just here to pick up anything you have ready," said Bobby.

"Somebody already came and got two more cases," said Christy. "I think it was somebody from the radio station. We've been making more, though."

"We just need a handful," said Bobby. "We're running into people who didn't get one and she needs a few on hand for that kind of thing."

"Okay. I'll get you some fresh out of the dryer."

When she returned with them, she handed them to Bobby. "Stop by Renee's if you can. We had to leave the kids there all night. They're probably getting fussy by now. You can always calm them down. Tell Renee thanks for us, okay?"

After returning to the dry cleaners, and a half hour stop at the child care center, which revealed Steven and Jillian were happily playing with other children, and stopped only to give Uncle Bobby hugs and kisses, they went on to Hutchinson. Her band was already there. They were jamming together on the stage.

Misty grabbed her guitar and told them not to stop.

"I'll just warm up while you guys do your thing," she said. "Mind if I jam with you?"

It turned out that the four played together sometimes, for weddings, or parties in town, and that Jasper had written some of his own tunes. All this was pointed out by Janie, while Jasper flushed, either from embarrassment, or pride - it wasn't clear which, to Bobby.

That changed when Misty heard a couple of his songs and pronounced them perfectly fine. When she suggested that they add them to the program that night, Jasper almost had a stroke, but the others were enthusiastic about it. As Misty began to learn the music Bobby waved and wandered off to explore the festival grounds.

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