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I saw the dark-haired cellist in heat, sizzling. What would she be like? * * * * * I wasn’t thinking of her at all the next Monday, when I had a business lunch with Bill and a co-worker of his, Aaron Something. No relation to Brooke. Bill can get me access to people who think their names as arts donors are among the keys to mobility, today’s replacement for nobility. Today, Bill wanted to talk about women and sex, and why he had struck out with the big-breasted woman of means. I never talk about women and sex. ‘How do you do it, Ed? You’re always getting into their pants.’ ‘Who told? I try so hard to do it where people can’t see us.’ Aaron laughed and took a sip of beer. ‘You know what I mean. I saw you making moves on that little fiddle player Friday night. I bet you’ve got more notches on your belt than you can count.’ ‘It wasn’t a fiddle and they’re not on my belt.’ They both laughed and I thought: You useless son of a bitch. ‘Well, I’ve got more money than you, a Hummer, a damned. I kept thinking about all the ways I wanted him to touch me. I could feel my body getting excited just thinking about it and I decided it was time he had a distraction. I pushed back the blanket and slowly padded over to him, knowing the light from his desk lamp would allow him to almost be able to see through my blue silk teddy and panties. When he turned to look at me I could see the fatigue and stress fading from his face as he surveyed my body. I stood directly in the light, knowing he could see through the fabric of nightie to the dusky pink of my hard nipples, the dark ink of my tattoo, and the glorious curves of my body. Standing at 5’8’’ with a small waist and very generous curves, deep red hair and creamy pale skin splattered with pale freckles, I was unashamed and I let him look. Slowly I moved closer to him, feeling his hand come up to rest on the small of my back, reeling me in closer and closer until I was brushing up against his body. Resting my hands on his shoulders.
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