Women, Wine and Heels Page 4

  I tracked his movement to the front door, if only to see Blanca open it to greet him. I didn’t see what she had on, but heard a voice filled with glee and saw her long nails – painted a deep burgundy today – wrap around his neck. I’m sure they kissed but I couldn’t see it as he stepped inside.

  I continued my efforts on the Caddy for several more minutes before hearing the door open. With laughter, Blanca and her friend came down the front sidewalk.

  “Gray, have you met my boyfriend Cory?” Her hand rubbed his chest as she said his name.

  I was momentarily taken aback by Blanca’s outfit. It was familiar…I had a picture of her wearing it saved on my laptop, pulled from her social media which I’d surreptitiously check out from time to time. A black high-waist pantsuit, but the term “suit” hardly applied. A glittery silver waistband segued into two glittery silver strips of fabric just wide enough to cover her 34-size breasts, leaving a valley between them. It was sleeveless. She wore a matching choker. As the pant hems were very high, her feet were spectacularly displayed. Strappy sandals, with five-inch stiletto heels, revealed both her burgundy toenails and a tasteful heart tattoo on the top of her left foot.

  I stammered out, “Not officially, but we’ve seen each other,” as I shook his hand. Mister Aloof, that was me. Cool as a cucumber faced with this sexiest of outfits.

  “Gray offered to wash the Caddy since he was already doing his car. Isn’t that nice of him?”

  Cory grunted something in the affirmative. My eyes went down to Blanca’s feet. They looked wonderful in those sandals. I said, “well I’m almost finished up here, just one more tire to go.”

  I crouched back down, the better to view her feet and shoes.

  “It’s looking great, Gray. Thank you so much,” Blanca said. “Hey, since everything’s out, maybe you could wash Cory’s Audi too!”

  It wasn’t a question, as if there were some imposition. Rather, she stated that which was obvious, framing it as essentially a logical suggestion. Somehow, this woman divined the effect she had on me, and was now using it to full womanly advantage.

  “That would be terrific,” Cory said, not fully grasping the odd nature of the suggestion, but definitely grasping a handful of Blanca’s rear end.

  “Um, yeah, OK,” was all I could say, as my dick stirred, fortunately hidden as I was still putting the finishing touches on the tire. My face, however, must have betrayed my lack of enthusiasm.

  “It’s his car, but you’d be doing it for me,” she added helpfully, raising an eyebrow and flashing gleaming teeth. “And you can do the inside of his car, won’t that be nice? It’s unlocked.”

  “Sure thing,” I replied, trying to act nonplussed. Cory looked even more confused as his cell phone rang. He grabbed the call as he shuffled into the Cadillac. Blanca lingered behind.

  “I know you, Gray. I’ve known guys like you my whole life,” she said, a smirk crossing her glossed lips.

  My face began to redden. I was struck dumb at the comment, and could hardly move. My cock, just stirring before, started to inflate. “I’m sorry?”

  “I curl my finger, and you come to me. I toss my hair, and you suck in a breath.” She paused, a slight scowl coming over her face. “I gather my girlfriends and their dates for prom, and you ogle us in our pretty dresses through the upstairs window blinds. Some of them said in the stretch SUV they’d never come back. It was pretty humiliating.”

  My mouth went dry. I was completely busted.

  “And my feet…” My eyes followed her finger pointing imperiously toward her painted toes. “You think I haven’t noticed you checking them out when I leave or come home?” She scoffed. “You linger in the driveway as if you’re trying to think of one more thing to do.”

  I gulped.

  “And this outfit…” She slowly ran the same finger down the valley between her breasts. “I have an app that shows me if another member is looking at my Facebook profile – called Stalker, clever huh? It shows me what pictures are viewed. I know you’ve opened the one of me in this outfit, the one where I’m standing near the glass window on the 23rd floor of that hotel room. You’ve opened it a few times…hmmm, always very late at night.” She snorted. “So fucking pathetic.”

  I began to sweat, but remained motionless.

  “Is it as pretty in person, hmmm? Facebook just doesn’t do justice to these things.” She brushed her manicured nails up the front of my pants. “Does little Gray approve, hmmm?”

  I nodded slightly. I couldn’t think of anything else to say or do.

  “It won’t be on me too long, that I can promise you. Think about that while you’re polishing the Audi…or whatever else you might be polishing after we leave, hee hee.”

  I inhaled deeply, getting a whiff of her perfume, a strawberry-tinged scent. I could barely keep the Armor All and sponge from dropping out of my hand.

  She glanced down, and filled the silence. “Aww, is little Gray becoming a little purple?”

  Blanca reached down and again scraped her nails over my crotch as she turned toward her car. I actually swooned.

  “Thanks so much for washing our cars. That really is so sweet of you!”

  I picked up the hose and began spraying down the Audi. Yes, I was doing this for her, as I would do just about anything for her. That thought, and my embarrassment from her caustic words, caused my penis to swell further.

  I soaked the thick sponge in soap water and began scrubbing the side windows. On the beige rear seat I noticed a dark shape. I slowed my scrubbing and brought my face closer to the window. It was a pair of black pantyhose, the foot portions dangling off the seat. Beneath them, on the floor, was a pair of purple pumps, familiar from a different photo I’d seen on Facebook, laying haphazardly. My heart began to race.

  Blanca’s bemused laughter rang in my ears. The car, she said, was unlocked. I had hours to finish cleaning her boyfriend’s car…outside and in.

  Room 922

  I first met Eva Krusch at a business networking function, the kind I attended several times every month. Tall, sandy blond, mid-40s, she didn’t have a classically pretty face, but her taste in fashion caught my eye right away. Tight black cotton dress, long legs clad in sheer off-black pantyhose, and four-inch black pumps. A devastating combination for me, so I was more than happy to share a couple of drinks as we spoke about our respective businesses. She was in the staffing business, managing the local office of one of the big employment franchises. And yes, she assured me with a chuckle, “Krusch” was her real given name.

  Needless to say, we hit it off, and conversation ventured into our personal lives. We shared the joys of singlehood, we both liked outdoor activities…and we both drove way too fast. I wasn’t really thinking of her in terms of a relationship or sexual encounter, but simply enjoyed talking with her, and looked forward to seeing her at other events.

  So it wasn’t unusual when we became friends on social media as well. Just one more way to get to know someone, another source of conversation fodder when we’d cross paths. “Looks like you had a blast on vacation”…that sort of thing. Of course, there was the bonus of seeing pics of her at both professional gatherings and social occasions, and quite frequently she wore hose and heels. Her legs were toned and strong, filling out whatever nylons she chose to maximum benefit.

  Over time, I noticed many photos of “girls’ night out” at various restaurants and clubs, frequently with the same three friends. Two of them were very attractive, and the other was a bit more ordinary but had a pleasant face nonetheless. The cute ones, I divined from the photo tags, were Susan, a 40-something blond with a slender, slightly upturned nose that gave her a somewhat haughty look, and Stacey, an effusive looking woman of about 40 with curly brown hair, high cheekbones and a bright smile. Eva’s “posse” was rounded out by Terry, also dark haired and in her early 40s, with short brown hair and a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

  They frequently hoisted martini or margarita glasses in the pictures,
and sometimes they displayed their legs and footwear, probably after emptying a few of those glasses. They seemed to favor high heeled pumps and strappy sandals, with the occasional wedge. They always appeared to be having a blast.

  My in-person encounters with Eva became fewer, but we crossed paths at a busy networking function at a local country club. Per her style, she wore a black dress, black pantyhose and black, four-inch patent, open-toe pumps. We chatted on-and-off during the evening, and I spent a considerable amount of time summoning the courage to do what I’d been thinking about for several weeks.

  It was a chilly night, and we wound up at the coat check together, so I seized the opportunity to walk her out.

  “Eva,” I began. “I notice you and your girlfriends go out a lot. You look like you have a lot of fun together.”

  “Oh yeah, they’re my crew, for sure!” she replied. “We know how to have a good time.”

  That seemed as good an opening as any. “Can I count on your discretion?”

  “Yeah, sure. What’s up?”

  “You know…uh…some night when you’re planning to go out, I can help with your pre-gaming.” It was a term I’d only recently heard, that time when the group gathers, everyone finishes up their makeup, and has a drink or two before heading to whichever establishment is on the agenda. To be a fly on the wall…

  “Help with our pre-gaming? Help…how?” She stopped. Her eyes dug into me.

  I involuntarily gulped.

  “You know…I’d be happy to serve you drinks. Give a guy’s opinion of your outfits, maybe…” I paused, longer than I’d planned to. “And…um…I give a good foot massage. Put you in the right mood for the evening.” I smiled, trying to make light of it all, but putting it out there caused my penis to stir.

  Eva’s eyes widened, but her face showed no other reaction. “Uh huh. Hmm…sounds interesting. Soooo…it’s feet you like, then. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

  “I, um, yeah, I guess you could say that,” I stammered, not expecting that particular response.

  “Could you handle four pairs?” A pause, then she laughed, breaking the tension. “I’m playing with you Gray! Hah, you’re too cute!”

  It’d been a long time since a woman called me “cute.” I laughed with her. “So, what do you think?”

  “I’m tired, Gray. And my feet hurt. I just need to get home and take these shoes off.” She said it teasingly, and I felt more tingling below my belt. She smiled. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

  It sounded like a blow-off. Eva had lived up to her name and successfully krusched my aspirations. How much I wanted to drop to my knees and service her sore feet right in the parking lot, but that wasn’t to be, nor did it look like the pre-game gig would ever come to anything.

  “Okay,” I said, trying to salvage some dignity. “Have a good night, Eva.”

  “You too.”

  I turned and began walking toward my car, avoiding some patches of ice.”

  “Gray?”

  I stopped and turned toward Eva.

  “I mean it, Gray…” Her manicured right hand formed a circle and she pumped her wrist twice. “Have a good night.”

  The effect was instant and unbidden. I hardened in my slacks, and my mouth went dry. I was speechless.

  Several weeks went by without hearing anything, but during which I continued to view Eva’s activities on social media, wondering what, if anything, she’d told her friends about my offer. Don’t women talk about everything with each other? It seemed a certainty that this would’ve been the topic of conversation over wine or daiquiris at one of their usual haunts. Somehow, that thought made her girlfriends even more exciting to me, even Terry.

  It was when I was leaving work one Thursday when my phone chirped. The text from Eva simply said, Harrah’s Atlantic City Friday at 8. You up for it?

  I was taken aback, and my heart leaped into my throat. I waited until I was seated in my car before composing my response.

  Really? Yes, I can be there. I hoped I didn’t respond too fast, too excitedly. I rested my head back and closed my eyes, imagining the possibilities.

  Another chirp. “But are you UP for it?”

  I inhaled sharply. This woman was definitely into her little games. Who knew? I sat a moment, my stomach fluttering. I actually did start to get a rise.

  Yes.

  Show me.

  Whew! Was she for real? I turned on my interior light and aimed the camera at the bulge in my pants. It wasn’t Mt. Everest yet, but it was at least Mt. Shasta-grade. I snapped the pic and texted it back.

  Good. 8p. I’ll send the room number Friday.

  I breathed out heavy. This will be interesting, I thought.

  Friday at 8 was only 27 hours away, but it couldn’t come soon enough. I pondered my wardrobe, deciding khakis, a neat, button-down shirt and Skechers was the way to go. I chose a couple of varieties of lotions I keep on hand, to give the ladies a choice of scent should I be privileged to rub anyone’s feet. I slept fitfully Thursday night, and had trouble concentrating at work all day Friday.

  Finally, Friday evening came and I drove – fast as usual – to the hotel. The room was 922, probably one with a nice view, I thought. I took the elevator up, found the room and, sucking in my breath, knocked twice.

  After a longer than expected pause, Eva’s face beamed at me through the doorway.

  “Hi Gray! We were just wondering if you were going to show.”

  “Of course, I wouldn’t miss it,” I replied as I stepped into the suite. Susan, Stacey and Terry were sitting in the living room, all with wine glasses in hand, or nearby. I’d only met Susan once, at another business event where she accompanied Eva; the others were strangers to me. They all smiled politely when I said hello.

  They were in various states of dress, not overly concerned with this male intruder. Of the three, Susan was the most complete, in skintight jeans, white blouse, and strappy red three-inch heels that matched her red toenails.

  Eva gently urged me closer to her friends. “Girls, this is my friend Gray. Gray, this is Stacey and Terry. I think you already met Susan.” Then, turning to them, “Gray’s offered to, um, help out while we get ready.”

  The girls looked at each other, and chuckled. “Help out? What does that even mean?” Terry asked, a tinge of derision in her voice.

  “Would you like to answer her, Gray?” Eva prodded. “Just tell them what you told me.”

  “Um, yeah, sure. You know, I can get your drinks. Uh, give a guy’s opinion of your outfits…”

  Stacey chimed in. “Don’t think we need a strange guy’s opinion, but thanks for that.”

  I felt my face start to flush. I stammered for a moment, then Eva said, “And what else did you offer to do, Gray?”

  My eyes shifted to the floor. “I, um, I give a very good foot rub,” I murmured.

  “Hmmm…that’s nice, but what would you like to do, here, tonight?” Eva was milking this. “Stop looking at the floor, look at their faces, and please answer Susan, Stacey and Terry, so they can hear you.”

  I cleared my throat. This was much more difficult than I thought it might be. “I, um, I am available…to rub your feet to help you relax before going downstairs. Uh, if you want.”

  Stacey snorted upon hearing that, and she nearly spilled her wine. That set off a new round of laughing.

  “Oh, we want,” said Terry, with some snark. “Not.” Then under her breath, “What a freak.”

  I stood motionless, my face no doubt turning more red. Up close, Terry was quite attractive, with full lips already sporting scarlet red gloss. She had on a black minidress with no sleeves, and four-inch black pumps with a snakeskin pattern. Her body filled the dress nicely, and her pert breasts were clearly delineated. Her bare legs reflected the light from the lamp in the corner of the room, and an ankle bracelet glinted. Her impertinence made my penis tingle.

  “Don’t mind Terry, Gray. She’ll come around. Why don’t you pour some m
ore wine? The bottle’s on the desk.”

  I refilled their glasses and over the next 15 minutes simply stood around awkwardly as they chatted and sipped wine. Occasionally, one or the other popped into the bathroom, and I heard electric hums of hair dryers and electric curlers. The reality of the situation seemed much more mundane than the fantasy. None of the ladies jumped at the offer of a foot rub.

  Nonetheless, I was enjoying the view as they finished putting themselves together. Stacey had on a multi-colored, patterned silk blouse, a teal skirt that came down to her knees, and was unabashed as she pulled on nude pantyhose. When she slipped her dark-polished toes into gleaming white 3-inch pumps, I could hear the subtle scrape of nylon on leather. I feared I might become visibly aroused, so I sat down in the armchair by the window.