ATONEMENT

Copyright, 1999, [email protected]

Beth watched the kids get onto the bus. Happily, this year they were at the same school, which made the morning routine easier. Bill, her husband, was out of town on business. That meant getting the incorrigible darlings up and moving on her own, but she made it to the bus stop a with full minute to spare. Max and Megan, ages 8 and 6. Two precious bundles of energy and imagination. She had just turned 30 when Max arrived. What a present! Megan had followed shortly. Time was flying by. She tried hard to deny that she was on the short side of 40. Beth strolled back towards the house, waving hello to a few of the neighbors who were out on the same mission.

She entered their home, one of many indistinguishable two-story transitional style houses on the block. Immediately her sense of unease returned. Her husband had been strangely agitated the past few days. She hadn't given it that much thought: the usual need to tend to the kids had as usual restricted their private time to a quick discourse at day's end. Then, last night, after Bill had left on his flight came the call from Mark, Bill's boss. It seemed odd for him to call, knowing, she assumed, that Mark was aware of Bill's travel schedule. His tone was rather matter of fact, with a slight urgent edge. Curiously, he didn't ask for Bill. "Something I need to talk to you about," he said, not elaborating. "It's about Bill and I need for you to come meet with me tomorrow morning at ten." With that he bid her well and ended the call.

She walked upstairs, tidying up along the way as was her habit. She entered the master bedroom. The sweatsuit that was her de rigueur morning-wear she tossed on the loose pile of clothes in the corner of the closet. She stepped out of her panties; then released her bra. Even the loose sweatsuit didn't make her comfortable enough to venture out without strapping the bra on. Not that her bust line was anything larger than average: she just felt 'exposed' without it, as if the whole neighborhood knew.

She hoped the long warm shower would ease her anxiety. It didn't. She looked at the clocked, realizing she would have to hurry to make the trip downtown by ten. Opening her lingerie drawer, she grabbed the first bra and panty set she found. She wished it were still summertime, so she could get by going to Bill's office without pantyhose. The office of McBracken & Smith. An old blue-blood financial services firm. Unfortunately, with the stodgy pedigree came an equally stodgy dress code. She always felt out of place showing up in casual clothes. She sat and tugged up on the hose. A quick trip back to the closet yielded the familiar white blouse, navy skirt and pumps. She ran a quick brush through her shoulder length brown hair, pinning it back with a comb. She looked again at the clock. The minimal amount of make-up she preferred would have to be done on the way.

Beth hopped into their vintage Volvo. She pulled onto the freeway, heading east towards downtown. The sun was well up over the horizon, though lower in the sky these days as the autumnal equinox approached. There were a few light clouds and one dark heavy one just below the sun. It dispersed the sun's light in rays towards the horizon: beautiful and ominous, she thought. She was relieved to see the morning rush hour had eased, allowing her a relatively steady trip downtown. It also gave her the chance to retrieve a few items of makeup from the glove compartment, having to first maneuver past a pair of her son's hastily stashed soccer socks. With a few deft strokes, the task was done. Practice makes perfect, she thought.

The downtown towers loomed as she pulled off the freeway. Fortunately, Bill had been with the firm long enough to have acquired the perk of an additional electronic gate pass to the subterranean parking deck. She checked the clock. 9:50. Will just barely make it. The ascension to the 26th floor seemed eternal, as the anxiety began to swell. This was extremely odd, she thought, to be called in while Bill was away. And why floor 26? The last she recalled Mark's office was on 24, along with Bill's. Maybe the firm had expanded upward and Bill hadn't told her. Hardly a surprise--the merger a few years earlier she discovered by reading the paper. "I was going to mention it," he lamely apologized. Sweet and lovable, she thought of Bill, but stoic and distracted to a fault.

The elevator door opened. To her surprise, Mark was there. He seemed--what was it?--pleased or relieved at her punctuality. He smiled and ushered her down the hall. Odd, she noticed, there was no office directory on the wall as usual. She looked around. The entire floor seemed to be in the process of up fitting and renovation. There was no one else in sight anywhere. Mark said little as he guided her to an unmarked office door far down one corridor. He unlocked it with a key. She noticed that it was not on his regular key ring; just a solo key on a ring. Mark opened the door, flipped on a light switch. The room was sparsely furnished; not appearing like a working office at all. There was a desk, as she expected, a large sofa along the right wall, a few artificial plants. Missing were the personal effects, the photos, the knickknacks that dot the typical office.

Mark offered her a seat in an arm chair located in front of the desk. It had a low back, with padded arms, and a nice comfy feel. He walked behind and sat in the large, high-backed armchair. Faux leather it appeared. Beth eyed him carefully, wondering what this was all about. Mark was dressed in his usual prim, button-down attire. Brooks Brothers. Silk power tie. He was just over six feet, medium frame. Athletic, but not jockish. His 45 years wore lightly on him, just a wisp of grey at the temples. Beth found him handsome; or at least she might have done so, had she allowed herself to focus for more than a moment on the physical attributes of her husband's boss. Beth noted his usual clean-shaven image was dotted with a hint of stubble. His eyes looked tired. Beth knew his divorce the past year had been hard on him. The woman seemed wrong for him, Beth recalled. Heck, she seemed wrong for anyone. Mark, she knew, had always succeeded in everything he touched. She guessed the divorce was a failure not easily digested for him.

She tried making pleasant chitchat, but the aura of seriousness quieted her. Mark reached into a drawer and pulled out a file. "Beth, I was reviewing some of Bill's client accounts last week. Normally, this is just routine and boring, just a quality check we managers are required to conduct." He paused, eyes looking over a piece of paper he held. "But this time, it seems there were some wire transfers of funds which were misapplied." Beth listened, her unease rising with each sentence. "I'm sure it was just a typing error or something," she quickly responded. "You're not saying Bill purposely did anything wrong, are you?" He paused. She saw his eyes, intense and blue, lock on her face, then drift to her hairline, around and back down, as if he was suddenly her hairstylist. "I've known Bill for years now; he's been a valued employee. All I know is that I detected the error myself. I tracked Bill's computer log several days later. It seems he went back to these same accounts for some purpose. No doubt he was confused that reversing entries had already been made. Perhaps, he was trying to cover his tracks; perhaps he was just going to correct his 'error'". Beth noticed Mark hang on that word, leaving ambiguous whether the error was intentional or not. "Perhaps he was just checking the transactions himself. I don't know. This type of error is supposed to be reported to the client and to company auditors. It would be highly damaging to Bill's career to be noted as the source."

Beth swallowed hard. Her hands suddenly went cold. "So, Bill isn't aware what you know? Why are you telling me this?"

Mark's gazed focused intently on her again. Beth found the stare unnerving. "Like I said Beth, I've worked with Bill for several years now. I don't relish the thought of confronting him with this. He's at that age when it's hard to establish yourself with another firm. And most of his portfolio is institutional clients; long-standing firm clients. Not ones he could take with him if he struck out on his own." Mark paused, as if measuring his next words. "But, it doesn't seem proper just to overlook this. Not that I want to see Bill punished, but perhaps some type of atonement could be made."

Atonement? The term struck Beth as rather curious. Sounded like something out of her old Sunday school lessons. The image of a burning a calf flashed through her mind.

"What do you mean? I'm sure Bill will be more than willing to apologize . . . to you." Beth hated the idea of Bill having to do anything; just the perception that he had done something to warrant giving an apology would hit him hard.

Beth noted that intense gaze again. Almost penetrating; as if Mark were reading her thoughts. "I was hoping, Beth, not to have to make him do that. Bill would take that so personally." Beth gulped, the coincidence giving credence to her mind-reading thought. Mark continued. "I was hoping that perhaps . . . my talking to you could resolve the problem." Beth's mind wondered aloud, "Resolve? What's to resolve?"

Mark smiled. The change in his mood was abrupt, taking Beth by surprise. "I've always admired your support for Bill Bill often mentions how he couldn't do it without you." Mark's smile softened, his eyes looking at Beth, intently, almost longingly. "You really didn't need to dress up to come here today." Beth was happy for the apparent change of topic. "Oh, this?" she laughed nervously. "I threw it on at the last second." Mark continued. "Yes, not quite the rather attractive black dress you had at the last office dinner-dance, but very nice nonetheless." Beth sensed Mark's eyes drift over her.

She recalled that dinner. Typical corporate bash. Much self-congratulatory praise by the big muckety-mucks. The food was passable; the speeches droning. The music, however, was fun. Bill had wandered off and was engrossed in a talk at the bar with a group of 3 other men. Probably re-living the last golf match shot-by-shot, she had mused. Mark was alone that night; the separation having been in effect for about 4 months. His normally reserved self was supplanted with a more outgoing style which Beth attributed to one-too-many scotch and waters. Her table was empty at one point; she didn't mind, the band was rather good. Mark came up, cracked a joke, invited her to dance. He was a passable dancer. The tempo was moderate. Old Motown number. But then they switched to a slow tempo. Beth considered excusing herself, but Mark already had her hand in his. Not wanting to embarrass either of them, she relented. They talked, but the tone in his voice was somber. Obviously, the loneliness was building in him. Mark drew closer; Beth tried to keep a proper distance but couldn't maneuver fast enough. Oh well, she thought, it's not like he's an ogre. Hardly, she smiled to herself.

"That's a beautiful dress," he said, half whispering. Beth was tickled. Ah . . . scotch, she laughed to herself. The dress was not nearly as flashy as some in the room, but she thought she looked good in it. But hearing it from her husband's boss was . . . she thought a bit . . . flattering. Hey, it can't hurt for the boss to like you, she figured. The song ended. Mark paused a moment longer than necessary. He pulled her into a subtle embrace, which she returned. Was that reflex or something more, she wondered deep inside. She turned around to see Bill back at her table, watching. She hadn't ever danced with Mark that way. "Ah, no big deal," she thought wryly, "a bit of jealousy won't kill him."

Mark's voice brought her attention back. "I thought how nice it would have been that night to watch you closer in that dress," Closer? Beth wondered to herself. You were right next to me. "Please stand up," he added. Beth paused. She thought for a second he was going to end the meeting.

Mark got up, walked over to the sofa and sat down. "Turn around, Beth. Slowly." She froze; a flash of confusion coming over her. "What?" she exclaimed, as if she had not heard him correctly. Mark looked at her. "Please stand. And turn around, in a circle." Beth looked at him incredulously. She sighed. "OK," she muttered, still puzzled. She stood and turned, conscious that Mark's gaze was no freely moving up and down over her.

She felt suddenly self-conscious. "Mark, I know Bill will take care of things; it was just a simple mistake." She weighted the options. If she left, could she, should she explain this to Bill? The memory of his expression at that dinner/dance came back to her. How would she explain being alone with Mark in some empty part of the building? No one else in the office had seen her coming or going. To leave and accuse Mark of-- what-harassment? Too scandalous. She wanted to leave, but worried about his reaction. What if Bill really did mess up? she thought.

"What sort of material is that?" he asked. She continued in her confusion, but grasped her skirt instinctively. "Mostly cotton," she replied. "I still like to think it's summer."

"Summer is nice," Mark chimed in. "Do you go to the beach much?"

"On occasion," she replied.

Marked looked at her "A pity we're not there now: I wouldn't mind seeing you in a suit." Beth tried to laugh it off as a joke, but she was very nervous now. "I'm sure you'd find better things at the beach to look at." But Mark persisted. "Not likely any that I'm as . . . curious about."

If this is a come-on, Beth thought, it's unusual. Mark looked down to the hemline of her below-the-knee skirt. He touched it lightly. Then sat back "Hold your skirt, Beth," he said firmly. Beth was apprehensive. "Mark, I don't understand . . " He quickly cut her off. "Just . . do it." His look was half-demand, half request. Mark then softened a bit, as if not wanting to scare her. "Please," he added. Beth reached down near the bottom. It was hard to stand that way, partly bent over. As she stood, the hemline raised up. Mark watched her with eager curiosity.

"Mark, really . . ." Beth protested. His reply seemed thought out already. "If you think about it, Beth, this isn't even half what I'd see at the beach." She contemplated the odd logic of his remark.

"Now lift it . . . slowly."

He was right in one respect, she thought. This would seem less improper at the beach. She thought of Bill; her mind flooded with conflicting thoughts and images. Now was not the time for Bill to be looking for a new job, if that's what Mark was implying. Beth pulled on the skirt, lifting it to mid-thigh. She prayed silently that this was just a tease, and that Mark would come to his senses. Mark focused on her exposed calves, asking her again to turn, which she did this time without verbal protest.

Beth felt flushed and nervous. It unnerved her to be looked at this way. Men could be so ridiculously visual. Granted, years ago when single, she secretly enjoyed the attention. But after she passed 30 and bore the kids, she put out of mind the idea that her legs would be the objects of such scrutiny. Not so! She hoped that legs were all that was on Mark's mind.

"Higher." Beth's hope of early reprieve was dashed. She wished she'd picked her pantyhose with greater care; the pair she had donned were not her newest, and the thought of the dreaded run crossed her mind. And she was aware that any higher and her panty line was in danger of view. An aura of surrealism was taking hold. Beth complied, holding the skirt up to just below waist level. Her mind wanted to say "If it's my legs sorry legs you wanna see, Mark, here they are." Her verbal reply was less sarcastic. "Better?"

Not the beach at all, she thought, as she squirmed under his gaze. She felt more naked covered in hose than she would bare-legged on the beach. That thought still puzzled her.

"Undo the hook." Her fears that this was no simple game increased. She sought to rationalize the situation, trying to find a way to make it less threatening. The thought of Mark seeing in her in hose didn't grab her. Though, then again, it wasn't exactly a first.

She was at a Christmas party (the polite term then and since was "Holiday Party", but she preferred the traditional term) back when she and Bill were childless. Life was simpler then, and the social life more of an occasion to let loose. The party was for the employees of the health care management firm for which she did part-time accounting work. A fun bunch they were. Rarely let your glass go empty. Beth had retired to the restroom to ease the flow of rum punch, which had been considerable. She was trying to maneuver her glass (why did she take that in?) and adjust her blouse at the same time. When she returned, she proceeded to join the group she had left. The barely repressed smiles on their faces and interchanged glances didn't clue her in soon enough. She turned eventually to see a group of men standing behind her, eyes focused at her waistline. Then did she first note the bottom back of her skirt tucked neatly into the skirt waistband together with her blouse. Full moon (well, sorta). It took forever, but eventually the 'butt' jokes ran their course. She put it all out of her mind--or at least she thought . On the drive home, with her hand resting in Bill's lap, she began to wonder if any of the men who were behind would go home than night and think of her ass. She blushed secretly. Ah . . . rum, she mused.

What the heck, she thought. Not worth risking Bill's job over. She undid the hook on the skirt. The next command was hardly a surprise. "Now the zipper." Within moments, Beth found herself standing in front of Mark, her skirt to the side of her on the floor. Fortunately, the blouse hung down in front enough to cover the more critical areas.

"Now turn around." Beth wanted more than anything to reach back and adjust her panties. She could feel that there was more "cheek" exposed under her hose than she would prefer. But she complied. Mark stopped her (no!) halfway around. "Lift your blouse, Beth, above your hose."

Geez, she thought. It had been 13 years, still early in their marriage, since Bill had "checked her out" like this. Undressing had become, well, just undressing. It had long lost its eroticism. She and Bill when dating had once done a 'mock' striptease. Even then it was more tongue-in-cheek, more joking than not. Nothing this . . intense! Beth could feel Mark's eyes on her hips and buttocks as she lifted her blouse.

After what seemed an eternity, he asked her to turn and face him. Still holding her blouse, she knew by the look in his eyes what lay ahead. She already had her fingers by the lowest button. For once, he didn't have to speak the words. She undid it. Then looked at him. A faint nod of approval. Another button. Mark's chest did a heave, a long breath escaping his lips. She slowed as she got to her tummy. The strip she did for Bill was when she was 24. Not 38! The curved tummy that resulted from carrying her two darlings inside hadn't quite ever gone away. At 5'7" and 140 pounds, she could still wear a two-piece suit, but only one cut very high. That 'toned' figure of her 20's seemed distant memory.

As she proceeded higher, Beth realized her crotch was also now becoming exposed. She worried about the 'bikini line.' Summer was over. She had last taken care of that in mid-August, before the last beach outing. Uggh! She refrained from looking, but was sure a few stray hairs were peeking out. Nature certainly had endowed her with an ample supply of them. She was sure Mark could see the dark shadow they produced through her white cotton panties.

"Mark," she pleaded. He sat intently on the sofa. Silent at first. "No one will know Beth. I mean you no harm." Her intuition confirmed his remark. The lab specimen feeling he was giving her didn't thrill her, but if he had meant to throw himself on her and subdue her, the chance had been there all along.

Beth continued, her blouse finally hanging limply at her shoulders. She crossed her arms, trying to keep as much closed as possible. As she did, she realized it only served to accentuate her cleavage. Mark seemed pleased at that. She wasn't sure whether to be more embarrassed at the 'plain jane' maidenform bra she had grabbed, or thankful that it's stoic design covered the darkness of her areolae. She suspected in time it wouldn't matter.

The blouse soon came off. The contrast between her undress and Mark's Brooks Brothers' propriety struck her, illuminating her sense of exposure. Those damn flourescent lights, she thought, so unforgiving.

She was relieved when Mark suggested she step out of her pumps. While the heel was nearly non-existent, standing in them made her feel . . . well . . a bit like a 'dancer." She could only imagine, having never ventured into such an establishment.

Mark renewed his "beach suit" analogy, in instructing her to slide down her hose. The bright red indentations they left at her waistline made her self-conscious. The beach, right! Mark was a liar, she thought, trying to find some humor in this. No bikini could possibly leave her feeling this 'naked.' Marks eyes were focused, almost in awe. Beth noticed he was trying visibly to restrain his breathing.

The sight made her a bit flushed. She could hardly recall inducing this effect in Bill. At best, it was a distant memory. Sex was always 'comfortable' with Bill. Occasionally energetic, but hardly torrid. Bill's had always a gentlemanly interest. While pleasant, it stopped short of 'lust.'

Mark had her turn once again. Beth's breathing increased. Was it the cold air? Or something else? Beth looked to note that her nipples were visible through her cups. She was always sensitive to that, especially after the kids came. Loose clothing solved the problem, usually. But, now! It was as if her nipples were blaring in neon.

Mark had her sit in the chair. A relief. Beth's legs were getting wobbly with from the embarrassment and adrenaline. "Please take off your bra, Beth." Curiously, the instruction did not strike her as outrageous. She looked at Mark, saw the sadness in his eyes. She kept her focus on him, slowly moving, delaying her actions. Like a snake charmer lulling the Cobra into a trance. She slowly reached behind, undid the snaps, holding the cups in place with her hands. "Is this what you want to see, Mark? Bill's wife's breasts?"

Mark's mouth opened slightly; his breathing now unrestrained. Her breasts alternated between B and C cup, depending on her weight. Their former perkiness had given way a bit to the rigors of childbirth and feeding, but their basic shape was still holding. But overall Beth wasn't that sensitive about her breasts. But nor did she imagine being in this position!

Beth held him in trance for a moment, then slowly lowered the bra, revealing just a hint of her large, dark brown areolae. Mark froze, his gaze fixated. A slight "Oh, yes" escaped his lips. Beth moved the bra at glacial speed, pausing again just as her nipples were to be exposed. Mark sat and leaned closer, straining, wanting to see them. As she lower the bra, they sprung free. Mark groaned.

Beth tossed the bra to the floor. She brushed her hair back, her breasts jutting slightly as her elbows rose. "Please . . . now your panties," Mark instructed. His hand rested on his crotch. Beth noticed the bulge in Mark's suit. As her arms lifted, Mark's hand moved along his crotch. A voice deep within her urged her to do it again. She brushed her hair back farther, leaning towards Mark with her chest. Beth hadn't made such an overt 'offering' of her chest since breast feeding days. She giggled a bit inside at the comparison.

Mark's hand moved more vigorously, his eyes transfixed on Beth's chest. He looked up into her eyes; an urgent, intense look. Beth kept his gaze; the two speaking in looks and gestures. Mark reached down with his other hand, and gently tugged on his belt buckle. He made no effort to stand or move from the sofa, Beth observed, as if her was purposefully keeping a polite distance.

As Mark continued, Beth became the observer. His pants lay open, and Beth could more clearly see the shape of his penis through his boxers. "Penis" was her mind's term of choice. Early on in their relationship, she and Bill uttered an occasional 'cock' or 'pussy.' But after marriage, they use more oblique references and pet names.

Beth now became intensely focused. It wasn't as if Beth hadn't seen her share of erect penises. A series of boyfriends in high school and college had satisfied her basic curiosity. The thought of other men's genitals occurred periodically in her fantasies, but wasn't directed any at specific person. On occasion, when the subject of sex came up among her friends (usually after a few glasses of white zinfandel), she would picture their husbands. But that was just something frivolous, "among friends" she would think. It wasn't that she really desired any of them. She was quite content with Bill. But a fleeting thought at what her friends might be enjoying wasn't so terrible, was it?

Mark ran his hand up along the shaft line, pausing at the top of his boxers. His eyes locked on Beth's, as if telling her 'follow me.' Beth had been sitting demurely back in her chair. She hesitated, then allowed her hands to move down from her stomach and rest near her panties. Beth waited. Her sense of anticipation surprised her. It was almost a schoolgirl's sense of expectation . . . playful, wide-eyed, uncertain. Mark peeled back his boxers, pulling down on the waistband. The head of his cock poked out. He looked at Beth, pleased to see her calm and curiosity. He lower the boxers further, exposing nearly the full shaft.

The thought of being in this situation would have, only a few hours earlier, been completed unimaginable to Beth. It would have been hard enough for her to imagine doing it with her husband. Mark lifted his hips, sliding his pants and boxers to mid-calf. He sat back, rigid, watching Beth. Beth had gotten accustomed to being topless. Her unease returned when she realized that it was her "turn." The thought of another man seeing that part of her! A brief shudder enveloped her. After a long pause, she stood up, turned slightly to limit a direct view, and slid down her panties. She stepped out of them, then discreetly sat down again, legs tight together.

Mark touched himself. Even though Beth knew in her mind that was coming, it still shocked her. Bill would do that on occasion. But it was when he was right next to her, usually on those rare times he needed a little 'boost' to help his erection. "Priming the pump" he called it.

Beth watched. She studied him, enjoying the subtle differences between Mark and Bill. Mark took himself firmly in hand, and began to stroke. He looked at Beth, his blue eyes locking onto her. His focus there made it easier for Beth to relax. She allowed her weight to shift back so that she was seated facing him directly. Mark kept his look, a soft smile forming at the edges of his mouth. Beth's legs relaxed, her hand reaching down, fingers running down through her dark triangle. She was trusting Mark not to look just yet, trying hard not to break their stare.

Her fingers found their mark. Since marriage, Beth had felt a little funny about masturbation. It's not like she didn't think Bill didn't do it, nor would she be bothered if he did. But all the same it was hard for her to be open about it herself. They had a bit of a 'don't ask, don't tell' policy, she'd joke to herself. The shower was a favorite of hers. Alone, Bill and the kids gone. The detachable shower head worked wonders. For Beth it was more about the 'feeling.' Few specific fantasies. She felt odd if the fantasy became too specific or focused on a particular person. But, now, to be watched! By Bill's boss! And to see him! Her heart was pounding.

Beth and Mark eyed each other. There was a distance between them, yet such an intimacy. Beth felt like she was inside of him, feeling his torment; feeling his desire. Beth was aware she was quite aroused; the fear, the embarrassment, the adrenaline, had heightened her senses completely. The slightest movement of her hand sent currents flowing through her.

Beth touched herself gingerly a first. She could sense the moisture building in her. Her middle finger press into her lips, allowing her to feel what she already sensed. Beth leaned back, thankful for the low back on the chair with allowed her head to arch back. She let her legs part further, freeing room for her hand. And allowing Mark a more intimate view of her. That thought made the adrenaline course through her being.

Long ago, Beth had read a story in a woman's journal--the basic supermarket variety--on sex and fantasies. One writer had recalled her experience of being observed in masturbation. Beth had found herself mildly amused in reading it; some of the stories seemed 'concocted' at times. But that image of the woman baring herself that way stuck in her mind. On occasion, Beth had projected herself into that scene. The idea of it becoming reality was never on her mind. The sense of forbiddenness seemed lost if she imagined Bill in the scene. And, as for any other . . . well, it was just to otherworldly to think about.

Mark smiled again, broke his gaze and looked directly at her open legs. Beth tensed for a moment. He looked back up; part smile, part desire. Beth closed her eyes a moment to relieve the intensity of his gaze. She focused on the pleasure she was feeling, the sense of shared adventure. The boldness inside herself she felt years ago flowed up and out of her.

Among her friends she was teased for being the most straight-laced. Not that most were that daring, but hints and details were passed among 'the girls' now and then. But one--Catherine--could be embarrassingly forward in describing her sex life. Embarrassing to others at least; Catherine didn't seem to mind. The tune to a song drifted through her head. What's the line she thought? Something like " . . . if my friends could see me now . ." A pity I can't tell them about this" Beth thought, smiling to herself.

She looked up to see Mark vigorously pleasuring himself. He gave her another pleading look. Beth pulled her legs back, the tension inside her building. She closed her eyes again. A montage of images and emotions flooded Beth's mind. Her inner being seeming to open up, releasing its hidden contents of dreams, fears, aspirations, and fantasies . . . She had not often imagined being in a sexual situation with another man. The newness of the experience--being exposed, open, performing--was overwhelming, intensely erotic.

The distractions in her mind allowed the tension inside her to build, without her becoming self-conscious of it. The contractions began to build, coming in small waves, then growing and growing. Her hand moved faster, her middle finger plunging inside her, the lower pad of her thumb pressed hard into her clitoris. Moving, rocking, circling. She clenched her teeth and momentarily resisted the imminent climax. The fear of losing control took hold, but only briefly. The resistance seemed to enhance her climax, the waves of pleasure continuing to build and overwhelm her. Her cries came softly, then louder. Her body tensed as she arched back, extending her body towards Mark . . .. lifting, opening, offering . . .

She looked over at Mark, softening her touch upon herself. Mark, who seemingly had paused to observe Beth's orgasm, renewed his intensity. Their eyes locked again. Beth looked deep inside of him, trying to understand what passions . . what demons . . . led him to this. Bill's face contorted. A guttural cry arose from deep within him, as spurts of milky white semen poured out. His hands then slowed, bit by bit. His body seemed to deflate before her eyes, sinking deeply into the sofa. Beth again sat meekly, retrenching her legs, curling up on the chair. Mark gave her one last soft look. Then he arose, and without bothering to clean himself off, pulled up his pants and shorts.

He walked quietly to the door and turned to Beth, talking in a somber, soft tone. "Be assured, Beth, that no one will ever know about his. I've given my notice of resignation to the company. I'm transferring out of state in two weeks."

Beth remained silent, not sure what to say. Mark continued "I've already recommended Bill as my successor. I'm not sure if that will happen or not, but I do wish you both well."

He reached for the door. "It was incredible." He, paused, looking at her. "Take care, Beth." With that he disappeared out the door.

Beth arrived back home at 1:00, but it seemed like days since she had left. She retrieved the mail from the box, and headed inside. The silence inside the home was profound, broken only by one ticking grandfather clock. She walked upstairs to the bedroom, entered the bath, and turned the shower faucet to high. She entered the closet, quicky slipping out of her clothes. As she walked back into the bathroom, her reflection in the mirror startled her. She stopped, turning her head. Peeking back at her was the shadow of a 24 year old she hadn't seen in years. Beth smiled back. She reached for the glass shower door, opened it, and disappeared into the enveloping cloud of steam . . . .

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