Date: Tue, 25 Jul 2000 21:11:49 -0700
From: J. Ocean <jocean@slip.net>
Subject: 17th Summer 12

My Seventeenth Summer, Part 12

The catalog was full of pictures of women in lingerie. Beautiful women,
beautiful lingerie -- it put Victoria's Secret to shame. I started to flip
through it, feeling the heat rise on the back of my neck. Some of the
outfits were barely there, and some were downright nasty -- a full-page
picture of a statuesque brunette in a crotchless mesh bodysuit, the
horseshoe-shaped opening circling her pubic hair, was a particular
eye-catcher.


Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that India was also paging through the
catalog with one hand as she sipped champagne with the other. Turning the
page, I did a double-take as I saw that the model on the next page was
Julia. She was photographed from above as she lay sprawled on a bed in a
wispy black lace bra-and-panty set. Her tits were spilling out of the bra,
her erect nipples clearly visible beneath, her big brown eyes staring
seductively into the camera. Thinking that this was what I had turned down
in the stairwell, I felt faint. I quickly turned the page, but what I saw
there was no help.


It was India naked from the waist up. Photographed from behind, she was
wearing only a tiny white thong that covered the merest fraction of her
ass. She was half-turned toward the camera so that one breast was clearly
visible. It was small and high and delicious-looking. I felt a little sweat
break out on my forehead, and I couldn't help sneaking another glance at
India. She had put down the champagne and now had slipped one hand inside
her blouse, slowly and unself-consciously rubbing her left nipple as she
turned the pages.


I wanted to go over there and help her, but I quickly looked away.
Returning to the catalog, I saw that toward the back it started to feature
pictures of women together. There was Julia again, kneeling in front of a
redhead in leather, her eyes closed as she rested her head on the redhead's
hip. There was India again -- blindfolded, naked but for a garter belt,
stockings and high heels. Feminine hands were reaching around from behind
her, holding and hiding her breasts, and one stockinged leg was wrapped
around her waist, coyly obscuring her crotch area. But the other woman must
have been shorter, because her face was hidden behind India.


I shifted my eyes from the picture to the model, who now had hiked up her
skirt a little and had a hand between her legs, seemingly oblivious to my
presence. Or maybe not -- suddenly, she looked up from the catalog and met
my eyes. "Is there anything I can do for you?" she said teasingly.
"Anything at all?"


I froze. My natural instinct was to jump up, rip her clothes off, and do
her right then and there. But I remembered my resolution and, wincing with
effort, shook my head and returned my eyes to the catalog. I couldn't
really concentrate on anything and it took all my will to keep my eyes
riveted to the page. In another minute I think I would have broken, but
then I heard footsteps approaching.


Looking up, I saw a honey blonde in a dark blue pinstriped pantsuit. She
walked right up to me and offered me her hand. "Morgan, my name is Kira.
Thank you for your patience. We'll be ready in just a minute." She looked
over at India. "India, would you get dressed please?" India nodded, stood,
and exited with long, regal strides.


Kira took the seat India had just vacated and I checked her out. She
looked to be in her late 20s, with classic all-American features and a tan
that rivaled those I'd seen in California. Her eyes were green and
sparkling but with a serious, "don't-underestimate-me-because-I'm-blond"
look. "Allow me to tell you a little about us," said Kira. "Chimera deals
in world-class intimate fashions. All our products are made from the finest
materials with the finest workmanship. We have a very exclusive clientele.
And let me just say, Morgan, that you are one of the loveliest clients ever
to walk through our doors. You will do justice to some of our most
challenging outfits. As a matter of fact, if you said to me right now,
'Kira, I want you to delay the show for a few minutes so that we can go
into the back room and get naked together,' I wouldn't hesitate to do that."


I blinked. Was she kidding me? An enigmatic smile was playing at the
corners of her mouth. It could have been a serious offer, and it could just
have been her way of paying a compliment to a client. I was completely
paralyzed, and the proposition just hung in the air for a long, tense
moment. Then Kira was all business again, handing me a clipboard.


 "This is our scoresheet. During the show, please rate each outfit you see
on a scale of one to ten. Afterward, we'll sit down, see which ones you
rated highest, and write down your order. OK?"


"OK," I said. It was all I could manage. Kira stood and walked to the far
end of the room, where she knocked on a door. After a moment it swung open
and Kira said, "She's ready."


"Thanks, Kira," said a woman's throaty voice. Kira nodded at me and told
me "I'll see you shortly" before leaving through the double doors. I was
alone, feeling fairly perplexed, for a minute, before the owner of the
voice emerged from the doorway. And that was the first time I laid eyes on
Athena.


How to describe Athena? She's a big woman, first off. About six feet tall
with an enormous bust and wide hips, and a waist that's not small but
tapered enough to perfect her figure. Black hair, black eyes, and skin that
I've never seen on anyone else -- a smooth, lustrous, very light brown that
I might call copper.


When I saw her, my jaw dropped and I was rendered speechless. She was
wearing casual clothes -- biker shorts and a loose-fitting gray top that
was cropped just above her navel -- but on her they looked like the
garments of a high priestess. When Athena walked up to me -- long, haughty,
confident strides -- and introduced herself, and it was all I could do to
lift my hand to take hers. And then I flashed: the woman in the catalog,
the amazon in the crotchless bodysuit -- it was her! I very nearly dropped
to my knees in worship. And I bet that wouldn't have fazed her at all; I
bet it happened all the time.


Somehow I remained standing, and Athena walked me to the front of the
stage and deposited me into a tall chair so soft and deep that I felt I
might have trouble getting out of it. On my right was another table with
another bottle of champagne, open but untouched, and to the right of that a
black director's chair upon which Athena now arranged herself. She picked
up and placed in her lap some sort of control panel. For several minutes
she fiddled with it as I sat nervously, wondering what the hell was going
to happen now.