Expectations

Pure fiction. My thanks to my editor: WindySwimming.

*****

We were sitting on the patio of a beachfront restaurant, sipping something tall and cold. She wore a straw hat and shades, plus a button-front shirt and walking shorts. One leg was propped on an empty chair, and the other across her knee, a flip-flop dangled (barely) from one toe. The cool breeze was playing gently with her hair. We had walked here from our B&B, a string of tiny cottages, each with a view of the beach and ocean, where we had spent most of the weekend stress-testing the bed. We were taking a break. I'll call her Jennifer.

"You know, they're all really starting to bug me!" she started. I waited. "Everyone, and I mean everyone, is telling me that I need to move on. It's 'time to get back in the game. I'm too young to spend my life hidden away, and other subtle questions as to why I haven't landed another man yet!"

I chuckled. "In fact, you have landed another man."

She turned her head and looked at me over her sunglasses. "Are you getting soft in your old age? I thought you said we were just a therapeutic fucking for the newly divorced mother of two?"

"I'll leave it to you to decide if I'm getting soft," I replied, smiling, "but I must admit that I have never enjoyed any woman as much as you. While I am not about to renounce my blessed state of bachelorhood, there will always be a place for you in my life, and bed."

"No matter who else is also in it ...," she added, with a smirk. "To tell the truth, you, and not just that mighty sword you wield, have done wonders for this poor lady's ego and self-confidence. God! It's good to feel like a woman again, instead of just a mother. In case I forget in the heat of the moment, thank you, thank you, thank you!!"

"As always, my pleasure." This was getting awfully sweet. "So what is the problem with being single and enjoying it?" I asked to change the direction. "Just tell them to buzz off."

"Expectations. You guys seem to operate under a looser set of rules, but women? Parents expect certain things, husbands, judges, co-workers, society - they all have these layers of expectations. That's what's bugging me now; I can't just be. I have to be this, or that, but never just me. Because of joint custody and 'societal norms', I can't be open about us. Don't even get me started on single motherhood! Talk about an impossible pile of expectations! It's a guaranteed failure! If I'd known it was this bad, I would have stayed married!"

"He left you." I reminded her.

"Yeah, but I might have been able to arrange for the three of us to live together. Geeze!" She laughed at herself. "Seriously, I would give anything to have some time with no expectations!"

She had me curious, now. "Where do these expectations come from? Other than work, I personally don't really feel any."

"Work, yeah, that's a contract of sorts, though there are a lot of unspoken expectations as well." she replied, thinking. She shrugged. "It's just who you are. If I were a drug addict, they would simply take my kids away and leave me alone. No one expects much of anything from a drug addict. And I tell you, if I hadn't had you to help maintain my sanity, I might have ended up going that route."

"Hm-m-m. So, it's identity? Who you are in society?" I persisted.

"Well, duh!" She replied.

Okay. "So how do you change your identity?"

"I don't know. Even if I went somewhere else to start over and re-invent myself, I would have the girls. I'm not giving them up, even for a reasonably free life." She sounded resigned, but not really happy.

"Well, maybe you could time-share." I said, speculating. I was slipping into the male problem-solving mode, even though I knew better. "By day, you wear the role of a hard working, divorced, mother of two. On occasional weekends, however, you are the favorite lover of a confirmed bachelor. Maybe you could expand on that kind of multiple identity."

She grinned. "Well, I obviously love the expectations of that second role. But it's wearing thin in the sense that my support system, the people I rely on to watch the girls for me when I am with you, are starting to rebel. A couple weekends alone to 'get over' the divorce is one thing, but as an ongoing lifestyle, it is raising eyebrows, and they don't even know what I'm doing!" She shook her head.

"Ah!" She sat up. "I'm depressing myself, and probably you. Let's go walk the beach."

So we did. I watched her chase waves back down the sand, and run away as the next raced in, like an innocent child. A few times she stood her ground and let the surf catch her and she wiggled her feet down into the soft, wet sand. The water was cold, and only wet-suited surfers were out in the water. I thought about identity and how one might change it.

Eventually, we had walked the length of the beach and back to our cottage. She took my hand and pulled me in. I had barely locked the door before she was naked and sitting cross-legged in the middle of the messy bed.

"What would you like as a pre-dinner appetizer?" she asked, happily.

-----------------

Three weeks later, she called. "Busy tonight?" she asked, with no preliminaries.

"Where would you like to go?" I asked in response.

"To bed, with you, your place is fine. Don't bother to clean up. What time?"

"Wait," I laughed, "even that august source, Playboy Advisor, says 'Never make love on an empty stomach - take her to dinner first!'"

"Cute," she acknowledged, "I'll be eating with the girls. You go find yourself a large plate of oysters. What time?"

"Okay, eight?" I was guessing.

"Would nine be all right? Then I can put the girls to bed before I leave."

"I'll see you then. You do remember how to get here?"

"Oh, yeah! I can't wait! Bye!!"

The phone went dead, and I stood there looking at it for a few seconds. I cleaned up the place, anyway.

She knocked at about 9:20. I was not surprised. I have heard that kids are hard to put to bed when they know you are going out. She came in past me as I held the door, dropped her purse and car keys, turned around and put her arms around my neck.

"No questions yet; just make love to me." Her lips brushed against mine, and any questions I might have had drifted away.

She was passionate and somehow demanding. She wanted, and gave, full measure each step of the way: undressing each other, manual foreplay, oral foreplay each way, and if I can remember, four different positions before I lost control. I lay across her, legs tangled, completely spent, feeling my cock shrinking inside her.

After a moment, when I had caught my breath again, I propped myself up on one elbow. She was lying on her back, arms over her head, eyes closed. I could see the track of a tear trailing down from the outside corner of her eye. "What's going on?" I asked quietly.

She held up a finger for me to wait, then pressed a thigh up between my legs and rotated her hips in a vain attempt to push me further inside her. When she relaxed, I popped out completely and she gave up.

"I can't make it next weekend. No one will take the girls for the weekend, damn it!" she whispered into the gap between my shoulder and cheek. Now, the evening made sense. I just held her. She was crying, trying not to be obvious.

Eventually, she calmed down and sat up against the headboard. "Next door neighbor girl is really desperate for baby-sitting money, so I have coverage for evenings, but ..." Her voice trailed off and a couple tears started again. "Damn it! I don't ask for much!"

"All those expectations again. Somehow, we're going to have to change your identity!" I half meant it as a joke. She didn't laugh.

She shrugged, and I saw her make the effort to put it behind her. "Now I want a drink. Do you think I can burn off a Scotch on the rocks before I leave tonight?" she asked with a weak grin.

"You bet!" I replied, slipping out of bed and making note of the time. I would not let her leave for at least two hours. A moment later she joined me in the living room, and I handed her the Scotch, her favorite brand. She was naked except for a washcloth tucked between her thighs and her pussy. She caught me looking, and apologized for her sexy underwear with a sarcastic tone and a little curtsey.

I plopped down on the couch with my drink, and patted the seat next to me. "Actually, since I'm the reason you're wearing it, it is in fact very sexy, so come on over here and let me hold you, you wonderfully sexy babe!"

She grinned, and snuggled in next to me. I loved the completely un-self-conscious way she moved, completely naked and vulnerable yet confident and relaxed. She had become so comfortable with her body. When I put my arm around her, she nudged my hand up onto her breast.

"Ready again? Already?" I asked teasingly, nuzzling her neck.

"Of course! And no," she replied, "I just love being held and caressed and fondled. You, of all people, should know I don't hold back certain body parts only for sex."

That was true. A two hour drive to a weekend getaway was an acutely painful exercise in splitting your mind so as to pay attention to both the driving and to all of the gentle, low key, fondling going on. As I dwelled on these thoughts, something was nagging at the back of my mind. Oh, yeah.

"Remember all that discussion we had about identity and expectations?" I started. She nodded. "But with me, you are free of the expectations, right?"

She nodded again, warily. "Well, there are expectations, but only the ones we have of each other. Plus, we can't just fuck in the middle of Main Street!"

"You once said you would give anything for a night with no expectations. I know of a private club, downtown, where you could do just that. I'm told it's a class place. I'm not a member, but I could easily get us a membership, and once inside you get to shed all your expectations, inhibitions, clothes, and whatever else you wish. It's only for a night at a time, but what do you think?" I had been curious about this place, but never had a willing partner.

"I assume you're talking about some sort of orgy club?" She asked.

"I hear there is a main room and private rooms as well." I replied.

She sat, looking into the distance for a bit. She dropped her head. "The main reason I can let go when I am with you is the privacy. Someone who sees us together and knows your reputation may guess, but never know. I have this fear, if I went to this orgy club, that I would end up fucking my boss in the middle of a pile, and then he would fire me for 'moral turpitude', whatever that is."

I sat for a moment mulling that image, and something went 'click' in the back of my mind. "Of course!" I exclaimed, sitting up so suddenly she about fell over. She gave me a long look. "No answer now, just something to think about. Twice a year, this club has a masquerade! With a mask, you could be totally anonymous! I know a shop that has a really great selection of masks. I would be there as your safety, but you could lose your own identity and all the expectations that go with it, and adopt any identity you wanted! Think about it!" I sat back, self-satisfied.

"You're serious, aren't you?" she asked.

------------------------

Another three weeks, and I saw her name on my caller-ID. I picked up and simply said "Yes, I'm free tonight. Nine to nine-thirty is fine."

"Okay, see you then, bye!" she said happily, and the line went dead. So much for verbal seduction.

That night, she lay on top of me, knees pulled up against my sides, arms swarmed around my head, her head resting in the crook of my neck, her forehead against my chin, as we both caught our breaths. I could feel her heartbeat and my own as the glow slowly dissipated. I hoped to get these calls periodically for the rest of my life, but would happily accept however many of them I would be allotted. I had escorted more than one lover to the church as she married someone else. I gently stroked the soft skin of her back and sides. The thin sheen of perspiration gradually evaporated under my touch.

She sat up. "Ready for a Scotch?" I asked.

"In a moment." She set up a slow, circular, motion with her hips, grinding herself gently against my pubic bone, her eyes locked on mine. After a few moments, she let out a long sigh. "You just feel so right, so natural, in me." She leaned down to give me a kiss, then lifted off. It was time for me to play bartender.

She plopped herself in my lap on the couch, swirling her drink with a finger. Then she put an arm around my neck and a nipple about half an inch in front of my lips. I let my cold glass drag across the nipple as I took a sip of Scotch.

"Whoa! Play nice!" she cried out and held her drink where she could pour it on my cock.

"Okay, okay, I surrender!" I laughed, then took her breast into my mouth and swirled my tongue around the nipple, warming it back up.

"Much better!" she said. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about this masked ball of yours."

"So you've been thinking about it?" I asked.

"In quiet moments, I've been thinking about nothing else. I've had to go masturbate in the ladies room at work, twice!"

"Are you complaining or bragging?" I teased. She glared at me. "I should get us a membership?" I asked, less flippantly.

"Mmm-hmm. But I still have a problem, you know, about 'identity'. I have no idea who or what I want to be."

My heart quickened. "Well, let's see, there's the little Milk Maid, or the Friendly Nurse, or the French Maid, or ..."

"No! No! No! Not the party. I'm serious. All this got me seriously trying to understand who I am, and wondering who I want to be. I certainly don't want to stay with my current identity, because I'm not enjoying it too much."

Oops, I didn't see that coming. "I'm not sure how I can help. What kind of changes are you considering?"

She sat there for a couple moments, silent, staring at nothing. "I don't know. I don't even know why I brought it up. Maybe we can talk later, when I've at least got some sense of what all that means.

"In the meantime, I really don't know who I want to be at the party either, and you can take all those male fantasy cliché's and stuff them! You said you know a good costume shop? We need to arrange a time for you to take me. I assume this is not the costume store I take my seven year old to for Halloween."

"No, you're right, not unless she is dangerously precocious!" I did not get a laugh.

"I keep thinking," she said slowly, "that I want something with no identity. Every identity, even your clichéd fantasies, have expectations attached. Can I somehow eliminate all identity? Can I just be ... Woman?" Her eyes were boring into me intently.

"Woman ... as sex object?" I asked.

"Well, at this place, sure. That's not really identity, though, is it? Every guy will project his own desires onto a woman with no identity of her own, won't they?"

"Yes ... I'm just not sure how you would do this." A woman, an available woman, with no identity? "If there were a woman I'd never met before, making herself available to me with no reservations, that would be very arousing. She still has an identity, but I don't know it."

Okay, close," she replied "but I want to go further. I want to create a woman who can't have an identity, who exists but can't be pigeon-holed. For the party, that is, not permanently. Is there some kind of mask that would cover the head completely, face, hair, everything, so there are no clues to allow others to define her?" She was gesturing around her head vigorously, and I was watching the remaining Scotch slosh around her glass.

"I'm not sure, but I think we can find out." I mentally added a fetish shop I knew of to our shopping list. "You would want mouth, nose, and eye holes, though, right?"

"I don't think so. Or, maybe, if screened. She shouldn't be able to talk, and while she should be able to see out, her eyes would be screened so they cannot be seen." She said quietly.

I smiled. "Now you're starting to scare me. Very mysterious. A cloak over your body?"

"No, you're not getting it!" She snapped. "The body must be naked, not even sandals, naked and available for me to give to anyone of any sex, preference, or perversion to touch, fondle, use ..." Her voice trailed off. "Now I'm starting to scare myself. But I am also terribly aroused! That image must be some sort of archetype." She tossed off the last of her Scotch. "I now need you to eat my pussy, but first I need to eat that magnificent cock of yours!" She pushed my legs apart and knelt between them.

-----------------

I got the membership and all the information and shared it with her, discreetly. I made appointments with the proprietors of the costume and fetish shops, explaining that we had some very special requirements that we didn't know how to fill. I got a brief groan from the fetish shop owner.

She took an afternoon off work and met me downtown at a specific bus stop. It's not the best part of town, so I was there when she got off the bus. I was amused that she wore a large floppy hat and dark glasses. At least I recognized her. The costume shop was about a half block away.

We walked in and she looked disappointedly at the rather ordinary fare in the front room. I asked for the proprietor, and we were quickly led into a back room clearly marked "Adults ONLY!!" She had obviously been practicing her list of requirements, but described only what she wanted the mask itself to do.

"And what about the rest of the costume?" He asked.

"Nothing." she replied. He looked a bit confused.

"Are you familiar with Club Phantasy?" I interjected.

"Ah, of course. I supply many of the costumes worn to their masked ball." I nodded. He gave her a hard look. "Seductive? Innocent? Aggressive?" He asked.

"Completely neutral, a blank canvas, I don't want to be defined. Nothing others can use to limit me," she answered.

"Neutral, neutral ...," he muttered, finger to his lips, looking up over our heads. "The closest thing that comes to mind is my selection of feathered bird masks. They leave the eyes pretty well hidden and cover the nose, but not the mouth. For the most part, though, they are frontal masks only, and you said you wanted your head covered," he offered.

"I also said I wanted the full face covered, including the mouth," she retorted.

"Hmm," he replied, "you may find that that will not work out the way you think. First, if the entire face is covered by, say, a nylon stocking, blurring shapes and colors, you become inhuman, a robot, and that can turn people away."

"Further," he continued, "if you enjoy this ball, you might have need for occasional ... refreshment ... to keep your energy up? And if you are serious about allowing open interaction, there will inevitably be requests for oral ... interaction?" He was waving his fingers around in front of his mouth.

"Damn! How could I forget that! Ok, mouth uncovered. If I find one I like can you turn it into a full head mask to cover my hair and so on?" She was getting into the flow now.

"Most likely." he assured her. "Let me go see what I have in stock." He disappeared down a crowded aisle and then up some stairs. Jennifer started walking the place, pulling out one scandalous outfit after another and giggling. After about ten minutes, he was back with a stack of boxes which he placed on a table with a large round swivel mirror in front of the chair he held out for her.

"Ok, first I do have two full head feather masks. Shall we try those first?" She nodded assent. He handed her some bobby pins and directed her in how to pin up her shoulder-length tresses so the mask could cover them.

"This first," he explained, "is an Italian creation with feathers over the entire head. Let's see what you think." He carefully slipped the mask over her and fastened the stretchy material at the base of her skull.