From: rdragon@ix.netcom.com(***)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Beatrice (FM, cons)
Date: 4 Nov 1996 02:58:41 GMT

			       Beatrice

	Beatrice was on business in the city. Another book promotion
tour that seemed endless. It was the first time she had written a best
seller and the only other promotional tours she had been on were to
promote little articles she had written in periodicals. This whole
experience was so new and exciting and yet it seemed endless. The
hundreds of strange faces that greeted her each day seemed to want
more than a smile and an autographed copy of a best selling novel. It
seemed that they wanted some of her newly acquired fame to rub off on
them.

	Strange, how people see others who become famous overnight.

	It had been a long day and the prospects of the approaching
evening were not better. She had been subjected to lunch meetings,
dinner meetings, brunch meetings, even cocktail meetings. There had
never been time to see the sights of the Big Apple and enjoy the
people. Couldn't anyone understand that she was a small town Texas
girl who yearned to see what she had never seen before?

	Apparently, famous novelists are required to be well bred,
well traveled, and well educated. Why then, did Beatrice still feel
only adequate?

	She rode the elevator to the 12th floor. It would be nice to
get into a hot tub and soak. As soon as she opened the door, she
quickly began to undress and throw her clothes into the chair in the
corner of the room. She took off everything but the silver silk teddy,
walked straight to the bathroom to run her bath water. She marveled at
the elaborate decor of the room. Never before had she been surrounded
by such opulence and luxury. If this was first class, she knew it was
the _only_ way to go.

	Beatrice turned the water on and poured the milk bath in that
had been provided her by the hotel. She turned to look in the mirror
at herself. The reflection brought more to her than the image of a
woman of thirty-three years. Yes, the red hair was in place, the dark
brown eyes shone brilliantly, the body a sleek but adequate one.

	But it also reminded her of a time when she could not bear to
see herself in any way shape or form in any mirror or anything else
which reflected an image. So much had happened to her in the span of
five years.

	Beatrice was married, happily, with three darling children in
her care. She thought of her responsibilities to her family as her
bath water ran. The memories ran through her mind; the miscarriages,
the marital ups and downs, her mother's death, her deep desire to
write the perfect novel, her husband's work... there had been so much
happen to the five of them. She smiled to herself with some sense of
pride. They had all grown together, not apart, and they had come out
much more than survivors but were really living and loving. It made
her proud of her many roles: wife, mother, friend, lover, novelist.
All were such a part of her now. She wondered how so many women seemed
lost within themselves not knowing exactly who they were.

	With great care and precision, Beatrice removed the teddy she
wore and sat in the hot water. She loved bathing. It was almost a sin
to enjoy such a simple act of cleaning oneself so much.

	Her nipples grew hard as her skin made contact with the
steaming liquid. She giggled to herself as she looked down at her
breasts. Yes, they sagged a bit, no, they sagged a lot. It was that
thought that reminded her how much her husband loved her to still be
attracted to her aging body. It pleased her.

	"How would any other man ever find these attractive?" she
thought to herself. No matter, she knew she would always remain
faithful.

	But it would be nice to be considered attractive to yet one
other. She took the wash cloth in her hand and washed her skin
vigorously, so much so that her skin glowed with the circulation.

	She arose from the now lukewarm water, grabbed a fluffy towel
and began the long process of drying and dressing. She tingled at the
soft cotton next to her skin. Even with no make-up on, bare faced, she
felt attractive. It had been a lifetime for her to be pleased with the
way she looked. She quickly dried her hair and began dressing. Walking
around her room, nude, she felt like a school girl, giddy and filled
with excitement. She had only read about Tavern-on-the-Green and had
dreamed many a dream about what was now to become a reality. Looking
into her closet, Beatrice thought, "Damn, I don't care if I am only
going to dinner with those dull men, I'm gonna dress to the nines!"
She laughed out loud.

	Beatrice looked carefully through her closet to find just the
right outfit for a dinner meeting at Tavern-On-the-Green. She wasn't
quite sure if she should wear something flashy or something more
conservative. As she pushed hanger after hanger of dresses, she came
upon a black silk wrap dress. The neckline very low and appealing.
"This calls for my black garter belt and bra", she giggled to herself.

	Ever since Beatrice had lost weight she had been drawn to buy
the most expensive and elaborate undergarments she could find.

	It seemed like such a luxury to have silk next to one's skin.

	She relished every moment she spent shopping for these
delicates.

	Her husband would sometimes joke with her about one day buying
stock in "Fruit of the Loom", with the money she was spending on
underwear. But Beatrice felt proud of her middle aged body and the way
she finally had come to accept herself. She had spent too many years
avoiding mirrors and cameras. This was HER time and she was going to
do it right! A best selling novel, an advance on her next book, a
promotional tour, and all of the "perks" to go with it... Beatrice was
going to live this time to the fullest.

	Opening the drawer which held both underwear and stockings,
Beatrice slowly pulled out the garter belt, bra, and black silk
stockings she had purchased earlier that day at Bloomingdale's.

	It had been an unforgettable journey into the famous store. A
trip she had only dreamed before. Her agent, Carmen, had gone with her
out of sheer curiosity, to see this "small town girl hit the big time
store". Of course, Beatrice had spent two hours in the lingerie
department alone. She had been surrounded by such beautiful
delicates... the urge to buy had overwhelmed her. As she dressed,
slowly and deliberately, she wondered what her husband would think if
he could see her. "Probably make fun and laugh hysterically at me",
she mused to herself.

	One of the most wonderful feelings in the world to Beatrice
was cool satin against her skin. It was so exciting she blushed to see
her nipples harden as she put on the black dress. She put on a string
of pearls and matching earrings and was ready for the night ahead.
Before leaving her room she took one last look into the full length
mirror to make sure she looked all rightn. It was indeed true, her
eyes and hair were her most outstanding features. The deep red of her
hair and the size of her brown eyes made for a very attractive woman.
She could honestly say she was pleased with the results.

	She met Carmen (her agent), Sam (her publicist), and Don (her
editor) at Tavern-on-the-Green. The restaurant was busy and noisy,
none of which Beatrice noticed, for being awe-struck. The lights were
glittering, the air smelled of flowers and the people already seated
were so beautifully dressed. She felt as though she had stepped into a
dream. In her mind, she knew this would be a night to remember and
cherish.

	Beatrice smiled at and hugged the three she met. They had
become good friends during the tour. As the maitre'd seated them,
Beatrice's eye was caught by a man sitting at a table with two other
gentlemen. He was rather nice looking, black hair, blue eyes, and
glasses. Their eyes met briefly and Beatrice looked away to get a
better view of her surroundings. There was the usual exchange of
conversation... "How are you doing", "Was the book signing
exhausting", "What do you think about things so far"... the kind of
conversation Beatrice was beginning to be accustomed. The waiter
filled their water goblets, introduced himself and began explaining
the menu to them all. His words were becoming more and more distant as
Beatrice gazed around the room only to look straight into the
stranger's eyes again. It was as though she knew him and had forgotten
his name. What embarrassed her, though, was he was looking intently at
her. She quickly turned her eyes downward toward the menu. The waiter
was describing the main courses and Beatrice tried to pay attention so
she could order.

	Sam touched her hand and Beatrice jumped. "What's the matter,
hon? You seem a bit distracted."

	"Oh, it's nothing Sam, just too much of the big city, I guess.
I'm not used to all these people." She leaned over and kissed him
gently on the cheek to let him know she was all right.

	The four of them began talking and laughing. Beatrice was not
completely "into" the conversation because she was trying to
nonchalantly see everything she could about this man that she seemed
to know from somewhere. He was dressed in a navy pinned stripe suit.
The sleeve of his white shirt had some initials on it. She tried as
innocently as she could to see what they were. The letters "T" and "C"
stood out but she could not make out the middle initial. He was fair
complected and seemed to have a genuine sincerity in his style of
dress and mannerism. Fearing she would be caught, she quickly brought
herself back to the reality of the conversation around her.

	Beatrice thoroughly enjoyed the people she had become friends
with during her writing. Sam was a dark haired man who had given her
encouragement during the difficult time she had been writing her first
book. He had availed himself to her without any strings. He had called
her when she was down... talked to her furiously during her "writer's
block", and had shared his life with her as a friend.

	Carmen, had been the one to introduce them to each other and
kindly warned her that he was a publicist who would "live" with her
through every book she would send to him. He was a handsome, Italian,
with an Italian temperament. Beatrice cared about this man as a dear
friend.

	He had returned the caring to her.

	Don was the first person she had told of her intentions of
writing a best selling novel. They were both creative... he in music
and poetry... she in creative writing and music. Their common
interests brought them close as friends. Beatrice had confided some of
her writing dreams and hopes to Don and he had been receptive and
helpful.

	Other than her husband, Don was her harshest critic and her
staunchest supporter. When anything was submitted, Don would always
get back to her with detailed reasons to his editing. But what made
their relationship stronger was that they both shared their intimate
selves through writing. They had shared writings that if otherwise
rejected would have been deep emotional blows. Their writing
intimacies endeared Don to Beatrice. She would be a friend to Don to
her dying day.

	Carmen came into Beatrice's life on a fluke. They had met via
computer. Both of them were members of a large network and had
exchanged pleasantries on several occasions. Beatrice had admired
Carmen's imaginative writing and had commented how well received they
had been. To Beatrice's surprise, Carmen had admired her writing style
and sense of humor. They spoke on brief occasions for at least a year,
before Carmen finally called Beatrice on the phone to begin serious
conversations about writing. Carmen knew she had the leads and ability
to get Beatrice's work published it was just a matter of convincing
Beatrice to go ahead.

	The conversation of the four associates continued as their
dinner was served. Beatrice was conscious of being watched. She would
be talking to Sam, stroking her pearl necklace which dropped
delicately to her cleavage. Without any warning she would look in the
direction of the mysterious stranger's eyes... sometimes embarrassed
at being "caught"

	in his glance. She would be looking at Carmen, talking about
dates for her next publication, and without thought, her hand would
follow the outline of her lips, her jawline, her neck, all an
unconscious habit... then their eyes would meet... if only for a brief
moment... they transmitted an electricity that made Beatrice blush and
look away many times. She enjoyed this visual game of tease. What made
her lick her lips ever so slowly as she drank her wine? For what
reason did she drop her napkin to the floor to bend down as sensuously
as she dared and stare blatantly into his eyes? Beatrice had never had
an affair and had never considered it... so why the grand gestures? It
must be the atmosphere... it was full of electricity... excitement...
the unknown.

	As Beatrice drank her coffee, the stranger got up to leave.
She followed his exit carefully. She lost him as he left the entry.

	Sighing to herself she turned to Don to ask him how his family
was doing in his absence and she noticed the stranger stood staring at
her from the restaurant foyer. At the same time a waiter came over to
her and gave her a handwritten note which read,"I have thoroughly
enjoyed reading your first novel. Would it be possible for me to have
my copy signed by you? Hotel? Room number? T.C." Beatrice's heart
jumped into her throat. With all of the composure she could muster,
Beatrice asked the waiter for a pen and quickly jotted down her hotel
and room number, and the time she would be at the hotel. She watched
as the waiter returned the note to the stranger and saw him wink in
compliance. There was an uneasy feeling in her stomach. What if this
man were crazy or some maniac waiting to pounce. But she kept thinking
of his sky blue eyes and the warmth she had felt.

	Beatrice, Sam, Carmen, and Don all walked back to Beatrice's
hotel with her. She was a bit relieved when she did not see the
stranger in the lobby.

	"Gee, gang! Don't we have an early meeting tomorrow with
somebody important?" Beatrice queried.

	Carmen walked over to Beatrice embraced her, kissed the air by
her cheek and said she planned on taking the men with her... for more
of a night on the town.

	"Carmen can be such a party animal," Beatrice mused to
herself.

	"Well, then I'll go up to my room and relax. All of this
luxury gets me tired!" With that Beatrice got into the elevator, waved
at the threesome, and pressed the button to take her to her floor. She
had no idea if the stranger would really come for an autographed
edition of her book.

	The doors to the elevator parted and to her amazement, there
stood the stranger... smiling... waiting. She was a bit shaken at this
development, but covered as best she could. As they approached her
room, she fumbled in her pocket book for her room key, and of course,
proceeded to drop them in front of her door. As they both reached down
to pick them up, their hands met and held for a brief second.

	Beatrice quickly pulled her hand back and gasped loudly.

	"What's the matter?" he asked with some alarm.

	"Look, my door is opened. Oh great! Just what I need, a
robbery!"

	The stranger began to laugh. Beatrice looked at him in
disbelief.

	"And just what is so funny about this? I mean you live here
but I'm just visiting. He could still be in there... just waiting for
me !"

	The stranger laughed even harder! He reached out and touched
her shoulder to pat her... she liked to have melted when he did it.

	"No, no, no!! I'm not laughing about the robbery. I took the
liberty of getting maid service to unlock your door." He could barely
talk, now, he was still laughing so hard. But he continued explaining.
"I wanted to give you a surprise to sort of say 'Thank-you' for the
book and the hours of enjoyment I got out of it. Hope you don't mind!"

	Beatrice was a bit wary of such a display of gratitude. She
had heard about these "fast talkin' city boys" and their "slam, bam,
thank you ma'am" proposals. She cautiously open the door. When she
walked inside, she was overwhelmed.

	The entire room was filled with bouquet upon bouquet of
flowers of every description. There were gardenia "bushes", orange
blossoms, bird of paradise, violets, roses (dozens and dozens), tulips
of every variety, baby's breath and fern. She spotted candles burning
in every corner where there wasn't a bouquet. The stereo was playing
low... she thought she heard Pat Metheny group in the background. How
did this stranger KNOW her ultimate fantasy? She had only told her
husband and he had never quite gotten around to fulfilling it but she
had not nagged or complained. But how did this man with the initials
T.C.

	know? She turned about to face him, but before she could say a
word, the stranger put a finger to her lips and said, "I have greatly
admired your first published work and could only think of one way to
express my enjoyment. I know we've never met and talked, but I sensed
at the restaurant we _should_ get to know each other better. I will
not force you to respond in kind to my expression of gratitude. Only
share with me the ambiance and the warmth of an embrace."

	Beatrice's eyes grew bigger with each word he uttered. Her
heart started beating faster as she realized how truly attractive this
man was who was staring into her eyes. Before she had a chance to say
a word, the Stranger kissed her mouth gently. She had not kissed
another man other than her husband and felt a bit awkward. He reached
up to touch her face and draw her closer to him. He kissed her again
but with a slow and easy motion. She responded with more ease. He
moved his hands to her shoulders and drew her to him. She was feeling
warm. Her head fell back and T.C. began to kiss and nibble her neck.

	She giggled with excitement. Beatrice had written about such
episodes that her characters had experienced, but never had SHE been
the real object of the lover's affection. Yes, she had seen herself in
every made up situation, but THIS was the stuff of which fantasies
were made. She reveled in the warmth of this man's embrace and the
passion of his kisses.

	He picked her up and took her to the bed. Beatrice smiled and
kissed T.C. gently but expressing the passion that she felt. He was
warm, gentle, caring, and very assertive in his actions. They sat on
the bed, caressing each other. He would touch her shoulders, go down
both her arms, kissing her hands and fingers as he came to them. He
kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her eyelids and the kiss her mouth
deeply.

	Beatrice kissed his eyelids, his nose, his ears, she teased
his mouth with her tongue. He was an incredible kisser and she wanted
to savor him for as long as he would allow her. He gently began to
undress her. When this was accomplished she stood up from the bed and
sat in his lap. With great care, she began to slowly undress him. In
between garments she would nibble his ear or kiss his neck repeatedly.

	She could feel his passion grow.

	Beatrice got up slowly from sitting on T.C.'s lap. As she
stood she pulled him up to face her. She was still dressed in her
black lace garter belt and lace bra. T.C. looked into her eyes and
then gazed at the sight before him. Beatrice looked down to see her
nipples had grown hard with excitement. She blushed at being "found
out". They embraced. He was so warm and gentle. Nuzzling into his
neck, she whispered, "Please let me know you." He pulled away slightly
and smiled. She put her arms around his neck and pulled him to her
warm and inviting mouth. He responded genuinely.

	After a short time of warm kissing and holding, Beatrice
started unbuttoning T.C.'s shirt. They both laughed. She felt so warm
and loving toward this gentle stranger. Had they _ever_ met before?
His shirt fell to the floor and Beatrice embraced him so he could feel
what she had physically to offer him. She then pulled away and said,
"I think I'll go change. Don't go away." He kissed her forehead and
said, "My leaving now is impossible." She went to her dressing area
and could hear him dialing room service on the phone. He ordered a
bottle of champagne and a fresh fruit plate. She knew that it would be
a while before they would enjoy the food.

	Beatrice reached for a red gown. The top was a stretch lace
see through material with spaghetti straps and a solid red bottom.
Gown in hand she went to the bathroom to shower. As she began
showering, she heard a distinct knock on the door. Before she had time
to respond, the door opened and T.C. got under the hot water with her.

	She was caught slightly off guard with this. Her initial
response was to try and hide her body... but realized it was a vain
attempt at best and giggled. He in turn smiled warmly, embraced her
and maneuvered her under the water. She gasped for breath because of
the heat but then relaxed. They were like children exploring new toys.
T.C.

	caressed and touched every inch of flesh he could. He was not
teasing her, but giving her the pleasure of flesh to flesh contact.
She responded likewise, touching his arms and caressing them. There
didn't seem one area she did not touch that he didn't take in full
pleasure. For the most part, they were still "getting to know" each
other. They washed each other sensuously, played and tickled each
other. Beatrice had never known "this" kind of fun with a man other
than her husband. She was totally enamored with this man.

	Shower finished, they dried one another. They applied baby oil
to each other's bodies with great tenderness and care. Beatrice tried
to do what she "felt" T.C. would enjoy. She carefully caressed the
inside of his thighs, never quite touching his genitals. She massaged
his feet, warming them with brisk strokes. Even this simple act had
become another maneuver of a long and pleasurable foreplay. They spoke
of each other's likes, dislikes, fantasies, life hopes and dreams. He
was intelligent, articulate, and open. Beatrice tried to return his
honesty with her own.

	Gown on... perfumed body anticipating and excited, Beatrice
went back into the bedroom of her suite. There amidst hundreds of
flowers and the glow of candlelight was T.C. waiting in bed. She took
advantage of the ambiance to let him see her silhouette. He gently
whispered for her to come to bed. She smiled and did as he asked.

	Both of them knew what ultimately waited for them and then
purposely held out. The embraced and kissed for long periods. They
were familiar with each other's bodies and knew in which areas to
linger.

	Beatrice would begin kissing his mouth, his eyelids, his ears,
nuzzle his neck, and kiss his chest. T.C. would touch her neck, her
arms, her breasts, and her ass. They began moving to the same
rhythm... uttering the same vocal passions. Beatrice felt that this
could go on forever and only hoped she could please this dear man.
They became one... slowly, enticing each other to reach the limits of
their passions. There was no thrashing about, no lewdness, only the
beauty and the pleasure of two bodies coming together in the throws of
passion. Beatrice could feel the roll of the wave of orgasm. It came
once, twice, three times. With each time, the wave grew more and more
until she thought she would surely die while enjoying the ultimate
sexual sensations. T.C. reacted gently, feverishly with the pleasure
he received from Beatrice.

	Even after climaxing their meeting, they lay for along while
in each other's arms. The conversation centered on his work, her next
book, travel, places they had both been. Beatrice lay on his chest and
could hear the beating of his heart. She wanted to think over and over
of what a pleasurable experience they had completed. He had given her
a pleasure that only a lover and not a husband was capable.

	She knew, that she had given T.C. things he had never known...
an open, honest, sensuous woman.

	Room service had delivered their repast with perfect timing.
T.C. and Beatrice sat in bed and fed each other fruit and drank
champagne.

	They savored each other as they spoke and looked deeply into
each other's eyes. They laughed as juice and champagne ran down
Beatrice's chin. Beatrice would tickle T.C. until he would scream out
in utter frustration because of her child-like behavior. At one point,
he wrestled her to the floor until they both could not contain their
laughter. As Beatrice found herself under T.C., she took his face into
her hands and kissed him fully on the mouth. They found themselves
back on the bed... just holding each other. The last thing Beatrice
remembered was an odd statement T.C. muttered, "I guess you really
ought to sign my book." Beatrice slept soundly until she heard a loud
knock on her door. Afraid T.C. might be caught in an awkward situation
she rolled over to get him up. There was nothing but an empty space
where T.C. should have been.

	Her eyes still not quite open, she looked around the room. No
flowers by they hundreds, no candles, no male clothes on the floor...
just her own. She rubbed her eyes and looked in the direction of the
large dining table in the suite. She could see her computer was still
on.

	Had she forgotten to turn the silly thing off? As she
approached the terminal, she saw what had been written there the night
before... "The T.C. Stranger". She realized it had all been a dream.
It must have been! But she felt so positive of having made love to a
wonderful man, his meeting her at her door, providing the candles, the
flowers.

	The knock grew louder. It was Sam, come to wake her up and get
her going. As she went to open the door, there was a long-stemmed red
rose and a note. It read: "Thank you so much of the autographed copy
of your book. I only wish we could have gotten to know each other
better." Signed at the bottom in bold print were the initials: "T.C."

	She smiled to herself.

	"If this will sell a book, I think we _shall_, T.C."