Then night had been long, or at least it seemed so, and Vanessa hadn't slept very well. Plans, or what seemed like plans, for that evening kept her awake enough that she saw the clock at 2 AM, 3:30 AM, 4Am and finally she was up at 6 AM to get ready for work.
It was a Friday and would be a busy one, with end of the month work to be done. She knew that she might have to ride heard on the crowd today, since they'd likely be in a Friday mood. These thoughts were occupying her mind as she went about some 'getting ready' tasks automatically.
Then she looked at what she was doing, let out a stifled cry and set the small bag she was packing down, as though it were burning her fingers. She looked, paying attention now and saw in the bag, a pair of dark, smokey thigh high stockings, a black garter belt, a short mini level pleated skirt, a fresh pair of pink bikini panties, with lace at the waist and a matching bra, and a silk blouse.
"Oh, no!' she muttered, sitting and holding her head in her hand.
She wasn't all that shocked; she'd done this before, enough times, many times, who knew? But it disturbed her every time she caught her self doing it.
The bag, innocent as it might seem, was her indication that she intended to go, as she called it, 'prowling' after work. Her pattern with 'prowling' was to work late, take a shower at the office and then dress in her prowling clothes and go out for a drink.
This was innocent of itself, but Vanessa's intention was anything but innocent in her prowling adventures. She'd go out, seek out a bar, maybe one that she'd never think of going to otherwise, and kind of 'show the goods'. Then she'd let happen whatever was going to happen.
It came in waves, this urge to 'prowl'. There seemed to be times, in between her sessions of 'prowling' that were perfectly normal. It meant work and doing a very good job at work. Managing the needs of the large office and being on top of all that was happening. This was the daily thing for Vanessa but those other times came, not too often, she was glad of that, but they came nevertheless. They came, when she was in a certain mood, and wanted to go out and get around and let men look her over and ... and--this was the hard part that she almost never wanted to admit to herself, it was the part that unsettled her so much, it was the part that already ruined her morning, when she discovered that she was packing a 'prowling' bag--and just do what they wanted with her.
It wasn't romantic at all. It was to satisfy this deep lust that rose up within Vanessa now and again. She hated the need as much as she loved it. She knew that she'd give in to it, she always did, when the mood was on her.
So, she'd do that after work, after long hours at work. She shower and dress in a sexy fashion and go out to be used by whatever white men that could twig to what she was about, this formidable looking but utterly submissive, lovely, stacked black woman.
Her day went fine. Her nervousness made her more exacting that usual, and people tiptoed around her for most of the day, never suspecting what the actual reason was for 'the boss lady' to be in such a huff all day long.
She was finally alone and took a little time to get herself ready, but not too much. The one thing that Vanessa didn't want at all was time to think about what she was about to do.
Showered, and dressed, and, she said to herself, 'lookin' fine'!, she was ready to go. She had a destination in mind. It was a place called 'David's Den', and was a distance away but that was fine. She'd run across references to it, a gentle yet mostly red neck kind of bar. What she was able to learn, she did research these things, was that it was good for prowling, but maybe not usually her type of prowling. She was headed there, in any event.
But she sat in the car, the old revulsion coming back, wondering what the hell she was doing there, with a small voice in the back of her head demanding that she leave and go home.
She answered the doubts and the quibbling by getting out of the car, and moving toward the entrance of 'Dave's'.
She was nervous, as she went in. It proved to be a normal place, but her entrance did cause a stir. She was one of the few lone women there and the only afro-American. She heard voices, whispering and knew that she might be in the right place. She'd made her decision about this. Her daily persona was set aside and Vanessa was here to simply be used. It's why she prowled in the first place.
She sat at the bar and a large man wearing a white tee shirt with a confederate flag on it, came up to her and smiled. The smile wasn't all that friendly. He apparently hadn't decided about her. But she was 'saved' any confrontation with the bartender by an older man, who slid onto the bar stool next to hers.
With a hand he waved the bartender away and spoke to Vanessa softly:
"Well, lovely lady," he said in a pleasant voice, "What are you doing here? Alone? And all dressed up."
Vanessa had a feeling of having gone back in time. She was in school and here she was, for whatever reason, in the office of the principal. That's what the man next to her brought to her mind. He had wavy whitish hair and a very nice smile.
"Just from work;" she said softly, "Thought that I'd, uh, just stop for a drink."
"Here?" he said with some surprise.
"Yes, sir," she said, the 'sir' slipping in before she was aware of what she was saying.
"Well," he went on, "You're a lovely treat; I'll say that."
"Thank you, sir," Vanessa said, averting her eyes.
"And so polite!" he went on "We don't often get lovely black ladies like yourself in here."
She looked around then, as though it just then struck her. He put his hand over hers and said:
"Now, girl, don't you let that bother you; you're here with me and nothing's going to happen."
The word 'girl' shot through Vanessa's senses. She was captured by it and realized that for her it began the process, the very process that her prowling was devoted to.
"Thank you, sir," she said.
"Why don't you join me at my table over here?" he suggested, taking her arm, as he got up, and giving Vanessa no room or time to say 'no'. He smiled as she got up obediently and went with him.
When they were seated, he asked her what her name was. It was almost as though it were another's voice saying to him: "Nessa, is my name, short, uh, for Vanessa."
For Vanessa it was another step that followed the first ones made: the bag packed this morning, the journey to the bar, the decision in the parking lot to go into the bar, being called 'girl' and now introducing herself by using 'Nessa', the name she called herself for her sexual adventures. She could see the progression and at that moment didn't seem to want to do anything to stop it.
"Well, Nessa, pretty lady," he said with a smile, "What'll you have to drink?"
"Uh, white wine for me, sir," she said politely.
"White wine it'll be," he said, "Just a little wind down from work?"
"Yes, sir, uh, that's what it is," she admitted.
"You wait here, honey," he said going to the bar.
At the bar the bartender said: "Dave, how is she?"
"Hot and polite," the older man said. Then he added:
"Call the others, and get yourself free; I think we've got a live one tonight."
The bartender smiled and Dave said to him: "A white wine for our Nessa and a beer for me."
"Got it!" the bartender said, and got the drinks ready, after which he went off to make the phone calls that Dave wanted made.
Vanessa was extremely nervous by the time that Dave came back to the table. She realized that she wasn't fully committed to this yet and still had time to get away and not have what she was sure would be some kind of terribly humiliating evening. Her struggle was, at that point, going back and forth. She had to admit to herself that she liked the potential of this 'almost like a high school principal' man. But there was always that time that period before she was totally committed and under someone's influence, when the opportunity still existed to leave with her dignity.
There was, however, always that little voice, the inner voice that would whisper to her: "But, Nessa, honey, you don't want to leave with your dignity, do you."
"No," she answered, whispering the word to herself miserably but in truth.
"No, what?" Dave's voice echoed from above her and she started.
"Oh, just a kind of inner dialogue that I have with myself at times," she said, trying to hedge and not go into it further.
He sat down and gave her the drink. She looked up at him, a bit flustered that he'd heard the tail end of her monologue. He sat the drink down and said:
"Here, pretty Nessa," he gave her a big smile and continued: "And no Rohypnol!"
She smiled at him, when he said that, and he patted her hand and said:
"We don't need such things, now do we, Nessa?"
"No, sir, we don't!" she said.
He smiled then but let the topic drop but it certainly pushed Vanessa a little in the direction of allowing Nessa to take over. She knew that she was moving in that direction.
He patted her hand and said: "Truth now, Nessa, why are you so nervous? Is it this place?"
She spoke up then, caught in his demand for 'truth'; she knew that she was going to tell him about some of her ambivalence. She tried to be careful:
"You just seem to me, strike me as a real kind of authority." She laughed a little almost only to herself and went on: "It's like being in the principal's office at High School."
.... There is more of this story ...