Chapter 5: Touching Up

Classes were getting to be a bit of a hassle. One day, Lacey was in her economics class, Advanced Behavior Theory: Beyond Homoeconomicus, and her mind wandered back to a couple of locals she’d seen on the way into town fixing a fence post. One of them had his shirt off, and his sweat slick skin gleamed in the sunlight. He looked like a young Ryan Reynolds, but way leaner and wiry. She imagined him clean cut and shooting her a cute smile. Then maybe she’d hit a rock, and slip off the bike and he’d come over to help, and he’d pick her up like it was nothing and carry her over to the side, and suddenly, they’d be alone and she could smell the sweaty manliness of hard labor and grass on his chest and ... Oops, she’d just lost a few minutes in her own world. She tried to pay attention, but the daydream returned with him checking over her, looking at her leg, her own fingers had trailed down to her inner thigh and begun tracing little circles. She could imagine the sense of his manliness over her, and she’d meet his gaze unable to hide the desire in her eyes...

Her professor noticed her blank gaze, but didn’t say anything. She figured, ‘If Lacey Dupree is spacing out in my class, I must be doing something wrong.’

At home that night she changed to go to bed early. She had been about to log onto her machine and take a look at an erotic story site with lots of period pieces that she often liked, but decided perhaps she shouldn’t be doing that tonight. Instead she found herself in bed, but her mind wandered back to a story she’d read once that had turned her on. It was quite vivid in its descriptions of 16th century France. She remembered the hero of the tale, with his smarmy grin and incorrigible eyes. Presently, she pictured herself as the heroine, with her lover and a little too much wine, her bodice torn...

Her face was flush, her fingers were under her night shirt on her nipples and sliding between her nether lips when she stopped cold. Lacey could have sworn she’d heard her roommate open the door. She flushed imaging how embarrassing it’d be if Artemis walked in and found Lacey furiously jilling-off. She pulled the covers over herself and turned on her side.

Listening closely, she heard her roommates door close. Then a bit of faint giggling. Artemis was probably with her girlfriend. They were probably kissing. She covered her ears, then ran her fingers through her hair. It seemed the bed could not give her quite the comfort she craved. She found no solace in the warm cocoon she was in, nor on the cooler side of the bed. Her thoughts wandered back into her roommate’s room and her roommate’s bed.

For the first time ever, she even imagined being in that bed. But before she was too far gone, the shame of what she was doing stopped her. She couldn’t possibly be fantasizing about not just one, but two women and herself? She stopped herself two more times before she finally fell asleep to dreams that somehow kept her near the edge.

Breakfast rolled around, and Lacey was munching on some shredded wheat when Artemis came out. “Have fun last night?” she’d meant it to sound playful and teasing, it didn’t come out that way.

“Yeah, wow, it was such a blast, we went to this pottery thing, and you wouldn’t have guessed it but she’s actually really good with her hands.”

“Yeah, I bet she is.”

“Yeah, with clay. Went out and made pottery, you should try it, it’s a lot of fun and really—”

“Yeah, alright, you two sound like you’re having a great time being handsy. I’m going to go get ready for work.”

“Da fuq, Lace? If you didn’t want to hear it, why’d you ask?”

“You know what, Arty, you got me there.”

Artemis stared at her for a beat. “Seriously, when did you become uberbitch?”

Lacey sighed, “You know,” she thought about saying something or spitting back something harsh, but the was no rapier in her mental sheath. “I just—nothing, I gotta go.”

“Yeah, okay, you should do that.”

Lacey closed the door, and gritted her teeth, her undirected anger was getting her nowhere at home, but it seemed to clear her head a little. Eventually she made her way back to the shop for a shift, feeling safe and at ease. Here she was definitely serving a purpose, and getting paid pretty well—at least for a job like this. Dorsey was pretty hands on with the customers, giving her time to tidy up where she could. Her mind began to wander as she cleaned up. She pictured herself in a maids uniform, and Dorsey was the Lord of the Manor, perhaps she’d be dusting, and while the lady of the manor was away, Lord Dorsey would come upon her from behind.

‘Oh Lord Basilton, we musn’t,’ she’d protest.

‘But my dear girl, your charms far surpass any in the lands, I could not resist your siren’s call had I the audacity to try.’ She could imagine his hands on her behind and his lips on her -

‘Woah. That’s quite the inappropriate little fantasy,’ she thought. She glanced at him frightened, as if he could have heard her thoughts, then shook herself out of that silliness. She was kneeling on the floor having thoroughly dusted the leg of an antique chair; her hands gripping a cloth that was wrapped around one leg of the chair where they’d presumably been pumping up and down. She blushed fiercely.

Not trusting herself to clean anymore, she sat back down at the register, where her mind wandered to other delicious thoughts.