Comfort Girl No. 4

Chapter One-1

Chapter One

The Letter

Janice Paterson had been living in the city for over two years. She had moved from the distant heartland after college seeking sophistication, adventure, success. She believed she would find it in the fast-paced urban core of the country, New York City. After being rejected by every glamorous job she applied for, she had finally taken a job at a mid-sized advertising firm. It was either that or waitressing. When she had come to New York, Janice had looked forward to contact with writers, actors and members of the demi-monde of avant-garde society. Instead, she found herself stuck in a dull and boring job, a glorified secretary for the most part. Her only excitement came from fending off the come-ons from the older, mostly married senior and junior account executives.

She was no schoolgirl and before coming to the city had permitted a boyfriend or two the ultimate ecstasy of entry into her secret place. But lovemaking for her was not an aerobic event. She treasured the closeness and cuddly feelings and enjoyed the somewhat muted orgasms she had experienced. She performed dutifully what she considered the rather gross task of tonguing and swallowing the ardent tools of her young beaus. She thought it funny, actually, that she could so easily master their desires by a delicate caress on their thighs, a slow, deliberate drawing down of the zipper and a soft murmur in their ear. Once her lips engulfed their swollen members, they were hers to control.

When she arrived in New York, she had initially let go and partied with some of the other young girls in the office. Gradually, however, she gave up the fast life and in the last few months she had only been out on a couple of dates. She had found it hard to make real friends and the men she met were mostly married, gay or losers. She told herself that she could live without men and s*x for the time being as she worked hard to learn as much as she could about the advertising business. An occasional self-administered caress was enough to keep her s****l urges on the back burner. She permitted herself these little twirky orgasms, as weak as a kitten’s sneeze and almost as quick, on a weekly basis, often on a Saturday night, usually after watching a tear jerking romance on DVD.

This Tuesday evening had begun like over a hundred Tuesdays before with her release from work and a short subway ride uptown to her small three-room apartment. She picked up her mail, as usual, and as she ascended the four flights of stairs to her lodgings, rifled through it absent-mindedly. She could have used the elevator; the building had a dingy passenger elevator in the front foyer and a larger, dingier freight elevator in the back. But Janice preferred the stairs. She was trim, had been an athlete in college. A member of the freshman and sophomore track teams, she had continued a regimen of fitness even after she decided that she needed more time to devote to her studies and gave up organized sports. Team sports such as softball and soccer did not appeal to her. She loved swimming, but her tall, thin body was not built for competitive swimming. And her hair. Long, brown with a reddish streak, she could not have sacrificed it to the demands of speed in the swimming pool.

So she walked the stairs, slowly but steadily, thumbing through the mail as she rose up the steps. Bills, circulars, a letter from her friend Denise and a sort of funny brown envelope marked “Open Immediately” in big red letters. As she entered her tiny apartment, she tossed the circulars in the circular file, placed the bills on the small table by the door and put Denise’s letter in her pocket. This she would read in her bath. She was about to toss the brown envelope with the demanding instruction in the waste can when she hesitated. Mmmmm, she thought, maybe I’ll check this out later. I’ll find out what’s so damn important in the world of junk mail. Taking a step or two into the apartment, she thought again, Nah, who needs more insurance/credit cards/ collectables or whatever they’re selling anyhow. She turned and tossed the envelope into the can.

Janice quickly microwaved a hot cup of Orange Pekoe tea and proceeded to run her bath, being careful to add in a few measured drops of body oil. She loved to make her skin soft and smooth, and the oil and hot water seemed to relax her just right. She stripped off the summer dress and placed the letter and her tea on the chair next to the tub. Tossing aside her dainty under things, she stepped in the tub slowly, but deliberately. As she eased her body down, she uttered a soft sigh, not unlike the sigh exuded during the s****l act when her lower place was finally entered by a sturdy male member, soft and slow, as she liked it.

Having braved the steaming, slightly stinging heat of the water, she relaxed. After a minute or two of almost stupefied languor, she stretched out her arm absent mindedly to retrieve her cup of tea. Slowly sipping the steaming brew, her decompression was complete. She put the tea down and leaned back, prepared to drift lazily into a trance like state. Her hands lay lightly on her lean stomach, rubbing gently in a slow, circular motion. The hot oily water made her skin soft and tingly. Inevitably, her hands fell lower, pulled down by their own weight. Finally, they found what her mind had unconsciously sought, the center of her desire.

At first, her hands gently stroked the inside of her thighs, her fingers running lightly over the sides of her generous mons. Mmmm, she thought, it’s not Saturday, but it feels so good. As if of their own volition, her fingers found her pouting lips. Gently pushing them apart, her right hand found its customary place, stroking the narrow slit between. Her left sought a more specific spot, the tiny button above.

She took her time, feeling the warmth of her rising lust spread throughout her body. From time to time, one hand or the other would leave its loving task to rise and caress her now passion engorged n*****s. Panting, she could feel the juices rise within her. Frightened of her own s****l urgency, she backed off, slowing her approach to the mountaintop. No earth moving orgasms for her. Control, that was her polestar.

When she could wait no longer, she allowed the pressure to build. Her heart started pounding in her chest, her breasts seemed likely to burst, her hands busily drawing her closer and closer to her goal. When the tide seemed poised to overwhelm her, she tightened her legs around her hands, clutching her s*x, holding the passion in. Her whole body tensed as she steeled her muscles against the threatened onslaught. Her back arched, her face pulled tightly into a grimace. Finally she climaxed, her body twitching in resistance, reducing what could have been to a few small impulses of pleasure.

When the spasms subsided, she slowly relaxed. Whew, she thought, that was nice. She had almost given in, but her will had overborne her physical sensations. The result was as if she had been through a wrestling match with herself; tired, at ease, yet physically somehow not quite satisfied.

Janice let herself drift a while, letting the warm water finish the job that her self ministrations had begun. When she finally felt fully at peace physically, she opened her eyes. The room was somehow friendlier, the hazy steam settling about her like a warm blanket. She remembered her tea and reached out and took a generous gulp. Placing the cup back on the chair, she spied the letter from Denise.

After carefully drying her hands on the towel draped across the nearby chair, Janice picked up the letter. Funny, she thought, she had not been able to get Denise on the phone for several weeks. Normally, they spoke once or twice a week, girl talk, mostly, a great way of letting off the tensions of being a poor girl in the city. Of course, Denise was in a different city, clear across the continent.

They had both fled the stifling confines of their small Ohio town, but in different directions. Denise to L.A., Janice to New York. But they had both sought the same things: bright lights, big city.

Denise was the more “artsy-fartsy” of the two and longed for the golden screen. She had gotten a job in a talent agency, entry level of course, and had learned a hundred ways to make coffee. She had told Janice of her “relationships” with the stars and would-be stars, all of whom shared a common quality. They all were assholes. The men, when they deigned to speak to her at all, had that tell-tale, ‘wouldn’t you like to f**k me?’ look in their eyes. The women barely even saw Denise, looked right through her, as if she were some kind of handmaiden.

Janice and Denise had shared the details of their love life too. In spite of her disdain for the self-absorbed, conceited pretty boys who came through the office seeking stardom, Denise had found a few attractive enough to see what they could do for her under the sheets. It was mostly disappointing, but one or two had rung her bell. They were not keepers, however, and Denise had been happy enough when their attentions focused back on themselves or to the job of f*****g someone who could actually help their careers. Denise had even succumbed to the seductions of one of the lady would-bes, something that had initially shocked Janice, but not enough to stop her from drawing out every little detail from her friend. The affair had been as short lived as all the others, especially as Denise had discovered that a plastic “Steely Dan” could not compare to the hot, throbbing real thing. On the other hand, the lady did give good head.

So Janice was happy to finally get some news from Denise. Janice had called Denise’s agency a couple of times, only to be told that Denise was “on assignment”, “on vacation” or “out”. Denise had phoned back, but only to leave vague, terse messages on Janice’s machine. The last one had been about two weeks ago and Janice was beginning to think that the continent which separated them was going to prove too far a distance to sustain their friendship. But now, a letter. Cool.

Janice carefully tore open the side of the envelope and let Denise’s letter slip out. Not what she would call a missive. A single one sided sheet of writing. Janice suppressed her disappointment and read the graceful cursive script, which was Denise’s typical handiwork:

Janice,

I’m sorry I have not been able to speak to you in the last couple of months. I have been very busy and tied up in a new project. I can’t tell you much about it only that it has taken up all my attention. My new employers are looking for more single women like you and me to fill out their requirements. It’s an unusual opportunity for you to see a whole new side of life. If you are interested, you should respond to the circular they will be sending you. It will probably come in the mail the same day as this letter. If you call the number in the circular, you can be sure that all of your financial problems will be in the past.

I have to go now but I’m sure we’ll have some contact in the near future.

Love, Denise.

P.S. Don’t forget to act right away!

Janice was puzzled by the terse letter Denise had written. While Denise was not a prolific writer, the few letters she had sent had been filled with the minutiae of her life, more like a stream of consciousness picture of her heart. The letters had been warm and funny, but this one was like a business letter, cold and empty of real content. It almost seemed like a form letter. And Denise never ended her letters “Love, Denise”. All of her letters had ended with an endearing inscription, “Your best friend” or “Your partner in adventure” or something like that.

Well, although they had talked many times over the last two years, they were many miles apart and maybe they were both going through changes that would eventually leave their friendship behind. Apparently this new job or whatever it was had taken all of Denise’s free time. She had always been one to throw herself into new things.