Look at Me!

Chapter Four

Constance pulled her cotton nightdress over her head and down as far as her hips. She paused. Why did she have to wear that ugly old thing? Modesty? Hadn’t she shed that? She yanked the offending garment up and off, tossed it into a corner, scurried into bed and slid deep under the covers.

Why the rush? So she wouldn’t see herself bare? Was that how it was going to be? A constant battle between her newfound pride in her body and all those sad years of puritanical conditioning? She was not ashamed of looking at her own body, and she would prove it.

She always had a penlight under her pillow, just in case she had to get up in the night. Constance snuggled down with her knees up, making a tent out of her bedclothes, and turned the light on. The bulb was actinic, and gave a blue-tinted light that washed the colour of her skin out. The pinkness had disappeared, leaving her very white. It made her breasts look as if they had been sculpted out of pure snow. She cupped her left breast. It was soft but resilient, and very warm, almost feverish. Her nipple wasn’t soft, though. It was quite hard. When she squeezed it between two fingers, it felt like rubber. A harder pinch made her gasp. A little tug drew pangs of pleasure from deep inside.

Jeff would have killed to watch her play with herself. He’d asked her for that but of course she couldn’t do it for him, not back then. Now?

Even stimulated, her nipple was still snow-white in the flashlight’s light. Somehow, it looked a bit evil – like the skin of a girl vampire in a movie.

She’d noticed that effect long before, though not in an appreciative way. She and her cousin Sarah had told each other ghost stories by the light of that bulb, shining it up under their chins to make themselves look scary. Once, Constance remembered, Sarah had put the bulb inside her mouth so that the light showed through her cheeks.

There was a thought. What would it look like glowing through the skin of her …?

Constance tucked her pillow up to elevate her head. Her knees came up higher and spread wide. Two very decadent fingers parted the lips of her sex. The lens of her penlight slipped in easily, as if she’d been lubricating. Perhaps she had. She pinched her lips closed just below the lens.

How pretty it looked!

Her skin was glowing from within her body, glowing pink now, not white. Her flesh must have filtered the ultra-violet out. She moved the light. The glow followed suit. She pushed it deeper. The glow faded, then brightened as she pulled it back. And faded. And brightened. And … and … and …

Look at me, Jeff! Watch me fuck myself with a penlight! Look at me. I’m going to get there. I am. I am. I’m so close … I’m …

Oh! Oh!

That’d been nice. It wasn’t quite like when Jeff had done it to her with his fingers, cock or tongue, but it was still very pleasant. That was an interesting lesson. While she waited to get back with Jeff there were ways she could cope with her growing need. She’d known that some girls got themselves off with their fingers, of course, and she’d try that, now that she was bad, like other girls, but she’d never considered using things.

Wouldn’t Jeff be surprised when she let him watch as she diddled herself with a penlight!

Chapter Five

For the fourth time that Saturday morning, Shirley shook her head and told Constance, ‘I don’t think so.’

Constance pouted. ‘Why not? Doesn’t it look good on me?’

‘It looks great. Very sexy.’

‘Then?’ Constance checked herself in the boutique’s mirror. She’d never gone for a ‘tailored’ look before but it certainly worked for her. The minute she’d seen the trim little black-with-white-pinstripes suit in the window she’d known she had to have it.

‘The skirt, for a start,’ Shirley told her. ‘It only just covers the tops of your stockings, and then there’s a slit another three inches higher. The fit, for another thing. It really emphasises your shape.’

‘So?’

‘It looks like what it is, Connie, a whore’s version of a business suit. It’s “business” all right, but not the sort of business we’re in.’ She paused, looking thoughtful. ‘Connie, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.’

‘About what?’

‘You know I support you coming out of your shell, a hundred per cent. You’ve transformed yourself and I’m proud of you.’

‘With your help.’

‘Yeah, well, maybe too much of my help.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘You don’t go out at night, not to clubs or the like, and the sorts of things you’ve been buying lately are designed for night-time wear. They might be a bit too sexy even for singles bars, unless you want to give people the wrong idea.’ She bit her lower lip. ‘What I’m saying is, there’s talk around the office. You might have crossed the line in some people’s eyes.’

‘Crossed what line?’

‘The one between “classy-but-sexy” and “scorching”. Not that you look cheap, far from it. You look great – great enough that when you go to the water cooler, every man on our floor suddenly gets thirsty. How many of them have asked you out?’

‘A few,’ Constance confessed.

‘But you’ve turned them all down? If you went on dates to clubs you’d have a chance to show off all you wanted.’

‘I don’t know if I’m ready for clubs and dates yet.’

‘Still carrying a torch for Jeff?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Then?’

‘It’s hard to explain.’

‘You want the men to look but not touch, is that it?’

‘Shirley, the old me, she isn’t exactly dead yet. There’s still a bit of a puritan inside me. The way I am now, well, I could pull back if I had to, retreat into who I used to be, dressed the way I used to dress. On the other hand, if I got into a relationship the way I am now, that’d make the new me the real me and bury the old me for ever. I’d be burning my bridges. Does that make sense?’

‘Do I understand your words? Yes. Do those words make sense? No.’

‘Well, I’m buying this suit, anyway.’

‘But not to wear for the office, please?’

‘OK.’

‘Connie, you know what you need, apart from getting fucked good and hard and often?’

‘No, what do I need?’

‘To give the new Connie a test-run. See if you like her well enough to live with her, and without the old you.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Find yourself a place to go where no one knows who you used to be. Be your new self there, complete with steamy relationships, if the right guys come along. Then, if it doesn’t work out for you, you can retreat back here, where I’ll be waiting to help keep you on an even keel.’

‘That sounds complicated.’

‘Nonsense! Next long weekend, take a mini-vacation somewhere where there’s lots of action. That might be all you need to sort yourself out.’

‘What if I fall for some guy who lives a hundred miles away?’

‘That’s something we’ll just have to deal with if and when it happens. One problem at a time, please, but if it does happen, ask him if he’s got a friend for me, right?’

* * *

On the following Monday morning, Constance got a call from Mrs Carey in HR. ‘Connie, I’m making up the vacation schedules.’

‘Yes?’

‘You didn’t take a single day last year, nor the year before.’

‘So?’

‘You’ll have accumulated eight weeks, come June the fifteenth.’

‘Eight weeks?’

‘You’re entitled. If you decided to take it all at once, it’d really make things difficult for me.’

‘Sorry about that.’

‘So, you have to use some of it up, soon, like two weeks starting almost immediately.’

‘I do?’

‘I’m telling you that you have to take time off, and you’re upset?’

‘No, sorry.’

‘Good, then I’ll pencil you in to be off for two weeks, starting Monday next, right?’

‘Oh.’ Was it fate? Two whole weeks, in another place, a place where no one knew her? That was exactly the medicine that Shirley had prescribed, except for the size of the dose.

Constance picked up the phone and got an outside line. Forty minutes later, she was booked for two weeks at Gran Playa Aphrodite, an all-inclusive, adults-only resort on the north coast of the Dominican Republic. Now she’d have to do some serious shopping. The one swimsuit she owned had a Peter Pan collar, legs and sleeves. It had just been worn for her ‘girls only’ segregated swimming lessons. Somehow, she didn’t think it’d go down so well in the Caribbean, particularly the pattern of yellow duckies.

Chapter Six

When she alighted from her plane it was dark out. The air was as warm as fresh-squeezed milk. The airport was all grass huts and exotic plants, though the huts had been built out of two-foot-thick timbers that were held together by massive steel bolts.

A trio of pretty girls in flowery dresses greeted the passengers with weary ‘Ola’s and a few desultory dance steps. Well, it was eleven at night. There’d been headwinds. They were three hours late. The travellers were whisked through customs and into an open area that had buses parked around its perimeter. Hers was clearly labelled. Just twenty minutes after she’d landed, her bus was tunnelling its way between dark green walls of dense foliage. Constance caught glimpses of distant gas stations and fizzing neon signs but for most of the following hour it was just gigantic leaves brushing at the sides and roof of the bus and sharp turns taken too quickly. Then there was an open gateway that would have accommodated King Kong, and she was there, at the resort, in the place where she’d be free to explore her own immodesty to her heart’s content – but not until after a good night’s sleep and a long hot shower.

Once she’d booked in, a good-looking man in black short-shorts and a white T-shirt loaded her luggage onto a golf cart and whisked her along a many-curved driveway to her room on the ground floor of a three-storey modern pink-brick building. Constance tried to listen while he explained the mysteries of the air conditioning and so on to her. By the time he was done, she only had the energy to wash quickly and crawl into bed stark naked, for just the second time in her young life.

Constance was woken by happy squeals and splashes. The dappling of light on her ceiling told her there was brilliant sunshine and moving waves just a few feet beyond her gauze-draped French windows.

It was all waiting for her – people with admiring lascivious eyes – perhaps romance – certainly some sort of adventure.

And she was terrified.

Of course, she didn’t have to expose herself to risk and potentially to shame. The room had everything: a lovely onyx-tiled bathroom, a king-sized bed (for one?), a minibar and room service. There were likely to be some English-language programmes available on the 50-inch flat-screen TV. If she decided to chicken out, she could stay in her room for her two weeks, resting, just being idle. If courage came to her tomorrow, she could venture out then. If she never summoned the nerve, well, no one would know or care that she’d been a coward. She could lie to Shirley, make up tales of all sorts of wild adventures.

And her mother would have won. That was a sickening thought.

One step at a time, she told herself. Just do what comes naturally first, then see where that leads. Don’t think ahead. Don’t look behind. It was still morning, just. In the morning, she always got up and had a shower. So that’s where she’d start.

Constance hadn’t noticed it the night before but the air in the bathroom was scented. The shower itself was adjustable in a dozen different ways. She luxuriated, which isn’t the same as procrastinating. When she washed her intimate parts, Constance made a conscious effort not to avert her eyes.

As she stepped out, she remembered that the resort had hung a fluffy white robe on the bathroom door for her, on the outside. She could always wrap herself in a bath towel, but the robe was only a door away. She opened it.

‘So sorry, Miss. Housekeeping. You didn’t hear me?’

Constance reached to snatch the robe from its hook but the maid beat her to it and held it out to help her on with. Hoping that her flush from the hot water concealed her blushes, Constance braced herself and fumbled for the sleeves. There was no way for the girl to know that this was the first time since her adolescence that another human being had seen her stark naked.

‘Thank you!’

‘You very pretty.’ There was admiration in the young woman’s eyes, perhaps more.

‘Thanks for that, as well. You’re very – kind.’ She couldn’t very well return the compliment. The girl was quite plain and very thin. She had virtually no bust, but her nipples were very prominent under her clinging white T-shirt. Perhaps Constance should compliment her on them? She had to suppress a giggle at her own thought.

‘Anything you need, Miss?’

‘No, thank you. I’m Connie. You?’

‘Maria.’

‘Thank you, Maria.’

‘See?’ Maria pointed to a heart-shaped do-not-disturb sign lying on the credenza. ‘For when …’

‘Thank you.’

‘No problem, Miss Connie.’

‘Just Connie.’

Constance’s tummy rumbled, making her decision about what to do next for her.

For her first foray into the tropical world, Constance chose a beige playsuit. The fitted top had cap-sleeves and came down to about three inches below her bust. The shorts had four-inch legs and rose to a bare inch above her navel. She’d be exposing five or so daring inches of her bare midriff. Might as well jump right in!

There was a ‘train station’ grass hut about fifty feet from her building’s front door. There was a train already waiting. It consisted of an oversized golf-cart and a string of half a dozen two- and four-seater carriages with open sides and a brilliant yellow canvas roof.

The uniformed girl driver greeted Connie with ‘Ola’ and pulled away as soon as she was on board. Connie was the only passenger apart from a couple in the last carriage who were far too wrapped up in each other’s limbs to be aware that Connie had got on. Even from the far end of the train, she could hear the noises their voracious mouths were making. She focused on the scenery ahead but that didn’t block out the wet sounds. Connie squirmed, not quite sure of how she felt about the public display of sexuality.

The buffet building had windows that were three floors high. A dark Hispanic man was replacing a display menu. A sign announced, ‘Cover-up Zone’.

Oh hell! Was she underdressed?

Connie asked the man, ‘Excuse me?’ She made a gesture at her own outfit. ‘Am I covered up enough?’

A slow grin spread across his face. ‘No problem there, Miss. You plenty covered.’

That was a relief. She went into the dim room and was led to a table for two near the perimeter of the room, facing inwards. There was only a scattering of late breakfasters or early lunch patrons. Although the hot breakfast bar looked as if it was in the process of closing down, a cheerful server helped her heap a plate with scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages and home fries, plus a toasted bagel with butter and raspberry jam on the side. Constance was hungry.

She was halfway through her feast when a woman passed her on the way to the dessert station. The newcomer’s raffia wedges clattered on the tile floor. Constance looked up. The woman’s top was a poncho-style square of marmalade-coloured gauze. From the back, it was hard to see if she wore anything else. If she had the bottom half of a swimsuit on, there had to be very little of it. Constance could see every twitch of the woman’s lean hips through it. Fascinated, she watched as the woman served herself and turned back. Yes, there was a minute triangle of orange fabric covering her pubic mound. No, she had no bra on. The brown discs of her large nipples were plain to see.

The woman twinkled her fingertips at Constance and mouthed, ‘Ola!’

Constance swallowed before returning the greeting.

A movement off to her left caught Connie’s eye. A woman, half of a couple, had moved her leg and her skirt had parted up a slit that reached as far as her waist.

And this was a Cover-up Zone? It was very – confusing. The full implications of ‘adults-only resort’ crashed into Connie’s mind. It certainly didn’t just mean ‘no children’. She’d expected to come to a resort filled with honeymooners, retired couples and young singles, innocently or romantically disporting themselves in the sun and sea. She’d thought that her two-piece midriff-baring outfits and what she’d considered outrageously short skirts could make her the centre of attraction. If she met the right man, or even men, she’d been prepared to go beyond flirtation, perhaps. Whatever, she had anticipated being among the least modest of the vacationers …