Thursday, 19 March 2009

Green Satin Dress

Just to show you that I have written other things than the very long story I am serialising at the moment. I was browsing through things I have written and found this. It is from 2007 and when I found it I wasn't even sure I had written it myself. I still have some doubts but I think it is a little of my style. What confuses, perhaps, is that I wrote it for a friend, a cyber buddy and I am sure he knows who he is. He is a person who was very surprised, recently, when I told him he inspired me.

Anyway, this is one of those annoying stories that ends in the middle of events but there is really no continuation so feel free to imagine whatever you want. And if you are offended by the thought of sexual tension between minors and older people I can tell you that nothing illegal happens in this story...smiles.

The man was waiting for the girl. He had prepared for her arrival. He had cooked for her, nothing fancy, something simple but something he knew was very nice. Now he was waiting.

He thought about her as a girl but she was, really, a woman. She was eighteen years of age and although he was twice her age she was, indeed a young woman. He liked that. He had met her for the first time when she was fifteen. She was the daughter of a colleague and she had been there when he came to visit. She had not been a flirt, neither did she ever talk to him but she had made an unforgettable impression on him.

She had been terribly shy, blushing as he looked at her. Still she had made his heart beat faster. It was something about her that made him have thoughts he wouldn’t readily admit to. He thought about what kind of knickers she wore and how soft her young breasts would be. He dismissed those thoughts, thinking that she was too young, only a child.

Many girls of that age are cute and beautiful and sometimes even very sexy but he thought them too young, not really attractive. This girl was different. She had grace superior to girls of her age and she had an air of serenity seldom found in people at all.

Something had happened that had stayed in his memory. He had asked her to get another glass of lemonade as they were sitting in the garden and she had moved without hesitation, gracefully and, he dared not think it, obediently and the faint smile he saw on her face puzzled him still.

Now she was eighteen and they had met again. She had grown to a young woman and he was surprised to find that something of her magic was still there. He was still attracted to it and her and now with less qualms. She was a woman and not a child any more.

He had felt that there was something, a spark, an attraction between them and he had enjoyed every minute of it. They had dated like young students and he had taken her to a couple of restaurants, a gallery, the cinema and the theatre. Now he had invited her to his flat, planning on cooking her dinner. He was nervous in a way he had not been for many years. She was only a girl but still he was nervous.

The doorbell rang. His heart started pounding. He looked in the mirror and liked what he saw. He was tense but happy as he opened the door.

She was stunning. She had dressed up for the occasion. She was wearing a deep green

satin dress with very wide knee long skirt. The dress was sleeveless and quite low cut but not vulgar in any way. Her hair was arranged to expose her soft and very white neck. He loved her neck. On her feet she wore heelless green shoes, the type they call ballerinas. This made her look a little more girlish than what the cool elegance of her dress suggested.

He noticed she was not wearing a bra and thought that she was not wearing anything else but her dress, her knickers and her shoes. He thought that she was naked underneath her clothes and smiled at himself thinking how silly that thought was. Everyone in naked underneath their clothes but now, here and with her that thought took on a new and more interesting significance.

She blushed and bowed her head as he welcomed her and asked her to enter. He showed her into the dining room and she walked in front of him in her typical, graceful and smooth way, the way he had come to love when he saw her for the first time.

Dating this lovely young woman had been a strange experience. She had been so shy, so timid, always blushing, looking down, never ever raising her voice. She was always polite and soft. Still he didn't find her weak, nor meek. There was something about her that hinted at a hidden passion underneath the surface.

She was clever, he knew that. Most people, including women seemed to be less clever than him. He was used to that but with this girl it was different. He sensed that she may even be his superior and he was not intimidated by that. That was really something unusual.

There was something in the way she acted that made him intrigued beyond understanding and something that excited him more than he wanted to admit. She always did what he asked her without hesitation, without the slightest hint of irritation. She complied with his every wish with a grace and elegance that took his breath away. This quality of hers was very subtle but it excited him more than anything else. She was obedient.

She made it seem like she wanted it, like she waited for it, that his wishes triggered the actions she longed for and craved. He had dared to test her. He gradually had taken more and more control of the situation and he had met no resistance. Still she didn't seem to be a person devoid of wishes, lacking a will of her own. In some strange way, it was like she wanted to be obedient, as if her person, her sharp intellect desired it.

He had decided to test her, to ask her to do things that she might not like, just to see how she reacted. His heart started pounding as he prepared his demands. He felt more nervous than when he tried his first kiss and was deadly scared the girl would reject him, find him ugly or horrible.

'Will you, please, take off your panties?' he asked sounding very polite.

He was scared by the sound of his own voice. He had wanted to frame it better, to make it sound like an exquisite and exciting demand, an invitation to some delicate pleasure. Instead he was blunt.

She gave him a quick glance, no hesitation, just a flicker in her eyes. She moved her hand and he listened to the sounds of the satin dress as she reached under her skirt and slid down her knickers. He felt like a schoolboy as he stared down her dress as she bowed down and removed her undergarment. He saw that she, indeed, was not wearing a bra.

She handed him her knickers and he took them and put them in his pocket. He didn't know why he did that, it just happened. But as he did it, it appeared to him that he accepted her surrender, like her knickers was the sign of her defeat and he put the trophy in his pocket to keep as a reminder of his victory.

She blushed as she ran her hands down her skirt, straightening it. She looked at him and he wondered what it was he saw in her eyes. There was a glimmering in them but he could not understand what she felt. He could see no resentment, no anger.

'Please, sit down!' he said as he held her chair.

She moved to sit down.

'But, please, lift your skirt!' he continued. He was bolder now, more daring in his requests. It was like a game and he had cleared the first hurdle. It gave him confidence.

She sat down and arranged her skirt around her. His mind was focussed on the thought of her naked behind touching the surface of the chair. He wondered how she felt. She had complied and by complying and doing it without any words she had recognised his power over her. In less than a minute she had showed him that he was in command and that she was willing to obey.

He got the food, waited on her, asked her if she wanted wine. He was the perfect gentleman, the perfect waiter. Still she was the girl who had obeyed him.

He sat down opposite her. He looked into her eyes and she looked back, blushed and looked down. She smiled. He saw a soft, gentle and very private smile on her lips. He felt brave.

'I want you to slide your dress from your shoulders,' he said and he noticed how she draw her breath, ever so slightly. She did not hesitate, though. She moved her small hands to her dress and slid it from her shoulders. She let her hands fall down again and the dress slid further down exposing her small but round and firm breasts. He noticed her nipples, erect and attentive. He knew it didn't necessarily mean she was aroused but still he liked what he saw.

Then they had dinner and with mounting satisfaction he found that her dress slid further down her shoulders as she moved and slowly exposed her more. He knew she would do whatever he asked of her.


TFP said...


I am a definite fan, your style is refined & elegant. More please...


george said...

I regret to say I think you've rushed this story into print before its polished. It can't be yours. This is not your usual style. Firstly, the two participants need names. Not "The man was waiting for the girl", but something like "Richard was waiting for Melissa."

Neither should he be drinking lemonade, but Scotch on the rocks. What does someone else think?

Janice said...

Dear TFP, thank you for your encouragement. I will not stop writing, I can assure you.

Dear George, I do appreciate you leaving a comment and I acknowledge your right to an opinion. But don't for a second think that I don't know what I am doing. This story is mine, I am not stuck in one style, on the contrary, I do try to write in different styles. I enjoy that very much. If I don't have names I have chosen to not have names. You can like it or dislike it if you want, that is your right. And perhaps you and I move in different circles but lemonade on a hot afternoon in the garden is nothing unusual where I come from. And regards to 'rushing into print' and 'polish', I gather you haven't read, on my blog, my view on that. My blog is not a place for 'finished' products for a market of picky readers. They are fantasies and stories I have written because they mean something to me and which I have chosen to share. My blog is not a competition with anyone else and when I put a story up on my blog I think it is good enough to be there. If you don't share my opinion, so be it. I will not do anything about it.



Manorlord said...

Janice --

I like the story very much -- so much that I wrote a commentary on it.

That said, chacun a son gout. George's comments seem a bit arbitrary and forced to me, but criticism (like impertinence) is often well meant. I don't happen to agree with him, but that is not the point.

There is an infinite number of ways to portray any particular scene or scenario. Perhaps George would write it differently -- perhaps he should! (If only to show us how it's done!)

The distance or abstraction created by the lack of names contrasts with the (for me) intriguing twist -- who is leading this dance? How far will it go? Are there any limits?

Scotch and soda, hmm. In the middle of the afternoon?! (Yes, for me, with pleasure!) But lemonade connotes innocence, sweetness, and something cooling (in the heat...) Apt, I think, if not as heady.


Wystan E

Janice said...

Dear Wystan, of course you readers have a right to be critical. That is not my point. I do react, however, when conscious decision of mine are portrayed as errors. Like them or not, that is fine, but they are not errors. Regarding how 'finished' it is, I have talked about that a lot and stand by my decisions.

I am chuffed that you liked it, though, and you are right about the question mark regarding who pulls the strings.

By the way, if you are going to drink whisky, it should be with water in its liquid form. At least in my humble opinion.



Manorlord said...

Speaking of taste --

You are quite right that fine Scotch whiskey (especially single malt) should be taken neat, or with water only. The same applies to fine Irish whiskey (ie Jameson 12 yo) or small batch (American) bourbon.

Scotch (or any "well" whiskey) & soda is different. The whiskey is a blend, and not meant to be stand on its own.



george said...

Janice, OK OK, steady on, I'm new here. You are right, it is your blog. I was the one that rushed in. So I'm a Borat Sagdiyev of the blog world. I'm not an experienced correspondent. I thought I was offering constructive feedback. If you think comments are poor quality just ignore them. They can't hurt you, only the writer. OK, I need to be more sensitive. Sorry, I'll be very gentle in future. I've read a lot of your blog, its very good. Hugs to all, as you say.

Janice said...

Dear George, I have no intention of scaring away comments and I am sad if I do. Apology accepted and I hope you can forgive me for being harsh. The reason I reacted was because it touches upon an issue that is very important to me. I am really, really fed up with competition. I am a perfectionist and competing for attention is the most stressful thing I can think of. I write for the sheer joy of writing, there are few things that are better. I blog because I wanted to show what I write, to share my fantasies. It makes me feel less lonely with a (perhaps not so, after all) strange imagination. If I let the perfectionist out I wouldn't put so many stories up on the blog, trust me. It is because I allow myself to look at them and say, 'yes, this capture what I wanted to say', that they end up on the blog. I enjoy comments on the fantasies, the thoughts that are there and what other people think about them and their own fantasies. I am vain, of course, so compliments make me chuffed and encourages me. I know what I write is not perfect (horror if it was) and no one has to enjoy them.

When if comes to constructive feed back, I do welcome that but errors or things that you think are wrong, illogic and bad, can be addressed in private conversation. My email is to be found on my profile page. I do like the idea of working with an editor, someone I trust but I am more interested in doing that with my other writing, the one that is not primarily concerned with my strange imagination.

I am not trying to censor you or anyone else. Of course you can write and say that this story was crap or not. Do that if you think it is important that others know about your opinion.

And I won't ignore a comment. As you can see, I do comment on all comments, if I can. And the issue here was that I did, and will, defend stylistic choices I have made. At least I don't accept them being errors.

So a long reply for something that maybe wasn't a big deal. I do hope you will feel free to comment. I will be gentler.



Mina said...

I liked it very much and you know you could now put a tag on all the 'green dress' stories you have written.

I love it when writers return to themes or moods or a prop like that. Remind me of Hitchcock doing a cameo in all his films or something like that.

Anyway, this was very sweet.


Ollie said...

Well, I quite liked the story too. The adjective I think best describes it (OK, I know adjectives are illegal in writing) is "delicious". There was a dreamy arrested-breath quality to the piece which I liked.

OK, it wasn't as I would have done it, but it's your piece, and I wouldn't read you unless I enjoyed your work.


Janice said...

Dear Mina, I do tend to keep coming back to my old favourites. I think it is in the nature of fantasies, somehow. Funny parallel to Hitchcock...smiles.

Dear Ollie, '...dreamy arrested-breath quality' sounds very nice, indeed. I like that. I am, somehow, glad it isn't the way you would have written it. And that is not an assessment of your writing, just that if it was like you had done it, it would have been your story, not mine...smiles.