10 comments/ 15096 views/ 10 favorites Goodbye Jennifer Brown Ch. 01 By: JaneX Please take a moment to vote - my partner and I are engaged in a friendly (by which I mean deadly serious) story-writing competition, and the winner will be judged by their rating. It's all in your hands now, my friends. Chapter 1. Jennifer Brown loved sex. Loved it. She would wake up each and every morning feeling sensuous and aroused, step into the shower and immediately aim the showerhead stream between her thighs for a quick release. She'd drive to work each morning thinking about being fucked roughly from behind by the burly road worker she'd just passed. She'd drive home from work each evening imagining being seduced on the tea room table by the handsome manager visiting from head office. And when she climbed back between the sheets at night it was with an erotic novel and a gently vibrating dildo for company. But here was the thing. In spite of her unrelievedly raunchy inner life, Jennifer was a virgin. She worked as a secretary for a small backwater accounting firm, she didn't know many people outside the office, and there was no one in her circle of acquaintances who would ever in a blue fit have guessed the nature of the thoughts that were constantly parading through the mind of the mousy, bespectacled, slightly dumpy young woman behind the front desk. In her fantasies she was the mistress of the seductive eyebrow lift, and the queen of the flirtatiously witty remark. In reality, even a hint of romantic interest from a member of the opposite sex triggered flaming cheeks and a hopelessly tangled tongue. She wasn't especially lonely, she enjoyed her own company, but her unsatisfied libido tormented her relentlessly. And it was getting worse. Just recently she had started to toy with a possible answer to her impossible problem. She absolutely could not communicate her desire for sex to anyone who knew her. She knew she was incapable of flirtation at a bar or bus stop. So what about sex with stranger? A paid stranger. Where the whole transaction could be reduced to a business exchange. Men did it all the time, didn't they? She began to linger over the last pages of the newspaper, where the sex ads were listed. Busty girls, size 10, new, gorgeous, happy ending... The postings catered almost exclusively to the heterosexual male. Briefly, she considered calling the number on one of these ads. She was open minded, and it was rather delicious to imagine a slender dark-haired girl on her door step. She could draw the girl inside, touch her face, trace over the curve of her breasts, gently lift the hem of her skirt... But no. It was a very pleasant fantasy, but at their core her desires did not gravitate toward women. What she really wanted was a man. A sensuous, aggressive, erotic encounter in the power of a strong and virile man. Perhaps... She tapped the newspaper thoughtfully with the end of her pen. Perhaps she could place an advertisement. It would be a gamble. What if she ended up with an assignation with a truly unsavoury candidate? Someone criminal? Someone old, fat, ugly, smelly? No, there had to be a better way. Still carrying the newspaper, she wandered over to stand in front of the mirror above her mantlepiece. Hazel coloured eyes peered back from behind tortoiseshell rimmed glasses. She really wasn't helping herself. She removed them and folded them on the mantlepiece. There, now the mousy bun was in softer focus. She pulled out her hair band and mussed her hair a little. It was an improvement, anyway. Without her glasses and with her hair puffed out around her face she scarcely recognised herself. So maybe that was the answer. If Jennifer Brown couldn't possibly go out seeking a sexual encounter, perhaps she could turn herself into someone else who could. She could become the stranger. If she disguised herself completely, would that give her the confidence to seduce a man? Experimentally, she ran her hands over her breasts and settled them on the curve of her hips, but the bulky tweed jacket she wore obscured her shape. She was used to her figure, or - resigned to it might be a better phrase. Short and dumpy. No getting around that. Or was there? She carefully wriggled out of the jacket, and began to unbutton the conservative blouse she wore beneath. Her breasts were undeniably generous, in proportion with the rest of her. And although her hips were broad, she did have something of a waist in between. She straightened her spine and pulled in her tummy. Perhaps in the right clothes she could make something of her figure. A wide, cinched in belt could act almost like a corset. An A-line skirt and a lower cut-blouse might look cool and a little bit retro. Could she pull that off? No! Not if she still felt like shy and cringing Jennifer Brown inside. Well, in that case she would never have sex, and would probably die by spontaneous combustion alone in her bed! Fuck it. She reached for her phone, and dialled a hairdresser. For just one night, she could do it. She could say Goodbye to Jennifer Brown. Goodbye Jennifer Brown Ch. 02 Chapter 2. The visiting manager from head office was 42 years old. He was reserved, efficient, highly successful, and (as Jennifer Brown had been quick to appreciate) quite handsome. Today, however, he was not feeling efficient or successful, he was feeling deeply frustrated. He had planned to spend two days in this one-horse town getting the company's regional office in order, but he had apparently underestimated both the scale of the job and the incomptence of the middle managers. The only person who was of any use at all was the bloody secretary. But today not even she had managed to turn up. It was looking as though he would have to extend his booking at the local hotel to the end of the week, and he was not happy about it. He was still glowering as he stalked through the foyer of his hotel, carrying his briefcase and heading for his room. He paused in front of the lifts, then suddenly changed his mind and turned away, making instead for the busy lobby bar. 'Whiskey on the rocks,' he muttered to the bartender. 'Room 16.' At the sound of his voice a woman a few barstools away stiffened, and flashed him a glance. She looked away again almost immediately, almost as though she was embarrased, which was a little odd. He shrugged and picked up his drink, but in the absence of anything else interesting to look at he found his gaze drifting back to the woman at the bar. She was worth the second glance, he decided. Her hair was loose and thick, and dyed a firey red which was quite arresting. She was a bit on the plump side but she was wearing a tight black skirt that hugged her bum and legs all the way to her knees, a wide red belt, and a white blouse unbuttoned over a generous cleavage. Someone had done her makeup in great dramatic style, with red lips and sweeping dark eyeliner. He realised he was not the only one observing. Out of the corner of those sexily painted eyes she was watching him too. Well, he was here alone for another night and it had been a shit day, what was the harm in a little conversation. If it came to nothing he'd still have something nice to think about while he masturbated later. He closed the short distance between them. "Good evening," he said. But that was all. The woman was looking straight at him, a little quizically, her cheeks a little flushed, her spine very straight. But after a couple of beats she almost seemed to relax a little, and she replied, just a little hoarsely, "Hello." "Can I buy you a drink?" She smiled slightly. "Yes. Yes you can. Better make it a double, though." He inclined his head. "Certainly. A double what?" "Oh, a double anything actually. Whiskey. Vodka. Rocket fuel." "Has it been a bad day?" He barely took his eyes from her as he placed an order with the bartender. Her drink arrived and she took a quick gulp, grimacing slightly, then half-smiled. "A bad day? No. It's been a ... revealing day." She met his gaze, again with that slightly secretive, inquiring look. "I hope, however, that it's going to end a very good day indeed." He frowned slightly. "I'm sorry, but you remind me of someone. Have we met before?" Her smile turned into a teasing grin. She had lovely little white teeth. "Oh, I couldn't possibly say for certain. You must meet so many people!" It was as though she was playing a game with him, but he had no idea of the rules. He was intrigued in spite of himself. "Tell me then, what has made your day so revealing." "Well, I met a very interesting woman. One I hope to develop a very rewarding friendship with in time. But you don't want to hear about that. Surely you'd rather hear why I'm hopeful that my day is going to end so well?" "Sure, tell me that." She turned and leaned in toward him, as though she was going to tell him a secret. Her blouse gaped invitingly, and all the gentlemanly insticts in the world couldn't keep his gaze from dropping. Her breasts were pale and round and barely confined by a pretty white lace push-up bra. His cock, already stirring, filled and lengthened appreciatively. "I'm hoping," she whispered huskily, "To find someone in this bar to take to bed with me." Well, that was it, there was no way he could stand up now. "I see," he responded, as gravely as he could. "Who did you have in mind?" She leaned back again, tapping her full bottom lip with a red-painted fingernail. "I did consider the barman, first," she said consideringly, "But I think he might be a little young for me. Then again, he'd probably be very virile. He looks like he'd have a lot of energy, don't you think?" They both looked at the bartender, who was probably in his early twenties, tall and lean, with dark floppy hair and fashionable stubble. He was polishing glasses, oblivious to their assessment. "Hmm. He does seem scarcely out of the school room. Aren't you worried he might prove a little... premature?" The woman's delighted gaze returned to him, and he was surprised by the jolt of pleasure and relief it gave him to have her attention again. She was enjoying their game very much, her eyes were practically sparkling with excitement. It amplified his own excitement too. "Premature? Well, maybe. But I feel sure I'd be able to ... resurrect him. Again, and again if need be. You see," and again she leaned forward to confide, and again he saw the straining of her bra and felt an echo of it in his pants, "I have a lot of ... energy too. He cleared his throat. "I see. Anyone else?" "Well, do you see the man in the corner, the one in the jeans and boots?" "Yes. The one with his mate, looks like he'd drive a ute, lining up the beers." "I've been thinking about him, too. I've caught a few lines of their conversation, I think he's recently broken up with a girl and he's drowning his sorrows. I thought maybe he'd like someone to ... take his mind off things. I thought, an enthusiastic blow job and a quick fuck with a stranger would suit us both pretty well. We could both go home happy after that - surely!" She looked at him from under her eyelashes. "Don't you think? Wouldn't that make you happy?" He took a deep breath, apparently having forgotten to breathe while she was talking. "No," he answered firmly. She looked downright dismayed and he found it fucking enchanting but he didn't smile. "No?" "No. That would not make me happy. It would be gratifying as hell and a great end to the rubbish day I've had... But what would make me happy is to take you upstairs... Push you up against a wall, rip open your blouse, lick your breasts until you're wet and squirming, then push your underwear aside and fuck you harder than you've ever been fucked before. Then," he pushed a lock of hair out of her face, loving that he could hear her panting softly as he spoke, "Then I'd like to undress us both, stand with you in a steaming shower, and fuck you again. And then I'd like to lie you naked on my bed and explore every last inch of you as slowly as I like, finding out what you like, and make you come... hopefully for the third time." He leaned back. "That would make me deleriously happy."