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Only Red Ch. 01

By: Egmont Grigor



The mailman approached the house and Jazz (Jasmine) opened the door hurriedly thinking this could be the day. The mailman smiled wearily and muttered, "Have a nice day."

"You too," Jazz said when taking the mail, noting three bills on top of the heap. But beneath them was the long official envelop she was waiting for: notice of the dissolution of the marriage between Jasmine Eva Young and Archer Rex Young known to Jazz as Scumbag since the evening she caught Archer and her former best friend and bridesmaid Wendy in bed screaming their heads off.

Jazz opened the envelope and checked -- yes, dissolution had been granted.

"As from this day," she announced to the bed of petunias, a hand over her more than modest chest, I revert to my maiden name of Jasmine Eve Pennyfeather.

It was Friday and she went off to work very happy, returning nine hours later and stopping to look proudly at her petunias; until she'd planted them she'd not been aware she had even a light touch of 'green fingers'.

There was an horrendous screech of tires and a red something burst through the picket fence fronting Jazz's small house and slammed its front through the landscape window that looked out on to the oak tree.

Smoke appeared from under the bonnet.

Jazz rushed forward. "What can I do?" she cried helplessly.

"Pee on the fire -- save the damn car."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard."

"If you think I'm going to climb up there and squat you've..."

"Doesn't matter; it's almost out -- just the wiring shorting I suppose."

"How can you tell if wiring is short or long from where you are sitting and the lid is down?"

The guy in an awful striped jacket and a stupid cloth hat and goggles hitched up on top of his hat looked at her. Thank God he didn't have a mustache.

"I say, could you please pull this shard of glass from my throat?"

"Yes of course; what is a shard?"

He didn't have to tell her; she's seen it by then. An eight-inch long narrow piece of glass from the shattered window stuck from the right-hand front of his throat.

"Just pull it straight out darling. Oh my, what lovely tits. Don't twist the shard -- pull it straight out the way it went in and you won't cut an artery."

"An artery," Jazz said weakly.

"Yes little darling -- they are..."

"I know what arteries are. Shouldn't we wait for the medics?"

"No, I need to clear out before the police come and decided to breath-test me; I've had a couple or four or eight; wink-wink."

Jazz went up to him and was instructed to be careful. "Take off your panties and wrap them around the shard where you'll grip it."

She tore a big piece off her dress.

"God, you don't know how to give a guy a thrill, do you?"

She jutted forth her jaw to demonstrate she was not a woman to be trifled with but a blush flooded her face.

"Ah, virginal are we?"

She reacted firmly. "Shut up about me and tell me what to do."

"Grab it with two hands like you usually do."

"I've never had a shard..." The fiend; she turned scarlet.

"That's good darling -- now keep a steady grip and walk straight back without tripping or twisting or cutting my damn throat."

"Oh God."

"Nice tits -- allow me to squeeze them."

Jazz stepped back hastily and found he no longer had the shard in his throat. But blood poured from the hole.

"Oh God."

"It's fine, don't faint on me. If it were arterial blood it would be spurting. Give me your panties."

Jazz glared at him defiantly and handed the piece of dress she was still holding, unwinding it from the shard.

The guy in the stupid little car with no top and a folded-down windscreen bunched the fabric against the wound.

"Sorry about the damage to your house -- take me to your bed honey," he said, eyes glazing.

Bossy Miss Roberts from across the road came charging over. "What's his status?"

"Too rude to be married I should think."

"No child -- fractures, head injuries, what is your assessment?"

"I pulled this piece of glass out of his throat. He called it a shard."

"Oh God child -- in pulling it out you could have severed an artery. It should have been removed in theatre."

Jazz said well it was too late; he asked her to do it and she'd obeyed.

"Never accept what men say; it's always wrong," Miss Roberts said, pulling the man's hand away to inspect the wound. "Ohmigod girl, you were the width of a piece of paper away from cutting into the common carotid artery."

"I guess I was lucky, right?"

"Yes -- he's okay but needs four stitches and antibiotics. I'll call the paramedic service."

"No, please don't. He's drunk and doesn't want to be arrested for drunk driving."

That shocked Miss Roberts. "Good heavens girl, why are you protecting him; do you know him?"

"No -- I only met him five minutes ago."

"He should be jailed and then shot; he could have killed someone."

"But he didn't, I feel some responsibility because my window almost killed him."

"Oh darling, you are so sweet; brutes like this fiend will have a field day with you."

"Miss Roberts -- please. Take him to your medical centre and have him fixed and bill me."

"Well..."

"Please, I can hear the siren. Take him and I'll attend to the police and call my insurance company and have the car moved. Don't tell me where you're taking him so I can honestly say you didn't tell me."

"But you know where I'm taking him."

"But you didn't tell me."

"Oh, I see. You are not as dumb as you look, are you sweetie."

An hour later Miss Roberts returned from the medical clinic where she worked weekdays and introduced to Jazz -- reading from her notebook -- Arnold Thomas Guy, thirty-one, bachelor, of Parklands Crescent, Parklands Estate . He looked pale but otherwise okay and could have been mistaken for a clergyman because of the white bandage around his throat.

"Hi, call me Arnie."

"Hi," Jazz said shyly.

Arnie turned to Miss Roberts. "Cilla, this is the young woman who wouldn't take off her panties to save my life."

"So you've told me -- that's the third time now. Play another track Arnie."

"Sorry Cilla and you too Mrs Young; it's the alcohol talking. I can be almost shy at times."

Jazz said shyly, "My divorce came through today -- I've reverted to my former name of Jasmine Pennyfeather but please call me Jazz, and you too Miss Roberts."

"Call me Cilla please Jazz -- what a weird name."

"I used to play drums in an all-girl jazz band."

"I see -- I didn't realize the rowdy guy always shouting at you was your husband when you shifted in here more than two years ago," Cilla said. "You did the right thing tossing him away. I though he was abusive of you."

"He was but it was the drugs. He landed in with a bad crowd. I had to let him go so ratted on him; he and his crowd were busted and jailed for manufacturing and possessing banned substances."

"Oh dear -- will he and the gang come back seeking revenge?"

"I shouldn't think so -- it was an anonymous tip off. All of them are English and face automatic deportation when they come out of jail. Jake consented to the divorce and our joint possessions were legally divided so he'd have no reason to return. The social worker told me he'd now be only interested in men after being incarcerated for a minimum of three years."

Arnie looked quite concern. "A shard into the throat is nothing what you've been through."

"Thank you Arnie, that was sweet of you to say that. I sent your car to City Motors and they called and said there's little damage to your vehicle so call in tomorrow to discuss the two small dents and repainting the dents and lid-err-hood. Damage to the wiring is easily replaced. My picture window was floor to ceiling, fortunately for your car -- just a four-inch sill to bounce to hit the glass. You were just unlucky to be caught by that flying piece of glass."

Arnie looked at the covering over the window. "That temporary weather shield is very flimsy," he said. "Perhaps for protection I should stay until the glass is replaced."

"Jazz can stay with me," Cilla said firmly.

Poor Jazz, it was such a difficult decision.

"Come on dear," said Miss Roberts, holding out her arm.

"Wait."

Arnie and Cilla looked at Jazz as if expecting the announcement of World War 3.

"Let my ask you this Cilla: If you were my age, twenty-four, which of those two offers would you have accepted?"

Cilla sighed. "I'll call over in the morning to replace your dressing Arnie. Don't do anything to place pressure on your sutures."

As Cilla walked away Jazz said very firmly, "I'm not taking off my panties."

Arnie entered the house feeling a little unsteady. He stopped staying something mid-sentence and Jazz slammed her shoulder against his chest to stop him falling.

"You're coming to bed," she said firmly.

Arnie was a little too disoriented to make a lewd remark.

It was dark when Arnie awoke -- 9:15. He switched on the bedside light and touched gently the sore side of his throat, noticing his clothes in a neat pile on the bedroom chair. He reached down and made immediately contact with a warm slab; obviously his briefs were somewhere in that pile. He sighed and murmured, "Modern women."

The door opened and a bright face offered a cheery "Hi". Do you require pain-killers?"

"No, the pain has disappeared at the sight of you."

Jazz bit her bottom lip as the smile spread.

"Cilla called to check on you and then brought over a bottle of rum and copied out a recipe for eggnog. She thought you should only have liquids tonight and perhaps have an omelet for breakfast."

"Eggnog -- what's that?"

"You'll just have to wait and see, won't you."

"I'll only have it if you have one with me."

"Okay."

They ended up having two eggnogs each and a little later Jazz admitted to being "warm and fuzzy."

"Come to bed."

"I'll be sleeping in the guest room."

Instantly recognizing the complications that presented Arnie clutched his throat and groaned.

"What?" She rushed to his side.

"Pressure on the stitches; I hope they don't burst during the night."

"Oh God -- you should have stayed with Cilla -- she's a practice nurse."

"We can call her if anything goes wrong."

"Oh yes, of course. Then perhaps I'll sleep in here on the chair."

"A good idea," said the man with a wolfish smile.

It was a straight back chair so Arnie waited fifteen minutes as she moved one way, then the other and back again in relentless agitation until he switched on the light.

"What is it?"

"I'm worried about you," Arnie said smoothly. "You're not doing very well over there. Come over her with me; it's important that you have a good sleep."

Arnie didn't explain why that was important and it didn't occur to Jazz to ask. She would have been thinking 'He's in the nude!'

"Yes, bunk down beside me but go over the top sheet to keep that between us."

"Oh yes but please avert your eyes -- I only have my sleeping panties on."

Arnie of course remained looking in only one direction and his eyes widened as she scampered over, breasts bouncing. There wasn't time to also notice the lovely camel-toe.

"Are your lips dry?" she asked, noticing him licking his lips.

"No, everything but the right-hand side of my throat is in good shape," he yawned, turning off the light.

"Goodnight," she said sweetly.

He gave her two minutes. "Back in against me Jazz -- I'd appreciate knowing I'm in safe hands after my harrowing experience."

"Oh you poor man," she said, backing in against him with the safety of the sheet between them.

Arnie gave her another two minutes once they'd stopped chatting before pulling his right-hand free and steered it between the sheet and blanket to stop dead on her tummy.

She stiffened.

His hand remained absolutely still.

She relaxed and Arnie waited like a tom cat, ready to spring. When Jazz had settled into a steady breathing rhythm Arnie's hand moved from her belly to her right hip and he pulled the hip towards him, drawing his hips away. She rolled and provided just enough access for him to make it to her pussy -- shaved -- and to the entrance.

Damn, it was dry.

Arnie pulled his hand on to the soft pad over her pubic bone and massaged it lightly. A little later the hand moved back to the opening and bingo, evidence of moisture. The more he gently probed the easier it became: one finger eased in and as the lube increased he inserted a second. Her breathing stopped but he didn't.

"Arnie, for God's sake, what are you doing?"

He didn't answer. If she didn't know then she hadn't been married to a drugged up jerk in a band.

Arnie imagined the huge frown on her face softening and turning into a smile. Slowly her hand would have crossed to her right breast to begin a soft massage...

Well, he hadn't answered, she hadn't demanded he answered and she hadn't pulled away from him. This was consensual sex. He thought about a third finger but decided not to push his luck. He maintained rhythm and expected she'd almost fall to sleep again.

There was no problem of dry friction -- her wetness was oozing around his hand and she now smelt of sex. Probably that same primeval odor of arousal was reaching her nose. The bed clothes about his cock tented even more as that sexy thought rocketed through his brain.

Just as Arnie wondered had she fallen asleep her breathing rate began increasing and slyly she eased her under-leg out farther to widen the gap. The bed clothes moved and her arm brushed against his and she reached for her clit.

Ignition!

She stiffened, moaned and drummed her heels. The increased wetness flowed over Arnie's hand as her voice rasped, "God that was out of this world."

He didn't answer, she relaxed. He dropped off to sleep thinking he should have found a towel and a fresh pair of panties for her but, yawn, she was a big girl and when she awoke in the morning with her slime sticking her panties to her she'd realize in growing wonderment it hadn't been a dream. He grinned and thought he heard her say something...it sounded very much like "You mother-fucker." No, that couldn't be -- she was a lady. Wasn't she?

The swish, splatter of the shower awoke him after 7:00 and he found it difficult to breath. Breathing was back to normal once he removed her smelly panties she'd thrown on to his face. He smelt them and felt his cock spring into life. Although his wound hurt Arnie stretched and smiled; since the mutual decision to divorce he'd almost worn his cock to the bone -- a joke he grinned -- in the quest to find a new companion for his bed but had come up short. 

He appeared to be too boisterous for them and his brand of humor failed to appeal as did his irreverence towards sex and tendency to treat women like...well like one of the guys. Usually the breaking point came when he'd dash them madly about in his 1930's re-built British MG -- that stood for Motor Garage but none of them would believe that. Their hair would be blown about, even when tied down with a scarf because he drove with the windscreen folded down on to the hood and he drove with glee if it rained, making no attempt to pull up the soft top. 

They'd complain about their hair being in a mess; he'd laugh and say get it cut off. Usually they demanded to be taken back to his home immediately where crying or cussing or both they'd pack and call a cab. 

None, absolutely none of them, had been worth fighting for but was that about to change?

Stroking his erection Arnie conceded her was in the bed of a Princess. All that was required was for him to convince her he was her Prince. He suspected he faced a hill climb.

Jazz walked from the bathroom drying her hair, clad only in a pair of sensible panties -- too large to be called panties really -- they must belong to her mother.

She bared her teeth at him and almost snarled: "You broke my trust last night and interfered with me."

"Yes I did, and wow did you go off into a biggie. Was that the best since your wedding night?"

Her toweling hands stopped and she gaped. Finally, "I can't believe this" and hair drying resumed.

"What part can't you believe?"

"Well, how about these for starters. You didn't deny it. You didn't apologize. You accused me of enjoying it. And...and...you grinned!"

"Oh dear me -- forget to grovel did I?"

"Yes, leave this house instantly."

Attempting to look crestfallen Arnie slipped out of bed. She gaped.

"Is that all you?"

Arnie looked down. "All present and correct ma'am." He then clutched at his throat and howled.

"Oh Arnie, what is it?" she cried, completely suckered.

Oops, he had to think of something and definitely not a joke. If he failed he was out on his ear.

The Prince croaked: "The stitches, they are pulling like hell."

The Princess said: "Oh my poor injured man. Here, let me assist you back into bed."

A lovely sweet-smelling and very firm breast covered his mouth as she bend over to help lower him on to the bed. With an iron will Arnie made no effort to lick, suck or bite the tit and that made him worry in case that indifference may have disappointed her: one never knows with women.

"Stay there my sweet man. I'm off to cook your omelet." 

A couple of minutes later she came in with the phone wearing an apron, the narrow top of which had pushed out her breasts to either side. Arnie swallowed and his cock jumped to erection. "It's City Motors -- Mr Childs says the cost of reinstatement is not worth making an insurance claim and then being penalized at renewal time. They can work on it today provided they have your okay."

Arnie, sitting up, took the phone and circled her waist with his arm as he began talking to Mr Child, feeling her preparedness to break free subside and she began stroking his hair; there was quite a lot to stroke up there as well.

* * *

Three years earlier Jazz Pennyfeather had gone with three friends to a punk rock concert and they pushed to the front pretending to act like groupies. Their antics caught the eye of the stage manager and he sent his assistant to invite the four girls to meet the band members after the show. They accepted, nervously, because none of them had ever had anything more than one-on-ones; they weren't even sure what groupie girls did -- was it just all-in with the band members, or band members and their girl friends and did management and the roadies also join in?

The girls had been drinking so decided to give it a go, saying they could always withdraw if the action became too steamy for them. As they entered the room guitarist Duke Liverpool also known by the name on his British Passport of Archer Rex Young grabbed Jazz's arm and said, "Listen babe, you look a bit cool to be in for a groupie, come with me and remain safe."

"Like a drink?" asked The Duke as he pretentiously called himself when they entered his luxurious RV; he must have dropped something into the drink because the next thing Jazz knew it was morning and he was fucking her.

She had a huge headache and surprisingly quickly found the sexual stimulation seemed to ease it, so didn't complain. After he completed the third session that she knew about he asked her to stay on tour with him: "Be my Duchess." She was tempted -- she had been a senior sales clerk in a dress store but chances of entering management or becoming a buyer appeared slim as people only a little older than herself held those positions and seemed firmly entrenched.

"Where are we?"

"Dunno," he answered. "Possibly two hundred miles from where we were last night when we climbed aboard."

"I have no chance of making it to work on time."

"I wouldn't think so -- here, take my phone and call your mates to say you have joined the tour and call your job boss and tell her you've quit."

Everyone makes bad decisions during their lives and for Jazz this was one of them. She decided to stay, partly influenced by the fact this seemed like an adventure and partly because The Duke was not big, perhaps a tad less than six inches, which meant they fucked without her feeling bloated. He also had incredibly long fingers and although the nails were long they were well manicured for guitar playing and his played her clit and vagina as if playing a guitar. So she made those calls vaguely recognizing those moves as bad decisions but she was seduced by the role offered as Duchess.


Only Red Ch. 01



The Duke married her believing it would allow him to gain permanent residency in the United States. She was eager to be married -- not recognizing herself as a late maturing person -- and made the ghastly mistake of saying "I do." The immigration consultant couldn't believe that The Duke had managed to win temporary entry approval with his record of minor convictions for drug offences so advised The Duke not to apply for permanent citizenship and instead to stay in the country illegally. He rented a small base in Hollow Valley City to winter over with Jazz, but then he took up with Jazz's former best friend. In a fit of justifiable pique Jazz reported his drug addiction and manufacturing activity to the authorities. The bastard had used her!

Jazz was now in a dilemma again. This new guy who looked set to plug her was the opposite in certain features to The Duke -- Arnie had a big dick and smallish fingers. This was a time when a girl needed her mother so Jazz called her.

"It's a tough call Jasmine," said her mother astonished to receive a call from her daughter when it wasn't Christmas Eve or Thanksgiving. "My advice is to go for the big one -- we all tend to stretch from over-use and our muscles and internal thingies tend to slacken a bit as we age. Big can be more rewarding when that entering that period in sexual life."

"What if he drives an open top sports car mom?"

"Insists that he sells it; for God's sake Jasmine, you have to think about your hair."

* * *

Jazz drove Arnie to City Motors to inspect progress on her car.

He looked at her compact sedan in dismay. "Will you agree to trade in this heap of nothing if I guide you into buying a driver's car?"

"Well I really..."

"Are you attempting to say yes?"

"Yes, I guess you need to compensate me for the trouble and stress you've put me through."

"Oh yes," he crowed, showing no signs of tension on his sutures as Cilla had called them. "Plant your foot and red-line this little piece of crap."

She had no idea what he was on about so drove along at her usual sedately pace.

At City Motors Jazz felt the wet spot forming in her panties, caused by her looking at HIM. He made her feel quite jealous at the way in which he stroked his little red car -- it was so sensual and her nipples popped into alert. When her car needed something done to it she'd have to wait an hour or more at City Motors before a junior mechanic was assigned to her car but here she was looking at three mechanics, the boss himself Bert Bunker and the foremen from the panel shop and the paint shop clustered around the little red terror as if it were giving birth. Didn't they know the slimy red piece of crap had slammed through her fence and crashed through her biggest window?

As they drove homewards Arnie said dreamily, "My baby is going to be all right, receiving the highest attentive and expert care available within 500 miles. Does this also make you feel horny Jazz?"

She only just prevented driving up on to the sidewalk on the opposite side of the road. This man, this man was outrageous. Here he was calling her sweet car as piece of junk and lauding his red terror like some handsome Prince of the night about to save the world. He was living in Fantasyland.

They arrived home to find the picture window had been replaced and the fence reinstated.

"Nice job," Arnie said.

"Yes indeed. Well you can return to your own home now," she snapped.

"Is that what you want?"

The car swerved across the road, mounted the sidewalk and only quick reaction by Arnie wrenching the wheel to the left and pulling on the handbrake between the seats saved them crashing through the just repaired fence.

"Oh God."

"You did well, Arnie said gallantly.

"Please stay tonight, I can't do without you," she sobbed. 

Arnie waited until she pulled away from him. "Not good enough, you sound as if you're in the throes of making a bad decision."

"Oh Arnie," she wailed, turning the color of beetroot.

"Calm down," he said, kissing her under her throat. "Leave your decision-making until you're confident it's the right decision for you."

"Hello your two, your spectacular arrival interested me," said Cilla Roberts. "Did you have your fingers where they had no right to be Arnie?"

"No, I distracted Jazz with a particularly intelligent question and that caused her to misjudge aligning up to enter between the gateposts."

"Hmm. The jury is out on that explanation Arnie."

"Cilla, it may interest you to know I've been seduced by Arnie emotionally but there has been no penile penetration of the vagina -- I think that's the medical terminology."

"Oh darling -- such a waste. Send him across to me if you're not interested in consummation."

Arnie was feeling like the invisible man at this stage. However Jazz cheered him.

"I think that's your house phone ringing, Cilla. Just to set your mind at rest I am interested."

"Well, you're losing him for fifteen minutes -- I need to change the dressing."

He said dryly, "Oh you mean me; I do have some relevance to the conversation?"

Both women looked at him oddly.

Arnie returned in less than fifteen minutes, with just a small sticky patch over his wound; no bandage.

"She's not too bad; lonely I would suggest. You should find her a man."

"Me?" Jazz said.

"Yes, that's why we have neighbors."

"Oh yeah -- do you happen to know the names of any of your neighbors? Jazz asked.

"Yeah, oodles."

"I bet."

There was an awkward silence, broken by Jazz. "I'd like to have sex with you tonight -- the Saturday night special. But I suggest we take it slowly. Let's have lunch then go for a long walk as soon as I have checked with the girls at the store and..."

"You have a store?"

"Yes -- a large fashion store which is my dream. I purchased the business and the building from my marriage exit settlement plus the adjoining property rather than buy an apartment or a house."

"Good for you. So the store can support a manager?"

"Yes, it is quite large. I have a permanent staff of sixteen plus weekend part-timers."

"You're not just a pretty face, are you?"

"I gave three years of my life to that rat bag who became my husband which caused me to be severed from my family and friends. Until he was jailed I was at his beck call and survived on the money he tossed at me. There were of course other women. I'll never degrade myself like that again."

"Good for you; it appears you have bounced back brilliantly."

"Knowing more of my background, do you wish to have sexual connection with me?"

Arnie pulled his left ear and grinned. "Yes please."

"You're funny," she said.

They came back from the very long walk, spent almost two hours in the bath drinking wine; had awkward sex in the bath twice and indifferent sex in bed and in the shower in the morning.

"I'm sorry," she said, at breakfast.

"What for?"

"For being unable to relax, thinking of all the bad sex I've had in this house."

"Ohmigod, I'm relieved," he said, pretending to wipe a sweaty forehead. "I just thought you were just sexually incompetent."

"You swine," she choked, throwing the cereal packet at him which he caught, opened it and threw the contents over her.

"Aaargggh!" she snarled, emptying the milk jug over him and throwing the liquid honey over his chest.

"Hey -- I surrender," he said, holding up his hands in submission. "I know I'll be the one who'll have to clean up. I apologize -- that was a smart-ass thing to say when I should have shown support and understanding. My big mouth often lands me into trouble."

"You're forgiven. We'll both clean up and then you can take me somewhere. I like doing something interesting at weekends."

Arnie kissed her and they wiped each other down and began clearing away. "I'll show you where I live and then we'll trade in your crap car for a real car -- so bring your check book and papers."

"I quite like my little car," she pouted.

He said 'quite like' was not good enough; he aimed to fit her up with a pre-owned car she'd come to adore." 

"I don't wish to spend more than twenty grand."

"Understood -- what I have in mind for you to purchase less your trade-in should fit you up for $15,000 to $16,000."

"And you say I'll adore it."

"Guaranteed."

"I think you have opened your mouth a little too wide this time, Mr Optimist."

Arnie just smiled. 

She knew by that reaction he would blow her away once he 'fitted her up. What an interesting man -- rather a lightweight but interesting.

"Honestly Jazz, this car is a head of crap," Arnie said, driving her towards what he called his 'life-style environment."

"It's one of the biggest selling cars in its class in America," she said defensively.

"That only goes to prove the saying there's no accounting for taste."

Fifteen minutes later she gasped, "Ohmigod, you live in a gated community."

"The guard almost saluted Arnie and said, "Good morning Mr Guy; I never thought I'd see you driving a crap car."

Jazz attempted to burrow deep into her seat.

"We tend to be unaware of the perimeter fencing as our estate covers three hundred acres including the recreational lake," Arnie said, waving to a gorgeous woman of about forty driving a Porsche slowly with the name Gloria written artistically along the side.

"Hi Arnie."

"Hi Gloria."

Jazz said she looked as if she were someone.

"She seems to think so -- heiress to the McGinty supermarket empire.

"Ohmigod. Is everyone famous who lives here?"

"Not quite, I live here. I live alone so my home is rather small, he said, driving down to a branch road giving access to homes on the lake edge. "This is it."

The house was still three times larger than Jazz's home. Jazz had noticed people in their gardens, cleaning their cars or walking along the sidewalk all called out "Hi Arnie" and he named them all. It was true -- he did know his neighbors: all of them.

Jazz had a good look around the home and was surprised how tidy it was and how tastefully decorated. She mentioned the décor.

"My consultant from New York supervised the finishing and purchased the furniture for me."

"He or she has excellent taste."

"Glad you approve."

An hour later they entered a bar for a drink and a midday snack. Gloria was seated alone and waved them to join her.

The greetings were friendly. Jazz had clients of Gloria's social standing so talked to her without awe.

"Glad to see you with a female -- in fact I rarely see you with anyone," Gloria said. "I was worried that you may be turning gay."

Arnie laughed and told Gloria she had no chance of frightening off Jazz by talking like that.

"Are you gay?" Jazz asked.

Gloria and Arnie exchanged glances and roared with laughter.

"You have an acid tongue darling, I like you," Gloria said. "Bring your man over for lunch next Sunday."

"I'd love to accept your invitation but it's conditional on Arnie not deciding he's gay before next Sunday midday."

They laughed and Gloria asked Arnie, "Why the dressing on your neck Arnie -- does Jazz bite like a vampire?

Arnie told Gloria how he came to meet Jazz and Gloria was fascinated and said, "That would make a great opening to a movie romance."

They drove to a car lot and Arnie walked Jazz straight to the car of his choice.

"No, definitely not."

"Why not."

"It's foreign, in fact it's Japanese."

"So what, it has class, grunt and value for money is a great buy. But never mind, don't buy it."

A saleswoman joined them, Jazz wandered off kicking tires while Arnie handed the saleswoman the keys to Jazz's car. A mechanic drove the car away and the saleswoman drove the MX5 out of the tight parking space to the apron of the lot.

"I know you're not buying this car but I want you to be seduced -- just a short test drive. Five minutes."

"Seduced by a car -- you have to be kidding. Okay, we have time to waste." Then she started:

"I don't like blue cars."

"I seem to be sitting far too low down."

"It's not automatic."

"These metal pedals look slippery."

"I seem much too cramped." 

"Oh my goodness, feel the power surge."

"Listen to the quality of the stereo."

"Whoopee, feel how it sticks to the road."

"Brace yourself, I putting the foot down..."

Jazz stayed in the cockpit trying out the switches and buttons while Arnie went inside to talk to the salesperson who then called in her manager. He went back to Jazz.

"Come on, we should push off."

Jazz seemed reluctant to leave.

"I'll bring a smile to your face," Arnie said. "The sales lady is waiting in her office for you to complete the paperwork including the DMV forms and hand her a check for $12,200. Then you can drive away in your new car. Alternatively pay another eight grand to buy a demonstrator new model with the foldaway metal roof."

Jazz hugged and kissed Arnie excitedly. "No, this one is fine -- the less money I spend on my car the more I have to extend my business investments."

"Are you sure -- think carefully; you could struggle with the soft-top?"

"No, I'm sure. Let's do it."

They drove up to Arnie's garage which Jazz had not inspected; they'd decided to stay at his house for the night. As the door went up Arnie said she could park in the central space normally occupied by his MG. 

"Oh my, no wonder you were so positive," Jazz smiled. Rather that look at the Lexus saloon she looked at a black MX5, the latest model. 

Jazz entered the house smiling. Oh my, what will I wear to bed -- I don't have a change of clothes with me, or any nightwear? She was not a nude sleeper -- she sold luxury nightwear to some of the wealthiest glamour women around so had a continuous supply of clothing samples at her disposal. She also spent expensively when her eye caught 'the right look' in window displays or in the dens of competitors.

"I'll grab some juice; make yourself comfortable out on the terrace," Arnie said, heading for the kitchen with her vehicle owner's manual. 

Jazz sat on a chair at the stained wood table, stretched one leg on another chair and pushed a hand under her short dress to touch her panties. The finding was as expected: damp. She tingled with suppressed excitement knowing it had been a long, long time since she'd been this ready. The day had been exciting, test driving the car had sent her spirit soaring but since she'd hugged and kissed Arnie in that dealership lot when he gave her the option of going or paying to change her vehicle she'd felt like consuming him: he deserved everything she could throw at him -- and more. It had been at least a couple of years since anyone had made her this happy. Almost three years actually when the band had been paid six months late for their tour of State fairs and her 'ex' had been high on dope and gave her a bundle of money -- she'd scampered out and bought a diamond ring -- the engagement ring he'd never given her -- before he thought of demanding some of the money back.

She felt excited also at the thought she was on the verge of a worthwhile relationship. Long or short, she had no idea and no idea if she were dreaming. He'd not expressed anything to suggest this but he seemed amused by her, interested in her and seemed to like the way she was no pushover. Perhaps all the women he knew went pussy up as soon as he gave them the eye -- who knows? She'd felt a charge of sexuality between him and that gorgeous Gloria but expected that happened automatically between Gloria and males. Gloria didn't carry a wedding ring and her magnificent fingernails looked genuine so it would appear she didn't work manually or do the gardening or dishes; so what did she do?

Oh yeah?

Good one Gloria.

Bang! A small bang really as a tall glass of ice and exotic fragrant fruit juice was dropped in front of her with the greeting, "You look happy."

"Almost radiant," she said, allowing him to see her tongue run along the inside of her top lip.

His eyes narrowed but his smile stayed. "The car or being with me?"

She frowned. He'd be expecting her to say 'him'. Or was that a wrong read of him?

"I am a discreet person so I'll pass on answering that one."

He grinned and looked at her chest.

She bit her lip and he noticed that.

"Take your top off. We are pretty private here unless someone has binoculars on us and if they are bothered enough to do that who cares?"

"That's not a request to make to a lady."

He said easily that he didn't want her to be a lady. At that Jazz suspected she'd added to the dampness of her panties. Why on earth had she chosen on this day of all days to wear gray underwear!

She stalled. "Why do you want me to half undress?"

"You're young and beautiful with lovely breasts: they should be on display for me."

More stalling. "You take your top off first."

Jazz caught her breath when he removed the shirt. She was aware from being in bed and in the bath with him he had had an enhanced upper body build but in removing his shirt he was now flexing his upper body, like a show-off. This was weird but lovely -- she pulled off her top, messing her hair and reached to undo the bra hooks and that garment was tossed over her head. The flex in doing that turned a bemused look into a stare; now whose lips were being licked!

She loved being aroused when there was no need for it, not like when going to bed as everyone expected to have sex when they were to bed. At least she hoped they did when having a partner in there with them. What this was can only be described as adults' play. She wondered should she call him to show her his cock but reconsidered, perhaps wisely, that this was his little titivation; she should allow him to call the shots.

He chose to pull out, moving his chair alongside hers and opened the vehicle handbook and for the next hour, apart from twice kissing the nearest boob and then her lips, pointed out things she should know about her new vehicle -- but, he said, nothing more than she needed to know for routine driving and vehicle care. She did her best to listen carefully and to stifle a couple of yawns. At last the briefing ended.

"What should we do now?" he said, which was a dangerous thing to ask when she was in a mood like this. 

"Lay me across the table and lick my wet cunt."

She'd chosen to use that word to arouse him and the word 'wet' was used to prepare him for the huge damp circle on her gray knickers. She was lifted on to the table; her panties was pulled aside and her began teasing her with his tongue tip before inserting and tongue fucking her into orgasm, assisted by her smacking her mons. They had all the time in the world, so took it -- his fingering, sucking and licking was patient and drowsily slow as were her mons slapping and clenching and unclenching her ass until her whole body tightened and she sighed. He took the cue and rammed his tongue to maximum depth and began slapping her walls and withdrew only to ram in the tongue again; he gripped her tits tightly -- she thought of them as tits rather than boobs or breasts when aroused -- until she jerked and jerked into substantial release.

He pulled away and came up smiling, fluids running down his face and off his chin.

"Kiss me, kiss me," she urged. "No -- don't wipe your mouth!"

He kissed her tentatively but she went wild, grabbing his buns through his trousers and opening her mouth and ramming her tongue into his mouth and moaning at tasting herself. She was thrusting at him and could feel his erection through their clothing.

"Jesus," he said in awe, pulling away and looking down at his crotch. "I've just ejaculated."

"Good boy," she purred, pulling him against her again and hugging him with one arm while stroking his hair with the other. Emotionally she felt so replete. She then heard his say something she really fancied.

"Come on -- let's clean up and you take me on a fast test drive up into the hills in your new car and we'll find somewhere great to have a rustic lunch."




Only Red Ch. 01



"A 'rustic lunch'?"

"Sounds less awkward than saying to eat lunch in a rustic setting don't you think?"

"If you say so," she smiled. She knew by the smile from him she was growing on him and the fact that he was waiting patiently -- they'd still not had proper sex -- suggested he didn't regard her as a whore.

* * *

The blue car snaked around a 'S' bend reasonably fast, well under control though, and Arnie's immediate thought was she was one of those women who was good at most things she did. She was certainly good at sex. She'd surprised him pulling him down on to her on the table and then tonguing him, rather keen to taste herself on him. Most women he knew would have puked at doing that unless they were totally aroused from full-on sex. Yet somehow she'd turned his munching into an exciting event -- exciting enough to have blown him off and so unexpectedly that he wasn't aware that he was about to fire both barrels until that familiar blood-rush hit him and he was helpless to stop the eruption. Oops, she was talking.

"Do you actually do anything -- gainful employment I mean?"

"No."

"Hmmm. Very interesting. Why don't you tell me, right from the beginning? I like to know about the men I fuck."

There she was again, saying something to him most women would never dream of saying and yet to him it seemed a perfectly natural thing to say apart from the strong four-letter finish. So he told her.

His parents were born and raised on Manhattan and continued to live there -- his mother Robina was the daughter of a socialite and a goldsmith and his father Thomas J. Guy, had followed his father into property development, sometimes erecting new apartment or office blocks but principally refurbishing apartment blocks -- whole buildings, not single apartments. The clients usually were companies. He had a brother David who was an architect and a younger sister Melanie who taught languages at college. When their maternal grandmother died she left each of the children $180,000. Arnie who had failed to settle down after graduating in financial administration used his inheritance as a deposit on a small apartment, refurbished it and kicked it on and purchased another. He was proceeding along rather nicely when a little fling he was having with his father's young sister went wrong.

"Your auntie?"

"Yes."

"Wow."

Arnie said the aunt was only eight years his senior. There was a huge uproar within the extended family when the aunt confessed to her parents. A family summit was called and Arnie was ordered to leave New York and never return -- his father and paternal grandfather branding him as the black sheep of the family.

"I was pretty upset because Rosa had said she would take responsibility for ensuring she didn't become pregnant but she fouled up."

"Oh dear."

"Yes, it should have been mutual responsibility. But anyway thank goodness for find-hearted and practical women. My mother, Rosa and her mother said if I were to be banned then the men would have to pay me to stay away."

"Wow, that's rather radical. A few years ago one of those men would have had your nuts crushed and warned if you showed your face again in family circles you would be shot."

"Well perhaps, but my line of the Guys left barbaric ways behind them several generations ago. The upshot was dad and grandpa set up a trust fund for me and I moved out here and with that generous fund as security launched myself into property development. Rosa was ordered to have an abortion but nature arranged that for her when she dove into the Hudson; it was winter and almost didn't survive. Today she is married with three little ones." 

"Leaving you pleased I suppose after initially being very guilty?"

"Pleased yes, but never guilty. She's wanted a baby and was going to keep the one I gave her but pressure by the family, especially my father, threw her into depression. I blamed dad -- I almost went back and killed him, but the thought of the look on mom's face knowing I'd done that allowed me to take the cowardly way out."

While not commenting on that, Jazz said: "So you were successful in property development and that provides you with an income with managers doing the business for you?"

"No, two years on I formed a syndicate with three wealthy women, bought the three hundred acres where I live now and developed the gated community. Last year it was completed and we wound up the company. I now have sufficient money never to have to work again."

"That's amazing. And you're only thirty-one now?"

"Yes -- some people call it extraordinary luck. I call it doing the right thing at the right time and ignoring those people who say it won't work, the risks are too great and people living in a gated community want a natural lake, not a man-made lake."

"So the lake didn't exist before you turned up?"

"No -- it was just a problem swamp."

Jazz asked had been in contact with his family since being cast out.

"No, the decision to oust me was everyone for that action except one person and that person Rosa visits me just before Christmas to bring me her Christmas present. She knows not to mention me to her family."

"Ohmigod -- Rosa is your consultant from New York who decorated your home and furnished it, isn't she? She's a professional home décor consultant."

Arnie looked stunned. "What an extra-ordinary connection to make -- and it is true. How did manage to see the link?"

"I only just did when you revealed you remain in contact with her. That story about being cast from your family made my think of you as a bit of a hermit -- I've seen no sign of any other people in your home and two of your three vehicles are two seaters and I remembered the red leather of the passenger seat of your MG looks new -- unused. I think the only other thought was a male consultant would have given you stronger colors and more masculine looking furniture. Then just now I seemed to know who the consultant was; I also suspect that Gloria was one of your three wealthy women."

Arnie shook his head. "Concentrate on your driving Jazz before you have me completely unbundled."

"If we are to have a relationship I know I'll find out who those other two investors are."

"You'd like a relationship with me, would you?"

"Now that you've brought it up, yes."

"Me brought it up?"

"Well, if you want to split hairs..."

Arnie smiled. "I'm unable to do that; you shave."

They laughed and he said, "This place up ahead looks rustic enough. Let's eat."

They kissed when they extricated themselves from the car and Arnie said, "You won't have to wait long to find the identity of the other two women. They will be at Gloria's luncheon on Sunday."

"So our relationship will extend to Sunday?" she asked, taking his arm.

He didn't answer, instead turning back and saying her car looked a picture against the distant backdrop of the city.

"Yes." And then, "I love my new car already. Sometimes a woman needs a man to push her into things."

"Sometimes a man needs a woman. End of story."

"Thank you."

"You talk rather too much for me, to what I'm used to, but you certainly are not boring," he said, as they entered the small country restaurant. The woman who greeted them looked at her watch and sighed and led them to a window table vacated by people who obviously lunch at lunchtime.

They ordered and when the woman left Arnie picked up Jazz's hand. "Jazz, would you please move in with me?"

Although her face lit up she looked nervous. "That's a lovely thing to say to me. But have you ever had a woman living with you?"

"Apart from Rosa, only the occasional night stay-over."

"It takes effort to adjust to coming close to another person."

He smiled. "Well, I'll just have to learn to make the adjustments, won't I or is it you that you expect to be the problem?"

"Oh no, I've had the experience and I already know you are very right for me. You don't treat me with indifferent which is the way of so many men and you have humor and are such an interesting man. You will always be special to me as you are the first man I've brought to premature ejaculation. I'm so proud of myself for doing that, especially without my hands or my pussy being involved."

"Your drinks," said the hostess, smiling at Jazz wide-eyed.

"But you're hesitant?"

"Yes," Jazz said flatly.

"Well, what say we meet two or three times a week in different environments, getting to know each other better, staying over in each other's house frequently until we both know the time is right to make the decision?"

"Yes, I'd like that -- it's a very intelligent and sensitive suggestion."

"Thank you," Arnie smiled. "I do have that ability. Your husband gave you a rough time, didn't he?"

"Towards the end, yes. No physical mistreatment -- just displays of massive indifference and mental humiliation."

TO BE CONTINUED...



Only Red Ch. 02



The suddenness of being invited to move in with Arnie Guy, an apparent multi-millionaire, had taken Jazz (Jasmine) Pennyfeather by surprise, throwing her off balance so she backed off. It was a fact they had slept together -- by accident -- and been sexually intimate but, to her mind, that was with the abandonment of values and whatever of anyone having a one-night stand.

Moving in to live with Arnie, even without a time frame, was a deep commitment. At the thought of that her humor and teasing and light-handedness had deserted her, leaving her with the feeling she was heading into entrapment. That was stupid -- there was no reason to suspect she'd not be free to leave the moment she decided to quit. Nevertheless Jazz had learned to trust her instinct and thus had indicated to Arnie she'd preferred to back off a bit and give them time to know each other in the wider sense before sharing the same address.

Arnie's mouth had taken a set, indicating he was not happy with Jazz's sudden change. It probably had appeared to him everything was set to go. At the same time he was kind enough to avoid making an issue of it. That made Jazz wonder, not unkindly, had he ever been rebuffed on anything in recent years as he piled in the money on his mind-blowing joint-venture housing development.

"I'll drop you off at your home and then call you from my home when I've had time to filtrate some thoughts."

"Filtrate some thoughts? What a good idea. I have been guilty of rushing you, haven't I?"

"A little, but I'm not complaining and will deal with it successfully."

Jazz felt safe in the familiarity of her own home. That was stupid but one cannot really help what they feel. She had an idea and called Cilla Roberts.

"Hi Cilla, it's Jazz."

"Oh, I'm pleased to hear from you; have you had a naughty weekend with him?" 

"Yes."

"Well that's honest of you. That wasn't your car you drove home in."

"Yes, it's my new car."

"It looks very sexy but not practical. You try getting out of that in a corset."

"It's quite practical, a bit too close to the ground. But Cilla, he asked me to shift in with him and I balked."

"Are you sure you want to tell me this?"

Jazz said yes, she had to ask Cilla something. "It's the same question I asked earlier -- if you were my age, unattached, and he asked you to move in with him what would you have said?"

"Oooh, this is difficult. Well, I suppose it's best to give you the truth. I would have said, 'Seduce me as many times as we take manage but I'm not moving in until I know you better and that should be your answer as well, young man."

"Oh Cilla, you are wonderful. That's what I told him and his chin almost hit his shoes. Come over for a drink."

"Oh, it's becoming late and I have the meat on."

"Bring the meat over and I'll do vegetables and make apple turnovers. I need to talk. Please Cilla."

"Very well, I'd like the company -- you make life sound exciting. I'll come over in ten minutes."

Jazz called Arnie and was pleased to receive a warm greeting.

"I must be sure before I act Arnie."

"Yes, a perfectly sound decision. After you went I began...er...filtering my thoughts and came to exactly the same conclusion as you. That is, I should be certain of my commitment before asking you to share my house and life and should know you better before making such an offer. I was guilty of thinking only about non-stop sex."

"Non-stop? That sounds fascinating."

"But it just doesn't happen like that, does it," Arnie answered sensibly. "We also have to think about our compatibility to fill in the big spaces between the bouts of sex."

"Exactly, and I think we won't have a problem but let's be sure."

Arnie said he totally agreed and what was the program.

"Er, when will your car be ready?"

"Tuesday lunchtime."

"Then I'll come to your house and fetch you at noon and take you to lunch and then show you my properties and then drive you to City Motors."

"When do we have sex?"

Jazz swallowed. "When would you like sex?"

"Tuesday night -- you come here after work that evening."

"Excellent, and then on Thursday night we do to a movie and have late dinner."

"Sex?" he enquired.

"I would imagine it would be unavoidable."

"Excellent, then on Saturday you come here for lunch and if the conditions are okay I'll take you on the lake sailing. You stay the night and we go to Gloria's for lunch. You'll have to stay Sunday night here as well but that's unavoidable because you won't be able to drive because you will have been drinking -- a lot."

"Well, if it's unavoidable we really don't have any say in the matter, do we? It sounds as if we're back on track Arnie."

"It does indeed. In the meantime if you need post-coital tension relief, please give me a call."

"That's cute, Arnie. Good night."

* * *

It was a great week. Jazz was in such a high state of excitement every day that her older female staff decided she was pregnant. Tom who did the cleaning, packing, unloading of new stock and handling the trash thought she had 'a fellow'. When Tom made that comment in the lunchroom all the women looked at each other and then looked at Tom with new respect.

* * *

As per the program, Jazz and Arnie went out on Tuesday and Thursday and topped the occasions off with sex, but only okay sex. Both worried silently: had the fire gone out?

When he was not with Jazz Arnie was grumpy and washed and polished and washed and polished his three vehicles. On Wednesday Gloria dropped in on the chance of being offered lunch. She became motherly at finding just how glum Arnie was and offered him unconditional sex to cheer him up -- but he declined.

"What?" she cried in disbelief. "This woman has you by the nuts."

Arnie told her everything from the time they'd first met until the time he virtually scared her off. He looked at Gloria like a tired and hungry hound and she rose to the occasion.

She pulled Arnie against her breast and clucked when he failed to act normally to worm his way in to lick and suck. Gloria was worried.

"You've found your woman, Arnie, but she hasn't found you -- at least not yet."

"I know," he sighed. Gloria took that as acceptance so unbuttoned the front of her dress but Arnie lay against her like a corpse.

Gloria pushed aside her own needs and said firmly, "Arnie, sit up and listen. I don't know this woman but accepting being called Jazz means she's upfront and passionate. You said her divorce has just come through -- just imagine what that has done to her confidence and you acted like a primate Arnie, offering her a permanent place in your bed. Whether she thought it or not her whole dented ego would have shrieked, "I'm not being put through that crap again; I'm doing nothing until I find a man I can trust." 

"Really?"

"Yes really."

Arnie perked up and asked Gloria to tell him more.

"It's simple, Arnie. You have to prove your worth."

"How?"

"You sit around her all day Arnie or driving around in those toy cars of yours. Turn that time into productive thinking time."

Arnie thank her for her advice and kissed her, but that was not enough for Gloria.

"That's not enough, Arnie; I want a real reward," Gloria said, removing her dress.

* * *

During lunch on Saturday Arnie, with Jazz's welcome kiss lipstick applied over his mouth crookedly, sat Jazz down on the terrace and removed his top. She took the hint and removed her top and smiled sweetly as he darted around to undo and remove her bra.

She said "Good boy" and held up a breast to be kissed but it received the full treatment, not that she seemed to mind.

Arnie returned from the kitchen with a tray of cold seafood including lobster, two flutes and a bottle of French champagne.

Jazz said "This looks exquisite" and Arnie beamed. "We'll be thrashing around in the yacht so it pays not to over-eat beforehand. My rule is if you eat and drink sparingly then go for quality."

"What an admirable rule. You look as if you are itching to tell me something."

"I have an idea, possibly a brilliant idea. I was really impressed by your store and the way in which it operate; very classy."

"Thank you Arnie."

"Your adjoining property purchase impressed me -- the start of a little empire, I would think."

"Two two-level buildings with one store vacant a very little empire?" she giggled, looking over her flute at him.

"I need to invest in something and thought why not retailing. So I want to rent that store next to yours."

"It's vacant because the rental I've set is considered too high; I made a mistake by paying too much for the building but because the apartment above it is beautifully appointed I had no trouble leasing that."

"I want to lease the store for five years at the asking rental please Jazz."

"But Arnie, you are inexperienced in retailing; experienced retailers consider the rental for the size of the premises is out of proportion to the ratio of expected turnover. It appears I'll have to drop my price or what I have been thinking of doing is to knock through the wall and expand my own premises."

"Jazz, give me the chance to prove my theory. I want those premises at the current asking price and I'll pay up the five-year lease in full at the time of signing."

"Very well, but six-monthly payment of rental in advance is all I require -- that's what anyone else would face. I'm willing to give you a twenty-five percent discount."

"No thank you -- that is very generous but no thank you. I want to prove my theory that fashion retailing hinges on product of course, but equally important is novelty in marketing to hit the right spot in the consumer. I do ask this -- will you open an account for me and have your buyers liaise with me and buy for me? Would a deposit of $200,000 in that account be acceptable -- I'll top up as required?"

"Have you any idea of fashion Arnie?"

"Not really -- but I expect your buyers will have."

Jazz leaned over and looked at him seriously, taking his hand. "Arnie, I hate curbing your excitement but I must warn you -- you could drop a bundle over this."

"So what -- it's only money Jazz and what price excitement and the joy that will come if I succeed?"

"Well, so-called experts have lost bundles of money in attempting to buck trends. I guess for a gentleman who doesn't have to work only play money will be involved."

"Yes," Arnie grinned. "But that could change if I decide to founder a chain of Arnie's Stores."

"Oh God, don't call them that?"

Arnie grinned and said he wouldn't think of it. "I'm doing this to bring us closer together," he said softly.

Jazz turned a beautiful shade of pink.

Arnie cleared away while Jazz went off to dress for sailing, re-appearing in a striped bikini.

"Oh how I wish, little darling," he grinned, "but not for sailing. Dress in a polo shirt, baggy shorts and sneakers with no socks and a hat that will stay on under stress."

"Baggy shorts -- I don't have any nor a hat."

"Well find them downstairs. Gloria often goes racing with me so there's some of her clothing downstairs."

I bet, thought Jazz.

"Bring your bikini and towel and I'll put them in a waterproof bag along with knickers and make-up. Haven't you been sailing before?"

"No, I've never been on a boat."

Arnie's mouth fell. "Er, this is not a picnic day -- we're entered in two races."

"But I'll be useless."

"So are most of the females out there -- but not all. Our current champ is Shelia Wild, an Aussie girl. Don't worry if we come last; it's only fun."

Jazz attempted to speak like a yachtswoman. "Is our craft the fastest and has more than one sail?"

"No, they are all one class Club 420s -- the only boat allowed on the lake apart from the club's rescue rubber ducky." 

"Rubber ducky?"

It's an inflatable rigid keel rubber boat with a 90 horse-power motor. It was donated by Gloria who named it Condom. There was controversy over the name but since she is a woman as well as the donor the name was accepted by the Yacht Club Committee."

"You have a yacht club?"

"Yes, with six hundred plus members and forty-two yachts but not all yachts are raced every weekend and the membership is high because the clubhouse serves as our Country Club. 

They went to the basement. The door was already up, with a short concrete strip leading to the water.

"Grab the other side of the dolly and we'll launch."

"Where is the dolly?"

"Oh, sorry. The steel support under the yacht that sits on rollers is the dolly. We lift the handles under the bow and pull the boat down to the water."

"Aye, aye skipper."

They had an hour for Jazz to learn how to stay aboard, to move across smoothly to the other side of the yacht when Arnie called 'Going about', sitting back with him when they were running with the breeze and working the 'sheet' to release and re-set the jib. Arnie then taught her how to maintain a straight course with the tiller while he set the spinnaker and then how she had to haul that sail aboard when he called.

They finished fourth to last in the first race and Arnie took the roasting from other sailors when they sailed back to the start for the second race.

"I'm sorry," Jazz said. "It must be so embarrassing for you. Let me put the harness on -- I've been watching what other for'ard hands do."

"Are you sure?"

"Yet, let's knock the crap out of these people teasing you. I noticed that pretty girl with the young boy as crew didn't call out but she waved at us in a friendly fashion."

"That's that Aussie woman I was telling you about - Shelia Wild, and that's her 11-year-old son Timmy."

"She appears to be very nice; I though Australians were brash."

"She's a real lady and probably thinks Americans are brash."

Arnie spent the ten minutes available coaching Jazz about going out on the trapeze and coming back aboard smoothly. She only made one goof, not hauling in the spinnaker fast enough and it dragged in the water for quite sometime before she hauled the last of it aboard, very red-faced from exertion.

"Good girl, forget it -- let's race."

In the final beat to the finish they came in at a better angle and went past three other yachts to capture fourth place.

"Mighty," hooted Arnie, kissing his crew and they headed for the clubhouse. "There's a women's changing room on the right as you enter. Most of the younger women wear bikinis and no sweater but wear a sweater if you wish."

"I'll do what Mrs Wild does."

"Oh, she's one of the older women who wears only a bikini -- and who wouldn't with a body like that. If she drinks too much sometimes the top comes off."

"I thought you said she was a lady."

"So she is -- a fun-loving lady."

Arnie changed into a dry polo and baggies and was waiting for Jazz when she came out with Shelia Wild. Shelia kissed Arnie for a little too long, in Jazz's opinion but she pulled her eyebrow down before either of them saw it was raised. As they entered the club lounge upstairs Gloria, seated with a much older couple, came rushing over looking gorgeous in a cocktail dress, her hair streaming behind her and her unsupported boobs very mobile as she attempted running on very high heels.

Watch it Arnie, you're about to be smothered, Jazz thought. But to her astonishment Gloria was all over her and kissed her on both cheeks and the mouth and burbling about how athletic Jazz had looked on the trapeze with the back of her hair trailing the water. Still holding Jazz around the waist Gloria then kissed Shelia and Arnie and

"Thank you Commodore," Shelia said, dropping almost into a curtsy.

Gloria laughed and said to Jazz, "Come and meet my parents. Don't mind my mom if she appears to be a little frigid -- she wants me to marry Arnie but Arnie is not interested. You have a tremendous chance with him if you want it."

"Me."

"Oh come on Jazz, he's been going round like a headless chicken since you've come on to the scene."

"But Gloria, I was a passing moment for him; I have no wish to come between you and Arnie."

Gloria squeezed Jazz's hand and sighed -- I tried and tried but I'm just not the woman for him. Too predicable, too fussy and authoritative I feel. Our relationship has been just a friendship with the occasional your know what when both of us are between dates; I know now not to expect anything more. I'm only five years older that he is but I feel he regards me almost as a mother. Unflattering but at least I'm a bosom pal. He's no match of the century dear but take him, faults and all -- I feel he's your kind of man; you are everything I'd like to be."

"You can't mean that -- you have everything Gloria. "Looks, style, warmness, charm and oh, the list could go on."

"If you say so dear. Mother, may I introduce you to a new friend and lovely lady, Miss Jasmine Pennyfeather."

"Oh I say, are you English?"

"My father was Mrs McGinty."

"Oh, how simply marvelous. Come sit beside me dear, Gloria tells my you call yourself Jazz -- how modern and what a fine body of young woman you are. Very competitive against Gloria I am sure. Beside me half asleep and very bored is my husband William. Say hello William."

"Hello."

"Sounds like a trained puppet, doesn't he. Now he's no longer interested in the flesh, all that remains is perusing managers about keeping well-stocked shelves and calling for what he calls 'bottom line reports'."

"Jazz owns and operates Body Enhancing Fashions mom."

"Oh do you child -- I often shop there."

"Not often enough mother otherwise you would have seen Jazz before this."

Jazz opened her handbag and took out two cards and handed them to both women. "Not many of these cards are in circulation -- I'll write your names on them. They declare you as being my preferential client and entitle you to twenty-five discount on any purchase or purchases made simultaneous at any time that exceeds $1000. You would be surprised to know how many of my customers exceed that figure every time they shop with us."

"Jazz, that's very generous of you," Gloria said. "I suppose it could be said neither mother nor I are exactly in need of discounts but it's the spirit of the offer than counts. Thank you."

"Yes indeed -- we are on out way to early dinner," said Mrs McGinty. "Would you care to join us, with Arnie of course?"

"Well, that's a lovely offer but first..."

"Don't ask him dear, just tell him; give men the opportunity and they assume control."

"We'd love to join you Mrs McGinty."

"Lovely but please call my Grace. Gloria will take you two home to change. Our boat is at home so you can leave your boat in our locker."

"Your boat, Grace?"

"Oh yes, I often sail it with Gloria as crew. Other times she sails it with her man of the moment as crew. I'd hoped that Gloria would snag Arnie as permanent crew but the reality is they sail different boats. I feel already Arnie has at last found his permanent crew."

Jazz turned away embarrassed to catch the surprised look on Gloria's face and Gloria gave her a lovely smile and winked. Jazz was left with the impression she was in the throes of making a really great friend although Gloria was ten years her senior.

"William, champagne please," Grace said with authority. "Let's toast to Gloria's lovely new friend. Are you thinking of a honeymoon in England dear?"

Jazz loved the dinner conversation; Grace turned out to be very charming and erudite in conversation and skillfully drew the two men back into group discussion whenever William moved to buttonhole Arnie to talk sport or business.

Sex that night for Jazz and Arnie was passable and in the morning was okay. Gloria's party was a bit of a bore because most people there were not particularly interesting so Jazz wondered how they found her -- boring. When Gloria snatched ten minutes to be with her she was relieved to find someone was lively and she reciprocated.




Only Red Ch. 02



"God this luncheon is a bore," Gloria said. "I think everyone is hung over." 

* * *

The leasing agreement was signed with Jazz agreeing to a clause being inserted allowing Arnie to alter the exterior of his premises to suit himself with the proviso the frontage was reinstated to its original appearance when he vacated. Two days later Jazz looked out of her office intrigue when she saw Arnie across the street with a builder looking guy with clipboard taking instructions as they looked across at the store frontage.

Marie her head buyer came up to Jazz rather excited.

"Not only is he cute but he's daring," Mrs Telford said.

"Oh."

"He's only stocking red."

"What?"

"Yes."

"But that suicidal. Men don't wear red."

"Oh no, it's to be a women's boutique and it's to be called 'Only Red'.

"What!"

"Don't be negative Jazz, I think he's just the type to pull it off; he's brimming with ideas."

Jazz and Arnie stopped just short of having their first row that day at lunch.

"This is experimental retailing -- you are a novice and would have been wise to consult me."

"You didn't consult me when you set up your store."

Jazz's eyes flamed: "You weren't around."

"Then that disadvantages me. You should have confidence in me."

"I don't want to see you fail."

Arnie's chin jutted ominously. "That's akin to asking me to fail."

"That's ridiculous."

"Your attitude is mean."

Jazz's chin jutted ominously. "Please change the subject."

"It's a nice day."

"It's a lovely day.

"You look cute when you're mad -- Gawd you tits stick our as well as your chin."

Jazz burst into near-hysterical laughter and stupidly that brought calmness to them and they held hands.

Workmen removed the entire glass frontage and replaced it in new joinery -- full length strips of pattern-stamped heavy gauge aluminum two-feet wide separated by glass strips the same length only one foot wide. After that was finished up went a red neon sign, Only Red.

"How stupid," Jazz fumed to Marie. "He won't be able to display product to lure in passersby."

"Perhaps he will," Marie suggested dryly. She said she'd just come back from lunch and found six women peering in to Only Red through the narrow windows to only see shop fitters at work. "Everything is red, even the cash registers and the credit card zappers," she said.

Later that day Marie reported excitedly -- that big billboard over the second level of above ground at the Hilton has a new sign at least twenty feet long, all in white, over written in just two words..."

"Only Red."

"How did you guess?"

"TV News called me asking me about red shop next to us. Apparently no-one but the boss is allowed to say anything and he's gone to ground."

Marie looked worried. "Oh God, I hope you didn't say he's some guy who's escaped from a secure institution?"

"I was tempted. I said he is a genius able to predict fashion three months before they hit Paris, Tokyo and New York."

"Jazz -- that's brilliant. If they use that quote tonight he'll love you for it."

That night Jazz sat with Cilla nervously; she'd been invited there for dinner. They were on to the second bottle of wine when the TV news began. Already they had seen the same 15-second advertisement -- the screen turned bright red and slowly the words 'Only Red' appeared in white.

"What an idiotic waste of advertising budget," Cilla snorted. "What does it mean?"

"You are probably looking at the work of a genius," Jazz said, scarcely believing what she was saying.

Cilla took a call. "That was Sally, Doctor Maitland's wife. She's been calling her friends asking what the Only Red ad means. She thought I might know."

The phone went twice more: female callers wanting to know if Cilla knew anything about Only Red.

"It's the work of a genius," Cilla said. "My friend who knows says all will be revealed in a full page advertisement in Thursday's newspaper.

Cilla asked Jazz what else she knew.

"Promise to keep this confidential?"

"Yes, absolutely."

"I kill you if you spill the beans."

Cilla, who also was half tipsy, replied: "I'd expect that to be my fate."

"The store will sell only items in red -- from hair combs down to heel tips for shoes."

"What an idiot -- who'd shop there?"

"I know, I had the same difficulty. But now I believe it will work. People who want to ride the wave of fashion in red will shop there. Half of my sales clerks have already asked if they can work there. Tonight almost my entire staff is unpacking the containers of red clothing and accessories from around the world and stocking the shelves and display cabinets and stands. I know I'll shop there -- I've always wanted a red corset -- not the kind you wear darling -- and Marie showed me a sample of one. We both have pre-ordered one."

"I've always fancied a red leather coat."

"Wrong season Cilla, but Marie says she's indented some amazing red Italian jackets in a full range of sizes."

"But he'll be taking custom away from you."

Jazz smiled. "That's one way of looking at it. I think the other way -- he'll be drawing people into Piccadilly Street which is becoming the women's fashion street of the city. Anyway those shoppers wanting to buy other items not in red will enter next-door to my premises. Oh, here's something from Arnie for you; there are only thirty in existence so they are very precious."

"What is it? Oh, it's an invitation to Only Red's cocktail party on Thursday night. How wonderful. Who's going?"

"Just you, I, his old friend Gloria, Gloria's mother Grace, a lovely older Australian woman called Shelia Wild and someone called Iona McKenzie who I don't know. All the rest are media people, mostly those involved in retail and fashion sectors." 

They found out later that Iona McKenzie was Arnie's cleaning lady, a lovely person.

* * *

The 4:00 to 6:00 cocktail party was really laid back -- no music, no scheduled speeches; guests just talked to each other and had their opportunity to interface with their unknown host. Arnie mingled well, kissed both Jazz and Cilla and at the closing thanked everyone for attending and for wishing him well. He then announced he was off to appear live for ten minutes on the 'Behind the News of the Day' program that followed the TV10's news bulletin. 

Cilla invited Jazz over for a drink and dinner and to watch Arnie on TV. He was dressed in a tan suit and cream shirt with open collar, looking very debonair. 

Charlotte Kew: This gimmick of yours, Only Red. Women are going crazy wanting to know what it means. Please tell me Arnold.

Arnie: It's high fashion, it's all about classy clothing and accessories but in only one color red.

Charlotte: But why red? Red reached its peak four years ago, so I've been told by our fashion consultants.

Arnie: True. But let me say this: Why are we dictated by Paris and Milan as to what color is 'big' this season. I decided that America should decide what color is fashion this season and being an American I've given it my best shot. If women disagree with me they have only to boycott my store. However, I would point out that red was the in color five years ago -- not four as your consultants told you, and even the Gnomes of Zurich know that some elements of fashion follows a five-year cycle.

Charlotte: Ohmigod, you're right. I purchased my red satin strapless bustier almost exactly five years ago. It's my prize underwear possession as it's been responsible for some really hot moments. Oops, what am I saying?

Arnie: Five years is a long time in the life of an undergarment Charlotte. I suggest you should visit our store as we have a full range of replacements -- but only in red. But don't stop there -- we have everything thing in red from ear-rings to elegant travel bag sets.

Charlotte: Oooh, Arnie. I'll be outside your store when it opens tomorrow at 10:00 at 33 Piccadilly Street. This is so exciting, Thank you for being such an exiting guest, Arnie. I must now prepare myself for a discussion on the declining standards of literacy of our young people who are addicted to writing text messages on their mobile phones. You said the full range of sizes of bustiers didn't you.

Arnie: I did -- perhaps I could personally fit you, Charlotte; you are so awfully cute.

Charlotte: Oh Arnie. Why do you think you have caught the wave? Arnie: Because although I don't know a rat's ass about women's fashion I know the fashion industry had fallen off the tracks: women should be dressing and making themselves beautiful for men; not to appeal to other women. Women have been misdirected by Paris, London, Milan, Tokyo, New York and the scores of other trend-setting centers.

Charlotte: Wow, Arnie. That's tossing a bomb. Sorry, we are out of time. Goodnight.

Jazz and Cilla sat in front of the TV stunned for a few moments until Cilla drawled, "For someone who processes not to know about fashion, I think he's hit the button. Boom! The reaction will be massive over this."

"I hope not -- if it does Only Red will be massively boycotted," Jazz said.

"Oh, his potential custom is massive now is it; haven't you changed your tune?"

Jazz looked jaded. "I really don't know what to think Cilla."

* * *

Arnie was at home playing on his keyboard, albeit not very well, when he took a call.

"Arnie -- this is Charlotte Kew. Sorry to disturb you but can you come to the studio urgently. Our network in New York wants you to go on Face-to-Face with Eritrea Ireland at 9:30 live. It's nationwide, Arnie. Our station has never been involved in a coast-to-coast direct broadcast in its 27-year history."

"Oh, is that good?"

"It's colossal, Arnie. We have a hired limo on the way to collect you. Dress conservatively Arnie -- everyone will be watching, perhaps even the President."

"Have you been drinking Charlotte?"

"No, of course not. Well, just a couple -- we have started celebrating our finest hour."

"What does this dame want to prattle on about?"

"America fashion, Arnie. Apparently you are the only one in recent times to stick it to foreign fashion world and our New York upstarts. A segment of your interview went as last item on the network news and causes an immediate furor. Miss Ireland is a socialite snob, Arnie and will be out to castrate you, if I may use that term. She usually only picks people she intends to humiliate. The station bosses here believe you are tough enough to take a drubbing and I rather think Miss Ireland might be in for a shock."

"Does the limo have a bar?"

"Yes Arnie."

"Then I'll do it."

Arnie caused consternation when he arrived at the studio dress in a green corduroy shirt, brown corduroy trousers with braces, yellow riding boots and a leather driving hat with chin strap and goggles sitting above the brim.

Charlotte screamed and pretended to have almost fainted and the director said Arnie couldn't go on like that so Arnie said good night and headed for the exit. Executives screamed and ran after him to bring him back.

The station president, weaving on his feet and holding a whisky glass, said, "Be your own guy, Arnie. Go stick it to New York."

At the test link the woman who identified herself as Miss Eritrea Ireland said to Arnie, "Are you an idiot or truly insane?"

"Are those diamonds around you neck paste Trea?"

"I'm Miss Ireland to you," she snarled.

"I bet you purchased that dress from Paris." She smiled but that changed when Arnie added, "At the French equivalent to J C Penny's."

"Can we arrange a substitute person to interview," she screamed but the producer yelled, his face showing signs of panic, "No, thirty-five seconds to go!"

"Just remember Miss Ireland," Arnie said softly, "attempt to humiliate me and I'll pull your ovaries out by my left hand. My family live in New York and chances are they're be watching."

Miss Ireland sat down heavily on her chair and pressed her sweat towel against her forehead, bringing make-up specialists hurrying to her.

Eritrea: Good evening Mr Guy, you have attempted to rattle the women's world of fashion this evening by your ill-considered remarks. Why are you dressed so peculiarly?

Arnie: Good evening Miss Ireland. You are certainly looking chic in your Jean-Paul Gautier gown and your antique diamond necklace.

Eritrea: You recognized my gown; I am impressed.

Arnie: No, I had a quiet word to your personal assistant before we came on air. I know little about fashion, even less about women's fashion.

Eritrea: Then you admit to being a fraud?

Arnie: Good heavens no; I'm sincere. I've just ignored the [Bleep!] and come up with an intelligent appraisal.

Eritrea: You are dressed like an oddball -- do you ever dress fashionably?

Arnie: Ah -- so if it's not this year's fashion it's not fashion? How trite and commercially manipulative; I own and drive regularly a British 1935 MGTA soft top. The clothes I'm in were the height of fashion by gentlemen of substance who drove MG sports cars prior to the Second World War.

Eritrea: My apologies. You have authenticated your right to wear such clothing and I love those dinky pre-war English cars. Back to your so-called foreign fashion exposé and adding New York of course: What are you -- a teaching professor in fashion, a women's fashion consultant, a media high priest in good taste or just a guy off the street?

Arnie: Well, you have presented me with a limited choice so I'll have to opt for a guy off the street. The reality is I'm a 31 year old retired property developer with a lot of time to think because I live alone.

Eritrea: But not an ordinary guy. Our research shows you are a self-made man worth an estimated $40 to $50 million.

Arnie: That estimate of personal wealth is about as unreliable as fashion commentator predicting what the foreign fashion houses will toss to Milady in the next six months. It's true I do have cash and perhaps could be described as being self-made but I received a generous supply of seeding funding from my father and grandfather. But this is not discussing fashion and incidentally my whole comment has been focused on color and nothing else.

Eritrea: So you as a self-appointed guru have predicted red as the next fashion color. Why?

Arnie: In dyes there are three primary colors - red, blue and yellow - and to those we can add white and black which although are not colors we call them that for convenience. So for the purpose of this primer, we have five 'colors' that I am claiming move in a cycle to provide any upcoming season's so-called 'fashion color', Of course there are a huge range of color mix spin offs to widely broaden the spectrum -- for example, cream as a variation of white and chartreuse originally called yellow-green of which its complementary or opposite color is violet. My theory is that the underlying base fashion color moves in this cycle -- ignored by many fashion houses of course striving to do their own thing to demonstrate a 'difference'. Even so I looked back at dominant colors over seasons for the past twenty years and satisfied myself that the next underlying base fashion color will be red, so I decided to humor myself by opening my own store and selling only red three to six months ahead of the coming trend.

Eritrea: And if you're wrong?

Arnie: That will blow my theory that I believe is based on fact.

Eritrea: An expensive way to prove a theory?

Arnie: It has amused me, kept my busy, challenged me to turn the whole venture into a profit and items in my store will sell, there is no question about that. My store ready for its official opening tomorrow is right now fully stocked and the atmosphere is magic and the range of red fashion is mind boggling. We expect quite a number of women and men buying for women or attending to a fetish will turn up for our opening so we will limit customer entry to thirty people at any one time.

Eritrea: For the interest and possible enjoyment of viewers we now switch live to Amanda Hunt in Hollow Valley, Illinois. Hello Amanda -- Ohmigod, what are your wearing?

"Good evening Eritrea. I feel wonderful," Amanda reported excitedly. "Everything you can see me wearing comes from Only Red -- the shoes, stockings, thong, corset, necklace, ear-rings and this wonderful hat. Is all red boring? Let the people be the judge." 

"Quite, Eritrea said warmly. The frontage of the store looks difference; it's all red with pokey window strips for goodness sake."

"Yes, don't ask my why Eritrea but women gaze through those strips -- it's almost 9:50 at night here and we had to clear women away so we could film the frontage uncluttered. Earlier this evening Mr Arnold Guy gave us the opportunity to present this exclusive preview of what lies behind those doors -- but first please excuse me while I put on my red frock coat -- our camera-man is complaining I'm making his hands shake dressed like this and the sound technician already has dipped his microphone into camera view."

"You mustn't upset the natives Amanda. So in we go."

Eritrea: Well there you are viewers -- an overpowering sense of red but beautifully presented and the range of stock is unbelievable. Personally I've never fancied red as my color choice in clothing but that corset and that hat -- oh my, didn't Amanda look wonderful. Well Arnold, all the best for your opening tomorrow. Tell me, what follows after red?

Arnie: I'm afraid I cannot divulge that, Eritrea. Take away the mystique that surrounds fashion and you're plunging it towards the ho-hum atmosphere that surrounds the clothing section of a street market.

Eritrea: Thank you Arnold. In a surprising way you have been my most colorful guest over the past year.

Arnie: Thank you and your team's enterprise in daring to have me on your show.

Cilla and Jazz stood and clapped as the credits for the Eritrea Ireland Show were screened.

"This is an aush...aush...auspicious entry into retailing for our Mr Guy," Jazz said.

"Indeed," Cilla said and looking concerned asked, "Are you okay to drive home?"

"I have only to walk across to my house," Jazz said, hiccupping.

They laughed happily.

* * * 

Someone from the control room called "Thanks Arnold" and as the lights dimmed Charlotte Kew handed Arnie a beer and kissed him shyly.

"I've lost some of my shyness; I've been drinking," she smiled. "You were great -- everyone is so pleased with me for my interview which caught the attention of New York. You have no idea what this could do to my career. With luck I am now being watched."

Arnie looked at the younger woman's chest which looked a bit droopy, suggesting no bra. "I wish you luck -- career breaks don't come every day. You're also worth looking at. Men control your industry -- I'd suggest you wear a bra to improve your uplift, wear tighter clothing and more make-up to accent your natural features -- an expert should take a look at your hair."

"Oh, you really think so? Come to make-up and I'll clean up your face," she said, taking his hand. "My problem is my husband is conservative. He hates me not wearing a bra but if I push these babies up and out he'll have kittens. And more make-up, oh God."

"Do you tell him how to dress, shave or which side to part his hair and what type of under daks to wear?"

"No, why should I?"

"Exactly. You need to sit his down over drinks, ensure his mood is good and begin to talk to him about your career and what your goals are. Encourage him to engage in dialogue about it and then tell him he's going to have to accept seeing some changes in you. Don't ask him for his permission, don't become aggressive and tell him; just explain quietly and confidently that he can expect to see some changes and emphasize that's how it's going to be and it's going to make you a whole lot happier and he'll benefit from you upgrading your image. Remember to say those words: upgrading your image."




Only Red Ch. 02



"Arnie -- that's wonderful. I've been wondering how to re-educate him and was thinking of having his mother lead the discussion for me; I know she's delighted with the progress I've been making in winning more and more chances of conducting studio interviews."

"I can advise on that approach but if it were me I'd go solo -- face-to-face, just you and him. Win this one and you may never have a problem with him again as his confidence in you will have increased. Answer me this, is he pushing for you to have a baby?"

"No, not at all; we have mutually decided to wait another four to five years. Why do you ask?"

"Some men wanting their partner to become pregnant don't want her thinking about career and become precious about what she does, what she eats and to pesters her to avoid robust activity and late nights."

"Oh really, how cute. No, I'm not under pressure. While he's supportive about my career having me work into the evening doesn't appeal to him but it's not a big issue. Here we are, please sit and I'll remove this muck. You have a well developed chest."

Oh-ho-ho; what's this, thought Arnie. Was that a come-on or was it not from a grateful TV presenter. He reached out and gently touched a springy boob. "You have a very well developed chest yourself, Charlotte."

She blushed and made no effort to remove his hand; in fact if anything she was pushing against it slightly.

She worked away with cleansing tissues and he could smell her perfume more definitely; that would be her skin warming up. He was used to nervous young women and knew what to do which was nothing: sit still, say nothing. If they wanted it they'd make the next move.

What is your attitude towards having sex with married women Arnie?

"To fuck all the lovely ones."

She cried "Oh Arnie" and slumped against him and pressed her lips against his. Quickly he flipped a tit out to cut off any vague thought from hers of not proceeding; he squeezed it and she groaned, opening her mouth. He run his tongue up one side of her nose and skimmed it across her closed eyes, very softly in case she was wearing extensions but they were just long, soft natural eye lids. Charlotte groaned and pulled herself against him so hard her tits squashed to the side. Arnie knew that was her signal telling him he was in control now.

He knew Charlotte wasn't doing this primarily for the sex; she desired to reward him for assisting her career. It was necessary to hurry because senior people were in the lounge drinking, waiting to chat with him. Arnie unzipped and she lifted her hips a little to give him more room while she turned and reached for her handbag. Good girl.

"Roll in on."

There was no fuss; she was an expert and as she straddled him high Arnie pulled aside her panties and she fed into him as she sank down on to his length.

"Oh God, you're large," she whispered. That made him inflate more. Charlotte went to work, providing herself to be a young hottie. Arnie unfastened the back of her dress and had both well-sized breasts out and was squeezing, sucking and licking them until the nipples were bloated and he waited until she began squeezing him with her pussy before he nipped a nipple. So squawked and throwing her head back pumped him hard and he blew a good-sized load within seconds of her finishing.

She was puffing like a stream train -- well, she'd done most of the work.

"Baby, you're up with the best of them," he said, meaning it, and grinned when she slammed into him another half dozen times to show her appreciation.

"We must go," she sighed.

"Must we?" he asked, receiving a fabulous soft-lipped kiss.

As they were cleaning up he asked did she do this often.

"I've been married three years and worked here almost two and a half years and you are my only second naughty break-out since my marriage."

"I'm honored Charlotte. Just remember the two rules: be selective and be discreet."

"I'll always remember you Arnie."

 Arnie drove home with a happy smile: Unexpected fucks were usually smile-making. He was disappointed though Jazz hadn't called; on the other-hand he was glad he was relieved she hadn't called while he was reaming Charlotte.

Next morning Arnie was showered and just dressed at 6:00 when the front door bell went. In came Jazz carrying a tray and she held up her lips to be kissed by the doorman.

"In to the kitchen and take your top off," she ordered. It was cool outside and raining very lightly. "Don't worry about the rain -- it will be gone soon to be followed by a lovely day to benefit those women who shop Only Red."

She poured orange juice into two flutes and topped the glasses with sparkling wine, then removed her top clothing and sat across from him grinning. "Down boy," she said, noting his interest -- I'll be available for dinner tonight and have booked a suite at the Hilton to entertain you, subject to confirmation when you tell me it's a date.

"It's a date," he grinned lewdly. "Nice tits."

Jazz giggled. "Sitting topless is becoming a tradition with us."

They had a leisurely breakfast. Jazz cooked mushroom, tomato, onions and finely chopped chive omelets.

"You're too conservatively dressed for Opening Day; the press will be there. Do you mind if I choose your clothes?"

"No, go ahead," he yawned, wondering about the day ahead of him.

Jazz dressed him in a white suit, white and brown shoes and a midnight blue shirt with matching handkerchief thrust loosely into his breast pocket.

"I should wear something red."

"When you reach the store change that belt for a red belt -- some of those belts I saw look very much like men's belts."

The drove in to the central business district in the red MG and parked outside the front of the store in a metered space that Arnie had hired from the Council for the day under its Special Events parking provisions. Although it was only 8:30 Arnie was disappointed some people weren't lined up waiting for the store to open at 10:00 -- he didn't comment, not even when Jazz said, "There are no people lined up waiting."

At 9:30 Mrs Marks his store manager phoned Arnie in his office upstairs: "They're beginning to line up Arnie."

"Oh great -- make sure those two security guys are in place at the doors by 9:55 Betty. I'll be down by 10:00 but don't unlock the doors until exactly at 10.00.

At 9:50 Arnie heard a street disturbance and looked down from his office; two women police officers were attempting to stop the bulge of late arriving women shoppers from moving off the sidewalk on to the street. "Ohmigod," he shouted in glee, and raced downstairs. He changed his belt for a red one and joined Betty Marks and the two burly security men.

"Count thirty in and then stop anyone entering -- I suggest you don't close the doors; just block them with your bodies. As people leave let the same number in."

"Gotcha boss," said the biggest security guy who was wide enough to block the door completely with his body.

Jazz called Arnie just after 11:00. "I see people leaving with red-wrapped parcels and Only Red red shopping bags. We're doing wonderful trade. TV and newspaper people are out their interviewing women in the crowds and also interviewing other retailers. I'm telling the media we're not fussed by the crowd and in fact are doing record trading for a Friday morning.

A little later the chairman of the Piccadilly Street Retail and Professional Association called his newest member and invited Arnie to lunch at 1:30 to meet the executive.

"Thank's Bob -- do you mind if I bring Jazz Pennyfeather with me? She's been of great assistance to me."

"Jazz will be there -- she's my vice-president."

It's not only who you know but what you don't know about them, Arnie thought, wondering why Jazz had not told him about the luncheon. Of course, it had just been cobbled together because the Association could see the red store was not a disaster, a least not today, a Jazz would have stood back to allow the chairman to issue the invitation to Arnie. How couth.

There were a few tussles over items but store assistance move quickly to cool tempers.

The 30-minute luncheon at a restaurant was a great introduction to the neighborhood business leaders for Arnie who already knew Jazz of course and his dentist and attorney were also on the executive. Bob Head was very friendly and ensured the eight members of the executive kept their focus on Arnie during the business lunch and he was congratulated by acclaim for bringing the city's attention to Piccadilly Street and making it livelier and giving it prominent through his TV appearances and newspaper and magazine articles.

Late afternoon Arnie's bank manager called to congratulate him for the day's takings that had just been lodge for trading so far that day. "We have some big traders on Piccadilly but I can tell you a new record has been set for a non sale day for any firm in our street who banks with us and most of the larger ones do," he said.

When the store closed at 6:00 Marie the buyer and her two assistants and Jazz came into Only Red to join staff for a celebratory drink and they all received bouquet and Arnie presented Marie with an 18 caret gold bracelet which was greeted with oaths from the other women. 

"I cautioned Marie that she was bringing in far too much stock," Arnie said but she said it would sell whatever happened. As opening day drew closer she sensed I wasn't quite the madman the doubters had me painted and ordered in more stock - and just as well. Had she not done that we would have been embarrassingly depleted of stock by mid-afternoon. This small token recognizes you courage and professionalism, Marie."

The women gathered around to examine the bracelet.

"It looks expensive," Marie said.

Jazz whispered to her as the others dispersed, "Arnie asked me after lunch to buy it for you. I spent almost $2000, the figure he told me to spend."

"Oh my giddy aunt," Marie said in astonishment. "He's already paid you a premium for the time we have spent working on his needs, which mostly has been me, and you've paid me a bonus out of that premium."

"Yes and I mentioned that when he ask me to buy you a bracelet and he was pleased about that but wanted to mark his thanks personally. He intended buying it himself but a writer from 'Boutique Trader' magazine arrived unannounced and that took his free time. I'm finding he doesn't do things by half."

Arnie drove Jazz to the hotel for their overnight stay and as they approached the Hilton she said, greatly impressed, "You've had you sign changed. It's brilliant Arnie -- those who need to know will know what it means and those intrigued will find out by asking." The sign read, 'I'm Wearing Red'.

They were both tired when they went to bed so sex was almost and after-thought, not quite. "You've had a big day," Jazz yawned, "a very big day. You exceeded my expectations."

"Is that good?"

"Yes, and it's working on my mind. Good night darling," she said kissing him.

Both were aware she'd never before called him darling with that intensity.

* * *

Arnie awoke next morning with his usual morning erection, only it was stiffer than usual -- and wetter. As he climbed out of sleep he realized it was being beautifully licked almost as if a feather was being used. He opened his eyes with a sigh and was greeted by a fabulous sight -- a fat, aroused pussy so close all he had to do was to raise his mouth a little and he was there. So he raised his head and his tongue flickered at the slightly moist slit.

"Hello darling -- that's lovely. Don't pop me too soon. I've decided to come and live with you if you still wish for that."

"I want more. Please marry me."

The butterfly licks stopped. A huge sigh followed.

"I'd like that," she said, and the licking resumed in little darts as if she was playing a musical instrument divinely. A harp perhaps?

Arnie tongued in some nectar, knowing when you are soft and loving like this, heart thumping and your cockhead is inflated to maximum size, pussy juice becomes nectar. He wanted desperately to have that cockhead launching into its special place where it was designed to fit and soar before being lovingly milked but accepted as Jazz had started this it was her right to set the pace.

By the time his tongue was pretending it was an action seeking cockhead, straining to plumb as far as it could extend; her lube flowed into his mouth and up his nose. Occasionally his nose would wander up to massage around her little nub that by then had unsheathed. His balls felt about to explode, leaving nothing but minute fragments in a sea of unfired sperm: not possible of course but that described the feeling, admirably.

But there was more to come. His cockhead was now deep into her mouth and his mind became confused. Although her tongue was flicking against his erection and he could feel the scraping of her teeth, the odd thing was part of the time his mind was signaling he was deep into her cunt. An urgency and confused signaling must have assaulted her brain as well and she responded instinctively. With a groan she pulled away with a plop as his cock emerged from her mouth and her cunt withdrew from his mouth.

Arnie watched without blinking as she repositioned to straddle him and they both stared as his now pulsating red and purple dripping cockhead disappeared through the soft jaws of her swollen pussy. It went in like a snake up a drainpipe. That thought appealed because he said to her as her hairless crotch met his hair-trimmed crotch, "That went in like a snake up a drainpipe."

She stared at him as if gripped in a half-trace, giving him just a half smile as she began jigging up and down, leaning back at an angle. Her tits were flaying up and down to her rhythm, sending wildfire messages to his brain.

He grunted, "We've forgotten the condom" only to be told it didn't matter. 

They had both heated up and were sweating and the moisture being compressed between their now very agile bodies made obscene discordant music that somehow seemed very acceptable. By that stage Arnie had both hands on her butt cheeks to help her gain elevation to free-fall in a nicely timed re-cycling movement - the ultimate in athletic co-operation between two persons.

Jazz's mouth went slack her forehead creased and her eyes closed. Her head fell back and she sighed and then groaned, clamping his cock with her cunt muscles, Arnie grimly continued rocking against her, having dropped her on to his lap and his hands greedily snared both swollen tits and he squeezed them. He couldn't hold back any longer and his eyes half closed as he felt his under-pressure cock deep inside her begin to really twitch as it began dry pumping waiting for the flow of sperm that was on the way.

Jazz was pumping her hips and fell towards him mewing which at last allowed Arnie to plunge his mouth against a breast and begin sucking and rolling his tongue around the fat nipple.

"Uuuuuugh, uuuuuugh, uuuuuugh," he grunted, blasting three big shots into Jazz's very receptive cunt.

She fell against him, hot and wet and temporarily exhausted.

His sweat dripped into his eyes, stinging them. "Were we making a baby?"

"I'm still on the pill; I'll stop taking it whenever you wish."

"That's something more to talk about."

"God, I'm drenched," she said, not at all worried. "I've just had perhaps the best fuck of my life."

"It was a boomer for me -- just the best," he said, thoughtfully adding the qualifier.

After they cleaned up they pulled on T-shirts and sat up waiting for the arrival of the breakfast trolley to be pushed against the bed.

Nestled in a hug, Jazz asked how long Only Red would stay trading.

"Three months; trading will be pretty slow by then.

"What follows?"

"Lovely in Yellow."

"It should have been red for winter."

"I know, but this campaign is a bit radical and I thought red was the more glamorous color to launch with. Blue would be disastrous for winter."

Jazz turned to look at him. "That was all crap about the five-year color cycle, wasn't it?"

"More or less -- there was too much overlapping of colors to positively prove the cycle exists."

She smiled. "Nevertheless you saw enough to convince yourself you'd found what you had wanted to find?"

"Enter!" called Arnie when their room door bell sounded.

"Blue for spring then?"

Arnie said no, the wear yellow would be the end. Gimmicks had a limited life. "I will convert to a high class conventional men's store. I was wondering what you thought of knocking a hole through the wall between our stores. It will be a good time for us to marry then and once the men's store is up and trading satisfactorily we could sell out as a going concern and use that money to start a new venture -- I'll inject more capital to equal your investment.

"Oooh yes, a spring wedding. We could develop a baby wear and accessories emporium."

"A motor-cycle warehouse."

Jazz screwed up her nose at that. "Here comes our breakfast. We've no need to hurry to a decision on a joint venture. In the meantime let's prepare for the wedding and concentrate on practicing to make babies."

Arnie smiled thinking he could go along with that. Two reasonably attractive room service girls wheeled in the trolley; he didn't notice their breasts which was unusual for Arnie. Was it because he had a great pair within reach of his hand or was his gaze only the women's aprons? There was only one reseller in the city of these stylish red aprons from France and that was Only Red. 

Arnie decided he liked seeing red; Jazz would look really great on one of those stunning but obscenely expensive red ruffled lace cupless bustiers from Italy.

THE END