Susan and The Gentleman by MackKnifely..,
“Ah, you’re five minutes early, which means you are exactly on time. Please enter.”
The distinguished looking gentleman stepped back and held the door for the young lady. The room was elegant and simple, and filled with old books, mementos and all the knick and knacks that go along perfectly with the image of the Middle Aged, silver and brown haired Anglo man who opened the door. A little too perfectly, Susan thought. Some of her friends called her cynical, but she preferred the title of ‘not being an idiot’. The situation was a little too pat. An older man with a pleasant disposition simply wanted to look at her. Mh-hm. Well, not that simply. They had arranged a session after several weeks online discussing their shared interest in exhibitionism and, of course, voyeurism.
Half the fun of her and The Gentleman’s texting was discussing what clothes would look good on Susan. He had suggested more old fashioned clothes, which was fine with her, better, actually, as they usually suited Susan’s size ten ( on a good day) frame more than the modern Victoria’s Secret mini-strosities. There were several outfits of her choosing and a couple of his own that she was to model. Susan’s exhibitionism had expressed itself in a lot of ways over the years, once or twice she had almost been arrested for her Fetlife inspired public sex jaunts! But she had never been simply….looked at. She was having trouble imagining it, and was prepared for creepiness on behalf of the gentleman. But she was a woman in 2021, she was always prepared for creepiness.
She brushed past the gentleman and went straight to the bookshelves. She scanned the titles, stopping at ‘Brave New World’ and then pulled it down. She opened it to see various passages underlined, and little notes in the margin. She put it back and scanned again to find a ratty copy of Mark Twain’s ‘ Letters From The Earth’, which was also underlined and notated in the same handwriting.
“Well, either you’ve stolen the whole place our this is actually your library.”
“I little of both is true, I’m afraid. Most of these things are mine, but I am presenting myself not as I am in daily life. My proclivities would raise enquiries, and such enquiries bore me. Especially at my age.” He smiled warmly, and Susan felt herself smile along with him. He was in a open collared button up shirt with a grey well fitting vest and pleated slacks. His outfit could be called old fashioned, and might look silly on another man, but it looked good on…
“What is it I’m supposed to call you?” Susan asked.
“In this guise, I am Mr. Carson.”
“A Guise? Really? Is this cosplay for you?”
“I like having some fiction in my face, in my persona. It helps me immerse into the experience of seeing you, really seeing you.”
Susan walked over to a high backed lounge that was upholstered in a crushed red velvet cloth, more suited to the Victorian age. She brushed her fingers over the almost too soft surface of the couch.
” ‘Seeing You’. The way you say that. You will stay clothed, right?”
“Absolutely. As we agreed online, you will wear and model clothes, and a lack there of, for me. In one hour, maximum, you will be picked up by a friend…correct?”
“Yes. As you insisted.”
“Well, this way you can relax. For, I understand how odd this is. It would be egotistical to say ‘too good to be true’, for it is my fetish. But to look at a woman, in a relaxed setting, and just observe every little part of her, from armpits to toenails, without any coitus asked for, or presented. What the hell, bizarre, right?” His tone grew wry and self Deprecating. “Am I freak? Well, yes. And considering what the middle of the bell curve presents, I am happily a freak. For the next hour at any rate.” Mr. Carson moved an elegant low chair about seven feet from the couch, a distance a little farther than a stereotypical Psychiatrist would sit from a patient on a couch. “Believe me, when we are done here, I shall proceed to my partner, and a lot of very normal naughtiness will commence. But for now, I would love to delight in you, and all you are.”
Susan smiled. “How do we start?”
“Well, it’s not in the theme of Old English Gentleman, but if you would, plug in your playlist to the Bose and press play.”
“Oh, Of course.” The man who was now Mr. Carson had suggested Susan bring a playlist of music that made her feel pretty, sexy, or powerful, or all of those things, to listen to during the session. As her first song played, a rare track from Elvis Costello, Mr Carson settled back into his chair. “I would love to see you in that dress over there, and would you change in front of me please?”
Well, this was it, Susan thought. Why was she nervous? She’d gone down on a drummer in a sex club once ( once ) why was this more nerve wracking? She was puzzling over it as she fumbled with the buttons on the front of the dress.
“Susan, remember, there is no way under God’s Heaven that I am not going to delight in what I see.” His voice was rich in expectation, an eagerness that Susan needed to hear. She wanted to be wanted, who doesn’t, but there was a difference between the delight in vulnerability, and the delight of exhibitionism. The two energies could come together, and they often danced within the lusts and desires of those who possess any degree of either. She started to fully process that she was not a submissive here. She liked to be seen, to be appreciated, and this person was going to do just that. She looked into his eyes, and found them looking straight into hers. She finished unbuttoning her blouse and revealed her medium sized chest in her favorite bra, a half-cup peach colored lacy creation. His eyes travelled down to her tits, and he almost unwillingly said, “Oh my goodness. That is lovely.” Suddenly, all tension melted away from Susan. That tone in his voice…he was totally going to just look at her, and like it. She smiled a bit broader, and felt her nipples harden a little. She was an exhibitionist, after all.
“So you really can’t get this kind of thing at a strip club?” She asked as she hung her blouse up and started to shimmy out of her skirt.
“Oh lord no. Firstly, I knew far too many dancers when I was in the entertainment business. The things they told me…” Susan had sat down and lifted her legs to take off the rest of her skirt. She was showing off, but just a little. Mr. Carson appreciated the line that she was walking. “Indeed…”, he whispered at her little show. “Also..” Mr. Carson continued, “… strip clubs are, well, strip clubs. They are so not…this….”
Susan had stood up and faced Mr. Carson in her bra, panties, hose and garters, and her shoes.
“Oh, you see? That is just lovely!” Extolled Mr. Carson, his eyes traveling up and down her body. “You are a person! A real person, and not a Presentation of a Capitalist Fantasy…” He was leaning forward, and looking closely at Susan’s body, peering at her thighs, shins and feet as much he was looking at her groin and stomach. “Would you do a Betty Grable for me? Do you know who that is?”
“I’m not that young. I know my pin ups!” Susan turned her back to Mr. Carson, put her feet close together, her arms akimbo and then peeked over her shoulder and gave him a wink. Mr. Carson laughed with delight. “That is perfect! Oh, thank you, now proceed to the dress, if you would.” Susan put on the dress, which was an odd choice she thought. It was a Liz Clairborne dress, like from the Jon Hughes movies. She has seen such things in documentaries about the 1980’s, but never imagined she would wear it. She felt odd and out of place in the dress, though it did suit her figure.
“I like the first outfit to be an icebreaker, something unusual and non-typical. The poor creatures I went to school with were forced to wear such things, but I thought you would look sharp in one. Now, walk and prance about and act like you…rule the school, I think is the phrase.” Susan stood up super straight and strutted back and forth in the room, suddenly filling out the attitude of the dress. She turned back to Mr. Carson and strutted back to the couch, where she sat down and crossed her legs. And then she uncrossed, and recrossed them, slowly.
“That is a fantasy come true.” Mr. Carson coughed to clear his throat. ” Good lord, woman. Allright, ah, the next dress please. And as you undress this time, take more time, go slower than before.”
Susan liked hearing how he was getting turned on, and how she still felt safe. She did as he asked, not going super slow but just taking a little more time, and making eye contact with Mr. Carson whenever possible. Her conscious effort to go slower also encouraged her to bend over and move in different ways as well. A little more flirty, but not slutty. She reached for the other dress, and it was a vintage 1940’s skirt and blouse. She almost squealed, which embarrassed her a bit as she liked to keep her girly self in check, but she had always wanted to wear an outfit like this. The blouse had shoulder pads, and draped so sexily on her. And the dress had that tightness that showed off her ass. She walked about a bit, posing and turning a bit.
“I love this dress, Mr. Carson.”
“It looks amazing on you, indeed the 1940’s is your decade.”
“Do you have another dress for me?”
“Perhaps, but would you undress again, and, would you undress even slower this time.”
Susan had been hoping he would ask her to go slower. Being in the old clothes, with their old scent, a scent like no new clothes had, made her feel even more brazen and powerful and she revealed herself again, to this man, who only wanted…needed to watch. She watched him watch her, and loved how he seemed to continue to split his attention to every part of her body, and how his little smile and wide eyes never ceased. She owned this guy, his entire brain was focused on all she was and on anything she felt like showing him.
“Would you lie back and just lay there for a while, with the blouse as it is.” Susan had got the skirt off, and she leaned back as requested, with the shirt open. “Astounding, just lay there…oh, I love that part right there…”