Camilla: Part 5

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Ed smelled an expensive perfume that was a mix of sandalwood and roses.

“Sorry. Excuse me, I tripped a little,” he fumbled.

The woman he bumped into was a different color than the blues and greys of the late-night business crowd. She was in her 40s and her dramatic black jacket was regal drapings of soft black fabric holding everything from view but her crown of red and bronze hair, and beautiful high red boots with a tall wood heel. She turned toward him, holding a tall glass filled with ice, the contents of which had spilled down the folds of her chic coat.

Ed grabbed his own sleeve and made to brush off the liquid but was stopped by her shooting up her forefinger.

“Just buy me another. I have time to wait.”

“I’m sorry, what did you have?”

“And some napkins.”

He fumbled across the bar to get a fistful of cocktail napkins, muttering ashamedly how sorry he was.

“Oh, goodness, you, please relax?” With a flourish, she spun off her jacket, revealing a sleek, black fitted off-the-shoulder dress, the neckline is a wreath of carmine red roses. The red boots completed the startling outfit. Its appearance stopped those are the bar desperate to get in a final shot or beer, stopping some mid-sip.

“Oh no, did I get your dress as well?”

As she was inspecting herself, brushing away an errant spec and smoothing a wrinkle, Ed admired her strong, curvaceous body. A figure shockingly in contrast to the safe blues and muted greys of others at the bar.

Looking at her inspecting for any damage he had done, Ed felt dethroned. His high with charming Hnark was gone. His accomplishments at work felt hollow and so silly. The dress was not store-bought, at least at no store he would ever go. He saw a similar boot in a window once, the glass was thick and bulletproof. And then her smell, he wished it could turn invisible and so that he could breathe it. Instead, he was once again old, fat, and out of date.

Not five minutes before, he was tired and happy, having impressed an amazing woman. Someone that he respected. Someone that people were scared. Tonight, we were smiling and laughing. We had crouched together like kids watching a couple fucking.

He had heard the whisper of her nylons sliding together.

It had been more than the swish of the nylon, though. Ed had traced those sheer black nylons, up over her knees and down between the warmth of her thighs. The sensual sound of nylon lapping together was punctuated by a quiet snap of something else. In his mind, a lace thigh high caught on its mate, gating honey glow skin, sheer black flower panties, her labia pursed between her legs –

“Forget the drink,” she said, looking down at her phone. I need to go. “You’ll owe me?”

“Yes, of course.”

Her jacket was back on, and she brushed by him.

“Good night – ?”


“Ed. Good night Ed, don’t be a clutz.”

Her eyes were blue, and they twinkled at him.

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