The sun was at its highest point in the Hawaiian sky; Francine had almost nothing on to cover her beautiful bronze skin except a silken two-piece peach bikini. She sat comfortably in a large swivel lounge chair with an extension to place her feet. Her dainty toes peeked through her golden beach sandals, and her perfectly shaped toenails exposed and inviting.
As she lay there, a firm hand rubbed along the rim of her foot, found her heel and massaged it. Francine swooned and the hand instinctively sought her calves and lingered. Her blood pressure rose and so did the temperature of the sun.
It was close to 1pm on the islands and the Aloha Windz Suites was abuzz with guest’s demands for their morning accoutrements. Inside the privacy of their mountaintop outdoor suite, the huge hand with the soft touch fingered its way up her legs and rested on her naked thigh. It tiptoed as if not to disturb across her pelvic region, counting her raised hairs and applauding her muscle tone. The thumb poked its head into the crevice of her innie-belly button and the forefinger sought the clefs of her rising rhythmic breasts. Francine took a quick breath as the tingling feeling cascaded up her spinal cord and sent pleasure signals to her brain. She smiled with her eyes closed and thought to speak but remained silent.
The hand continued its fleshy climb scaling the depths of the shape between her gentle sloping mountains. She smiled wide, her legs opened as she shifted position in the soft chair. The heat of the sun with the faint wind blew against her skin and soaked into her pores. The wave of heated air circled her coiffed hair and looked down admiringly at her beautiful face, creating shadows in her soft dimpled cheeks. The whiteness of her teeth flashed for an instant as she gasped another quick breath while the manly hand mingled among her womanly attributes and took a pausing posture on her chin. The fingers slightly traced her nose and reassured her eyebrows that they meant no harm and only wanted to compliment her figure and face. The hand opened itself like a wand; stroked her hair, front to back and took a few moments at the nape of her neck. It was as if it was communicating with her in sign language and she understood the message and her body was already in complete agreement, her blood rushing to her vaginal area and her pulse reminiscent of Morse code.
Francine may have misinterpreted other signals but there was no mistaken the universal invite as the hand curved itself into the shape of a cup and beckoned her to come with. She rose to meet her greeter while assisted by his hand. As she stood tall and statuesque in her radiant beauty, the scene changed.
The smooth huge hand disappeared and instead of looking into the bedroom eyes of her lover – Theo.
She glanced at the impatient urgings of her new beau and somewhat mentor Professor Kendall Barrington. He extended his hand to help her up from her desk adorned with papers, books and manuscripts, only to drop a fresh batch of student test papers into her arms along with his expectations on delivery. “Cleo, I’d like these by tomorrow before 10am, ah! That will NOT be problematic will it, my dear?”
Francine snapped back into the moment, she was not in the beautiful surroundings of the Hawaiian Islands. Instead, she found herself seated in the private office of Professor Barrington of Northern University College. She had trained herself to recover from her sensory longings of this type for the last few years. While she could not stop the pestilence upon her resting sub-conscience mind – she could regain her composure in a few blinks of an eyelash. You would have had to know her deeply as an individual, to really understand her motivations or even realize that she was still at some deeper level trying hard to get over Theodore Ross Munroe and the impact he made on her life.
These were initial traits that had in fact attracted Francine to the Professor when she was one of his students and her status was ‘married but frustrated”. He was direct, he was powerful, he was confident and he was a man of action by any means. He got things done, it was that simple – and usually in his way, leaving nothing to chance. Kendall orchestrated his life much like a Project Management professional. There were budgets and timelines and performance checks, and reviews and “hell to pay,” if something slipped, because any/all slippage is attributed to someone and they were held responsible.
“Cleo,” he barked, snapping his fingers in her face and waving his narrow and studious hand in her eye as if to bring her out of the trance. “Are we clear on that, dear?”
“Clear as mud,” she chirped fully cognizant now and aware of her surroundings and predicament. She’d grown to love Kendall at first. This response and several others was the creation of their pet-language they used to communicate feelings and express closeness. He called her “Cleo” and she allowed it. After they’d become an item he’d used a trip to the museum and an exhibit on Egyptian culture to describe his longings for her and his loneliness without her in his life, grading his classroom papers on the weekend evenings and sleeping with him on Tuesday and Thursday nights.
She failed to realize, Kendall’s wit and position of authority had her duped. He lulled her into a false sense of security. Perhaps this was the dream book interpretive reason of why she dreamt of Theo’s hand massaging her body. It was her body’s way of representing she missed him in laywoman’s terms. She had begun to complain about being within Theo’s grasp while he seemingly wanted to mold her into a different image of herself, but now she was certainly under Kendall’s thumb.
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