The Making Of A Gigolo 14 Erica BradfordChapter 24
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Erica had too much to think about to ask many more questions. So she suggested they get back to work instead. He had again expressed concern about having a doctor look her over, but she dismissed that idea, saying she felt fine and they were already too far behind.
Over the next four hours, they built five frames for the “forest” that was needed, and another long, low frame that would become boulders. Those frames looked odd to her, but when he cut a piece of cardboard and drew branches on it, and irregular shapes that would be painted in shades of green, and then tacked it onto one of the struts coming off a “trunk,” she could see that, from out in the audience, it would look much better.
And, as they built, they talked. A lot of it was about how to put things together, and what materials to use. He compared what they were doing to what would be needed to make the other sets, and how different techniques would be used for that. Other talk was about a mish-mash of other things that settled into a conversation such as friends might have. Eventually she felt the need, for some reason, to justify her stance about women’s liberation. He wasn’t obsequious in his comments. He said what he thought, and they argued about some things. At the same time, whenever she said something he thought was correct, he didn’t mind agreeing with her either.
It was inevitable that they touched each other during the process. Most often it was their hands that touched, or shoulders, as they stood side by side, or knelt to pound nails. He stood with her to teach her how to use each power tool, and insisted that she follow rigid safety rules. His fingers on her elbow or wrist were distracting at first, but eventually she stopped noticing that. To her chagrin, she couldn’t stop noticing his sweat slickened chest. Even in the much lighter borrowed clothing she was wearing, she continued to sweat, and he insisted that she keep drinking water until she had to leave the stage to go to the bathroom. She was astonished when she returned and he said that was a good sign, and that it showed her body had recovered from her ordeal. He was willing to talk about things that she had thought were totally inappropriate ... but which made sense when she thought about it. She eventually gave up trying to catch him looking at her breasts. She knew he did it, somehow - he’d admitted it - but she could never catch him at it.
The primary thought in her mind, when they finally put the tools away and prepared to leave the school was that she felt pride that she used all the tools without hurting herself.
“That was a good start,” he said as they went outside. She had offered to give him his clothes back, and put on her coveralls again, but he’d told her to just bring them back the next time they got together. He put his jacket on over his bare chest before they left the school.
“It was a good start,” she said, feeling inordinately proud of herself.
“I think we’ll do fine,” he said.
She thought about his use of “we” and decided that it was a partnership, of sorts.
“Thank you,” she said suddenly.
“No problem.”
“I mean for everything,” she said, thinking about waking up half naked, soaked in water that he’d poured on her to cool her off.
“Friends take care of each other,” he said carelessly.
“It’s going to take some getting used to,” she said, only half joking. “This having a friend who is a man thing,” she added.
“There are probably at least two or three more men out there who could be friends with you,” he said.
She looked at him to see if he was smiling ... joking ... but his eyes were on the parking lot, where they were headed. She realized she liked this not having to be on guard all the time around a man. It was very refreshing to be around a man who said what he thought and didn’t play all those stupid sexual games.
“I learned a lot today,” she said.
“Good.” He looked at her and this time he did smile. “We might get this done with you only losing one finger ... two at the very most.”
“You’re saying I have a lot left to learn,” she said. Somehow that didn’t bother her as much as she thought it would.
“Of course you do,” he said. “But you’ll pick it up. You’re smarter than the average bear.”
She remembered the things he had said about how the flats for the buildings would be built much differently than the trees had been.
“Are you busy tomorrow?” she asked, suddenly.
He looked at her and, somehow, she knew he was thinking about whether she was asking him for a date or not. The bright light that went off in her head at that second did more to expose her preconceptions and stereotypes of men than anything he had said. Before this instant in time, if a man had asked her that question, she would have thought he wanted sex. And yet what she wanted to ask him had nothing whatsoever to do with that. She felt suddenly ashamed that she always assumed men wanted sex.
“It’s not for a date!” she blurted.
He shook his head and grinned.
“I just thought we could start on the flats for the village, and I could learn that too,” she said weakly.
“Be happy to,” he said. “Just call me when you’re ready.”
When Bobby got home, his mother was banging pots and pans around in the kitchen.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, instinctively knowing she was upset about something.
“Your sisters are driving me crazy!” she snarled. “They’re acting impossible.”
“Matilda’s had a burr under her saddle all week,” he said. “Maybe they had a fight about something.”
“They never fight,” said Mirriam. “You know that.”
“There’s always a first time,” he said.
“Well,” said Mirriam darkly, “if they keep this up much longer, I’m going to have to do something.”
“I’ll talk to them,” he said.
“You do that,” she said, banging another pot. “And tell them they’re not too old to spank!”
Bobby grinned, and went in search of the twins.
He found Betty in their room. She was lying on the bed staring at the ceiling. An open book was on the bed beside her.
“Where’s Matilda?” he asked, looking around.
“I think she went for a walk,” said Betty. “She said something about our tree house.”
“It’s freezing cold out there!” said Bobby.
“Yeah,” she said, disinterestedly.
“When are you going to tell me what’s going on?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. She looked startled and suddenly much more alert. “Nothing’s wrong,” she lied.
“Mamma’s about to go find a switch to take to the both of you,” he said. “You need to talk to either her or me about whatever’s got you two all messed up.”
“I said nothing is wrong!” she objected. She sounded almost scared, though, rather than angry.
“Yeah, well...” he said. “I’m not buying that, and neither is Mamma, so you two had better decide what you’re going to do, cause you’re making life miserable for Mamma.”
He left before she could respond.
Erica opened her eyes wide in the dark and gasped. The dream had been so vivid! So real! She rolled over and looked at the glow of the alarm clock. She couldn’t remember the last time a dream had awakened her in the middle of the night. She rolled back and lay there, remembering the dream.
She had been in the forest, the one they built together. The trees looked so lifelike, but she knew they were just props. He was there too. Her hands had been sliding all over his chest, her fingers flexing as they slid over rippling muscles. He felt so different than when she touched her own soft body. She knew he had touched her too. She knew he had touched her breasts, but she couldn’t remember that part of the dream ... what that had felt like.
Her hands came up to those breasts, on the outside of her pajamas. They felt so soft under her hands after the remembered hardness of his chest in her dream. Had it felt like this when he touched them? She couldn’t remember!
She felt the shame wash over her as the need arose in her body. She willed her hands to stay on her breasts, but her right hand betrayed her and slid down her body, to go inside her pajama bottoms. She gasped with need as her finger hit slippery skin and then slid into her vulva. Her need drove her to sink that finger into her body, something she tried not to do. When she was younger, she had inserted tampons into that slot, exulting in the fact that she had destroyed her virginity by doing so. No man would “take” her virginity, and she celebrated that each month her body reminded her she was a woman. She resisted using her finger to be a male surrogate too, but this time she needed it.
Her other hand stayed on her breast, and rubbed and squeezed. That was something she’d never done before. She never touched her hated breasts. Now, as her hand bumped into a hardened nipple, she felt zings of pleasure. As her right middle finger jabbed into her vagina, the fingers of her other hand found and squeezed that nipple tentatively. Her body’s reaction to that would have shocked her, but she had no time to be shocked as an orgasm wracked her body, stronger than any she’d ever had before. Always before, as soon as she felt those tingles of pleasure ... as soon as she was sure it was enough to take away the yearning, she pulled her fingers away from between her legs. She had never let them stay there to extend the pleasure which she felt so guilty about having.
This time, though, her fingers continued to prod and squeeze and she wrung every bit of exquisite feeling out of the remnants of her dream.
The first thing Erica thought of when she saw Bobby the next day, was her dream. She’d gone back to the farm store, after leaving the school Saturday, and had bought a pair of jeans and a checkered work shirt. She tried both on at the store. A wide leather belt was added, since she couldn’t find any jeans that fit both her hips and her waist at the same time.
She was wearing those now, as she walked onto the stage.
“I haven’t had time to wash your clothes yet,” she said.
“You don’t have to. I can do that,” he said. “I wash all my own clothes.”
Erica added that to the list in her mind that was rapidly becoming quite long ... the list of things about Bobby Dalton that were very different from other men she knew. Now she added that, despite the fact that he lived with his mother, he didn’t ask her to do his laundry, but did it himself.
“Well, you’ll have to do it later then,” she said. “I left them at my house.”
“Okay.”
Four hours later Erica was feeling positively buoyant. Bobby had designed a double sided flat that was on wheels. One side would have part of the village on it, and the other side would be part of the New York City scene. With four of these, both scenes were covered. Three more just like it would be Ludie’s house on one side, the McLaren house on the other. Scene changes would only require that the set be turned a hundred and eighty degrees. When attached to each other with metal pins, the sets would stand alone. The only problem was that it took two strong people to hold one upright, while another panel was attached. It was Erica who solved that problem.
A myriad of ropes hanging from long struts and beams above the stage provided the answer. Each rope went through a pulley, then to a crank in a long row of cranks back stage. A flat could be attached to a rope, which would hold it upright with just one person operating the crank. As they were rolled around, the rope could be tightened or loosened as needed.
That first set was almost completely done, in terms of the frame. It would still have to be covered with canvas and painted. Bobby had suggested she contact the art teacher, to see if there might be any help for the painting from that area.
They still had four more double sided sets to build, but as far as Erica was concerned, astonishing progress had been made and she no longer felt like this was a hopeless enterprise.
What seemed just as important, somehow, was that Bobby Dalton had started teasing her. It wasn’t overboard or even obvious. It was in little things he said, about all kinds of things. She remembered teasing from her youth. There was the cruel kind, like when girls whispered “cow” or “mooooo” as she walked by and then laughed. But there was the fun kind, between friends ... that easy way of kidding around that was more intimate than hurtful, even though the same words might be used.
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