exactly the way I designed it. We’ll need to coordinate, but you’re free to use it whenever you want, for whatever you want. I have a cleaning woman who comes regularly so you don’t even have to tidy up.”
“Are you sure about my using your place…this room?”
“Despite the homey feeling, this is my working space, not where I live. Let me show you what I mean.” Ronnie opened the door to a huge walk-in closet. “On this side,” she said, waving one hand, “are everyday clothes, the usual suits, dresses, blouses, things like that. Shoes are underneath.” She looked Carla over. “I would guess we still wear the same size, so take your pick whenever you need something you don’t have. I try to keep the two parts of me completely separate so I don’t wear my personal clothes during business. You might feel differently.”
Carla admired the collection of expensive clothes. She didn’t need to examine the labels to know that Ronnie only chose the best. “Isn’t this overkill? So many outfits.”
With a smile, Ronnie said, “I love clothes and now I can indulge myself. Anyway, I do a lot of entertaining and traveling. It’s surprising how many men want a well-dressed, well-educated companion to decorate their arm at a luncheon or business dinner.”
“You mean like in Pretty Woman?”
“Exactly. Sometimes without any sex at all.” She turned and indicated the other side of the closet. “This is the evening stuff.”
Carla was stunned at the number of designer dresses: chiffon, lace, sequins, and satin in a variety of colors and textures. Her fingers strained to pull each garment from its hanger and try it on. At the end of the clothes rod hung a deep rose silk jacket, a full-length black satin coat, and two faux furs. “You’re ready for anything, aren’t you?”
“You have no idea.” Ronnie crossed the room and opened the door to a second closet. “Play clothes,” she said. Inside hung an assortment of costumes. Carla recognized some of them from the photograph album Ronnie had shown her. The pink little-girl dress and the leather-and-chain outfit hung with a leopard-patterned leotard, three leather dresses with multiple zippers, and several see-through lace bodysuits.
“On each hanger,” Ronnie explained, “are all the items necessary for that persona. Besides the clothes and underwear, I have coordinated jewelry, perfume, extra makeup, whatever’s needed, all in a plastic bag on the hanger. With one or two there’s even a wig, should you care to wear it. I love the wigs; they make me feel like a different person. Feel free to use anything, just put the stuff back in its place. Sometimes I need to dash into the bathroom and change quickly so I like to have everything ready.”
Carla whistled, long and low.
Ronnie opened the drawers of the wide dresser and showed Carla dozens of slips, bras both with and without cutouts so nipples could show through, satin and lace panties, silk teddies in a dozen colors, and garter belts with stockings. “Try anything on and wear whatever fits your mood. Or you might want to wear nothing at all under your evening clothes. There are few things more arousing than telling a man that you’re not wearing underwear, and then going out for an evening. But everything’s replaceable so if anything gets torn or whatever,” she winked, “we’ll get new.”
When Carla looked as though she didn’t understand, Ronnie said, “Sometimes a man wants to tear clothes off or cut them off slowly and dramatically.”
As Carla gazed into the drawers, she couldn’t imagine a piece of lingerie that Ronnie didn’t own. She picked up a cellophane package. “Panty hose?”
“Even panty hose,” Ronnie said. “I have one friend who loves to pull them off of me, very slowly and lick each part he uncovers. Another friend likes to cut a hole in the crotch and have my legs—in the panty hose—wrapped around him. And, now that I think of it, I had a friend about two years ago who liked to wear them himself. He’d put a pair on before we went to dinner. He claimed they sweetened the anticipation and from the way he attacked me when we got back here, I don’t doubt it at all.”
Carla tried not to be shocked. She had read about transvestites but she’d never thought to meet one. “Woman’s clothes?”
“First of all, he wasn’t a transvestite,” Ronnie said, as if reading her friend’s mind. “Several men I know like to wear satin undies under their business suits. The slippery fabric feels good against the skin and it’s a sexy little secret.
“Secondly, don’t judge. There’s nothing wrong with an activity that consenting adults enjoy in private, or, for that matter, in selected public locations. I learned that first time with Tim that labels are for people with small minds.”
“You’re right, of course. And I’m not being judgmental, just naive.”
“Fair enough.”
On the side of the closet opposite Ronnie’s costumes were outfits for men: a Robin Hood-style green vest and tights, a black outfit that looked like it was designed for a second-story man, a silver lamé top and pants that had been cut to resemble a knight’s armor, and a white shirt and short pants combination. “For a naughty little boy,” Ronnie explained. Carla struggled to not let her amazement show.
Eventually they returned to the living room. “I want you to go slowly,” Ronnie said when the topic turned to Carla’s new career. “I’d like to see you build your sexual and sensual awareness little by little. And I’ve got just the place to start.”
“You have?”
“Um-hmm. Rick. I’m due to call him in,” she glanced at her watch, “five minutes.”
Carla looked a little flustered. “Now? Oh God. I thought I was ready for this,” she said. “Suddenly I’m not so sure.”
“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t do anything for your trial run that you couldn’t back out of at any time. Nothing is mandatory. But Rick is the perfect place to start. I call him and we make love over the phone.”
“Phone sex? Like 1-900-suck-me-off?”
“Something like that. And don’t make fun of it. Talking about sex and describing lovemaking is very erotic, very exciting, and leads to some delicious orgasms.” When Carla hesitated, Ronnie said again, “Trust me?”
Carla relaxed. “I do trust you. It’s just that phone sex conjures up such awful visions. A sweaty body jerking off while some impersonal bimbo talks and files her nails at the same time.”
“It’s not like that with me. Not at all.”
“Of course not,” Carla said.
“Before I call Rick—or Mr. Holloway as I call him on the phone—let me tell you about him. Rick’s a happily married man who’s involved in some kind of financing business on Wall Street. Like so many of my friends, Rick believes that his wife couldn’t be interested in the things we talk about. Every now and then I’m tempted to phone his wife and somehow get her to talk to him. I think he’d be surprised. But, of course, I wouldn’t do anything like that. My friend’s lives, outside of our relationship, are strictly off-limits. I’ve never even seen Rick.”
“Never?”
“Nope. One of my friends suggested that he call me. He did and we talked in private for an hour. I discovered that he likes to listen to sexy talk,
