The Taste of a Woman Read online

  “Okay,” she said. “Let’s get back to this Christine business. We’ve left her hanging.”

  “Or maybe left you hanging.”

  “That too.” Rachael sighed.

  “Christine’s turn came not long after she realized she was doing a fetish and joined our group. She was friends with Tabatha, who you might hear about later. Anyway, we usually have newcomers watch a few times. Gets them ready. Gets them steamed up so that their performance will be the best they have to offer. Offer us and offer to themselves. That’s the object. Causing ourselves to enter into our Maximum Sexual Experience.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “Well, as you can imagine, Christine’s performance had the balance and grace of a Balanchine choreography. We always allow the performer to chose the room, the furniture... she could do it in a Telephone Booth if she wanted to. Christine chose the Master Bedroom. She was wearing a white silky see through top that fell below her hips. Under it was a pair or very brief, very tight, panties and nothing more. A gardenia was pinned in her hair. She looked luscious.”

  “She was carrying a square baby blue box about the size of your ordinary hat box. It had wide pink ribbon tied two ways around it. She set it on the bed. She sat down and spread her legs to either side of the box and sat there a minute just looking at it. She entered her world and we were not even there.”

  “She leaned over and placed her hands on the top of the box and rested them there. The edge of her silky top drifted open a little ways, just enough to reveal the gentle curl of her small breast underside, not enough to see the tip. She began stroking the box like a potter putting the finishing touches on a masterpiece. She stopped. Took a deep breath and gently pulled on the free end of the ribbon, slowly collapsing the large bow at the top. The Ribbons fell to the side and she lifted the top. Underneath was a puff of beige tissue paper which she parted, peering over the edge of her efforts like a seamstress aligning a stitch. She folded the paper back against the sides of the box and reached inside.”

  “We were far enough away and the box was deep enough so we couldn’t see what was inside, which she was rubbing and massaging while it remained in its resting lace. When it was warm from the friction of her hands she lifted it from the box and held it to the side of her face.”

  “The foot?” Cried Rachael.

  “Not just any foot. She had long since replaced the Macy’s theft with a more life-like model, soft, flexible in those places one might expect form the real thing.”

  “”Where’d that come from?”

  “We guessed a podiatrist’s office, though she wouldn’t say.”

  “It’s still just a foot.”

  “Oh, you don’t know what you re saying. This foot was like a real person, a real lover. It did everything for her and without the necessity of conversation.”

  A little epiphany crept over her and she chuckled under her breath.

  “Her face was rubbing the sole of the foot when she reached down and revealed her right breast. Completely. It was one of those small pointy breasts with a tiny, tiny pink nipple. Cone shaped and supple, separated gracefully a little distance from its pair.”

  Rachael was glad for the tissue in her panties.

  “She slid the foot slowly down along the nape of her neck to her chest wall and over to the underside of her breast where it lifted it upward in its instep and rocked it like a baby in a cradle. There was a synchronized gasp in the room. It was beautiful.”

  Trixie paused to take a drink. Her throat was getting dry.

  “If she heard us she didn’t let on. My guess is that she was so into herself and her loving she would have missed a chair tipping over.”

  “She brought the foot across her to the other breast and repeated this performance. Then she slipped it into her underarm and squeezed it there, tilting her head to that side as if to intensify the pressure against her. To us it looked like the foot was penetrating her.”

  Rachael gasped, then covered her mouth.

  Trixie acknowledged her loss of control with a quick smile then went on.

  “Her silky top dropped behind her as if someone or some breath of air had gently pushed it from her shoulders,, though none of us saw the slightest motion. She let it lie as part of the bed she was making for herself, lying as it fell, curled and fluted.”

  “Stop. Stop a minute.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “You’re making me swoon. Give me a second.”

  Rachael took a big gulp of water, wiped her forehead with her fingers she had dipped in the remainder and took a deep breath.

  “Okay. I’m okay. Please. Please keep going”

  “So she put it on her belly. Her belly is flat so it didn’t have much space but she angled it along the ridge of her pelvic bone where it glides downward to her bottom and began to touch her sex with the big toe, nudging it gently. Then she lay down.”

  “Is this too much detail for you?”

  “Affection lies in the detail.”

  “Well she didn’t just lie down. She swung her head to one side so that her long straight hair of hers arced around and lay across her breast, covering it with a scrim of softness, just translucent enough so the nipple could be seen shining through. Then she leaned back against the pillow, her back resting on the silken cloth.”

  “This was the first time we had seen her sex. I can tell you she’s blond through and through. There was only a little tiny tuft of hair above her folds. It looked like a bit of amber fluff had landed in that precise spot. Her folds were infantile, small, narrow, just the slightest pink where they closed over her. She spread herself and placed the heel of the foot directly on her. She held it there, pressing against it. You could see her muscles straining. Then she slowly began to grind the heel up and down in increasingly larger arcs. She would stop occasionally and rub herself with her hand. Then we could see that her folds were getting larger and redder. After a while doing this she spread her lips gently and dipped into her opening, bringing up a little wetness on the tips of her fingers which she rubbed against her clit, dipped again and rubbed against the heel, then returned the heel to its happy task.”

  Trixie noticed Rachael was twitching and placed her fingertips alongside her cheek.

  “I can see you are a responder,” she said. “I’ve been seeing a lot of hormone action in you.”

  Rachael blushed but did not remove Trixie’s hand. “You’re bringing that out in me,” she said.

  Trixie left her hand in place a brief moment looking Rachael directly in her eyes. Then she withdrew and continued.

  “We all could tell Christine was getting close. What she did next surprised us. She turned the foot around and pressed the toe against her. She opened to it slightly, hiding most of the big toe and part of toe number two. She had the foot by its heel and its ball so she could wedge it, slide it, quiver it, all the while dilating herself to a surprising degree. Imagine, this little pussy accommodating a wedge of foot three toes wide.”

  The girls were so mesmerized they hadn’t noticed but now the sun had shifted so dramatically that the glare was disturbing. They agreed to move to the living room but Trixie should not stop talking while they did.

  “These performances are solo. We adhere to that. But on rare occasions and if all agree that it is necessary to the full appreciation of the work of art, we allow some interaction. Such was the request Christine placed before she began. As part of her agreement she examined the feet of all the members of the club and selected Kim. She’s the Oriental girl, petite, and small boned. At this moment Christine beckoned to Kim and placed her personal foot, the imitation one, by her side, her arm draped over it. Kim sat on the bed facing her and placed her foot on the quilt between her legs. Christine took hold of it, spreading it with massage oil she had hidden in a little bottle in the cor
ner of her hat box, massaging, and probing, and slipping her fingers between her toes. Her eyes were closed and her mouth open in unconscious ecstasy. When she was ready she made a cone of the toes and put them against her opening, now moist and dilated and pushed against it. The foot began to disappear, first the outer arc of toes, then all the toes, then the wide portion across the metatarsals until she was in her down to the arch. Christine sat up then, sweeping her knees under her so that she was flat down on Kim’s foot, Kim’s leg now flat to the bed, her foot arched up into Christine.”

  “She rested there. We all were breathing noisily. Her eyes were closed and her face was reminiscent of painful ecstasy. Holding on to Kim’s ankle, Christine raised herself, lowered herself, taking her in and then sliding out most of her foot. This action was intensely erotic for her for she began to shake involuntarily in little quivers, interrupting her at random, first a little distance apart, then closer together. She began to moan uncontrollably, her face contorting like a child in the midst of a seizure, teeth over lip, then mouth open, jaw to one side. Tears started falling and when she had reached the maximum of her being her motions slowed to a tense freeze... frozen there, poised on a cliff, she took one finger and in the manner of tapping a glass to start crystallization of a super saturated sugar solution, she just tapped her clitoris and crumpled upon herself, seizing and moaning.”

  The girls were quiet then. Neither wanted to disturb the silence, the sense of reverence that had filled the room.

  “Beautiful,” Rachael said, finally.

  “Standing ovation,” said Trixie.

  They laughed and shook their bodies, running their fingers through their hair and straightening their clothes as if a strong wind had run right through them.

  “God,” said Rachael. “I don’t know if I can take any more of that.”

  “No. No more for today.”

  “Awwww.”

  Trixie gave Rachael a look like Rachael had never seen before.

  “No more stories,” she said. “Now’s time you found your fetish.”

  Trixie

  Rachael was physically shaking.

  “What’s got into you? It’s just sex you know.”

  “I-I don’t know. You came by to return the lasagna pan and very quickly we are into sexual fetishes. It’s all so sudden.”

  “Take a break, girl. Doesn’t need to happen today. The first rule in all this is to only proceed when you feel safe. Maybe that’s not it right now.”

  “No, no. I’m safe. I mean I feel... well, maybe I should, at least think about it some.”

  “Okay. So let’s approach it that way. Whenever you want to stop, we stop. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  “Good. Now what objects might you attach some sexual significance to?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Anything you think about when you think of sex. Anything turn you on?”

  “Not much.”

  “Okay. For Christine it is feet. She had no idea until it made itself known to her. For Paige it’s fire. She lights so many candles there is not much oxygen left in the room. She’d burn the house down if she could. For Tabatha it’s Model Airplane glue. Georgia likes the smell of frying bacon. Is there some object that has meaning to you, maybe from childhood when an event attached itself to some object.”

  “Good question. I’m afraid not much turns me on these days.”

  “Nonsense. I saw you fidget in the chair. I saw your eyes light up when Christine did her little orgasm dance. You’ve got it. We just need to find something that works for you.”

  “I don’t know where to begin.”

  “No problem. Go sit in the kitchen. I’ll collect a few things from around your house and bring them there. Your job is to tell me what you feel if you feel anything for any of these things.”

  “That’s a deal.”

  Trixie went through the refrigerator. “Food is good,” she said. Trixie rummaged through the bathroom the medicine cabinet, the bedroom. Rachael could hear her bumping round the house. She was gone about 15 minutes and when she was done 15 choices appeared on the table. A rolling pin, a tomato, a slab of bacon, a cucumber, three eggs, a budvase, a hairbrush with a long bulbous handle, three smooth river stones, a peacock feather, a conical sea shell, a red taper/never lit, a door knob, five Chinese coins, and a picture of Johnny Weismuller. “How about that?” she said.

  Rachael studied the things before her. She tried to imagine what connection any of these things had to her feelings, to her sense of desire, to a physical state of arousal that would set her on fire. Nothing.

  Trixie studied her. “I can see it’s a bust,” she said.

  “Pretty much”

  “No worry. It’ll come. Tell you what.”

  “What?”

  “Suppose I’ll do you mine for you so you can go through the process with someone.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Okay. My fetish is already on the table. I’ll show you.”

  Trixie picked up two hard-boiled eggs and grabbed the butter dish from the counter and took off up the narrow New England stairs to Rachael’s bedroom.

  Rachael’s heart was beating through her chest as she followed her. She had no idea what was coming, nor if she would be even able to do whatever it was Trixie wanted her to do.

  They almost stumbled into the bedroom. Just a touch of awkwardness had descended upon the two women. It was temporary. Trixie put the eggs and the butter dish on the bed and turned and faced Rachael.

  “I like to do this naked,” she said. “And it is better if somebody takes off my clothes for me. More of a thrill because I don’t know exactly what will come next.”

  Rachael stood her ground.

  “Would you do that for me?

  Rachael nodded.

  “Go slow. Surprise me.”

  The two women’s eyes were locked upon each other as Rachael unbuckled a narrow belt around Trixie’s waist. She was wearing a thin, Moroccan print blouse and a tight skirt that hit about half way up her thigh. The belt fell to the floor. Trixie took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

  Rachael paused considering options. What would surprise her? What would she like if this were being done to her? She bent down and removed her shoes tossing them in the corner, trailing her fingertips over her lower leg. She was then drawn to the little V below her neck where the two sides of her blouse came together. She started unbuttoning her here. She hadn’t noticed much about Trixie’s body before now, her powers of imagination and observation trained directly on the stories she was telling. Now she noticed Trixie’s light brown hair, haloed in tight spit curls around her face, her button nose, wide mouth with awkwardly large teeth. She also realized that Trixie was one muscular woman. She must pump iron daily, go to the gym, run 5 miles... her pecs were becoming revealed and they were awesome. Her breasts were round topped, not pointy and appeared motherly, soft and inviting. Trixie was looking at her. “Touch me if you like,” she said.

  If Rachael had been thinking about it she would have been shocked at what she did next. She reached right over and caressed her breast through her clothing. It was as soft as she thought it would be, but more supple. Trixie closed her eyes again. Rachael now had both breasts in her hands and was massaging them gently. Trixie suddenly opened her eyes and planted a kiss directly on Rachael’s mouth. The astonishment was she was not astonished, but rather excited in that manner of fast moving emotion that has diminishing regard for any outside influence. In a word, she no longer cared what anyone thought. This was fun.

  She had her unbuttoned now and was unsnapping the front clasp on her bra. Trixie’s eyes being closed allowed Rachael full access to he pleasures of her curiosity. She admired how defined her muscles were, the fine bronze tint of a practiced tan, the way the breasts appe
ared not as ornamentations or afterthoughts but as extensions of the creative design of a well put together woman.

  The shirt was off. The dress half-way to the floor. Now for the panties. She giggled at the Betty Boop images billowing out from under her dress. She took them down down down and continued through skirt, and socks and then there was nothing more.

  Trixie stood, eyes closed a beat, then turned to the bed and picked up the eggs. Sliding the butter dish to one side, she lay down on her back.

  She raised one of the eggs above her, turning it over and over delicately in her fingers. She stroked it, rubbed it, polished it with a little spit from her tongue. She wrapped her palm around it and placed in on her lower abdomen, just above the mound over her sex and held it there. With the other hand she unroofed the butter dish, scooped about two patties worth and softening it in her fingers, smeared it all over her sex. She repeated the process smearing her inner thighs, her belly button, her lower abdomen. Then she rolled the egg in the butter clinging to her body.

  The egg stayed in its place in her palm while she slid the other hand over her mons, in the crease between the thigh and the body, the labia, the clit, the entry into her and down the channel of her vagina. Two fingers remained there, wiggling from time to time, pressing farther in. Now three fingers, four.

  Rachael realized that without knowing it her hand was on her own sex, pressing there, massaging. Why not? She would own it.

  Trixie raised her head and examined the egg turning it over and over. Grabbing the fatter end she brought the narrow dome to her clit and pressed it there, moving side to side, emitting little mewlings as she did so. Rachael found her clit as well and was imitating Trixies motions.

  Now Trixie moved the egg to her entroitus, held open by two fingers and insinuated the tip of the dome into the vagina, spinning it like a top, screwing it deeper and deeper. Her pelvis began to thrust against the pressings of the egg and the white of the egg was disappearing slowly until it was all gone. God! The whole egg was inside her.