Scheherazade

Jeanne only really drove in France, so driving in New York—not the city—was something she was not used to. But Sabrina wanted to see her — specifically to see someone who was not Graham.

The huge house was beautiful, but Sabrina standing in front of it looked like a lost princess. She looked like a modernized character from Game of Thrones—an anachronism and regal.

Sabrina walked toward her with a woman running behind her like a lady in waiting, and two men trailing them in the distance. Jeanne took in the scene, as her friend took her hand and walked her through the rooms of the house that looked like pages of Architectural Digest.

Nothing felt real.

Outside, Sabrina removed the vintage wrap that she wore to reveal a barely there swimsuit which she took off altogether. Jeanne knew how Sabrina hated the tan lines that swimsuits left, and seeing Sabrina naked was nothing new to her.

But it might have been to the tall male guards standing faraway watching her. Was her friend that oblivious, or was this some kind of foreplay? Knowing Sabrina there was always a story, like Scheherazade.

“Sabrina…” Jeanne started. “Graham is okay with you being naked in front of the two guards?”

Sabrina looked at Jeanne and shrugged,

“I don’t care anymore Jeanne. I told him I just want to live my life, and not be an object of attention.”

“Naked? The taller guard looks like he is going to burst. He is fixated.”

“Andres?” Sabrina turned and looked at the man. He continued to stare at her, took in every inch of her. “He’s our friend, he used to watch me before when I lived here. He is not even fazed by—“

“Sabrina, the way he is looking at you?”

“Not. Even. Fazed.” Sabrina insisted.

It was when Jeanne was driving back, and settled in a tiny café to Face Time her own man that she got a text from Sabrina:

Fazed?

Much later when she was done, and driving back in her car Sabrina regaled her like the Scheherazade she was. It started when Andres told her that she should not be naked and walking about the compound.

“Why?” she questioned, naked before him. Andres ran his finger—just his finger—from behind her ear, along her neck between her breasts and right below her belly.

“I was wet, dripping with sweat and between my legs from just his finger Jeanne!” Sabrina squealed.

Jeanne smiled as she drove through the sun setting, and thought of the black night that was to follow before she got back to the city.

She would settle for just Terrence’s finger right then…Sabrina was luckier than she was.

More Masturbation Monday here:

scheherazade via wikipedia