A Study in Fragrance Pt. 02

She nodded, sipping her beer, looking down the driveway. "That sounds fair, Cos, but I'd like to see what we could do to make it even fairer." She turned to look at him. "Since I'm helping, maybe that would drop the cost a little. Hold on." She set down her beer and unsnapped her jeans, peeling them down. "Sorry. I had to do that. It's too fucking hot to have those on." Her heart was pounding. She had to keep this moving if she was to hook him. Her underwear was soaked, but she didn't dare look down. Please get the hint. Don't make me say it.

Fuck! Well. That answers that. She's eager. But what is she dragging you into? He started laughing. Staring at her next to him and then across the driveway and back again. "You got another beer?"

She kicked off her boots and pulled her jeans all the way off. "Sure. Hold a sec." He wants to see me. He's going for it. She hopped across the hot cobblestones to the cool of the back hall knowing he was staring at her tight thighs and ass. Stealing a glance out the window as she made her way back, two beers in hand, she watched him staring across the driveway. She ran the two strides across the open space to sit back down next to him, handing him a bottle.

"Listen. Emily." He looked at her over the beer bottle, staring at her breasts and down her side. "You seem like a sharp kid. Pretty good looking too," he smiled. Let's go back to Step 2. Terms of the negotiation. "How much are you willing to work?"

"I'll do as much as I can," she looked at him eagerly. Take it. Take it.

"It's pretty dirty work," he nodded again up the stairs, but didn't take his eyes off her body. "You willing to get dirty?" And that's as far as I'm going to go. Need something more from her than a flirty show of skin.

And done. She looked at his face, the bottle against her lips, and nodded. "I'll get as dirty as it takes."

He shoved his lips together, thinking. "Okay," nodding. "Depending on how well you do, I'll knock some bucks off." So far, I'm into it for nothing. "Hell no, Mac. I let her work for me and gave her a break. I don't know where she got that impression." But he knew that wouldn't fly, his workman's comp situation alone would raise a flag, and he regretted even the small line he'd crossed.

And...we're in. Fuck. Fuck fuck. She felt the tension in between her legs and stared straight ahead. She was committed. There was a fucking huge hole upstairs that needed to be filled. She had enough in her account to pay him whatever he needed, but that's not what she needed. He was going to drag this out. At the same time that she knew she'd "won," she felt a tinge of fear in her gut. Or maybe it wasn't fear at all. It was something she'd been feeling for a while, guilt or shame or she couldn't put a name to it, but she had been feeling it physically: a tendril of green licking up her spine.

"Let's sweep up and see what that room looks like. I need to take some measurements and we'll start in again tomorrow. It's supposed to be a lot cooler." He put all of the insane thoughts back in the bottle, put the bottle on a shelf, marked it hazardous and double-locked it. He wouldn't lose his job or his license over a piece of ass. He didn't need that. But, the thought teased at his consciousness through all of the barriers he'd put up, she'd be a nice piece of ass. Fuck that. Maybe. Not today.

She threw on her boots before walking up the stairs, knowing he was staring at her backside and the tendril strengthened. It was different from how she felt when she played with herself. It was deeper. More primal. She felt like prey. She felt like she was doing something wicked or wrong. She shivered as she got to the opening, but definitely not because she was cold. She inhaled the fragrance again and the tendril waved around her lungs.

A few minutes later he came up with two push brooms and pan. "Put on that mask," he said, pointing to the one she'd discarded before. "There's all sorts of nasties in this dust. And there's a funny smell. Floral, but it could be bad. Aromatics. Organics. Let's see if we can get the windows open and move some air. No sense in taking any chances."

They entered the room and she went to the far corner, pulling the broom away from the wall, toward her, dragging the dust toward the center of the room. As soon as she had that corner clear she turned and began pushing the small pile toward the opening. It was hotter than any sauna she'd ever been in. Sweat began streaming down her sides, catching the dust and leaving trails edged with crud. She looked down to see her underwear had started to turn brown along the waistband. So much for the pink hipsters.

"Let me see if I can figure out the windows." It was hot. He was sweating, but it wasn't any worse than framing in the sun. Still, there wasn't much air in the room. He turned to the side window, and in a few minutes he'd pulled some nails and the thing swung open, rotating bottom to top. A few moments later he'd gotten the back one open too. He brushed past her and after a few minutes of struggle gave up on the one in the western wall. "I don't want to risk breaking it. I'll figure something out tomorrow." Of the three it was set back into the wall with an alcove around it. It made it difficult to find leverage.

She watched a small breeze move the dust motes. He had his back to her, focusing on sweeping from the center of the room toward the entrance. The tendril had crept to her brain, a need, a sense of embarrassment tingling on her skin; she acted, fast, before she could think about it, peeling her bra off first and then sliding her underwear down and over her boots. Standing completely naked, except for the face mask and boots, she looked back at the corner she'd just swept and tossed her underwear there before continuing to push. When she looked up, he had turned and was standing stock still watching her. She kept going, looking back and raising her eyebrows as if to ask, what's up? Like working with a naked teenager was normal in his line of work.

Shit shit shit. She's crossed a line. He didn't react other than to take in her body. He couldn't see her face, buried behind the mask, but he could tell she was smiling, teasing him. Her breasts were smallish, not flat at all, a handful he estimated, topped by nice targets. Her nipples were erect even in this heat. She's turned on. She wants me to take the bait. Her muscles rippled slightly as she moved, leading his eyes to her untrimmed bush. Don't girls her age shave it all off or something? He liked 'em any way they came. If it was a matter of concern...for them...he made it a point of contention. Doesn't seem to be a thing for her. It was a nice bush, dark brown, thick and roughly triangular, the hairline distinct all around as if she shaved, but he could tell she didn't. Her pussy lips pushed through the hair, thick, drawing his eyes between the tops of her thighs, and her legs didn't seem to end, dragging his gaze all the way to the floor, before he raked her body again, from her toes to her ears.

She looked down at his waist when he moved a little oddly and grinned at the bulge she could see beneath the zipper. The sweat continued to drip, leaving tiny circles in the dust beneath her. She kept moving; she needed to get into fresh air before she fainted.

As she pushed the last pile out of the demo'd hole, she had to brush past him. The temperature dropped ten degrees, and there was a breeze at the door, but otherwise it was still in the 90s. She stood there, leaning on the broom looking at him looking at her.

"Fucking kidding me." He just stared at her, keeping as calm as possible. She's already fucked you, dude, so...But he knew she didn't have all of the cards. Not by a long ways. Take it easy.

He was smiling. She could tell by the tone, even if his face was hidden. She lifted off the mask and found her beer, taking a long draw, knowing he was just staring at her. It was almost warm. echhh. She could feel the cramping in her stomach, the shame of exposing herself...of doing something so wrong; she could feel the tendril thick and tight around her brain; she could feel the moisture between her legs. It was mostly sweat, she figured, but she couldn't tell. This is exactly what you wanted. Don't chicken out now. It was what she wanted. She wanted to know what it felt like to be taken by a real guy. This guy. She wanted to be taken. Consumed. She'd known it the moment she'd seen him in the living room, when he stared at her that first time. She clenched between her legs and felt the moisture against the top of her thighs.

"I gotta go. Make sure you shower off. You'll probably have a bunch of black snot come out tomorrow. Blow your nose well and don't sweat it." He grunted at his stupid joke. And leave. He had to make an escape before things got totally out of control, although if this didn't amount to being out of control...Get. The. Fuck. Out. Now. He moved past her without touching her and started down the stairs.

"How much did I earn today, Cos?" She had completely given into her impulses, standing so he could see her, exposed, her pubic hair matted and dark, framing the cleft between her legs. A cleft that felt more swollen than she'd ever felt before. She was so fucking hot.

"That's a good start." Idiot! Get the fuck out! He paused and stared at her. "You're earnest. Or horny. Either way," he waved at her nudity, "you're going to have to do a lot more than that to pay off what this will cost." Shut the fuck up! What the hell are you saying? Her daddy will roast you! He turned, adjusting his junk in his jeans and headed down the stairs. "Oh," he continued from the bottom step, "this doesn't go outside us. None of this." He twirled his fingers suggesting whatever she was doing was part of 'this.' "Got it?" Like, that's going to amount to a hill of beans when she wakes up, turns tail and tells Mac what he made her do. You're smarter than that Cos. Play it cool, dude. He knew he was already over the edge. Unless he quit now, he'd be toast.

She nodded, and watched him go, breathing heavily from adrenaline and anxiety. Oh my fucking god! She was questioning her sanity. What did I just do? She moved the brooms into the open room and went to wash the grime off her body.

Fuck, fuck fuck! The water pouring down her face was refreshing, and the alcohol helped reduce the pain and soreness in her shoulders. She was grinning and freaking out at the same time. Who could she talk about this with? Nobody. Certainly not any of her friends. They would freak. Joanie? Fuck no. She'd totally freak...and then tell mom. Barbie? No. Frankie? No. None of her sisters made sense, although Barbie...no. She's almost as old as mother for god's sake. She lathered shampoo in her hair and massaged her head, feeling her muscles relax. Looking down, she stared at the water flowing across her breasts and into her triangle, remembering the hunger in his stare.

↺ ↺ ↺ ↺ ↺ ↺ ↺ ↺ ↺ ↺ ↺ ↺ ↺ ↺ ↺

Ms. Fromier's offer was the excuse, but Emily knew it was her obsession that drove her to meet with a reference librarian at the Special Collections room late in March. She hadn't revealed The Study to anybody. She had figured the revelation about Abby Crewitt's ties to the occult and women's rights would be more interesting to Ms. Fromier than a hidden room in the house. So, there she was, sitting in another wood paneled room at a wood table looking at old paper from the late 1800s. Newspapers from 1888 to be exact. She wasn't at all sure what she was looking for, but she carefully scanned the pages, laughing at the articles and headlines. If people were worried about click-bait today, they should see what newspapers were writing back then! She had almost finished, when she saw a column on the inside back page: For Women Only. The columnist was Abby Crewitt.

This particular column was about keeping a tidy house. Em looked at another issue. That column was about choosing the right flowers for a bouquet. Every issue, it seems, Abby had a featured column, none of which were terribly interesting or provocative. Nothing close to controversial as far as Emily could tell. She had just looked at the sixth column when an advertisement caught her eye:

     ABC Essentials

     Ladies, does a visiting aunt cause you problems? Consider ABC Essentials Monthly Tonic to help her stay be as comfortable as possible. 5c an ounce.

     COD or consider an account.

     Mail to ABC Essentials, 34 Spruce St.

Emily stared at the address. It was her house. It was Jay Crewitt's house. ABC Essentials. Abeline B. Crewitt. Abby was running a drug business out of the house! Em's yelp of surprise got her several "shhshs," but she didn't care.

She went back to the first paper and looked for the ad. This one was for depression, but written in more flowery terms. And the next was for love. And the next was a little difficult to understand.

     Ladies, does your garden need tending, but your gardener isn't dependable?

     A drop of ABC Essentials' is sure to return him to good standing.

Viagra? She giggled at the thought, but when she read the rest of them, gardening played a big role. Increasing the size of one's flowers, keeping one's beds moist, helping stems stay upright. Abby Crewitt was offering potions to help women with their love lives! Em covered her mouth, not believing what she was reading. She photographed every ad, and stayed another hour checking out every issue from every year the collections had. Between 1888 and 1891, ABC Essentials had taken out an ad every week. After a while, Em saw repeats, but later, when she'd had a chance to sort the ads, she saw Abby had created close to 50 different versions. Assuming she had repeat customers, she must have had an entire pharmacy going on. When Em stopped to ponder that, her brain practically exploded. The Study was Abby's apothecary. The Study was nothing less than a 19th century pharmacist's lab. Or, according to the critics of the day, "a depraved occult temple of esoteric magic".

The ABC Essentials ads were a huge hit with Ms. Fromier; she got her extra credit.

↻ ↻ ↻ ↻ ↻ ↻ ↻ ↻ ↻ ↻ ↻ ↻ ↻ ↻ ↻

Two beers were probably not the best diet for her training, but she didn't give a shit. Which is the problem with alcohol, isn't it? The heat was bearable, finally. She hadn't bothered to put any clothes on after her shower, so that helped. And so did having the house wide open. She'd been waiting since winter to do that-walk around butt naked with the windows wide open; this was the first summer she was home, alone, and with the weather so intense there wasn't a better excuse. She had asked her parents why they didn't put in A/C. They dismissed the question: Not only was it outrageously expensive, they were against it on principle. Maybe she'd find a window unit and buy one for her room. She'd threatened before, but her mother's feelings had intimidated her.

Eventually she turned to the freezer to see what protein she could cook up. Definitely going to fire up the grill. There was no way she'd be cooking inside. A salad and small steak. Perfect. She looked across the kitchen to the patio. Could she do it in the buff? The embarrassment of exposing herself rose along with the tendril. There was a chance the neighbors could see her, but if she was careful and walked out to the grill from the sun room she'd probably be okay.

She grabbed a glass and filled it with iced tea, texting Naomi.

You around? ntt

She tested her route to fire up the grill, and, carefully looking around, hit the starter, confirmed the thing lit and ran back. She knew the motion of her breasts bouncing, and the dark triangle against her light skin, were neon signs to anybody looking at the yard, but she was pretty sure nobody could see. Only the Johnson's third floor windows could look down here, and then one of them would have to be standing right at them. Not likely.

She started prepping the lettuce and carrots when Naomi's ringtone hit.

"Hey! How're you doing?" She smiled at being naked without Naomi knowing it. She focused on slicing the tomatoes.

"I was thinking about you. It's so fucking hot!" She listened to her friend's story about her adventure at the pool today. Naomi was not an athlete; the time she spent time at the gym kept her body in shape, a body she took any opportunity to show off. Any pool would do. In this case the club pool.

"You need to be careful, girl. Even with your skin, you don't want to get burned so early in the season."

"Yeah. I was careful. First real sun of the season and now they're predicting a tornado tonight."

"What?!" Em looked out the window. Blue sky in that direction. "When? Where?"

"Western counties. Tornado watch. Been some warnings across the border already. Can't you see the clouds? They're ginormous!"

"Hold on. I'm in the kitchen. Let me see the other side of the house." She moved quickly across the room into the breakfast nook. There the skies were dark grey, a cloud stack reaching all the way up as far as she could see, topped with a cauliflower white crown. "Holy fuck," she whispered.

"I know. Heavy weather coming. My dad's running around 'battening down the hatches.'"

"Fuck. Okay. Well, I was going to make some dinner on the grill so I have to go." She changed her mind about talking about Cos or what she'd done, or worse, what she was going to do. "Let's talk later."

She ran around the house to shut every window she'd opened earlier, self-conscious that she was naked but not self-conscious enough to do anything about it. Could Mrs. Meyer see her? Probably. But what would she see? A flash of skin, maybe. It didn't matter. What would she say? By the time she'd finished on the ground floor, the wind had picked up. She raced upstairs and repeated the process, finishing with the octagonal windows. One had a latch, but the other wouldn't stay shut until she hammered in a nail. The fragrance had lessened...a lot, but now when she smelled it, it reminded her of how exposed she was, how shameful she was acting. The tendril leapt up her spine.

The light was changing by the time she made it downstairs and focused on dinner. Dark grey with a tinge of yellow. Not good. The grill was hot, the salad was ready. She darted out with her steak and hung back under the overhang, protected from being seen, watching the wind gusts in the trees and feeling the sweat beginning to bead up again under her arms, in the creases of her breasts and between her legs. She did knee bends to pass the time, then flipped the steak and did angled pushups against the columns, feeling the muscles in her shoulders complaining from the demo work. By the time she pulled the steak and turned off the grill, the wind had become steady and hard, with gusts that threatened to break branches. The cottonwoods were tossing, their leaves glinting green and silver. She was covered in sweat and hated the idea of sitting inside with the house shut up. Still, there was no way she'd be sitting outside. A flash of lightning only confirmed how stupid that would be.

By the time she was getting ready for bed the storm was in full fury, lightning and thunder, rain and hail battering against the windward side of the house. It had cooled, a little, but she couldn't open the windows to get air moving. Her room would be an oven. She grabbed her sleeping bag and walked upstairs to lie down on her parents' floor. She could open a couple of their windows because of the roof overhang, and she could watch the storm through their skylights. It had always been her refuge, coming up here. Not that she was frightened. Just the opposite. She loved violent storms. This was always the best place to enjoy them.