Quench My Thirst. R. Moreen Clarke
against the cement wall and closed his eyes. He thought about his very first client.
She was an older French woman who owned an international cosmetics company. She was a steady client of Damian’s, but he was tied up, and he sent Trevor to meet with her. Trevor pulled up to the gated mansion and pressed the intercom to announce his arrival. A butler answered and buzzed him through. As the massive wrought-iron gates parted to allow him access to the driveway, Trevor whistled under his breath. The house was breathtaking, befitting a tour on the homes of the rich and famous. He continued around the circular drive, convinced he was looking at Windsor Castle. He parked the car in front of the mansion. As he opened the car door, a valet mysteriously appeared and asked for his keys. He tossed the keys to the uniformed driver and walked up the front steps to the gigantic wood-carved doors.
The door had opened as magically as the valet appeared, and a butler bade him entrance into the cavernous foyer. Marble floors spanned the expanse of the foyer. Famous works of art and antiques were mounted on walls and pedestals throughout. Though it was the middle of the day, the foyer was dark.
“This way, sir,” the butler said stiffly and pointed in the direction of a doorway off to the right. Trevor followed him silently, still taking in the magnificence of the decor. They entered a huge library. Rich, carved, mahogany bookcases filled with books lined the walls. There was a marble fireplace with a lit fire glowing inside. Trevor thought this strange in the middle of spring; it wasn’t even cool outside today. Oddly it did not seem to generate much heat. The butler excused himself and closed the doors behind him.
Trevor wandered over to the nearest bookcase and began to peruse some of the titles. Many were rare first-edition books. He picked up an Edgar Rice Burroughs first edition, Tarzan, and carefully opened the cover. It was in pristine condition. He delicately fingered the pages. He reflected on the Tarzan movies of his youth. Johnny Weissmuller had been his inspiration for joining the swimming team in high school. Trevor was an accomplished swimmer, but it was at basketball that he excelled.
“Do you like to read, young man?” a delicate feminine voice asked from a wing chair near the fireplace. The lilting French accent was charming. Trevor raised his eyes from the page. How did he miss seeing her there? She stared into the fireplace as though transfixed. He placed the book back on the shelf and walked over to face her.
“Yes, ma’am. I love to read. I especially like historical novels and ancient tales.” He smiled down at her. She was a well-preserved woman. He wasn’t certain of her age. She was very petite with a slim build. Her flawless, unwrinkled skin was the color of cocoa beans. Her long dark brown hair was coiffed in two French braids. The ends of the silky braids were intertwined and fell down the middle of her back. Her fingers were long and delicate. Even in the darkened room he could see her sea-green eyes. She was still a stunning woman. She wore a long sleeveless yellow floral dress. It had a high-neck mandarin collar, exposing delicate shoulders. She seemed a very fragile creature. He wondered how well she could hold up during sex. Since it was the reason he was here.
“Please sit down, young man. Tell me, what is your name?” she asked as she indicated with a slim hand the wing chair opposite her.
“Trevor, ma’am,” he replied, settling into the chair and finding it surprisingly comfortable.
“No, what is your real name?” she asked, arching one eyebrow slightly.
“My name is Trevor,” he repeated.
“I see. Yes, this is your first time, isn’t it? You have much to learn, young man. I’m certain this is why Damian has sent you here.” She adjusted her position in the chair slightly. “First, please call me Claudette. You make me feel so old when you call me ma’am. I know I am old, but you should not remind me of this, oui?”
“My apologies, Claudette,” he replied, glancing down at his watch. Damian told him he was to spend no more than an hour here. It was all he would be paid for.
“Mistake number two,” she said and looked at him sternly.
“I’m sorry,” he fumbled again. Maybe I’m not cut out for this, he thought. I’m screwing up already, and I don’t even know how. “Maybe I should not be here,” he said and started to rise from his chair.
“Sit down, my friend. You are young and inexperienced in the venture you are about to undertake. If you are to be successful, you have much to learn. Patience is the first and foremost of the tools you will need,” she said. She pushed a button on the table, and in a few moments the butler appeared in the doorway.
“Henri, please bring my friend a warmed cognac and a pot of tea for me,” she said to the butler. He nodded his head and closed the door behind him.
“Never allow a woman to see you watching the clock. Nothing will spoil the mood faster than the thought you are in a rush or racing off to make love to someone else. It will only serve to remind her she is paying for your time,” she said and paused to clear her throat. “Trevor.” She paused thoughtfully. “The name does suit you,” she concluded with a smile and then continued. “Today we will spend the afternoon talking. I am sure you are an accomplished lover, but I can see already you do not have an understanding of women. Not the kind of understanding you will need to command the money Damian does. If you are to become his partner, you must learn many things.”
Intrigued, Trevor leaned back in his chair. Who did this old broad think she was talking to? He’d yet to receive a complaint from any of the women he’d been with. He prided himself on leaving them satisfied and wanting more. Still, Damian had sent him here, and he was curious to hear what she would say.
The butler returned and placed a tray with a small teapot, cup, and saucer on the table next to Claudette. He poured her a cup of tea and then came back with another small tray and set it on the table next to Trevor. The tray contained a chrome brandy warmer with a little votive candle in it. He poured a generous shot of Courvoisier Imperial in a Baccarat crystal snifter and lit the candle. Carefully he placed the snifter in the warmer. He looked questioningly at Claudette, who nodded her head, and then he departed the room. Trevor was making mental notes of all he was exposed to. The Courvoisier Imperial was something he’d never even heard of. The elegance of this whole atmosphere was astounding; he’d never witnessed this kind of sophistication firsthand before. It was certainly a lifestyle he could see himself getting used to.
“Now, dear. Let’s talk about love. You see, to be successful in pleasing women, you must remember that women, for the most part, believe that sex and love are intertwined. I know women are very bold these days and want to put forth the image that sex is all about pleasure. But to truly be pleasured, a woman must feel loved, if only for the brief time you are with her. She does not have to love you, and you certainly do not have to love her, but she must feel for that brief span of time that you are in love with her body. In most cases, she will be the only naked woman in the room, so this should not be so hard to accomplish.” She laughed delicately at her own wit.
Trevor picked up the warm cognac and took a sip. The first sip spun like liquid fire down his throat. His second sip was smooth, like liquid gold, and unlike any he’d ever tasted. A warm glow settled in the room as he listened to Claudette.
“Where do you kiss a woman to light the fire in her?” she asked and took a sip of tea. She watched him closely as his emotions flashed across his face. He did not like to be tested, but she could see that part of him wanted to be right when he responded.
“On her neck, behind her ear, her breasts, and her sweet spot,” he answered slowly.
“Do you have any idea how many erogenous areas you have omitted?” she asked.
“No,” he replied quietly. He had failed the first test, and it annoyed him.
“Lesson one, my dear. The inside of her wrist is a wonderful place for soft, feathery kisses. She need not be naked for you to do this. You begin to set the pace before the clothes are even removed. The next spot would be the inside of her upper arm. It will tingle and even tickle slightly, making her giggle, but she will enjoy it immensely. The key is to go slowly, build the fire one twig at a time. You need not pour