Prologue
I was sitting in the lobby of the W Hotel in Seattle, reading a local entertainment guide, trying to figure out how to occupy myself for the next couple days, when I heard a familiar voice above the afternoon bustle, a woman's voice.
I folded the paper down and peered around the lobby, but I saw only men in business suits. As I tried to place it, I realized that the voice was southern. So, I thought, maybe that's what had drawn me in -- why it had seemed so familiar. I hadn't heard a genuine Carolina accent in a long time.
I went back to my paper and my plans, but I soon found myself thinking about old girlfriends. To be honest, southern girls are a mixed blessing - beautiful, to be sure, but also Baptist, or worse. Even in college the girls were conflicted about sex. Generally, they preserved their sense of purity by insisting that things were "done to" them, they weren't really an active participant -- "I guess if you really want to make me cum, I won't stop you." As you might imagine, reciprocation was out of the question-- "Your turn? That's just gross."
I didn't miss southern girls. Southern women, on the other hand, they were a different story. By their mid-twenties most of the beauty pageant types were off enduring their first marriages. Suddenly it is not so hard to find wonderful, smart southern women -- ambitious and independent but undeniably feminine. They also seemed to have forgotten whatever they'd learned in Summer Bible School.
One girls in particular came to mind, Anna Kingston. I first had a crush on her in college; back then she would hide her young body beneath over-sized sweatshirts or dropped-waist dresses. A few years later, when I ran into her in Atlanta, she'd clearly learned not just to accept, but to revel in her curves.
As a young lawyer she had adopted a look that was tasteful, elegant even, but she now accentuated rather than hid her form. She loved nothing more than driving opposing attorneys to distraction, but she never flirted, in fact, the opposite. She would always remain maddeningly focused on the negotiations, refusing even a hint of familiarity.
However, in contrast to her stone-faced seriousness, she would simply exude sensuality through every pore -- the way she moved, looked, even the way she breathed. Anna would slowly seduce these men with little more than brushing her auburn curls from her face, or teasing her lips with tip of her glasses.
If all else failed she would find reasons to stand up and each time she would absentmindedly smooth imaginary wrinkles out of her clothes, gently sweeping her hands over her luscious belly, hips and bottom. Underneath she would be wilting into her silk panties, but she never broke pose, even as her dark pink nipples strained the fabric of her blouse.
Sometimes, when she was working late, she would call and ask me pay her a visit. We would have sex in her office, the conference room, even on the managing partner's desk.
