Thank you to my editor, Scorpius1945, for all your input.
*****
When I eventually got back to my room I collapsed onto the bed still clothed and fell immediately to sleep, dreamless and satisfied. For now.
I missed the first lectures in the morning. Rather, I showered, made a pot of coffee and sat at the table reliving the night before. I shook myself and came back to the present. I looked at the phone number Patsy had written on the piece of paper, suddenly feeling nervous, would she want to hear from a student? Someone younger than herself? If all I wanted was to get laid I could visit Patsy. But there was more to it than that, the tantalizing whiff of perfume, the perfect exterior. The light touch of her hand on my cock certainly had something to do with it. Only one way to find out.
She answered on the third ring. "Hello, Clarissa speaking."
"Hi Clarissa, John Mitchell."
"Ah, I thought you would never call."
"You are quite a difficult lady to find." I was encouraged by her response.
"Now that you've found me, what do you want to say?"
"Well, do you think we could meet for a drink later?"
"I'm busy tonight. What about Friday?" That was two days away.
I concealed my disappointment. "That would be great. What about the place we met last time?"
"It's a bit common, but okay. Sevenish?"
"Great," I said again, "See you Friday at seven. 'Bye now." I sat wondering about the pub being a bit common. I later regretted not taking more notice of things like this.
The next two days dragged past. I had so much work to complete, my thesis was running behind schedule and my tutor was giving me the gears about not concentrating. But my mind was on Clarissa. I pictured her as I had seen her, tall, slender with wide feminine hips. Wide but flat like you see with some of the top models, narrow waisted and then flared, small to medium breasts, somewhere between a B and C cup from what I could see. Medium length blond hair secured in a French plait. Simple but elegant jewellery. A delicate perfume that made my head spin.
Friday at seven I was seated at a table slightly secluded from the main room, my eyes glued to the door. The minutes felt like hours as I waited. Quarter past, twenty past...
At half past seven I saw her enter the pub, chin forward, nose up in the air. She was dressed in a white dress with a simple red chequered pattern, low strappy red sandals and a small handbag of the same color. Her hair was again in a French plait, very elegant and feminine.
When I stood up she saw me and came over, air kissed my right cheek, and allowed me to seat her. I never understood this air-kissing business, kiss on the lips or not at all!
Time passed quickly, she drank chilled white wine while I drank a pleasant red. Later we ate dinner where she ordered the most expensive item on the menu, which she sent back once as, 'not being quite right!' I was a little embarrassed by the episode. I was also a little concerned at the bill as I was a student with very little cash to spare.
My father was a successful and wealthy businessman, but he kept me on An extremely tight budget and any luxuries had to be paid for from money I earned doing part time work. Anyway, I thought it was worth it at the time.
During our conversations I learned that Clara, as her good friends called her, had once been told she looked like Lady Di of British royalty fame, and she now tried to live up to that in every way. This was the second warning that I took no heed of.
Again, she was intimately touchy while we talked, my leg, my arm, my cheek. The conversations were always steered to talking about my father and his architectural practice, and about how common in general the world was and that she was a royalist, following everything that the British royal family did. I learned nothing more about her background other than her immediate working and living environment. She evaded questions about her parents and schooling.
