Carrie Blake - The Woman Before You - An intense, addictive love story with an unexpected twist...

‘Comfortable?’ they’d ask.

‘Totally,’ I always replied, though nothing could have been less comfortable than I felt at those moments.

In the ten months I’d worked at Doctor Sleep, not one—not one!—young, handsome, hot guy had ever asked me to try out a mattress for him.

Actually, I did mind. I felt sort of queasy and flushed. I wanted to say that this wasn’t my job.

I could tell that he wouldn’t have insisted. He was too polite. But I was a nice Midwestern girl. I wouldn’t want to be rude to a customer…

And besides, I wanted to do it.

‘Lie down,’ he said. ‘Please. Let me see.’

That please did the trick. ‘All right.’ I couldn’t look at him.

I climbed onto the mattress. My white jacket rode up. I had to lift my ass to tuck the hem of my dress around me. All this time I was conscious of how intently he was watching me. I saw myself through his eyes. The mind-reading corner of my brain was glowing red.

When I saw myself through his eyes, I realized that I was already shaking.

I lay the way all the customers did, on my back, with my arms crossed, like a mummy.

I was so nervous that I started babbling. ‘Do you know anything about feng shui ? It’s an ancient Asian … I don’t know … science, I guess you could say. What matters is not only which mattress you buy but also how and where you set it up in your room. It’s important for how you sleep and how healthy you’ll be. There are principles, guidelines…’

I stopped. I sounded like an idiot. He didn’t seem to be listening, and I didn’t blame him. Why was I blabbing on about all this to the last guy in the world who would be interested? I lay back and stared at the ceiling.

‘No one sleeps like that,’ he said. ‘Like you’re lying now. On your back with your arms crossed. Do you ?’

‘No,’ I told the ceiling.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘Show me how you really sleep.’ His voice was low, gentle but firm and insistent.

I rolled over on my side. I reached back and yanked down my skirt. He walked around to the other side of the bed so he was looking straight down at me.

Was I ashamed? I was ashamed to think that I would never have done this if The Customer hadn’t been drop-dead handsome. I thought: What a shallow person you are, Isabel.

‘How does it feel?’ The Customer asked.

‘Comfortable,’ I said, automatically.

‘I think not,’ he said. ‘I don’t think you look comfortable at all.’

‘Okay, not really.’

‘You don’t have to lie to me,’ he said. How did he know? I was the mind-reader here.

‘It feels weird,’ I said. ‘But good weird.’

‘That’s a step in the right direction.’

He just stood there, looking down at me. I heard my breath get slightly ragged. I willed it to stop, but it wouldn’t. My breath came faster.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘Good. Now roll over on your back.’

I rolled onto my back.

‘Lift your jacket,’ he said.

I tried. It was awkward and clumsy.

‘Beautiful,’ he said. ‘You’re very beautiful, do you know that?’

‘Thanks.’ How stupid I sounded.

‘Now spread your legs a little,’ he said. ‘Just a little.’ His voice was so calm, so even, considering what he was asking.

I moved my legs apart, just a few inches.

‘Okay. Now I want you to do you one more thing for me. I want you take your underwear off,’ he said.

I didn’t think: What ? I didn’t think: Who is this sicko and what sick game is he playing?

Here’s what I thought: What underwear am I wearing?

I couldn’t remember. I couldn’t stop myself from reaching up my skirt. I felt an edge of lace. Thank heaven.

‘No, wait. Stop. Keep your hand there, where it is,’ he said. ‘Put your finger inside that lace edge, just underneath…’

‘I can’t,’ I said.

‘Why not?’ he said flatly. ‘I know you can. Please don’t tell me you can’t.’ We were almost whispering now. He leaned closer down over me, to hear.

‘Steve could be back any minute,’ I said. ‘My boss.’

I didn’t say: I don’t want to. I didn’t say: Are you crazy? How can you ask me to do this? I didn’t say: Go fuck yourself, pervert.

I said: ‘Steve could be back any minute.’

‘Just a little,’ he said, even more softly ‘Just raise your knees and spread them a little. And touch yourself.’

I closed my eyes. It was the only way I could do it. I couldn’t look at him. I could feel my face burning. I wanted to hear his voice with my eyes closed.

‘Please.’ His voice had a funny sound, not pleading exactly, but almost.

I pulled my knees halfway to my chest and let them slowly drift apart. My body felt hot and weirdly sleepy, as if I were dreaming, as if I’d lost my power to resist.

I didn’t care if Steve came back. I didn’t care what happened. It was the not caring that let me say, ‘Want to join me?’

I had never said anything like that in my life.

Even though most of my dating in New York had been of the online-dating game variety (with no sex, only chaste first-date goodnight kisses), I’d still managed to have my share of brief sexual affairs, and thought of myself as someone with a little experience—certainly I’d had experience taking my clothes off in front of a stranger, which, if you ask me, is a big part of what hangs people up about sex. I could count the number of guys I’d slept with: seven. But none of them had made me feel what I was feeling now in the middle of a public place, a mattress store, alone on a bed with all my clothes on.

Even then, right away I knew that I would do whatever The Customer told me. The pure electric pleasure flooding every nerve—I wanted to feel it forever. Exhibitionism, voyeurism, consensual, harassment. There were no words for what I was doing, for what was happening to me. It was just a feeling.

‘Sit up,’ he said, sharply, suddenly.

I sat up just in time to see Steve outside, slithering into the frame of the window. I was surprised to notice that I was on the edge of tears. What was that about?

I jumped up, slightly dizzy. The blood was taking its time, flowing back from between my legs to my brain. I stood beside the bed. The Customer stood beside me looking down at the mattress. We both looked at it. There we were, for anyone—including Steve—to see: a mattress professional and her customer engaged in a simple business transaction that might or might not occur.

I put my palm out toward Steve. Stay away. But Steve didn’t. He couldn’t. This customer, this mattress. It was like showing honey to a bear. This was the big fish Steve had dreamed of reeling in.

‘Have you made up your mind?’ I asked. I wanted to keep my job, so I included Steve in our conversation. ‘Do you think you might be interested in making a purchase today?’

‘No,’ said The Customer. ‘Not yet. For the moment I’m just looking. I need to think it over. Can I have your card?’

Steve was gloating, triumphant. He’d insisted on printing up business cards for me and making me carry them in the pocket of my little white jacket. I didn’t want strangers having my name and the phone number of the store. I’d fought against it, but he’d won.

Now I was glad I’d lost. I took a card from my pocket. It flipped out from between my fingers. Steve and The Customer watched me scramble to pick it up from the floor. I felt my short dress ride up, and I yanked it down. With Steve there, nothing was sexy, just pitiful and clumsy.

‘Thank you,’ The Customer told me and Steve, his gaze focused midway between us. ‘I’ll call when I’ve thought this through.’