A Gift in Disguise Ch. 12

Having seen her bare legs at the pool, I could attest that she did not need stockings, but they added yet another touch of finish and class to her appearance tonight.

The picture the complete and smiling Bethany presented left me speechless. She seemed to appreciate the compliment my eyes intended roving shamelessly over her.

Finally, all I could say was, "Bethany, you are absolutely beautiful."

Her already bright smile brightened even more.

"Thank you, Tom." Understated class.

"Please, come in. You can put the box on the hall table right here. Let me get my cover and I'll be right back."

She returned momentarily wearing a black shimmer knit evening wrap draped over her shoulders.

"We should probably go on to the concert," she suggested. "I'm looking forward to this evening, Tom."

I followed her out the door, then pulled the locked door closed behind us. I held the front door of my car open for her, silently and lecherously hoping to catch a glimpse of thigh when she seated herself. No such luck. Bethany, clearly a lady, knew how to remain ladylike getting in and out of cars.

The drive to the concert was thoroughly enjoyable. I had prompted Bethany to talk about the three years she spent in the Japan hospitality industry. She happily and interestingly talked about how she had immersed herself in the Japanese language, arts, and culture, something that had fascinated her even in college.

At the concert, she clearly had fun. I did too, as much from stealing looks at her as from the excellence of the music. And, I noticed, just as Sharon had predicted, quite a range of pubescent boys to geriatric gentlemen were looking at her admiringly, too. Women looked at her, some with scorn and envy, others with approval, and others with clear and present lust. Bethany's presence and appearance had something for everyone.

We talked more at intermission. Bethany seemed able to converse comfortably but never condescendingly on just about any topic of current events. Her knowledge of the music performed by the symphony was fascinating though she denied having any formal musical training herself.

After the last note of the final encore had been played and well-deserved bows taken by the orchestra, Bethany and I worked our way back to my car in the parking garage. When we had entered from the car to the concert hall, Bethany had slipped her arm through mine. On the way back to the car after the concert, she took my hand and intertwined her fingers with mine.

We inched our way from the parking space to the garage exit to the street with everyone else. It took at least twenty minutes.

As we inched, Bethany said, "You know, Tom, this is the first time in years that I've really felt like I've been out on a real date with a man who genuinely wanted to get to know me better.

Until tonight my dates with men fell into two categories. Most just want to have sex with me. A few others want to do business with our restaurants and clubs, and they think they're doing me a favor by being willing to have sex with me to get it. Both think that because my family manages discreet hospitality clubs, they have license to make rude, lewd, and crude remarks. You can guess what those dates were like and how they ended.

You're completely different. Not once have you made any reference to my work. And you're a gentleman. I really do appreciate that, Tom." She reached over and gave my arm a nice squeeze.

"Bethany, you're so much fun to be with and so interesting to talk with ... I mean, it's not that I'm not interested in your work, but, well, you're just a lot more interesting."

Bethany looked very pleased.

Once out on the street, our speed picked up, and sooner than I would have liked, we were back at Bethany's.

"I hope you still want to come in and show me the photos Misako Sato took of you?" she said as we pulled into her townhouse's driveway. As we walked to her house and she unlocked the front door, she took my hand again and edged closer to me.

Once inside and with the door closed, she invited me to take off my suit coat and my tie and hang them in the hallway coat closet. She suggested I move the box with the photo book to the coffee table in front of the sofa. While I did that, she excused herself.

When she returned, sh wasn't wearing the shoulder wrap. I commented on her home's interior design. The Asian touches were classy, not overstated, and they revealed the truthfulness of her stated appreciation for Asian art and culture.

She sat on the couch next to me. I leaned forward and folded the shipping box's flaps back, then folded back the bubble wrap to reveal the envelope and the gold-covered box containing the photo book.

I set the envelope aside, merely saying that it was a cover letter from Misako to me conveying the book.

Bethany looked appreciatively at the gold lid. Then she lightly touched the gold fabric.

"Very nice," she said.

I reached over and lifted the lid off. Bethany looked at the white cloth, its corners neatly folded and still concealing the leather book cover and book.

Just as I had at home, I used the piece of cloth to lift the book out of the box and set the sling and book on her coffee table. I unceremoniously folded back the cloth to expose the leather cover, then moved to pick up the book of photos to put it on our laps.

"Tom, wait a moment please." Until now, Bethany's voice had been soft, sexy, and relaxed after a thoroughly enjoyable evening. But now, as her eyes fell upon the leather covered book on her coffee table, it was as if someone had thrown a switch. The thoughtful and businesslike side of Bethany had begun to reappear.

After looking at the cover's face and its now-exposed edges and binding, Bethany relaxed a bit more.

She said, "Well, it's definitely not a fragile antique. We should handle it carefully, but the leather is contemporary and the binding is recent. Obviously so are the photos." "What made you think it might have been otherwise?" I asked.

"The last time I saw something this unique was at the Tokyo National Museum in Ueno Park. They were exhibiting a private collection of books spanning several generations. All of them had been bound by members of different generations of the same Japanese family.

The one piece that stood out vividly in my mind looked exactly like this one only much older, of course. This is truly a remarkable replica. This is exquisite, almost a work of art in itself. Whoever made this one for Misako to give to you must have seen the collection in Japan. I doubt there are any photos that would have contained enough detail for even an expert bookbinder to replicate an original so closely.

Still, I'd suggest we handle this with some care. It's beautiful in its own right. The bindings are perfect. Each knot is absolutely identical to the others.

Could I look at the back cover before we look at the photos Misako took of you?"

The relaxed look was returning to Bethany's face and voice. So was the sexiness in her voice and the warmth of her touch.

"Sure, go ahead," I responded.

Though she had declared the leather to be recent, certainly not antique, Bethany still handled it with delicacy bordering on reverence.

She opened the back leather cover and gave it a good once-over with her eyes.

"Tom, would you please go to my desk over there and get the magnifying glass in the top center drawer?"

I did as she asked. Lens in hand, she focused on the lower left inside corner of the leather back cover.

"Oh, my!" she exclaimed. She moved the book to slightly change the angle of the light striking it. Then again, "Oh, my!"

"What?" I asked. "Is it damaged?"

"Lean over here and look through the lens," she directed, her voice slightly trembling. I did.

"Do you see the ideograph?"

"I see impressions in the leather," I answered.

"It's an ideograph. Two Japanese pictographs combined to present an idea. In this case, it's presenting the bookbinder's unique identification, kind of like a jewelry maker's mark. It's the mark adopted by an intergeneration lineage of bookbinders in the same family. I was so intrigued by the intricacy of design and construction of the one I saw in Tokyo that I did some research into the genealogy of this particular family of bookbinders. This is that family's mark. Or an amazingly accurate copy of it.

Evidently whoever did this binding was really into Japanese cultural history and research. Do you happen to know the name of the bookbinder?"

"No," I said too impulsively. Then, "Wait. Maybe. Misako did include something about the bookbinder in the letter. I didn't pay much attention to it, though."

I retrieved the envelope, removed the pages and handed them to Bethany.

By the time she finished reading the last page, excitement had replaced the serious professionalism in her face.

"Did Misako tell you any more about the bookbinder than the names on this certification?"

"When we talked on the phone, she said it was an elderly couple. They're her next door neighbors. Misako said she and her sister Risa help the couple out doing stuff they can't easily do for themselves any longer. She assumes bookbinding is their hobby since they insist on repaying Misako and Risa for their kindness by doing gift bookbinding or one-off binding for Misako's photography."

Bethany calmed herself, then said, "Tom, would you be willing to show this a friend of mine at the University Library? I'd like her opinion on this. She's the library's Special Collections Director."

My curiosity aroused, I said, "Sure. Do you think this is some sort of collectible or forgery or something?"

"No, someone trying to make a passable forgery would have tried to age the leather and the binding thread. And anyone would be able to look at the photos and the paper and realize they are modern."

"Okay. When did you have in mind?"

"As soon as I can set it up. I'll call her tomorrow. Do you have any plans for tomorrow afternoon?"

"Sunday afternoon? No, I guess not." I probably sounded a bit surprised at Bethany's sense of urgency about this.

"May I give her your phone number? She call you and arrange a mutually convenient time for you to meet with her. You'll like her, Tom, I promise. Her name is Karen Matsumoto. It's 'doctor' Karen Matsumoto by the way. She has her PhD in analytical chemistry. The title of her doctoral dissertation used words I can't begin to even pronounce, but it had to do with dyes, inks, papers, and 3-D printing."

"Sure, that's okay as long as she's a friend of yours. Will you be there, too?"

"I'd like to be, but it'll depend on my work schedule and when you can arrange to meet with her. It's more important that she see this as soon as possible rather than wait for me to be there. You have more information than I do."

"Okay, just give her my cell phone number. Please ask her to leave a voicemail with her name and phone number if I don't pick up right away."

Bethany looked up at me, once again relaxing. She slid closer on the sofa and said softly, "Thank you. I feel much better now.

Now, I'd really like to see the pictures Misako took of you. We're still trying to figure out how we could display some of his photos at the Club. Maybe seeing Misako's photos of you will inspire me."

I picked up the book and put it on her lap. Bethany began to examine each photo, one page at a time.

She didn't say much of anything until the third photo. I felt her body tense a bit. "Very nice," she commented almost under her breath.

With each of the next successive three photos, it seemed to me I could feel her body temperature rise and hear her breathing increase.

"What's your opinion of Misako, Tom?"

"She's nice. Very poised, very easy to talk with. She talked very openly and honestly about her photography and how some people react to it sexually and some don't. Apparently she's been analyzed seven ways to Sunday to try and figure out how she knows exactly when to take a particular photo. And any woman that can swim in a pool lane while taking pictures at the same time is definitely fit and well-coordinated.

Is that what you meant?" I asked.

"Yes. And I have to admit that I'm impressed with your reaction, Tom. Obviously Sharon told you Misako is a newhalf, yet you seemed completely at ease with her photographing you in your swimsuit. A lot of men would have balked at her request."

"Well, if I had been uncomfortable with her at all, I probably would never have agreed to let her photograph me in the first place.

As for her being a newhalf, she's very feminine. I'm not talking about being a man who's just assuming a feminine affectation; I'm talking about someone whose behavior is truly and naturally feminine."

Bethany looked at me with very soft eyes.

"Tom, you're really very special." Then she turned her attention back to the photo book and looked at some more photos.

"I'm trying to put myself in the place of any of our clients and their guests who might see Misako's photos in our rooms. How will they react? And what would be the best way to present them?" she said after looking at a few more. She looked at me as if waiting for me to say something in response.

"Well," I started, "I looked at the photos when I first opened the box to see if there was any shipping damage. I wasn't aroused by them if that's what you're asking, but then, it would seem weird to me if I did get turned on looking at pictures of myself."

She never took her eyes off me but said, "Oh, I wouldn't be too sure about that."

Then I continued, "And Misako did tell me that his sister, Risa, is really the one who figures out how to best present the photos he takes. Maybe you need to meet with both of them together?"

"That's useful information, Tom. Thank you."

A moment later, she turned back to the photos. She looked at another two or three, then said, "Hypothetically, Tom, suppose you and Sharon were in her suite at the Club and she wanted to look at these pictures of you. And suppose that you and she looked at them together. What effect do you think these pictures would have on you then?"

Bethany's question took me by surprise. I answered as honestly as I could.

"I don't know. Obviously I'd be influenced by being in an obvious sexual setting with her, but really Bethany, I don't know. What would probably make more difference to me would be if she was getting turned on by them. If they were turning her on, I'm sure I would, too."

Again, Bethany looked at me. She paused before she spoke again, then said, "Would you be willing to try something, Tom?"

I intuitively knew what she was about to suggest. I could feel the sexual tension in the air between us.

I didn't answer orally. Instead, I lifted the book from her lap, scooted as close alongside her as I could, then rested the open book on our two touching legs, our collective lap. Then I carefully returned the photos to the first one so we could view them from the beginning together.

Bethany's demure smile and soft eyes told me I had been correct.

I was on Bethany's left, so I placed my right hand on the nearly bare skin of her right shoulder and upper arm. Her skin was soft and warm. Bethany offered no objection to my hand, instead merely murmuring, "Mmmm."

Bethany seemed to sense exactly the moment when we had both looked enough at each particular photo. We looked at them without talking, though our bodies seemed to be communicating through touch.

A little over half way through the photos, I began to notice my erection. Very strangely, bordering on something no doubt worthy of at least a footnote in the next edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, my own photos seemed to be at least contributing to my being aroused. I caught myself looking for some sexual feature on my own body. There was little doubt in my mind, however, that it was Bethany's presence, both physical and sensory, that contributed so much more.

The last two photos in the book were shots Misako had taken from underwater while I swam nearly overhead. The effect of the two photos on both Bethany and me was astonishing. In fact, we barely looked at the last photo before I took the book, closed it, and put it back on the white cloth on her coffee table.

Still without speaking, we both stood up. My suit trousers tented obviously and unashamedly over my erection. Bethany may have seen it even though she had been looking intently up into my eyes.

Her face had a delicate crimson flush that seemed to make her skin glow and accent the sparkle in her eyes. The color from her face seemed to creep down across her neck to her upper chest.

I leaned toward her and put my arms around her, while at the same time she placed her left arm around my neck and her right arm on my back.

As if in slow motion, we kissed gently, tenderly, while each drawing the other closer with our arms. Even when she could not have avoided the pressure of my erection, she did not pull away or even flinch. If anything, she reinforced it by slowly and subtly pushing her hips forward. Our arms were wrapped around each other, gently holding us together.

Our lips parted, slowly and softly. Bethany looked up into my eyes again, then stepped back as she let her left hand move, lightly touching me, from my neck to my shoulder, then down my arm until she could clasp my hand.

She led me willingly to her bedroom. Wordlessly. It was as if we didn't need to speak to communicate our desires.

The room was dimly lit, very feminine in its decoration and linens, lightly scented with something slightly sweet.

Bethany released my hand but kept her back toward me. She looked back over her shoulder.

Needing no instruction, I stepped forward and put both my hands softly on the bare skin of her shoulders, the only material beneath was the straps of her dress and her bra straps hidden underneath them.

Bethany remained completely relaxed, trusting, when I carefully moved my right hand to clasp her dress's zipper tab between my thumb and forefinger and then slowly but steadily draw it down as far as it could go. She made no effort to either halt or hurry me. We were both caught up in the moment.

I allowed my lips to kiss her at the nape of her neck, then left and right on both sides to her shoulders. I did not hurry, instead sensing when my lips found a spot that excited her. I lingered on that spot with my lips and even the tip of my tongue. Her breathing and soft sounds were as exciting as the touch of her skin.

When the time seemed right, I slipped my thumbs under each of the dress straps and slowly moved the straps to where they fell onto her upper arms. She moved her arms only slightly to free up the dress, and it drifted to the floor.

Still standing behind her, I slipped my hands under her arms and placed them flat on her lower abdomen. Then I very slowly and with a light touch moved my hands over all her bare skin between the bottom of her bra and the waistband of her low-rise black sheer lace top panties. The movements of my hands without ever venturing further upward or downward clearly increased her anticipation and arousal.

She shivered slightly when I touched her with only my fingertips while moving my hands around to her back, then up to her bra clasp. I released the clasp but held the thin, semitransparent barely there fabric in place in spite of her efforts to shrug it off. My teasing only intensified her lust as indicated by her squirms.

Again, kissing the nape of her neck, I released the bra and at the same time began kissing and lip-biting my way down her back. I sensed the bra falling in front of her to the floor.

While kissing Bethany's lower back, I eased my hands down over her panties to the bare skin of her thighs between the top of her sheer thigh-high standalone stockings and the leg holes of her panties. After reaching my hands around her legs and between them to use my fingertips again to caress the smooth and soft, white exposed skin but nothing else, I remained on my knees and began kissing the exposed skin. Still on my knees, I used my hands on her hips to turn her entire still-standing body so she was now facing toward me but looking down at me.