Alone now, James looped through the memory of the morning meeting. Lilith's dress had been conservative, a high-necked white cotton Gibson Girl shirt and v-cut jacket made to emphasize broad shoulders Lilith lacked. The gray heather jacket, made of a fine cloth James couldn't afford even if he spent a year's salary, nipped in tight at the waist, her ribs narrowing to a point so simple in diameter that he wondered if he'd even need both hands to close the space. The three-quarters sleeves showed she was a modernite, not afraid to show wrist, and James wondered how free thinking she was in bed.
Her skirt dropped off from under the tight waist, made of a fine white materials that he thought was linen, as it was an off-white color and slightly wrinkled. Three horizontal stripes along the hem of the skirt, perfectly matching the heather tone of her jacket, finished the look. She was a fashion plate, but an odd mixture of old-fashioned Boston style and progressive dress.
The woman was as tiny as he was big. He was close to triple her weight, he assumed, and would just as well be able to eat her entire head as plant a passionate kiss on those poisoned lips. He wondered what she looked like without the armor, or wearing a simple, flowing silk dress. Again, arousal plagued him, and he cursed his lack of undergarments. The morning had been a blur of hangover and plying last night's woman from his bed, and in the rush to do his hair and find a presentable business suit he'd found himself without anything clean. The thick wool of his buttoned suit pants scratched against his hard bulge and he willed thoughts of Lilith Stone away, thinking instead of the night's lecture before him. Dr. David Burnham was in town, talking about Ellis Havelock's findings on the sexual invert and its importance in human development and society.
The erection lingered until he found himself on the edge of an enormous hole in the middle of the road, nearly pitching down a good twenty feet into an open sewer pit. That did the trick. Construction on the Charles River Dam had been ongoing for months now, and his bosses bemoaned the interference in the roads, making the commute to the office damn near impossible.
The water table rose and runoff from Beacon Hill flooded some of the lower parts of the Back Bay, leading to flooding. Getting from South Central Station to the common was hard enough. Avoiding these unmanned pits was harder. What wasn't hard, anymore, was the other brain James' body used for the wrong thoughts at the wrong times. He thanked God he hadn't absentmindedly fallen down that enormous hole, for he'd surely have broken a leg. Or worse. Such an ignominious way to harm oneself while being distracted by Lilith Stone.
Note: like that little dig at Seth? Heh.
