Chapter seven: The First Relapse
This has gone too far, Lisa decided. She buttoned up her shirt,
including even the collar button, which she would usually leave
undone, to make a point. She pulled her stockings up and assured
that the tops are well hidden by her skirt. She splashed some
cold water on her face. She had disobeyed, but it is for the
better, she thought. She couldn't go into the office looking
like . . . that. She could not let her employee give her orders.
This had all gotten quite ridiculous.
Satisfied that she looked as professional as she could in her
cream blouse and miniskirt, she left the restroom and immediately
went to Steve's desk.
"Steve," she said. She saw his eyes scan her shirt, buttoned to
the top. "I need you to put the final touches on my weekly
progress report. I'm going to take a long lunch and then I have
my usual afternoon appointment. I don't think I will return today
after that. I'll see you Monday morning."
"Uhh, okay, boss," said Steve, with obvious disappointment in his
face.
Feeling back in control, Lisa walked back to her cubicle, emailed
Steve the documents he needed, packed up her handbag, and walked
out of the office, down the elevator, into the street, into the
subway, making eye contact with no one. She went straight home,
laid in her bed, and stared at the ceiling for the better part of
an hour.
She meets Joan that afternoon, after changing into some old, comfy
jeans and a baggy sweatshirt. Joan's office looks a little like a
library; three of its walls are covered in bookshelves, mostly
filled with books and journals, with the occasional piece of
sculpture or framed free-standing photograph. Two armchairs face
each other in the middle of the room. Sitting in one is Joan, who
wears a dark blue skirt-suit with bare legs. She is gazing
through her bifocals at Lisa, who sits silently in the other
chair, thinking about her day while reading the titles of the
books. "Modern Psychology." "Games People Play." "The Problem
of Sex."
"Lisa?" Joan's tone is gentle.
"I don't want to talk about it," says Lisa.
"Isn't talking about it what you pay me for?" jokes Joan. "Well,
talk about something. Don't be childish."
"Childish? I am /not/ being childish. Fine. I'll tell you."
Joan waits.
"Okay. Ever since your little 'dare' I've been following the
orders of this employee of mine."
"And?"
"And today I found myself in a public bathroom, half-naked, ready
to prance around my office like a . . a . . . like someone not as
professional as I am and should be, all because of . . . "
"Why were you half naked?"
"Well, it was a skirt day. Like you said. I was wearing a skirt
and opening myself up. Big mistake."
"Why a mistake? You seemed to enjoy the feeling last week."
"But it got out of hand."
"How exactly?"
"Well, the skirt was so short - it only fell this high on my
thighs." Lisa gestured with her hand how long the skirt had been.
"Well, that's about where my skirt is sitting," says Joan,
pointing out her own hemline. "That still passes as professional
in this decade."
"Well, it's not only that; my shirt was undone."
"All the way?"
"Well, three buttons, but . . . "
"Lisa, that seems a little more revealing than usual for you, but
it's actually quite trendy these days to wear a blouse half
un-buttoned. I still don't see why this is 'out-of-hand.'"
"Well, I was in the bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror, and
my co-worker, Cheryl saw me."
"So you were in the privacy of a woman's bathroom, and a coworker
saw you in a skirt as short as mine and with three buttons of your
shirt undone. And this is out of hand why?"
"I looked like . . . a slut." Lisa blushed as she said the word.
"Lisa, I doubt it. You looked a little sexier than usual, for
sure, but a slut? This is the problem, Lisa. You are too hard on
yourself."
"Well, my employee, the one who was giving me orders, made me get
his permission to use the bathroom."
"And you obviously got it, since you were in the bathroom."
"Well, that's why my shirt was unbuttoned. To get permission."
Joan waited for more, but Lisa fell silent again.
"Lisa, last week you told me that not backing out of these little
orders was the point - that it made you feel better. And now? Is
there something you're not telling me?"
"No, but . . . " Lisa rolls her eyes and starts reading the
titles on another bookshelf. "Fear of Flying." "My Secret
Garden."
"Lisa," says Joan, leaning forward, "I think we need to find out
where all this. . . repression comes from. You've told me that
your father left you when you were, what, twelve?"
"Yes."
"Lisa, did he ever . . . touch you in a way that he shouldn't
have?"
"Oh my god no!" Lisa exclaims. "No! If anything he didn't touch
me enough. He mostly ignored me, except to scold me for staining
his precious furniture. No! How could you ask such a thing?!"
"I'm sorry, Lisa," says Joan, "modern psychology is a quagmire of
inappropriate presumptions. Let's focus on the present. When
was the last time you had sex?"
Lisa is silent.
"I'm guessing it's been a while. A year, maybe?"
Lisa blushes.
"More than a year?"
"Not since college," she says, reluctantly. "I've been busy, and
guys have been so . . . well, I've been busy."
"I see. Have you been masturbating regularly?"
Lisa's blush intensifies. "I don't want to . . . do we have to
talk about this?"
Joan pauses, contemplates, and then asks "Lisa, were you
masturbating in that bathroom today?"
Lisa's hands fidget.
"Well, were you?"
"Okay, yes. Yes I was. I was masturbating in a public bathroom.
Are you happy now? And I'm mad at my employee because he told me
I couldn't but it's not the sort of thing you can stop, you know?"
Joan allows a brief pause, and continues. "Lisa, I think I see
what happened today. Masturbation is a natural, innocent
activity, but you don't see it that way. This is why you thought
you were slutty. It's not because of your flirtatious games with
Steve."
Lisa shoots back: "How did you know his name is Steve? I never
mentioned him by name!"
"You said his name last week!"
"I did not! You know him, don't you? Oh my god, you told him I
was going to follow his orders! That's how he knew! That's why
he was so confident! You knew all along!"
"Hold on, Lisa, hold on. I don't know Steve. Heck, I don't even
know what company you work at, or even what exactly you do. I
only know his name because you said it last week."
"I didn't!"
"You did!"
Another silence pervades the room. Joan says calmly, "Lisa, you
are very untrusting right now. You are defensive, suspicious . .
. and it's all because you were caught masturbating."
"I'm sorry, you're probably right."
"Look, I am right. Now, let me ask you - are you going to keep
going with this skirt dare, or are you going to back out because
of this coworker who caught you at a moment of being a normal
woman?"
"Oh, Joan, you're right, I've been silly. I shouldn't give up so
easily, should I?"
"Here is what I would recommend. Are you listening?"
"I'm listening."
"Okay: a new rule, for when you are wearing a skirt. You may only
masturbate with someone's permission. You have my number - you
can call me up if you want. Or call up a trusted friend. Or ask
Steve. But if someone else tells you it's okay to masturbate,
then you won't feel so guilty about it. Do you understand?"
"I do."
"Do you think you can do it?"
"What if I really, really need relief?"
Joan smiles. "Then you'll really, really need permission."
"Okay Joan," Lisa says. "I'll try again."
That weekend, Lisa went shopping and bought a new skirt. It was a
little more conservative - dark brown, straight cut, and almost
knee length. A long slit up the back made it somewhat sexy,
though, she thought. Professional but sexy: that's what I'll be.
And no matter what, it was still a skirt, and she would still
follow the skirt day rules. She looked forward to it. She felt
worried and lonesome all of Saturday and Sunday, and found that
she missed the feeling that she was "following orders." She did
like Steve, and although it was awkward to have to be his boss and
follow his rules at the same time, it seemed more awkward to
ignore the warm feeling his knowing gaze could give her.
On Sunday night as she drifted to sleep, she made a resolution: on
Monday, I will go to Steve. I will wear my new skirt and the
stockings he gifted me. I will pull him out of the office and go
someplace private - the park adjoining the office complex - and I
will apologize. I will tell him that I will do whatever I can to
make it up to him for not obeying his orders.
She wondered what he would do. The thought made her pussy
moisten, for the first time since her episode in the bathroom, but
she was too tired to do anything but drift into a deep but anxious
sleep.
