Thursday, June 17, 1999
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June of 1999 carries a certain nostalgia—a quieter, simpler rhythm before the digital rush took hold. Back then, no smartphones cluttered our hands, no endless streams dictated our moments. Music filled the airwaves with unfiltered voices of Pop, R&B, and Rap, sung with raw emotion, no auto-tune in sight. I’m grateful today’s youth are reconnecting with that genuine sound.
Memories bring me back to an era of dial-up internet tones and AOL’s famous “You’ve Got Mail” greeting. Political debates were fierce, from George Bush to Al Gore, while the nation buzzed over the Lewinsky scandal—cigars and all—in late-night monologues.
The typical sweltering Dallas summer air urged most indoors, where air conditioning reigned supreme. Yet, by the pool of Susan’s apartment complex, the oppressive heat felt gentler, perhaps softened by a teasing breeze or the anticipation blooming in me. Susan had called the night before, raving about a new coworker from Target named Lee and his wife Jenna—an earnest, pretty girl she’d just met during a lunch visit. “She’s your type, Nikki,” Susan assured, and I was curious. The three of us would meet poolside, a casual refuge to ease Jenna’s small-town defenses and let me see her true colors.
If I was going to consider pursuing this recently married girl, I needed calm surroundings to judge her worthiness. Susan, a former plaything of mine, understood exactly the qualities that captivated me—young, submissive, girly, straight, with an innocence cloaked beneath youthful charm. Jenna fit this mold perfectly, and with Ty and I’s open relationship, I was intrigued to find my next secret thrill.
Choosing the pool was strategic; in swimsuits, I could finally admire Jenna’s figure—the one Susan had teased me about. Anticipation stirred within me, wondering if Jenna’s eyes would glance my way as often as mine would devour her.
Susan lounged in a bright red bikini, accentuating her assets with Target’s employee discount, while I settled beside her in a sleek black one-piece, exposing sun-kissed skin in confidence. The gate clicked open—there she was. Jenna, a fresh-faced country girl in classic Ray-Bans and a crisp white linen cover-up, stepping carefully into our world.
Dropping the cover-up and revealing a navy Tommy Hilfiger suit with bold red and white blocks, her modest neckline contrasted daring French cuts rising past her hips. Innocent at first glance, yet subtly provocative.
“Susan! Hi!” Jenna’s shoulders relaxed, relief softening her voice.
“Jenna, you made it,” Susan smiled, pushing her sunglasses back and inviting her in. “This is Nikki, my close friend.”
I greeted Jenna with a warm, confident smile and a firm handshake, catching the hint of Tommy Girl perfume—a subtle effort to impress.
“Welcome to Dallas, Jenna. We’ve got a strawberry daiquiri waiting. Escape this Texas heat with us.”
Her soft East Texas drawl and shy demeanor spoke of a polite small-town charm, eager to please yet visibly brimming with uncertainty.
As Jenna settled, my eyes took in her glowing olive skin—the fruit of Florida honeymoon sun and daily tanning sessions back home. Her athletic build revealed a former cheerleader and track star, wearing the suit with naïve elegance. Susan’s intuition was spot on; Jenna was an exquisite find.
Yet her posture betrayed a youthful submission—knees pulled close, legs crossed—nervous habits like chewing her straw betraying the mature facade.
I decided to test her compliance, embedding dominance subtly. “Jenna, grab the banana-boat sunscreen from Susan’s bag over there, sweetheart,” I instructed smoothly.
Instant obedience. She rose immediately, framed by the revealing cut of her swimsuit, flushed cheeks blooming under my gaze as she handed me the bottle formally.
Her platinum wedding band gleamed on her delicate finger, a quiet emblem of her recent vows.
“Susan tells me you just got married,” I said gently. “Tell us about the wedding.”
Jenna relaxed, spirited by memories. “It was beautiful—a small church in East Texas, just what I dreamed. The reception, my family, everything. But this move to Dallas after the honeymoon has been… overwhelming.”
The rum-infused daiquiri seemed to dissolve her shyness as she opened up about her life and hopes—to become an elementary school teacher, to find her footing at UTA.
But her biggest worry was palpable. “I haven’t landed a server job yet,” she admitted, her gaze downcast. “Lee’s hours keep him busy, and I’m alone in the apartment, sending out resumes, no luck.”
“Any experience?” I inquired.
“Yes, at Golden Corral back home,” she said, earnest.
“Good, but competition is fierce here. Connections help, and lucky for you, Susan and I know a few people at the Chili’s nearby that might help. Susan was a server once, too—she can be your reference.”
“Absolutely,” Susan agreed, swirling her drink. “Lee’s job will keep him buried for long hours. You’ll need engagement to avoid the isolation.”
The reality of Lee’s grueling schedule—a logistics manager pulling 60-hour weeks and grueling overnight resets—settled on Jenna, tightening her shoulders. To me, it spelled opportunity.
“Jenna, you seem sweet and modest in that suit,” I teased, voice soft but commanding, “but with a body like that, why hide it? You own a bikini?”
Her cheeks flamed a radiant pink. “I do,” she murmured, shy smile peeking through. “Lee actually bought me two on our honeymoon in Pensacola. He wanted me to let go of my conservative ways.”
She swallowed, voice lowering. “The first was neon orange, a thong bottom with sliding triangles. I was embarrassed, but it turned me on knowing eyes were on me. Then the second—a white bikini—a full-coverage back but unlined fabric that became sheer wet. I didn’t expect it, and the looks I got surprised me.”
“What thrilled you most? The attention or pleasing Lee?”
“Mostly pleasing Lee, since I was far from home and his mother’s watchful eyes. But yes, knowing others found me attractive was a strange, exciting feeling.”
I filed it away—hidden exhibitionism, marking vulnerability, and a stash of revealing bikinis waiting for the right moment.
Confessing now felt timely. “There’s nothing wrong with being admired,” I told her, my tone open and assuring. “I’m bisexual and live in an open relationship with my boyfriend, Ty. We enjoy life without secrets.”
Her wide eyes showed fascination and intrigue, already weaving a web of admiration for the freedom I embodied.
“About that job,” I continued, steady and sure, “let me call my friend Tony at Chili’s. I’ll see if I can get you an interview. No promises, but I’ll open the door.”
Gratitude flooded her face. “Thank you! I don’t know how to repay you.”
“That’s simple,” I said, voice firm as the afternoon sun dimmed. “You fill out an application within twenty-four hours. Susan will come pick you up in two hours, help with the forms, and drop you back before the dinner rush.”
Susan nodded. “I’ve got your back.”
The plan was impeccable, designed to keep Jenna on my timeline, unable to overthink or consult elsewhere. Her obedience was undeniable—a clear sign of her submissive nature.
With promises made and numbers exchanged, the afternoon wound down. Jenna hugged me tightly, seeking comfort and protection in my arms before pulling away shyly.
Their vulnerability was palpable, the promise to repay a potent contract of trust and control for future encounters.
As Jenna departed to prepare, Susan turned to me and smiled, “You were right—she’s definitely your type.”