I sell cars.
I sell cars, and I’m damned good at it. But I’m not your average cigarette smoking, rum-and-coke drinking slob selling clapped out jalopies from a downtown lot. I am the Owner, General Manager, and THE Georgina Ashcroft of “Ashcroft Investments”, the largest Bentley and Lotus dealership on the east coast. We pride ourselves in offering superb service and always looking as good as the cars we sell. I have a fantastic sales staff of dedicated people who I adore and admire, and who are all willing to go the extra mile for me. It’s not easy being a successful woman in the motor industry, and my staff are the mainstay of my success. I know how important it is to make a good first impression on people, and I take my appearance very seriously. I’m certainly not a super model, but I keep pretty much in shape and I don’t smoke. I have long, slightly curly dark auburn hair that I almost always wear loose because I love the way it feels as I walk and it delicately brushes on the small of my back. I’m not a vane person, but I know I have nice calves, so I always wear skirts and shoes that accentuate my calves. I wear conservative, yet smart outfits, usually elegantly tailored mid calf-length skirts, smart Italian sling back shoes, very sheer stockings and a business-like camisole or shirt that shows just enough cleavage to be tantalizing without being trashy. I love my hands too, because I have long, elegant fingers. I always make sure that my nails are manicured and neat. I’ve seen the way men react when I shake hands with them the first time. A handshake is a much more personal act than most people realize. I try to give a man a firm, but gentle handshake, with adequate pressure for him to feel the texture and softness of my hand, and then I linger just long enough to signal that I like the man, but not too long, which would be flirting. I never flirt with my customers. It’s just tacky and crass. When a man comes in looking to buy a million dollar Bentley, he doesn’t want some low-class skank flirting with him. He wants to feel respected, made to feel important, treated with professionalism, and never be made to feel that he’s not absolutely serious about the car. Of course, the mildest bit of flattery goes a long way too, but NEVER flirting. That’s what brings me to this short story. It was a slow Wednesday morning and there were no prospective clients around. Most of the staff were out with clients or delivering cars, and I was the only sales staffer available. I was walking past a row of gorgeous, sleek Bentleys towards the Lotus area of the showroom when a man walked in. He was not a handsome man, certainly no Brad Pitt, but not ugly either. He had a confident, but not conceited aura about him that was instantly attractive. He was in his mid 40’s I guessed, and he wore khaki chinos, a comfortable blue cotton shirt, loosely buttoned, with he sleeves slightly rolled up his forearms. Did I mention that I have a weakness for beautiful forearms? He walked straight up to me and put his hand out to shake mine. “Morning,” he said, “I’m Mark”. As I reached out to shake his hand I saw his forearms. They were absolutely gorgeous. He was stocky and muscular, and his forearms were well defined, slightly tanned, with a fine covering of chocolate brown hair. The muscles rippled sensually as I took his hand and the sinews and veins snaked seductively as he increased the pressure of the handshake. He lingered just long enough for me to start to feel awkward, all the time looking me squarely in the eye. I noticed he had lovely long eyelashes and gentle, passionate eyes. Then, just as I was about to pull away, he let go of my hand. I was starting to feel strange. I was asking myself questions about him. “What does he do for a living”, “where does he live”, “which Bentley would suit him best”, “I wonder what he looks like naked”…. I don’t know what made that thought sneak into my mind, but I must have giggled or blushed because he looked quizzically at me. I covered up perfectly and started to ask him about his preferences and which models he might be interested in. He was very interested in the Continental GTC which is a sleek, powerful and very sensuous convertible. I have always thought that the Continental was far and away the sexiest Bentley. Bentleys are the epitome of British design style, and their cars exude the essence of polo, Wimbledon, the Royal Ascot, and Cowes Weeks. The Continental is still definitely British, but the styling is less conservative and more elegantly sexy. If the conventional Bentley is Winston Churchill, Prince Phillip and Laurence Olivier, the Continental GTC is Prince William, Hugh Grant and Pierce Brosnan. “An excellent choice” I said to him with absolute sincerity, “you’d look good in a Continental”. I blushed slightly again as I had a mental image of his forearms holding the steering wheel, glistening in the sun as he drove. “Would you like to take her out for a test?” I asked. Men never say no to a test drive, so we eased the Bentley out of the showroom and towards the highway. Mark was clearly loving the sensation of driving the car. The heavy rumbling of the engine accentuated his broadening smile as we drove along the main road, the wind in our hair, and the sunshine on our shoulders. I showed him how to use the manual gear change on the automatic gear stick, and for the briefest of moments, his hand brushed mine, sending an unexpected spark of electricity through my body. I looked at him approvingly and said, “You DO look good in this car”. He smiled, and looked at me, then he leaned toward me and gently removed a small leaf that had settled on my shoulder. It was such a tender gesture that I found myself automatically leaning my cheek towards his hand.
