


Coming of Age

by slyc_willie



Category: Mature
Published: 2009-09-10
Updated: 2009-09-10
Packaged: 2017-05-14 15:07:03
Chapters: 1
Publisher: literotica.com
Story URL: https://www.literotica.com/s/coming-of-age-8
Author URL:
https://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=748325&page=submissions
Summary: A mature woman teaches Andy about sex and life.
Erotica Tags: Andy, Birthday, Car Sex, Milf Sex, Older Woman, Oral Sex,
Summer, Sweat, Teaching, Wealth
Average Rating: 4.72






        Coming of Age


_(Author's note: This is an official entry into the 2009 Literotica Summer
Lovin' story contest. It is a work of fiction concerning a brief, May/December
relationship between a young man and older woman. I hope you enjoy this little
tale, and please don't forget to vote.)_  
  
* * * *  
  
"Andy! Package pick up!"  
  
I was halfway across the warehouse, approaching the flapping double doors to
the hardware department, when I heard my manager's nasally, irritating voice.
I contemplated a moment about continuing on my way and forgetting I'd heard
him, then reconsidered. Part of my job was to help the department store's
customers, after all. Even at the age of nineteen, I had cultivated a
responsible work ethic.  
  
So instead of heading toward hardware with my pallet jack loaded with power
tools, I stopped and called back. "What is it?"  
  
"TV," he shouted through the chaotic, overstocked expanse of the warehouse.
His office was right beside the customer pick up bay. "One of those big
Sonys."  
  
I groaned. _Goddamn it_, I thought. _Those things weigh a ton_. But it was too
late to do anything but follow my obligations. Leaving the pallet jack parked
to one side of the warehouse's main aisle, I trundled toward the grey doors of
the pick up area. Roy met me with a ticket in his hand, and I turned toward
the electronics section of the warehouse, dragging a dolly behind me. The
immense, sixty-inch television in the box was nearly as tall as I and thrice
as wide. I had earned a pretty impressive build over the previous year through
hauling, stocking, and loading various kinds of merchandise, but the big-ass
projection TVs were behemoths. They weighed more than my almost two hundred
pounds.  
  
It took some leverage, but I managed to settle the box on the flat jack and
guide the monster out through the doors. I read the customer's last name on
the ticket. "Fontana?" I called.  
  
The woman was already striding toward me, clad in slim-fitting blue jeans and
a loose white blouse. Had I only seen her from the neck down, I would have
sworn that body belonged to a girl my age. Not that she was overly wrinkled,
or unattractive in the face by any means, but the faint lines at the edges of
her eyes and around her mouth, along with her short black hair, bespoke to me
a more advanced age. But not, you know, _too_ advanced.  
  
"Wow, it looks a lot bigger in the box," she commented, her voice smooth but a
little raspy. She proffered a little glittering-eyed smile. "I hope it fits."  
  
I had never seen eyes like hers before. They were a crystalline blue, like the
faintest refraction of that color through a prism. At once eerie and alluring.
I probably stared for a moment too long, because she gave me this coy little
look and wink before turning toward the door.  
  
"Come on. I'm parked right outside."  
  
I didn't respond. Words failed me. In a single instant, a woman who could
potentially have been old enough to be my mother had turned me on. My soiled
and dusty jeans felt constrictive.  
  
Mrs. Fontana led me through the automatic sliding glass doors of the pick up
area toward a large white truck parked along the curb. The numerous bracelets
around her wrists tinkled lightly when she jerked the tailgate down. She
looked to me with a moment's concern. "Are you going to be able to get it up
there?"  
  
Something compelled me to be brash. "Oh, I can always get it up," I said,
maneuvering the mammoth boxed television in line with the truck. All that was
needed was to get the edge of the box over the tailgate. After that, it was
just a matter of leverage and strength to slide the damn thing onto the bed.  
  
Several minutes later, after using straps to secure the television in the
truck bed, I stepped off the tailgate and, as a courtesy, lifted it back into
place. I had been aware of Mrs. Fontana's eyes upon me the entire time, and
caught a few catty grins from her as I worked. Her attention was predatory but
arousing.  
  
"Can you really?" she asked me once my work was done.  
  
I frowned, confused. "Can I always what?"  
  
She pushed her lips out, just a little, in a way that was poutingly seductive.
Her eyes all but literally sparkled. "Get it up."  
  
Instantly, the intimidation factor took hold of me. I felt embarrassed and
challenged in ways I had never before experienced. Averting my eyes, I
responded with a simple, stock answer.  
  
"Um, looks like you're ready to go,"  
  
"Maybe," she said. Her voice held a sensual, teasing edge. "But maybe not
entirely."  
  
I could not say anything more as I watched my casually sexual customer open
the door of the truck and climb in behind the wheel. I think I caught a
glimpse of a mischievous, naughty smile in the rear view mirror before Mrs.
Fontana started the truck and ambled away from the curb.  
  
It took a few minutes before my half-swollen erection shrank behind my jeans.  
  
* * * *  
  
Every Wednesday, I always went for a couple of dogs from Trudy's Red Hots in
the mall's food court. Weighing half a pound each and loaded with sliced
tomatoes, spicy mustard, diced onions and pepperoncinis, each one was a meal
by itself. Considering how hard I worked, it took two of the damn things to
fill me up and keep me going for the rest of the afternoon.  
  
As usual, I took a table away from the middle of the food court, beneath a
large fake tree of some kind. I liked the seclusion, so that I could enjoy my
meal without feeling on display. I was still pretty shy at that age, with only
a small group of friends and not much in the way of confidence to endear
myself to girls.  
  
"Oh, hi, it's you."  
  
With a mouthful of food, I glanced up to see the same woman I had assisted
just two days before. She had looked good in tight jeans, but even better in a
denim skirt and soft red halter. A few bracelets adorned each wrist, and a
copper bangle was wrapped around her upper left arm. I did not see those too
often, and the presence of it made her seem a bit exotic.  
  
I thought to speak, but figured Mrs. Fontana wouldn't appreciate seeing what I
was chewing on. She apparently thought my predicament amusing, because she
laughed and raised a hand.  
  
"It's okay. I seem to have a knack for catching people at odd moments. I do it
to my kids all the time."  
  
I finally managed to swallow and set down my red hot in the little paper-lined
basket. "Hi again," I said back. "Um, how's the TV?"  
  
She smiled while rolling her eyes. "Permanently stuck on ESPN," she said
ruefully. "My husband's a sports nut. Do you watch sports?"  
  
"Uh, yeah, sometimes." _Yeah, you're a great conversationalist, Andy,_ I
berated myself.  
  
"Only sometimes?"  
  
I shrugged. "I like soccer," I told her. "Not much of that on TV."  
  
"I bet your girlfriend's happy about that."  
  
Now, even at nineteen, I could tell a loaded statement when I heard one. Mrs.
Fontana was probing, of that I was certain. But her mention of kids and a
husband made me reluctant to prolong the flirtation. I was bewildered.  
  
"She might be," I said. "If I had one."  
  
She arched a single, finely-detailed brow. "No girlfriend? I find that hard to
believe."  
  
The reddening of my cheeks was palpable. "I guess I'm kind of shy."  
  
Mrs. Fontana tittered. "A handsome young man like you shouldn't be shy. Girls
should be throwing themselves at you."  
  
I laughed. "I wish."  
  
Her smile was mysterious, contemplative, maybe even scheming. "Personally,
I've always preferred the shy types as opposed to the cocky ones. Shy men
always seem to have more to offer, once you get down to it."  
  
I did not have a reply to that. My eyes had wandered to her smallish breasts,
noting the pronounced nipples making creases in the fabric of her top.
"Maybe," was all I could say.  
  
She sort of half-laughed at my comment, then made a thoughtful sound. "What's
your name?"  
  
"Andy," I responded.  
  
"It was nice seeing you again, Andy," Mrs. Fontana said, then stepped away
with a swish of her hips.  
  
* * * *  
  
With the advantage of hindsight, I should not have been so surprised to see
Mrs. Fontana later that afternoon. At four-thirty-something, I was leaving the
store through the passenger pick up area, ripping off my gloves and lumbar
belt. The bus which would take me toward my parents' home lay beyond the
parking lot and a few blocks down Washington Avenue. I was just nearing the
edge of the lot when a little blue VW Bug, one of the new ones, cut me off.
The passenger window lowered with the faint whir of a tiny motor.  
  
I frowned, leaning down and looking in. There she was, Mrs. Fontana, behind
the wheel and smoldering a look over the rim of a pair of sunglasses perched
atop the tip of her nose.  
  
"Need a ride?"  
  
I felt both aroused and uneasy. "I, uh, usually just take the bus."  
  
"No car?"  
  
I scratched the back of my head self-consciously. "Working on it."  
  
"Not exactly efficient, is it?"  
  
"Well, the bus gets me close enough."  
  
And then came the loaded question. "Wouldn't you rather go all the way?"  
  
The foolish bravado returned. "When the opportunity presents itself."  
  
Mrs. Fontana's eyes panned over me with the precision and assessing ability of
a laser. "Get in."  
  
* * * *  
  
Girls my age were easy to talk to. I shared interests with them, of course:
tastes in music, popular culture, the politics of college life. With a woman
at least twice my age, however, I felt like a child. I sat quietly in the
passenger seat of Mrs. Fontana's car, my earlier bravado absent for the
moment. I didn't know what was going to happen, or even what I wanted to
happen.  
  
"So, what degree are you majoring in?"  
  
The question jolted me, since it came firing through the silence after almost
a full minute inside her car. But I was glad for it. The subject was an easy
one for conversation.  
  
"Um, history," I said. "With a concentration in Mediterranean civilization."  
  
"Interesting," she said, briefly flashing me a smile. "Not very practical,
though."  
  
I felt a little defensive. "I want to be a teacher."  
  
Her eyes twinkled when she looked to me again. "Not much money in that."  
  
I frowned. "Not everything's about money."  
  
Now Mrs. Fontana shrugged. "If you say so."  
  
I looked around as she drove through a large public park. We were not exactly
close to where my apartment complex lay. "Um, where are we going?" I asked.
"This isn't my part of town."  
  
"Not mine, either," Mrs. Fontana said. I caught the catty smile at the corner
of her mouth again. She kept her eyes on the road, eventually finding a large
tree with limbs hanging over a small parking lot near a closed-down gift shop.
Upon the sculpted greens around us, families with young children played and
ran and laughed.  
  
I shifted uncomfortably as she stopped under the tree. She put the Mercedes in
park but left the car idling.  
  
"So, um, what are we doing?" I asked.  
  
She turned in her seat and leaned close to me, left hand settling upon my
upper thigh. She stroked up and down as she spoke. "Well," she said. "_You're_
just going to relax and stretch out. _I'm_ going to give you a blowjob like
you've never had before."  
  
A tremor passed through my body, carrying currents of anxiety and arousal. I
couldn't find the words to respond, but my body was doing enough talking on
its own.  
  
Mrs. Fontana cooed as she placed her hand over the denim outline of my cock. I
sighed as she groped and massaged me. But I was a little nervous, even
uncomfortable. I could tell the car's windows were tinted, but just how tinted
were they? There were easily a dozen people within a hundred feet. The risk of
being caught was tantalizing, I admit, but also daunting. And, on top of that
concern--  
  
"You're married."  
  
The words just blurted out, the way an idea is suddenly launched to your lips
the moment it's hatched and you've had a few drinks.  
  
Mrs. Fontana kept her hand where it was, but stopped groping. She turned her
face to address me, looking both condescending and amused. "Why should that
bother you? He's not here."  
  
I swallowed thickly, mouth dry. My mind listed back and forth, like a galleon
on rough seas, between desire for what this woman was offering and fear that
allowing her to continue would cause more trouble than pleasure. My brain was
somewhere in mid-list when I responded.  
  
"I guess it doesn't bother you."  
  
She must have taken my comment as derision, because she took her hand away and
sat up. The sultry look on her face vanished, replaced with stoic
impassiveness. "Perhaps I figured wrong, Andy. Maybe I should just take you
home."  
  
Panic slashed its way through my chest. "I'm sorry," I said hurriedly. "I've
just never, um, met someone like . . . I mean, it's not like this is a regular
thing for me, you know."  
  
Mrs. Fontana stared for a moment, making me think how idiotic my words
sounded. But as I was internally berating myself, she suddenly sputtered with
laughter, slapping her hand back onto my leg and shaking her head. "You're
right," she conceded. "And this isn't quite normal for me, either. I suppose I
was making too many false assumptions."  
  
I managed to awkwardly match her smile. "Um, it's okay. I'm just not used to,
you know, a girl -- I mean, woman -- coming onto me like that."  
  
She chuckled softly, making her eyes glitter. "Not too often a woman twice
your age comes along and just randomly offers to suck you off."  
  
My laughter was a relief, an ice-breaker. "Honestly, it'd be pretty nice if it
was."  
  
Mrs. Fontana leaned closer once again, sliding her hand across the top of my
jeans. "So, can I assume you wouldn't mind if I continued?"  
  
My cock began growing beneath the dirty, dusty denim covering it. "I, uh, I
guess not . . . but, um, I've been working all day and, um, I sweat a lot when
I work and--"  
  
"Again, it doesn't bother me, so it shouldn't bother you."  
  
I trembled as my cock swelled beneath her kneading fingers. "You serious? I
mean, you just wanna suck me off?"  
  
Seductively, exaggerated for effect, she passed her tongue across her upper
lip while narrowing her eyes. "I take it that surprises you."  
  
I laughed curtly. "Well . . . yeah."  
  
She insinuated herself even closer, so that the exotic, spicy scent of her
perfume wrapped around me and I could feel her breasts pressing against my
arm. Her soft, ripe lips parted slowly in an alluring smile. "I'm not some
little college-aged girl, Andy," she said flatly. "I'm a woman. And I know
what I want."  
  
My dick was bunching up almost painfully in my jeans, making me squirm and
flinch. "I'm just not used to that."  
  
Her smile was as patronizing as it was enticing. "You're young," she said
while unbuckling my jeans. "You have a lot of wonderful, delicious things to
experience yet."  
  
I couldn't say another word as Mrs. Fontana unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans.
I automatically lifted my hips, allowing her to push them down to mid-thigh.
My cock was heavy and thick, bouncing across my lower abdomen. The smell of
musky sweat blossomed in the air, making me concerned. But Mrs. Fontana didn't
seem the least bit fazed. In fact, she inhaled deeply through her narrow
nostrils while wrapping her cool, slender fingers around my shaft and balls.  
  
"Now that is a beautiful cock," she said in admiration, eyes fixated upon what
she held. "Long and thick, but not too much of either. Just nicely above
average and perfect for all the right uses."  
  
As if providing proof of her statement, Mrs. Fontana leaned over, first
licking, then parting, her lips. She made a sort of hungry, animalistic
growling sound that became muffled once soft, slick, caressing lips spread
across the head of my penis then slid down the shaft.  
  
I could not help but groan. I could count on one hand how many blowjobs I had
enjoyed before that day, and none of them could have compared to what I was
now experiencing. I felt nothing but blissful wet warmth. She held about half
the length of my dick in her mouth, drawing the essence from the shaft and
seepage from the slit, for about a full minute which felt like blessed
eternity.  
  
Then she started to bob.  
  
Sucking, pulling, pumping with both her mouth and hands, a woman old enough to
be my mother was treating me to the most incredible sexual experience of my
life.  
  
I wish I could have lasted longer.  
  
Maybe two minutes passed, I figure, before the lightning rush of orgasm tore
through me. I barely had time to gasp as I punched up my hips, driving my cock
like a piston between the amazing, massaging lips of my lover. And, to my
surprise and gratitude, Mrs. Fontana didn't stop as my cock pumped and gushed
in her mouth. Indeed, she muttered a muffled moan of approval upon tasting the
eruption I fed her.  
  
It was a novelty for me, having a woman who allowed me to ejaculate in her
mouth. The closest I had come was jacking off against a girl's tightly-pursed
lips. The pleasure was intense. Mrs. Fontana kept sucking and pulling,
swirling her tongue around the head of my dick, making me groan, gasp and
wince. Just when it became too much to bear, she slipped her mouth off me,
lower lip somewhat glazed with a frothy film, and slowly, firmly, stroked my
still-swollen shaft. A thick, glistening bauble of cum seeped from the tip of
my cock, shimmering like a clouded diamond. She quickly lapped it away.  
  
I watched her face in profile. Mrs. Fontana looked proud of herself.
Satisfied, even. She licked and smacked her lips a few times before speaking
again.  
  
"I'd almost forgotten how much a young man comes," she muttered, softly
fondling my spent and satisfied cock.  
  
"Wow."  
  
She looked to me, giggling. "'Wow?'"  
  
I laughed back, euphoric. "That was incredible."  
  
Mrs. Fontana bit her lower lip. "Never had a girl let you come in her mouth
before?"  
  
I shook my head. "I never felt _anything_ like that before."  
  
She gave me a fond look and petted my softening shaft before easing back
behind the wheel. "As I said, you have a lot of wonderful things to learn."  
  
* * * *  
  
I was still in a daze when the Mercedes drove away from the house. The most
amazing thing had just happened to me, and it felt as if I had been shoved
back through the looking glass into the world of the mundane.  
  
My mother wasn't home yet; she worked nights at the liquor store on
Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. I wouldn't see her until about ten o'clock.
Of course, she had left a list of chores for me to do tacked to the little
billboard hanging just inside the front door. I gave her two hundred dollars
in rent every month and took care of the "guy stuff" around the house. Not a
bad arrangement, I guess. My mom recognized me as an adult and gave me my own
space.  
  
There was a crock pot full of beef stew filling the house with tantalizing
aromas, to which I helped myself after taking out the garbage and finishing
the shelving on the back deck for mom's plants. Then I headed to the garage to
work on my ongoing, and beloved, project.  
  
Pieces and parts lay upon shop mats around the primered body of a 1973 Dodge
Dart Swinger. I was glad mom humored me with the use of the garage while
rebuilding the classic car. It had not been my first choice for such a
project, but it had been cheap and in reasonable condition . . . especially
for five hundred bucks.  
  
The Swinger had been working when I drove it away from the old man who sold it
to me, but only just. It needed a lot of work, but that was what I was
prepared for. I didn't know all that much about cars, but after taking the car
apart piece by piece and cleaning everything, I knew what still worked and
what needed replacing. A manual for the venerable two-seater included detailed
plans and blowups, which helped immensely.  
  
I just had to put the damn thing back together.  
  
* * * *  
  
I assumed that brief liaison with Mrs. Fontana would be the end of it. As much
as I had enjoyed the pleasure she gave me, reality told me it had been a one-
time thing. She was either a slut or she was getting back at her husband for
fooling around with his secretary or something. Chances were, I'd never see
her again.  

"Hey, Andy! Some lady here to see you!"  
  
The call from my coworker Melvin came across the warehouse as I was
rearranging the third tier of toolbox shelving. Instantly, my heart leapt as I
thought, _is it her?_  
  
I scrambled down the side of the shelving column, dusting myself off upon
landing on the floor. Melvin watched me with a bemused smile.  
  
"Don't think it's like that, man," he said. "I think she's your aunt or
something."  
  
I shot him a look. "I don't have an aunt," I said. Well, the only one I did
have was seven states away at any rate. Leaving Melvin behind, I pushed open
the door to the customer pick up area to find Mrs. Fontana standing there, a
smirk decorating her pretty face. She wore a peasant blouse and matching
skirt, showing off lean, long legs.  
  
"I thought you might be hungry," she said casually, as if we had seen each
other just that morning. She held up a brown paper bag I recognized as coming
from Trudy's.  
  
I gingerly accepted the bag, feeling more than a little tongue-tied. "Uh,
thanks. Um, what--"  
  
"See you around," she trilled casually, turning on her heel and heading for
the door. I wasn't sure what to make of the little exchange. Did she mean "see
you around" as an implication of meeting up later? Or was it just a brush-off?  
  
I could have gone after her, I suppose. But if this was a game, I had to play
it. And if it was not, then I would just make an idiot of myself for chasing
after an older woman So I watched her leave, admiring the swish of those
experienced hips.  
  
"Now that's a fine woman," Melvin commented, almost startling me with his
presence.  
  
"Yes, she is," I agreed, then looked down in the bag as Melvin ambled away.
Atop the food lay a pair of silky beige panties and a note.  
  
_"You'll have to put these on me later."_  
  
My heart flipped and my groin swelled. I couldn't wait for my shift to be
over.  
  
* * * *  
  
By the time four o'clock came, anticipation over what was in store for me had
me nearly shaking. I found myself distracted throughout the last half of my
shift, but not to the point where I was unable to perform my duties. I was
simply consumed by desire to perform in other ways.  
  
To say my libido was overwhelmed would be like saying a beaver dam was
overwhelmed by the Mississippi. The unique combination of sexiness and
mystery, of promise and uncertainty was making my head swim. In short, for the
first time in my life, I was being seduced.  
  
"Yo, man, where you going in such a hurry?" Melvin asked me as I started to
bolt out the sliding glass doors.  
  
I hesitated, looking back with a sheepish smile. "I just have something to
do."  
  
He nodded with a funny grin. "Uh-huh. Something?" he asked. "Or someone? That
wasn't you're aunt earlier, was it?"  
  
There were two parts of my brain that wanted to respond, the part that wanted
to brag, and the part that wanted to keep Melvin guessing. Thankfully, the
second part won out. "No, it wasn't," I confirmed.  
  
"Yo, Andy, hold up," he cautioned, approaching. The look on his face was grim.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Just do yourself a favor," he said. Melvin clapped my shoulder. "Go on and
hit that. Have your fun. But don't get serious. 'Cause trust me, man, she
ain't."  
  
I frowned. "You know her?"  
  
He grinned, flashing his gold tooth. "Wish I could lay claim to ass like
that," he said. "But I don't know her. I know bitches like her, though.
They're called cougars, and believe me, man, they act like them. So watch out
for the claws."  
  
His words were confusingly encouraging. I just nodded and told Melvin I'd see
him tomorrow. I then returned my attention and libido to what I hoped was a
thoroughly pleasurable imminent future.  
  
* * * *  
  
But almost half an hour later, I was still waiting for Mrs. Fontana. Too many
times, I would see a car of similar color and shape to her Mercedes, but it
would roll by as I sat in the summer sun on the curb near where Mrs. Fontana
had found me the day before. It was finally the discomfort of heat and sweat
that compelled me to rise and jog down to the bus stop, just in time to catch
my ride home.  
  
I was dejected and angry when I went through the door. The day-old beef stew
did little to assuage any of the hungers screaming for satisfaction, and doing
my chores was nothing but frustrating. But there was still the car to occupy
my time.  
  
The function of mechanical thinking was a welcome relief that allowed me to
temporarily push Mrs. Fontana to back of my brain. Having to line up gasket
seals and affix them perfectly in place was precision work, one which required
all my concentration.  
  
The sun was hovering above the roofs of the houses across the street, telling
me it was getting close to nine o'clock. When a set of headlights flashed upon
me as I was tightening some bolts on the engine, I expected to see Chuck step
out of his own vintage P.O.S.  
  
But Chuck didn't drive a Mercedes. And he certainly never had legs like the
ones I saw.  
  
Both excitement and consternation fought for prominence in my mind. I was
angry that Mrs. Fontana had apparently stood me up, but also aroused by her
presence. My emotions were apparently telling, because Mrs. Fontana stopped a
few feet from me, her carefully-trimmed brow narrowing in a frown.  
  
"You don't seem all that happy to see me," she remarked, looking me over. I
had stripped to the waist due to the heat, which left my chest bare and
sweaty. I guess she liked what she saw, because a smile started pulling at the
edges of her mouth.  
  
I wiped my hands. "Thought you were picking me up after work," I said.  
  
She arched a curious brow. "I don't recall telling you that."  
  
My shoulders rolled, and I realized she was right. The note, after all, had
only indicated _later_. "I just figured, since you picked me up after work
yester--"  
  
Her piercing, exotic eyes stopped me. "Don't make assumptions about me, Andy.
I'm a very busy woman. I have numerous responsibilities that I have to satisfy
before I can even begin to think about you."  
  
Her words came out carefully enunciated and blunt. I felt like I'd gotten a
speech from my own mother, which left me irritatingly chastised. "Right.
Didn't know I was so far down your list of 'things to do.'"  
  
She crossed her arms. "I thought you would be more mature than this, Andy."  
  
I huffed. "You know, you talking to me like I'm eight years old sure doesn't
help much."  
  
"Then maybe you shouldn't act like it."  
  
My teeth ground together as I held my anger in check. "What do you want from
me?"  
  
She chuckled. "I thought that was obvious by now."  
  
A heavy sigh slipped from my lips. "I guess I just don't understand."  
  
Mrs. Fontana softened visibly. She lowered her arms and approached me, the
click of her heels echoing in the garage. That predatory look returned to her
eyes. "It's very simple, Andy. I want you. Is it really that hard to accept?"  
  
My mouth was drained of moisture as Mrs. Fontana traced random patterns on my
chest and flat abdomen with a fingertip. The predictable response once more
made my jeans constrictive.  
  
"It's just, um, different," I whispered, voice breaking.  
  
"Good different, or bad?" she asked casually, finger traveling down to the
edge of my jeans.  
  
"I-I'm not sure . . . ."  
  
She laughed softly, cupping my bulge and massaging insistently. Her hand slid
further down, gently squeezing my balls. She watched my face all the while,
appearing amused at my reactions. "Well, let me help you make up your mind.
Are we alone?"  
  
I blinked, somehow able to concentrate on the moment. I found the wall clock
hanging in the garage. "Uh, yeah, for about an hour."  
  
"Good," she declared, popping the top of my jeans. Deft hands released the
zipper and slid my jeans down to mid-thigh. My cock was hard and ready when it
sprang out, and Mrs. Fontana's hands found it quickly, making me shudder.  
  
I groaned in response, once more lost to the insistent command of my libido. I
watched the seductive older woman before me as she dropped to a squat, legs
fanned wide to make her skirt ride up. But not enough; the treasure between
her thighs remained hidden in shadow.  
  
A wicked smile stretched her glossy lips as Mrs. Fontana extended her tongue
to swipe the head of my penis. She licked up and down the shaft, alternately
watching my face and concentrating upon the object of her oral attention. A
car rolled by on the street outside the garage, reminding me that we could be
seen.  
  
"Um, maybe we should move," I suggested nervously.  
  
"You're room?" she asked.  
  
_Hell, no! That place is a mess!_ "Um, maybe just out of sight . . ." I
trailed off, indicating the half of the garage that couldn't be seen from the
street.  
  
With a last lap of her teasing tongue, Mrs. Fontana rose. "If that would make
you more comfortable," she said, stepping to the closed trunk of my car. Just
before she stepped out of view of any wandering eyes on the street, she
unsnapped her wraparound skirt and let it fall, giving me a glimpse of a
heavenly firm, round, and very naked ass.  
  
Coquettishly, she eased her naked cheeks onto the closed trunk and crossed one
leg over the other. She seemed to be waiting for something.  
  
"Well?" she asked.  
  
I blushed, remembering. My hand slapped to the back pocket of my jeans, where
I had stuffed the beige-toned panties she had given me. With a smile, I took
them out, holding them aloft.  
  
Mrs. Fontana giggled like she was my age. "Come over here, then," she
directed, beckoning with a single curling finger.  
  
I stepped around the back of my unfinished car, eyes wandering over my mature
lover's toned and alluring body. Her skin shimmered in the dim light of the
garage's single bulb, showing a few drops of perspiration here and there. Even
at the time of night, it was still close to ninety degrees.  
  
"So, uh, should I put these on you now?"  
  
She stared at me with a catty expression, slowly spreading her legs. I was
transfixed by the sight before me. Nude from the waist down save for her
heels, Mrs. Fontana was a lewd work of art. The tendons of her inner thighs
stood out like guide rails pointing the way toward plump, hairless vulva
framing the dusky wings of intimate flesh beneath a swollen clitoral hood.
Only the tiniest wispy swirl of light-toned hair lay above her clit, like the
tiara of a princess. The aroma of her expensive perfume mingled with the
basic, feral scent of feminine arousal.  
  
"Not yet," she said. "I think turnabout is fair play, don't you?"  
  
Unable to think beyond my desires of the moment, her question confused me.
"What?"  
  
She giggled, supporting herself on her arms. Her slim heels hooked onto the
bumper of the Swinger. She was obviously comfortable in her brazen nudity. "Do
you know how to go down on a woman?"  
  
My heart jumped to the back of my throat before I forced it back down. ". . .
maybe?"  
  
Her amusement remained. "Come here, Andy," she ordered. "Get on your knees.
I'm going to make you intimately familiar with a woman's pussy."  
  
I did as she bade, lowering to my knees between her spread thighs. As close as
I was, mere inches from her fragrant sex, the aroma was stronger, sharper,
sweeter. In the ghostly amber light of my steamy garage, the inner lips of her
pussy took on the shape of butterfly wings, with the darker, wetter opening to
her vagina completing the illusion.  
  
Her hand slid down over those sleek lips, prying them apart with a soft wet
sound. "Now, you don't want to go for the jackpot right away," she instructed.
Her eyes flashed impishly. "Well, sometimes you can, as a tease."  
  
I suddenly came to understand my role in this game. "Where do I start?"  
  
She grinned. "Inner thigh," she said. "Just . . . little kisses and licks.
Make your way up, but not too fast."  
  
I followed her directions, leaning in for the left leg first. There was a tiny
beauty mark there that seemed as good a place to start as any. Mrs. Fontana
cooed, lightly petting the top of my head as I licked and nipped further up
her thigh. Her skin tasted vaguely salty and a little sweet. As my mouth and
nose neared her pussy, the lips seemed to swell. Or maybe that was just my
imagination.  
  
I finally reached her lips, caressing the soft edge of it with my tongue. Mrs.
Fontana trembled and clutched a handful of my hair.  
  
"Lick the outer lips," she urged in a heated whisper. "The thick parts there."  
  
The sleek, extended labia of her pussy brushed the corner of my mouth as I
licked with the flat of my tongue along the salty-sweet fleshiness of her
vulva. Her thighs spread wider, giving me better access. I licked up and down,
switching to the other side. I started feeling something I could only think of
as liquid silk against my tongue each time my tongue touched the bottom of her
opening. She was getting more and more wet.  
  
"Suck me," she whispered. I looked up past the tuft of hair above her sex to
her reddened, impassioned face. "Suck my lips into your mouth," she continued.
"Lick inside."  
  
My jeans were painfully constrictive now, but I did as Mrs. Fontana desired.
The way she responded to the apparent talent of my mouth was incredibly
arousing, at least as much as if I had been inside her.  
  
Looking up at her near-painful expression, I pressed my mouth to her needy
sex, sucking those fleshy, slippery lips into my mouth. My tongue swiped
between them, into the quick of her pussy, and I finally tasted the real
essence of her, that tangy, sharp, oily sweet nectar. Mrs. Fontana moaned and
pushed down against my face. Her heels fell to the floor and she planted her
feet on my shoulders. This opened her up even more, making her pussy all but
gape.  
  
"Put your tongue inside me, Andy," she directed. "As deep as you can."  
  
I smiled first, then extended my tongue and stabbed deep into her sex, shoving
my nose against her clit. I wiggled my tongue around inside her, feeling her
inner muscles flexing in an effort to grasp it. I did it again and again,
making Mrs. Fontana gasp and writhe. Both her hands pulled at my head, holding
me in place. She began rolling her hips, bucking against me, until the lower
half of my face was glistening from her fluid.  
  
Abruptly, she pushed me back, staring down with a feral expression. "Stand up,
Andy. Show me your cock."  
  
I was too turned on to do anything other than be her sexual robot. I shoved to
my feet quickly, almost ripping open my jeans to expose my penis. A deep sigh
left me when it was finally released, and again when Mrs. Fontana reached for
it with both hands.  
  
"You almost made me come, Andy," she told me as she pulled me toward her.  
  
"I would have kept going," I said, as if to apologize.  
  
She laughed softly under her breath. "No. I want this inside me when I come. I
want your cockfucking_ _me when I come."  
  
Oh, those words! Coming from an older, obviously wealthy woman like Mrs.
Fontana, they were so deliciously naughty and incredibly inspiring. My dick
jerked in her slender fingers, seeking the moist heat between my mature
lover's thighs. The trunk of the car put her at just the right height, and I
grabbed her slender thighs, preparing to shove home. But she stopped me with
her hands against my abdomen.  
  
"Slow, Andy. Put it in me . . . slowly." She touched my chin, my lips, and
smiled blushingly. "Remember, you're a little bigger than the average man."  
  
I smiled back, then looked down, watching the head of my cock pushing against
her flared lips. Mrs. Fontana's heat seared through me, lighting my nerves on
fire. We both watched, and groaned in unison as my cock was gradually
swallowed up inside her. Her inner muscles gave way to my intrusion, then
relaxed and started massaging along my length. With the last inch, I thrust as
deeply as I could, making Mrs. Fontana gasp painfully.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
She eased me back just a little, wrapping her lean legs around me. "Cervix,"
she explained simply. She smiled, face flushed and shimmering with sweat. She
pulled her blouse loose, then drew it over her head. Though on the small side,
Mrs. Fontana's breasts were round and firm, capped with dark, thick, and very
stiff nipples. Slipping a hand behind my neck, she lifted herself until our
sweaty bodies were pressed together. I easily supported her weight, my hands
gripping her slippery buttocks.  
  
"Now fuck me, Andy," she insisted between licks and sucks of my lips. "Try to
last as long as you can."  
  
_I'll try_, I thought. _But I'll be surprised if I can go even a full minute .
. . ._  
  
With her ankles locked behind my back, fingers laced about my neck, Mrs.
Fontana was able to swing back and forth, my hands gripping her ass acting as
a guide. I had never had sex standing up, had never even contemplated it.
Doing so involved more than simply inserting tab A into slot B. I had to
maintain my balance, and the bursts of passionate breath on my face was
distracting. Whether Mrs. Fontana planned it that way or not, the position
certainly helped stave off my orgasm even as she stiffened, face grimacing,
pussy sucking and clenching at my cock. Even I could tell she was coming.  
  
She vibrated against me as if a police officer had snuck into the garage and
zapped her with a taser. Her body quivered against mine, nipples stabbing into
my chest, vaginal muscles clenching then relaxing with aftershocks. Her sweaty
forehead rest upon my shoulder; I felt hot puffs of breath snaking rapidly
through the hair on my chest.  
  
Finally, Mrs. Fontana raised her euphoric face, glazed eyes beaming upon mine.
"You didn't come."  
  
"No," I blurted. "But I'd sure like to!"  
  
She laughed, then smothered my mouth with a steamy kiss, while disjoining us.
Her feet settled to the ground. "I'm sure you are, young man," she purred,
before dropping to a squat and engulfing me with her mouth. I moaned, gently
holding her head in my hands as she bobbed and licked along the shaft, lapping
up her own creamy streaks of fluid. No girl I had ever known would consider
tasting herself on my penis after sex.  
  
"How do you want me, baby?" she asked at last, rubbing her cheek against my
erection. "Maybe doggy?"  
  
I shrugged, ready to agree to anything if it meant me getting off. "Sure."  
  
With a devilish grin, Mrs. Fontana stood once and turned about, planting her
hands on the trunk of my car and pushing her spread legs up onto her toes. She
arched her back deeply, allowing some of the garage light to illuminate the
swollen lips of her pussy. The powerful, heady aroma of her excitement filled
the air between us. She looked at me over her shoulder. "Come on, tiger.
What're you waiting for?"  
  
_Just admiring the view_, I thought, then lined up my cock, settling my hands
to her hips. Again, I watched as my penis disappeared past soothing pink lips
and into the eager cavity beyond. Mrs. Fontana bit her lip, eyes fluttering
closed as I buried myself once again, then pulled back. I pushed in and out,
slowly increasing the tempo until my hips slapped against her taut, barely-
quivering cheeks.  
  
My lover began panting and moaning yet again, inspiring me to fuck her as hard
and sure as I could. I wasn't thinking of her pleasure, to be honest, but it
seemed to me that my selfishness was not noticed. No sooner than a few minutes
later, she was shoving back against me hard, panting and gasping, sweat
dripping from her face to the dirty lid of the Swinger's trunk.  
  
I felt her clenching once again, signaling her second orgasm. The knowledge
that I was making her come again heightened my own outpouring of orgasmic
bliss. My cock burned and throbbed inside her, releasing every jet, drip, and
dribble of seed I had to give. My orgasm was so strong I swayed on my feet and
had to sag over Mrs. Fontana's heaving body, slapping my hands to either side
of her on the trunk.  
  
I was suddenly aware of the term "afterglow." Having sex with my few previous
girlfriends had been satisfying, but never so pleasurably draining. I felt
like laughing and crying all at once. I was both ready to take on the
heavyweight champion and collapse onto the floor. For several moments, not a
single coherent thought entered my mind. Just the jumbled images triggered by
sporadic and overloaded neurons.  

Clarity finally entered my mind, corresponding with the normalcy of my
heartbeat. I pushed up and stepped back, taking Mrs. Fontana's hand as she
turned around.  
  
"Now," she said dreamily. "You can put the panties on me."  
  
I chuckled, finding the pair of silk panties. I knelt before her, and Mrs.
Fontana stepped into them. Her sex was ripe and saturated with our mingled
fluid, but she did not seem at all put off. Once the cool, smooth fabric was
settled snugly around her hips and against her sex, I stood.  
  
She gave me a soft, but long kiss, then slipped her lips from mine and picked
up her top and skirt. I suddenly felt self-conscious with my jeans halfway
down my thighs, and jerked them up.  
  
"Walk a girl to her car?" she asked.  
  
"Uh, sure," I said, following Mrs. Fontana to her Mercedes. She approached the
driver-side door then turned and gave me an expectant look.  
  
I frowned. "What--"  
  
"A gentleman always opens doors for a lady."  
  
I felt chastised. "Oh, right. Sorry," I said, reaching for the handle and
pulling open the car's door. "I kind'a thought that was old-fashioned."  
  
"It is," she agreed with that catty smile of hers. "But some old fashions
should be kept new, don't you think?"  
  
I nodded. "Yeah. I'll work on that."  
  
She caressed my face over the frame of the window. "It's all about respect,
Andy," she told me. "A good man treats a woman like a princess in public, even
as he fucks her like a whore in private."  
  
A chuckle escaped my lips. "I'll remember that."  
  
"Oh, one more thing," she said as she got behind the wheel.  
  
"Yeah?" I asked, leaning on the frame of her door.  
  
Her unearthly blue eyes flashed. "Call me Dee."  
  
I smiled. "Okay . . . Dee."  
  
* * * *  
  
I felt like Marc Anthony returning from Egypt the following day as I strode
through the doors to work. Considering how high my nose was thrust into the
air, I'm surprised I didn't trip over my own feet. The secretaries in the hub
office could tell there was something going on, but I wasn't the type to brag.
Mrs. Fontana -- Dee -- told me that a gentleman doesn't brag. He lets his
confidence speak for itself.  
  
Melvin, of course, was also quick to notice my improved mood, and shook his
head with a knowing smile as I entered the warehouse. "I ain't gonna ask if
you got some, man," he said. "'Cause I'd be really surprised if you didn't."  
  
I grinned in response.  
  
"You gonna see her again, stud?"  
  
My grin faltered. "To be honest, I really don't know. I _think_ so, but--"  
  
"Lemme guess: she's calling the shots, right?"  
  
I shrugged sheepishly. "Yeah."  
  
Melvin laughed and slapped my shoulder. "That's part of the game, my man.
Enjoy it while it lasts."  
  
* * * *  
  
At lunch, I found myself searching the crowds in the food court. It seemed
there were slender, older women with short black hair everywhere, yet not a
one of them was Mrs. Fontana. Back at work, I kept hearing faint echoes of my
name reverberating through the warehouse, making me think someone was calling
me to tell there was a woman waiting for me at package pick up.  
  
But the workday passed without a visit from my new obsession. Dejection rose
in my heart once again as I trundled toward the bus stop, but I wasn't angry.
Just disappointed.  
  
City buses always have a certain smell, the stink of dirty bodies mixed with
diesel fumes and mold. The closer the Swinger came to being finished, the more
exaggerated the smell was each time I set foot on a bus. I still had at least
a good six weeks, I figured, before the Swinger would be finished. Six weeks
of enduring that stench five out of every seven days.  
  
It was going to be a long summer.  
  
* * * *  
  
The box lay out of sight near the front door of the house, behind the low
hedge my mother cultivated. It was a plain box, having obviously been used to
hold something else at some point. The shipping labels had been blackened out
with marker, and a piece of plain white paper was taped to the top. _"For
Andy."_  
  
Inside, I set the box on the table and cut through the tape sealing it with a
knife from the cutlery drawer. Within was a hand-written note settled atop
something wrapped in tissue paper.  
  
_"My Dear Andy,_  
  
_ I'll be around at eight o'clock to pick you up. Shower, shave, and otherwise
make yourself presentable. I want to see how well you clean up. Make sure you
wear both items I've included in the box._  
  
_ P.S. You won't be coming home tonight, so be sure to pack whatever you need
for tomorrow._  
  
_ Dee."_  
  
My heart was pounding by the time I finished reading the note. I couldn't help
but wonder what delicious variations my mature lover would be introducing me
to this night. I had already masturbated that morning, remembering the evening
before. Going out to the garage, I swore I could have smelled the lingering
traces of our coupling. Mrs. Fontana's sexuality was a very palpable thing,
present even when the woman herself was not.  
  
My excitement over the carnal enjoyment I was sure to experience became
tempered as I took out the other items in the box. Wrapped in tissue was a
pair of silk boxers in the darkest red I had ever seen. Not exactly
intimidating, but they were not what made me hesitate.  
  
It was the thick, purple plastic ring with some kind of small, oval device
attached to it. I didn't have to be a genius to figure out where it went. I'd
heard of cock rings before, but had never actually seen one. There was another
note beneath the device: _"The bullet goes underneath, cowboy."_  
  
I figured the polished metal object in a little plastic sheath was the
"bullet." Holding it up, I had to wonder if my penis would fit through the
opening, which was only about two inches across. But the ring was somewhat
stretchy, though not much.  
  
"Jeez. What am I getting myself into?"  
  
* * * *  
  
I showered, shaved, applied fresh deodorant. Standing naked before the mirror
in the small bathroom across the hall from my room, I felt more than a touch
self-conscious as I considered the cock ring. I wondered what the "bullet" was
for. Weight? Was it supposed to make my dick stick straight out, instead of
curving up, or something? Not to brag, but it would take more than a few
pounds to do that, and the little silver bullet didn't weigh more than an
ounce.  
  
My curiosity bade me pushed against the protruding part of the bullet. I
nearly dropped thing out of startlement when the whole thing started
vibrating. It took only a millisecond to understand.  
  
_Cool_.  
  
Pressing the bullet again turned it off, and I lowered the ring toward my
crotch. The first few tries to get my dick through the aperture were almost
painful. Then I took a moment to think and applied some of the hand lotion on
the sink. Working it into my cock was like masturbating, and it didn't take
much for my dick to start its journey toward full raging thickness. I didn't
want that.  
  
About a minute of thinking about old, naked, unwashed nuns killed Andy Jr's
rise to power, and I set about, as clinically as I could, to fitting the
silicone ring. With my penis soft and slippery, I had to work the ring back
and forth to push the head through, then the spongy tissue of the shaft. It
wasn't exactly comfortable, but once I got a few inches through the ring, I
was able to push the ring all the way to the base and position the bullet
correctly. Just for experimentation's sake, I turned the little vibrator on.  
  
_Wow. Um . . . damn, that's different. But good different._  
  
My cock responded to the stimulation by thickening and angling up. The
pressure of the cock ring increased as I hardened, but it wasn't exactly
painful. Maybe a little uncomfortable, but the vibration felt strangely sexy
against the base of my dick and my balls.  
  
Penis leading the way, I returned to my room and eyed the articles I had
placed on my bed. I only one set of "good" clothing, consisting of black
slacks made to resembled silk and a matching blazer. I had only worn it once,
and that had been to my Uncle Jeff's wedding the year before. I hoped it still
fit across the shoulders; at the time, I had only been working at the
department store for a couple of months, and did not enjoy the broad shoulders
and trim waist I sported now.  
  
To my consternation, the silk boxers felt deliciously caressing, like the
tongue of a nymph, against my erection. Between them and the cock ring, I was
sure to have an erection all night. Anxiety mounted as I pulled on the slacks,
then the only good dress shirt I owned. Serendipitously enough, it was dark
purple as well, as if made to match my genital decoration.  
  
The socks and shoes were a little difficult to don, considering the obstacle
of reaching past my swollen erection. But I managed, and finally slipped on
the blazer. Though a bit more snug across the shoulders than I remembered, it
nevertheless fit. Looking at myself in the mirror, I decided against wearing
one of my three ties. None of them matched, anyway.  
  
I stared at my reflection, then checked the time. 7:49 pm. I smiled at myself.  
  
_Go get her, tiger._  
  
* * * *  
  
Mrs. Fontana arrived right on time, just as the sun was setting. Her
punctuality was no surprise. I was fairly certain she would always be wherever
she wanted to be, when she wanted to be there, regardless of obstacles.  
  
She did not call me, or honk her horn. She did not need to, since I was
watching the street through the lacy curtains of the front family room window.
The moment her headlights blared as she turned into the driveway, I was taking
out my keys and reaching for the door. I had left a note for my mother
explaining that I was staying over at a friend's house, without naming the
friend. As the good son I always wanted to be, I had fixed Mom a plate for
breakfast, shrouded in plastic wrap, in the fridge. All she had to do was pop
it in the microwave for two minutes.  
  
I headed out toward the Mercedes after locking the door. Beyond the
headlights, I could just make out Mrs. Fontana's catty face. I was unsure as
to whether she was impressed or not. For my part, I was self-conscious about
the very obvious bulge my groin made against the slacks.  
  
The passenger door popped open as I approached, and I slid into the leather-
clad seat after tossing my duffel in the back. My eyes wandered over Mrs.
Fontana with appraisal; she wore a shimmering, charcoal-grey silk gown that
revealed just enough of her well-toned legs.  
  
"My, you do clean up nicely," she commented, reaching across the seat divider
to grope my swollen erection. She smiled. "And you followed my instructions."  
  
"Wasn't easy, putting that thing on," I told her.  
  
Her eyes flashed as she cast me a smile. "It'll be worth it, baby. I promise."  
  
I looked her over. _I don't doubt it._  
  
"Tonight is my treat, Andy," she said as she navigated the streets of the
city. "But I want you to be in charge of things." She handed me a glossy black
credit card.  
  
I gingerly accepted the thing, turning it over in my hands. "Why?"  
  
"Because a man needs to be financially responsible, at least as far as
appearances are concerned. Whatever we do, wherever we go, you're paying."  
  
I frowned. "With your money?"  
  
She smiled at me again. "Not tonight, it's not."  
  
"Um . . . is there a limit?"  
  
Mrs. Fontana snorted with laughter. "Not with a black card," she said. She
shot me a meaningful look. "You could buy a nice-sized Pacific island with
that thing."  
  
I slipped the card inside my jacket. "I hope we don't meet any real estate
agents, then."  
  
Her response was a breathy laugh as she drove toward downtown.  
  
* * * *  
  
The place was definitely out of my league. I had heard of Buchanan's
Steakhouse, and knew enough to understand I couldn't afford anything on the
menu. The ritzy establishment occupied most of the ground floor of the St.
Peter hotel and was known as _the_ place to be for politicians, local
celebrities, and anyone else looking to bask in the glow of the radiance of
the elite.  
  
I knew I was woefully underdressed for the restaurant even before the car
stopped in the valet's circle. Even the red-vested employees of the hotel
looked better dressed than I. Mrs. Fontana stepped out, compelling me to do
the same, and handed off the keys before stepping around to take my arm.  
  
"Shall we?" she asked.  
  
I shuddered nervously beside her. "I've never been in a place like this," I
said.  
  
"Then you had better pay attention."  
  
_Right_. I took the lead, as I figured Mrs. Fontana wanted me to, and
approached the broad glass doors of the restaurant. Just looking through to
the lobby beyond stirred the butterflies in my gut. A suited man opened the
door for us as we approached, and I thankfully had the presence of mind to
allow my lover to step through first. She gave me a little knowing smile that
told me I was off on the right foot.  
  
"Good evening sir, madame," intoned the well-fed man standing beside a podium.
There was an attractive girl about my age in a slinky black dress who gave me
an appraising once-over as she stood behind the podium, but she said nothing.  
  
"Good evening," I responded after a pregnant pause.  
  
"Table for two, I presume?"  
  
_You see anyone else?_ "Uh, yeah."  
  
Mrs. Fontana squeezed my arm briefly, as if signaling that I had done
something wrong. But her expression wasn't telling. I felt a little perturbed
on the way to the table. The man in the suit escorted us past several secluded
booths while the comely young hostess followed with menus. The tables, I
noticed, were set with crisp white linens and cloth napkins folded in the
shape of swans. There were candles everywhere, casting some spicy-sweet
fragrance in the air and making everything seem moody and dramatic.  
  
Arriving at an unoccupied table bordered on three sides with real wood
paneling, the man in the tuxedo took away two of the four wine glasses and
place settings, standing back while the hostess set the menus on the table. He
then passed off the plates and glasses to the silent girl and indicated for
Mrs. Fontana and I to sit.  
  
"Chef Michael highly recommends the poached salmon almondine," he said once we
had taken our seats. "It pairs exceptionally well with the Siegrist Sonnenberg
Riesling."  
  
I had no clue as to what he just said, so I merely nodded and thanked him.  
  
"You will be served by Giorgio, Rudi, and Paul this evening. Enjoy your meal."  
  
The moment he left, I leaned across the table. "What did I do wrong?"  
  
Mrs. Fontana looked amused. "Enunciation, Andy," she said. "You need to learn
to speak more succinctly."  
  
I frowned. "Like, how?"  
  
"Try saying 'yes' instead of 'yeah.' Pretend you're James Bond or something."  
  
My frown remained. "I don't have to do the accent, do I?"  
  
She chuckled softly under her breath. "No, you don't have to do the accent."  
  
A man about halfway between mine and my lover's age approached the table, clad
in a white jacket over white shirt, shimmering black tie, and a long apron
that nearly brushed the floor. He looked very professional. "Welcome to
Buchanan's," he said in introduction. "I am your server, Giorgio.  
  
"Good evening," I said carefully, making an effort to sit up straight.  
  
"The Maitre'D mentioned our features this evening, I'm sure," he continued. "I
must say the poached salmon almondine is perfection. It is a generous portion
of fresh-caught poached wild salmon, stuffed with our unique mixture of almond
foie gras. For an appetizer, I would suggest the jumbo shrimp ceviche, made
with _Tres Generacions_ silver tequila and the freshest ingredients."  
  
I blinked. I was in way over my head. _I'd be happy with just a cheeseburger
and fries, the bigger and greasier the better--_  
  
"I think we would like a minute, Giorgio," Mrs. Fontana said, saving me from
certain embarrassment.  
  
He nodded and took a single step back, joining two younger men clad in dark
red coats. "Signal when you are ready. I will be available," he said, then
departed with the other two in tow.  
  
"Feeling overwhelmed?"  
  
"Maybe just a freakin' little," I huffed. "Why did you bring me here?
Everyone's looking at me like I'm wearing a Wal-Mart suit."  
  
She half smiled. "Well, it's obviously not Armani. As for why I brought you
here . . . I need to see what I'm working with. There are only two months left
until the end of summer."  
  
"What does that have to do with anything? What, am I like a pet project or
something?"  
  
"Andy," she said in a soft but firm tone. "I can teach you a lot of things, if
you're willing to learn. But not all of it is about how to fuck."  
  
Confusion would be too weak a word to describe what I felt. ". . . why?"  
  
Mrs. Fontana shrugged. "Why not? You're getting a degree in history, right?
What's more historical than learning the rules of etiquette?"  
  
I had to nod in agreement with her logic. "Okay. Makes sense. I guess I'm just
. . . well, you said it. Overwhelmed."  
  
She settled her elbows on the table and made a table out of her fingers for
her chin to rest upon. The candle flame was reflected in her pale blue eyes.
"By the end of the summer, you won't be."  
  
* * * *  
  
My lover patiently and efficiently explained the menu to me, educating me on
just what terms like Riesling, ceviche, and foie gras meant. I grimaced at the
explanation of the latter. Why would anyone want to stuff salmon with goose
liver?  
  
After some brief coaching, I raised a single finger in the air, which Mrs.
Fontana assured me would summon the waiter. After about twenty seconds, he
appeared as if he had been beamed down from the Enterprise. I ordered a bottle
of the Riesling and, following my lover's suggestion, an appetizer of bacon-
wrapped zuccini medallions. Mrs. Fontana told me I was to do all the ordering.  
  
She explained everything about fine dining as we went along, preparing me for
every stage of the meal. From the French onion soup to our entrees -- I
ordered a New York strip, which I was strongly urged to have cooked medium
rare -- I was educated in the steps and nuances of upper echelon etiquette.
Though I faltered a little, Mrs. Fontana was quick to save me, jumping in when
necessary.  
  
I have to admit, everything was damn good. The wine took a little getting used
to, since the only wine I'd enjoyed previously had been cheap sparkling wine
at my uncle's wedding. My steak was so tender I didn't even need a knife to
cut into it. The blood oozing from within made me hesitant, but not wanting to
risk my lover's disapproval, I dug in.  
  
"I trust everything was near perfection, sir?" Giorgio asked once his
assistants had cleared everything away.  
  
"Complete perfection," I said, remembering Mrs. Fontana's instructions.  
  
"Coffee, honey?" my lover asked, punctuating her query with a meaningful
stare.  
  
"Uh, sure," I agreed.  
  
"Our cappuccino is unsurpassed through the city, sir," Giorgio bragged.  
  
"Sounds good to me."  
  
As Giorgio left the table, Mrs. Fontana gave me a funny look as she reclined
in her seat. I felt her right foot questing up the inside of my thigh. "You
catch on quickly, Andy," she praised.  
  
I smiled and shrugged. "I want to do good."  
  
Her eyes smoldered. "Oh, you're doing very good," she assured me.  
  
* * * *  
  
I was a little surprised when the check came. Delivered in a polished black
binder a little larger than a standard paperback, my eyes bulged upon seeing
the price for our meal.  
  
"Holy shit!"  
  
"Andy!"  
  
I bit my lip at Mrs. Fontana's chiding bite, but nevertheless pointed at the
check. "You see how much this is? It's, like, more than half my paycheck!"  
  
"Andy," she said sternly, eyes glaring. "It doesn't matter, remember?"  
  
I swallowed back any further words and just nodded, taking the black credit
card from my jacket. I set it in the binder, which Mrs. Fontana said I should
set at the outer corner of my side of the table. Giorgio was quick to swoop
out of nowhere and snatch up the binder.  

"How much are you going to tip?" my sophisticated lover asked.  
  
I shrugged. "I don't know."  
  
"I'll tell you how much. Fifty dollars."  
  
"You serious?"  
  
"That's a little over twenty percent of the bill," she informed. "And in a
place like this, it's an insult to tip anything less. Giorgio's service was
impeccable, wouldn't you agree?"  
  
Again I shrugged. "Okay. Sure. But all he did was talk. The other guys did
most--"  
  
"Andy."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
She narrowed her eyes.  
  
I sighed and corrected myself. "Yes, I meant."  
  
"Andy, no one comes to a restaurant like Buchanan's because the food is good.
They come here because they can afford it. Trust me; no one else here tonight
cares how much anything costs. Now, when he comes back, he will ask if there's
anything else he can do for us. Tell him you would like a bottle of champagne
sent up to our room."  
  
"'Our room?'"  
  
She grinned mischievously. "Yes. _Our_ room."  
  
* * * *  
  
With Mrs. Fontana's arm wrapped around mine, I felt something like a male
escort as we headed away from the restaurant and into the lobby of the hotel
in which Buchanan's resided. I noticed quite a few May/December couples, both
older women with younger men and older men with younger women, in the bar
outside the restaurant. The women, most around my age or a little older, were
all stunning, and the men looked like models from the cover of GQ. There were
more "normal" looking pairs as well, from twentysomethings to sixtysomethings,
and every one of them obviously had money.  
  
The elevator attendant said nothing as we rode to the fifteenth floor of the
hotel. Mrs. Fontana gave me naughty smiles and winks, suggestive of delights
to come in the imminent future. My cock swelled obscenely against my pants. It
was a good thing the attendant had his back to us.  
  
Once inside the richly-furnished room, which was dominated by a massive king-
sized bed framed by four intricately carved posts, Mrs. Fontana strode
purposefully toward the wide-open floor-to-ceiling window that dominated most
of the opposite wall. A little bistro table framed by two low-backed wooden
chairs sat before the window, and she pulled out one of the chairs and sat
down, looking upon me sultrily.  
  
"I want to watch you take your clothes off, Andy," she informed.  
  
I smiled nervously, locking the door and stepping into the room. "Okay . . .
."  
  
"Do it slowly," she directed. "Take your time. First, the shoes."  
  
I started toward the bed, with the intention of sitting down on the edge to
remove my shoes by hand. But she stopped me.  
  
"No. Step out of them. First the left, then the right. And don't kick them
away. Set them at the end of the bed."  
  
_Why should that matter?_ I thought, then pushed it from my mind. _Guess it
must mean something._  
  
So I did as Mrs. Fontana wanted, stepping down on the heel of my left shoe and
slipping my foot from it, then doing the same with the right. I bent and
retrieved them both and set them at the end of the bed.  
  
"Good," she said with a sultry-eyed smile. "Now the jacket. Just slip it back
off your shoulders and let it slide down your arms. Catch it before it falls."  
  
Again, I followed her instructions, but getting the jacket to just slide down
my arms wasn't easy. I finally worked them off, feeling my face get red under
my lover's attentive gaze. I didn't catch the jacket before it crumpled to the
ground, and cursed under my breath.  
  
"That's all right, Andy. Go hang it up."  
  
I was starting to get a little annoyed. But, biting back any comment I might
have made, I took the jacket to the small open closet by the entryway and
slipped it onto a hanger.  
  
"Now, as you come back, undo the cuffs of your shirt, then unbutton it.
Slowly."  
  
I was sour-faced at first as I strode slowly back into the room, working the
cuffs of my sleeves loose. But upon seeing my lover and the smoldering
expression upon her face, I suddenly understood. Mrs. Fontana was actually
telling me how to seduce her. With that realization, annoyance turned to
excitement, which mounted with every button I popped.  
  
"Nice," she commented, cheeks beginning to glow. She parted her legs, making
her skirt slide up those svelte legs. "Very nice."  
  
I finally got the shirt undone and pulled the tails from my pants. Rakishly, I
let it slip from my shoulders and fall to the floor. Mrs. Fontana neither
chided nor corrected my actions. She was clearly becoming aroused.  
  
I wore no undershirt, so the next article to be removed were my slacks.
Keeping my gaze locked on Mrs. Fontana, and enjoying being the center of her
attention, I let the pants fall to the floor. I stepped out of them, moving
closer to my lover.  
  
She licked her lips, gaze transfixed upon the outline of my cock. It stood out
starkly against the silk boxers.  
  
"Do you want it?" I asked her, following a brief epiphany concerning my role.
It had suddenly dawned upon me that I really was the one in charge. While I
followed my lover's directions, I held the controlling hand. That realization
changed everything.  
  
"Yes," she whispered, eyes still locked on my crotch.  
  
I slipped my thumbs beneath the waistband of the silk boxers and moved them
down a bit, exposing the pubic curls above the base of my cock. "Are you
sure?"  
  
She emitted a soft, shuddering, half-laugh, half-sigh. "Oh, you're good at
this."  
  
My ego swelled. I pushed the boxers down a bit more. My cock was fully erect,
kept down only by the elastic waistband. The base of my penis was visible.
"Like you said, I catch on quickly."  
  
She licked her lips, parting her legs widely. As the hem of her silky dress
slid all the way up, I could tell Mrs. Fontana was not wearing panties. The
dusky lips of her sex flared out beneath her carefully-trimmed thatch of downy
hair. "Oh, you do," she breathed. "You deliciously do."  
  
I let the boxers fall to my feet. My cock bounced out toward her, aimed at her
face. Standing proudly before her, I let my lover assess me with her lustful
eyes. Her own slowly traveled up my body, drinking in every inch before coming
to rest upon my face. "What do you want, baby?"  
  
I smiled. "Anything you want."  
  
She breathed in deeply, lowering a hand to pet her dampened pussy. "No, Andy.
Tell me what you want me to do. Take control."  
  
The butterflies returned, but only briefly. For whatever reasons, our roles
had suddenly been reversed. I was the dominant one, now. So I reached for Mrs.
Fontana's head and pulled her toward my needy cock.  
  
"Open your mouth," I directed.  
  
* * * *  
  
Well over an hour later, I lay panting upon the bed, staring up through a
field of tiny supernovas at the gently-spinning ceiling of the hotel room. The
air was thick with the primal scents of sex. Mrs. Fontana sat astride me, my
cock still buried within her and only somewhat softened thanks to the still-
vibrating cock ring. I managed to lift my head and look upon her. She leaned
back with her hands braced upon my knees, body sheathed in sweat to match my
own.  
  
With a blissful sigh -- she had enjoyed more than twice as many orgasms as the
two she had coaxed from me -- she eased off me, letting my cock slap wetly to
my abdomen. Glistening with streaks of semen mingled with my lover's own
orgasmic juices, my cock was like a newborn, shriveled and dark and sticky.  
  
Accompanied by a deep, rumbling moan from somewhere within her body, Mrs.
Fontana settled herself between my legs on the spacious bed and languidly,
lovingly, licked up our mingled fluid from my dick. While doing so, she gently
eased the cock ring up the semi-wilted shaft. I felt a sudden release of
pressure when the device slipped past the head, which was engulfed by my
lover's questing mouth. I shuddered as she cleaned me.  
  
My hands caressed her short, thick hair, voicelessly telling her how much I
appreciated her attentions. But if she thought to revive me for a third go-
around, she was going to be disappointed.  
  
Thankfully, she made her way up my body, kissing and nipping affectionately
before settling comfortably on my side and resting her cheek to my chest.
Apparently, she was as spent as I.  
  
"I can't believe how good I feel," I muttered, eyes covered beneath heavy
lids.  
  
Mrs. Fontana sighed contentedly. "You and me both," she whispered.  
  
I managed to curl an arm around her warm body. "I don't know why this is all
happening . . . but I'm really glad it is."  
  
The fingers of one hand lightly scratched my chest. "You're going to make a
wonderful lover and husband someday, Andy."  
  
Fatigue and the miasma of euphoria kept me from responding, or even thinking
about her words. I had no alternative but to surrender to the insistent lull
of a very satisfied sleep.  
  
* * * *  
  
That wasn't the last time Dee and I would enjoy a night in a hotel. Over the
course of the following several weeks, I met with her many times, and always
on her terms. She would leave me notes in cards and packages sent to the store
or my home, instructing me in what to wear or do. But, more and more as our
relationship progressed, I took the lead in both social and sexual situations.  
  
Her tutelage included more than just the intricate variations of sex. She
taught me about wine, fine food, etiquette, art and other subjects of interest
to the upper class. I kept wondering why she made the effort to transform my
blue-collar, low-class sensibilities into more refined ones, but I never
questioned her.  
  
Heeding Melvin's advice, I didn't let my emotions cloud my relationship with
Dee. That was not an easy thing to do, of course. At my age, great sex was
tantamount to love. But the vast difference in our ages allowed me to stay
emotionally distant from Dee. I knew she wouldn't leave her husband for me,
nor did I want her to. I was acutely aware that I wanted a girl my own age,
and thanks to Dee's tutelage, I was certain to give any girl I met more than
she expected.  
  
The Swinger enjoyed my attention whenever I was not either with Dee or at
work. Mrs. Fontana seemed interested in my project, and I suppose I probably
bored her with the details of rebuilding a 340 V6 engine. Still, she
encouraged my completion of the classic car, even going as far as to insist on
paying for parts I needed to get the car in top condition. She even sprang for
a forest-green paint job once the restoration was complete.  
  
Driving the Swinger back home on a Saturday afternoon, after inspection and
registration, Mrs. Fontana cast admiring glances around the interior of the
vehicle, commenting that it reminded her of the cars her father drove when she
was a child.  
  
"Although," she added as she pulled up the loose denim skirt covering her
upper thighs. Brazenly exposing her naked pussy, she stroked the fleshy lips
while giving me a dreamy expression. "I never wanted to fuck in any of my
father's cars."  
  
I smiled, reaching across the space between the car's bucket seats and
replacing Dee's hand with my own. She sighed as I started fingering her.
"Maybe I should find a nice little place to park," I suggested.  
  
"That's what I was thinking," she murmured, pushing down against my hand.  
  
* * * *  
  
Early in the second week of August, on a Saturday, I awoke before Dee in yet
another expensive hotel room. Making my way to the bathroom, I splashed some
water on my face and stared at my reflection. The previous evening had been a
marathon bout of sex, with Dee acting fervent, almost desperate, as if that
night had been the last we would share together. The memories of that night
would linger with me for the rest of my life.  
  
Returning to the room, I found Mrs. Fontana sitting up in bed, the sheets
barely covering her legs. She sported a small, almost sad smile as she watched
me approach the bed.  
  
"You're an incredible man, Andy," she told me.  
  
I smiled self-consciously. "I've had a good teacher."  
  
Her eyes glittered. "I have one more gift for you."  
  
I shook my head. "Please don't --"  
  
"I insist."  
  
I sighed. "Okay. What is it?"  
  
She cocked her head, regarding me wistfully. "I sent all the details in a
message to your phone," she explained, then sighed. "God, you look good
naked."  
  
I casually touched my semi-erect penis. "Morning sex?" I offered.  
  
She chuckled. "As wonderful as that sounds, I'm sorry."  
  
I crossed my arms for want of putting them anywhere else. "This is it, huh?"  
  
An inscrutable look crossed her face. "You're not surprised."  
  
I shrugged, grinding my teeth. "You kept mentioning the end of summer," I
said. "Figured it wasn't gonna last."  
  
"Not in this sense, no," she confirmed enigmatically. She smiled
philosophically. "There's a party on the seventeenth, at the house. My house.
I'd like you to be there."  
  
"Your house?" I asked in alarm. "Like, um, where you live with your husband?"  
  
She tittered. "Yes, that one. Don't worry, Andy. Everything's going to be
fine."  
  
"If you say so . . . ."  
  
"Just remember everything I taught you, Andy. Don't disguise what you do, but
impress us with who you are."  
  
I breathed in. _Right . . . ._  
  
* * * *  
  
Dee's last present to me consisted of instructions to a tailor, where I was
fitted for a new suit. The older gentleman I spoke with was very patient and
polite, humoring my questions and offering much-needed suggestions. He
informed me that I essentially had my pick of the store, thanks to Mrs.
Fontana. He never asked what association I had with the woman.  
  
In the end, I chose a dark blue silk suit with a pale white shirt and silk
tie. I was told that it would be ready by the seventeenth, which was when the
tailor had been told to have it available. Leaving the store that afternoon, I
was left with a niggling feeling of anticipation, even anxiety. After months
of being the "other man" in a wealthy older woman's life, I was suddenly
informed that I would be meeting her husband -- and, ostensibly, the rest of
the family -- and to "impress" them with who I am.  
  
_Was I just some kind of project for Dee?_ I wondered. _And now she's gonna
show me off like a prize horse?_  
  
I needed another perspective on the situation. Thankfully, I knew just where
to find it.  
  
Melvin always worked Saturdays, I knew, and I managed to catch him at a lull
between stocking the warehouse and delivering packages. After telling him I
needed to talk, he told the other guys in the warehouse that he was taking a
break. We headed around the back of the store to a weather-warped picnic
table, upon which Melvin sat before lighting up a cigarette.  
  
"So how's that grade-A prime pussy you been hitting?" he asked with his usual
aplomb.  
  
I chuckled, hands in my pockets. "More or less over," I answered.  
  
He nodded. "Knew that was coming."  
  
"It wasn't like a huge breakup or anything. I just sort of knew."  
  
He smiled ruefully. "Then you're one up on me," he said. "The cougar that got
me, I just couldn't let go. Pussy that fine, you want it all the time, you
know?"  
  
"But you eventually let go, right?"  
  
He chuckled darkly. "Nope. Bitch took out a restraining order on me."  
  
I shook my head. "I don't think I'll have to worry about that."  
  
"Something else going on, ain't there? Else you wouldn't be talking to me
about this."  
  
I hesitated briefly, wondering if it was such a good idea to clue Melvin in.
But I really needed his advice. "There's a party on the seventeenth," I shared
with him. "At her house. Her husband's gonna be there. Hell, I figure the
whole family, bunch of friends are gonna be there."  
  
"So why the hell does she want you there, right?"  
  
"Right."  
  
Melvin shrugged. "Got me, man."  
  
I sighed. "I feel like I've been set up for something," I said, kicking the
ground. "All this stuff she's been teaching me, about clothes, food, wine --"  
  
"Sex."  
  
I laughed. "And sex," I agreed. "But why? What's it all for?"  
  
He pulled on his cigarette. "Guess you're gonna have to go to the party and
find out, man."  
  
* * * *  
  
I had asked for the seventeenth off from work, mainly so I wouldn't be in a
rush to get ready after work. Early that afternoon, I picked up my new suit
and the tailor asked me to put it on just to insure the fit was right. Damn, I
have to admit it looked pretty good on me, accentuating my broad shoulders and
narrow waist. With the black leather shoes and my new haircut, I looked like I
should have been attending Harvard instead of the local junior college.  
  
I cleaned up the car, then showered and dressed in the new suit. Dee wanted me
at the house by seven o'clock, and in the interest of insuring I'd get there
on time, I left early just in case I lost my way.  
  
I shouldn't have worried.  
  
The house lay upon a hill just outside the city, like a castle overseeing the
peasantry below. There were searchlights fanning back and forth from the front
lawn as if they were celebrating a new nightclub opening or a massive sale at
a car dealership. Approaching the mansion, I pulled into a line of cars being
admitted through the gate of the property. The building beyond was fully
worthy of the title "mansion." Three stories tall, with columns supporting a
broad portico that looked like the entryway to the Louvre.  
  
_Man, I'm in way over my head_, I worried as my little rebuilt Swinger rolled
toward the gate. I was fully expecting to be turned away.  
  
The car ahead of mine was let through, and a large, muscular man with a
military crew cut beckoned me forward.  
  
"Invitation," he prompted through my open window.  
  
Droplets of sweat oozed to the surface of my palms. "Uh, I wasn't given one.
Maybe this isn't the right place--"  
  
"Name."  
  
"What?"  
  
The gate guard looked annoyed. "Your name."  
  
I swallowed dryly. "Andy Breckenridge."  
  
He smiled suddenly, his entire demeanor changing. "Mr. Breckenridge," he said
in a more upbeat tone. "I apologize for my rudeness. Here."  
  
"That's okay," I said warily, accepting the silver-colored card he handed me.
_What the hell is this?_  
  
"Just put that in the front window and look for the silver sign. It will be in
the first row. Have a good evening, Mr. Breckenridge."  
  
"Uh, thanks," I said, then rolled the card forward. _Okay, this is getting
really weird. I go from being peon to friggin' guest of honor just because of
my name? Oh, jeez, look at these cars. Lexus, Mercedes, BMW . . . holy shit, a
goddamn Ferrari . . . ._  
  
The silver sign the guard had referred to sat before an empty space in the
first of six rows of cars. Another muscular, uniformed man motioned me in,
then opened the car door after I cut the engine.  
  
"Good evening, Mr. Breckenridge," he said as if addressing a head of state.  
  
Bewilderment almost took away my sense of balance as I stepped out, but I
managed to keep my composure. "Good evening," I responded, regarding the man's
open hand.  
  
"Keys, sir. We'll keep an eye on your baby."  
  
I smiled in an effort to conceal my awkwardness. "Sure. Right. Sorry, it's
been a long day."  
  
"Then it's time to relax," the man said, indicating the cobblestone walk which
lead to the front doors.  
  
"Right."  
  
Men and women, mostly middle-aged, milled about the broad yard. Some stood
around a large stone fountain depicting a trio of nude women pouring water
from gourds. Others were making their way toward the house. I saw a group of
guys about my age hanging around in a group, smoking cigarettes and watching
me. It was obvious they were making rude comments and jokes, probably about me
and why I had the obvious privilege of parking my P.O.S. Dodge in the "silver
space." I could just about hear them saying, "what's so special about him?"  
  
I ignored them, allowing my feet to lead me to the house. I nodded to anyone
who came within ten feet of me and received similar salutations in return. The
smell of money was thick in the air, trailing off expensive suits and dazzling
jewelry.  
  
Ahead of me at the door, a short man in a black suit with a nose three times
too large for his head was admitting the guests. Beyond the open doors, I
heard big band music and the din of a hundred conversations.  

"Welcome to Fontana Manor," the short man said with a thick northeastern
accent. "Who am I announcing?"  
  
I shifted on my feet, cleared my throat. "Um, Andy Breckenridge."  
  
He smiled broadly. "Very good to be meeting you, sir," he said, then stepped
forward with me to the top of a broad set of stairs. Before me lay a huge ball
room, at the far end of which was a twelve-piece orchestra. A massive crystal
chandelier floated high above the floor, glittering in the light of numerous
wall sconces around the room. There were some people dancing, but most stood
around talking and holding various glasses.  
  
A great amount of attention was centered around a beautiful young woman about
my age, who sat on an elevated chair near the band. Most of those around her
were men of all ages, and she was blushing at the attention.  
  
Suddenly, the short man beside me called out in an unexpectedly booming voice:
"Mr. Andrew Breckenridge."  
  
And everyone stopped.  
  
And looked.  
  
_Oh, shit._  
  
Someone clapped lightly, which then spread throughout the crowd before
dissipating. The stunning young brunette in her elevated chair was staring at
me, lips curled in a little smile.  
  
I was handed a flute of champagne before starting down the steps. As I reached
the bottom, I saw Dee walking briskly toward me, a grin splitting her face.
"Andy! Darling!"  
  
_Thank God, someone I know!_  
  
Dee kissed me on each cheek, then stepped back to admire me. "Very, very
nice," she praised. "Not too stuffy, not too casual. You have excellent
taste."  
  
I blushed. "So, the suit's okay?"  
  
"It's perfect. She'll love it, just like I know she'll love you."  
  
I frowned. _She?_  
  
"Don! Don!" she called, waving over a man about her age with bright silver
hair. He approached with as broad a smile as Dee sported, leading with an
outstretched hand.  
  
"So this is the young man you've been cultivating," he said with a wink while
shaking my hand. "Dee has told me some very good things about you."  
  
My eyes bulged slightly as I shot Mrs. Fontana a look. I wondered what,
exactly, she had shared with her husband. I managed to return the man's smile
and his grip. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Fontana."  
  
He winced, shaking his hand. "Hell of a grip there, son," he chuckled. "But
please, call me Don."  
  
I nodded slowly. "Sure thing . . . Don."  
  
"Gotta make the rounds," he said, and stepped away. Dee was shaking her head
with a bemused expression on her face.  
  
"Shall I put you out of your misery?"  
  
I gulped the champagne, wiped my mouth. "God, please."  
  
Dee took my arm and directed me toward the beauty in the chair. "It's very
simple, Andy," she said. "Everything we have done has been leading up to this.
I have given you the keys to all the doors, now all you have to do is unlock
them."  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
"Look around you," she urged. "Money, money and more money. But there are
disadvantages to being wealthy, especially if you're born into it. She's going
to need a more grounded and level head to keep her from being a spoiled brat.
We've done our part, now it's up to you."  
  
"'She,'" I repeated. "Who is 'she?'"  
  
Dee indicated the woman on the throne-like chair. "My daughter, Julianna," she
said proudly, then gave me a meaningful look. "Today is her eighteenth
birthday. It's her coming of age. Come to think of it, it's your's as well."  
  
I nodded with a small laugh. "No kidding."  
  
"Now. We've given her what she wanted, and now we're going to give her what
she needs."  
  
My throat was dry as I swallowed again. "Me?"  
  
Mrs. Fontana smiled and fixed the lapels of my suit. "Go get her, big boy,"
she said.  
  
I slowly turned away from Mrs. Fontana and approached her daughter. She was
joking and laughing with a couple of guys my age who fawned over her,
obviously attempting to woo the young beauty. But in a moment of clarity, I
realized I had the key, as Dee had said. I was favored.  
  
So, as confidently as I could, I stepped toward the chair, eyes locked on
Julianna's. She had the same ghostly blue eyes as her mother She smiled and
even blushed slightly at my approach. I stopped, bowed, and offered my hand.  
  
"Andy Breckenridge," I said by way of introduction.  
  
Julianna took my hand with a smile and rose from her seat. "I know," she said,
her voice smooth and soft.  
  
"Happy birthday," I wished her as we walked to the dance floor.  
  
That was the first of many birthdays we would spend together.  
  
_-finis-_  
  
_(Thank you for reading. Please don't forget to vote, and leave a comment
below if you wish. Feel free to add me to your favorite author's list if you
enjoyed what you read today. I am always working on something new for
Literotica.)_




End file.

