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December 17, 1988
Single, middle-aged and bespectacled Angelina Lione may look the part of the prim, proper and sexually repressed, buttoned-up bibliothec, but she’s most definitely NOT your father’s librarian — at least not while in a lover’s company. Blessed with a ravenous and unquenchable sexual appetite, Angelina’s orgasms are so intense that she frequently faints during the throes of passion.
While never mistaken for a perfect 10 with her large brown eyes, tucked behind oversized, Diana Prince-style eyeglass lenses, Angelina still cuts quite the desirable figure, with a fetching face always perfectly and tastefully made up, and a sleek and shapely body. Her short, black hair, speckled with gray, was cut in a chic, wedge/pixie-style, puffed and piled on the top and curled forward around the ears. Angelina’s attractive physical traits, however, always paled in comparison to her overwhelming sex appeal. Using her vast store of feminine wiles, Angelina negotiates about her lovers’ hearts, minds and bodies as deftly as she navigates the Dewey Decimal System, manipulating infatuated men for her monetary and personal gain.
High maintenance and even higher fashion, Angelina always models the latest designer threads — oftentimes accentuated by any one of her dozen pairs of high-heeled dress boots. Her sophisticated look even extends to smoking accessories. The haughty diva wouldn’t dream of smoking a cigarette if it wasn’t filtered through her long, black holder. More of a cigarette holder sucker and stroker than a smoker, Angelina seductively works the black shaft with her mouth, tongue and fingers as if it was a penis proxy; the effect that playing with the long, stiff holder has on would-be lovers is like snake charming. Under the sexy siren’s magic spell, they’re entirely at her mercy; powerless to resist the temptation to pleasure her — as if they really would.
Angelina spent her 20s and 30s as a fully-committed member of the sexual revolution of the 1960s and ’70s — bedding dozens upon dozens of men. Only when she reached age 40 did her love life settle down — for her anyway — when the lusty librarian entered into a long term, nearly exclusive, torrid affair with the principal at her school. After the forbidden relationship unceremoniously ended six years later, Angelina found herself alone at a time when her peers had long since settled down into blissful domestic life. A prolonged romantic dry spell followed, until a former student unexpectedly burst into her life.
Twenty-two year old Tom Bailey had been in lust with Angelina for years, drawn in classic fetish fashion to the sexy librarian’s stylish, high-heeled boots, seductive smoking and even her pretentious and snobbish personality. Over time, his feelings — like his fetishes — for the femme fatale only grew stronger, until he could no longer keep them to himself. The pair had just launched an intense, physical relationship when Harry Seymour, Angelina’s old boss and lover, re-entered her life. Unable to decide between the two romantic suitors, Angelina proposed a date-off — or “fuck-off” — as Tom bitterly described the arrangement.
Now, with her love life once again in full bloom, the amorous woman was in sex heaven — reliving her youth, when men practically lined up around the block to date her. Preying on the men’s sexual addiction to her, Angelina gleefully bounced between their beds for nearly a month, until Tom finally prevailed.
The love triangle finally broken, Angelina and Tom were finally free to embark on a committed, loving relationship. But the couple’s path to long-term romantic harmony was lined with a phalanx of challenges — not the least of which was familial. During their first fortnight together, Tom met Angelina’s family — and had been unnerved by her brutish and overprotective brother-in-law.
It was a couple months into their relationship before Tom worked up the nerve to introduce Angelina to his folks. The encounter set off a tremor that was bound to trigger aftershocks along the fault line of their courtship. The meeting with what turned out to be an old work adversary so unnerved Tom’s mother, in fact, that she subsequently resumed a long dormant smoking habit.
That introduction went poorly enough, but how would Tom’s college friends react to seeing him with a much older woman? What would be their impression of her? What would he see in her? Sure Angelina was attractive enough — but she was an attractive older woman. Why would young Tom be interested in a 50 year old, when there were plenty of lovely ladies his own age available? And when they got a whiff of her pompous and bitchy personality, they’d really question what was in this relationship for Tom, and the age difference would be even more pronounced. The very real possibility existed that they’d disapprove of this affair, judging Tom a weirdo and mere boy toy to Angelina’s dirty old woman.
Private by nature — and especially embarrassed to confide in anyone about his smoking and boot fetishes — how could Tom possibly explain to them that Angelina embodied all that he found physically sakarya seks hikayeleri alluring in a woman? How every time he saw the bitchy diva smoking from a cigarette holder or strutting about in a pair of delicious, high-heeled, knee-high leather boots it made his dick dance and pulsate with delight. Or that when he and this MILF-before-the-term-was-coined made love it brought him to heights of pleasure he never dreamed possible.
For a year, the pair engaged in an intense physical relationship, characterized by daily bouts of uninhibited, care-free sex and yet somehow devoid — at least in Tom’s viewpoint — of satisfactory emotional intimacy.
Finally after a year of “dating,” the two professed their love for each other and subsequently became engaged to be married. Although their future seemed as romantically dysfunctional and clouded as their present.
Angelina Lione rose from the dining room table and began clearing the dinner dishes.
“Ang, you really outdid yourself tonight,” Elaine Musso said to her younger sister and hostess for the weekly family evening meal, after dabbing at the corners of her mouth with a red cloth napkin. “That lasagna was out of this world.”
“Why thank you, darrhhling, but mama deserves the credit,” replied the middle school librarian, putting on her trademark phony air. “I just followed her recipe.”
Angelina disappeared behind the swinging door that led into the kitchen, holding a handful of dirty plates, returning a moment later with a pot of coffee.
“Thomas, darrhhling, would you be a dear and bring in the pastries, please?” she asked of her young fiancé, before turning back to her family. “Why don’t we repair to the living room for dessert?”
“Repair?!” asked Rocco, Elaine’s husband. “What’d ya do, break a chair in dare or somethin’? I’ll go next door an’ get my toolkit.”
“She meant we should go into the dining room and make ourselves comfortable,” corrected Elaine.
“Well, why didn’t she just say dat?” Why does she have to use dem $5 words all da time?”
Angelina’s family filed into the living room. Elaine and her 23-year-old son, Tony, settled onto the sofa with her mother, Sophia, the 76-year-old matriarch of the family, while the newlyweds, Angelina’s 24-year-old niece, Lisa, and her husband, Richie, cozied up in the love seat. Meanwhile, Rocco commandeered the only arm chair in the room.
Tom carried the tray of pastries in, placed it on the table, next to the coffee, then sat next to Angelina on the companion sofa to Rocco’s left.
“Before we enjoy dessert, Thomas would like something to ask of you, Rocco,” Angelina said, giving her fiancé a gentle elbow to the ribs.
“Ummm…Rocco,” said a nervous Tom, standing up to face his lover’s beefy brother-in-law. “Since Angelina and Elaine’s father passed away, you’ve been the man of the family, so I thought it appropriate that I ask your permission. So…ummm…with your permission, I’d like to ask for Angelina’s hand in marriage.”
In the awkward silence that followed the request, the only sound that could be heard was the ticking of Angelina’s grandfather clock in the west corner of the room.
“So, if it’s…ummm… okay with you…” Tom said, stammering in nervousness.
“I heard you the first time,” Rocco snapped.
Once again, uncomfortable dead air filled the room. Now, the beating of his heart was competing with the grandfather clock for space in Tom’s ears — and the sounds were growing louder and louder.
Angelina and Tom had been secretly engaged for a week now. The older woman thought it only right — traditional, in fact — that they not spring the news on her family, but ask Rocco’s permission first, as a gesture of respect.
Tom and Rocco had been on good terms, or so the former thought. Still, Tom was deathly afraid to cross the physically intimidating man and hurt Angelina, like Rocco had warned him about from the beginning. In reality, if anyone in their 15-month relationship had been hurtful to the other, it was easily the serially unfaithful Angelina, what with her taking up with Harry Seymour again, performing oral sex on a male stripper or coming onto Frank Sinatra. Still, Tom was unsure how the overprotective Rocco would feel about him having a longterm relationship with his sister-in-law.
Deep in thought, Rocco scratched the two-day-old growth of stubble on his chin. Then, he slowly rose from his chair. Tom’s body began to tremble. Is he going to hit me? he wondered.
Staring poker faced into Tom’s eyes, Rocco gave a couple nods of the head. Interpreting the subtle gesture as tacit approval, most of the rest of the family jumped to their feet in joy and relief and began to embrace Angelina. Only the enigmatic Sophia, who had never really connected with Tom, due to either cognitive decline or unwillingness to accept her daughter’s relationship with a much younger man, remained subdued and glued to her seat.
“So, lets see the ring,” Elaine demanded.
Angelina bolted to her bedroom, returning a moment later with the ring in the box that Tom had given her the previous Saturday. Cracking it open, Angelina smiled with pride, as the family ooh’d and aah’d.
“Well, aren’t ya gonna put it on her and make it official?” Rocco asked Tom, with a spirited but hard slap to the young man’s back, oblivious to the fact that the engagement was already made “official” a week earlier, when the young man proposed to Angelina in private.
Playing along, Tom removed the band from the box, took a knee for dramatic effect and slipped it onto the ring finger of Angelina’s left hand. Angelina extended her arm before her and stretched and wiggled her fingers — the engagement ring catching the light in the room, as the family once again expressed their admiration.
“Oh, it’s beautiful, Aunt Ang,” cried out Lisa.
“Yes,” the girl’s mother said. “I think that’s a real diamond.”
“Why, of course it’s a real diamond,” Angelina said, beaming ear to ear with pride. “Two carats, to be exact.”
“Two carats?!” Rocco said. “I’m impressed. What’d that rock set you back, Tommy, five, six G’s?”
“Rocco!” scolded his wife. “It’s impolite to ask how much an engagement ring costs.”
“I’m just surprised, dats all. I didn’t know he made dat kinda coin.”
“This is so exciting!” Lisa said. “Have you two thought about a wedding date yet?”
“We’re thinking April, over my spring break,” her aunt answered. “But we don’t have a location or anything picked out yet.”
“How about a honeymoon?”
“Probably someplace tropical.”
“And have you decided where you’re going to live after you get married?” asked Elaine, anxiously, who had never lived more than a house length away from her sister in all her 54 years.
“We’re staying here,” Angelina said to the relieved Elaine. “Thomas is moving in to my house.”
“So, how does ya think we’re gonna drink coffee without da cups? Wit our hands?” asked a puzzled Rocco, alreadly losing interest in the big family news of the night.
“Oh, pardon me,” Angelina said, jumping from the sofa. “I was so distracted, I totally forgot about the cups.”
“I’ll give you a hand,” Elaine said, following her sister into the kitchen.
“What’s wrong with you?” a suddenly incredulous Elaine asked Angelina, when the two were alone. “Not two months ago, you were sucking a stripper’s dick. And now you want to make a lifeflong commitment to another man?! Have you lost your fucking mind?”
“Oh, that stripper doesn’t count…I was drunk,” said Angelina, with a dismissive waive of her hand, before turning her back to her sister to retrieve the coffee cups from a cabinet above the sink.
“What difference does that make? You still performed oral sex on him.”
“Never mind the fact that you were already unfaithful to your boyfriend at least once — maybe more times, as far as I know — have you stopped to consider the 30-year age difference between you two?”
“It’s 29, actually.”
“Whatever. That’s still a noticeable difference.”
“Age means nothing when you’re in love.”
“Love?! Listen, I’m happy Tom came into your life and saved you from that no good Harry Seymour, but he’s a boy. He’s Tony age, for crying out loud. You, of all people, what with how many men you’ve dated, should have known from the beginning that Tom should be nothing more than a harmless fling.”
“I know. But he’s grown on me — and we have such terrific sexual chemistry. I’m as attracted to him today, as the day I met him.”
“Oh, well, then I take it back. I’m sure he’s aged a lot in the last year going from 22 to 23.”
“Don’t be sarcastic, Elaine. I just turned 53. I don’t have many chances at love and happiness left.”
“But he does.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re tieing him up; selfishly preventing him from having child, a family. Have you thought of that?”
“Yes…and we’ve discussed it. He doesn’t care. He just wants to be with me.”
“He says that now, but what happens in five, 10, 20 years when the age difference is really pronounced? Will he still feel the same way about you, sexually?”
“I give him more credit than you. He’s not that superficial.”
“It’s called human nature, Angelina.”
“Oh, tell the truth. You’ve never approved of any man I’ve dated. You never approved of Harry, you never…”
“I never approved of Harry because he was MARRIED! And don’t try to twist things. It has nothing to do with whether I approve or disapprove of Tom. I actually think he’s a great kid, but ‘kid’ is the key word. If you care at all what your sister — who just happens to be your best friend — thinks, I wish you’d reconsider. This is a mistake. And another thing, think about mama. Someone from her generation has even less understanding of you and Tom’s relationship. What’s the stress of a wedding and marriage between you two going to do to her already fragile physical and emotional health?”
“Oh, please. Don’t bring up hypotheticals to try and scare me. The bottomline is I love him, and he loves me and to hell with the future. We have today. It’s that simple. Now, lets get back into the living before Rocco throws a fit.”
Ending the conversation, Angelina loaded up a tray with the coffee cups and walked through the swinging kitchen door. Elaine paused for a moment to gather her composure, before following her.
Settling back onto the sofa, Angelina opened her custom-made mahoghany cigarette box, gifted to her years ago from a well-heeled admirer named Roger, withdrew a Virginia Slim and deftly screwed it into her 6-inch black cigarette holder that lay next to it on the coffee table. Naturally, Tom followed with a light from Angelina’s gold cigarette lighter.
From his seat across the table, Tony watched the lighting scene unfold. While he wasn’t convinced his sexy aunt and the fiancé who was just a couple months older than him were in love, from the looks they exchanged, it was obvious to him they were at least in lust. The fire in their eyes for each other was as hot as the flame from the cigarette lighter.
The moment triggered a memory of a time nearly a decade past when a lovestruck Tony — after being in the right place at the right time to get a glimpse of his sexy aunt’s bare bush after she fainted — began lighting her cigarettes in a holder in a desperate attempt to win her affections.
For six months, he fantasized about his aunt, masterbated to the thought of her and was intensely jealous of her serious boyfriend, Harry Seymour. Angelina suspected her pubescent nephew may have sexual feelings for her — although she was never sure why — but she never let on, preferring to let the puppy-love crush run its course. Angelina may be an arrogant femme fatale, but she was also a sensitive and perceptive woman and an adoring aunt, who would never dream of embarrassing her nephew.
While Tony had long ago gotten over the forbidden and hidden love he had for his aunt, he couldn’t help now but feel a little jealous about her engagement news. Yes, he knew it was silly to think this way, but — right or wrong — she had a special place in his heart. Aunt Angelina was his first. The first woman he had fallen in love with. And, like Tom at the same age, the first woman he masterbated to.
Longingly watching the sexy, short-black haired, bespeckled woman, Tony felt a little depressed that a special time in his life was about to sunset. Sure, Angelina always had a slew of boyfriends — or fellow competitors for her heart, as Tony thought of them — but those relationships never lasted very long. Tony, the male figure who Angelina often referred to in condescending terms during his early teens as “the handsomest man in my life,” was the rock, the one constant left standing from the endless parade of men. Now, that rock was on the verge of being dug up and supplanted by someone else, a guy his age. Soon, his beloved aunt would officially be off the market and sexually off limits to anyone else but her new husband.
Angelina raised the mouthpiece of the long cigarette holder to her luscious red lips, closed them around the shaft, then withdrew and let out a seductively slow exhale. Crossing her left leg, swathed in a knee-high, high-heeled black-leather boot over her right, forced the fabric of her tight plaid skirt up her thigh.
I wonder if she’s wearing any panties under that skirt? Tony allowed him to ask himself, an erection quickly forming in his pants over the memory of seeing his aunt’s bush. Geez, stop it, man. You’re not a dumb teen anymore. She’s your aunt. Still…she’s so hot. Tom’s a lucky, lucky dude.
Forty minutes later, as Angelina’s relatives got up to leave the house, Tom excused himself to get a headstart on washing the dinner dishes. Halfway into soaping up the lasagna tray, he felt two hands run slowly up the front of his thighs until they met at his now-bulging groin.
“You’re transitioning quite seamlessly into domestic life,” purred the female voice from behind that belonged to those roving hands. “I most heartily approve. Men who do dishes are the sexiest.”
Tom dropped the brillo pad in the sink.
“Seems like you’d like the dishes to wait, apparently,” Tom said with a smile, turning around to confront the voice.
“How did you ever guess, darrhhling?” Angelina replied coyly. “Let that tray soak while we go make love.”
“Scrub away at this crusty tray or make love to the sexiest woman in the world. Hmm…tough choice. Think I’d rather apply my elbow grease to working on your body.”
“Excellent choice, my darrhhling.”
The couple’s faces met at the lips in a soft kiss. Several more tender pecks followed as their respective libidos warmed up.
“So, is this a preview of what I can expect when we’re married?” Tom asked, between nibbles on the side of his lover’s neck.
“Absolutely, darrhhling,” Angelina said, with her eyes closed, soaking in the foreplay, like the lasagna dish was soaking up dish soap. “If you think we make a lotta love now, just wait until we’re married and living together. We’ll start every morning making love, make love after dinner and for the day’s grand finale, I want you to fuck me to sleep like you do so well — and that’s just on weekdays. On weekends we’ll have even more time to enjoy ourselves. So take your vitamins and get proper rest, darhhlling. You’re going to need it.”
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