The cars began to arrive, one by one, in the horseshoe shaped driveway. Exiting from BMW, Mercedes, and Lexus sedans in the crisp January air, the middle-age couples walked to the house. Chris recognized them all. Most had known him since he was a little boy. His parents had been socializing with the same crowd for years. He rarely paid much attention to these people when growing up, their conversations forming a background drone to his life at home. Things had changed, though, since starting college. With the physical distance and new, challenging environment he began to view the people of his life through a more critical lens. He was sure his parents noticed the change. Most certainly it was evident in his reluctance to pour Mimosas and Bloody Marys for the annual New Year's Day brunch. It would be an endurance contest as these people he could not relate to talked too loudly -the women about tennis, bridge, and kids, the men about politics and the market and all with that annoying, self-satisfied bent of the upper middle class. He just wanted to get in the car and go somewhere else, read a book, write in his journal - get away.
He left the bathroom window from where he had been eyeing the arrival of the guests and made a beeline for the kitchen. A short jog from the side door and, just beyond, freedom. His mother, with Champagne glass in hand, intercepted him.
"Oh Chris, there you are. Would you take everyone's coats when they arrive and put them in the hall closets?"
Chris thought to himself, what if I just said no. What would she say?
"Sure, no problem."
"Great, thanks sweetie."
The doorbell rang. Four couples entered.
"Chris, you are home for the holidays! Oh, how wonderful. Look at you. Oh my god! You are so grown-up."
"Hi Mrs. Richman. Nice to see you."
Grabbing her fur coat, Chris made the polite smile. The husbands would approach and make perfunctory remarks about freshman year in college, or something that would recognize his presence. The volume of the voices grew as people fought to be heard. Chris noticed how the clothes everyone wore, particularly the women, were no doubt expensive and stylish, yet looked so style-less. It was just the least sexy environment and made him wonder to what he had to look forward as he grew older. Does anyone here still get turned on by his or her spouse, he wondered.
Finally, he took refuge in the kitchen. Sneaking himself a drink from the Bloody Mary pitcher, he heard a voice from behind.
"Testing the beverages for safety, I assume?"
Chris coughed. He flashed an embarrassed grin as he looked at Mrs. Corman. One of his parents younger friends, or so it seemed, for she, to the exception of the group, always looked amazing. He was always a bit shy around her since she been the subject of some of his earliest masturbatory fantasies. There was this style about her and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on. She seemed sexier, even when other peers attempted do dress just the same. He had heard his parents talking about her over the weekend, for she was recently separated from her husband, a successful dental surgeon.
"Oh, um, yeah, well I was just..."
She laughed softly.
"Don't worry. I won't tell, but I hear you are the man for the coats."
"Oh yeah that's me. Let me help you."
Chris reached over and helped her remove her long wool coat from her shoulders. As he leaned he caught the scent of her perfume. Not doused on her like his mother's other friends. He felt a desire to linger. It was when the coat came off that he really had to suppress his urge to stare. She was wearing a knee length, tan suede skirt that hugged her lovely hips, a black turtleneck sweater, and pair of black leather knee high boots. They had such long, pointy toes with very tall heels. The black leather hugged her slim calves. He turned away, fussing with the coat on his arm so not to seem overly intrigued. His pulse quickened.
"Thank you. You don't have to put the coat away, really - just point the way."
"No, no, um, it would be my pleasure."
Chris went down the hallway to hang up the coat with the others. He leaned close to it as he placed it on the hanger to catch its scent. Perfume, plus the subtle scent of cigarette smoke. Did Mrs. Corman smoke? If so, he had never seen her do so and so few of his parents, if any, still smoked. Yet, it was clear that she was changing, or showing, a new side to herself from the way she looked.
When he returned to the kitchen, she was standing with elbow cocked, fluted champagne glass held in her graceful, long nailed hand. Smiling at him. Lipstick on the rim of the glass. He was surprised, for he expected her to join the others in the living room where he would seem no more than the butler.
"Hope you don't mind if I helped myself. I just love mimosas."
"Oh no, what am I going to do now? That was one of my few jobs."
"Ha, ha. Well, I'm sure you are capable of more interesting tasks."
He blushed, and looked down.
"So, tell me about college? How are classes? Or, are you discovering more important things?"
Chris blushed, again.
"Nah, I mean, I'm studying most of the time. My roommates a big partier and I've seen what it is doing to his grades."
She reached out and touched his arm.
"Hope you don't mind me saying, but you always seemed so shy. I was that way when I first started college, but then I learned to just have fun. Let go."
Chris stared at Mrs. Corman.
"Mrs. Corman, don't let my parents hear that. They pay the bills, I'm thinking all they want to see is production - like grades."
"Oh, don't worry. I know how your mother is, but I'm sure she would be happy to see you with a girlfriend. My god, your face is filling out - you are really getting quite handsome."
Chris turned crimson.
"Oh, I'm sorry Chris. I didn't mean to embarrass you."
"No, no. Not at all. I mean, um, it's okay."
Her eyes followed his as he said this.
"Okay, then."
She reached over to grab an orange wedge, when her drink tipped. Chris watched as the mimosa spilled onto her gleaming, black boots.
"Oh, damn! I'm so clumsy."
Without thinking, Chris started for a napkin and went to his knees. He began dabbing up the spill on the floor and then looked up at Mrs. Corman. Their eyes locked. He moved the napkin to the toe of her boot and started rubbing it lightly, gathering the moisture
"Oh, thank you Chris. They are brand new. Do you think they are too young for me? I mean, the boots? You know, a little to tall in the heel."
Chris stammered.
"Um, no. No, not at all. I think they look, um, pretty cool, I mean nice."
A pregnant pause.
"Chris, call me Diane. Please. I feel ancient when you say Mrs. Corman. Besides, I'm not going to be Mrs. Corman for much longer."
He didn't know how to respond to that. Chris finished getting the spill off her boots. He stood up. She seemed pleased when she looked down at her boots.
"Chris, you are ever the gentlemen. Oh, I think you missed a spot" They both laughed.
"I did appreciate it, though."
She looked towards the door to the living room.
"Well, I suppose I should be more social. I hope to see you around."
"Thanks Mrs. Corman, err, I mean Diane."
"Good. That's much better."
He watched her walk into the living room. His eyes followed her every move. Did he get on my knees and clean her boots? Oh, geez, what was he thinking? It was like he was now just coming out of some trance. He walked into the living room several times, pretending to see if anyone needed a refill. His eyes fell upon Diane. She was chatting with his mother. His eyes fastened on her stiletto boots. He was lingering over a table. He looked up. Her eyes had been upon him. She was looking at him quizzically.
His cock was straining against his pants. Placing several coasters in his hand, he carefully walked out of the living room, hoping he had gone unnoticed. She busted him, didn't she?
Inside his bathroom, he turned on the fan. Leaning back, he pulled down his pants. His prick was thick with blood. Each vein clearly visible against his smooth skin. He grasped his cock. He knew, in this high state of arousal, a few strokes would be all it took. Diane filled his head. He thought of the look they exchanged as he cleaned her boots. Oh god, he was coming so soon. Thick gobs spurted onto stomach and shirt. He moaned against the white noise of the ceiling fan. A knock at the door. Oh, shit, had someone heard him?
"Hello?"
It was Diane.
"Um, err. Just a minute."
Chris quickly flushed the toilet to make more of a distraction. He was breathing quickly as he raced to clean himself up. He looked down to make sure the cum was off his shirt. A pile of tissues in the toilet. Shit, shit flush faster!
He was flushed, and still breathing quickly, as he opened the door.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Chris, I didn't mean to startle you, but the other bathrooms were being used, and your mother suggested this one."
"Oh, no, no problem. It's all yours."
She looked down at his rumpled shirt. Her eyes lingered on his stomach. Was there something there? Does she can smell my cum?
She raised an eyebrow.
"Sure you are all done?"
He gulped. Where was this going?
She grinned.
"Ha, ha. I'm just teasing you. Stop looking so seriously."
