Encounter at the Symphony, Ch. 02
After saving her purse and her grandmother's diamond earrings, Christina invited David home for a nightcap.
Encounter at the Symphony, Continued from Chapter 01:
After the symphony ended, and with us having a private exit that placed us ahead of the large crowd, she put her long, gloves back on her hands and we beat the crowd to the street. Again, as if she was a stripper about to dance around a pole, as if she was putting on her white brassiere in front of me, I couldn't help myself from watching her put on her white gloves. I found it just as sexually exciting while watching her putting on her gloves as I found it sexually exciting watching her removing her gloves.
Not necessarily long, white gloves, I remembered a time when women wore white gloves back in the fifties and the early sixties. I remembered June Cleaver, Beaver's mother, in Leave it to Beaver wearing white gloves. I remembered Lucielle Ball wearing white gloves on I Love Lucy. I remembered Donna Reed wearing white gloves on the Donna Reed show. I remembered Dinah Shore wearing white gloves.
Unembarrassed and unashamed to admit, I remembered imagining and masturbating over June Cleaver, Lucielle Ball, Donna Reed, and Dinah Shore giving me a hand job while wearing their white gloves. Knowing that she never would, I imagined Christina giving me a hand job while she wore her white gloves. I found her white gloves to be as sexy as her long, line of exposed cleavage.
Getting up the nerve, before she disappeared forever, after enjoying her company, surprising myself by my forwardness, instead of asking her for a hand job, something that I'd never do, I asked her out for coffee. Hoping to make my move, not wanting to have any regrets, I wanted to ask for her phone number and/or her email address before she left. With me as horny as I was sexually frustrated, I imagined the unimaginable. I imagined something that would never happen, I imagined having sex with her. I imagined her as my lover.
"There's a Starbucks down the street. Perhaps, I could buy you a cup of coffee and a cookie or a piece of cake," I said with a little, uncomfortable laugh while hoping that she'd say yes.
With my limited income compared to her obvious wealth, I didn't have to be a psychic to know that I wasn't in her league. Nonetheless, I hoped that she may be indebted to me enough for saving her purse and her grandmother's diamond earrings, to have coffee with me and give me her contact information. She was too beautiful to allow her to disappear in the night without having the hope of ever seeing her again.
Then, falling back on being too hard on myself, I doubted that she'd want to begin a relationship with me, sexual or otherwise. I figured that she'd thank me for saving her purse, for saving her grandmother's earrings, and bade me goodnight and her goodbye. Surprised by her negative reaction, as if I had asked her if she wanted to eat chocolate, covered bugs from a Vietnamese, street cart, she made a face and waved her gloved hand again.
"Oh, my," she said. "I never go to those places," she said with a haughty attitude. "If you please, you must come home with me. James will make us coffee," she said taking my arm. "I'd love to have you as my guest," she said giving me a big, welcoming smile
She took my arm and turned me to the street.
"My car is right here," she said pointing to a black Maybach illegally parked in front of the concert hall. "After we've had our coffee, and/or an aperitif, and some conversation, James will drive you home."
Befitting her being driven around in such a fine and luxurious automobile, the car was as magnificent as her. Suddenly, I felt like Peter Sellers with Shirley MacLaine as Chance the gardener in Being There when her chauffeur drove him in her silver, Cadillac limousine to her mansion. If nothing else was to happen tonight, just to be allowed to sit in her private box with her, and given entry to her imagined mansion while having coffee and/or an aperitif, and driven home in her expensive car would complete my night.
'Wow,' I thought! 'Someone who seldom left his house, I can't believe this is happening to me.'
# # #
Encounter at the Symphony, Ch. 02:
In the way that Nick Carraway never left the mansion of F. Scott Fitzgerald's novel, The Great Gatsby, once allowed in the inner sanctum sanctimonious, experiencing a similar fate, David never left Christina's mansion. He was her permanent guest.
As if Christina was a black, widow spider and her mansion was her web, David never left as a guest in her huge home. With him for the taking, not expecting her to do so, and not having to make his moves to sexually seduce her, she made her sexual moves to win his heart. In the way that Zsa Zsa Gabor moved her lover, Prince Frederic von Anhalt into her house and into her life, Christina moved David into her house and into her life. Only, David would never financially take advantage of her in the way that Prince Frederic stole money from Zsa Zsa.
With Christina as lonely as she was horny and sexually frustrated, after receiving sexual advice from her sister, Carolyn, she took sexual advantage of the man who retrieved her belongings. Seemingly, unbeknownst to David, a love match made in heaven, she was as sexually attracted to him as he was sexually attracted to her. As much as Christina was ready for such a sexual affair, so was David. He wanted Christina as his lover as much as she wanted David as her forever, live-in lover.
As promised, James made and served them coffee and biscuits. Then, once they drank their coffee and ate their biscuits, she implored him to stay a little longer. Not wanting him to go as much as he didn't want to leave, he agreed to stay longer. Already unable to say no to her, he couldn't resist her beautiful face and her big smile. He'd love to stay longer if only to continue basking in the glow of her presence.
"You must have a nightcap with me before you go," she said while James opened a bottle of her favorite, white wine and filled her a glass. "What would you like to drink?"
I returned her smile with my smile.
"I'll have what you're having. White wine is fine," I said even though I'd prefer a cocktail.
Easy to talk to her, she allowed me to enjoy the vision of her while making eye contact with her. We sat and chatted for what seemed like minutes when it was more than two hours. We talked about everything and laughed over nothing. We discussed her favorite movies and television shows, and I told her my favorite movies and television shows. Discovering that we had much in common, we even had the same tastes in not only movies but also in television shows.
We discussed books. We discussed our likes and our dislikes. We discussed foods that we loved and foods that we hated. With her a world traveler, she told me all the countries that she had traveled to and visited, and with me having never left the country, all that I could do was to listen to her in awe.
If her face, her hair, and her eyes weren't beautiful enough, she had huge breasts that pushed out the front of her low-cut gown. Her long line of sexy cleavage promised to make me cross-eyed had I not forced myself to gaze into her beautiful, green eyes instead of staring at her big breasts. Then, when the skies suddenly darkened, she turned to look out her window at an advancing storm. The sideview of her enormous breasts through her dressed reminded me of two sexy, yet deadly torpedoes.
I would promise my soul to the devil to see her naked breasts. I'd live in hell for all of eternity to touch, feel, and fondle her huge tits while fingering her erect nipples. As if she had the body of a porn stage, she had the whole package. She had it all, beauty, brains, body, and money, lots of money.
# # #
Then, lighting her up as if she was a star onstage, an intense brilliance of lightening illuminated her. Another brilliant flash of lightning lit up the entire drawing room where we were sitting. Not a second later, a violent clap of thunder gave evidence that a sudden storm was directly overheard.
Asking me not to promise my soul to the devil, as if heaven sent me message, an angel appeared before me and spread her wings. I looked at Christina as if she was my angel, my busty, redheaded, green-eyed angel. The skies opened up with a monsoon like downpour. There was no way that I'd be traveling home tonight. As my good fortune continued, lucky me, I'll be her overnight guest tonight.
James knocked before entering the room to close the drapes.
"Pardon me, madam. I need to close the drapes," he said.
With her giving him her permission with a nod of her head, he gave her a little bow before walking over to the windows and pulling the drapes closed.
"Well, David, it looks like you're my guest for the night," she said looking at me as if measuring me. "You look to be my husband's size," she said eyeing me. "Fortunately, my husband was tall and slender, too. I have a thing for tall, slender men, especially in the way that I love Steven Seagal, obviously, I have a thing for men who have a black belt," she said with a sexy laugh. "He wore a 38 extra-long and a size 12 slipper."
I laughed.
"Those are my sizes. That's what I wear, too," I said.
She smiled.
"I have the perfect robe, pajamas, and slippers for you to wear. My husband, God bless his soul, passed away in his sleep before he had a chance to wear them. You may take them home with you when you leave," she said.
I nodded my head and smiled.
"Thank you," I said.