15
Brad
Of course I did not do as she asked. Not immediately anyway. I gave a dinner party in her honor instead. Actually two.
The first was held at my Manhattan apartment.
I told Lynn that it would be formal, so she should dress accordingly, except of course that she was to be naked beneath her dress. I also told her that the guest list would include several people of sufficient celebrity that she would know them, though not personally. In any event the dinner was, I said, simply a way of reciprocating previous invitations.
The table seats twenty.
Looking like the Goodyear blimp in a tuxedo, I was at the head of the table. Looking as pure as Botticelli's Venus Rising From the Sea, wearing a peach colored silk Versace sheath, which left her lovely shoulders bare, Lynn sat at the other end.
On her immediate left was a National Book Award winning female novelist; to her right was one of the better known major network Washington correspondents, who had let a rival cover a Presidential visit to the Middle East rather than miss one of my dinners.
Other guests included the ambassador to the United Nations from an important European nation; two movie directors; several members, both male and female, of families which have had money long enough to qualify as 'old' by New York standards; this year's sensation at the Metropolitan Opera (female); and a recently elected member of the NBA Hall of Fame. All the others were equally accomplished in their own fields, but did not share public fame. Obviously I cannot identify any of them more specifically.
Only with difficulty had I resisted the persistent entreaties of various society reporters to cover the event once the guest list leaked out.
Bernard, my chef, exceeded even his usual incomparable standard,
and the meal--from the caviar through the medallion of pheasant heart sauteed over a nest of Balinese lemon grass--was exquisite, if I say so myself. I do, but so did the guests.
The conversation was a rare blend of intelligence and wit as fine as the wines.
Although we were too far apart to speak together, from time to time, Lynn's eyes met mine. She seemed to be enjoying herself exceedingly.
A slight lull came over the table as the servants--I never use that odious neologism 'servers'--cleared away the last dishes.
My comment, "I trust that all of you are ready for dessert," received a murmur of general and eager agreement.
Raising my hand toward her in what I hoped was a gallant gesture, I said, "Perhaps, Lynn, you will be so kind as to come here to assist me."
A quizzical look crossed her face, but when the other guests began to applaud lightly, someone actually uttering "Here. Here." and the Washington correspondent leapt to his feet to pull back her chair, she rose and walked majestically toward me.
For a moment she stood at my side. I let her become aware of all eyes on her, before I gestured for her to lower her head. Smiling uncertainly, she bent. When her ear was at the level of my mouth, I whispered, "You are dessert. Crawl under the table and give everyone head. Start with Elaine," the 'old money' seated to my right, "and end with me. After all, guests should be served first."
Straightening she looked at me as though I had gone insane, but when she glanced around the table she realized that I was serious and her body gave a single involuntary shudder. She steadied herself, her face blank after a fleeting rictus, pulled the tight sheath high enough to knell, and disappeared beneath the tablecloth.
I pressed a buzzer.
The servants entered with bottles of one hundred year old port, calvados, champagne, cognac, and various liquors, as well as cheese and fruit, which we sampled as the wave of orgasm slowly circumnavigated the table.
Although we had all done this before, it is always entertaining to observe how various people take their pleasure. Though most tried to be silent and seem indifferent, a few, mostly men but one woman, the famous novelist, let themselves go, leaned back and screamed as the hidden mouth caressed them. At the other extreme, two of us gave no sign whatsoever--one of the movie directors being the one in addition to myself--and came without a twitch while continuing uninterrupted conversations. Years of practice.
I think she wanted to hide after completing the circuit. Simply to remain beneath the table until everyone had gone. But I was not having that. I wanted her to face them, now not as an equal, but with the come splattered face of a slave reduced to a mere instrument of their pleasure.
Groping beneath the cloth until I felt her hair, I pulled her out and to her feet, standing myself and folding her arm in mine.
