All Fur Coat and No Nicers

Heads turned as the maître d' led Queenie through the dimly-lit dining room of La Grenoulille. The elegant midtown restaurant had opened less than a year ago in the uneventful month between Marylin Monroe's death and the Cuban missile crisis. Seated at a candle-lit table near the back, Jack rose and bowed graciously. Queenie offered him her hand and he gently kissed it. They were both delightfully old school.

"May I take the lady's coat?" asked the maître d'.

"No thank you," she said. "I'm more comfortable keeping it on." She graced Jack with a wide grin. He watched her matte red-colored lips speak the words, "And I think everyone else would be too."

If the maître d' felt flustered, he hid it completely as he politely nodded and backed away. "But of course."

"Queenie, love, you nearly made the man blush," said Jack consulting the menu.

"It's what I do best," she purred, pulling the collar of her fur coat up closer to her smooth slender neck and shimmying her whole body.

"What kind of a number are you wearing under there tonight?" asked Jack. "Will we need to go downtown for you to take it off?"

"That's one way of putting it," replied Queenie.

Jack stopped his perusal of the menu, cocked one eyebrow, and looked around the edge of the table as if that would offer him a view under Queenie's full-length coat. "Come, now. Are you dressed like one of those beatniks? What are you playing at? Come to think of it, where did you get that coat? It must have cost a fortune. Do you have a sugar daddy I don't know about?"

The waiter appeared with two glasses of champagne. He tried his best to pretend he didn't hear Jack's comment, but he was young, and the tray shook as he handed Queenie her glass.

"Of course not, darling. I bought it myself."

"The day job's going well then, I trust," said Jack returning his attention to the menu. The band started up. A few couples rose and glided to the dance floor. The waiter returned. Jack placed their order and returned his full attention to Queenie.

"It's lovely, and you look radiant in it, just as you do in everything you wear."

"I know," whispered Queenie, locking eyes with Jack while she leaned forward and lightly brushed her breasts against the table.

Jack lowered his voice. "You are acting odd. Have you just laid with a man?" he asked.

"No, even better," replied Queenie.

It was hard to derail Jack, but he did a double take, pausing for a moment before asking, "A woman?"

"You want to know?" said Queenie. Jack nodded like a school boy offered more candy than he could have imagined.

"I've been frightfully naughty," she said. Jack beckoned for her to spill the beans. "You can't judge me."

"Have I ever?" said Jack, sincerely.

"I'm." Again, her luscious lips seemed to be the only objects in the room as Jack watched her speak so low she practically mouthed the words. "Not." Jack felt his breathing get heavier as if hexane gas had replaced the oxygen in the room. "Wearing." His mouth went dry. "Anything."

"Frog legs," announced the waiter as the first course arrived. Queenie's sultry smile and the weight of her words sunk in as the waiter placed the dainty dish of amphibious extremities in front of them and filled their glasses with a dry white wine.

Jack regained his signature cool composure and lifted his glass. Queenie raised hers in kind. "To fur," said Queenie.

"Luncheon in fur," retorted Jack.

"It's 10 pm. Really more of a dinner don't you think?"

"Touche. May I call you Ms. Oppenheim?"

"I'm a dancer, not an artist."

"One in the same."

"How is your novel coming along?" asked Queenie.

"Not as well as you apparently. Why change the subject?"

"Because if we keep speaking of fur-lined tea cups and the sexual innuendos they imply, I would ask if you would like to become lovers."

Queenie's last statement fell, like so many inappropriate remarks, just at the moment when the musicians lifted their bows and nearly every table paused in conversation. The near silence stretched on, interrupted only by a distant scrape of a knife against a plate and the hesitant clink of glassware.

The weight of the comment careened onward towards a cliff overlooking a beautiful but rocky coastline where a man might plunge to his death should he teeter too long looking over the edge. A dangerous lookout, where even a sturdy male might get caught off guard by the lightest of breezes; where even a gentle wind lightly kissing the back of his neck, could, like a hurricane gale, send a man to meet his maker.

A lump threatened to rise in Jack's throat, but thankfully the waiter had poured the red wine and its heady flavor shoved it back down into some uncomfortable but controlled knot that had formed in his gut the moment Queenie walked through the front door of La Grenouille. He stepped back from the perilous ledge.

"Beef?" asked a server pushing a white linen-clad cart.

"Yes, please," replied Jack only a heartbeat-and-a-half after Queenie had dropped her bomb. As the waiter delicately sliced the roast on its silver platter, Queenie studied her wine.

When the waiter had cleared hearing range, Jack regained his usual unflappable demeanor.

"Tell me more about the coat."

"I bought it at Saks."

"Quality store, but I meant for you to tell me how it feels."

It was Queenie's turn to flush. She took a long sip of wine while choosing her words.

"I wore it home from the store, with my old coat in the bag. It caressed my bare shoulders like peppered kisses. It slipped between my knees while I sat on the subway and felt like soft delicate fingers trailing along my lower legs. When I got home, I took off my dress and put the coat back on. It tickled my back and my cleavage tingled."

"So you removed your bra naturally," said Jack.

"Soup?" The waiter had impeccable timing.

"Yes please, and another bottle of the red," added Jack.

"Certainly sir," replied the waiter ducking away. The band began to play again.

"And my knickers," said Queenie.

"Naturally. So the fur coat is really a simple pleasure of nature."

"Yes," said Queenie. "I had no idea."

"So why do you need me then?" asked Jack.

Queenie chose to let Jack's question go unanswered. "Dance with me."

"Certainly." Jack stood, pulled Queenie's chair out for her, and offered her his arm. They made their way through the maze of tables to the dance floor which was full, but not crowded. He held her dainty right hand and placed his large one in the small of her back.

"High society will wonder what a lady is doing dancing in a fur coat," he chided in her ear.

"That's not where my attention is," she replied.

Jack considered his dance partner, noticed the swish of the coat just a centimeter or two across her skin with each step. He brushed her back, marveling at the softness of the fur. The fibers lapped at his wrists. He imagined how it felt as it moved fractionally with each movement over her nipples, her bottom, how it must be sensitizing her entire body. Queenie became visibly more flushed with each rotation around the dance floor and lured him with increasing desire in her eyes as each song played. "You are Venus in furs," he said.

"Is that what you like?" she asked, her lips brushing his cheek. Her warm breath drew him just a little closer. "I never took you for a masochist."

"I torture myself just being around you," sighed Jack. "You are a beauty wrapped in fur with pale smooth marble skin and brown curls." He pulled one straight with a finger and watched it spring back in place. "But I hope to give and receive pleasure not pain."

"So, that's a 'yes' on becoming lovers then?" asked Queenie, wrapping both arms around his neck. The music stopped. Jack released himself from her arms, took a step back, and held her hand to his lips.

"As you wish."

They headed back to their table for the cheese course. Jack ordered two ports. "I hope they serve something with chocolate and whipped cream for dessert," said Queenie. "Both flavors and textures are so sensual."

Jack ignored her comment. "Will you take it off when you come up to my apartment?"

Queenie smiled. It was a devilish smile. "Of course not. But I'll let you unbutton it." She noted his face twitched just a fraction. "I want you to rub the edges of it against the insides of my thighs, slide it over my breasts."

The waiter arrived with a mousse topped with whipped cream.

Jack seemed to consider Queenie's requests while watching her lick spoonfuls of chocolate and cream off her spoon. She watched him watch her and intensified her clearing of the inside curve of the spoon with her tongue. She lowered her voice. "Do you like being licked Jack?"

That did it. He was hard as a rock. "I won't make it home if you carry on like that," he warned.

Queenie raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you mean like inside the cab or the restroom? I hadn't considered that. I suppose, if that's what you're into, but I was hoping you would make it last all night."

Jack raised his hand and the waiter appeared.

"Check please."

The bill paid, Jack stopped at the coat check and picked up his hat and trenchcoat. Then he guided Queenie by the elbow towards the front entrance. The doorman opened the door but Jack swerved just before they reached the door and headed down a narrow corridor.

A quick glance over his shoulder told him no one else had seen them, and he led Queenie into an empty restroom. It was an elegant room, with only a single toilet. Jack quickly locked the door, swung Queenie around, and pinned her against it.

Her eyes drooped soft and full of lust. She seemed unflustered by his sneaky, sudden move. Her body felt relaxed under the pressure of his chest.

"Delightful dinner Jack, but I'm hungry for another meal." She stroked the back of his neck. "First course," she said and leaned in pressing her soft red lips against his. She tasted even better than she looked. Her lips parted and her tongue welcomed his. He kissed her, hungrily. She was so soft, yielding, and engaging. Jack heard a stifled moan and realized it was his.

Then she nipped at his lower lip, and gently pulled at it. Jack's yearning deepened.

"We're going now." His voice was deep, breathy, nearly unrecognizable. As he spoke, he stroked the back of the fur coat, his fingertips tracing her shoulder blades under the coat. His fingers brushed down the small of Queenie's back until they reached her buttocks. Then Jack rubbed the coat so its soft insides brushed against her skin. He stroked her back from her bottom up, higher and higher, lifting the hem of the coat well above her knee. Queenie purred from his caress.

"Ladies first," she said, opening the door and boldly striding back into the corridor. Holding her hand, Jack followed her outside.

They stood under the awning in front of La Grenoulille while an endless line of traffic flowed down 52nd Street. The night was cool and the wind barreled down the canyons created by the skyscrapers of Manhattan. The fine fur of Queenie's coat blew wild, standing on end in the gusts and she nuzzled her face down into the soft collar. The hem flapped repetitively against her bare, slender legs.

"Is your new coat keeping you warm and comfortable?" asked Jack as the doorman hailed them a cab.

"You have no idea," said Queenie, her eyes filled with mirth.

"I admit I'm getting jealous of your coat," said Jack.

"You should get one too," she replied.

"I was hoping you would share."

"Perhaps," she said as the cab pulled up and the doorman opened the door for them. Jack slid in close next to Queenie and gave the cabbie his address. His shoulder pressed against her, he rested his hand on her thigh. She looked at it and then looked out the window.

"Second course," he whispered in her ear. Slowly, and discreetly, he began rubbing her inner thigh through her coat. She continued to look away but he noticed she bit her lip and closed her eyes. They sat in silence, during the thirty-block ride to the Upper East Side. First Jack moved his hand in circles, then he began stroking up and down to her knee and back. He felt her shift and spread her legs at first just little, and then even wider, asking for more.

He moved his hand closer but, before he reached her pubis, she grabbed his wrist. For a moment he thought his efforts were being rebuked, but she guided his palm over the fur coat and around her mons, until he was cupping her firmly. Then slowly she guided his hand, shifting it only a few millimeters up and down, clearly feeling pleasure from the brush of the fur across her labia. Jack could feel himself getting aroused again and wondered what the fur would feel like on his penis.

The cab pulled up to Jack's building and Queenie stumbled ever so slightly when she got out of the car. Jack caught her by the arm.

"Too much champagne, love?" he asked, smiling at the driver as he paid him.

"Hardly, darling," replied Queenie.

He offered her the crook of his arm to walk into the lobby. The doorman nodded at them and tipped his hat. Queenie remained silent in the elevator, staring at the dial that marked their ride to the 18th floor while holding onto Jack's arm with both hands. The elevator man opened the gates and Jack unlocked his apartment.

"Drink?"

"Please."

Jack lit the gas fireplace and busied himself at the bar cart beside it. "Feel free to take your coat off and make yourself comfortable." Queenie walked a lap around Jack's elegant, yet masculine apartment, admiring the decor, before settling herself on the sofa.

"Nice try, and I'm quite comfortable, thank you."

Jack returned with two scotch and sodas and handed one to Queenie. "Now where were we?"

"I believe," said Queenie, taking a sip and setting the crystal glass down carefully on the rosewood coffee table, "we were still on the second course." She layed back on the sofa and placed her legs on Jack's lap. "I believe you were enjoying the frog's legs."

He took off her elegant high heels and set them gently on the ground. "You have very cute feet," he said lightly massaging them.

"I know," replied Queenie.

"And a nicer pair of legs than any frog I've ever met." He rubbed the hem of the fur coat all the way up one thigh, cupped Queenie again for a moment, and then repeated the motion with the other leg. Then Jack, slowly and deliberately, began unbuttoning Queenie's fur coat. He revealed the brown hair between her legs, the soft skin of her stomach and finally the cleavage between her breasts.

Queenie sat up and crawled up onto Jack's lap, straddling him. "I'm ready for the third course," she whispered in his ear. Jack placed his hands on the front of the fur coat and began rubbing her breasts with it. They kissed and Queenie rubbed her body against his. His erection bulged against the seam of his pants, and Queenie rubbed her hand over it.

Jack pushed the lapel of the coat to the side, licked and then sucked gently on Queenie's breasts, first one and then the other. A pink flush tinged her neck, and her breath became heavy. While he lavished attention to each breast with his mouth, Jack rubbed and squeezed her buttocks with the back of her coat.

"I'm skipping to the dessert," she said and slowly unbuttoned Jack's shirt, running her fingers through the hair on his chest, then licking and sucking her way down to his stomach. She wrestled his belt and trousers off and then knelt before him, rubbing herself against him as she sunk onto the floor. He gazed at her naked, save the fur coat.

She pulled up the hem of the coat and wrapped it around his hard cock. The sensation was wonderful. "I'm liking your coat even more," he mused, leaning back and staring at the chandelier above him as Queenie rubbed the fur up the length of his shaft and back down. Then she stopped, and he felt the soft edge of her coat fall away.

Jack watched as Queenie parted her full red lips and began to suck on his cock. As her head bobbed up and down he looked up again. This time the lights above him blurred as his pleasure built. Her tongue swirled around the tip of his penis as she licked it with her wet, warm, mouth. Again and again she took him in, and Jack felt the tension grow within until he was sure she would push him over the hilt soon if she continued. In a fit of self-control, he pulled Queenie off, pushed the coffee table aside and laid her down, coat and all, upon the plush wool rug in front of the fire.

The reflection of the flames danced across her skin. He laid on his side, propping himself up on one elbow and admiring her body. He brushed the edges over the coat across her nipples watching them tighten and firm. He stroked her stomach through the coat and slowly reached down to the warmth between her legs, this time with his bare fingers. She felt moist, ready.

Jack kissed her again, passionately forcing his tongue into her, deeper, harder, tasting himself in her mouth. He retraced the path of his hands with his tongue, laving and sucking on each breast, licking and gently nipping at the skin of her abdomen. Then he shifted and scooted down until he rested on his elbows and knees between her legs.

"Next course," Jack warned Queenie as he nibbled at her inner thigh, carefully moving up until he closed in on her warm, wet vagina. When he reached his desired destination, he licked hard along and slightly inside her introitus before flicking her clitoris firmly with the tip of his tongue. A devilish smile crossed Jack's face when he heard the groan Queenie emitted, and he doubled his efforts. Then he put all his energy and attention into pleasuring her with his mouth, sometimes teasing her with his fingers too.

While he feasted on her, she teased her own nipples with the fur. Faster he swirled his tongue and harder she rubbed the rest of her body with her coat, until finally she panted, "I want you inside me now."

Jack complied promptly, burying himself inside her. He paused, savoring the tight warmth for a moment before slowly beginning a steady series of thrusts. Queenie wrapped her legs around his waist and met his pelvis each time he entered her, pushing him deeper inside her.

They bucked and writhed and pulled at each other faster and faster. Their sweaty bodies moved as one, reaching a frenetic rhythm. When Jack felt the concentric pulses of her orgasm it sent him over the edge as well.

Jack collapsed on top of Queenie, spent. She wrapped her arms around him and they lay in silence watching the flames lap around the metal logs of the gas-fueled fire. Queenie looked up at the bar car by their heads.

"I could use a glass of port," she said. Jack rolled off her and reached over plucking two small glasses and a 20-year tawny off the cart. Queenie shook her shoulders out of the coat and pulled it out from under her. She grabbed two pillows from the sofa, and as Jack laid back down with the drinks in hand, she carefully placed the fur coat over them.

"A good investment, I'd say," said Jack, giving a nod to the fur.

"I think so," said Queenie leaning in to kiss him. "And the coat's nice too."