December 31, 1987
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 oftentimes 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 entered the scene.
Twenty-two year old Tom Bailey had been in love with Angelina since he was a 13-year-old student of hers, drawn in classic fetish fashion to the sexy librarian's stylish, high-heeled boots, seductive smoking and even her pretentious and snobbish personality. Over the past nine years 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 now broken, Angelina and Tom were finally free to embark on a committed, loving relationship. But the couple's path to romantic bliss 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 several weeks later before Tom worked up the nerve to introduce Angelina to his folks. He worried they'd wonder what on earth he saw in her. Sure, she was attractive enough -- but Angelina 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.
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 alluring in a woman? How every time he saw the haughty 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 every time he and this MILF-before-the-term-was-coined made love it brought him to heights of pleasure he never dreamed possible.
When Angelina finally met Tom's family, the encounter set off an unexpected earthquake 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.
To temporarily escape from and forget their family pressures, the May-December couple took a romantic Caribbean cruise over Christmas break, 1987. The getaway was just what the doctor ordered. Alone together, Tom and Angelina engaged in a month's worth of uninhibited and lusty sex in just one week. It was like their weekends back home -- only uninterrupted by family and work obligations -- when they oftentimes enjoyed thrice-daily, intense and passionate lovemaking. In these heady, early days of their dating life, Tom felt like he was attending a sex fantasy camp with his boyhood crush, while to Angelina, she was thoroughly caught up in the joy of what could be her last shot at romance and passion. For now, anyway, their love affair was enough to sustain and distract them from the very real possibility that those they loved may disapprove of their affair, judging Tom a weirdo and mere boy toy to Angelina's dirty old woman.
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"Bzzzzzz"
"I'll get it, buddy. Keep playing. Promise me you won't come out until I call for you, okay?" said Tom Bailey, bolting from his bedroom to answer the front door at his bachelor pad apartment in Hoboken, N.J.
Suspecting who was on the other side, the 22 year old didn't bother to look, as he usually did for security purposes, through the peephole, before swinging open the clunky metal door. Greeting him was his new girlfriend and former grade school teacher, Angelina Lione, who promptly let her faux fur coat drop off her milky white shoulders so she could show off her outfit, such as it was: nothing more than a sexy satin, low cut, v-neck negligee, held up by spaghetti straps. The night shirt extended to just above the middle-aged woman's knees, just under which began a luscious pair of black leather, high heeled boots. Dangling lazily from the left corner of her lipstick-covered mouth hung her trademark six-inch long black cigarette holder, with a freshly lit Virginia Slim fitted into the mouthpiece.
Brown eyes blazing with sexual fire behind her Diana Prince-styled eyeglasses, Angelina didn't say a word at first, preferring to her let body language do the talking for her. Tom didn't either. More accurately, he couldn't. The young man was too overcome by the awesome sight of his lover decked out in such an overtly sexy ensemble that a mere mumble was beyond him.
After about ten seconds, Angelina slipped the holder out of her mouth and broke the silence.
"Well, aren't you going to invite a lady in?" she asked.
"Umma...umma... yeah...yeah," Tom stammered, moving aside to allow his skimpily-dressed girlfriend to enter the apartment.
No sooner did he shut the door, than Angelina pounced on him, flinging her arms around his neck and planting a long passionate kiss on his mouth.
"Oh, darling. You've NO idea how much I've been waiting to do that," she announced with a sigh of relief some 20-odd seconds later, after the two unlocked lips and the oversexed but never satisfied woman had gotten her kiss fix. "After a week of non-stop lovemaking, it's been HELL going cold turkey without you these past two days. Honestly, if I had to spend another night with just my family celebrating the holidays I'd have gone crazy."
"I know. Sometimes, though, I wonder if that cruise was worth it," Tom said, hands holding on to both sides of Angelina's curvy waist.
"What do you mean?"
"Not like I'm complaining, because I'm definitely not, but we made love so much we barely left the ship's cabin. I hardly remember being on deck. We could have stayed in Jersey, saved a lot of money and still made all the love we want."
"I think it was still worth it to get away on our first romantic trip together. Tonight will be romantic, too. I brought a bottle of champagne. We'll warm up with four hours of foreplay, finished off by you fucking me at the stroke of midnight."
"Don't you mean 'kissing me at the stroke of midnight?' Isn't that the tradition?
"Uh-uh. My New Year's Eve tradition is to have sex with my man at midnight...if you can last that long. You like what I'm wearing?
Angelina stepped back, smiled and struck an alluring pose for her boyfriend.
"Oh, it's very nice, but it is cold and flu season, you know. Best to dress warmly," said Tom, quickly picking up Angelina's coat and draping it around her shoulders, before pulling the lapels tight across her breasts, the nipples of which shown through the see-through fabric of her negligee.
"What are you doing?" Angelina asked obstinately, angrily opening up the flaps. "You're acting very peculiarly, darling. What's going on?"
