October 28, 1988
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 burst into her life.
Twenty-two year old Tom Bailey had been in lust with Angelina for years, drawn in classic fetish fashion to the sexy librarian's stylish, high-heeled boots, seductive smoking and even her pretentious and snobbish personality. Over time, 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 finally 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 a couple months into their relationship before Tom worked up the nerve to introduce Angelina to his folks. The encounter set off a tremor 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.
That introduction went poorly enough, but how would Tom's college friends react to seeing him with a much older woman? What would be their impression of her? What would he see in her? Sure Angelina was attractive enough -- but she 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. The very real possibility existed that they'd disapprove of this affair, judging Tom a weirdo and mere boy toy to Angelina's dirty old woman.
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.
Now, a year into their dating relationship, the grave doubts Tom once harbored about he and Angelina ever having a serious, long-term future together had faded and their relationship had settled into a seemingly physical routine of uninhibited, care-free sex.
The telephone in the tastefully decorated office attached to the Riverside Middle School library rang for the umpteenth time that Friday. Angelina Lione knew who the caller was before she picked up the receiver.
"What is it now, Thomas?" answered the annoyed head librarian, after pressing the phone to the right side of her face -- made up as immacutely as a Cover Girl model's. "I'm trying to work and you keep interrupting."
"I just...uhhh... wanted to know why you...uhhh... don't want to do anything tonight," her young boyfriend said, his halting voice dripping with a most unattractive blend of confusion and desperation. "We always have a date on Friday night."
"As I've told you repeatedly, I'm just not in the mood."
"But we haven't seen each other all week. We didn't even get to celebrate our anniversary last Saturday because you spent the night at your sister's house after Lisa's bacheloretty party. I really want to see you. I miss you."
"Not tonight, okay?"
"But I don't understand. Is there something wrong. Did I do something wrong?"
"I don't want to talk about this right now. Listen, it's been a long week, I'm tired and I still have a lot of paperwork to do. I just want to finish up, go home and crawl into bed. Now goodbye....and DON'T call me anymore here."
"But..."
"For the last time: GOODBYE!"
Angelina slammed the phone down into its cradle before Tom could reply. The stress of the past week had finally caught up with her and she buried her head in her hands and began to weep.
What started so promising the previous Saturday with a lunch date with Tom's mother, soon led the 51-year-old librarian to second guess her relationship with him. Then, in a drunken lapse of judgment, she performed oral sex on a male stripper. Angelina had been ducking her boyfriend ever since as she tried to process how he apparently felt about her and her about him; and regretting that they hadn't been properly addressed over the last year.
"Angelina, are you okay?" came a female voice from the open door to the library office.
Angelina raised her head from the desk.
"Oh, hi, Sharon," she said, wiping her hands across her mascara-stained cheeks. "Yes, I'm okay."
"You don't seem okay. What's wrong."
The concerned woman took a seat on the couch in front of Angelina's desk.
"It's just men trouble," Angelina said, with a dismissive waive of her hand, as she rose from her desk and walked around in front of it.
"Sure you don't want to talk about it?" Sharon replied.
"I don't want to burden you with my troubles."
"No trouble at all. Why don't we go out for a drink and talk about it?"
"No, I'm not really up for socializing. Plus, I'm in my work clothes."
Sharon scanned Angelina's outfit: the smart-looking white button-downed blouse, black pencil skirt and matching black leather, knee-high, hot-nail boots and shrugged her shoulders.
"You look a helluva lot better in your work clothes than I do in mine," she said, pulling at the sleeve of her baggy gray sweatshirt. "Lets go. I'll even buy. It's happy hour. It'll be fun."
"I don't think so."
"Do you realize we've taught at the same school for the last 10 years and have never once socialized? We even live in the same town, for crying out loud! C'mon, lets go."
"Well...okay," Angelina reluctantly agreed. "I guess it would be helpful to talk to someone about this. Just give me a minute to fix my face."
"That's better. We single gals have to stick together. I'll wait over by the magazine rack. The new edition of Popular Mechanics come in yet?"
Forty-five minutes later, the co-workers settled onto the last two swivel seats at the end of the bar at Skipper's, Cromwell, New Jersey's swingest nightspot.
