Librarian Finds Long Overdue Love Ch 21

December 10, 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 frequently 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 long-term romantic harmony 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 bitchy 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 he and this MILF-before-the-term-was-coined made love it brought him to heights of pleasure he never dreamed possible.

For a year, the pair engaged in an intense physical relationship, characterized by daily bouts of uninhibited, care-free sex and yet somehow devoid -- at least in Tom's viewpoint -- of satisfactory emotional intimacy.

Finally after a year of "dating," the two professed their love for each other, although their future seemed as romantically dysfunctional and clouded as their present.

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Tom Bailey turned around in his seat at the end of the aisle on row nine in the center of the concert hall and carefully surveyed the scene. Not one of the handsomely dressed souls in the packed venue, it seemed to him with bemusement, was within a decade of his 23 years.

Turning back around he glanced down at his evening's attire. Funny, Tom thought, brushing a piece of lint off his brown, neatly pressed three-piece suit, I wore a ripped tee shirt and cutoff jean shorts to the Dead show at the Garden not three months ago.

But tonite was no Grateful Dead concert with his drunken, stoned college buddies. This was a truly special occasion: a performance by the legendary Francis Albert Sinatra at the sold out Bally's Grand Hotel and Casino in Atlantic City, where he was accompanied by his elegant middle aged girlfriend, Angelina Lione.

Looking up and to his left, Tom found the smiling woman staring longingly and lovingly into his eyes. Angelina was stunningly radiant -- and it wasn't just due to the more than usual amount of mascara around her eyes or the extra rouge applied to her cheeks. Angelina's attractive face practically glowed with a natural radiance that no amount of makeup could copy.

Dressed to the nines in a black, off-the-left-shoulder Halston evening gown and matching colored knee-high, stiletto boots with 3.5" heals that she purchased earlier in the year during their New York City shopping excursion (a trip capped by passionate lovemaking in a department store dressing room), the biased Tom thought Angelina was by far the hottest looking woman in the place.

Normally reserved in public, the conservative librarian surprised Tom when she suddenly reached her right hand over, gently cupped his cheek, leaned her head in and planted a delicate, yet sensuous kiss on his lips.

"To what do I owe that to?" Tom asked, moments later, dabbing at the lipstick on his mouth with the pocketsquare from the breast pocket of his suit.

"I think you know very well, darrhhling," Angelina said, the smile apparently frozen on her face. "I've been to a dozen or so Sinatra shows over the years, but this one is especially exciting. I've never sat so close to the stage before. I can't believe you got these tickets. I love you so much."

"Well, nothing's too good for my girlfriend. I have a hunch this show will be especially memorable for you."

"The weekend's off to a great start, darrhhling. First, a romantic dinner for two and now, a Sinatra show. I love how you spoil me."

"Isn't that what a boyfriend's supposed to do for his girlfriend?"

Angelina pressed her mouth close to Tom's left ear.

"After the show," she said in a breathy whisper, "I want to take you back up to our hotel room and fuck your brains out."

His older lover's dirty talk almost provoked an awkwardly timed erection in Tom's trousers. Fortunately, for him, came an immediate distraction. Moments later, at precisely 11:00 p.m., Sinatra's patent leather dress shoes hit the concert stage. Angelina jumped out of her seat with the enthusiasm of a teenaged girl at a 1960s Beatles' concert, a split second, it seemed, before the rest of the audience rose to greet the iconic crooner.

Angelina was so overstimulated, in fact, that Tom thought she may faint -- a not-so-uncommon occurrence for a woman who oftentimes dealt with emotional distress by passing out. Her over-the-top response to seeing "old blue eyes" in person was another source of wonder to Tom. He knew his girlfriend was a Sinatra super fan, but didn't think she'd go this wild at the sight of him. Then again, Tom was also unaware that Angelina harbored a decades-long crush on the man.

After a near two-minute standing ovation, Sinatra broke into his first number of his second show of the evening. Despite the late hour, the soon-to-be 73 year old was spry and in good spirits as he launched into "I've Got the World on a String."

In the nine numbers that followed, including "Mack the Knife," "My Way," and "In the Still of the Night," Angelina appeared mesmerized by the great man's performance. Her body tingled with sexual pleasure on every note from the baritone's vocal chords. So intent was Angelina's focus that to her, the legendary entertainer was singing to a captive audience of one: her. Every microscopic hair in her pussy quivered and stood on end. It was a physiological miracle that she didn't orgasm in her seat.

For his part, Sinatra seamlessly transitioned from one song to the next in the setlist, rarely pausing between numbers to engage the audience. But after an especially jacked up performance of "New York, New York," he finally took his first extended break of the evening.

"To help me bring this show home tonight," Sinatra said, before pausing to wipe the perspiration from his forehead with a white pocketsquare from the breast pocket of his black tuxedo, "I'd now like to welcome two dear friends to the stage. Please give a warm welcome to Misters Buddy Greco and Sammy Davis, Jr!"

Once again, the audience rose as one as the smiling singers bounded onto the stage and grabbed microphones from the top of two padded stool chairs.

"This next number is a set up -- an opening act, if you will -- to a very special event," Sinatra continued. "Good luck, my friend. And a one...and a two..."

In perfect harmony, the trio proceeded to tear into "Luck be a Lady." Four-and-a-half minutes later the song ended. After about a half a minute more, the house lights dimmed ever so slightly. Suddenly, a spotlight from the rafters shone on the aisle off the end seat of the ninth row -- where Tom Bailey knelt on his left knee. Holding before him a small, closed rectangular black felt box, he looked up thoughtfully into the face of the love of his life, Angelina Lione.

Tom cleared his throat, and as his hands cracked open the box he asked the most important question of his young life: "Angelina, will you marry me?"

Completely caught off guard by the proposal, Angelina, could only focus on the 2-Carat diamond engagement ring and a smiling Frank Sinatra, standing some 40-feet directly behind it on stage.

Her head swimming in emotions, it looked to the dazed librarian like Sinatra, her celebrity crush was proposing to her, before she let out a "Oh....Frankkkkk," and swooned in her seat.

A collective gasp came forth from the hushed crowd, as Tom climbed back to his feet and rushed to attend to his fainted girlfriend.

"Don't worry, folks," Sinatra said, in a calm, reassuring voice. "Can we get an usher down here to help out please?"

Within seconds, a Bally's usher appeared at the row.

"She just needs some air, she'll be fine," Sinatra continued, as Tom and the usher quickly wrapped the unconscious librarian's arms around their shoulders and with their arms formed a makeshift chair for her to sit on. "Sometimes, the moment can be too much for some ladies to take. Now, let's get back to the show."

As Tom and the usher whisked Angelina from the hall, the band coincidentally, but appropriately enough, played her out by striking up "The Lady is a Tramp."

"Take her for a second, will ya," Tom said, handing Angelina off to the usher after the two men had carried via the elevator to the couple's room on the twelth floor of the hotel and casino.

"Ya sure ya don't want to take your mother to the doctor's office?" the usher asked, holding the fainted woman upright as Tom fumbled in his suit pants pocket for his room key.

"That's not necessary, she passes out all the time," the young man said, inserting the key in the lock. "And she's NOT my mother. She's my fiancée...I hope."

Tom swung the door open and the usher, now holding Angelina bridal-carry style, walked into the room.

"Oh, sorry," the man said, sheepishly. "Where do you want her?"

"Lay her on the bed," Tom instructed.

The usher gently placed Angelina on the bedspread of the king-sized bed.

"I can...ahhh...take it from here, thanks," Tom said to the man, who couldn't help staring at the sexy and unconscious beauty.

"Oh...yeah...sure," the usher said, his mind snapping back to the moment.

Tom stuffed a $10 bill into the man's palm and the usher showed himself out of the room.

"Well, this proposal couldn't have gone any better," Tom said sarcastically, looking down at the bed to his fainted girlfriend, who was now snoring softly. "Looks like she's done for the night. Think I need a drink."

The disappointed young man turned and took three steps to the door before turning around to again face Angelina.

"She'll kill me, if I let her sleep in that dress."

Tom walked over to the bed. Lifting his passed out girlfriend off her back, he proceeded to unzip her expensive evening gown. Laying his lover back down, Tom moved next to Angelina's legs and unzipped and removed her knee-high stiletto boots, then slipped her dress off her body. Finally, he removed the large, oval-shaped eyeglasses she'd been wearing since the late 1970s, folded them up and placed them on the nightstand.

"Dressed" for bed now in only her bra and red thong panties, Tom grabbed a blanket from the closet to keep her warm. Bending over, the young man was about to drape it over Angelina's midsection, before he paused and looked at his lover.

How could that idiot possibly think Angelina was my mother? he thought with annoyance, gazing lovestruck into her unconscious face. He's crazy. Sure she's got some miles on her but Angelina's way too young to be my mother.

Then, Tom straightened up at the waist and took a step back to better examine the vintage automobile. Rarely did he have occasion to view Angelina in this condition. He knew from personal experience that hers was a high-performance engine. But now he wanted to check the body of the old jalopy for any signs of dents and scratches. Not that she had many literal skin imperfections.

Starting at the top, Tom noticed that Angelina's perfectly coiffed salt and pepper hair had increasingly more metaphorical traces of sodium chloride in it than 15 months ago when they first started dating. But so what? Yeah, the crow's feet around her eyes were more noticeable now sans eyeglasses, but she had only recently turned 53 years old. Who wouldn't have some wrinkles at that age? Looking further south, Tom's now-critical eyes took in Angelina's bra-covered breasts. They showed little, to no sagging. Nor did her abdomen reveal much fat or her thighs any dimples. An (over)active sex life through the years kept Angelina trim and self-discipline on her only vices -- the occasional cigarette and alchoholic drink -- kept her as healthy as any middleaged woman had a right to be. Maybe Angelina had a lot of mileage on her but she was no lemon.

Satisfied with the results of his spot inspection, Tom draped the blanket over Angelina's toned midsection. Left a note on the nightstand as to where she could find him in the unlikely event of her regaining consciousness before he returned. Then kissed her sweetly on the lips, let himself out of the room and took the elevator down to the lobby.

"What do you have on tap?" Tom asked the bartender, plopping his tired frame down on a stool at the bar of the nearly empty hotel and casino lounge.

"ID?" said the no-nonsense server, not so much as a question but a demand.

With a raised eyebrow of disbelief, Tom dug his right hand into the left inside breast pocket of his suit jacket. Emerging with his wallet, the youthfull-looking 23 year old withdrew his driver's license and handed it to the skeptical man.

"Bud, Miller, Lowenbrau..." the bartender said, handing the ID back after a couple glances back and forth between the photo on the license and Tom's face.

"Surprise me," Tom interrupted.

The bartender slid a beer glass under the Lowenbrau tap and drew Tom a brew that was two parts suds to one part liquid.

For the next 40 minutes or so, Tom nursed his beer and turned the night's events over in his mind. Not knowing the depths of Angelina's Frank Sinatra crush, he was more bemused and embarrassed than concerned by his girlfriend's "Oh...Frankkkk" reaction to his proposal. Tom was confident that when he proposed again the outcome would be more favorable. More troubling to him, though, was the usher's assumption that Angelina was Tom's mother. No one was more acutely aware of the vast age difference between he and his 53-year-old girlfriend, yet Tom still hadn't associated his attraction to Angelina with some kind of latent Oedipus Complex. The thought creeped him out. He was not remotely attracted to his mother; at any time in his nearly 24 years.

It did make him think, however, about the future and what life would be like with an aging Angelina. Despite her "wear and tear" she still looked great to him. But would he still be attracted to this library goddess in five, 10, or 20 years? The question gave him pause.

"Pardon me, is this seat taken?" came a familiar voice from behind Tom's left ear.

Tom knew who the voice belonged to even before he swiveled on his bar stool to face the person who it belong to.

"Angelina! an excited Tom said, rising from the stool to give his girlfriend a peck on the cheek.

The young man moved to his left and held the stool in place while Angelina slid her sexy ass -- once again back in the Halstron dress she wore earlier that evening -- onto the cushion.

"I didn't expect to see you again tonight," Tom continued, now returned to his own stool. "It's past midnight; figured you'd sleep through till morning."

"Glass of Chablis, please," Angelina said to the bartender, before turning back to her lover. "I feel refreshed and ready to party, darrhhlling."

Angelina gave her lover a sultry smile and placed her hand on the top of his left thigh.

Tom was lost for words. Had Angelina forgotten that he had proposed to her right before she fainted? he thought, looking back at Angelina with hesitation. How can I bring that subject up?