March 25, 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 and subsequently became engaged to be married. Still, their future seemed as romantically dysfunctional and clouded as their present. In part due to questions surrounding whether or not Angelina was capable of curbing her sexual enthusiasm.
For even while dating her confessed greatest lover, Harry Seymour, Angelina engaged in several dalliances with other men. Would the mere presence of an engagement ring on her finger be enough to stop a lifetime of promiscuity. Certainly if she were to sustain a long and healthy marriage, such party-girl misbehavior would not be permissible. At long last, can this cougar finally change her stripes and commit to a monogamous relationship with someone, ideally, her fiancé, Tom?
Bedecked in a short, gray leather skirt, long-sleeve, tight and thin black sweater and black velvet neck choker, Angelina Lione walked quickly across her green and yellow-checkered lawn to her sister, and next door neighbor, Elaine's house. It was 6:45 p.m. and her bachelorette party wasn't scheduled to begin for another 15 minutes, but Angelina couldn't wait any more. She'd been chomping at the bit all day to get this party -- her last official soiree as a single woman before her wedding in two weeks -- started and didn't want to waste a moment of it.
As her maid of honor, Elaine had been enlisted (somewhat reluctantly) to plan the bachelorette party. Since the engagement three and a half months earlier, the sisters butted heads about what type of party would be thrown. Terminal party girl Angelina wanted to exit the single scene with a bang and would not be satisfied with anything less than decadence. While Elaine, the older, married and far more sensible of the two, had a more sedate affair in mind. In the end, Angelina prevailed. Afterall, right or wrong, it was her party. If Angelina got too wild, like she did months earlier at her niece, Lisa's, bachelorette party, when she performed a blow job on the male stripper, well, then she would have to live with the consequences.
"I'm ready to party. Where's my strippers?" the notorious man chaser asked excitedly, by way of a greeting, when Elaine opened the front door.
"Cool your high heels, sis, geez," Elaine said, as Angelina and her 3.5-inch, stiletto-heeled, black knee-scraping leather boots barged past her, eyes darting about for signs of a g-string-clad stud. "You're the first person here. C'mon in, have a drink, relax and wait for everyone else to arrive. Oh, by the way, it's just gonna be the four of us tonight. Your future sister-in-law called. She's got a migraine and isn't up to coming."
"Good."
"Why good? I thought you liked Janet."
"I do. But I don't know her well enough to trust her. She could turn informant and tell Neil, who will tell his brother, Thomas, about my actions during tonight's festivities."
"Oh, Angelina, you're not planning on going nuts tonight, are you? I'm still having flashbacks about the scene you caused at Lisa's bachelorette party."
"Darrhhling, I intend to make that party look like a church social. Ms. Lione intends to transcend into Mrs. Lione-Bailey in grand style -- and leave a trail of men in her wake. You did order a pair of exotic dancers for the festivities, didn't you, darrhhling?"
Bzzzzzz.
"Yes, Angelina. I've told you that countless times," Elaine said in dismay. "Can you get the doorbell, please? I've got to take the hors d'oevres out of the oven."
Elaine ducked into the kitchen, while Angelina let Lisa, her niece, and Nancy Allums, her best friend and assistant at the library -- who had driven separately but arrived at the same time -- into the house.
Forty-five minutes later, the party of four -- mostly the guest of honor -- were still waiting in awkward silence for the adult entertainment to show.
"More wine, anyone?" Elaine asked her guests, rising from her modest, wood-framed "Edith Bunker" chair to pick up the bottle of mid-priced Merlot from the coffee table.
"Elaine, when did that service say the dancers would arrive?" Angelina asked, ignoring her sister's question, and twirling her lit cigarette holder anxiously between the index and middle fingers of her left hand.
"They said it'd be any time now."
"Maybe you should call again."
"I've already called twice. Just be patient and have another drink."
