April 2, 1989 and April 6, 1989
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?
Angelina Lione pressed the doorbell at the stoop of her sister and next-door neighbor, Elaine's house.
"I'll get it," her niece Lisa said, setting down her magazine in the living room and calling out to her mother, who was busy in the kitchen preparing the family's big traditional Sunday dinner.
The doorbell rang a second time.
"Hold your horses," Lisa said, walking to the door. "I'm coming. I'm coming..."
Swinging open the door, Lisa saw her aunt, standing impatiently on the well-worn welcome mat in her cream-colored, high-healed, knee-high boots.
"Hey, Aunt Ang," she said in surprise. "You're early. Dinner's not for another hour."
"Ugh...don't even mention food," she said, storming into the house and past Lisa before taking a seat on the tacky, plastic-covered sofa. "Lisa darrhhling, I'm glad you're here. I've GOT to talk with you."
"What's wrong?" her concerned niece asked, shocked at her aunt's disheveled appearance. "You look stressed out, like you haven't slept in a week."
Normally, a fashion plate, who wouldn't dream of going out in public without looking her best, Angelina's short, pixie hairstyle looked like it was shaped with a blender and the tail of her black turtleneck sweater hung sloppily out of her tan pants.
"Can you fix me a drink please, darrhhling?" Angelina asked, crossing left boot over right, as she pulled a long black cigarette holder out of her trim handbag.
"Yeah, sure," Lisa said, rising from the sofa and walking to the drink cart on the other side of the room. "Whadda ya want?"
"Anything, anything. Just give me a lot of it -- and quickly."
Lisa splashed four fingers of bourbon into a glass and returned to the sofa. Angelina took the tumbler and proceeded to knock back half of its contents in one swig -- an unusual move for a woman who rarely drank. Setting the drink down on a coaster on the coffee table in front of her, she placed the mouthpiece of her holder between her lips and fired up her silver cigarette lighter.
"Ummm...Aunt Ang, what are you doing?" her niece asked, seeing that the agitated woman had absentmindedly forgot to insert a cigarette into the holder and was attempting to light the holder itself.
"Oh, good God," Angelina said, dropping her head and shaking it in frustration. "Will you look at me. I'm so panicked I can't even smoke a cigarette."
"Give it to me."
Lisa calmly took the holder from between her aunt's fingers.
"You don't have any cigarettes left," she said, showing the empty silver cigarette case to her aunt.
"Yes, I do," Angelina replied. "I bought a pack on the way over; didn't have time to add them. It's in there somewhere."
"Ah...here it is. Misty 120s?! Since when did you start smoking them?"
"What? I was so distracted I didn't even notice."
Lisa removed a long thin -- but considerably wider -- cigarette than Angelina's preferred Virginia Slims brand, screwed it into the long black holder, inserted the mouthpiece between her lips and lit it.
"Here you go," Lisa said, before exhaling a funnel of smoke overhead, handing the cigarette holder back to her jittery aunt, then placing a reassuring hand on the woman's knee. "I know what you're going through. I was a nervous wreck before my wedding, too. Just relax. You'll be fine."
"I've been at church all day," Angelina said, before taking a pull from her holder and blowing out without inhaling. "Can we talk privately? Where is everybody?"
"I think so. Richie's running an errand for mom, grandma's resting in her room, dad's taking a nap -- I think he's hung over from the bachelor party -- and mom's cooking dinner."
"What about Anthony?"
"He went to the pharmacy; said he feels a cold sore coming on."
"A cold sore?! Ohhhh...ohhh....ohhh," Angelina cried, horror-filled eyes folding up into her head, as she collapsed backwards onto the sofa, from fear that she may have contracted herpes from mistakenly making out with her nephew the night before.
"Aunt Ang? Aunt Ang!"
