The House Owns the Bet

I normally don't post this kind of stuff. But a particularly aggressive... and I might add obnoxious, reader keeps daring me to write a straight up stroke story - as in... he thinks I can't do it. Challenge accepted. For the rest of you... just move along, folks, there's nothing here for you to see.

THE HOUSE OWNS THE BET

The Danube, which from this height looked more brown than blue, glittered below us as the Gulfstream dropped out of the clouds. Vienna International airport is southwest of the City, set in a lush green valley and right on the river. That's where we were headed. We had reserved a suite at the Hotel Sacher Wien, which is right in the middle of the historic City in downtown Vienna.

The hotel itself reeks of so much Habsburg grandeur that you would almost expect Franz Josef to be sitting in the lobby reading a Kronen Zeitung. My wife Catherine, who I call Cat, wanted to take a nap and The Burggarten was right up the street, so I strolled over there to sightsee the Hofburg Palace.

The Hofburg was the traditional winter home of the Habsburgs. So, the area that I was standing in has been a seat of government for various empires for the past 800 years. The term "majestic" doesn't really describe the surroundings. Standing in the Helden Platz and facing the Hofburg's extensive structure I was looking at most of Austria's imperial history... all encapsulated in one building.

I lingered by the statue of the Duke of Marlborough's old pal, Eugene of Savoy, and looked back across the park toward the Staatsopernmuseum. That building is more-or-less ground zero for opera, having been graced by everybody from Mozart to Mahler. The weather was beautiful, harkening to an early spring and I was frankly in a very good mood. As I hustled down the Philharmonierstrasse toward the Sacher my little voice kept reminding me that I had better get back to the room ASAP. It is never a good idea to tell the wife, "back in a minute," and then show up two hours later.

As soon as I got into the lobby, I could see that Cat had already decided to start the proceedings without me. She was sitting on one of the Sacher's ornate couches with a drink in her hand talking animatedly with a stunning woman who appeared to be about her age.

That coven of pulchritude was a feast for your eyes. Cat, with her dark voluptuous beauty would stop traffic in any hotel lobby. But the woman she was sitting with expanded the traffic stopping potential exponentially.

She was tall and model slim with a mane of copper colored hair above a perfectly proportioned heart shaped face. The impression walking up to her was Irish colleen... huge green eyes an impish upturned nose and a gorgeous wide mouth with sculptured lips. Those lips hinted at considerable good humor, and many more interesting things underneath.

The new woman's flawless complexion was porcelain white instead of Cat's dusky color. The bright red of her lipstick and the dark green shadow, which highlighted those sparkling emerald eyes, was striking. She was not as awesomely round as Cat, but she did have a magnificent rack, which looked all the larger because of her much narrower frame. She was several inches taller than Cat, perhaps four inches.

Both of them rose when I came hustling into the lobby. Cat said, "Emma, meet Paul. Paul, Emma is a very old and dear friend of mine. We lived together during our undergraduate days at Barnard. We haven't seen each other in years, and we just ran into each other in the lobby. Isn't that an amazing coincidence?"

I was thinking, "Amazing doesn't begin to describe THIS pair." Emma smiled and gracefully extended a long slim hand. I was thinking to myself, "This lady has serious money. The Rolex Datejust 31mm Gold President on that wrist must have set her back twenty five thousand bucks alone."

Emma had a warm, mellow voice, not as husky and smoky as Cat's but equally sexy. I sat down in a chair across from them, much to the envy of every other man in the lobby. My inner self was shaking its head and wondering to itself, "Man! Those two together must have made for some kind of popular student apartment!"

Cat said happily, "Emma works for the United Nations, and she has lived in Vienna in the Museumsquartier for the past six years. That told me a couple of things. Miss Emma was living on a trust, not her own salary. People on UN salaries don't live in the Museumsquartier unless they have a second source of income and Cat's aristocratic friend didn't look like she did waitressing on the side. And second, Miss Emma was clearly as high minded as her former roommate.

Emma laughed and said, "Work, might not be the right word. I serve as a facilitator for UNODA fund raising and other activities." My little voice chuckled and said, "I bet she has the nerds eating out of the palm of her hand".

The United Nations in Vienna is arguably ground zero for all things nuclear disarmament and most of the conferences that have gone on involving Iran's nuclear program have been held there. If Emma was a friend of Cat's she had to be at least in her approximate league when it came to smarts and social graces. So, Emma's working as an organizer of some of those conferences for the U.N. Office for Disarmament Affairs was definitely not too farfetched. The fact that she was also a stunningly attractive woman was probably not lost on the people throwing the conferences.

We talked amiably for several minutes. I asked her how she liked living in Vienna, which probably qualified as one of the world's stupidest question. It would be hard to imagine a gorgeous 36 year old woman with Emma's obvious breeding and money NOT liking a City as cultured and vibrant as Vienna.

Emma was polite to me in that she didn't give me the look I probably deserved for asking such a dumb question. She told us that she enjoyed the nightlife and the clubs and that she would be happy to show us around if we had time. The mention of clubs was all it took to get Cat's attention.

Not surprisingly, the two of them spent a lot of time clubbing in New York in their college years and the idea of the two of them revisiting the good old days was clearly very high on Cat's list. So, we arranged to meet later in the evening to hit the Vienna club scene.

I might add that the "we" at this point was because I was not letting somebody as hot as Cat off her leash in a Vienna nightspot, no matter how much I trusted her personal commitment and integrity. One does not take risks with the love of your life and frankly there was a lot in Emma's general demeanor that made me think that there were more things happening under that aristocratic surface than altruistic interest in nuclear disarmament.

*****

I have always wondered what it would be like to be as emotional as Cat. I get the full benefit of her amazing depth of feeling, because those powerful emotions fuel a fantastic love life. But she feels all kinds of other wonderful things too. She exudes sheer delight when she is happy and it shows all over her body when she is sad, or thoughtful. Me? I'm a little bit too Teutonic for my own good.

Cat is a very intelligent and insightful person. But like all sultry climates the weather will change fast and the storms that occasionally blow up can be short and intense. I learned a long time ago to ride those out, since no matter how emotional my wife gets I know that she loves me with all her wonderful heart, and I also know that the bright sun will return sooner than later.

I am doubtless a little over-repressed thanks to my upbringing. I had no parents to speak of, so I was brought up in a family of cousins. They knew I was not one of them. So, any sign of sensitivity on my part became a point of vulnerability, which could be used to inflict a range of kid sponsored atrocities on me. And my foster parents believed that any emotion, except that of fervent love of Jesus, was a sin and so they discouraged it.

My co-workers at the ore loading docks boiled emotion down to two strictly man things - fighting and fucking. I did both of those very well but there was not a lot of joy, or even sadness involved. Of course, when I DO generate a strong emotion it's usually anger, which doesn't go away until I have exacted suitable payback. It's a German thing... you wouldn't understand it.

Cat on the other hand never seems to hold a grudge. My little voice has regularly reminded me that "It must be nice to NOT have to carry a list around with you".

Tonight, I was having a hard time reading my wife. She loves to dance, and she loves to be in settings where music and dancing take place. But for some reason she wasn't exuding her usual anticipatory joy. I asked her why and she told me she was having ambivalent feelings.

She told me that she was used to going to places with just the two of us and that Emma's presence tonight was causing "A disturbance in the Force." Cat could sense it but not explain it. I asked her if she could boil that down to something that wasn't a concept from Darth Vader. She said that her main concern was that Emma hadn't changed. I said jokingly, "You mean I'm going to see all of Cat Green's skeletons tonight, you two DID spend a lot of time at clubs".

She didn't take that as a joke. Instead, she said, "What are you trying to IMPLY, buster!!?" She stomped around the room for a minute and then she said, "Just because we partied together doesn't mean that I was as slutty as she was!" I said, "Okaaaaaay?!"

Cat said, "There have been some things that happened during that period that I haven't told you about" I said inquiringly, "And you are about to do that now??" She said, "Emma might seem like a well put together preppie, but she has a problem with alcohol and when she drinks she does some incredibly stupid things, usually with men."

I said, "And that affects you and me; how??! She said, "Once in a while she would pull me into situations that I am not proud of." I said, "Excuse meeee??!" She said, "For instance I would occasionally wake up in some strange guy's bed the morning after."

My eyelids must have flown up like window shades because she quickly added, "I have a sound self-concept, and I was too afraid of STDs to actually fuck any of those guys. But I DID spend the night with them, and we DID fool around, sometimes a lot."

I said, "Okay, but that was fifteen years ago and well before we met, how does that affect us?"

She said, "I don't think she has changed very much so watch yourself."

I said, "What the heck does that mean."

She said, "I think she is going to try to get you to fuck her." I said, incredulous, "Really!! Seriously?!!

Cat said, "Yes I know, she is supposed to be my friend, but she just can't help herself." I said, "And you put up with THAT!!?"

Cat said, "I was never afraid of losing any men to Emma, but she has no concept of appropriate when she has had too much to drink. When Emma was drunk one day at our house, she even came on to my daddy."

I thought to myself, "Well, that's certainly new insight into Cat and her family." I grinned and said, "If she tries to fuck me, you'll rescue me - right? Or are you going to just sit back and let her have her way with me?" Cat threw a pillow at my head.

*****

I have seen Cat dress for every conceivable situation. In all of those cases her appearance will range from fabulous to outright stunning. But it was obvious that she was gunning for big game tonight. That was because she had put on an outfit that would have made Aphrodite the Greek goddess of love melt with pure envy.

Cat has absolutely perfect legs and the dress that she had on was designed to show them off to their ultimate advantage. She once told me that that was a tactic she used to emphasize her sexuality. She obviously couldn't show up at a nightclub without anything on her boobs or her ass. But leaving her legs uncovered to her mid-thigh is perfectly acceptable. And she knew that no man would miss the superb musculature of those thighs or the shapeliness of those calves.

The dress itself was some sort of light silk that Cat would have frozen to death in if she was not going to spend the vast majority of her time exercising on a hot dance floor. She was wearing some sort of stealth thong contraption underneath, which made it look like she was not wearing panties and at the same time nicely covered up all of the strategic spots.

Cat's legs are so perfectly colored that she never needs to wear nylons. But in this case she had a pair on that went just above the radically high hemline of her dress and gave her legs a sparkle. The upper part of the dress was very light silk, but it absolutely hid whatever she had on underneath.

Cat's makeup was what was different. My wife can go completely without makeup and look better than most women. I get used to seeing her that way. But when she does those indescribably beautiful eyes and applies the other feminine touches to her face she has the potential to stop male hearts.

Apparently my wanted myocardial infarctions for the house, because she was so artfully made up that her beauty made you want to weep. Then I got close enough to her to smell her perfume. That was the final fatal touch.

Cat wears something that she has specially made at a little perfumery in the 1st arrondissement of Paris. It works with her body chemistry in a way that should be outlawed by the Geneva Convention. Your first thought when it hits you is total and complete yearning passion, followed by an overwhelming desire to become her love slave.

I was probably snorting and pawing the ground because she did a quick spin move out the door before I could grab her. She would not let me mess up her carefully done war paint in the elevator. So, I followed in her wake all the way down to the lobby, bounding along like Pepe Le Pew.

The view of those magnificent buns twitching without the benefit of panties covering them was unspeakably moving to my male mind. Emma was waiting for us down there. If Cat had gone for the nuclear option Emma had tried to match her megaton for megaton. She was done up in a way that emphasized her porcelain skin and flashing green eyes.

Where Cat had chosen to minimize her splendid chest, Emma had clearly decided to go all out with emphasizing her large shapely breasts. That was understandable given that she could never match Cat's advantages in the ass and legs department.

Emma had a magnificent pair of bouncers. They were on display to a point where I was wondering what kind of super glue she was using to keep her nipples barely concealed under the cut of her dress. Since Emma's skin was so flawlessly translucent the emerald color of the dress seemed to make it glow. And she was showing a lot of her slim beautifully shaped legs at the bottom.

I had hired a car for the evening. I like Maybach 62s as an evening town car because they provide the sort of quiet, sensual luxury necessary to make the right statement. The two women sat in the back. I sat up front with the driver.

I thought the poor guy was going to die from sheer longing having two women like that sitting behind him, chatting. The club Emma had selected was literally right around the corner from the Sacher on the other side of the Burggarten. Even so I wanted these two fabulous beauties to arrive in proper style. Traipsing several blocks from the hotel in their clubbing gear just didn't cut it.

We had gotten there after the music had kicked off and the huge black guy who was holding the rope gave me the sort of glance that required a few hundred Euros. It was clear that he would have personally escorted my two remarkable female companions to their tables. But a mid-40s guy was not on the guest list.

Emma said a couple of things to him, and he did the grand gesture with a sweep of his arm, and I pressed the money into his hand and followed them into the wall of sound that passed for music.

Cat of course didn't stop until she was out on the floor. Cat never waits to be asked to dance. All she has to do is appear on the floor and she attracts partners. She was out there with her arms over her head doing something with her hips that made you think of sultans and dancing girls and drifting sensual hashish smoke.

Tonight, in a dress that covered everything but still left her amazing round buns there for everybody to see... Cat actually had a couple of men stop dancing with their partners and follow her, like the Pied Piper, as she walked to the spot that she had decided to post up in. Knowing the perfume cloud that my wife was trailing I could understand why.

Emma looked at me with a question in her eye and we both made our way over to the bar. The crowd more-or-less parted as she walked along and filled in behind us. All I could think of was Moses and the Red Sea. Except this version was a lot better looking than Charlton Heston or any of his Hollywood leading ladies.

I bought her a drink and we appropriated one of the tables right by the dance floor. Cat was in the middle of the floor dancing with what appeared to be three guys simultaneously. The sound was deafening. So, talking was out of the question.

We hadn't been there 2 minutes when some mid-twenties stud, with "wild-and-crazy Eastern European Guy," written all over him asked Emma to dance. She smiled at me with her eyes and went out onto the dance floor. Her moves were nowhere near as polished and graceful as Cat's, but they might actually have communicated more raw sexual promise.

I was doing what I normally do, which is watch the people around me. They were an eclectic crowd of whatever passed for a yuppie in that City. The average seemed to be mid-20s up to Cat's age. I was not what you might consider prime goods at that place since by that group's standards I was an old man at 43. Oddly enough, the music was stuff that I recognized. It was mostly the late '70s and '80s tunes that I remembered from my off-base military days.

After demonstrating the difference between an amateur and a professional dancer, Cat came over to where I was sitting. She was hot so she slammed the gin and tonic that I had bought for her, which is heavy for her and then asked for another. She gulped that down and went back on the floor. Emma appeared, with the same glow on. She asked me if I would buy a pitcher of gin and tonics. I said, "Sure".

The bar was a rat-race, so I ordered three pitchers just to keep from having to go up there again. I drank another glass while Emma finished one of the pitchers. I remembered what Cat had said about her problems with alcohol, but she looked just fine to me.

I went back to the bar and replaced the pitcher and bought two more because it was getting hot in there and even Cat was coming over more frequently than usual for a drink. Cat's visits were more like pit stops at the Indy 500 than they were actual drinking stopovers. But she was clearly hot and thirsty.

Emma came by every time she didn't have a partner, which was almost never. But when she did she would make a pitcher disappear. I took a little inventory of the empty pitchers that I had in front of me and the total was six, of which I might have finished half of one. I went back to the bar and bought three more.

They played a slow tune. It was one that I recognized from my Fort Campbell days and Cat appeared. We almost never dance together, since I am scary-bad clumsy. But this was a chance to hold my gorgeous wife while I shuffled around and no male in their right mind would pass up a chance to feel that beautiful little hard body pressed against them.

I put my hands together behind her back, just above her butt and pulled her into me. She squashed those huge pillow tits of hers against my chest. I could feel them moving and shifting between us and frankly the hard-on that I was sporting was exerting the kind of pressure on my zipper that is normally experienced only at great depths on the ocean floor. She put her arms around my neck and rested her lovely head on my chest and we swayed and hugged.