I know this one is long, but the way the plot wove into original sexual situations kept me writing. I hope you enjoy.
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Chapter 1: The Arraignment
"Would you look at her?"
I took a sip of my champagne and looked at my friend incredulously. We were in a banquet hall with probably 300 other people. We were all wearing formal wear, and there were more than a few women worth looking at. There was a lot of money in the room, and a decent percentage of it had gone into buying some very exquisite dresses.
Though most men in the room were over 50, the average age of the women was probably closer to 40, with very few at that age and most either in their mid 20's or mid fifties. And the women in their 50's had enough access to money to make sure that modern science kept them looking as young as possible.
Looking at Stephen, my friend, I tried to trace his look back to find exactly which woman he was talking about. My eyes took their time moving down his line of sight. I admit to being easily distracted, and after pausing at some great cleavage only to realize a second later that it belonged to a woman with a 58-year-old face, I understood I had to be more careful.
My eyes kept moving to find a pair of well tanned and toned legs descending from the shortest skirt in the room. Unfortunately she was attached to a 70-year-old man that wouldn't let her out of his sight. That turned into a theme I quickly saw (and already knew) as almost every gorgeous woman was sidled up to a decrepit old man.
This was a charity function at $5,000 per plate. The only reason anyone would come to this is to be seen as being both philanthropic and incredibly wealthy. In order to become wealthy, you needed time to acquire that wealth. You also needed to put in insane hours and become very demanding of people. This usually didn't mix well with marriage, and so these men either didn't get married or got divorced.
A decade or two later when they had millions of dollars, they didn't care much as beautiful women usually half their age and twice as good looking as their former wives clung to them like velcro. It made Stephen and I a little jealous, not that we didn't have beautiful women at our disposal, but that we had to work for it. I had a beautiful wife, and neither of us had gone past 35 yet, so we still looked good. How we got to this exclusive party I'll share in a minute.
Stephen was also young, but he fell into the multi-millionaire category with the rest of the people here and so women flocked to him also. However, he was even younger than I was, so he still had to work the relationship part of the women. Those that were just hungry for money, married the older men who were likely to die and who were not biologically capable of creating families anymore. Stephen needed to find a woman to be a mother and a wife and stay with him for a little longer than 5-10 years. They were harder to find, and so while he got a lot of tail, he had to endure the break-ups too.
So, it was hard for me to pick out exactly which piece of ass he was looking at now. My eyes scanned past the snack table where my wife stood, playing briefly with the idea that he was checking her out, bu continued past the bar and then across the fountain to the gem of the banquet.
She stood a little taller than the other women in the room. She wore an ankle length gown over her slightly tanned skin – dark enough to be exotic, but light enough not to imply any tanning beds. The neckline of the sparkling white dress dipped just low enough to let you know she could compete with any other rack in the room, yet was high enough to let you know that she had the sophistication not to. The thigh high slit along her right leg let you know she was no enemy of the treadmill. The back of the dress was completely open from her blonde hair down the beginning of her perfect ass such that if it dropped another half inch, you would see another kind of cleavage. With that being the case, I couldn't help but wonder what kind of underwear, if any, she might be wearing. The dress already confirmed that she wasn't wearing a bra, letting anyone who cared to know that her chest needed no extra help to stay up.
The dress did not show the most skin in the room, but with as many girdles, underwires, padding, and surgical implants as this room must have right now, the dress did let you know that this woman needed none of them.
"She was in Maxim a couple years ago," Stephen said once he could see I had found his mark. I was aware of this fact. I owned a copy of that magazine that my wife would never find. I had jerked off to that magazine on more than one occasion.
"You know," I began. "If you want to really get into the real estate business, I might be able to get you a deal on a certain bridge in Brooklyn."
It wasn't worth my time to explain why she was unattainable. I knew Stephen knew who she was and to whom she was married.
This charity ball was for being thrown by Howard Steller. He owned the hotel in which this banquet hall was located. He owned many, many other hotels. He was easily the richest man in the room, if not the state. He was also married to Jessica Kinitz-Steller, former NFL cheerleader, former Victoria's Secret model, former Maxim Model, and who had a standing one million dollar offer from Playboy if she ever felt her husband's millions weren't enough.
"It's not that outlandish," Stephen insisted, taking a sip of his drink and ignoring my doubting stare. "All these old guys have arrangements with their hot young wives. I mean, look at those two." He motioned to the couple I had noticed earlier with the woman wearing the incredibly short skirt clinging to the arm of a 70+ year-old. I looked further up her body to see her impossibly thin waist and incredibly large (and incredibly fake) breasts.
"Do you think he keeps her satisfied?" Stephen asked. "There's no way. That guy probably has just enough blood flow to get up once a month, and then maybe only for five minutes if he has enough Viagra pumping through him. You think that will keep her happy?"
"I think his yacht and Ferraris keep her happy," I said.
"So when she gets revved up tooling around in a fancy car, or gets all oiled up to lay out on his yacht, how does she satisfy her other desires?" He paused to take another sip but then answered his own question before I could. "They bang the pool boy and the gardener. And you know what? The old guys know it, and they don't care. As long as their trophy wives come with them to banquets like this and wear sexy nighties to bed and walk around during the day in bikinis and give them a blow once a month, they don't care what else they do. Besides, if they don't let their wives fool around with other men, then those women are just going to find another old man who will. Trust me, it comes with the territory."
I wondered if I should ask him how he knew, but I guessed I already knew the answer. He had undoubtedly played his part as a "pool boy" or "gardener" once before and heard the story. I looked across the room at Jessica laughing it up with a few men, and then to the other side of the room where Howard stood talking business with some associates. I shook my head. Yes, Howard was 64, but he was a fit 64, and I doubted he would want another man fooling around with his wife.
However, I was uniquely close to the man, and he had told me about many of his health problems. He always related them to me in a fatherly sort of way, trying to prepare me for what was to come, but because of that advice, I knew he had his sexual problems. It made me wonder what that kind of marriage would be like. My wife and I had watched porn together and had read the erotic stories where couples lived in an open marriage. We joked about it and thought about it, but we never pushed it any further than that.
I had also read about the men who liked to watch their wives with other men. I didn't really understand that pleasure completely, because it seemed like a jealousy fit waiting to happen. Watching someone else enjoy your wife was supposed to be a power trip. They were getting something that you could have any time you wanted, and once they were done, he wouldn't get it again, but you would. It was like letting someone borrow your sports car so that when they gave it back and told you how amazing it was, you could then say, "Yes, I know. Now go get your own."
The more I thought about this, the more I thought Howard fit that mold. I couldn't see him letting his wife sleep with other guys whenever she wanted, but I could see him picking certain guys for her, and then watching them together.
"What I wouldn't give to have one night with her?" Stephen's fantasy brought me out of my contemplation for a moment.
"What would you give?" I asked.
"Huh?"
"What would you give for a night with Ms. Maxim?"
He looked at me, suddenly sobered up, trying to determine if I was serious. "I would repay your admission to this banquet," he stated.
