Angela Meets Her Don Juan

Angela was really pissed off. It was a Friday night and Marcie, maybe now her

ex

BFF, had let her down. And Marcie had

promised.

And Angela had turned down

three

dates, count 'em

three

, because Marcie said she would fix her up, solve her little problem in a way she wouldn't forget. But it was

eight-thirty

, and nothing.

She was about ready to whip out her cell and text D'Wain, the best built of the three assholes, just to have something to do, somewhere to go, and, damn it, some unsatisfactory 'rogering' at the end of the evening. If D'Wain was already hooked up then it was Bean, as his fellow nerds called him. But why? Bean was so below her pay grade. He was heavy and he was ... what ... damp. Yup, the guy lived in his personal swamp. And forget Barge. Sure, he was big, and a semi-pro hockey player. But when he touched her she felt like a side of beef.

No, she would wait. Marcie never went back on her word. And Marcie didn't seem to have any trouble finding real gentlemen for herself to share her hillside mid-century modern architect-built place with views of the Topa Topas and the avocado groves. And Marcie wasn't even that cute. She was kind of skinny and pretty flat and had a crooked smile. But put together it was honeysuckle to bumblebees.

Angela, on the other hand, was just fine in the looks department. She flirted with herself in her bedroom mirror. Rusty blonde. Curvy as shit. Big eyes. But, damn it, she also had a big brain and a big mouth. Like if she met a guy and he started talking about something he liked, Alpine hiking, maybe; she started telling him all about it, the best route up the Matterhorn. Chamonix in summer and all that. Couldn't shut herself up. And the guy? Poof, gone.

And Angela liked guys. And she liked good sex. But for some reason she attracted clowns; half-minute men, dudes with serious B.O., cowboys obsessed with anal, or feet.

"I've got a nice ass and pretty feet, but I just don't want a guy's tongue between my toes, or ...."

Her cell lit up with Marcie's face and her theme song, "Send In The Clowns."

"Angie, sweets, you must have found seventeen synonyms for 'bitch' by now without even using your Thesaurus. Right?"

"Eighteen."

"I figured."

"So, Marce, you searched the whole world over and you couldn't find a single dude who isn't going to stick his tongue down my throat within ten minutes of meeting me, right?"

"Angie, Angie, Angie, have you no faith in your bosom buddy? Do I ever let you down?"

"Well there was that thing with the raw oysters ..."

"Darling, you will come to love them, and hopefully you will love to come with my good friend Geoffrey. He is eager to ... meet you."

"Joffrey? Like the ballet?"

"Well, it's another way to say Jeffrey, but spelled with a Geo, like George."

"This dude seems too complicated from the get-go. Why couldn't he be just Jeff, and built like Ryan Gosling, and funny, and smart ...."

"You don't ask for much." Marcie pretended to be hurt.

"Oh Marce, it has been so long, like since never, that I've had a guy who really rings my chimes. Where have they all gone?"

"I think they don't grow up any more. It's something in the water. Or maybe a spell cast by bad Saturday Night Live jokes. Forever eleven years old."

"But this ... Geoffrey isn't?"

"Nope. He's a grownup."

"Then why is he available?"

"Well, let's just say he is 'back on the market.'"

"And he won't be pining for 'the one that got away'?"

"Nope again. I think he's very happy to be back on the market. But he may be a bit different from your usual clown. So, give it a chance before you jump to conclusions?"

"Wait, is this guy in a wheelchair, or wears a mask over his terrible scars, or is covered head to foot in hair, or ...?"

"Chill, girl. Free your mind. The rest will follow. I'm sure you will be very pleased at the end of the day. Or the next morning. I was."

"Wait, you're giving me your ... 'sloppy seconds'?"

"Not exactly. I have been with him, yes. But he doesn't own me or visa versa. Go with it."

"And you say he's good?"

"Very."

"So ... why are you turning him over to me? If that is what's happening here."

"Well ... I just might want to ... see him again. But for now ... he's all yours."

"What?"

"Look, I think you'll discover that he isn't the kind you want to set up with in a cottage with a picket fence, 2.3 kids and a golden retriever. But that doesn't ..."

"Wait. Are we talking Christian Gray here? I can see playing some games, but I'm not the 'mouth gag, hogtied with ropes' type."

"Are you sure?"

"Okay, nevermind. I'll find my own style of masochism, even if it is watching Lakers games while eating Cheetos and drinking bargain beer. At least it's ..."

"Hey, stop. I was kidding you. This guy is not about whips and restraints. I don't think. Maybe just the opposite ... ."

"The opposite? What might that be?"

"Yes."

"Hmm, now I'm curious."

"I promise, promise, promise you that you will not regret this and, I sincerely believe, will thank me dearly."

"Should we have a little wager?" Angela was feeling feisty. If this dude turned out to be a dud she wanted payback.

"Name yer poison."

"Okay, if he's a creep, you will ... buy me any dress I want at ... Nordstrom Rack. I don't want to get greedy."

"And if he rings your chimes like Big Ben ... "

"I will treat you to the spa treatment of your choice ... short of trips to Canyon Ranch and such."

"Angela, you've got yourself a deal. I'll book myself a treat at ... Persian Palace I think. I like their sandalwood rub. So, enjoy yourself. Your Uber's outside."

"Win, win?"

"Win, win."

___ * ___

Marcie had told her to dress up; so she wore the turquoise number with the flouncy ruffled skirt that showed off her legs, but pushed up and scooped down over the bosom so her 'pretty hills' were showing off a little. The gold chain with the tiny red garnets and matching garnet studs for her ears. Hair up in a French knot. Her alligator Leboutins.

"Meet him at Tio Pépe. At the Purple Iguana Inn just out of town. You know the place. It has the lights under the grape arbor. He'll be wearing a Panama hat. Don't be very late. It won't 'make a statement' about how important you are." Marcie had been very explicit.

So the ride dropped her off at 8:45 and she entered, looking for some vaguely Indiana Jones type. Nope. Had the guy stood her up? There was nobody, really, with a hat. Had he taken it off? Nobody but .... No. She wouldn't. Marcie wouldn't jerk her chain this much.

Angela threw her shoulders back like a soldier, putting her assets forward. At least she was going to get a great dress out of this evening; and maybe this codger was a gentleman. Because, yes, he was ... old. Silver wavy hair above his ears. A tidy white beard and mustache. A maroon velvet jacket over an open-necked lavender shirt. Gorgeous grey slacks and polished loafers.

He sat, watching the small mariachi band in the restaurant, strong hands resting on the silver head of a cane. A cane? Was this going to be 'be nice to grandpa night'? What was Marcie thinking? And she said she had 'been with' this old dude? No way.

"Excuse me? Good evening. I'm Angela ... Marcie said ... you are...? We are ... "

The man stood and he was taller than she expected.

"Ah yes, Angela. I am so happy to have you join me. I am Geoffrey Ortéga. Please call me Geoffrey, although, because of my age you might be tempted to call me Mr. or even Señor Ortéga. But Geoffrey will do, although not 'Joff' if you don't mind ...?"

He took her hand in both of his and didn't quite kiss it, but it was as though he did. His mentioning his age had helped her relax a little.

"Excuse me, Angela, such a beautiful name, but I took the liberty of ordering dinner to be set up by the pool. I understand if this is not what would make you comfortable. Then we could sit with the other diners. Of course, there is a wonderful singer who comes in a few minutes, but we can hear her very well from the lanai. And perhaps we could have a short swim before we eat...?"

"But Señor ... Mister ... Geoffrey... if I had known, but, I didn't bring a suit, or, ... and my hair..."

"Oh, that has been arranged ... if you are amenable. Our mutual friend Manuella knows you well."

He took her by the elbow with a certain firmness that was still gentlemanly and led her to the back of a beautiful lobby covered with Talavera Mexican tiles in all hues and designs. Through an elegant archway she glimpsed the pool, surrounded by exotic plants, nearly all of them in bloom.

On a small raised terrace overlooking the valley and blue hills beyond was an elegant round table covered by white tablecloths. An amaryllis with a double scarlet bloom graced the center surrounded by a circle of tiny candles. Sparkling wine was chilling in a gilded silver bucket. Angela stood for a moment just taking it all in.

"Suddenly, I'm feeling sort of under-dressed. This is so nice, and yet you are also asking me to take my clothes off ..." She paused, her tongue in a knot and that raspberry blush she couldn't stop blooming all over her cheeks and chest.

"No, no, no; I have no wish to embarrass you. Oh, not at all. You look absolutely lovely, and, to be honest, I wanted to make sure this was a real treat, just in case you were less than enchanted having to spend an evening with a venerable gentleman, when you could be kicking up your heels at a noisy club with some energetic young man. It is me who has the privilege of

your

company."

"Wow, you are very considerate. And right now I much prefer this gorgeous quiet."

She stopped to listen. Birds were chirping all around.

"Are those real birds singing in the trees or did they have a talented guy make a loop recording of the prettiest ones?"

"Oh, they are real enough, and I have a talented guy who knows the food they like to eat. There are feeding stations here and there. I would show them to you, but the birds might be spooked and fly away, and that would spoil the whole effect, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, it would, and after all the trouble this bird-friendly guy went to ... wait ... you said

you

have a guy who knows ... so they hire you kind of to find people to 'create an ambiance for the customers'? That's a great job; I wouldn't mind doing that, although my expertise is more in knowing designs and colors, and don't think this is corny, but I am pretty good at sussing out the proper '

feng shui

' of a place. I did some interior, what, setting up, of Marci's, Manuella's place. It is very kind of southwestern, and she likes cacti and Gorman paintings and Mata Ortiz pottery, ... oh, I'm sorry, I can kind of get verborrea, when I'm nervous ... help."

Her face was suddenly quite hot and she was seconds from jumping in the pool, clothes and all. She actually made a move in that direction, and then felt Geoffrey's strong hand on her elbow.

"Angela. It is fine. I know this talent of yours because I know Manuella. I know her house, her property. I like the look very much. It is one reason I wanted this date. And no, this is not a business meeting; or rather, I don't mind doing some business; but I am a firm believer in mixing business with pleasure."

His words and his hand were instantly calming. And there was something entrancing about the way he pronounced 'pleasure' as 'play sure'. That elegant continental accent.

"Shall we swim?"

He steered her toward an arcade on the far side of the pool. A woman with raven dark hair in a blue uniform with a white collar was waiting there.

"Here is Juana. She will show you to the dressing room. Manuella has thought of everything and has provided a bathing suit and all you will need to enjoy your swim and then return to this vision of loveliness that I am so enjoying."

Juana gestured that Angela should enter a beautiful portal with a strong oak door.

"I will meet you in a few moments at poolside. I have ordered a carafe of pulque. Have you tasted pulque? No? It is made from the agave. You will like it."

Angela followed Juana back to a cosy room with a leather upholstered settee and a Mexican style tiled cabinet, water, and a fat candle with the design of a tree embedded in the wax. Juana handed her a thick white terry robe, matching slippers, and showed her the bathing suit hanging in the cabinet. There wasn't much to it. It was a red bikini, silky and clingy. A matching bathing cap shaped like a flower. Nothing for it but to change, and Marcie had had the heart to give her something to protect the hair she had spent an hour fixing.

"Oh, Marcie, you dog. What are you setting me up for? I'm going to be the cute little posy for this geezer to ogle? Well, so far this is all a class act, and I'm sure this old gent wont push his luck. And I get a great suit ..."

She looked at herself in the full-length mirror. Somehow the fact that she was having a date with a man many decades her senior made her self-conscious about how young she was. She had never before wanted a few wrinkles or a touch of cellulite. But so far she had not been visited with these insults. Her hair gleamed naturally with its own sheen. Her lips were full and carved like alabaster. Her skin was pure cream from scalp to soles. Her breasts weren't huge, but they stood up at attention, and everything else curved away nicely. Her triangle of tight dark-blond curls.

Suddenly, she knew why guys were so stupid with her. She thought of herself as the awkward blabber-mouth preteen she used to be. But this was, for most ordinary guys, just too damn much. It was as though there was a big 'look, but don't touch' sign hovering over her head wherever she went. And the bikini Marcie had chosen wasn't going to help her look like the girl-next-door.

"Damn, Marce, you know my size, although there is not much to cover me, but what there is shows off the rest pretty nicely."

The top just held her generosity in place, although her nips were pretty perky even in the warm air of the dressing room. The bottoms curved nicely around her cheeks without making a Rio kind of statement. Her furry triangle was hidden.

"I'm certainly 'in my prime,'" Angela giggled, bouncing a bit to make everything bobble.

Juana reappeared discreetly and led her down another corridor with sconces of hanging plants, to the pool. A few stars could be seen above the palms in a purple sky. The music of the mariachis was coming from a hidden source.

She had wondered if Geoffrey would greet her fully dressed and watch as she paraded her young glory. But he was clad in a terry robe much like hers only navy blue. He did look her up and down, but somehow it wasn't lewd, it was just appreciation, and he said as much.

"Angela, your friend knows you well and has chosen the perfect complement to your beauty. I am so glad you agreed to come and to have this brief swimming rendezvous. Please, we go over here and begin with a brief sojourn in the heated spa."

He indicated a grotto where the light came from below the blue-green water, which bubbled into froth.

"It is quite warm, but you will appreciate the cool water of the pool afterward. Come."

He led her to the steps of the spa, decorated in sea creatures: starfish and hermit crabs going down into the water; dolphins leaping around the rim.

"Take it slow and your body will acclimatize to the heat."

When he shed his robe, Angela noticed that he seemed to shed several years. His body was not that of a young man, but his chest and belly were firm and his shoulders revealed that he had lifted a weight or two. Perhaps most intriguing was that his simple blue bathing suit hinted at something more than average. She couldn't be sure, of course. Could this be the source of his charm?

Geoffrey led her slowly down the beautiful tiled steps into the steaming water. It was almost hot enough to make her back out.

"Trust me, give it a moment. And then, it could surprise you, you will want more heat."

As her hips entered the hot water something a little more than the heat and the swirl of the bubbles was happening.

"Hey, it's a beautiful night, and I am truly being treated like a lady." She mused. "Go with it. Enjoy this man's company. Yes, he's been around. Maybe he has some good stories. Maybe he'll hint at what he and Marcie ... Well, nevermind."

She sank down into the froth. Geoffrey touched something on the side of the pool and there was a subtle change. It was like being stroked by a thousand tiny hands.

"This is ... different. I've been in other jacuzzis and such, but this ..."

"Yes, we had special jets designed that break up the water into many more tiny 'jetlets', if you will. A friend applied some fractal technology, and we get ... this. His fountains are quite marvelous, too."

"You said 'we'. So, you design these things too ..."

"Some might say I pay

too

much attention to detail, get too 'down in the weeds' as they say, but I care about my places ... and the challenge of making them very special fascinates me."

"You speak almost as though these 'places' are your children. The owners must be very grateful for your dedication."

"Well, perhaps that is it. I have not had children of my own, so, yes, perhaps my Iguanas are my babies. I do love pampering them. You will want to sit over here. It is the seat of honor."

He indicated a little niche in the curve of the wall.

"You will see that it allows you to recline a bit and you can rest you feet there and there. You see? Comfortable?"

"Ahhh, yes. This is so nice. I could just drift off, and those foot rests make sure I don't slide under the water. Was that another of your ideas?"

"Indeed. As was this. Please let me know if anything is uncomfortable ..."

There was another subtle change in the bubbles. They were a little stronger and seemed to pulse in currents from her shoulders down her sides and along her thighs.

Uncomfortable? Angela was so comfortable she felt like a baby in a womb. Somehow, it didn't bother her that she was ignoring her date and just giving in to the warmth and swirling. Uncomfortable?

Small bursts of bubbles began flowing across her chest.

"This is good?"

"This is very good. I hope you have a similar pleasure."

"My pleasure is somewhat different. It includes giving this to you. And ..."

A new set of bubbles began surging along the insides of her legs. For an instant she wanted to clasp them shut and then the gentle current convinced her to go with it. She peeked at Geoffrey out of half closed eyes. He was similarly relaxed, but the fingers of his left hand played on a series of curved knobs on the pools edge. A flick of a finger ....

A new surge of bubbles was now aiming right between her legs. Something in the front of her brain said, "Maybe you should tell him to stop this now. He's clearly out of line." Something in the base of her brain said, "Oh, my, god. Is this really a thing? I'm being made love to by an invisible water god. I want, no, I

need

more

."

The voice in the base of her brain was louder. After all, Geoffrey wasn't touching her. They were both just enjoying a Jacuzzi.

"A little more?" His voice was hardly more than a murmur. "If it is not ... ."

"No ... yes ... please, just ..."

Angela had no words, but her hips were having a small conversation with the bubbles. It was fascinating, as though they belonged to a different body that was her body, but somehow ...

over

there.

"Angela, you can tell me if you desire more or less of what you feel. It is all for you. Of course, near your left hand is a red knob with which you can stop it immediately. And next to that a green one with which you can get ... more. I am going to get us some cool drinks. Back in a moment. Enjoy."