How Romantic

CHAPTER 1

Wealthy widow Clara Wells (52) was assisting with catering at the Fairmont 84-lap annual Golden Oldies 150 at the 1.8-mile car racetrack as part of her charity work when a tanned graying guy showing immaculate teeth and dressed in an orange racing suit with sponsors' emblems plastered all over it, came up to her and said, "Hi gorgeous... a chicken salad sandwich and glass of milk please."

Slightly uptight as being addressed in that cavalier manner, Clara said stiffly, "We don't serve chicken salad sandwiches."

He grinned and asked did they serve chicken.

"Yes."

"Do you serve salad?"

"Yes."

"Do you ..."

"... serve buttered bread, yes," Clara finished for him.

"I know at your age darling your feet will be killing you after standing for half an hour but could you be a princess and go into the kitchen and make me my sandwich but toss the half pint of milk to me before you wobble off on your geriatric shuffle?"

"You are damn insolent. I ought to kick you in the nuts."

The guy grinned and said, "Now, now. Is that the way to talk to a former hero? I did call you Princess, quite an accolade I should think."

"You did," she smiled. "My father was the only other person to call me Princess."

"And with justification too I'd say."

Clara went to the cabinet, pulled out a pack of milk and tossed it twenty feet and yelled, "Catch it you old codger."

He reached up and it seemed to fall into his hand.

"Nice throw and great tit wobble," he chuckled.

Clara went through to the kitchen seething but a grin leaked out.

She returned to his table and gently placed the sandwich in front of him.

He slapped her butt and said thanks and appeared very sincere. Clara couldn't hold back the smile and he winked at her.

After the guy left the manager of the dinning room for competitors, the media and officials said, "Are you aware whom you were flirting with?"

Before Clara could dispute that Clive said, "He's Steve Armstrong, a successful veteran of under 2500 cc car racing. Today is his swan song."

"How interesting," Clara almost yawned.

With the race underway the catering staff had their lunch and then sat around because no one was coming into the marquee as the race continued. They kept an eye on the TV screen in case of spectacular crashes. At the race neared its end someone turned up the sound.

"Here we go folk, five laps to go, which is when Steve Armstrong turns it on. No one is quite so daring as he is in throwing his car through corners with it's stabilizing weight of fuel all but gone and tires losing their grip because of wear. He's in eleventh place out of the fifteen competitors still racing and that is a credible performance for someone more than twice the age of some of these drivers. Boom, boom, there he goes, look at that roll on his car sliding into that corner, doubtless the only car not being braked."

Clara went closer to the screen to watch and others groups around her.

"There's no way Steve can beat the Argentinean but I guarantee he'll be a podium finish," Clive said, providing race comments.

"No way, he's too far behind," called a burly chef.

"I have fifty bucks to say he'll be on the podium."

The chef accepted Clive's challenge and a little later paid out because Steve came in third to a tremendous ovation from the crowd packing the grandstands.

"Steve Armstrong third in a star-studded field, what a tremendous way to have run his last race," screamed the TV commentator.

The marquee became crowded and Clara was almost running taking orders to tables when a voice said, "Your exquisitely-made sandwich gave me the staying power to finish the race with all my senses and my energy at peak level Princess."

"I'm please about that Mr Armstrong."

"Will you dine with me tonight?"

"Yes," Clara said, wondering what the hell had made her say that. He was quite handsome and with his reputation and latest fame could easily have pulled in a young chick to take to the official dinner.

With the rush all but over Clive, who'd heard Clara accept the date, said she better leave earlier and change for the dinner. He handed her a guest pass.

Never in her fifty-two years had she ever been such a slut, Clara thought three hours later as Steve pushed aside her panties and fed in his erection. They were in somewhere dark called the pits and were doing it standing up because there was nowhere soft to cushion them on the ground.

"God you have magnificent tits," he enthused, mauling them and that made Clara feel a little randy. God she was the pits. She banged back and him and he chortled, "Go-go Clara."

He was pushing into her powerfully and at times almost his thrust lifted Clara on to her toes. She gurgled passionately but spared a thought to question whether she had the fitness to stay the distance to give him his release. But it turned out fine and she thought it'd been a long time since she'd allowed a male to shove his tongue almost down her throat. There was something irresistible about this guy Steve.

She drove home, semen seeping out of her. She groaned knowing definitely she was the pits. Just as well she'd never see him again. A reunion would have been totally embarrassing... for both of them.

Next day was Sunday and her three daughters, the married and pregnant Fiona and the younger Wendy and Meg were due to come for lunch. God they would disown her if they knew she'd had stand-up sex last night in the pits at a racetrack.

They arrived together and the 24-year-old laboratory technician Meg raced ahead to be first to hug and kiss her.

"God you look great for an old lady," she giggled. "Have you been on rejuvenating treatment?"

"Don't be rude," Clara chided, sweeping back the youngster's unruly fringe.

During a pre-lunch soda Wendy asked casually what time had her mother arrived home from the racetrack last night?

Without thinking Clara said it was after 11:30.

That was greeted in silence until Wendy attacked and said, "Omigod mom picked up a guy and they had sex in the back of a car although it wouldn't have been a single-seat racer."

Clara was indignant. "It was saloon car racing and anyway it wasn't in a car."

Too late, she realized she'd fallen into the trap.

Her daughters were exchanging startled glances and practically dribbling. Until now they only suspected their mother, a widow of five years, still had sex.

"And who was this skunk?" Fiona demanded.

"He's a gentleman, a former champion driver."

"Who Steve Armstrong?" asked the usually socially well-informed Wendy.

"Yes as a matter of fact it was."

"Christ mom, he fucks any female who can still walk. He's been a target in women's magazines for years because of his notoriety. I doubt if his zip is ever up."

She and her sisters looked horrified.

Summoning all of her dignity, Clara said, "Shall we have lunch?"

But there was no relief. Wendy opened two bottles of sparkling wine despite Fiona not drinking alcohol and soon the over-talking and gaiety increased with Clara giving as good as she got, and that's why the daughters always looked forward to a Sunday lunch at their old home even with their father no longer around.

"Can a guy who's probably had ever STD going still really keep it up for more than thirty seconds mom?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about Meg and I would think at your age you are not sure either."

"I think I once saw a photographed of him at a night club with a Miss World, probably back in the 1970s."

"Wendy please pass the mayonnaise. You weren't around till the 1980s so that claim sounds questionable and I don't recall you looking at magazines until you were at least ten."

Wendy hit back. "How does he compare in technique with the other guys you currently knock around with mom?"

"Mr Armstrong is an excellent social companion although his humor is somewhat abrasive."

"And?"

"I must say these salmon fillets are simply beautiful."

Clara's daughters looked at their salmon salad wondering how the topic had changed to what they were eating.

Fiona the oldest daughter brought the conversation back on track.

"Will you see him again?"

"Who?"

"Steve Armstrong," Fiona said patiently.

"Oh I don't think so. He's probably in a nightclub in Paris of Monaco right now living it up with the ladies as you girls allege. Besides after last night I'd be too embarrassed..."

Clara stopped, appalled she had been so stupid to begin talking about last night.

"Oh mother, did you go down on your racing car champion and dozens of people saw you engage?"

Meg and Wendy looked at Fiona horrified and then looked at their mother to deny such a horrible allegation.

"Um nobody saw us," Clara whispered. "Could we please leave it at that. Please."

"Yes mom, absolutely. Come on girls," Wendy said protectively. "We've had our fun and I for one am delighted my mom at her age is still into wall-to-wall sex."

"Wall-to-wall sex?" queried Meg, her eyes turning huge.

"Shut up Meg," Fiona said. "Wendy is right, let's back off and give mom some space to get over the guilt of her obscene behavior in peace."

"I didn't hear mom confess to obscene behavior."

"Shut up Meg," Fiona and Wendy chorused, and these watched their under-siege mother drink a full glass of wine without pausing.

The doorbell sounding interrupted the boring conversation that followed. Meg was off in a flash and half a minute later returned, her face scarlet.

"The guy as the door asked if the lady of the house was home and I said I think so but would check. I asked him his name and he said Steve Armstrong. Mom he's absolutely gorgeous although no taller than you and me."

"Steve Armstrong the seducer?" Wendy boggled.

"Girls please behave and ask no probing questions. Please bring Mr Armstrong in Meg and invite him to lunch."

"But we're finished."

"Meg men don't worry about procedure when it comes to eating and they are happy to live on scraps," said her mother. "Off you go and be extra courteous."

Clara looked at her other daughters. Both had their combs out and were checking their lipstick. She sighed.

Steve, dressed in black pants and loafers and a white turtleneck top, bounced into the room (there was no other word for it), leapt at Clara and kissed her fully before she had time to react, and then swinging round with an arm round her waist said, "Are these beautiful young women waifs or your daughters?"

"Yes I'm a waif looking for a sugar daddy," Wendy said, unable to keep her eyes off the uninvited visitor.

"Well you're one daughter I bet. You look like Clara and have her kind of humor."

The girls looked surprised that someone thought their mom had humor.

"I'm another daughter Fiona, the married one."

"And pregnant I see. That will make your mother happy but feeling old. Congratulations, you look the type who'll wear pregnancy well, like an honor."

"What a lovely thing to say to me."

"Thank you and you... are you the baby of the family attempting to develop the strongest personality and be the action girl?"

Meg's mouth dropped open and she swallowed and asked, "How did you know that?"

"I was the oldest in my family with two sisters and the youngest was always attempting catch-up until she worked out the way to go was to take a big leap forward. I apologize for dropping in at mealtime. I was hoping for an invitation to prolong my stay and Meg gave me that. I found out from a guy called Clive at the track where you lived Clara and I checked out where we ended up last night and found your panties so I had good reason to come here. God what have I just said?"

The four women were looking at Steve, mouths open.

Clara closed her mouth first and said, "Thank you Steve. That find possibly confirms for my daughters that something happened between you and me last night. I resisted the onslaught as best I could but we did have sex didn't we?"

"We had a memorable time but it was so totally dark I couldn't swear it was you."

"Oh it was me all right and that medallion on the chain round your neck confirms your identity as the edges stuck into me occasionally but I also recognize your voice and remember those sweet nothings and your occasional shout of vrooom, vroom."

The girls and Steve were agog.

"So the inquisition is over thank god and I can't imagine you'd ever want to see me again Steve despite your repeated endearments calling me Princess."

The three girls now stared at Steve, waiting for his reaction.

"Girls to clear the air I was the instigator but I can say throughout your mom remained ever so happy and willing and I can assure you your mom is absolutely wonderful at sex. Any questions?"

Meg and Wendy shook their heads and Fiona made a little speech.

"Thank you for your comments Mr Armstrong, they were so enlightening and I feel embarrassed at teasing mother over this and this outcome that must have been greatly embarrassing to you. I would like to say our mother behaved with dignity throughout our inquisition and gave very, very little away. We love our mother and as you will already know she is a very lovely and enthusiastic person. I think you'll already know that with our mother you have met a real woman."

Wendy and Meg clapped spontaneously in support.

Steve cleared his throat. "Those words were wonderful Fiona, quite brilliant. I felt a little embarrassed but only because I was outnumbered and had stupidly made that slip over an item of apparel. You girls must call me Steve. Is there a beer waiting around for me by any chance?"

Meg raced off.

Clara invited Steve to sit next to her at the table and Wendy went off to make up a fresh salmon salad.

Before too long the girls were listening intently to Steve and appeared to be very impressed by him. But he then put that at risk.

"Girls I wish to be frank with you. It is my intention to take your mother away from you er although not altogether."

The confusion was not voiced. The women waited for Steve to continue.

"Clara, I have to confess you both charm and excite me. Until I met you last night I had been feeling my interest in women was on the wane."

"Oh Steven, there is no need to exaggerate."

"Hush mom," Wendy hissed. "You are being propositioned. God how romantic."

"My impression is this is a family that interjects so everyone please feel free to interject," Steven smiled. "Well dear Clara I invite you to become part of my life for a while and let's see where that takes us. It will mean leaving here and you commuting between near where we'll live near my plant in Los Angeles to the sister plant in Rennes, in the east of Brittany in north-western France, where I also maintain a home. My plants produce custom-designed engine cooling systems for high performance sports and racing cars. Without such specialist systems those vehicles under racing conditions would simply blow up, kaput."

"I-I don't know what to say. I taught French for several years until my first pregnancy and I adore French culture, having been to France several times and there are a few parts of Los Angles I find acceptable. But as for leaving me family..."

""Mom go," Fiona urged. "As Wendy has said, this proposition is so romantic. You are running out of time for romance."

"Oh thank you darling," Clara sniffed. "What do you say Meg?"

"Grab it with both hands. I would. If it doesn't work out you simply jump on an airplane and come home."

"Well I must admit the proposition does have some appeal but I scarcely know you Steve but time will take care of that. When were you proposing to take me away from my family."

"At 9:00 tonight. We fly to France."

"Oh no, that would be impossible."

"Mom!" censured her daughters not quite in unison.

* * *

At 7:30 Wendy drove her mother and Steve to the airport, followed by Mike driving his wife Fiona and sister-in-law Meg.

"This is the craziest thing I've ever heard of," Mike snorted. "From what I gather she had sex with his guy last night, he lunches with you guys at 2 o'clock today and invites your mom to go with him to LA and to commute between his homes in France and LA while they fuck themselves senseless."

"You weren't there Mike Brady but I was and I heard nothing about fucking their days away in bliss. He told us he has been married twice, both wives divorcing him because of his extra-marital affairs."

"Christ your mom is a goner without forty-eight hours. He'll have his fill and then dump her."

"Mike shut up. You don't really know the resilience and adaptability of our mother," Meg said crossly. "I reckon I know what Steve wants from her... real affection and for her to give him a sense of belonging to the real world and not just to a world of fast cars, fast women and hideously expensive drinks, food and hotels among friends who are here today, gone tomorrow."

"Well said sis. And Mike I know think he's thinking of grandchildren if he marries mom."

"But he has no children you said, or at least none that he knows of."

"Well if he marries mom guess who this little bundle with have for one of her grandfathers?" Fiona said, patting her belly.

Mike exploded. "Christ that fornicator is not getting within half a mile of my daughter. Piranha is more like kindergarten goldfish compared with him and the way he feeds off women."

"There may be some truth in the published reports about him and women Mike but what else can you expect for a guy trapped in the fast lane?" Fiona said heatedly. "Give him a break. If you don't and he marries mom and you won't accept him you'll place me in the position of choosing between you and mom. Don't put me in that position Mike."

"Yeah Mike, you know she'll side with mom."

"Shut your mouth bitch."

Fiona yelled, "Mike for heaven's sake, be reasonable."

"Leave him Fiona. He's just having a boil over. You know guys lose it when they feel threatened even in just one corner of their tiny brains."

"Say want you want you guys but no way will I talk to that mother-fucker."

Meg grinned. "Did Steve mention he does that to his mother?"

She and Fiona giggled and Mike's knuckles over the steering wheel turned white.

They parked behind Clara's sedan and Steve was introduced to Mike who just grunted.

Steven looked at Mike's Explorer. "Say buddy that left front wheel looks slightly out of alignment. You should get it checked. It might need a simple adjustment or perhaps the suspension of that side has taken an extra big thump."

"Are you sure?" Mike asked, looking worried.

"Remember I said, it might only need a simple adjustment."

As they walked towards the terminal Steven said, "What did you drive before you hitched up with Fiona?"

Mike found himself replying. "I had a 2006 Mustang GET 5-speed manual and just loved it."

"With the 4.6 V8?"

"Yeah," Mike said, glancing at Steven who was eyeing the butts of the three women in front of them. Mike then looked that way too.

"With the Pony option package?"

"Yeah," Mike said, looking at his wife's butt.

Inside the airport Steve made a call and a woman arrived and gathered their luggage ready to pass it through security. They went into a private lounge and had coffee.

A flight captain entered and shook hands with Steve who introduced Clara to him. Clara excused herself and returned to the others and said breathlessly, "We are flying to LA in a Lear jet charter, just us two and the crew."

"Amigo, write a book," Wendy said, almost swooning. "Home romantic."

Clara had a short, serious talk with her family. "Look this might not work out, in fact I don't expect it will as we all know the saying about a leopard's spots. But I feel ready to be addicted to some excitement in my life and this is it; I'll try to make it work. We go to France next week for three weeks and during that time will spend a few days in England where Steve had business with clients and then we return to LA. We'll keep in touch. Mike I'll be grateful if you could try to like him..."