Mr. Suave Meets Miss Fridgeadair

Mr. Suave, as he liked to call himself, loved challenges. Lots of luck pal with that one. She's known as Miss Fridgeadair. Then I'd better do my homework first.

"So you struck out?"

"Yep. Me and ten others."

"What went wrong?"

"She's an iceberg. Ever tried to defrost an iceberg?"

"But she's gorgeous."

"Yep."

"Maybe that's the problem. Maybe she thinks she's God's gift to humanity."

"She's a Goddess alright. And she knows it."

"Maybe you took a wrong approach."

"Maybe ten others did too."

"Perhaps you came on too strong."

"I was as gentle as a lamb."

"Maybe that was the problem. Maybe she doesn't want gentle. Want's a strong man."

"Ask Pete. You know Pete. The one with the black eye."

"Right."

"You did wine and dine her?"

"Yep. That fancy Italian restaurant down on fourth."

"Maybe she doesn't like Italian."

"She loves Italian. You should have heard her talk when the chef came by. She knows Italian food, by God."

"So what happened?"

"Nothing. That was the problem. Had her cappuccino and said thanks. That was nice. Chao."

"What a bitch."

"Yep. A gorgeous bitch."

This called for more research.

"So she did invite you up?"

"She sure did. Has a great apartment."

"And?"

"Wanted to show me her collection of rare coins. I had gotten to talking about that with her at Scott's bar when she said she was a collector. Why don't we get a take-out pizza and I'll show you mine."

"So with a couple of drinks under our bellies and a boxed pizza we head for her place. I'm think wow, I about to get to first base."

"So what happened?"

"What happened was that I make a little joke thinking it was innocent and all."

"What joke?"

"I tell her that If she shows me hers I'll show her mine."

"She hits the brakes, tells me to get out and take my fucking pizza with me."

Okay, I think. No jokes.

More research needed.

"I made it to her apartment, you know."

"Really?"

"Really."

"And?"

"You know what she brings out? A fucking bassinette. Tells me that she can't wait to fill it with a baby; with her baby. Not exactly what I had in mind."

"And?"

"I tell her all sweet-like that I will help her with that project."

"And?"

As we stand there close together looking down into the bassinette she puts her arm gently around my back. So I do the same thinking we've got a job to do together. But no; this arm bit is to escort me to the door. "Good night, bastard, she says."

Okay, I think. No baby making. I wonder if I can find any more specimens for my research. That's when I meet my match. A Latin lover more suave than me. Perfect.

"Oh yes; Miss Fridgeadair. I'll never forget that one."

"Did you get to first base?"

"First? Man I was headed for second, or so I thought."

"At least you didn't strike out. With your good looks and refined manner I'm surprised that you didn't make second base."

"I don't usually go first class on a first date but I did with her. Took her to Le Manoir aux Quat Saisons."

"Good Lord. That must have cost an arm and a leg."

"A bottle of Moet and Chandon to kick things off. Then . . ."

"Say no more. I get the picture."

"And I got to her apartment. First class place. At least I would imagine."

"Yes?"

"Well she has this mirror there as you come in. I stop and look at myself. I bring a comb out and run it through my hair a couple of time as she watches. Then when I bring out my mustache grooming tool I see her there in the mirror with a startled look.

"I don't do suave, she says, even though it's a French word like that restaurant."

"She takes me by the arm to the door which is right there. Bonsoir mon amour."

Check.

No suave.

No suave for me, Mister Suave.

- - - - - - - -

To be or not to be. But how can I be what I ain't? How can I de-suave myself? Surely that's impossible.

I formulate a plan; a plan of attack.

Armed with the research that I have now I'll break into this refrigerator yet, by damn. And it won't be by any frontal assault on the fortress. I'm thinking I may have solved the riddle.

My research has learned her social routine. On Thursdays she stops by this bar on Jackson which is favored by many women as it's not a sports bar with those TVs blaring away. It's a favorite with some gay women who don't want to go to an actual gay bar and be hit on.

Sure enough there she is with her martini with empty stools to each side. She definitely is not the one to radiate invitational signals. I take a stool beside her and put my vase of six red roses on the bar.

"Yes sir; for me," asks the bartender in a friendly manner.

"You're not my type. I'll have a Dewars and soda."

I have yet to speak to her.

When the drink arrives I take a sip and then look down at it sitting beside the flowers. I gently use the little stirrer as I stare sadly into the concoction.

"Got stood up?"

I turn my head to hers, give her a look and return to my looking at my drink and the flowers.

I wait.

"It's my mom."

"Is she ill?"

I nod.

"Sorry."

Seeing her free hand on the bar I put mine atop it as I speak.

"She's out of it. Stroke, you know. I'm afraid this is it."

My heart skips a beat as she puts her other hand atop mine. TA TA!

"She hardly recognized me. She just stared at the flowers as if not recognizing them either."

"You poor thing. I guess it has to come to all of us one day."

I nod while looking melancholy. I still have just had that one sip of my Dewars.

She withdraws her hand and lifts my glass to my lips. I take a sip like I'm a baby. When she puts it down I thank her and lift my hand off of hers.

"I'm Jill."

"Robert."

It was when I slid the flower vase over to her that she asked if I'd like some scrambled eggs at her flat. She added that she too had some Dewars. But no soda.

I wasn't going to quibble.

But I did manage to finish my drink. Reluctantly.

- - - - - - - -

"Put them on the coffee table there," she said as we entered her apartment and she hit a wall switch which turned on two table lamps that straddled the sofa behind the table. She walked into her kitchen and turned on the ceiling light there which was much brighter than the soft lights of the table lamps. I took a seat on the sofa behind the table and roses. A couple of minutes later she returned carrying two cocktail glasses.

"Normally I wouldn't have a Scotch after a martini, but what the heck?"

She put the two drinks down straddling the flower vase and hit the remote controller for the TV. An image of exotic fishes swimming over an ocean reef came into view along with the soft sound of ocean water. Then she took her seat beside me. Close beside me.

TA TA!

"That's beautiful," I say as I look at the fishes rather than at my Scotch. "So peaceful."

"Yes, and there are others like that on this disc."

"So serene." Then I lower my head and put my hands over my face.

"You poor thing," she says as she pulled my head to her shoulder. I pulled my hands away from my face and looked back at the fishes trying to tear-up.

She puts her hand to my cheek and turns my head. Our lips meet. But I restrain myself from initiating any French kissing even as my pulse rate increases.

We separate and look into each other's eyes. By God if I don't feel my eyes beginning to tear after all.

She kisses me again but this time gently puts her tongue in my mouth. So far I had been on a mission of conquest but now I feel lust. I respond with my tongue. Moments later I feel her hand on my crotch. My cock starts to uncoil like a cobra. "Mama," I moan as I cup one of her breasts.

Like that she stops and stands. Oh God I think. That did it. But no; she had stood to turn off the two table lamps, leaving only the light from the kitchen giving a bit of light.

"Be brave," she says as she takes her blouse and bra off and then sits back down. "The Scotch will help."

With a tear or two still in my eyes I take up the drink as does she. Together we take a few sips as we look at the fishes. Of course I am getting a glimce or two of her lovely breasts. It's nice to be on first base.

"Robert."

"Yes."

"Would you mind taking off your pants. I'd rather not be alone like this, you know."

Still looking sad I slide my pants down onto my shoes and shake them aside. My cock is trying to escape but can't seem to find the fly by itself. She comes to my rescue and a moment later it is sticking straight up through my shorts fly.

She pulls my head to her bosom. I make straight for a nipple like any baby would. I find it easy to find as it is hard and protruding.

Now we both have a body part protruding.

Gently I suck away.

"Poor baby," she says as her hands make for my balls. Moments later they have joined my cock outside of my shorts. While I'm now urgently waiting for her to start on my pecker she instead massages my balls. When I put my hand on the breast I'm sucking she pulls it away. Oh God, I think; I can only act as a baby. Wrong. She puts it to her other breast as she continues on with my balls.

As she works my nuts my naked cock starts swaying this way and that. It's like a flag signaling for attention. Hey, if you haven't noticed lady, I'm right here. You can't miss me.

Now she's had enough of this nipple sucking. She nudges me off and picks up her Scotch as she resumes looking at the fishes and hearing the soft water sounds. But she continues on messaging my balls. Now I'm thinking she just a cock-teaser.

So here we are sitting in the semi-darkness with her naked above the waist watching these Goddamn fish. She has resumed sipping her drink and is still messaging my nuts as my cock is waving back and forth for attention.

Shit. How am I to get to second base?

"Robert."

"Yes."

"Are you ready?"

"Yes. Oh yes, mama."

"Then I'll go scramble up the eggs. Got to feed my baby."

"They are in the refrigerator, you know."