Past Present and Future

A short tale of sugar relationships.

It's a stand-alone tale but follows from and builds on Chapters 1 and 2.

Please enjoy.

+

"He doesn't play games."

Marcy looked at me over the rim of her coffee mug. It was a coffee mug, no matter what she put in it.

"Games?"

I thought for a moment.

"Look, when a boy is interested in you... No, when you are interested in a boy, what do you do?"

Her eyebrows went up. "You mean how do I get him to notice me?"

I nodded. "Exactly — making eye contact, but not too much or too long, leaning in towards him, laughing at his stories, batting your eyelashes, shy smiles, playing with your hair, all of it. We all do it. It's part of every girl's bag of tricks, that little social dance we do to get a cute boy's attention, right?

"Well, he doesn't do those, Marcy, or, rather, he doesn't allow himself to react to them. I tried and he cut me off at the knees. He wasn't surly or creepy or anything; he just made it clear — politely — that we were both adults and, if I wanted to see more of him, it would be on his terms."

"Which were?"

She was grinning now, having seen me leave and return with my over-weekend luggage consisting of my flute and one very small purse.

+

"And you said yes? Spent the whole weekend bare-assed? Playing flute sonatas for him in the buff?"

I blushed a little, nodded. "Yes, but not sonatas, those are..."

"Whatever," she said. "You spent three days butt-naked, playing your flute the whole time? Kinky."

I tried to control my blushing.

"No, not all the time. I mean, not with the flute." The more I said, the sillier it sounded.

"So, I'm rooming with a sugar-baby?" she giggled.

That got my dander up. "No. No way!"

She stared at me, the challenge clear on her face.

"Well, not yet," I admitted. "Maybe.

"I mean, he asked. Sort of. I told him I needed to think about it."

Marcy came over, hugged me. "So, at least tell me what he's like."

She reached out with the wine bottle. I held out my own mug and she poured me a sizeable splash. I sipped, searched for an answer. How to do justice to Anthony diRossi?

"Well, he's really kind and generous, once you get inside his walls."

Marcy giggled. "'Kind and generous'. That's what Katie said about her 73-year-old sugar-daddy last year."

I glared at her. She wilted a little, shrugged.

"Sorry," she said, meekly.

"Well, he is!" I said. "But, let's see...

"He's had a rugged life in many ways. His father died when he was a little boy and there wasn't a lot of money. His wife deserted him for his best friend and that really hurt him. He was a firefighter until a helicopter crash cost him his career, meaning his friends and his support network, too. He wound up living with his uncle in Watford and started coming to class here to avoid having to be a farmer. Then his uncle got killed by a drunk driver and, well, Tony owns the farm now.

"He really enjoys learning, but all the students are like our age and, oh heck, Marcy, the more he went into it, the more I could understand why he hasn't been more open. He's all alone, sort of."

"Maternal instinct in four..." she smirked. "In three... in two..."

"Stop that!" I snapped. "It's not that, either. Look, he's... well, i think he's just too darned proud to work at fitting in. Truth is, I think he's the most

masculine

man I've ever met — in the best sense of the word. When he lets himself be real, he's... I don't know, overwhelming? In a really good way, I mean; he makes you feel really good about being a woman."

She nodded a bit sadly at that, obviously thinking of the weak-wristed mama's boys the campus was increasingly infested with. The best that could be said for some of them is that they didn't bring their teddy bears to lectures.

"He's got really good taste. He renovated the old farmhouse and, Marcy, it's

gorgeous!

West-facing floor-to-ceiling windows, with the most incredible sunsets. He kept most of the original stone walls, but everything's modern and warm and there's a pool and walking trails and..."

She giggled at my enthusiasm. "So, what's

he

like?"

I thought. "I could say 'distant' or 'reserved', and I wouldn't be wrong, but I think it's just a shield, something to keep himself from being hurt again, which is weird, 'cause he's generally really confident."

"But old." I saw the look in her eyes as she said that.

"Late 40s, I guess. I didn't ask. And, yes, he has white hair, but it's hard to tell 'cause he was always really blond. He's in very good shape, works out at the gym here a lot. And he dresses super well, better than half the gay guys I knew. And he's an amazing cook!"

"How's his package?" Dark eyes gleamed over her coffee cup.

"Marcy!" Even for her, this was pretty brash.

"Well?"

I blushed. "About average, I guess. But, girl, it stayed up all night and he really knows what to do with it!"

My eyes closed, my mind flitted back to Tony driving me off cliff after blissful cliff with hands, mouth and cock. The guy was patient, capable, imaginative and as gentle or as forceful as needed. He'd also had all weekend to learn what rang Stephanie's chimes, oh yes.

I shivered happily. Delete 'chimes', insert 'carillon'.

"I saw that memory!" Marcy giggled.

"I came about twenty times, and that's no exaggeration. The guy's a machine, Marcy!"

She laughed openly now, her eyes sparkling.

"And...?"

"And what?" I asked.

"When are you seeing him next?"

I sagged just a little. "At the lab, Tuesday." Tony and I had been lab partners. Were still lab partners, I mean. I hoped. His having seen every bit of me for three days, what would Tuesday morning be like?

"How's the sugar?" she grinned. Marcy was always going on about sugar-daddies.

"No sugar, Marcy. Well, he offered me a necklace, like about next year's tuition."

"Where is it? I wanna see!"

"I said no. He's not going to buy me, Marcy. I told him that."

She had a curious expression on her face. Disappointment? Jealousy, maybe? I couldn't read it.

"Well, if it was that nice, I just wish I could have seen it."

I blushed again.

"You've got a photo of it, don't you!" Marcy could be pretty perceptive sometimes. "Show me!"

I thought for a moment. Marcy and I were roomies in the rez. We'd seen each other bare before.

On the other hand, when Tony had taken a photo of me yesterday, it wasn't casual, pardon-me-while-I-change-my-bra nudity. I'd been sleepily basking in the sunshine on Tony's back deck, wearing only the necklace. When he'd held up my phone, his eyebrows raised in unspoken question, I'd lazily put my hands behind my head, arched my back a bit to emphasize my boobs. The photo showed the sheen of perspiration on my body; my face had that unmistakable, wildly-contented, just-laid look.

Looking at it afterwards, I was surprised my phone hadn't melted.

If this worked out, I was thinking of having the photo framed as a gift for Tony. Of course, I'd have to get it done mail-order so I wouldn't have to face the clerk at a framing shop...

"No," I replied firmly. "Ain't happening."

"Oh, come on, Stephanie — 'sharesies' on everything, that's the residence rule, right?"

She laughed, pointed at me. "Stephanie's got a sugar-daddy! Stephanie's got a sugar-daddy!"

"Stop it!" I protested, giggling. "He's not..." But Marcy's laughter is super-infectious and I wound up laughing myself.

"Show me, show me, show me!" She jumped over to my bed and started tickling me. It was an old game, one I couldn't win. I shrieked and tried to get out of her clutches, but it was hopeless.

"Show me!" she insisted, "or I'll tell Tony you showed me anyway!"

That killed the tickle like a bucket of ice water. She saw the look in my eyes, let go of me right away. "Sorry," she apologized again. "I wouldn't, Stephanie. You know that, right?"

I nodded, managed a forgiving smile. It was hard to stay angry at Marcy.

Irrepressible, she jumped on me again, fingers in my ribs. "Show me, show me!" the chant started again. I screamed, wriggled and finally gave up.

"OK, OK, but stop it!"

She sat beside me on the bed, passed me the phone from my desk.

"You have to promise, Marcy! Promise you won't tell anybody!"

"I promise," she assured me. "Let me see!"

I pushed my thumb on the phone screen, which obediently unlocked itself. When I found the photo, I was still amazed at how hot I appeared. I handed it to her, looked away.

"Oh my god, Steph!" she gasped. I turned back. I'd never seen her eyes that wide. Her hand over her mouth, her eyes were sweeping back and forth between the phone image and the real me in front of her.

Eventually, using both thumbs on the screen, she enlarged the photo, zeroing in on the necklace around my neck.

"Holy crap!" she whispered. "That's gorgeous!"

"Yeah."

"And you gave it back?"

"Of course, Marcy. I don't want him to think he can buy girls. Especially not me."

I thought for a moment, added softly. "And I didn't want to think of myself as a girl who

could

be bought. I told him that I'll wear it when I visit him."

"Oh. Gotcha." Her fingers swept over the screen, restoring the image to its normal size. She stared at it again and took a deep breath before handing the phone back to me.

She hugged me again, hard. "Sounds like you had a really good time."

"Yeah. I really did."

She giggled slightly, pulled her head away to look at me. "So, when do I..."

I interrupted. "When do

you

get to meet him? How about 'never'? Can we put 'never' on your calendar?" I grinned at her.

"Stephanie! I know you can't be embarrassed, but tell me you're not jealous!"

"Marcy, there's no way I'm going to let him get a look at you; he'd be gone in a minute. Any man would."

"Now you're being silly," she said, her eyes on mine. "Me, compared to the girl in that photo? No way!"

I was indeed mainly teasing and, in any case, there'd have been no point to my being possessive of Tony. He had the charm, the money, the good looks; if he could overcome his own issues, old or not, he could have any girl on campus. The mere fact that he'd asked

me

in the first place — and then asked me back — was a solid confidence-builder for me.

But, Marcy...

Well, yeah. She could make any woman jealous and possessive in the blink of an eye, just by existing.

She was smaller than average, almost petite, much shorter than me. She had the long, long dark brown hair, come-hither eyes with long lashes and a sizzling figure. She was also, no kidding, a football cheerleader, traveled all over the place with the team. Super-fit, wearing her purple-and-white costume, she made the boys in the stands drool. She also had a tough, spunky attitude, something she needed to keep the linebackers, um, in line.

I shrugged. "I'm sorry, Marcy. No, I think I can trust both of you. But this is all really new. I'm not sure where Tony and I are going. It's way out of the normal."

She took my hand, squeezed; her face became almost serious. "I know, Steph, I know. I'm happy for you, really."

Her eyes brightened and the old mischievous grin popped onto her face. "But I do want to meet him! Maybe I could just drive by his farm, by accident, some weekend when you're there?" She batted her eyes, giggling.

I looked at her, tried not to giggle myself.

"I'm pretty sure you'd have to follow the local dress code," I grinned.

That set her back. My grin grew wicked.

+

I was waiting for him Friday evening, wearing a long t-shirt dress. It showed up my legs nicely, I thought. Maybe that would make up for him having to wait for me through my late practice.

I'd seen him last in the lab on Tuesday, where he'd been his usual distant self. At first it had upset me, but then he gave a wink and I realized that he too could keep confidences. That was something good to know, something I needed, I thought.

Tonight, he appeared in the Jaguar again, the little sports car. Polite as always, he hopped out and opened the door for me. He looked smashing — grey flannel trousers and a tie, no kidding.

It felt odd hugging him with clothes on, odd to feel his hands on me with my clothes on, but I did my best before tossing my purse, laptop and knapsack into the back and slithering into the seat.

"Tony," I said when he'd got behind the wheel. He looked at me. I put my left arm behind his head, pulled him in for a solid, toe-curling kiss. I put everything into it and, a second later, he responded and

my

toes were curling.

"That's for not pushing back when I asked you to pick me up here," I said.

"I'd wondered. The heating plant instead of your residence?"

I hesitated. "Tony, you're a dear, but, well, a man of your age — I mean your distinguished appearance — picking up a girl from the Zoo on a Friday night would cause talk."

I squeezed his arm with my hand. "Please?"

He smiled. "No worries. Anyway — ready to go?"

"Please."

"Oh," he said. "I forgot." His hand emerged with the necklace he'd tried to give me our first night together.

"You said you'd wear it at the farm," he smiled. "We're on our way there; is that OK?"

"Very much OK."

I leaned over, let him put it around my neck. I took a deep breath, smiled at the weight of it, ran my fingers over the complex pattern of links.

"Thank you," I said. I never felt so pretty as when I was wearing it. I looked at my image in the makeup mirror and was ready for anything.

We'd just passed Hyde Park Road when I spoke up. "May we have the top down, Tony? Please?"

He was happy enough to oblige. Driving in a convertible with her hair blowing in the breeze is something every girl should try and driving that convertible with a laughing blonde, her hair streaming behind her, is something every boy can be happy with.

The sun was setting by the time we were fifteen minutes out of town on old Highway 22. I started to wiggle in my seat. Tony's head half-turned towards me.

"You OK?"

Without answering, I slipped the shoulder belt down and did the little squirmy dance that allows you to remove your bra without taking off your dress. After unhooking it in back, I pulled the shoulder strap out of my left sleeve and over my hand. When I reached up the right sleeve and pulled on the other strap, the whole thing came out in my hand.

Tony was watching the process out of the side of his eye. I grinned, held it up over my head, let it flap and dance in the wind. I opened my fingers and set it free, a pale shape vanishing into the dim light behind us.

"Oopsie!" I said, solemnly.

His smile was amazing. I could see I'd hit precisely the right button to please him.

To start.

I'd shifted far enough that I wasn't sitting on my dress anymore. Reaching down with crossed arms, I found its hem, leaned forward and pulled it over my head in one long motion.

The expression on his face was priceless as he tried to watch both me and the road ahead.

I lifted it up into the windstream with both hands. The fabric flapped and roared over us in the darkness like a flag in a gale. I opened my hands with a loud

Wheeee!

and it was gone instantly, leaving me dressed in Tony's silver and a really nice smile.

This too is something every girl should try at least once. Trust me.

The leather seat felt soft and comfortable against my bum and back. The night wind on my bare shoulders and boobs was strange, but welcome. I could feel my nipples tighten a little; I couldn't tell if it was from the wind or from anticipation and excitement. Either one worked for me.

I was enjoying myself thoroughly and I liked Tony, very much so. Maybe more than that.

The elephant in the room, of course, was his offer.

A week ago, I wouldn't have believed myself capable of even considering such a proposal, but it was a new Stephanie now, a girl far different from the former me. But...

As much as I liked Tony, as much as I liked everything else, the concept of being his sugar-baby was something I hadn't come to terms with. I put the question aside for now, focussed on the moment.

There were houses here and there along the highway, some with lights on, some not. I wondered if anybody was watching as we flew by. I didn't think it mattered much. I wondered if I would think so if the light was better. A few cars passed us, heading east into London, then a big semi-trailer. My boobs showed clearly in the truck's headlights; the driver was high enough that he could easily have seen me had he been looking. I smiled, hoped he'd enjoyed himself, wondered how long the memory would stay with him.

I could sense Tony's surprise, his enthusiasm, his new-kindled expectancy. It felt great. I was confident this time, like I was finally getting into my stride.

The car veered slightly as he glanced down at me. I touched his shoulder with my hand.

"Tony, dear, you need to keep your eyes on the road."

Laughing, he did, but let his right hand explore. That, too, was welcome. His fingers found my thigh, roamed up and down. The back of his hand traced its way up over my stomach. It found a breast and I laughed as Tony caught my nipple between thumb and forefinger.

I reached out with my left hand, found his leg, stroked the fabric of his trousers, found a lurking hardness underneath. The car veered again as I ran my fingers over it, squeezed.

"Hey! Rubber side down!" I giggled.

He turned his head for a quick glance at me. "Do you have any idea how good that feels, Stephanie?"

I squeezed again, caught the hand on my boob with my own. "I think so," I said.

Tony signaled, turned south off the highway. A few minutes later, we were pulling up to the old barn. He backed in, parked. As polite as ever, he opened my door and held out his hand to help me.

Unlike the first time, his eyes were definitely on my legs.

Among other things.

I'd been shy the first time Tony had brought me here - embarrassed, uncertain, nervous. Now, naked as a bird under a cloudless night sky, I was running hand in hand with him from the barn, laughing in delight.

Tony was trying to unlock the door and I was making harder for him by fumbling with his belt buckle, pulling his slacks down around his ankles. "If you keep doing that, Stephanie," he chuckled, "I'll jump you out here on the balcony."

I giggled, reached around behind him to seize his stiff organ. My hand slid inside his boxer shorts; I began to run my hand along his length, barely touching.

"And the downside of that would be what, Tony?"

I looked around. A hundred years ago, there might have been chairs under the broad porch, a swing glider perhaps, to pass sultry evenings in. Now, there was only the empty porch.

I pulled my hand out of his boxers, let my thumb circle the slippery fabric over his taut head. He missed the keyhole with the key.

Don't say it.

"Having problems?" I giggled.

He eventually managed to get the door open. He dropped my backpack on the deacon's bench inside and, still hobbled by his fallen trousers, spun around. Throwing a long arm around my waist, he pulled me to him.

"You are such a tease!" The delight was clear in his voice. My reply was cut off as his lips met mine. Our tongues met, explored, played. I giggled again, thinking of his expression when I'd been doing my strip-tease on the country highway.

"A tease, Tony?" I said softly. "I'll take that as a complement. Or would you prefer me to stop?"

His hand touched my face. "Yes, it was and no, don't ever stop."

I felt the nubby silk of his shirt and tie against my nipples and the skin of my tummy, pulled against him with all my happy strength.