I introduced Antonio in my story, "A Blow Job from A Nice Girl Can Cost." I said, there, that "I have a fair number of pals around town, boyfriends sans sex. It always begins the same way. A guy hits on me, very politely, and I accept the initial proposition, which is never sex. So, we go to dinner, Bay Street Theater, the beach, Sunday afternoon cruise in his boat. When he puts the moves on, I put on the brakes, but in the friendliest way.
"Most stay around, so I keep getting invitations that get me out of the house and away from the laptop. That's the imperative. Else my mind senesces in my skull."
Antonio is early 40's, divorced, an options trader in New York, mostly weekender in the Hamptons. His roots are French and Italian, a few generations back, now, in Corsica. Masculine looks out of a hot French sex movie: tall with broad shoulders, dark, curly hair so black it shines, lean, buff. And I am not interested? Sure, sometimes I was wetting my panties and scraping my stiff nips against my bra. But so far, I've described only a couple dates.
In a small town, like this, I cannot get to know all the guys that intrigue me if I am getting laid by them all. That's great fun until it isn't fun, and that happens fast.
This time, we were drinking at Rowdy Hall, a favorite hang-out. I like bars. Actual bars, with high stools where my long pale legs are at their best, on display up to mid-thigh in my short skirts.
"What's the most embarrassing sex thing that happened to you?" I asked. This was not out of nowhere, some lame-dame line to start conversation. Antonio had said, "Other guys? I'm lucky I didn't become a Trappist monk after what happened to me with other guys."
"Oh, I'm already sympathetic," I said. I grinned under my pixie black bangs and dropped a shoe to lift one bare foot to run up and down his smooth woolen pant leg.
"I'll tell you," he said, with a shrug. "You have a reputation as a safe deposit box of all secrets."
I drew back, clunking my drink onto the bar with a laugh. "That sounds as musty as a 95-year-old virgin!"
Antonio's smile never could be rushed. When completed, it was brilliant with white teeth in a generously wide mouth, dark eyes sparking. "The great secrets of the world are known to the ancient and silent."
Enough of that!
"So what happened to you, Antonio. And why?"
"The 'why' is easy. His dark eyes, now sad, fixed on me, though he still held onto a slight smile. "Ellen, I simply have a a freakishly long, thick penis and for that I have been victimized all my life."
"Oh..."
"Yes, yes," said Antonio, nodding impatiently. "Of course. Once it became a matter of women, yes, it was nice."
"Nice?"
"Let me tell you what happened."
I did a quick inventory of the Chardonnay. He followed my glance. He gestured to the bartender for another bottle-the most cultured gesture I ever had imagined. He grinned at me. Yeah, everyone knows that when Ellen has her bottle, she is content.
"Let me start the story where it started for me. Then, I can fill in."
My intent gaze over the glass of golden wine said it all.
"I walk into my boss's hotel suite. We are on a company 'retreat.' Back then, when I was mid-20's, I worked for a boutique financial firm. Maybe 15 employees in all? Looking back, I should have been out of there much sooner.
"Eight of us, I think, were along on this retreat to Vegas, but Vegas has nothing to do with the story. We had had meetings all day to discuss 'strategy,' 'economic prospects,' and 'customer profile.'
"The boss, Bob, had told me to show up at his suite at 6.15 for 'drinks and more informal discussion.'
"But when I walked in, right on time, my colleagues were there, in a circle, in the suite's ample sitting area. Luxurious carpet, perfect subdued lighting, sparking view of the strip, even tasteful art on the walls.
"But, I had been told 6:15, so why were they already here, grinning like loons as I walked in, staring at me? I stopped in the middle of the room, looking around, uneasy to say the least.
"You must understand one thing. Back then, I was criminally naïve. I was one of the first to be hired by Bob at a time he was desperate for a well-educated MBA to join this no-reputation firm. He offered a great salary, a great title, for my first job. So far, so good.
"But when things picked up and we were comfortably making profits, he started hiring, again. I didn't realize it at the time, but it was only gays and lesbians. How the hell would I have known?
"All gay and lesbian colleagues-and you had no clue?"
"Not really. Not my upbringing, Ellen. Besides, Bob wasn't out the closet-so none of the others were. He set that tone. As a firm, we roared ahead. I had been the catalyst, but now we were on a great roll. Bob wanted to have some fun."
"I can't imagine how this morphs into a sex catastrophe."
"Okay. I am standing there. I have said my hellos, given my smiles. Then, Bob, my boss, speaks up. 'Antonio! Welcome! We have been talking about the evening's entertainment and come to a decision.'
"What the hell was this about? What was going down?
"Bob says with his characteristic authoritative tone, 'Antonio, take off your clothes. And shut up; that is what you are going to do. We have seen your emails to Margo.' I'm sure you get the picture, now, so just strip.'"
I was ready to giggle, But Antonio looked sick. He said, "Even now, more than 10 years later, it wallops me in the gut. I want to puke, right now. And I still experience the original panic."
I reached out for his hand. And my bare foot got busy up and down his pant leg, now lifting it with my toes to rub his skin. He had a lot of crisp black hair on his body. "It's over, Antonio," I said. I threw him a kiss.
"Yeah," he said heavily. "The trap didn't gradually become clear that evening. Realization exploded in my idiot brain. I had been sending emails to my assistant, Margo, the only straight girl in the place. I was positive they were secret. It was the sweetest game. We never spoke a word about it in the office or met outside the office. I sent her emails and she sent me pictures. Not real nudes. Her incredible face. Her legs. Her belly. Her decolletage. Every possible pose and alluring angle of her body without nakedness. And I promised her things, promotions, raises." He added: "I really wanted her to have them!"
