Coming of Age

"How much are you going to tip?" my sophisticated lover asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know."

"I'll tell you how much. Fifty dollars."

"You serious?"

"That's a little over twenty percent of the bill," she informed. "And in a place like this, it's an insult to tip anything less. Giorgio's service was impeccable, wouldn't you agree?"

Again I shrugged. "Okay. Sure. But all he did was talk. The other guys did most--"

"Andy."

"Yeah?"

She narrowed her eyes.

I sighed and corrected myself. "Yes, I meant."

"Andy, no one comes to a restaurant like Buchanan's because the food is good. They come here because they can afford it. Trust me; no one else here tonight cares how much anything costs. Now, when he comes back, he will ask if there's anything else he can do for us. Tell him you would like a bottle of champagne sent up to our room."

"'Our room?'"

She grinned mischievously. "Yes. Our room."

* * * *

With Mrs. Fontana's arm wrapped around mine, I felt something like a male escort as we headed away from the restaurant and into the lobby of the hotel in which Buchanan's resided. I noticed quite a few May/December couples, both older women with younger men and older men with younger women, in the bar outside the restaurant. The women, most around my age or a little older, were all stunning, and the men looked like models from the cover of GQ. There were more "normal" looking pairs as well, from twentysomethings to sixtysomethings, and every one of them obviously had money.

The elevator attendant said nothing as we rode to the fifteenth floor of the hotel. Mrs. Fontana gave me naughty smiles and winks, suggestive of delights to come in the imminent future. My cock swelled obscenely against my pants. It was a good thing the attendant had his back to us.

Once inside the richly-furnished room, which was dominated by a massive king-sized bed framed by four intricately carved posts, Mrs. Fontana strode purposefully toward the wide-open floor-to-ceiling window that dominated most of the opposite wall. A little bistro table framed by two low-backed wooden chairs sat before the window, and she pulled out one of the chairs and sat down, looking upon me sultrily.

"I want to watch you take your clothes off, Andy," she informed.

I smiled nervously, locking the door and stepping into the room. "Okay . . . ."

"Do it slowly," she directed. "Take your time. First, the shoes."

I started toward the bed, with the intention of sitting down on the edge to remove my shoes by hand. But she stopped me.

"No. Step out of them. First the left, then the right. And don't kick them away. Set them at the end of the bed."

Why should that matter? I thought, then pushed it from my mind. Guess it must mean something.

So I did as Mrs. Fontana wanted, stepping down on the heel of my left shoe and slipping my foot from it, then doing the same with the right. I bent and retrieved them both and set them at the end of the bed.

"Good," she said with a sultry-eyed smile. "Now the jacket. Just slip it back off your shoulders and let it slide down your arms. Catch it before it falls."

Again, I followed her instructions, but getting the jacket to just slide down my arms wasn't easy. I finally worked them off, feeling my face get red under my lover's attentive gaze. I didn't catch the jacket before it crumpled to the ground, and cursed under my breath.

"That's all right, Andy. Go hang it up."

I was starting to get a little annoyed. But, biting back any comment I might have made, I took the jacket to the small open closet by the entryway and slipped it onto a hanger.

"Now, as you come back, undo the cuffs of your shirt, then unbutton it. Slowly."

I was sour-faced at first as I strode slowly back into the room, working the cuffs of my sleeves loose. But upon seeing my lover and the smoldering expression upon her face, I suddenly understood. Mrs. Fontana was actually telling me how to seduce her. With that realization, annoyance turned to excitement, which mounted with every button I popped.

"Nice," she commented, cheeks beginning to glow. She parted her legs, making her skirt slide up those svelte legs. "Very nice."

I finally got the shirt undone and pulled the tails from my pants. Rakishly, I let it slip from my shoulders and fall to the floor. Mrs. Fontana neither chided nor corrected my actions. She was clearly becoming aroused.

I wore no undershirt, so the next article to be removed were my slacks. Keeping my gaze locked on Mrs. Fontana, and enjoying being the center of her attention, I let the pants fall to the floor. I stepped out of them, moving closer to my lover.

She licked her lips, gaze transfixed upon the outline of my cock. It stood out starkly against the silk boxers.

"Do you want it?" I asked her, following a brief epiphany concerning my role. It had suddenly dawned upon me that I really was the one in charge. While I followed my lover's directions, I held the controlling hand. That realization changed everything.

"Yes," she whispered, eyes still locked on my crotch.

I slipped my thumbs beneath the waistband of the silk boxers and moved them down a bit, exposing the pubic curls above the base of my cock. "Are you sure?"

She emitted a soft, shuddering, half-laugh, half-sigh. "Oh, you're good at this."

My ego swelled. I pushed the boxers down a bit more. My cock was fully erect, kept down only by the elastic waistband. The base of my penis was visible. "Like you said, I catch on quickly."

She licked her lips, parting her legs widely. As the hem of her silky dress slid all the way up, I could tell Mrs. Fontana was not wearing panties. The dusky lips of her sex flared out beneath her carefully-trimmed thatch of downy hair. "Oh, you do," she breathed. "You deliciously do."

I let the boxers fall to my feet. My cock bounced out toward her, aimed at her face. Standing proudly before her, I let my lover assess me with her lustful eyes. Her own slowly traveled up my body, drinking in every inch before coming to rest upon my face. "What do you want, baby?"

I smiled. "Anything you want."

She breathed in deeply, lowering a hand to pet her dampened pussy. "No, Andy. Tell me what you want me to do. Take control."

The butterflies returned, but only briefly. For whatever reasons, our roles had suddenly been reversed. I was the dominant one, now. So I reached for Mrs. Fontana's head and pulled her toward my needy cock.

"Open your mouth," I directed.

* * * *

Well over an hour later, I lay panting upon the bed, staring up through a field of tiny supernovas at the gently-spinning ceiling of the hotel room. The air was thick with the primal scents of sex. Mrs. Fontana sat astride me, my cock still buried within her and only somewhat softened thanks to the still-vibrating cock ring. I managed to lift my head and look upon her. She leaned back with her hands braced upon my knees, body sheathed in sweat to match my own.

With a blissful sigh -- she had enjoyed more than twice as many orgasms as the two she had coaxed from me -- she eased off me, letting my cock slap wetly to my abdomen. Glistening with streaks of semen mingled with my lover's own orgasmic juices, my cock was like a newborn, shriveled and dark and sticky.

Accompanied by a deep, rumbling moan from somewhere within her body, Mrs. Fontana settled herself between my legs on the spacious bed and languidly, lovingly, licked up our mingled fluid from my dick. While doing so, she gently eased the cock ring up the semi-wilted shaft. I felt a sudden release of pressure when the device slipped past the head, which was engulfed by my lover's questing mouth. I shuddered as she cleaned me.

My hands caressed her short, thick hair, voicelessly telling her how much I appreciated her attentions. But if she thought to revive me for a third go-around, she was going to be disappointed.

Thankfully, she made her way up my body, kissing and nipping affectionately before settling comfortably on my side and resting her cheek to my chest. Apparently, she was as spent as I.

"I can't believe how good I feel," I muttered, eyes covered beneath heavy lids.

Mrs. Fontana sighed contentedly. "You and me both," she whispered.

I managed to curl an arm around her warm body. "I don't know why this is all happening . . . but I'm really glad it is."

The fingers of one hand lightly scratched my chest. "You're going to make a wonderful lover and husband someday, Andy."

Fatigue and the miasma of euphoria kept me from responding, or even thinking about her words. I had no alternative but to surrender to the insistent lull of a very satisfied sleep.

* * * *

That wasn't the last time Dee and I would enjoy a night in a hotel. Over the course of the following several weeks, I met with her many times, and always on her terms. She would leave me notes in cards and packages sent to the store or my home, instructing me in what to wear or do. But, more and more as our relationship progressed, I took the lead in both social and sexual situations.

Her tutelage included more than just the intricate variations of sex. She taught me about wine, fine food, etiquette, art and other subjects of interest to the upper class. I kept wondering why she made the effort to transform my blue-collar, low-class sensibilities into more refined ones, but I never questioned her.

Heeding Melvin's advice, I didn't let my emotions cloud my relationship with Dee. That was not an easy thing to do, of course. At my age, great sex was tantamount to love. But the vast difference in our ages allowed me to stay emotionally distant from Dee. I knew she wouldn't leave her husband for me, nor did I want her to. I was acutely aware that I wanted a girl my own age, and thanks to Dee's tutelage, I was certain to give any girl I met more than she expected.

The Swinger enjoyed my attention whenever I was not either with Dee or at work. Mrs. Fontana seemed interested in my project, and I suppose I probably bored her with the details of rebuilding a 340 V6 engine. Still, she encouraged my completion of the classic car, even going as far as to insist on paying for parts I needed to get the car in top condition. She even sprang for a forest-green paint job once the restoration was complete.

Driving the Swinger back home on a Saturday afternoon, after inspection and registration, Mrs. Fontana cast admiring glances around the interior of the vehicle, commenting that it reminded her of the cars her father drove when she was a child.

"Although," she added as she pulled up the loose denim skirt covering her upper thighs. Brazenly exposing her naked pussy, she stroked the fleshy lips while giving me a dreamy expression. "I never wanted to fuck in any of my father's cars."

I smiled, reaching across the space between the car's bucket seats and replacing Dee's hand with my own. She sighed as I started fingering her. "Maybe I should find a nice little place to park," I suggested.

"That's what I was thinking," she murmured, pushing down against my hand.

* * * *

Early in the second week of August, on a Saturday, I awoke before Dee in yet another expensive hotel room. Making my way to the bathroom, I splashed some water on my face and stared at my reflection. The previous evening had been a marathon bout of sex, with Dee acting fervent, almost desperate, as if that night had been the last we would share together. The memories of that night would linger with me for the rest of my life.

Returning to the room, I found Mrs. Fontana sitting up in bed, the sheets barely covering her legs. She sported a small, almost sad smile as she watched me approach the bed.

"You're an incredible man, Andy," she told me.

I smiled self-consciously. "I've had a good teacher."

Her eyes glittered. "I have one more gift for you."

I shook my head. "Please don't --"

"I insist."

I sighed. "Okay. What is it?"

She cocked her head, regarding me wistfully. "I sent all the details in a message to your phone," she explained, then sighed. "God, you look good naked."

I casually touched my semi-erect penis. "Morning sex?" I offered.

She chuckled. "As wonderful as that sounds, I'm sorry."

I crossed my arms for want of putting them anywhere else. "This is it, huh?"

An inscrutable look crossed her face. "You're not surprised."

I shrugged, grinding my teeth. "You kept mentioning the end of summer," I said. "Figured it wasn't gonna last."

"Not in this sense, no," she confirmed enigmatically. She smiled philosophically. "There's a party on the seventeenth, at the house. My house. I'd like you to be there."

"Your house?" I asked in alarm. "Like, um, where you live with your husband?"

She tittered. "Yes, that one. Don't worry, Andy. Everything's going to be fine."

"If you say so . . . ."

"Just remember everything I taught you, Andy. Don't disguise what you do, but impress us with who you are."

I breathed in. Right . . . .

* * * *

Dee's last present to me consisted of instructions to a tailor, where I was fitted for a new suit. The older gentleman I spoke with was very patient and polite, humoring my questions and offering much-needed suggestions. He informed me that I essentially had my pick of the store, thanks to Mrs. Fontana. He never asked what association I had with the woman.

In the end, I chose a dark blue silk suit with a pale white shirt and silk tie. I was told that it would be ready by the seventeenth, which was when the tailor had been told to have it available. Leaving the store that afternoon, I was left with a niggling feeling of anticipation, even anxiety. After months of being the "other man" in a wealthy older woman's life, I was suddenly informed that I would be meeting her husband -- and, ostensibly, the rest of the family -- and to "impress" them with who I am.

Was I just some kind of project for Dee? I wondered. And now she's gonna show me off like a prize horse?

I needed another perspective on the situation. Thankfully, I knew just where to find it.

Melvin always worked Saturdays, I knew, and I managed to catch him at a lull between stocking the warehouse and delivering packages. After telling him I needed to talk, he told the other guys in the warehouse that he was taking a break. We headed around the back of the store to a weather-warped picnic table, upon which Melvin sat before lighting up a cigarette.

"So how's that grade-A prime pussy you been hitting?" he asked with his usual aplomb.

I chuckled, hands in my pockets. "More or less over," I answered.

He nodded. "Knew that was coming."

"It wasn't like a huge breakup or anything. I just sort of knew."

He smiled ruefully. "Then you're one up on me," he said. "The cougar that got me, I just couldn't let go. Pussy that fine, you want it all the time, you know?"

"But you eventually let go, right?"

He chuckled darkly. "Nope. Bitch took out a restraining order on me."

I shook my head. "I don't think I'll have to worry about that."

"Something else going on, ain't there? Else you wouldn't be talking to me about this."

I hesitated briefly, wondering if it was such a good idea to clue Melvin in. But I really needed his advice. "There's a party on the seventeenth," I shared with him. "At her house. Her husband's gonna be there. Hell, I figure the whole family, bunch of friends are gonna be there."

"So why the hell does she want you there, right?"

"Right."

Melvin shrugged. "Got me, man."

I sighed. "I feel like I've been set up for something," I said, kicking the ground. "All this stuff she's been teaching me, about clothes, food, wine --"

"Sex."

I laughed. "And sex," I agreed. "But why? What's it all for?"

He pulled on his cigarette. "Guess you're gonna have to go to the party and find out, man."

* * * *

I had asked for the seventeenth off from work, mainly so I wouldn't be in a rush to get ready after work. Early that afternoon, I picked up my new suit and the tailor asked me to put it on just to insure the fit was right. Damn, I have to admit it looked pretty good on me, accentuating my broad shoulders and narrow waist. With the black leather shoes and my new haircut, I looked like I should have been attending Harvard instead of the local junior college.

I cleaned up the car, then showered and dressed in the new suit. Dee wanted me at the house by seven o'clock, and in the interest of insuring I'd get there on time, I left early just in case I lost my way.

I shouldn't have worried.

The house lay upon a hill just outside the city, like a castle overseeing the peasantry below. There were searchlights fanning back and forth from the front lawn as if they were celebrating a new nightclub opening or a massive sale at a car dealership. Approaching the mansion, I pulled into a line of cars being admitted through the gate of the property. The building beyond was fully worthy of the title "mansion." Three stories tall, with columns supporting a broad portico that looked like the entryway to the Louvre.

Man, I'm in way over my head, I worried as my little rebuilt Swinger rolled toward the gate. I was fully expecting to be turned away.

The car ahead of mine was let through, and a large, muscular man with a military crew cut beckoned me forward.

"Invitation," he prompted through my open window.

Droplets of sweat oozed to the surface of my palms. "Uh, I wasn't given one. Maybe this isn't the right place--"

"Name."

"What?"

The gate guard looked annoyed. "Your name."

I swallowed dryly. "Andy Breckenridge."

He smiled suddenly, his entire demeanor changing. "Mr. Breckenridge," he said in a more upbeat tone. "I apologize for my rudeness. Here."

"That's okay," I said warily, accepting the silver-colored card he handed me. What the hell is this?

"Just put that in the front window and look for the silver sign. It will be in the first row. Have a good evening, Mr. Breckenridge."

"Uh, thanks," I said, then rolled the card forward. Okay, this is getting really weird. I go from being peon to friggin' guest of honor just because of my name? Oh, jeez, look at these cars. Lexus, Mercedes, BMW . . . holy shit, a goddamn Ferrari . . . .

The silver sign the guard had referred to sat before an empty space in the first of six rows of cars. Another muscular, uniformed man motioned me in, then opened the car door after I cut the engine.

"Good evening, Mr. Breckenridge," he said as if addressing a head of state.

Bewilderment almost took away my sense of balance as I stepped out, but I managed to keep my composure. "Good evening," I responded, regarding the man's open hand.

"Keys, sir. We'll keep an eye on your baby."

I smiled in an effort to conceal my awkwardness. "Sure. Right. Sorry, it's been a long day."

"Then it's time to relax," the man said, indicating the cobblestone walk which lead to the front doors.

"Right."

Men and women, mostly middle-aged, milled about the broad yard. Some stood around a large stone fountain depicting a trio of nude women pouring water from gourds. Others were making their way toward the house. I saw a group of guys about my age hanging around in a group, smoking cigarettes and watching me. It was obvious they were making rude comments and jokes, probably about me and why I had the obvious privilege of parking my P.O.S. Dodge in the "silver space." I could just about hear them saying, "what's so special about him?"

I ignored them, allowing my feet to lead me to the house. I nodded to anyone who came within ten feet of me and received similar salutations in return. The smell of money was thick in the air, trailing off expensive suits and dazzling jewelry.

Ahead of me at the door, a short man in a black suit with a nose three times too large for his head was admitting the guests. Beyond the open doors, I heard big band music and the din of a hundred conversations.