Past, Present and Future Ch. 07

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Amateur

A short tale of sugar relationships and developing friendships.
It’s a stand-alone tale, but builds on earlier chapters in the series.
Please enjoy.

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She turned out the light and I heard her sliding between her sheets on the other side of the room. I was already in my bed, a textbook I’d been reading still on my tummy. Outside our door, I could hear people walking down the residence hallway, refugees from an evening job or late class, maybe en route to the showers or picking up laundry from one of the machines. It was a routine sound, something I was used to.

I closed the book, laid it on the side table next to my phone, then reached up, shifted my pillow under my head, relaxed my shoulders. I lay there in the darkness, letting a day’s fatigue ooze out of my pores into the night. The susurration of shuffling humanity outside the door had faded and I could only hear Marcy’s soft breathing across the room.

“I’m jealous.”

Her voice was so low as to be barely audible.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m jealous, Stephanie.”

“Of me?”

“Yes.”

I rolled over towards her; could see her outline in the dim light through the blinds.

“Of what? Oh, you mean the sugar baby thing?”

Marcy had been my roommate for a year and a half. She was my best friend and as close to a sister as I would ever have. She knew about my arrangement with Tony, had held my hand since it had began.

“Yes. No. I mean, the money must be nice, but no. Tony’s so nice, Stephanie. I wish…”

OK, this was the first time she’d said anything like that, but it wasn’t entirely a surprise. Marcy was as female as a woman could be and Tony was as pleasantly, delightfully masculine as any man born. That yin was called to yang, that she was attracted to him, envious of my being with him, that could hardly be a surprise.

+

I think every woman I knew had noticed Tony diRossi at one time or another. Fifty years old, with blond hair and beard now turned almost totally white, Tony was a mature student and one of the most distinctive individuals on campus – totally handsome, fit, perfectly groomed and always suitably dressed for a checkout aisle magazine rack. He and I had by chance been assigned as biology lab partners and one thing had led to another.

Tony had been polite enough and generous with his time in helping me with lab reports. As a second-year music major with no scientific background, I’d found his help a godsend. But he’d been very private, had revealed virtually nothing of his personal life. He made very little small talk and even less effort to fit in with the other students. He didn’t wear a wedding ring — not that that meant all that much, I suppose — and I’d never seen him in a local shop or bar or with a woman of any age. As soon as classes were over, he’d be driving out of the Springett parking lot on Western Road, the invisible man as far as the University was concerned.

Intrigued by his panache and driven by a seriously inflated ego, I got cutsie one Friday afternoon and made a pretty juvenile play for him to invite me out.

I’d been trying to nudge him into the usual coffee-then-movie-then-dinner process every boy my own age would understand. Tony had understood it all right, but simply turned his back on it, refused to play games. He’d called me on my behaviour, making it clear that he had no time for juvenile femmes fatale.

“How about we do something less predictable, Stephanie?” he said, “something less adolescent? I’ll tell you what – you’ve got 15 minutes to get to your room, pack a bag and be back here. I’ll have you back at your residence in time for dinner on Sunday.”

He frowned, just a little.

“No, on second thought, don’t bother packing a bag. Just bring your flute and put whatever it is you think you simply cannot live without in your purse.”

The words were polite enough, but the implications obvious as a thrown brick.

I’d been livid at his casual expectation that I’d be happy to spend the weekend in bed with him, a man twice my age. All the same, given my previous antics, I was all too aware that I was about to be written off as a vapid, self-centred brat. Pride stepped into the ring, touched gloves with self-image…

I’d been puffing a bit when I stumbled back through the doors into the University Community Centre, where Tony was minding my laptop and books. He’d been a gentleman during the ride out into the country and I’d calmed down a fair bit.

Our destination, his farm, turned out to be pretty impressive, the farmhouse scrupulously clean and tastefully remodeled, with high ceilings and an entire wall of west-facing picture windows overlooking a panorama of endless fields and woodlots.

My irritation had soared again when, after instructing me to peel off my clothes and serenade him with my flute, he’d then paid absolutely no attention to me, the centerfold blonde dressed only in confused indignation. Tony barely glanced at me for the next twenty minutes, bonus veren siteler concentrating instead on making dinner for us.

The experience taught me something about Tony diRossi – his preternatural ability to concentrate entirely on the task at hand. Right then, the task was dinner, but once the meal was cooking, his focus switched to me. My lingering full-body blush went nova as he slowly circled me on my stool, his piercing eyes lingering over every part of my body, grading, cataloging.

The dinner had been very, very good and, while Tony obviously enjoyed good food, his attention was now on me. After dinner, finally fulfilling my expectations, he’d taken me to bed.

Old enough to be my father, he’d had proved to be the most wonderful lover I’d ever had — considerate, imaginative, devoted, strong or gentle as needed. He’d sent me roaring up into a series of almost unending orgasms, over and over and…

To express his appreciation, he’d also given me — tried to give me — a outrageously expensive silver necklace. Amazed at how pretty it made me look, I’d fallen in love with the thing on the spot, but had flatly refused it, saying that I wouldn’t be bought. After a short but heated argument, we’d compromised and I’d agreed to wear it at the farm – if I returned.

I had of course returned and, one thing leading to another, Tony had eventually, almost hesitantly, offered to support me in school if I agreed to become his…

His what? He hated the ‘sugar-daddy/sugar-baby’ labels, but that’s pretty much what we were. He paid my tuition and residence fees and gave me a generous allowance. In return, I spent the weekends in the buff at his farm. If you didn’t consider our respective ages or the distinct absence of female attire, we were a pretty normal couple. We make love, studied, went for walks, made love, swam in his pool, played games, made love. He taught me to cook – well, tried to. He enjoyed music; when it amused him, I played my flute for him.

I thought it was a pretty good relationship. Time spent with him made me happier by the day. Even Marcy had noticed the difference.

Our relationship had developed with time, both of us changing, both of us learning. Things were less transactional now, more affectionate. Tony was no longer so stiff, so adamant and, shedding a ton of rigid societal canons, I myself had grown far more confident, both in my judgement and in the power of my femininity.

Tony was good company, amusing, considerate, generous and a marvelously talented lover. It had been a truly good time for me — and, I hoped, for him.

But nothing ever stays the same. In meltdown one weekend following a vicious family quarrel and suffering some serious residence claustrophobia, Marcy had called me, begged to be allowed to join me in the only off-campus refuge she could think of. Tony and I had talked and we’d said yes, but one on condition. Marcy was my best friend, but I wasn’t about to be the only naked woman there; I’d insisted she’d have to adhere to the local dress code. She had been desperate enough to agree.

An art student, she’d brought her paints and brushes and had spent the next two days in the buff, painting some very good watercolours of the lovely pastoral scenery beyond Tony’s back deck.

He’d not ignored her, of course. While he’d kept his promise not to touch her, nothing could keep his slate-grey eyes from openly examining and admiring her unclad beauty. In truth, Marcy had a lot to admire. Petite, but with a very nice figure, long dark hair and big, big eyes, Marcy was also a cheerleader; her form was as sleek and athletic as her smile was enticing.

And, while Tony hadn’t touched her, that deal hadn’t applied to me. Marcy hadn’t missed his soft caresses when her back was mostly turned, nor the dreamy kisses I’d described to her earlier. She wouldn’t have been human had she not been affected herself.

It being by coincidence his birthday, I’d presented him with a framed photo, one he’d taken of me part-way through a lovemaking session some weeks before.

Oh, yeah, and a hall pass. I gave him one of those, too.

I figured nothing could make my affection clearer, my desire to please him plainer. I’d overcome my natural female jealousy to make the offer, knowing it would be up to me to keep my end of the bargain. All I asked was that he be honest about it, not hide it from me.

Given that Marcy was sitting a few paces in front of us, her bare form silky and golden in the summer sun, it was pretty obvious that the hall pass might include her, but I wasn’t giving her to Tony; I was merely promising him not to make his life miserable if that’s what happened.

As beautiful, as desirable as the girl was, I knew that that any man on the planet would give his right arm to get her into his bed. Tony had spent a lot of time looking at her; it was obvious that he was more than just mildly interested.

But, instead of taking me up on my offer, bedava bahis he’d won my heart all over again by sending Marcy home earlier than planned, taking me to bed and, over the course of the next hour, almost driving the bed legs through the floor.

+

So, it was out in the open now. Tony’s interest in Marcy had been obvious; now the attraction seemed to be going both ways. And, maybe, just maybe, there was something more.

I’d seen Marcy kiss other girls at residence parties. The Zoo was almost infamous for that sort of thing and just every girl living there had participated at one point or another, myself included. But Marcy, I had thought, walked firmly on one side of the street. She’d had boyfriends, but, so far as I knew, never a girlfriend. Not in that sense.

Now, I wasn’t entirely sure. Well, at least from my end.

I had no reason to think she had any feelings for me and that could be a big problem if I said or did the wrong thing.

I lay in the darkness, wondering what to say. I hadn’t told her about my offer to Tony.

She spoke again.

“I’m sorry, Steph” she said softly. “I don’t want to…”

“Sssh,” I replied. “It’s OK. I’m not upset, Marce. I’m sure there’s somebody out there for you. You’re sweet and so pretty. Boys’d line up around the block for a chance.”

It wasn’t much, but it was all I could think of.

She whispered one flat, dismissive word before rolling over, pulling the covers over her, shutting down the conversation: “Boys!”

After that, it was dead still in the room. It took me a while to go to sleep.

+

I suppose I should point out that I’d certainly not told Marcy about my last night at Tony’s. We were open on a lot of things, but not that.

Unable to sleep, I’d left a sleeping Tony, padded out into a warm autumn night on the deck and sat looking at the lights of farms spread out as far as I could see. I’d noticed the chair Marcy had been sitting in as she painted, the one Tony had been watching her in, walking around her, openly admiring her bum and boobs and legs.

Sitting there in the evening stillness, I found myself — a girl who’d never shown the slightest shred of interest in other girls — inexplicably aroused by that memory, by the image of Marcy stretching to relieve a stiff back, perfect breasts and long nipples pushing up to the sky.

Surprised at myself, I’d hesitated, weighing the surge of emotions within me, ran a finger over my inner thigh, over the curve of one breast. I’d felt myself react to the touch, my nipples becoming stiffer, my labia swelling just a little.

I remembered how she’d looked as she moved around the farm – tiny waist and firm bottom, delectable breasts. Varsity-level cheerleaders are trained gymnasts; her flexibility and graceful movements added to her appeal.

I remembered how a quick, friendly hug in the barn her first day here had turned into something very unexpected, how her tight bum had felt under my hands, how her breasts had felt against mine.

I felt my ladybits grow heavy, heavier still as I traced my nipples with both hands, rolled them between thumbs and fingers. I began to take deeper breaths, remembering her long dark hair blown over her face by the breeze.

I squeezed my breasts softly, fingers traced the soft length of my thighs. My arousal was solid now, weighty, urgent. A tentative hand found its way to my sex, a finger slid between lips grown suddenly slick with my dew, followed their length, back and forth. My finger dipped deeper, circled my expectant clit, moved on over slippery inner lips. Again. And again, slightly harder.

My breath was coming in quiet gasps. Tony was still asleep inside and I didn’t want to wake him. How could I explain? I was pretty sure he wouldn’t be upset about my fantasy, almost certain he’d be delighted by being able to watch Marcy and I making love.

That said, I knew I’d die if he caught me, asked me to explain, made me acknowledge what I now realized was a real desire for Marcy.

How far I’d come, how much I’d changed.

My finger found its way in, stretched my entrance and I moaned softly. As it worked its way further inside me, my thumb rolled over my bud.

My nipples were hard as pebbles. I could hear my pulse in my ears, felt the orgasm build, begin to bloom. I slowed down, lightened my touches, drawing it out.

Closing my eyes, I tried to imagine it was Marcy’s hands on my boobs, Marcy’s fingers in my pussy. I tried to imagine what it would feel like if my hands were doing the same to her. I was amazed at how good that dream felt. Then my mind shifted to the thought of Tony watching the two of us and it hit me, a searing tornado of joy, whirling back and forth inside my body. I managed to keep my cries inside, mostly.

I lay there a long time, the glow gradually fading, until I was able to remove my fingers, catch my breath.

.

Now, listening to Marcy’s soft breathing in the next bed, I was deneme bonus pretty sure I had reached another turning point.

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He was driving the little Jaguar convertible when he arrived Friday night. It was just a little cool for driving with the top down; I knew he would soon park it in his barn for the winter and switch to the old Land Rover until the salt, snow and slush passed. In the meantime, it was his pet and he was taking advantage of the unseasonably delayed snowfall.

Tony had only recently begun picking me up at the Zoo. The two of us being an item was no longer much of a secret; the presence of his diamond ring on my left hand served — as had been his intention — as a shield against catty whispers and spiteful rumours. A pretty young woman engaged to a rich older man was common enough and I was hardly embarrassed by him helping me into his car at the residence. Nor by the welcoming kiss that went with his hand.

I took a certain amount of pleasure at actually seeing jealous glances from some of the bitchy ones, the dour prisses who would have been the first to whisper, mock and point fingers.

Once at the farm, he courteously helped me out of the low-sitting car and helped me carry my music inside.

I peeled in the hallway, leaving the clothes I’d been wearing in the closet reserved now for those, my purse and any lingering modesty I might still have. I stepped into the bathroom to check my hair and makeup. When I entered the kitchen, Tony was at work already, a knife flashing through a small mountain of vegetables. The room was warm, comfortable even in my skin. Tony was a considerate man.

Sensing his concentration, I didn’t ask him what he was making, merely moved to my accustomed station, a tall stool just a few steps in front of him. I settled myself, took a sip from the glass of wine he’d thoughtfully left on a second stool and assembled my flute.

Reinecke’s Sonata Undine has a sad ending, but the flute at its opening is lovely, flowing and gentle. It works well enough without the usual piano and I began confidently. I was pleased to see Tony nod gently in time to it, but his attention, as it usually was when he was cooking, was almost entirely on the food.

The meal on the stove apparently progressing well, he smiled at me, moved to my side of the island and plopped himself into a comfortable chair while I continued the sonata. His head moved more firmly with the music now, but his eyes were locked on my form. From time to time, he took a small sip from his glass.

The first time we’d been like this, I’d been one huge scarlet blush, head to toe. I’d learned since then, had found that my beauty being so thoroughly treasured was something to enjoy, to treasure in its turn..

I kept playing, leaning into the music, smiled at him with my eyes.

Finishing, I took a deep sip of wine, looked at him. My heart did a slow flip at the smile on his face. 50 years old or not, I thought he was the sexiest man on the planet.

“Done?” he asked.

“If dinner is.”

He rose, held out his hand. Courteous as ever, he seated me at my place at the table, brought plates of pasta and salad and sat next to me.

I took an inquiring bite, turned smiling to him.

“This is delicious! What is it?”

“Spaghetti Frutti de Mare, Sterphanie, ‘Fruit of the Sea’ – seafood and such.”

“Mama’s recipe?”

Mama had taught her boy well.

“Of course.”

Tony could have earned good money as a high-end chef and, yes, I had seconds.

The sun was going down earlier as autumn advanced and it was in any case too cool for Bare Me to sit out on the deck at this time of day. The broad sweep of windows offered a magnificent view of the countryside however and I was able to watch the beginning sunset from where I was eating.

Dinner finished, dishes took but a few minutes. My eyes kept flicking to outside, watching the colours form, change, shift.

“It’s a pity it’s too cool to watch from outside,” I mused. “It’s been my favourite time of day.”

“Too cold now,” he agreed. “Especially with the sun down. But let’s see what we can do, Stephanie.”

He looked around, brightened, took me by the hand and led me over to the kitchen island. Hanging from the ceiling overhead was a heavy oval iron rack with an array of well-polished copper pans and pots hanging from its hooks. A small extension projected a few feet from the circle; a long copper pan hung from it.

He removed the pan and reached up as if assessing the rack’s height. His eyes flipped back and forth between that and myself. Leaving the pan on the island, he smiled.

“Give it a try,” he said. “See if you can reach.”

The rack was just high enough to keep the pots at hand without they or the hooks being a menace to one’s scalp. And I’m a tall girl; my hands could easily grasp the round iron hooks projecting down from it.

I wrapped both hands around one, turned my head towards him with a smile.

He reached up, shifted one of my hands to the next hook over, leaving me facing the still-blooming sunset outside the sweep of windows. I found I could stand comfortably, without stretching or having to stand on tiptoes. I tilted my head, the obvious question unspoken.

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