April 2, 1989 and April 6, 1989
Single, middle-aged and bespectacled Angelina Lione may look the part of the prim, proper and sexually repressed, buttoned-up bibliothec, but she’s most definitely NOT your father’s librarian — at least not while in a lover’s company. Blessed with a ravenous and unquenchable sexual appetite, Angelina’s orgasms are so intense that she frequently faints during the throes of passion.
While never mistaken for a perfect 10 with her large brown eyes, tucked behind oversized, Diana Prince-style eyeglass lenses, Angelina still cuts quite the desirable figure, with a fetching face always perfectly and tastefully made up, and a sleek and shapely body. Her short, black hair, speckled with gray, was cut in a chic, wedge/pixie-style, puffed and piled on the top and curled forward around the ears. Angelina’s attractive physical traits, however, always paled in comparison to her overwhelming sex appeal. Using her vast store of feminine wiles, Angelina negotiates about her lovers’ hearts, minds and bodies as deftly as she navigates the Dewey Decimal System, manipulating infatuated men for her monetary and personal gain.
High maintenance and even higher fashion, Angelina always models the latest designer threads — oftentimes accentuated by any one of her dozen pairs of high-heeled dress boots. Her sophisticated look even extends to smoking accessories. The haughty diva wouldn’t dream of smoking a cigarette if it wasn’t filtered through her long, black holder. More of a cigarette holder sucker and stroker than a smoker, Angelina seductively works the black shaft with her mouth, tongue and fingers as if it was a penis proxy; the effect that playing with the long, stiff holder has on would-be lovers is like snake charming. Under the sexy siren’s magic spell, they’re entirely at her mercy; powerless to resist the temptation to pleasure her — as if they really would.
Angelina spent her 20s and 30s as a fully-committed member of the sexual revolution of the 1960s and ’70s — bedding dozens upon dozens of men. Only when she reached age 40 did her love life settle down — for her anyway — when the lusty librarian entered into a long term, nearly exclusive, torrid affair with the principal at her school. After the forbidden relationship unceremoniously ended six years later, Angelina found herself alone at a time when her peers had long since settled down into blissful domestic life. A prolonged romantic dry spell followed, until a former student unexpectedly burst into her life.
Twenty-two year old Tom Bailey had been in lust with Angelina for years, drawn in classic fetish fashion to the sexy librarian’s stylish, high-heeled boots, seductive smoking and even her pretentious and snobbish personality. Over time, his feelings — like his fetishes — for the femme fatale only grew stronger, until he could no longer keep them to himself. The pair had just launched an intense, physical relationship when Harry Seymour, Angelina’s old boss and lover, re-entered her life. Unable to decide between the two romantic suitors, Angelina proposed a date-off — or “fuck-off” — as Tom bitterly described the arrangement.
Now, with her love life once again in full bloom, the amorous woman was in sex heaven — reliving her youth, when men practically lined up around the block to date her. Preying on the men’s sexual addiction to her, Angelina gleefully bounced between their beds for nearly a month, until Tom finally prevailed.
The love triangle finally broken, Angelina and Tom were finally free to embark on a committed, loving relationship. But the couple’s path to long-term romantic harmony was lined with a phalanx of challenges — not the least of which was familial. During their first fortnight together, Tom met Angelina’s family — and had been unnerved by her brutish and overprotective brother-in-law.
It was a couple months into their relationship before Tom worked up the nerve to introduce Angelina to his folks. The encounter set off a tremor that was bound to trigger aftershocks along the fault line of their courtship. The meeting with what turned out to be an old work adversary so unnerved Tom’s mother, in fact, that she subsequently resumed a long dormant smoking habit.
That introduction went poorly enough, but how would Tom’s college friends react to seeing him with a much older woman? What would be their impression of her? What would he see in her? Sure Angelina was attractive enough — but she was an attractive older woman. Why would young Tom be interested in a 50 year old, when there were plenty of lovely ladies his own age available? And when they got a whiff of her pompous and bitchy personality, they’d really question what was in this relationship for Tom, and the age difference would be even more pronounced. The very real possibility existed that they’d disapprove of this affair, judging Tom a weirdo and mere boy toy to Angelina’s dirty old woman.
Private by nature — and especially embarrassed to confide in anyone about his smoking and boot fetishes — how could Tom possibly explain to them that istanbul travesti Angelina embodied all that he found physically alluring in a woman? How every time he saw the bitchy diva smoking from a cigarette holder or strutting about in a pair of delicious, high-heeled, knee-high leather boots it made his dick dance and pulsate with delight. Or that when he and this MILF-before-the-term-was-coined made love it brought him to heights of pleasure he never dreamed possible.
For a year, the pair engaged in an intense physical relationship, characterized by daily bouts of uninhibited, care-free sex and yet somehow devoid — at least in Tom’s viewpoint — of satisfactory emotional intimacy.
Finally after a year of “dating,” the two professed their love for each other and subsequently became engaged to be married. Still, their future seemed as romantically dysfunctional and clouded as their present. In part due to questions surrounding whether or not Angelina was capable of curbing her sexual enthusiasm.
For even while dating her confessed greatest lover, Harry Seymour, Angelina engaged in several dalliances with other men. Would the mere presence of an engagement ring on her finger be enough to stop a lifetime of promiscuity. Certainly if she were to sustain a long and healthy marriage, such party-girl misbehavior would not be permissible. At long last, can this cougar finally change her stripes and commit to a monogamous relationship with someone, ideally, her fiancé, Tom?
Angelina Lione pressed the doorbell at the stoop of her sister and next-door neighbor, Elaine’s house.
“I’ll get it,” her niece Lisa said, setting down her magazine in the living room and calling out to her mother, who was busy in the kitchen preparing the family’s big traditional Sunday dinner.
The doorbell rang a second time.
“Hold your horses,” Lisa said, walking to the door. “I’m coming. I’m coming…”
Swinging open the door, Lisa saw her aunt, standing impatiently on the well-worn welcome mat in her cream-colored, high-healed, knee-high boots.
“Hey, Aunt Ang,” she said in surprise. “You’re early. Dinner’s not for another hour.”
“Ugh…don’t even mention food,” she said, storming into the house and past Lisa before taking a seat on the tacky, plastic-covered sofa. “Lisa darrhhling, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve GOT to talk with you.”
“What’s wrong?” her concerned niece asked, shocked at her aunt’s disheveled appearance. “You look stressed out, like you haven’t slept in a week.”
Normally, a fashion plate, who wouldn’t dream of going out in public without looking her best, Angelina’s short, pixie hairstyle looked like it was shaped with a blender and the tail of her black turtleneck sweater hung sloppily out of her tan pants.
“Can you fix me a drink please, darrhhling?” Angelina asked, crossing left boot over right, as she pulled a long black cigarette holder out of her trim handbag.
“Yeah, sure,” Lisa said, rising from the sofa and walking to the drink cart on the other side of the room. “Whadda ya want?”
“Anything, anything. Just give me a lot of it — and quickly.”
Lisa splashed four fingers of bourbon into a glass and returned to the sofa. Angelina took the tumbler and proceeded to knock back half of its contents in one swig — an unusual move for a woman who rarely drank. Setting the drink down on a coaster on the coffee table in front of her, she placed the mouthpiece of her holder between her lips and fired up her silver cigarette lighter.
“Ummm…Aunt Ang, what are you doing?” her niece asked, seeing that the agitated woman had absentmindedly forgot to insert a cigarette into the holder and was attempting to light the holder itself.
“Oh, good God,” Angelina said, dropping her head and shaking it in frustration. “Will you look at me. I’m so panicked I can’t even smoke a cigarette.”
“Give it to me.”
Lisa calmly took the holder from between her aunt’s fingers.
“You don’t have any cigarettes left,” she said, showing the empty silver cigarette case to her aunt.
“Yes, I do,” Angelina replied. “I bought a pack on the way over; didn’t have time to add them. It’s in there somewhere.”
“Ah…here it is. Misty 120s?! Since when did you start smoking them?”
“What? I was so distracted I didn’t even notice.”
Lisa removed a long thin — but considerably wider — cigarette than Angelina’s preferred Virginia Slims brand, screwed it into the long black holder, inserted the mouthpiece between her lips and lit it.
“Here you go,” Lisa said, before exhaling a funnel of smoke overhead, handing the cigarette holder back to her jittery aunt, then placing a reassuring hand on the woman’s knee. “I know what you’re going through. I was a nervous wreck before my wedding, too. Just relax. You’ll be fine.”
“I’ve been at church all day,” Angelina said, before taking a pull from her holder and blowing out without inhaling. “Can we talk privately? Where is everybody?”
“I think so. Richie’s running an errand for mom, grandma’s resting in her room, dad’s travesti istanbul taking a nap — I think he’s hung over from the bachelor party — and mom’s cooking dinner.”
“What about Anthony?”
“He went to the pharmacy; said he feels a cold sore coming on.”
“A cold sore?! Ohhhh…ohhh….ohhh,” Angelina cried, horror-filled eyes folding up into her head, as she collapsed backwards onto the sofa, from fear that she may have contracted herpes from mistakenly making out with her nephew the night before.
“Aunt Ang? Aunt Ang!”
Lisa took Angelina’s hand and clapped it frantically in a desperate attempt to revive her.
Seconds later, Tony walked into the house.
“Hey. What’s going on?” he asked, seeing his sister hovering over his fainted aunt.
“I don’t know,” said a dumbfounded and worried Lisa, the resuscitation effort having no effect whatsoever on her aunt. “She came into the house all upset, gulped a big drink of bourbon, we were talking and then she just passed out. Looks like a bad case of pre-wedding jitters.”
“What should we do with her?”
“I think she needs to rest. Can you take her into your room and put her to bed?”
Tony bent over his unconscious aunt and picked her up off the sofa, curling her right hand that was holding her cigarette holder around his neck, his right arm under her booted legs and the left up near her underarm, the long fingers of his large hand innocently but unavoidably touching the outside of her left breast.
Three-quarters of the way down the hallway, the fainted woman began to stir in his arms.
“Anthony?” the confused and groggy woman asked, eyes flickering open, as she tried to make sense of why she awoke to find her nephew holding her in a bridal carry. “What happened? What are you doing?”
Anthony stopped in his tracks.
“I’m taking you to my bedroom, Aunt Ang,” he answered, matter of factly.
“Your bedroom?!”
“Yeah. My bedroom.”
Angelina again flashed back to the disturbing details of the previous night when — dressed in disguise as a stripper — she unknowningly seduced Tony rather than her fiancé, Tom Bailey. In her addle-brained state, Angelina could only assume that her nephew was taking her into his bedroom to once again make love to her. The uncertainty that had been troubling her for the past 18 hours was apparently true and the shock of this unreal situation was more than the emotionally fragile beauty could bear.
“Again?! Uhhh…uhhh…ohhhhh,” Angelina responded, her head snapping back at the neck and mouth agape as she once again slipped into unconsciousness.
“What’d I say?” Tony asked, turning to his sister in bewilderment. “‘Again?!’ What’s she talking about?”
“I don’t know,” Lisa said, shaking her head. “Lets just…just let her rest for a bit.”
Anthony resumed carrying his aunt to his bedroom, his sister following. After laying the fainted woman down on the bed and arranging the pillows to make her comfortable, brother and sister left the room. Returning some 15 minutes later, Lisa found Angelina still passed out. This time, however, she stayed in the room, wanting to be present and available when her aunt revived.
“Lisa?” asked Angelina, brown eyes opening, as they slowly focused on the young woman sitting in a chair pulled up close to the bed.
“Yes, Aunt Ang,” her doting niece said, moving off the chair to sit on the edge of the bed next to her prone aunt. “I’m here.”
“How long was I out for?”
“Maybe 20 minutes. Do you feel better now?”
“I think I felt better when I was under.”
“Here, drink this.”
Lisa handed her aunt a glass of water. Angelina sat up in bed, took the glass and sipped from it.
“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you so upset,” Lisa said. “You came into the house all flustered. Knocked back a drink, fainted and then Tony brought you in here to lie down.”
“Anthony and I weren’t alone, were we?” Angelina asked in a panic.
“No. Why?”
“Oh, Lisa darrhhling, I’m in trouble. BIG trouble.”
“You didn’t go into the city last night and cheat on Tom with that guy you met at the club last weekend, did you?”
“No.”
“Oh, thank God. You had me worried there for a…”
“I think cheated on Thomas with Anthony last night.”
“You did WHAT?!” Are you drunk or something?”
“Shush. Keep your voice down. Let me explain.”
Angelina took another drink of water, set the glass on the nightstand, took a deep breath and proceeded to fill her niece in on the sordid details from her drop-in appearance at Tom’s bachelor party the night before.
“Oh, my God, I need a cigarette,” Lisa said a couple minutes later after her aunt finished telling the wild story.
Hastily grabbing Angelina’s cigarette holder that had been placed on the edge of the nightstand when the fainted librarian was brought into the bedroom, Lisa re-lit the dead Misty 120 from a lighter in her aunt’s purse.
“That’s better,” the distressed young woman said, after exhaling a relaxing cone of smoke off her right shoulder. istanbul travestileri “Okay, now, lets back up for a second and break this down. You passed out when you realized you were making out with Tony and when you woke up you were both naked from the waist down.”
“Right, but that’s how we started,” Angelina said, taking the holder from her niece and wrapping her lips around the mouthpiece.
“Okay, good. So, nothing changed after you fainted.”
“Well, we were dressed — or undressed — the same before I fainted, if that’s what you mean.”
“Yes. But as far as you know, he didn’t make love to you.”
“He may have. I mean…that’s what foreplay leads to, so I have to assume…”
“But when you woke up, how did your vagina feel?”
“I don’t really remember. I just wanted to get the hell outta there.”
“Think, Aunt Ang. Think. This is important.”
“I don’t know, I don’t know. It was so many hours later.”
The agitated Angelina took another pull on her holder.
“The first thing I did when I got home was take a shower,” she continued through talking exhale bursts. “I wanted to wash any cum off me.”
“Okay…and how did your pussy feel then?”
“It was sticky.”
“But that may from your orgasm not because of Tony’s ejaculation.”
“Could be. Oh, this is useless. We’ll never be able to figure out if I fucked my own nephew. I can’t believe I’m saying this. What kind of a woman am I?”
“A woman who made an honest mistake. It’s not like you KNEW you were seducing Tony. Hey, wait. Maybe this isn’t as bad as you think. He was drunk, right?”
“VERY drunk. But what does that have to do with anything?”
“Think about it. He may have been too drunk to…you know…finish.”
“Hey, you’re right. I just wish there was a way we could know for sure if we made love or not.”
“Maybe there is. Richie and Tony are pretty close. If something went on, I bet Tony would tell Richie.”
“But that means you have to tell Richie. This is embarrassing enough. I don’t want anyone else to know.”
“I think we have to include him if we’re going to find out more information. Don’t worry. You can trust Richie. He won’t let anything slip. I’ll tell him to probe for as much info as he can from Tony.”
“Please don’t say ‘probe.'”
“Sorry. So, you’re okay with this plan?”
“I guess. In the meantime, I don’t feel like eating with the family tonight. I don’t have any appetite. I’d rather go home.”
“I don’t blame you. No one other than Tony knows you’re here. Why don’t you slip out the front and I’ll tell mom you’re not feeling well. I’ll call you as soon as Richie talks to Tony.”
Angelina rose from the bed and Lisa led her out of the bedroom, meeting up in the living room with the older woman’s suspected latest sexual conquest.
“Good to see you on your feet, Aunt Ang,” Tony greeted them. “Feeling better?”
“Not particularly,” Angelina said, hesitating when her nephew leaned in to give her a hug and a kiss. “I’m still pretty tired, so I think I’ll skip dinner and go home and get some rest.”
“Want me to walk you home?”
“NO!” I mean, no thank you. I can manage by myself.”
“I’m kinda tired myself. That was a wild bachelor party we had for Tom last night. Best night of my life!”
The seemingly innocent remark triggered another panic reaction, as Angelina’s eyes crossed and she pitched forward into her nephew’s arms in yet another faint, coming to rest with her open mouth on his groin.
######
“Angelina Lione,” the librarian said, answering the telephone in her office at the Riverdale Middle School late in the afternoon of April 6, just two days before her scheduled wedding to ex-student Tom Bailey.
“Hi, Aunt Ang, it’s Lisa,” said her niece on the other end of the line.
“Lisa, it’s about time. I’ve been waiting four days for you to get back to me. Did Richie finally talk to Anthony?”
“Yes. Sorry, it took Richie this long to get Tony to call him back. But I got the full report.”
“And…don’t keep me waiting any more.”
“Well, Richie learned more than he probably wanted to know about the anatomy of his aunt by marriage. And it’s more than I wanted to know about my brother’s body.”
“Oh, no.”
Angelina’s face turned pale.
“Yeah, well, Richie didn’t spare any details,” Lisa continued. “If you must know.”
“Good God,” Angelina said in exasperation, as she reached into her top desk drawer for a bottle of aspirin.
“Tony said he remembers going to bed, passing out and being awakened by a woman he figured was the stripper, who was massaging his cock. That, obviously got him very horny. He remembers hearing the stripper telling him to fuck her. So, he started making out with her, as he rubbed her/your pussy. And..”
“Go on.”
“And that’s it. Tony said he doesn’t recall anything else. The next thing he remembers is waking up the next morning alone. The stipper was gone.”
“Oh, great. So, we’re back to where we were at the start.”
“Not necessarily. Think about it. He remembers everything else — in excruciating detail — but nothing about making love to you. I think that’s a great sign that nothing happened. My guess is shortly after you fainted he passed out, too. We may never know for sure, but I really think you lucked out, Aunt Ang.”