“JUST AN OLD FASHIONED GIRL”
I dump my slut and meet my old-fashioned girl.
>>>>>>
I had just stepped from the shower, a thick towel wrapped around my
waist, and was about to lather up to shave when Sheila, my live-in
girlfriend, hugged tightly me from behind. Her lush naked body still
reeked from our frantic sex earlier that morning and her still hard
nipples pressed teasingly into my back feeling like two pebbles on the
beach. “I have a nice surprise for you, Steven. Close your eyes and
turn around.”
I wasn’t in much of a hurry this morning so I thought, “Why not? Maybe
we’ll get it on again before we have to leave for work. I could bend
her over the vanity and push my hard cock up her pussy or her ass.” I
squeezed my eyes tightly shut and turned to face her. A few seconds
later I regretted it as I screamed in agony.
Locked onto each of my nipples was a large alligator clip. How this
could be so painful I couldn’t understand, but I was furious. “Get
these fucking things off of me!”
“I can’t; there’s a pin here that stops them from being opened…see?
They’re designed to pierce your nipples…you know, just like we
discussed.” She had stepped forward as I looked down to see the brass
pins between the two sets of handles. I tried to open them to no avail
even though I’m athletic and have very strong hands.
“What the hell am I supposed to do…wear these fucking things for the
rest of my life? Get the hell out of my way!” I pushed her back with
such force that she fell on her ass and I sprinted through the hall to
the basement door where I took the steps two at a time en route to my
workbench. I found my heavy ball peen hammer and cold chisel in
seconds, lowered my body so the ends of the handles strangling my left
nipple rested securely on my table vise. A second later the chisel took
the first of five blows from the hammer, bending the soft brass of the
pin easily. Even then I was unable to open the damned clip so I opened
the vise, pushed the handles between the jaws and turned the vise’s long
steel handle. I knew the force generated by the screw gear of the vise
and the lever action of the handle would generate much more force than
my fingers and a few seconds later my poor throbbing nipple was free.
Unfortunately, blood poured steadily from the wounds. I allowed it to
drip carelessly onto the floor as I repeated my steps with the other
clip. Once free from their grasp I pulled several paper towels from the
nearby holder and pressed them against my wounded flesh. They turned
red quickly, so quickly that I had to replace them several times before I
realized that the bleeding wasn’t going to stop. I pulled off almost
half the roll of towels, wadded them up and pressed them against my
chest. Then I took a close look at the weapons Sheila had used on me.
Typical alligator clips had thin teeth roughly one-thirty-second of an
inch long and about the same wide. The teeth on these were similar
except at the tip where they were almost a quarter inch long by an
eighth wide, forming a small sharp cylinder that still held a part of my
flesh. I was lucky I had any nipples left.
All of the men in my family have had large nipples, even going back as
many generations as any of my relatives could remember. I guess we were
genetic freaks in that regard. Several kids I knew from elementary
school thought they were girly and told me so, but learned quickly that a
straight right to their noses was nothing to laugh about. By junior
high the stupid comments had ended, due no doubt to my reputation as a
brawler. I thought that their size was the reason why Sheila had
suggested getting them pierced. She had mentioned it several times and
my answer was always the same—NO FUCKING WAY!
Now it appeared that she had taken matters into her own stupid hands. I
carefully dropped the two clips into a plastic sandwich bag, sealed it,
and trudged back up the stairs. Sheila was still in the bathroom, but
not for long.
“How many times did we talk about getting my nipples pierced?”
“I don’t know…a couple, maybe.”
“It was three times…exactly. And, did I ever give you an indication that I might be interested? Would ever be interested?”
“Well….”
“Don’t give me ‘well.’ You attended law school at Fordham just as I
did, had mostly the same professors and same courses I had so I know you
learned how to listen and speak with care and precision. Now, answer
me—did I ever express any interest at all in having myself pierced?”
Sheila avoided eye contact, keeping her head down and turned away. I’d
had enough. “We’re done, Sheila. I had some reservations about living
together, as you know. Now my concerns have been proven true. I can’t
trust you—not at all. Your judgment stinks. Get your shit together and
get out. Don’t worry about going to work. I have a lunch date with
Harrison at one and I’m sure he’ll fire your sorry ass when he hears
about this.”
“You’d have me fired? Just because of this? A simple misunderstanding?”
“I won’t have to, Sheila. I won’t even ask. I know Harrison like he
was my brother. We grew up together, neighbors and best buddies since
we were four. He’ll ask about how were doing and I’ll tell him it’s
over. Then he’ll ask why and I’ll explain. He’ll put the rest together
on his own and you’ll be toast. And don’t give me that ‘simple
misunderstanding’ crap. See these paper towels? I can’t get the
bleeding to stop. I’m going to the ER. Leave your key and garage
remote on the hall table. I’ll probably be back by 11:00. Make sure
you’re gone by then.”
I walked away into my closet where I pulled a pair of boxers up my legs,
followed by a pair of cargo shorts and a ratty old tee shirt that I
didn’t care about. Getting dressed with but a single hand was more
difficult than I thought. A pair of sandals, my wallet and keys, and I
was on my way, but first I added a final comment to Sheila, “Anything of
yours that’s still here when I return is going into the trash so I
suggest you do a thorough job…and don’t even think of taking any of my
things. What you did to me probably amounts to felony battery and
possibly even sexual battery so don’t piss me off any more than you
already have.” I was in my car less than a minute later.
I live in Centerport, a small town on the North Shore of Long Island,
and the nearest hospital is in nearby Huntington, only about ten miles
away. However, anyone familiar with Long Island knows those ten miles
could take as long as an hour under the wrong conditions, like rush hour
that begins every weekday around 6:00 a.m.—more than an hour ago. I
drove carefully, one hand on the wheel and the other pressing the wad of
paper towels against my chest. Parking in the ER lot I told the guard
that I was injured and needed immediate care. Apparently the triage
nurse agreed when she saw the bloody paper towels I still clutched to my
chest. By the time I had arrived my arm and shirt were covered in my
own blood.
A plastic surgeon was called in to see me after I’d been on a gurney
about twenty minutes, my chest shaved and an IV plugged into my arm. He
examined my damaged tissues. “What the hell did this to you,” he
asked. Clearly, bedside manner wasn’t his highest priority.
“My ex-girlfriend and these; please don’t handle them. I’m an attorney
and I may need them for some future criminal or civil action.”
He looked at me curiously then took the sealed bag from my fingers.
“Don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like these before. Good thing you
have big nipples; had this occurred to someone more normally
constructed, the entire nipple would have been destroyed. You’re going
to need stitches to hold the tissues together and stop the bleeding.”
Three tiny sutures on each side of each nipple did the job. I’d need an
appointment with my personal physician to remove the stitches in
another week to ten days. He also gave me a prescription for the pain
and suggested that I wear loose and soft shirts for the next week.
I returned to my home just a bit after eleven, somewhat later than
anticipated. Sheila’s house key and garage remote were on the hall
table along with a one-word note—“Sorry.” I could see the stains of
several tears on the paper. I crumbled it into a tiny ball and tossed
it into the kitchen bin then I called my secretary, Joyce. Joyce had
been with me since I’d hung out my shingle six years ago. I still
laughed when I thought about her interview. Her parents had grown up in
the Bronx where some words had mighty strange pronunciations. I had
first learned of this from some of my father’s friends. “Oil” was
pronounced “erl” and “burner,” “boiner.” Somehow the term “oil burner”
was reversed into “erl boiner.” Joyce had me in stitches when she told
me it would be a pleasure to work for someone who could actually
pronounce her name correctly. Apparently, everyone in her family called
her, “Jerse.” Every now and then when I was in a silly mood I did the
same. Joyce usually got her revenge by totally ignoring me or taking a
really long lunch.
“Mr. Bell called to confirm lunch at one. Ben’s, right?”
“Right; I’m obviously running late, but I’ll be in right after lunch. I
have a three o’clock with William Clark about his son’s most recent
DUI. There’s a file on my desk. Run through it quickly and copy the
parts I’ll need to share with him. Oh…I’ll be in casual clothes for the
next week. I’ll explain when I see you. Anything come up this
morning?”
“You had three people come in seeking representation—one burglary, one
assault with a deadly weapon, and another DUI. He was the only one who
appeared in person. The others were wives on behalf of their husbands.
I’ve already been in touch with the Nassau County Police about getting
the paperwork. I should have it by the time you come in.” We talked
about a few minor details and I rung off. Dropping my clothes onto the
closet floor I walked into the bathroom, grabbed a washcloth and
proceeded to wash my arm and chest. My nipples were covered with
waterproof bandages and I’d been given several replacements so I’d be
able to shower. When I pulled a towel from the rack I noticed the aroma
of Sheila’s cologne. Shaking my head in disgust I threw it into the
hamper and selected another.
I’d miss Sheila. She was a rising associate for the firm of Bell
Jacobs, one of Nassau County’s biggest general-service law firms. My
friend Harrison Bell was the senior partner in the firm his father
started more than forty years ago with his partner Herman Jacobs. Now
his dad was retired and Jacobs had passed away last year leaving
Harrison in charge. He’d introduced Sheila to me at a function
sponsored by his firm.
I was interested immediately–she exuded sexuality. Tall and slender,
but with large full breasts and womanly hips, Sheila had long light
brown hair and the biggest bright blue eyes I’d ever seen. She was
wearing a navy blue dress that hugged her body like a second skin,
showing more than a bit of her ample cleavage. Her deep throaty voice
said “I’m hot for you” with every syllable. Even better, I learned just
how much she loved sex on our first date. We had a lot in
common—Fordham Law grads, I had a cock and she loved to suck and
swallow. Like I said—we had a lot in common. Now she’d gone and
destroyed it all with her stubborn stupidity.
My ratty tee shirt went into the kitchen trash bin, my shorts with a few
blood stains into the hamper for my house cleaner’s attention. I
dressed in a violet golf shirt by Greg Norman and tan linen slacks.
Matching socks and cordovan tasseled loafers completed my outfit. Even
the light shirt’s weight caused a sharp pain in my chest. I wondered
then if I’d be able to fall asleep tonight.
Leaving the house at 11:40 gave me enough time to run a quick errand in
Mineola, the Nassau County seat. My office was there, only a few blocks
from the county court building, and I subscribed annually to the
Mineola Library, using their online subscriptions to numerous news
services for research purposes. Unfortunately, free library services
were only provided for residents so I had to pay the $25 fee every year.
I parked in the large lot and walked in, looking for the main desk as I
did every year. This was the only time I physically entered the
facility even though I used their on-line services almost daily. I
usually expect to find the desk in front, but for some reason the
circulation desk in this library is way over to the right. When I found
it I realized that the search was worth the effort.
Standing in front of me was a beguiling woman, almost totally different
from what I usually found attractive and sexy. She appeared to be tall,
but with a small frame similar to what one would expect on an Asian
woman. She had smallish breasts, perhaps B-cups at most, and narrow
hips, but legs that seemed to never end. Her hair was short and dark
brown, matching the color of her eyes. Her face covered with tiny
freckles. She wasn’t beautiful, but she was cute in a pixie-like kind
of way. Her dark blue suit with light blue piping only made her even
more appealing. She was the exact opposite of the kind of woman I
usually dated. Maybe that’s why I was just over my fourth girlfriend in
less than two years.
She turned to face me and smiled. That’s when I noticed her name
tag—Rosalie—with the question—How may I help you?—below. I smiled back
before speaking. “Rosalie…that’s a nice name. It suits you.”
“Ummm…I think it’s kind of old fashioned, but I suppose that’s okay
because I’m just an old fashioned kind of girl. I saw you were staring.
That’s not very polite.”
“I’m sorry, but I noticed you have the most incredible posture. I find
it very appealing. Are you by any chance the kind of old fashioned girl
who’d be willing to be seen in public with a lawyer?”
She stood silently for a few minutes, apparently thinking. Then her
head tilted slightly to the right and a smile graced her face. “Did you
just ask me for a date? I don’t even know you.”
“No problem,” I replied as I opened my wallet and removed my driver’s
license and a business card. I passed the license across the desk into
her fine-boned hand. “I’m Steven Michael Sloan. You can see that I
live in Centerport. I’m an attorney. My office is just down the street
about a block from the courthouse. I grew up in Centerport and went to
the Harborfields Public Schools. My dad was an electrical contractor
until he retired two years ago. My mom was a housewife. I did well in
school and graduated as Salutatorian.”
“Not Valedictorian? I’m shocked,” she said with an impish grin.
“You wouldn’t be if you had ever met my good friend, Harrison Bell. He
went to Harvard, just like his father. I went to Princeton, but only
because they gave me a half scholarship. I went to Fordham Law and
worked for the Manhattan DA’s office for three years before opening my
own office here in Nassau County. I’m 33, single—never been married—and
I was raised Catholic although I must admit I’m not very religious now.
Oh…I’m six feet three inches tall and weigh 190 pounds.”
Rosalie was practically laughing when she commented, “I’m surprised you weren’t All-American quarterback, too.”
I couldn’t suppress a slight grin as I replied, “Not quite that good,
but I was second string All-County in basketball my senior year at
Harborfields and I did play varsity baseball for two years, too. I
played basketball at Princeton all four years as a guard, but
unfortunately I never made All-Ivy, let alone All-American. Anything
else you’d like to know?”
She returned my ID, but kept the business card. “You do realize that I can check on you fairly easily.”
“Go ahead. I have nothing to hide.”
“Suppose I do agree. What would you have in mind?”
“How about dinner–a moderately priced place so you wouldn’t feel that
you owed me anything? Ever eat at Butera’s in Massapequa? It’s
Italian, but not red sauce.”
“Can’t say that I have, but I have heard of it. Okay, I’ll take a
chance…Friday I have to work until seven. You can pick me up here.
I’ll meet you at the front door and don’t get any ideas.”
“I know…old-fashioned girl.”
“You got it.” She returned to her work as I walked out. I was half-way down the steps when I turned around.
Rosalie laughed when she saw me. “Couldn’t stay away, eh?”
“You really have me flustered. I came in to renew my library card. I
use your online services quite often for my work.” I pulled the $25 for
the fee from my wallet along with my card while Rosalie worked the
computer. She handed the card and a receipt back to me and I held her
hand just a bit longer than necessary. She laughed again as she
extricated her fingers from my grip. “See you Friday.” This time I did
leave. I had just enough time to drive to Ben’s. The drive up Old
Country Road was easy; parking at Ben’s was always a bear. The parking
lot there was tiny and the restaurant extremely popular.
>>>>>>
Ben’s is a kosher deli, probably known best for its over-stuffed hot
pastrami and corned beef sandwiches, although I really enjoy their
complimentary coleslaw, too. Harrison was already there, seated in a
booth. I waved and walked past the receptionist.
“Taking the day off,” Harrison asked when he saw my casual attire. A navy suit or gray pinstripes was more typical for me.
“No, I had to go to the ER this morning—some bad wounds on my chest.
Doctor suggested loose light shirts for the next week. Luckily, I don’t
have to be in court until next Thursday.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Is that why Sheila didn’t come in this morning?”
“Yes, but not the way you’re thinking. We’re done. She’s the reason
why I had to go to the hospital.” I spent a few minutes explaining,
pausing only to order pastrami on rye and a Dr. Brown’s cream soda.
Harrison listened intently then checked the plastic bag from my pocket
just as carefully.
“What the fuck! These things would have obliterated my nipples. She punched a hole right through with these things?”
“Exactly; I couldn’t get the bleeding to stop even with a huge wad of paper towels pressed against my chest.”
Harrison sat silently for several minutes while I helped myself to a
goodly portion of coleslaw. I’d seen him do this any number of times.
The wheels were turning; he was deep in thought. “She’s done with me,
too. What terrible judgment. How could I ever trust her with a client
knowing about this?”
“I told her I wouldn’t ask you to fire her and I’m not.”
“Duly noted, but she’s out. I will give her a decent reference, but
that’s all.” Our sandwiches were delivered then and I decided to tell
him about my new old-fashioned girl. Harrison just laughed. “You don’t
waste any time, do you? How’d you meet this charmer?”
“She’s a librarian. You know I use the Nassau County online services at
work. I tell you, Harrison, she’s like no other woman I’ve ever dated.
She’s tall, but with a tiny frame. I can already see she has a good
sense of humor, but I doubt I’ll get her into bed for quite a while.
She emphasized that she’s an old-fashioned girl.”
Harrison laughed as we finished eating. It was my turn to pay so I left
a tip in cash and paid the bill with my company credit card.
“Going to work now,” Harrison asked as we rose from the booth.
“Not quite yet; I’ve been thinking of hiring an associate. I’m going over to the DA’s office to see Jeff Barnes.”
“Good choice; think he’ll accept?”
“I hope so. I understand that he’s married with a kid on the way. I
can afford to pay him a lot more than the county can.” He wished me
good luck as we parted company. I drove across the street, parking in
the district attorney’s lot as I always did.
I found Jeff at his desk. “Got a minute? Is there someplace we can speak privately?”
“Sure, Steve…do we have anything going on now?”
“No, this is a kind of unofficial visit.” He led me to an interview
room where we sat on opposite sides of a table that was bolted to the
floor. I’d been in here before with clients. “I won’t beat around the
bush, Jeff. I need some help. I have more clients than I can service
effectively. How’d you like to come to work with me? I know you’re
making about sixty now. I’ll guarantee seventy-five plus five percent
of your billings at three hundred an hour. I’ll give you full family
medical and dental starting your first day and four weeks vacation plus
holidays—basically the same package you have here. I understand that
your wife’s expecting. Congratulations. So?”
“So…it sounds good, but I’d like to talk it over with my wife. When do you want an answer?”
“Tuesday is okay, but sooner would be better. I have an office for you,
but only some cheap furniture so I’ll give you something to decorate to
your tastes. Here’s my card. Give me a call if you have any
questions.” I rose, we shook hands, and I was out the door.
I had planned to tell Joyce about Jeff, but as usual she was three steps
ahead of me. “The obvious choice in my opinion; I have several
catalogs here—office furniture—desks, chairs, what they call
conversation settings.”
“What?”
“Well…you and I would call them tables and chairs.” I shook my head in
dismay as I walked into the office. Joyce followed me and closed the
door behind her. “Okay, why the sports clothes? In all the time I’ve
worked for you there’s always been a suit. You’ve never even worn a
sports jacket, so what gives?”
“I was injured this morning when Sheila decided that my nipples needed
to be pierced. I had to use a hammer, cold chisel, and a vise to get
the clamps off and then I couldn’t get the bleeding to stop. I spent
two hours in the ER at Huntington Hospital. Doctor there suggested
lightweight loose shirts.”
“So, what’s happening with Sheila?” My look in response would have cut
through steel. “Oh! Done. Over…and out the door.” I merely nodded
then we got down to business to prepare for my three o’clock with
William Clark. His son was totally out of control. At eighteen he was
too young to drink legally yet this was his third DUI arrest in less
than six months. Even worse, he had been driving with a suspended
license. My previous conferences with Mr. Clark had not proven
productive. He had been extremely defensive of his son, pooh-poohing
his behavior as “normal kid stuff.” If that happened today he’d be out
the door in a heartbeat.
He was, not surprisingly, twenty minutes late. I didn’t mind–not when I
was charging him $500 an hour–but when he started to defend his son’s
behavior I walked immediately to the door. “Thanks for stopping by.
Find another attorney.”
He appeared to be shocked at my words. “Aren’t you supposed to defend my son?”
“Defend him in court? Yes. Defend his actions? No way. And you’d
better wake up and see that Michael has a big problem before he takes
your car and kills someone. He’ll wind up in prison where he’ll be
raped on a regular basis and you’ll wind up in court being sued for
criminal negligence.”
“Why?”
“Why? You’ve got to be kidding. This kid should have been in treatment
after the first time. Now he’s shown total disregard for the law.
He’s going down. The best you can hope for is a state-sponsored rehab.”
“What’s the worst?”
“Prison…probably minimum security, but still prison. I’ll see what I can do, but he needs to be here to speak with me.”
“He’s just a kid.”
“No, Mr. Clark…he’s eighteen—an adult in the eyes of the law. I’ll
speak to the ADA assigned in the next few days. I’ll be in court next
Thursday and Friday so it will be either early next week or the
following. Make sure Michael comes with you and—for his sake and
yours—make sure he doesn’t drive. This is going to cost you another
$10,000 to start. I’ll take half now and half before we go to court.”
He wrote a check and I gave him a receipt. I was wondering how such a
stupid oblivious man could be so successful in business.
The rest of the week was a blur, although I did hear from Jeff Barnes
that he would resign as soon as he had my offer in writing. Joyce ran
it over to his for signature less than an hour later and to notarize
both copies. I left work an hour early Friday afternoon to take my BMW
6-series convertible to the car wash for my date tonight. I was dressed
casually in a deep blue silk golf shirt and navy slacks as I approached
the library entrance just a few minutes before seven. Rosalie appeared
at five after carrying a garment bag that I took from her. She was
dressed in a light pink top with a scoop neck and short sleeves over a
pair of tight black Capri’s and matching sandals. I took the garment
bag in my left hand and her left hand in my right. She showed me the
way to her car, a Toyota Corolla that appeared to be at least a few
years old. She placed the bag in her trunk and we walked to my Beemer
nearby.
I opened and held the door for her then drove east on Old Country Road
to the Meadowbrook Parkway south all the way to Montauk Highway
eastbound into Massapequa. Butera’s is always crowded, and especially
on Friday and Saturday when a wait of thirty minutes or more was the
norm, but not for me. I opened the door and led Rosalie to the
reception desk. I was pleased to see how crowded the restaurant was.
“Hi, Marie,” I said in greeting as I held Rosalie’s hand.
“Hi, Mr. Sloan–your usual table’s ready. I’ll bring menus in a minute.”
I led Rosalie through the tables to the one along the wall. I was
holding her chair when I heard a customer complain, “I’ve been waiting
for half an hour. How come that guy can just waltz in and get a table?”
“When you own the restaurant, you’ll get a table right away, too.”
Rosalie couldn’t help but overhear. “You own this place?”
“Only half; I had two really close friends growing up—Harrison Bell and
Nick Butera. I think Nick was actually closer until tenth grade when he
left our high school to attend trade school. All he ever wanted to do
was to become a chef. I remember him cooking up all kinds of stuff as
far back as fourth grade. He went to Culinary Institute of America then
worked in several restaurants upstate while I attended college and law
school. I had been on my own three years, making good money, when Nick
told me he had an idea for a restaurant. All he needed was fifty grand.
I wrote a check and we became partners. Of course, it helped that he
married my little sister. I’ve tried recently to step away, but she
won’t hear anything about it. What I’ve done is open college funds for
their two kids with my share. You’ll probably meet at least one of them
before we leave.”
Marie came by with menus and I made a few suggestions. Rosalie opted
for the marinated chicken breasts on focaccia bread. I decided on
rigatoni with sausage and mushrooms. Rosalie had her first taste of
Nick’s hand-made focaccia when the bread basket arrived. We each had a
piece which created a problem. The only things left in the basket were
garlic knots. Rosalie and I looked at each other until she began to
giggle. Soon I joined her and a minute later we were laughing heartily.
“Tell you what,” I said as I caught my breath. “I’ll have one if
you’ll join me.”
She looked her cutest as she replied, “Deal…if only for self defense.” I
held the basket up for her and she selected a succulent roll dripping
with garlic and oil. I took one of the remaining. Holding it forward I
offered a toast which Rosalie accepted with a chuckle. Then we dug in
and I could see that Rosalie approved. “I checked up on you…Google.
You’re quite well known and you’ve handled some really big cases. Does
it bother you to deal with criminals every day?”
I thought for a moment even though I’d been asked that question before,
most recently by a law class at Fordham. “Our system of law requires a
rigorous defense. I’m always expected to do my best. Mostly, I’m like a
referee in a basketball game, making sure that the other side follows
the rules. The media describe this as getting the client off on a
technicality, but in a football game you can’t run out of bounds to
score a touchdown and you can’t have twelve men on the field. Well, you
can if you don’t get caught. The police are just ordinary people.
They make mistakes and take shortcuts. The problem is that many of
those shortcuts are illegal, even more illegal than the so-called
criminals they’re prosecuting. Even criminals have a right to be
protected by the law.”
“So, you always try to get your clients off?”
“No. That’s not always possible, nor is it even advisable. I have a
client now. He’s eighteen and he’s just had his third DUI arrest in
less than six months. Of course, that also means that he’s gotten away
with it God knows how many times. I told his father that he needed
rehab after the first time, but he thought it was just normal kid
stuff.”
“That’s terrible. He could have killed someone.”
“Exactly! I’ll make no attempt at getting him off. Rather, I’ve been
working with the ADA handling the case to set up a mandatory rehab. It
will be in a prison setting, but in a separate section away from the
other prisoners.”
“I guess there’s no shortage of clients.”
“No, unfortunately; there seem to be a lot of stupid people who do a lot
of stupid things. In fact, I just hired one of the DA’s best people as
my associate. He’ll help me in two ways—he’s a great attorney and he’s
black. I’m sure you know that young black men commit a lot of crimes.”
I looked up then to see our order on the way, delivered by none other
than my sister.
I stood as Andrea placed the plates on the table. After delivering a
hug and kiss I introduced her to Rosalie. Andrea had to hustle back to
the kitchen so she shook Rosalie’s hand, kissed me again, and walked
hurriedly back to work. My eyes were on Rosalie’s when she realized she
was facing a mountain of food. “Dear God, how am I supposed to eat all
of this?”
“You’re not. We’ll get two take-away boxes—one for the chicken and
bread and one for the salad–and you’ll have either lunch or dinner
tomorrow.” We made small talk while we ate and I gave Rosalie a small
sample of my rigatoni. She smiled in thanks and appreciation. Too soon
we were done and I was leading her back to my car.
“What now? I know of a club nearby that has a nice trio that plays
music you can actually dance to.” We found a table near the back and
away from the hubbub of the dance floor. “I’ll have one drink. Why
don’t you tell me about yourself then we can dance.”
“Okay…I’m Rosalie Cupani, age 29, single and never married. I grew up
in Medford out in Suffolk County and attended the Patchogue-Medford
schools. I went to Hofstra where I majored in Elementary Education, but
I hated it. Well, I loved the kids, but hated the parents and their
interference so I changed to Library Science and got my first job in
Mineola. I’ve managed to work my way up the ladder, especially after
getting my Masters. Now I’m second in command there. It’s good. I
have time to read and I always get the new books before they go into
circulation. Of course, I have an Italian mother who thinks I should
have been married by the time I was twenty-two and pregnant within the
year.”
“I can relate. I get heat from my mother, too. I’m sure that Andrea
will phone her tomorrow morning to tell her all about you. She didn’t
like Sheila, my last girlfriend—didn’t trust her. She has good
instincts. She likes you; I can tell.” We ordered a round of
drinks—white wine for her, gin and tonic for me. Then I led Rosalie to
the dance floor. It was a slow tune from the forties. Most of the
music here was from the big band era. We danced in the traditional “old
fashioned” manner, but by the third dance her head was on my chest and
the space between us had disappeared. We stayed until midnight when she
said she had to get to bed.
No, I was not invited. I did invite her to go fishing on Sunday, but
was invited instead to join her family for their traditional Memorial
Day cook-out. She did agree to join me for fishing on Memorial Day.
Soon we were back at the library. I parked next to her car and got out
to open her door, but she beat me to it. We stood together between the
cars and I leaned down for a kiss. She moved up to meet my mouth, her
lips sweet and soft and plump. My tongue explored and met hers. Jolts
of electricity ran through my body. I opened my eyes to see she had the
same reaction. Our kiss lasted for more than a minute. She broke it
then gave me a quick peck. “Don’t forget….”
“I know…you’re an old-fashioned girl. Thanks for taking the chance with
me. I had a great time. Noon Sunday? Should I bring anything? I
make some great beans with bacon and brown sugar or I could whip
together some salsa.”
Rosalie smiled and laughed. “Just bring yourself. You have no idea of
the favor you’re doing for me. I’ve been berated every year for the
last five for going solo. At least you’ll prove I can get a date.”
“Um…golf shirt and shorts okay?”
“Sure, you’ll probably be overdressed.”
“Maybe I should bring an overnight bag?”
“Keep on dreaming.” She was laughing, but a second later she was in my
arms for a final kiss. “I really have to go. Some of us have to work
tomorrow.”
“Yeah…me, too; I have to be at the jail by eleven. Bye.” She stepped
into her car and drove away. All I got from the date were a few kisses
and some close dances. Surprisingly, it was more than enough.
>>>>>>
I was in and out of the jail in less than half an hour. One of the
other attorneys congratulated me on landing Jeff Barnes. I was back at
my home in Centerport by 12:30. I usually grill some hot dogs on
Saturday, but thought I’d probably have my fill at Rosalie’s family
cook-out. I had peanut butter and jelly instead.
I had thought that I might miss Sheila, but I missed Rosalie instead.
One date and she’d made quite an impression. I couldn’t wait to see her
again. I had a hot date that night with Rosy Palm, the same source of
relief I used last night while I imagined making love with Rosalie.
She had given me her address and phone number in case I got lost. My
Beemer had built in GPS and it was as effective as most German-made
instruments are. I parked next to Rosalie’s Corolla, set the alarm even
though the top was down and rang her bell at twelve on the dot. She
looked gorgeous in a plain white tee and navy short shorts. I could
barely take my eyes off her beautiful long and shapely legs. She kissed
me in greeting and took my hand as we walked to my car.
“This is some car, Steven. I hate to think how much it cost.”
“It was expensive, but it’s not mine. It belongs to the firm. Of
course, I own the firm, but legally we’re two different entities. I
have to use a car to get to and from court and the jail, sometimes even
out to the Suffolk County jail in Riverhead. This way I get to deduct
depreciation—roughly twenty thousand a year over five years and all of
the gas and maintenance, although that’s all covered for the first four
years or 50,000 miles. Sounds kind of legal, doesn’t it? It sure as
hell is fun to drive. Want to give it a shot?”
“Me? No, thank you. I’d be terrified.” I laughed. Then she joined
me. “Well, maybe later. Now I think I need to brief you on my family.
My mom and dad will be there, of course. My brother, Michael, his
wife, Natalie, and their three kids; my sister, Anita, her husband, Joe,
and their two kids will all be easy to get along with. In fact I think
everyone will be receptive…except probably Uncle Robert.”
“Let me guess—he hates lawyers. Is he a police officer?”
“Yeah, Suffolk County–highway patrol–the expressway; he’s one of those
cops who like to take shortcuts so a lot of his tickets and arrests get
thrown out and he always blames the lawyers.”
“That’s actually fairly typical of what I see, too. There aren’t too
many people these days who take responsibility for their actions.” I
was already on the Southern Parkway, cruising along at the speed
limit—55—and being passed by almost everyone else on the road. That
wasn’t unusual, but I knew that this stretch of the highway was a
notorious speed trap that the police loved to set up, with holidays
being the worst. Sure enough several cars were pulled over onto the
shoulder just a few miles ahead.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/ztmiht/just_an_old_fashioned_girl_masturbation_oral_m25