An Anniversary Waltz story
NOTE: I hereby grant permission for all archiving and other uses of this work, public or private, free or paid, in any format whether existing now or to be invented in the future, so long as a copy of this note and credit to "theGreatxIam" is given and no alteration is made to the body of the work. Copyright 2002, theGreatxIam
Steve Oldham had picked the restaurant with an eye to seduction.
Belladonna, his buddy Pete had assured him, was the best in the city for proving that the way to a woman's pussy was through her stomach. "Absolutely, dude," Pete had said. "It's where everyone goes not to be seen."
That threw Steve, but Pete explained: Belladonna was darkness and candlelight and waiters who didn't tell you their names and knew never to ask yours. No tables, just booths. Secluded booths.
It wasn't exactly what Steve had in mind. After all, the woman he planned to seduce was his wife. But his other choices were booked. So Belladonna it was.
He was surprised at how effusively the maitre d' had greeted them. But not too surprised. Being married to Paula had its perks. When your wife has a body that's caused more drooling than Pavlov's bell, you get used to extra attention. What astonished Steve were the times, like this one, when Paula herself seemed embarrassed by the fuss people made over her.
He knew just how much time she spent arranging her lush blonde hair, selecting her outfits, like tonight's skin-tight red sheath. How could she not expect men to fawn over her?
But that modesty was one of her most endearing traits, one of the hundred reasons Steve had enjoyed being married to her. She was so wonderful that there was only one disappointment: They hadn't started a family yet.
That was what tonight was all about. It was sneaky, he knew. But what choice did he have? Paula had avoided all discussion. It was always "someday."
Steve had decided. Someday was today, their second anniversary. All his plans were complete. This time there would be no slip-up, not like before. Not like last summer. This time, he'd thought of everything.
The July sun applied another bronzing coat to Paula's skin as she stretched out on the beach chair in her backyard. She was "between jobs," a condition that had existed since shortly after her wedding -- so, about one, one-and-a-half years. "Between jobs" was what she told other people. To herself, she thought of it as having taken on the bigger job of being a full-time wife.
It all took so much time. Waiting around for pick-ups and deliveries, for example. How would their laundry ever get done if she wasn't there to hand it to the service and take it back when it was done? Of course, they could have a maid, but Steve was so penny-pinching about that. Fortunately he was working longer and longer hours, doing whatever he did in that office of his, so the money situation should be improving. Maybe she could even afford to get a job again.
Paula rolled onto her back and adjusted her tiny red bikini, idly thinking about job possibilities. She sighed. Even with a maid, there would still be so much she had to do. Especially all the effort it took to make herself look nice for Steve: the gym, her nutritionist, clothes shopping, hair appointments, sunbathing -- that couldn't be rushed. Where would the time come from if she worked?
Look at Steve. He still had the good looks that had first attracted her -- the firm jaw, that lovely head of dark hair. But he had neglected his time in the sun for years; he was so pale now he almost glowed in the dark. And he had a hint of a roll around the tummy. Paula would just die if she let herself go like that.
She rolled onto her flat, taut stomach and reached back to undo the knot of her top, letting the strings fall to the chair. Still, she thought, it would be fun to work again. Maybe in that little dress shop tucked away in Pomona. Would they give employee discounts?
She began to drift off to sleep with pleasant thoughts of couture coupons dancing in her head. Then a loud voice crashed into her reverie.
Paula looked up, startled. A tall, well-built Latino towered over her, muscles almost bursting out of a stained blue workshirt with the sleeves ripped off. She grabbed her sunglasses; the glare always seemed worse because of her contacts.
"Lady, these yours? You mean to throw them out?"
In one gloved hand the mysterious stranger held out a small plastic bag. Paula scrambled to her feet, inadvertently leaving her bikini top behind.
A small, shallow furrow came and went on her forehead, right between her sky blue eyes, as she plucked the bag from him. Her eyes opened wide as she saw what was inside.
"Where did you find these?" Paula's eyes flicked back and forth between the bag and the man.
"In the garbage, lady. They are yours, huh?"
His eyes were aimed several inches below her face. Paula found that shyness appealing. "Yes, they're mine. I guess -- They were in the trash?"
"Right on top, that's why I noticed. Still had the receipt and everything. Thought you might have thrown them out by mistake. Wouldn't want to lose those, huh?"
He smiled, bright ivories sparkling against his dark skin.
"No. I don't remember throwing anything on top of the trash, either. I -- you should get a reward."
"No sweat, lady. Glad I could help."
"But I should -- How about something cold to drink, at least? You do look hot."
He smiled again. "Thanks, but I gotta get back to the truck."
"Just a cold pop? Or -- something harder?"
He smiled again. "OK. Lemme tell the guys I'll catch up to 'em."
Paula went into the house and was bent over rooting through the fridge when the garbageman returned. She heard his heavy boots and turned toward him, opening the fridge door to let him see the beer and pop. "See anything you want?" she asked.
Her nipples showed the effects of the refrigerator's chill.
"Yeah," he said, his voice low and soft.
It was Paula's turn to smile as his open-mouthed stare made her finally notice her top was missing. She licked her lips. He did look handsome.
The garbageman stepped closer. A whiff of something dead and rotting made Paula gag. He apologized. He did it so politely, she thought, and it was wrong to treat people badly just because of their jobs. Her friend Lucy was a buyer for Sears, for example, but Paula didn't think any less of her.
But this man did, well, stink.
Paula had an idea. She crooked a finger and led him to the small bathroom just off the patio. It had a shower for when they came in from the pool.
The garbageman, who said his name was Luis, cleaned up real good. Paula soaped him up, top to tight bottom, and washed the odor right off. She had planned to bring him up to the bedroom after, but rubbing the suds into his firm muscles and feeling his hot flesh against her own made her impatient.
When she'd rinsed the last soapy residue off, she pushed him against the shower wall and got to her knees.
His cock was lovely, thick and hard. Its tip fit so nicely into her mouth. Paula sucked it so hard her cheeks hollowed. Her soft hands rubbed his stalk. The shower's warm jets cascaded over both of them as she worked him over.
After a few minutes, Luis grabbed her head with both hands and began driving his dick into her mouth. Paula didn't appreciate that, but fortunately it took only a few strokes before hot wads of cum burst from him. Luis sagged back, letting go of her.
He had the good manners to remain hard, Paula was delighted to see. She shut off the water and led him out. She considered the family room couch, but it was leather and, besides, she didn't want to waste time drying off.
She almost tugged Luis's arm off getting him outside. She had to assure him over and over that the neighbors wouldn't see anything. The struggle was worth it, though, when she got him down on the beach chair and sat on his cock.
Paula eased him in, bit by bit, and was a little astonished when she found herself sitting flat on his lap, all of him deep inside her. She hadn't dreamed she could get his whole length in her. It was a trifle uncomfortable and unfamiliar at first, but as she slid up and down she got used to it.
Luis was still aggressive, bucking up at her to ram his cock home, but Paula let herself go and gave as good as she got. Luis's manhandling of her breasts even excited her, just because it matched her mood.
She found herself riding him like a mechanical bull, her long hair flying out of its perm as she bounced on his cock. Paula enjoyed it so much that she didn't slow down, not even when Luis begged her. "Too much," he said, "slow down!"
But she couldn't. It felt like his cock filled every crevice, and the tingling in her body, in every nerve, had turned into a white heat. Paula drove down onto his pole, again, again and again, faster and faster. He put his strong hands on her waist but her passion made Paula stronger. She tore out of his grasp and continued her assault.
And then it hit, a volcano of ecstasy, ripping through her every fiber. Paula jerked and moaned, surfing the orgasm's waves. Somewhere in the middle of it Luis came, but she barely knew and didn't care. She held him firmly between her legs, refusing to let him go until she had squeezed every last drop out of her climax.
"I know, Mom. I know." Steve paced the floor of his parents' living room. "We do want a family. We're not selfish. It just -- it just hasn't happened yet."
And, he thought, it's not my fault it hasn't, so why am I getting the grief? He couldn't believe it when Paula had told him a garbageman had found her birth-control pills. What was some snoopy garbageman doing returning things? He'd thrown them out; they were supposed to stay thrown out.
His plan had been to feign ignorance when Paula couldn't find them, then suggest they just take their chances. And if that didn't work, he even had a pack of condoms he'd prepared -- little pinpricks to let his boys get through.
When Paula told him about finding them, all his plans fell through. He'd considered a full frontal assault, but that seldom worked with Paula.
Still, it was unfair that he would then have to bear the brunt of his mother's nagging about their childlessness. He couldn't deny that she wasn't getting any younger -- though 52 still seemed a reasonable age to be a grandmother. Yes, Mother had said -- but she wasn't one yet, was she?
Steve could only sigh and nod and swear they were working on it. Couldn't tell Mother about Paula. Mother thought the sun rose and set on her daughter-in-law, wouldn't hear a word against her. "Paula is so thoughtful, always taking me to lunch," it was, or "Poor Paula, at home alone every night."
Steve sighed again. At least there was relief; Mother had to go into the kitchen to check on lunch. Paula would be there in twenty minutes or so, after her massotherapy session.
That left Steve alone with his dad, who had been quietly sitting in a corner. From the shadows, Father spoke. "I'm sorry that Mother's giving you such a hard time, son. She means well, you know."
"I know that," Steve said quickly. "But this -- it's not my fault." Even as he said it, Steve regretted it. Father pressed him for an explanation. Steve put him off, awkwardly, and was actually relieved when Mother returned.
Paula opened the door and flashed a sunny smile. "Daddy Oldham! What a surprise! Steve didn't tell me you were coming over. And he isn't even home -- he called a little while ago and said it would be another late night."
"I know," Steve's dad said, stepping inside. "I talked to him earlier. Actually, that's why I'm here -- because I knew you'd be alone."
Paula led the way into the front room and demurely adjusted her short white skirt to cover her thighs as she sat on the brocade couch. She patted a cushion next to her. "Now you've got me curious. What's up?"
The older man cleared his throat and glanced around the room. Paula waited, wondering. Idly, she fiddled with her tight red crop top. Steve's birthday was coming up; maybe his parents were planning a big surprise? Maybe -- maybe sending both of them on a trip? Tahiti, perhaps? She really loved Tahiti.
Mr. Oldham looked at her for a second, then looked away. "It's about -- well, this is a little awkward."
He turned back to her. "Steve must never know about this."
Paula nodded. "I promise." Or Paris, she thought.
"Yes. Well. Last weekend, when you two were over at our place -- er, before you got there, that is -- Steve and I had a chat."
He paused. Paula mechanically injected an "Oh" into the conversation. The Riviera -- but that's so yesterday, she thought.
"We had a chat," Mr. Oldham went on. "About -- the two of you. And, ah, Steve suggested -- he didn't come right out and say it, mind you, don't be thinking that, no -- but he hinted, that, well, there might be -- not that he made a big issue of it -- some sort of, well, a problem."
Aruba, she thought. Or was that too common?
"A problem, as I say." Mr. Oldham looked away. "Now, I'm not one to interfere. Not me. But I know how difficult these discussions can be -- took us several years before we had Steve's brother Dave, you know, and the arg -- ah, discussions we had about that, well, I say -- but then I suspect you know all about that sort of thing. Wonderful thing, family, but. Certainly, there are other considerations. No one denies that. Still, Steve seems to have his heart set -- and you two have been married some time -- well, not all that long. Yet, and all. Perhaps he hasn't made it clear just how much he -- Awkward, is what it is. Anything, related to, ah, well, those matters. And, yes, I'm sure you're thinking, not something for outsiders -- not that I'm completely an outsider, of course. Still, don't usually have a third party in the pillow talk, do you? Keep it all in the bedroom, so to speak."
Fiji, now, she'd heard some good things about --
"I'm sorry." Paula was vaguely aware that the conversation seemed to have strayed from vacations. "You said something about pillows?"
Mr. Oldham stared at the ceiling. "Well. Actually. Um." He looked her in the eye. "Steve suggested you weren't -- that is, you may not be -" He stopped, stared at her. "You aren't giving him what he wants, in short."
Paula stared. "In the bedroom? He told you that?"
Mr. Oldham stuttered out a denial, but Paula didn't pay much attention. The nerve of Steve! It wasn't her fault, was it, if he came home too pooped to pop most nights? When he did eventually come home. Not her fault, at all. She had never had any complaints from anyone else, that's for sure. And not even man enough to tell her himself -- he has to send his father!
Paula cut into her father-in-law's chatter. "So just what is it," she said, "just how have I fallen short, that Steve couldn't tell me himself?"
"Ah, er --" Mr. Oldham began. "He said that he had discussed -- ah, the timing --"
"Timing!" Paula's eyes flashed. "We never discussed that. It's unsatisfactory? What, he doesn't want it to take so long?"
"Precisely," Mr. Oldham said. "Yes, that's it. Now, I don't say I'm taking his side. Mind you, you're young. You can afford to take your time. Stretch it out. Enjoy yourselves while you can, I say. But Steve and his mother think --"
"Mother Oldham? He's talked about this with her?"
"Yes. It was her idea, in fact. She's quite adamant about it. I can say that from experience." Mr. Oldham winced slightly. "She is not, ah, the most patient person."
Paula leaned closer. "How long have you been married?"
"We -- twenty-eight years, next August. But what --"
Paula put a hand on the knee of her father-in-law's grey pin-striped suit. "Twenty-eight years? All that time, with someone who won't take her time?"
"Ah, I came here to talk about you and Steve --"
"Yes, I see that now. We're kindred souls, aren't we?" It occurred to Paula that her father-in-law was much more handsome than Steve -- that touch of grey at the temples added distinction; the lines in his face provided character; and he didn't have those dark circles under his eyes. She put her other hand on his shoulder. "Two souls tied to people who can't satisfy us."
Mr. Oldham pressed against the armrest. "I -- er -- this isn't -- perhaps you misunderstood."
"No," Paula whispered, her lips hovering just inches from his. "I understand. Oh, I understand! All those years you've suffered!"
Paula shushed him. "We'll fix you up," she said. "Nice and slow, just like you want it. Like we both do." Her lips met his. At first, she felt resistance. But, as she persisted, he melted. His lips parted; their tongues met. The feeling was electric.
Slowly, her hands began to explore his body. Her fingers spider-walked from his knee to his crotch. She was delighted to discover the stiff bulge already there. But, when he squirmed away from her touch, she reminded herself: Take your time.
So she made her hand leave his cock, travel up his chest. She slid his suit jacket off as she crawled forward to press her body to his. When she broke their kiss to nuzzle his neck, he protested weakly: "We can't --"
Paula ran her fingers through his still-thick hair. "Yes, we can," she whispered. "We can take all the time we want, because we're two of a kind and it's just us tonight."
His reply was muffled by her kiss.
Paula felt her pussy growing hotter and wetter, and it took every ounce of self-control she possessed to keep from ripping her father-in-law's clothes off and ravishing him immediately. But he had made his needs so clear.
Taking her time, it was twenty minutes before Paula had them both naked. Along the way, his silly objections had vanished -- right around the time her tongue snaked across his chest as she bit the buttons off his shirt.
It was without resistance, then, that she led him to the guest bedroom. Indeed, Mr. Oldham had become a very willing partner, and proved to be very adept at the oral arts. Paula rarely could get Steve to eat a box lunch, but her father-in-law had a talented tongue. Ripples of liquid passion flowed from her cunt. Her toes curled and her fingers clutched at the silk pillows as he nibbled her clit.
And her orgasm arrived as a Technicolor spectacle, a rainbow of colors bursting behind her eyelids. She almost bucked him off the bed when the spasms hit her.
After she recovered, Paula was eager to return the favor, but Mr. Oldham waved off her offer, saying he feared he only had one effort in him and didn't want to miss the chance to have her.
And so Paula rolled onto her back again and spread her legs wide. Her father-in-law knelt between them, his cock rubbing her bush as he just held himself over her on stiff arms.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing," he said. "I just wanted to admire you awhile."
"Oh, you sweetheart," she said, pulling him closer for a kiss, the taste of her sex still on his lips.
He certainly took his time, suckling her breasts and running his hands all over her body before, at last, getting into position with his cock riding along her slit.
He entered her easily but stopped with just the tip inside her. She couldn't help it; her body pressed up, trying to get more of him inside. Only after a minute or two did he push home, deep, deep, deeper into her.
Paula let out a sigh like the desert wind as his cock came to rest with their crotches pressed close. He played her like a violin, with a Gypsy in his soul. She provided the counterpoint and they made beautiful music together.
Though their pace was gentle, they went on so long that sweat poured off them. The smell of sex merged with his piney aftershave and her flowery scent in a primal mix.
Still they kept going, and every stroke was like the first, a vibrating stab into the depths of her being. Her legs rose, bent double at the knees, as she tried to open wider, to take in more and more. Her fingers clutched at his back, then dug into his ass to urge him deeper. A second orgasm exploded within her, making her almost levitate as her spine arched upward.
She was coming down off that high when her father-in-law groaned and drove his thickening cock into her, pumping once, twice before deflating.
She gave him one of Steve's shirts after he'd showered, and in quiet conversation they cleared up the confusion over why Mr. Oldham was there. Paula laughed at the mix-up and assured him that she and Steve could work out their differences themselves. Mr. Oldham thanked her and went home whistling.
Steve slammed the locker door closed. "Damn! I swear I had a full can of new ones! You sure you didn't pick them up by mistake?"
Pete, at his own locker a few spots down, rooted through his gym bag, extracting old towels and grimy socks before pulling out an orange tube. "My bad," he said sheepishly. "I got your balls in my hand."
Steve grabbed them without a word, his face purple.
Pete ran a hand through his wet blonde locks. "Chill out, man. I'm sorry about your balls and all, but what's eating you? You were flailing around like a girl out there."
Steve grimaced as he zipped his racquet into its cover. "Yeah, whatever. Go on, rip into me. Why should you be any different?"
"Where's that coming from, little buddy? Bad day at work? I told you, man. Working too hard can give you a heart attack. You oughta know by now."
"Na. It's not work. It's -- I told you my mom was giving me a hard time about not having kids yet, right? So, now my dad calls and rips me for pressuring Paula. Says I should see her side. And he's my dad! And Paula, I don't know what's going on. I tried to talk to her last night about giving up the Pill, see what happens. Big mistake."
"Mistake, huh? So she's staying on it?"
"Yeah. I guess. I mean, she says we can think about having kids. Someday."
"But she's still on birth control?"
"Yeah, what have I been saying? Still on the Pill. Why? You wanna take her side, too?"
"Hey, man, not my fight. I just think you should dial it down a little before you're riding the coronary coach. She's on the Pill, so what? You got time. She's definitely taking it, then?"
"God, how many times do I have to say it? Yes! What's it to you, anyway?"
"Nothing, my man, nothing. Just tryin' to keep the story straight, you know? Don't sweat it. Hey, I'll see you next week, right? Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel. Keep it real, dude."
Paula preferred the Belladonna to the other places Pete had taken her. Dives, some of them had been. The Belladonna had class, even if it was so dark that they could grow their own mushrooms under the tables.
True, the menu had all the sophistication of an airline; once you decided "beef or chicken," you were pretty much done. And the wine list was redder than the necks of an Alabama football crowd.
But it was quiet, the booths were comfortable, and the napkins were cloth. It was as close to slumming as Paula liked to come.
So, for that matter, was Pete. Ever since that unfortunate incident with Teri's fiance, Paula had steered away from the boyfriends or husbands of her friends. But it was so convenient to have a married man on the side. They were so grateful, so tolerant, so undemanding. No messiness about the long term. Have dinner, have sex. Very simple.
Simple was what she needed, especially after another flaming argument with Steve about babies. Honestly, he was so crazy on the subject. She'd thought he'd gotten it out of his system, since he'd been quiet about it for so long. Suddenly it's baby, baby, baby -- and she didn't like to hear that, even in bed. If she heard it one more time, she would just scream.
That's why Pete was perfect. No pretense of emotional attachment whatsoever. Just wanted someone with more curb appeal than his dumpy wife could offer.
He met her in the lobby, like always. Dinner was as uneventful as ever. Her chicken was moist, a pleasant surprise. There was a moderate buzz in the half-filled room, just enough to keep Pete's comments from interrupting her train of thought.
He had started getting frisky during the salad course, though; she usually could get halfway through dessert before he switched from hungry to horny.
By the time the strawberries and cream arrived, he had his hand up her skirt. It was so distracting that she forgot to order her latte.
Pete actually suggested they duck into the bathroom -- a PUBLIC bathroom, was he insane? Paula had to abandon all hope of a nice hotel room. It was all she could do to make him wait until they got to his car -- it had the bigger back seat.
Inside, he was even more impatient. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing, as long as he didn't skimp her once they got down to business.
He didn't. Though their clothes were heaped on the floor in seconds -- well, his; hers were neatly folded and stacked on the front seat -- the sex was admirably enduring.
Pete wasn't the most creative lover she'd ever known, but he was considerate. In the 69 they formed at the start, he gave as good as he got. And Paula flattered herself that he got pretty darn good. Through practice she knew just when to let the rubbery tip pop out of her mouth and instead treat the shaft as a large and rather slowly melting Creamsicle, when to return to the top and do that hollowed-cheek thing that men seemed to like so much.
Pete, meanwhile, was mercifully untalkative while he applied his tongue to her juiciest parts. He did not have Mr. Oldham's skill, but he was enthusiastic and devoted to his goal -- even after his own orgasm had pumped a few splashes of jism down her throat.
It didn't hurt, of course, that Paula continued to hold his shrinking member in her mouth. They had found, through trial and error, that to be the only reliable way to restore him to fighting trim -- a curiously apt phrase, it occurred to her.
While she was nursing him back to tumescence, Pete was doggedly edging her closer to climax -- dogged also being an extremely appropriate word, given the resemblance of his method to that of an overly affectionate St. Bernard.
At last she came. As always, with Pete, it was less an earthquake than a long ride over poorly maintained grade crossings in a car with bad shocks. Paula was proud of the analogy; she'd been working on it for months.
She would have preferred to cuddle awhile, but adulterers can't be choosers. They shifted positions, her on top, and she guided his missile into her silo.