Art is Personnel Director for the second company in the Essex Building. I'm CEO of the first, Dee-lite Foods, Inc., which I started with my college roommate, Dee. She's the head chef, I'm in charge of everything else. Together, we bring in about $18 million a year in revenue, and business is growing fast.
I'd see Art at the deli on the first floor. I could tell he was attracted to me but I was already seeing several men at the time. And Art really didn't seem my type - I tend to go for tall, dark, strong, and handsome (which describes Philippe), or clean-cut, conventional, and solid (which describes Pete). Art was rather slender, had somewhat shaggy hair, and a cute face. Really, not my type. But he did have a killer sense of humor, and he invariably had me in stitches every time we were in par for sandwiches.
He also seemed very nice, and he caught me at a good time when he asked me out to dinner, so I said yes. I didn't realize he meant dinner at his house.
Art had a nice place in the East Valley with a view. It was far enough out of town that it wasn't so expensive a place, but he'd done a great job with it. I asked him if he'd hired an interior decorator, but he blushed and said that he'd done it all himself. He was also doing the cooking, and I was impressed by the way he ran his kitchen and carried on a great conversation at the same time.
Before long, we were sitting down to Chilean Sea Bass with black-and-white bowtie noodles and spinach with mushrooms. A good bottle of Gewürztraminer matched the dinner excellently.
I mused that it seemed strange he wasn't married, whereupon Art told me about his nine-year relationship with a woman named Cindy who had refused to marry him. One day Art came home unexpectedly early and found Cindy in their bed with another guy. It turned out she'd been cheating with this guy for four years.
"It wasn't so much that she was sleeping with another guy that bothered me," he told me. "It was that she'd hidden it from me for four years. I can understand wanting some variety in your sex-life, but she'd been lying to me, keeping it a secret, and she loved the guy - he wasn't just her sex outlet. She'd just strung me along because I had a nice house and I cook."
It had been a couple of years, and Cindy had since married the guy. I could tell Art was still feeling somewhat burned. And I could understand his feelings. Ouch.
Then he asked about me.
By that point, we'd finished the bottle of wine, so maybe I was a little franker than I might have been, though I do like to be up front. I told Art that I was seeing several men, which wasn't quite true since at the time I was down to two, Paul having recently moved away. I told him I'd always liked to have a variety of men in my life; that I couldn't be tied down to just one.
"I'm not a slut though. I don't sleep with just anyone. I like to have long-term relationships with the men I sleep with. It's like serial monogamy, only in stereo, or sometimes quadraphonic," I told him. He smiled, and I was relieved. Many men couldn't cope with my lifestyle, and would flee. I felt myself relax.
Art got up and put on some music, then we went out on the balcony to enjoy the last glimmer of twilight. He'd gotten us each a glass of port which we sipped as we admired the view. Only, when I looked over at him, I found that the view he'd been admiring was me. I suddenly had the urge to kiss him, and I pulled his face close. It was then that I discovered that Art was the best kisser I'd ever met. The first kiss was sweet, the second was sensual, the third made my panties damp. I had to pull away quickly.
"Art, I never sleep with a guy on the first date," I told him.
"Hey, I wasn't expecting you too. We were just getting acquainted, that's all," he replied. "Really."
I kissed him again, then pulled back once more.
"If I don't go now, I'll break my own rule," I told him. "But maybe we can have dinner again some other time." I tried not to sound too hopeful.
"How about you come out with me on my boat next weekend?" he asked. It sounded like a great idea, and I figured I could be free Saturday night, so we made a date.
As I drove home that night, I wondered to myself about Art. He was so not my type, yet I wanted him badly. I was all in a flush over him.
I didn't see Art at all that week. I don't know if he was around or not - maybe he had to travel for work or something.
I did go out with Pete on Wednesday. We went to a bar first, then to a steakhouse he liked, where we talked about business. Then we went over to a club for some dancing, and finally to my place (his was too messy for company, he told me), where he fucked me to oblivion with his huge cock. That's what I like about Pete - his peter. It's about 8" long, circumcised, and supercharged. Nobody has ever fucked me as good as Pete, and there have been a lot of guys vying for the title. Pete's cock really stretches me, and it seems to hum and vibrate as we fuck. I always cum two or three times, and afterwards, I feel truly fucked. It's great. But then Pete had to leave - he almost never stays the night. So I curled up with my pillow and tried to sleep with my pussy drooling his cum onto my sheets.
Work was tough that week, and by Saturday I was ready for some R&R. Art picked me up at my place just after noon Saturday, and we went down to the marina. Art's boat was a classic wood cruiser, always in need of a bit of work, but a beauty to behold with its teak and mahogany woodwork. Art told me he had a friend who was great with motors, and I was impressed with the quiet of the inboard motor, and the lack of smelly exhaust. It wasn't the fastest boat at the dock, but it definitely had character and class. After starting the motor, Art got us each a wine cooler, then we cast off and headed up the channel. The wind felt great, for it was a rather hot sunny day. He liked to take short side-trips into nooks and crannies along the channel - little backwater places that I'd never seen. At about 3:00, he took us down a side channel and tied up at a restaurant with a dock.
"Best place to eat anywhere," he said, beaming. "And you pretty much can only get here by boat. Almost nobody knows about it," he added, which was a bit of a stretch, since there were about eight or nine boats tied up already.
Inside it was definitely funky - nautical and naughty, a peculiar mix of class and crass. There was wood everywhere, and the typical ropes and nets and shells. There was also a carved and painted mermaid with really large, bare breasts, a pierced navel, and an expression on her face that made her look like she'd just sucked a juicy cock. The cock she might have sucked belonged to a carved Neptune, quite anatomically correct, who stood opposite her across the room. On the walls were paintings of boats and paintings of nymphs and satyrs.
The meal started with raw oysters - small Japanese varieties I'd never tried - then moved on to crab cakes & hush puppies, then some kind of oriental beef strips with spinach in sesame oil, then ended with tiramisu. A rather odd combination, but it worked. The first two courses were washed down with beer, the beef needed goblets of wine, the last course was matched with dark coffee mellowed with Irish Cream. And throughout it all, Art and I talked.
Art told me stories from his childhood, tales of adventures during college, and got me to tell him about my family, and Dee's secret recipes, and just how I managed to turn them into gold.
It was during a brief lull in the conversation, while we sipped coffee, that Art leaned towards me and asked me to tell him about "them".
"Who?" I asked, genuinely puzzled.
"The men you are involved with now," he stated.
"You really want to know?" I asked, puzzled.
"Sheila, if we're going to spend more time together, I want to know up front about your other men. I won't have secrets like that between us. Look, if you don't want to see me again, you don't have to tell me anything. But if you do, I want to know who's who. I don't want surprises. I don't want you to lie about why you can't meet me Thursday. Tell me you've got a date with "Joe"; don't tell me you've got to work late."
So I told him.
"There's only two guys right now," I said calmly. "There's Pete, who works as a business lawyer. He's helped me a lot in learning how to build Dee-lite. I see him when he's not too busy playing golf."
I didn't mention the size of his cock, nor the way he ravished me with it.
"And there's Philippe, who works for a food wholesale company we used to buy from. I don't see him as often." I left it there, not adding that Philippe's long, thin, uncut, dripping cock loved to invade my asshole. Philippe was who I called over when I was feeling really randy - when mere fucking wouldn't suffice. Philippe loved to destroy me.
Art nodded, accepting. "Well, I haven't dated anyone in three months, but I'd like to see more of you," he said simply.
I raised my coffee cup in a toast. "To us," I said, and he smiled, and our coffee cups clinked gently.
We left the restaurant soon after, and got back into Art's boat.
"Sheila - we're about two hours out from the marina, or, if you're game, there's a place not far from here where we could drop anchor for the night. There's quite a serviceable berth down below, and I've got fixings for breakfast aboard."
I came up to him and put my arms around his neck. "Breakfast sounds lovely," I told him, before leaning in for a kiss.
.... There is more of this story ...