Chapter 20

Elegance and opulence surrounded me. The vast main floor distantly enclosed by ornamented structures, lit by ornamental chandeliers, walls ornamented with portraits and seascapes and landscapes done a century or more before staged the careful ease of the upper crust. Gowns and glittering jewels and tuxes and glittering cufflinks and large golden watches and the occasional tiara costumed the obscenely rich. And yet despite the differences between the various social strata I witnessed at past parties in the company of Mother or the fashion photographer or the producer or the old flapper and this mixer of moneyed aristocracy, like me in my dandy outfits looking my youth, these people looked all the more normal. Pretense and portents abounded. Their abundance came from the backs of the poor working stiffs, and in turn they gave those stiffs the ability to survive. At once exploitive and generous, a signature, a shift in funds or a whisper to the government generated consequence. Whether beneficial or callously destructive to the many, the gestures of the few commanded powerful influence. But these people and those gestures, like a thief threatening or an artist composing or a worker constructing or a whore inviting or a doorman whistling intended improvement. Whatever the accents, another layer of accent, a separating loftiness attempted distinction. The combination of power and loftiness worried me. These managers of the world, despite thinking otherwise, their level achieved through more often than not arbitrary means, showed no difference, no special insight, no particular character, or no outstanding intelligence compared to any friend or acquaintance or to me.

Whatever noblesse oblige the privileged contained felt condescending and selfish. To converse with a lowly soul such as myself pretended magnanimity. Every conversation hid a duel of charm, and I proved a necessarily weak, untrained duelist, a soft blade against a well tempered one. Was I bitter because I felt barred like the man with the birdcage over his head despite strolling in their midst? Probably.

The heiress introduced us to the rich. Once her obligation ended, she stole away with the secretary. My sister played second fiddle to the princess who attracted men like a baited trap. Being tall, young and gorgeous, even with the rich men surrounded by beautiful arm candy, mistresses graduating to wives, she stood out. I followed their drama as much as I could. To the old flapper, my friends created distraction, but to me the women she attempted to find for me were. Before the old flapper decided to make the library my office for seduction, the drama ended happily. I saw the princess being led outside by a handsome man, leaving my sister sadly watching. But the princess returned and brought my sister out with her. My sister's smile made me smile.

In the library I perused the first editions going back to Shakespeare's time, though those found protection under glass. Pulling Voltaire in French carefully from the shelf, my first seduction entered. She proved shrill and relentless and I told her of my fascination with Voltaire and asked if she would like a recitation. She didn't.

I couldn't understand the second one being interested in me. Her beauty stunned me. Blonde with a perfect face, she could have her pick of anyone she desired. Perhaps the extra added padding to her breasts, tummy and butt made her feel less desirable, foolish woman. The old flapper and her knew each other as young models during the twenties and hadn't met since their careers ended. The blonde beauty journeyed to Hollywood to become a starlet and instead became the wife of a wealthy heir. Their chatter reminiscing allowed me to regain my breath the beautiful woman had taken. I listened and enjoyed their joy until the old flapper left. The beauty and I traded wit and barbs and had fun. When she left, I felt the encounter ended with her winning the battle and losing the war. But a few minutes after the third seduction began, a somewhat pompous woman who reminded me of Eleanor Roosevelt only more handsome, the beautiful blonde reentered the library and asked to speak with me a moment. "Give me a call," she said, handing me her card. When she left the second time, I saw the old flapper at the door. They giggled. When the pompous woman asked, I showed the card. She gained interest. Her card joined the beautiful blonde's.

Two more followed, both pleasant and my type, wives in their forties needing to be fucked. They ended up being the start of two lines of women I saw once and then a new one followed. I became a toy, something to play with for a night and toss in the box and forget.

When the last of the two left, a girl not much older than me, a debutante from last season, began perusing the library. I read my Voltaire and glanced at her. Once or twice I caught her glancing back. She had a firm little body, moderate sized breasts and ass, and a pretty face with wavy brunette hair and playful brown eyes. She tried reaching for a book. I came to help, though I didn't add much to the height. I searched for a ladder or step stool and she told me to lift her up, taking my arms and wrapping them around her. Her body felt tight and she smelled good. My interest became physical and she probably felt it as she slid down, her tight butt sliding against my hardness. The book ended up being Maupassant, also in French. I laughed and showed her why. We sat together and talked French. She went to school in Switzerland and fell in love with the Alps and skiing. I asked her how she kept in shape during the summer, and she said bicycling. She hated the ski hills upstate and hoped to go to school in Colorado, but was taking a year off to enjoy life while she could and ponder her future. I asked if she went to Paris and she loved the shopping. I asked if she went to galleries and she said she loved reading short stories and poetry. Poetry brought the princess to mind, and the princess brought my sister. I invited her outside and we strolled with her arm hooked around mine. I heard my sister's voice at the edge of the huge garden where she and the princess hid. I led the skier quietly and caught them kissing.

"I'm sorry," said the skier.

The princess and I chuckled. "That's okay. We don't belong anyway," said the princess. "Therefore we're allowed anything."

"Zut," complained my sister in French. "It was just getting good."

"You speak French too," said the excited skier in French.

"I am French," said my sister with cute pride. Finding a more respectable stone bench in the garden we conversed in French. The princess had improved but still struggled. Not being especially interested in the skier's life, we talked about ours. The skier enjoyed a memorized poem recited by the author, the princess. She wanted one from me and I recited my old football poem, growing more childish every year. Then it got more intimate. The skier asked if the girls were lesbians. "Mostly," said my sister.

"I had a friend in Switzerland. I miss her, but Daddy would be livid," said the skier.

"You've had boys too then?" asked the princess.

"Of course," said the skier.

"Anybody as cute and charming as him?"

The skier blushed. When she recovered, she looked sly. "I know what you do," she said to me.

"What do you mean?' I asked.

"I saw that tall lady bringing in women. One was my mother."

"Who is your mother?" I asked. It was the blonde beauty. I explained the old flapper and the blonde beauty reuniting.

"But she sat with you for nearly an hour. Then she came back. Her and your friend giggled and my mom blushed."

"Sorry," I said.

"So you admit it."

"I won't see her," I said.

"Didn't you find her attractive?"

"She's one of the most beautiful women I've ever met," I said.

"She and my father are different. I think he still loves her. I even think they still do it. But they rarely talk anymore. My father tells about how he swept her off her feet, but I think it took every ounce of his charm to do it. He can't play the game like she can."

"What game?"

"The game of wit. I guess I'm like my father in that as well as in looks."

"You're a lovely woman," I said.

"At least my body's good," she said. I nodded. She winked. "But I think she intimidates him. I know he sleeps around. I've seen him with women when he visited me in Switzerland. He tried disguising it. I don't know about my mom. Her friends are queers mostly. She enjoys their conversation."

"I know. I was trained by a few in catty conversations."

"You're not though, are you?"

"No."

"Could I have you for a night?" she said, whispering in my ear. "I'll pay. I want you to charm my pants off."

"Why would you want to?" I asked. "You could have any boy. They teach charm in your class of society."

"They're bores like me," she said. "Think of me as a screening process. If I approve, you can have Mom."

"Wouldn't she mind?"

"She wouldn't know."

I gave her my phone number and told her to think about it. She lured me into the private spot the princess and my sister had found and kissed me fully and for several minutes, stroking my penis and bringing my hand across her breasts, belly and between her legs. She felt lively. "Don't you prefer young and healthy?" she asked at the end, leaning her head against my shoulder, catching her breath.

"I have that," I said.

"Them?" she asked.

"And my girlfriend," I said.

Handing me her card, she said, "You think about it," nipping my ear and kissing my cheek. She walked off with a last wink when she caught me watching her sleek flanks.

I came out of hiding shaking my head. "They don't have no in their vocabulary when they want something," said my sister.

"I guess not," I said.

We went searching for the old flapper, ready to head home, stopping for more fish eggs. My sister grabbed an unopened bottle of champagne; a magnum of Dom Pergnon costing one of the barons' working stiffs a month's salary. The height equaled her torso. She and the princess headed to the Rolls to wait and to set the cold heavy bottle down.

The old flapper and the beautiful blonde sat in my spot in the library still enjoying their reunion. I informed the flapper our desire to leave. She agreed. I asked if she could go ahead. They hugged and promised to call.

"Your daughter propositioned me," I told the beauty.

"Are you interested?" she asked, looking at me carefully.

"Did our friend tell you my business?" I figured she did, but had to make sure.

"Yes."

"Well, she wants to hire me," I said.

"What did you say?"

"I gave her my number and asked her to think about it."

"Would you like to?"

"She's lovely and in wonderful shape, but to tell you the truth, I'd much rather be with you."

"I'd prefer that, too."

"She insists she is the gatekeeper to you. If she approves, we can date. Isn't that strange?"

"She's her father's daughter from the beginning, but especially since we sent her to boarding school in Europe. He traveled there to see her often and maybe to get away from me. We've managed to sustain some of our physical desire, but it's rare when we speak more than a sentence to each other. I've heard both conversation and sex go out the window after a couple years of marriage, especially after 20 years." I nodded. "At least we have sex. But conversation didn't last long. My daughter saw that early on. At parties I would be surrounded by interesting young men, none of whom I desired physically, nor did they desire me. My husband insisted I sit by him and my daughter while in the company of his or her friends. I felt bored and escaped as soon as possible. I didn't mean to ostracize them, but they held me back from my fun and I played proper wife and mother at home enough, though of course without many words exchanged. He resents my intellectual fun, and she does too. The purpose of her proposition I think stems from revenge. She might desire you. You are an attractive young man to say the least. But she's practical and proper like her father. I doubt she's a virgin, but would be surprised if she had many lovers. I'm certain those she chose carefully, young men of her class. Like her father, desire rarely if ever overwhelms. I think falling in love with me constituted his first and last moment of emotional weakness, though it continues. I love him too. If she has any intention of going through with her date with you, it's to prevent me from seeing you. She figures you'd disgust me if you succumbed to her."

"Would you?"

"I don't know. I probably should. I think so."

"It's like the elephant in the corner," I said.

"The image is cast," she agreed. "Do you promise not to see her?"

"I promise."

"Call me in a few days. Sitting beside you and chatting and enjoying your presence tempts me too much to decide."

"Would you like my number?" I asked.

"No, I'll let you be the gentleman." I nodded. We held hands briefly; long enough to feel a spark. "You better go," she said. I left.

Though elated by the evening, the old flapper decided not to stay in Barrytown. Tired and drunk, she thought it best to head home. However, when the girls got out, she held me back and knocked on the glass panel between us and the chauffeur and asked him to take a smoke. Once alone, she unzipped my fly and extracted my penis. I opened her dress and pulled it up, removing her panties. Caressing her breasts and vulva while she brought me to a respectable erection, I climbed down between her thighs and tongued her until she demanded to be fucked. As I rose to sit, she undid my shirt and threaded her arms through the opening to hold my naked torso when she straddled me and slowly descended until we joined. My hands held her butt, helping her lift up and fall while I tongued and roughed her nipples with my teeth. She pulled my head up to kiss passionately and rode us to an orgasm, followed by another when I placed her on her back across the seat and fucked her hard, bringing forth my own seconds before hers which I coaxed after pausing deep inside her to ejaculate by stroking hard before I went soft and vigorously rubbing her clit. We exchanged hot kisses as we restored order to our clothing. She told me she loved me. I told her I knew. I asked her to kiss our daughter when she got home. She promised she would. We would see each other in less than three days which made the departure easier.

Having filled the refrigerator with the magnum, the princess and my sister had gone upstairs. I heard their moans. Stripping naked, I showered briefly and went to the smaller bedroom, slipped into the covers and slept.

Waking to the cute visage of my naked sister hovering over me, her smile as large as I'd seen, she winked and resumed her blow job I had been dreaming, then covered my penis and lowered herself. I turned her on her back and we fucked slowly, gazing happily into each other's eyes. When she grabbed her breast, I grabbed the other and started pumping quick and deep. Her other hand worked her clit. We kissed open mouthed, letting moans out until she froze and shivered and I spent. "Thanks little brother. I needed your hard cock to complete a wonderful night," she explained, kissing my nose and sneaking out from under me. Still half hard, we chuckled at the quiet pop it made when departing her tight confines. I heard her footsteps bounding up the stairs and walking to the bathroom where I noticed the shower pouring and realized it had been background noise during our quick fuck.