Chapter 27

Annie Thatcher is a five foot seven inch, dark haired, dynamo. She reminds me of Anne Hathaway with her full lips and handful size breasts. She'd seen me naked before and she was happy to return the favor. Before I could close the door, she had her clothes off, and was in my arms before I could even pull my t-shirt off. She kissed me hard and was like a woman possessed.

After breaking the kiss, she changed course again and getting me naked was her new goal. Since she wasn't tall enough to pull my shirt off, she went for my belt. My pants and boxers were both down around my ankles in no time. She stood back while I kicked off my shoes and then helped with my socks before removing my pants. It appeared that she seemed relieved that she'd finished another task, and then she moved in to focus on my cock.

Before opening her mouth to accept the head of my cock, she grabbed my erection and stroked it a few times to get comfortable with the weight and size. I felt her tongue swirl around the tip and then a few test bobs with her head to get used to the depth. I was pleased to find that she was a real good cocksucker, with a nice suction as her flattened tongue slid along the bottom side of my shaft. Throughout the blowjob, she showed good technique and was totally in control of the situation. As she picked up the pace, she never let go of my cock with her right hand. She continued to stoke me as she bobbed up and down. It wasn't long before I gave her a warning, but she didn't stop until my entire load was safely in her belly.

It was an excellent blowjob and after all, of the build-up, it was only fair that I gave her my best effort. I moved her to the bed and started as I had with others. I tested and tried different things, as I mapped out what she did and didn't like. It took me a while to finish the survey, and I had to do some things more than once to make sure. By the time I was confident in my assessment, she was on the ragged edge. As she was moving her body and using her hands to direct me to where she wanted or needed me to go, it was evident that she wanted her orgasm, and that she was begging me to help her get there.

When I decided that the time was right, I moved my tongue, fingers and lips in symphony to bring her to the crescendo she'd desired. Her body came off the bed as her orgasm took over. I kept at it and when she came off the peak, I let her come down for a bit before taking her back to the top repeatedly. Four mind-blowing orgasms were all she could take before pushing me away. After the last orgasm, she curled into the fetal position and I went to wash my face and get her a drink.

She was happy for the water and smiled, as she got up on her elbow and took the glass from me. Her breasts were full and you could see the sheen of light sweat from her body reacting the way it did. I took the glass from her and set it aside. Next, I slid in to lie alongside her and kissed her face as my hand found her breast. As I rolled her nipple between my fingers, I got her ready for one last round. Not so surprising, after the blowjob, I had regained my erection, I took it in my hand and slid inside her. Now that we had both lost the edge we had earlier, we took our time. It took about fifteen minutes of slow, steady strokes before I gave in to the need and sent my cum deep in her. She smiled up at me and said, "That was worth waiting for."

From that day forward, we were much more relaxed around the house. We had sex less often than I'd have thought, but we were all working hard. I'd guess that we were averaging twice a week for each of them.

When I left the house early on Saturday, it was dark, but I had done the same thing the day before and was comfortable with the surroundings. I'd spent Friday morning, tracking the sunrise on the nation's capital. I watched the shadows and light transform the view of the monuments as the sun climbed higher and higher. In addition, I mapped out some photos and it would take a few sessions to achieve the photos that I had planned.

If I stood on one side of the Washington Monument, the sun backlit the pinnacle and as sun rose in the morning, you could actually see the monument bisecting it. From the other side with the sun at my back it casted a soft glow as the monument woke up to face another day. I worked on the different monuments over the course of the next week and rejected many more photos than I accepted as worthy to hang on the wall.

The Viet Nam War Memorial was under construction and was still a couple of months away from completion. There were already people stopping by to pay their respects. It was moving to see comrades and family stop by. Both had the feeling of loss and I felt for all the families and friends that came to say their goodbyes. I got some good photos, but for some unknown reason, I never shared them or hung them on my wall.

It was late August when I slipped out on a Thursday morning and made my way to the Big Apple; Beth had me booked at the Plaza for my stay. When I arrived, the first thing I needed to do was have my tuxedo fitted, as I had taken Beth's advice to rent one rather than alter mine. I wasn't the best man, just another groomsman in the wedding line. I was at the wedding more to offer support to April, rather than Angus; April didn't want to see me in a dress and I thought that I'd look out-of-place on her side in my tux.

I didn't have anywhere to go before the fitting, so I made my way to the art district. I was recommended the name of a buyer in the art world from two separate art museum curators, one in Washington and one in Orlando; I found his office around the corner from Christie's and Rockefeller Plaza.

Wolfgang Dieter was in his fifties and dressed like a fashion editor. He had on the entire outfit including the vest, tie and everything else; he was style and class and a sense of refinement in every move. As I was shown into his office, he displayed a very friendly attitude towards me, sweeping me into a lounge chair in front of his desk. He asked what he could do for me and I said, "Mr. Dieter, I'd like to purchase some artwork."

"Mr. Britton, I hope that you don't mind my asking, but you seem somewhat young for collecting the type of art that I deal in. What did you have in mind?"

"Please call me Britt." I replied, "I'm looking to put together an extensive collection of art for my home in Washington, DC, and as an investment. I'd be interested in acquiring a couple of Warhol's and maybe a Picasso etching; I don't think I have enough for a painting without spending my entire budget. I think my goal is just to build a collection that will make me proud to have hung on my wall and to enjoy looking at. The ones I mentioned were more for the investment; maybe some impressionists, so I can make it a little on the softer side."

"What's your budget for this collection?" he enquired.

"I haven't come up with a fixed number. What do you think that it would cost to do what I was talking about?"

"Britt, I think that the type of art you're talking about will do well in the coming years. I know that some of the Picasso's are in the millions; I believe that there are a few pieces out there in the high six figures. Warhol's works are in the five hundred thousand dollar range for most of his better work, and you can find signed Picasso etchings for one hundred to two-fifty. I'd think that we could get you twenty-five very collectable pieces for around ten million, or around four hundred thousand on average, per piece. Today, I'm aware of one that is going for two million, which should really have a price of five million. Is that within the ballpark you had in mind to spend?"

"Yes and no. How do I pay you for your purchases? I want you working for me to get the best artwork at the lowest prices. If you're working by commission then you'd do better with a higher price or poorer quality."

"I typically charge a commission to the seller," Wolfgang responded.

"Do you mind if I ask what you charge?"

"Ten percent is standard, but it's negotiable based on the size of the contract."

"I have a proposition for you," I said.

"I'm listening," he answered guardedly.

"Why don't we put together a contract that says that I'll give you one hundred thousand dollars to put in your pocket? Then you'll have ten million to spend on art. If you get ten percent from the seller, it will go back into the pot to buy more pieces. If you're a little over or under the budget, we can take care of it. In return, you'll have a ten percent interest in the collection. If I sell a piece, you'll receive ten percent of the sale. If you want out at any time, then I'll cut you a check for your share, or I can give you a painting based on the current appraisals."

"That's an interesting proposition; with the hundred thousand in my pocket I know that you aren't out just to use me and run. Can we get this put in writing?"

"Yes, I want the best art we can find; at the best price, for the best growth. If you do well, then you'll be paid well; if you don't, then you won't."

"If I need money is there a clause to cash out?"

"If you want out next week, next year, or in ten years then just let me know. I'll make the decision what I want to do to buy you out of the contract. I may write a check, sell a painting or give you a painting; we'll agree beforehand on a fair price."

"I can live with that. How do you want to pay for the art?"

"I'll set up an escrow account. When you find a piece, please have it sent here to New York; the art department at Christie's auction house will hold the piece while it's authenticated and insured. After they finish the authentication and I have it insured, then the escrow agent will release the funds from escrow to the seller minus your fee."

"That sounds like a careful way to buy art. To begin, I have three pieces in mind. When would you like to commence?"

"Mr. Dieter, consider yourself hired. I'll have the funds in escrow this afternoon. Do you have someone to write up the contract or would you like me to contact my attorney?"

"Please call me Wolfgang. I prefer a handshake, but in today's business world, I imagine that we should have it in writing."

"I prefer a handshake as well, but then who'd pay all the lawyers? Just have them write up something simple and we can sign it. I'm in town for a wedding, so I'll be busy over the next few days. I can stop by tomorrow morning, Sunday or I can stay an extra day until Monday."

"I'll call my brother-in-law and should have something drawn up this afternoon. All three pieces I'm considering are from the same collection and the owner is having financial difficulties; I think I can get a good price on all three. I'll have them delivered to Christie's, and if you want to stop by you can see them in the morning and we can sign the documents."

"I'll have the escrow account information and the check for your retainer with me when we meet."

"Britt, can we do fifty percent now and fifty when we're done, for the retainer? I usually receive payment from the seller when he receives payment for the paintings, so this is a little different."

"I'm fine with that," I said.

I called Fred White at the bank and asked him to set up an escrow account and to move some money from the trust checking account. He asked about what I was buying and then he said, "Britt, art is a crazy business, but if you have the right stuff it could be a good investment."

The wedding plans called for me to meet Angus and the rest of the groomsmen at three for the tux fittings. It was a busy day. The fitting was easy, but since there were six guys in the party to be fitted it took an hour. During the fittings, I took the time to meet the other groomsmen, and reacquaint myself with his dad who was also a groomsman. I thought that was nice, so that he wouldn't have to sit by himself.

The best man, Mark Dunlap, was his roommate from MIT. The other two were buddies from high school. Mark told me that, after the fitting, they were going to head down to Atlantic City for a bachelor party. Angus didn't want to go out, party and find himself hammered on his wedding day; they picked tonight for the party and he was taking the rest of the week off. Half of the guys wanted to go down to the Golden Nugget in Atlantic City, and the other half wanted to stay in the city and hit the strip clubs. Angus made the call, so we headed to Atlantic City. I asked when we were leaving and Mark told me that Angus' dad had rented a limo and the plan was to leave from here.

Angus asked where I was staying and when I told him, he asked, "We're ready to go. Do you need anything from your hotel?"

They were all in casual clothes, and I was dressed similarly. I checked my wallet and asked if we could stop by a bank on the way out. Angus said we could, and before I knew it we were on our way to Atlantic City. We pulled into the Stop and Go Truck Stop and I ran into the bank and took out more cash than I hoped to spend.

As I was walking out of the bank, Angus had the entire gang out of the limo, and he was pointing things out. He was showing them trucks and then said, "You know that April designed these truck stops as a project in one of her engineering classes."

I just smiled and soon we were back on the road. Angus continued telling them about the trucks and mentioned that I was a consultant for the trucking company. Scott Dalton, one of his friends from high school, asked what I knew about trucking and I told him, "Enough."

He said that he heard it was a good business to be in, and he was thinking about starting a trucking business himself. He had a trust worth about five million and he wanted to go into business. His first question was, "What advice would you give me about getting started?"

"Scott, I'm not trying to act like a smart ass," I cautioned, "but I'd advise you to stay away and find something else. If you want to get into trucking, I can get you a job. However, if you want to own a trucking business, you'll be able to buy them soon; in bankruptcy auctions left and right. Now is a bad time to get in."

"Why is that? They're still delivering merchandise. Look at all the trucks on the road."

"How many of the trucks look odd to you?" I asked with a small grin.

"More than half of them don't have a place in back to sleep?" he answered me hesitantly.

"Those are the trucks that Angus designed. Angus only designed them for one company. Many of the other types of trucks you can see going past, are owner operators that are working for the same company. So what does that tell you about the other companies in trucking right now?"

"Get out of Angus' way because he's taking over the world. I guess I should look at another type of business to start."

"Now isn't the time, but if you have money and are looking to start a business, I'd be happy to talk with you about where you may have better success."

He nodded, agreeing, "We can talk later."

We pulled into the Golden Nugget just before seven. It appeared that Mark was well off, and Scott and Joe, the friends from high school, were trust fund babies; everyone's expectations were to spend money and have some fun. Mark mentioned getting a room to do some private partying, and hiring some strippers. He was looking for donations, so I gave him a couple hundred bucks. Joe and Scott chipped in to the kitty and we made our way to the casino.

Angus spotted the roulette wheel and made a beeline for it, so we followed him. The table was empty, as was the rest of the casino on a Wednesday night. We each grabbed a stool and purchased chips. I dropped two grand and the dealer gave me a huge stack of low value chips; I asked if she had something larger and the pit boss asked if we'd like to go to the high roller's room. I liked being with the rest of our group of people, so I left the decision up to Angus. He wanted to stay out on the floor as well, so the Pit boss went and returned with some larger chips.

I wasn't about to start trying to cover the board repeatedly with chips; instead I seated myself at the end of the table, and played the outside. I played the reds or blacks, and then two of the three columns. The house pays each of these at two to one, so if I bet twenty-five and win, they'd pay me an extra fifty. If you subtract the twenty-five I lost on the other column, I net twenty-five. If you don't count the zeros on the wheel, you have a two-thirds chance of winning twenty-five on a fifty dollar bet and a one-third chance of losing the total fifty that you bet. In the short run you may get lucky, but it's really just a method to play longer or lose slower. You just have to pray that the zero never shows up on the wheel.

The other guys played the numbers, winning some and losing more, but having fun. When they decided to take a break, I was down five hundred, but was just there to support Angus, not to break the bank.

We were drinking at the roulette table, but they wanted to take a break in the bar before moving over to the blackjack table. We were in the bar when a couple of girls started to circle the gang and has a few drinks with us. Angus wanted to get back to the tables and try to win back some of his lost money, but Mark stayed behind to talk to the ladies for a while.

We found ourselves an empty blackjack table and started to play a few hands. I had learned some card counting techniques back in the day, or ahead in the future, depending on how you looked at it. I didn't want to stand out, so I focused on the guys I was playing with as well as my drink. I'd often just leave my winnings on the table to double my bet and pretend that I was focusing on the conversation more than the cards.

After they shuffled the deck the second time, I started to use the plus one, minus one technique to decide when the deck was in my favor. I didn't leave a winning bet out until it was in my favour, and then I'd leave it out every other hand or twice in a row. I'd still do it at random times when the deck was neutral just so I wasn't being obvious. I was still using the twenty-five dollar chips and when the others decided to take another break, I had won back my five hundred that I lost at roulette, and had a two hundred-dollar net win after tipping the dealer.

After another trip to the bar, Mark suggested that we go up to his suite and see what was available. We walked in to see a full bar, and three ladies from the bar downstairs we had taken a break at earlier. The guys got loud and cheered as we entered the room. We all got a fresh round of drinks and the girls started to dance for us. Since Angus was the soon-to-be groom, he received the most attention.

After the girls got naked, they danced for two more songs and then Mark told Angus to take his pick of them. Angus looked concerned when he looked at me; I just reached in my wallet and handed him a rubber. I pulled the girl he chose to me, and whispered in her ear to yell Angus' name when she came or faked her orgasm, whichever came first. She smiled and nodded back to me as Angus led her to one of the rooms.

One of the remaining two stepped forward and said, "Blow jobs are twenty and sex is fifty; who's first?"

Scott grabbed one girl and headed to the vacant bedroom. Joe, without much hesitation, unzipped and pulled a twenty out of his wallet. Mark and I gave him some space and sat at the bar. I asked if he had enough to cover everything, because I was up at the tables.

Mark turned to me and said, "I had a statistics teacher at MIT that taught game theory and what he discussed in class was similar to the card counting techniques you were using at the tables. I had the girls heading up here and saw the pit boss making a call after watching you for a bit, so I thought it was time for a break. I'm fine with the finances. Scott and Joe have no concept of money and I asked the pit boss to comp the room; we'll only have to cover the bar tab, and $300 for the dancing and Angus in the other room. We'll have plenty left over to tip the ladies and the limo driver."

"You saw that, huh? I've never done it before, but I had studied the theory of counting cards."

"You were good. I was actually counting myself, and then I saw you leaving your wins on the bidding spot more often; I wanted to reach out and double mine. I left mine alone though, so we didn't draw too much attention."

"I can give you the winnings if you're down. I prefer to play poker if I really want to win in the casino. Craps is the most fun to play as a group, but it's like roulette, you have to get out while you're ahead or over time it will suck you dry."

"I hear you," Mark replied. "Do you want to go next with the ladies?"

"I try to stay away from hookers, but if you made them any promises, then I can always use a blow job. The worst sex I ever had was with a hooker, I knew she didn't care. I guess that's my emotional side coming out."

"I can take them or leave them, but sometimes technique is better than love."

"I never said anything about love," I chuckled in response. "It's about the thoughts that you should have in your mind while you're there with me, instead of wondering about when the rent's due."

"I'll take the next bedroom that's open and you can have the bedroom or the couch after that."

"I can live with that," I said, fixing myself another drink.

Scott was out before Angus, but I heard the girl scream Angus' name shortly after Mark went in to the room Scott had left, for his turn. Joe had finished before Angus came back into the room with his girl, and Joe's girl asked if she could take care of me. I said she could.

She led me over to the couch, undid my pants, and put a rubber on me before she started to suck me off. I closed my eyes and thought about April. I know it was wrong, but if Angus can get some pussy, then I can dream of his wife while I get off.

I was sitting with my head back and my eyes closed when Angus came out and said, "Britt, you're such an asshole."

I was close, so I just held up my finger to make him wait. As I shot my load into the hooker's mouth, I stroked her hair and said, "Oh April that's perfect, I'm almost there ... yes, oh yes, here I cum!"

Angus wanted to punch me, but by then everyone was back in the room and laughing at the remarks. I tipped the girl I was with, and the three dancers left when nobody wanted seconds. Angus told the story about Shawna's apartment after his mom's funeral, and it was funny, but sad at the same time. I didn't mention my relationship with April at school, but Angus knew the details. I apologized to him as we took the elevator down to the casino.

On the way out of the elevator Mark suggested we play craps and Scott responded, "I don't know how to play craps."

"That didn't stop you with roulette or blackjack," Mark replied.

Everyone was still laughing at Scott as we found our way to the craps table. I used my normal betting pattern, but after I lost my first two grand I had to re-buy in. When they wanted to leave I went all in with my remaining chips and ended up losing five hundred on the last roll. When we finally got in the limo for the ride back to the city, I was down four grand at the tables and another five hundred in tips and room costs.

On the ride back we lost some of our steam and had some more drinks. Angus asked me not to say anything to April about the time we spent in the suite. I said, "Angus, you aren't married yet, so I won't say a word about anything that might have happened when you went in to talk to that girl from college about her math homework. What I will say, is that I care deeply for your fiancé. If that girl, or one of her friends, needs any help with their homework after Saturday, then you'd better have permission from April before you start your tutoring session."

"I understand. I have to say, Britt, that you're a man of conviction. I remember the first time we spoke about dating April, and you told me the same thing. I guess if you're consistent then you don't have to remember which lie you told last time or the time before."

"I try not to lie in the first place, but that's the point. Once you set up the rules, you must live by them. I think you and April will be happy together, but if you ever break up, you may have to get in line behind me if you want her back. She's a very special person, I love her very dearly and she's breaking my heart by marrying you. We all know it's the right thing for her, but don't think that I won't have regrets about it. So, how does this end? The result is that I end up happy for you and sad for my loss."

They dropped me at the hotel around two thirty and I took a shower before climbing in bed. I was up by nine and went for a long run in the park for exercise and to keep my head clear. I was out of my post-run shower by ten thirty and called over to see when Wolfgang wanted me to stop by his office again. He was in a very good mood and asked me to come by as soon as I could.

A few minutes later I was in a cab to Wolfgang Dieter's to sign the legal papers, and to see what my art expert had bought. Wolfgang had found an 1890 painting by Vincent van Gogh titled "Peasant Woman Against a Background of Wheat", a Warhol titled "200 One Dollar Bills" from 1962, and a Picasso etching titled "Le Repas Frugal" from 1904. He'd spent a million even for the Van Gogh and two hundred and fifty for the Warhol. He managed to get the Picasso for twenty grand.

"Wolfgang, if I pay you twenty five, can I have the Picasso? I'd like to give it as a gift for the wedding I'm attending tomorrow; I think it's a great etching of an ugly couple, for one of the most handsome couples I know."

"For you, Britt, I can do that. The other two pieces are the great buys, but I'd expect the Picasso to be a good investment as well."

I wrote him another check and I was a happy man, especially with finding an appropriate gift for Angus and April as a bonus to the deal. Wolfgang went ahead and crated the Picasso for me and after I left his place, I carried it back to the hotel and asked the concierge if there was a way to get it wrapped for a wedding. He said that he'd be happy to have it done. I was somewhat concerned about leaving it with him and he said he understood, and he'd send someone to my room in thirty minutes. I left to go to my room, and as I was leaving I tipped him and he thanked me.

I was just out of the shower and starting to get dressed for the rehearsal when the girl the concierge had arranged, arrived to wrap the present for me. She came into the room pushing a cart with all kinds of paper, ribbons and bows. Before starting her preparations, she un-crated the picture and glanced at the artwork inside picking out a silver paper from the cart. I watched her eyes as she studied the etching and could see her emotions change. Her first reaction was that of grossness due to the two characters, but all of a sudden the depth of the detail lightened her concern, and when she saw the Picasso signature she smiled. Going back and looking at the picture again, in light of whom the artist was her reaction became one of awe in what she held. I went through the same thoughts myself, as I usually do with most of the Picasso's that I view. She used cardboard to protect the etching and then did a great job making it look pretty. I tipped and thanked her for her work.

She said, "I hope they like it. I think it's a very nice gift."

I thanked her and let her out. After she'd left I made a quick decision and called April. I asked her if I could stop by, because I didn't want to leave the present lying around the church or reception hall. April said that if I took a cab over to her apartment right now, that I could ride with her to the rehearsal. I quickly finished dressing and was out the door of the hotel and in a cab. At April's the doorman let me in, and I took the elevator up to her place; it was stunning, and she was too.

I carried the wrapped etching in and presenting it to her I said, "April, I know that I promised you a toaster, but I let someone else get that for you. I found this and thought it would be the perfect gift. It is kind of precious, so I didn't want to leave it just sitting on a table somewhere, and I may not see you after the wedding. Since I know you'll be busy tomorrow, I wanted to drop it off to you today."

She accepted it and asked, "Can I open it, or should I wait for Angus?"

"Whatever you want; I'd like it if you opened it now, but if you want to wait then I'd understand as well."

"We have twenty minutes before the car is coming to get us, so I can open it now."

First, she took the wrapping off the gift and then removed the cardboard from the frame. She had the same reaction as the girl who wrapped it, but amplified. In the end, she was in my arms and crying into my shirt.

"Britt, is that a real Picasso?" she asked, looking up at me.

"When I saw how ugly they were, I thought of you and Angus, and had to get it for you," I grinned, giving her a squeeze.

"You're such a jerk!" she laughed, wiping at her eyes with the heel of her hands. "I don't want to take it because it's too much. After everything that you've given to me in emotional and financial support, friendship, love, fun and confidence; this picture is nothing compared to everything else. I promise I'll hang it somewhere that I'll see every day and I'll think of you. I'm so happy that I'm marrying Angus, but wish that I could be a Mormon and have two husbands; Angus would be the reliable safe husband and you'd be the wild one."