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“Was that the night I met your family for the first time?” asked Harry, scratching his chin thoughtfully with his fingers.
“Don’t play dumb with me, Harry. You know very well that’s what I meant,” shot back an angered Angelina. “It was just a couple weeks after our wonderful romantic time together over Christmas break. After 18 months of slinking around, I finally felt like we were making strides to being a real couple, when you agreed to come for dinner with my family.”
“Angelina, we don’t have to relive this memory again, do we? I’ve apologized a hundred times already.”
“I think it’s worth revisiting, because it shows just how thoughtless you were and ultimately how little you cared about me and my feelings. And it’s a shame, too, because the night held such promise.”
(Flashback to January 6, 1979)
“Wow, do you look hot and sexy!” said a stunned Harry, when his lover greeted him at the front door of her house at 5:15 p.m. on a cold and dark New Jersey night, bedecked in a tight black sweater, plaid knee-length skirt and her trademark black leather, knee-high, high-heeled boots.
“You don’t look so bad yourself,” said Angelina, giving Harry a quick kiss on the lips, before straightening the necktie on her man’s collared shirt with the long, elegant burgundy red nail-polished fingers of her hands, and then moving on to brush some lint off his suit jacket lapels.
“What time do we have to be there?”
Angelina had by now moved over to the mirror in her entryway to finish making up her face.
“5:30,” she said, through an open, stiff mouth whose lips were being colored by a tube of crimson gloss.
“Good,” Harry said, wrapping both arms around the back of her waist. “That gives us just enough time to make love.”
Angelina turned around and looked at her lover in disbelief.
“Make love?!” she said. “Are you kidding me?”
“I just need a few minutes,” he said in all seriousness. “Then, I’ll be able to relax and enjoy the night.”
“C’mon, Angelina. Think of my needs. It’ll be torture sitting through a couple hours with you dressed like that. I’ve never had to do this before.”
“Then it’ll be good practice. I suspect after tonight there’ll be plenty of times that we’ll be out in public, where you’ll just have to learn to control your animal urges.”
“But it’s so hard,” he said, again enveloping his arms around her taut waist, and bringing their bodies together.
“I can tell,” said Angelina, feeling Harry’s swollen penis against her camel toe. “But I spent all day at the beauty parlor getting ready. Having sex right now would mess my hair up.”
“It’s not your hair I want to mess up.”
“No, Harry. We’ll make love after dinner. I promise. You’ve got it coming. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so close to you, as I do now.”
“Me, too. If meeting your family means that much to you, then I’m glad to do it.”
“It does, my darling.”
The two nuzzled close again, then moved their faces together for an open-mouthed kiss. Harry proceeded to move his hands from Angelina’s waist to her tight butt cheeks and give them a gentle squeeze.
“What are we doing?” asked Angelina, breaking loose from their hot embrace.
“What do you think? Harry asked in response, with his mitts still on his lover’s ass.
“We’ve got to stop now, or I won’t trust myself. We’ll find ourselves in bed, miss the dinner and the whole point of this evening will be lost.”
“Oh, alright,” said Harry, disappointed that his present stiffy would go to waste.
Angelina broke loose from her boyfriend’s embrace and walked to the closet.
“Help me on with this, will you please?” she asked, handing him her faux fur.
The diminutive middle school principal held up the librarian’s coat, as she slid her arms into the sleeves, then pulled on her black leather gloves and led him out the front door for the short walk to her sister’s house next door.
“Elaine, I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Harry,” introduced Angelina, after her older sister by two years swung open the door to her house.
“Nice to finally meet you,” Elaine said, shaking Harry’s hand. “Please, come in out of the cold.”
Harry and Angelina stepped onto the mat, as Elaine shut the door behind them, and the rest of the family moved in, as if drawn to the entranceway by a magnet. Angelina took over the introductions from there.
“Harry, this is my brother-in-law, Rocco,” she said.
“Hey, how are ya?” greeted the unshaven, middle-aged man with a salute of his rolled up newspaper, suspenders straining to hold up the trousers that covered an extended and ample belly.
“And this is my innocent little nephew, Anthony. Isn’t he just adorable?”
“C’mon, Aunt Ang,” said the embarrassed boy. “I’m almost 14. I’m not so adorable and innocent anymore. I know the score.”
Angelina reached over to the teen – almost a full inch taller than her 5’4″ height – and tenderly clapped his red cheeks with her black-leather gloved hands.
“Of course you do, my sweetie. rus escort Anthony’s at the delightfully awkward adolescent stage around women,” his dismissive and condescending aunt continued. “He doesn’t believe that he’s the handsomest man in my life.”
“Anthony, take your aunt and her guest’s coats,” Elaine commanded.
The couple turned over their winter wear to the teen, who carried them to his parents’ bedroom.
“Dinner’s running a bit late,” the house chef continued. “Why don’t we have a drink in the living room, while we wait? It’ll be just us tonight. Mama and Lisa are at friends’ houses.”
“Yeah, what’s ya all want?” Rocco asked, as Angelina and Harry settled onto the small, beige sofa with the plastic covering.
“Brandy Alexander, please,” Angelina responded.
“Uhhh…we’re out of brandy,” Rocco answered.
“Then, a Manhattan would be divine.”
“Yeah, we’re outta Manhattans, too.”
“Oh, well, then surprise me, darling.”
“Surprise me, too,” Harry said.
Rocco looked to the ceiling, rolled his eyes at his pompous sister-in-law, then disappeared into the kitchen.
“Rocco, while you’re in there, can you check on the sauce, please?” yelled his wife, before sitting in the “Edith Bunker” chair next to her husband’s old , brown Barcalounger, across the room from Angelina and Harry.
“So, Angelina tells me you’re the principal at her school,” she said to Harry, as Anthony re-entered the room and promptly plopped loudly onto his father’s faded-leather recliner.
“That’s right,” Harry said. “I’ve been the principal there for 25 years.”
“You’re old!” Anthony blurted out to his aunt’s date. “How can you be Aunt Ang’s boyfriend? You’re more like a grandpa friend.”
“Anthony!” his mother snapped at him. “That’s no way to treat a guest. Apologize to Mr. Seymour.”
“It’s okay,” reassured the older gentleman. “Yes, Anthony, I’m a bit older than your aunt, but we have a lot in common and great chemistry together, so age doesn’t really matter to us.”
“Chemistry together?!” responded a disgusted Anthony. “I think I know what that means. Yuck.”
“Anthony,” his aunt chimed in, “I don’t care how old Harry is. I’m just glad we found each other.”
Angelina placed her left hand on her boyfriend’s right knee, looked lovingly into his face and then leaned in to initiate a quick kiss on the lips.
“Plus,” she continued with a wink, after the two finished kissing, “he acts very young.”
“Oh, jeez,” said the embarrassed teen. “Okay, I get it. You two got the hots for each other. Enough already.”
Angelina smiled knowingly and with a raised eyebrow, reached down to the floor to retrieve her pocketbook. Opening the ultra-slim handbag, she undid her gold cigarette case, withdrew a Virginia Slim, slipped the case back inside and brought back up a long black holder. As the sultry woman prepared her cigarette holder and crossed her high heeled, black booted right leg over her left knee, Harry dug in his pocket for his lighter. By the time Angelina had turned to her date to accept a light and placed the mouthpiece between her full, red lips, Harry had flicked the lighter, cupped it with his left hand and offered to her. Angelina guided the cigarette end to the flame, patiently took two puffs from the black shaft, then inhaled and slowly slid the holder from her lips. With smoke curling from the mouthpiece, she arched her neck and politely, but oh so sexily exhaled a long gray cone of smoke to the ceiling and away from the others.
“Hey, what’s that on your finger?” Anthony asked, pointing an index finger to Harry’s left hand that was still cupping the lighter.
All eyes suddenly focused on the old man’s hand.
“Isn’t that a wedding ring?” Anthony asked, of the gold band adorning Harry’s ring finger. “It IS a wedding ring! You’re MARRIED?! HAHAHAHA!”
Angelina, the last wisps of smoke flowing from her open mouth, gazed in surprise and horror at her boyfriend’s hand. Seconds later, the widened, beautiful brown eyes behind her oversized Lynda Carter/Diana Prince-style eyeglasses began to rapidly flutter.
“OH…” Angelina finally exclaimed, as her eyes closed and she collapsed backward onto the headrest of the sofa in a dead faint.
“Holy, crap!” Anthony yelled, with wide-eyed wonder.
The faint had uncrossed Angelina’s booted legs, forcing them open and leaving the passed out woman sprawled about in a most unladylike posture.
From their unobstructed vantage point, Anthony and Elaine’s eyes were immediately drawn up Angelina’s skirt, straight to her skimpy, laced red thong that Harry intended to sink his dentures into later that night; an appetizer, before he munched with hearty gusto on the main course: his mistress’ warm pussy.
For the entirety of his short life, Anthony had viewed his aunt through the benign prism of older-female relative. An attractive woman, but one whose keen eye for fashion never veered from conservative and tasteful. Now, it was if he had discovered a completely different side to her. sıhhiye escort He knew she led an active (to say the least) dating life, but until now, had no idea what a randy sex life she apparently enjoyed. Never mind that the woman lying unconscious before him was his aunt, at that moment, all Anthony’s newly-awakened libido cared about as he fixated on the red thong covering her neatly trimmed bush, was the horny way she suddenly made him feel.
Meanwhile, Elaine popped out of her chair and rushed to her blacked-out sister.
“Angelina, wake up!” Elaine beseeched, lightly clapping the fainted woman’s cheeks with her hands. “Oh, this is terrible. We need to get her comfortable. Anthony, go get your father and tell him to come quick. Tell him Angelina fainted and he needs to carry her into the guest bedroom.”
“Huh?” asked the horny teen, still eyeing lustily up his aunt’s skirt.
“What’s wrong with you? Fetch your father.”
“Yeah, just a sec.”
Finally noticing what her pubescent son was staring at, Elaine snapped her unconscious sister’s knees together with her hands, thereby, stopping the peep show.
“I’ll take her into the bedroom,” Anthony eagerly volunteered.
“NO, definitely not!” Elaine shot back. “Now put your eyes back in your head and go get your father!”
“I got her,” Harry interrupted, scooping his fainted girlfriend up in his arms, rising from the couch and pausing to curl her left arm, fingers still holding her long black cigarette holder with the freshly-lit Virginia Slim, around his neck. “Which way’s the bedroom?”
“Through here,” Elaine said, leading the way out of the den to the first-floor spare bedroom.
Rocco burst through the swinging kitchen door, carrying a cheap, plastic tray loaded with a six pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer.
“Passed out already?!” joked the host, seeing his passed out sister-in-law, chin collapsed into her neck and the left side of her black-haired head resting comfortably on her lover’s right suit jacket lapel. “Usually, Ang doesn’t get like this until she’s had a couple. What’d ya have a pop or two before you came over?”
“Not funny, Rocco,” said his irritated wife, placing her hand on her sister’s shoulder. “Angelina just fainted. We’re taking her into the spare bedroom to lie down.”
Without waiting for a comeback from her husband, Elaine continued to the bedroom, Harry and the fallen Angelina trailing two steps behind.
“Lay her down here,” Elaine instructed, turning into the small guest bedroom, flipping on the overhead light switch by the door and pointing to the queen-sized bed to the left of the entrance.
Harry did as he was told, placing his unconscious lover down gently on her back in the middle of the bed.
“She’s really out,” a concerned Elaine continued, now sitting on the bed and brushing a stray strand of dark hair that had fallen from the top of her sister’s head onto her blank face. “If Angelina is still out in an hour or two, I guess she’ll probably sleep through the night. You two can spend the night here then. Unless, of course, your wife is expecting you home tonight.”
Harry let out a small, self-conscious laugh, then reached down to his lover’s side and gently removed the smoldering cigarette holder from between the index and middle fingers of her left hand and gave her a delicate and loving kiss on the cheek. Casting his eyes to the floor in embarrassment to avoid Elaine’s baleful look, he skulked out of the room, before the woman turned out the bedroom light and shut the door behind her.
Unfortunately for Harry, friendly faces were in short supply in the living room, too. While he and Elaine were caring for Angelina, Anthony filled his father in on what the man had missed when he was in the kitchen. The angry looks from the burly Rocco, while the foursome watched TV in silence, almost made Harry excuse himself from the house. Only Angelina’s inevitable negative reaction, upon reviving and finding her lover gone, kept him glued to the couch’s plastic seat cushion.
Over the next 25 minutes, Elaine periodically left the room to check on her unconscious sister. Finally, on the fifth try, with the help of a wringed-out wet washcloth draped across her forehead, Angelina began to stir.
“Where am I?” asked the recovering woman, eyes focusing on the gray bedroom ceiling. “What happened?”
“You’re in our guest bedroom,” Elaine answered from her sister’s bedside. “You fainted when Anthony noticed Harry’s wedding ring.”
“Oh, God. That’s right.”
“Now, I know he’s not married to you. Care to explain, Angelina?”
“Please, I’m not in the mood for third-degree questions or a lecture,” Angelina moaned, removing the cloth from her head, then rolling over to her left side, away from her sister.
Elaine promptly took hold of Angelina’s right shoulder and turned her back over.
“You’re not leaving until you tell me the whole story behind this affair,” Elaine said firmly. “How did you come to be involved with a married man? I’m glad mama was sincan escort out visiting friends tonight. She’d have had a stroke were she here and found out you’ve been fucking a married man.”
“Well, Harry’s not really married,” Angelina answered. “I mean, he is, but it’s an empty marriage. He and his wife have been having troubles for a long time.”
“Were you the homewrecker?”
“No, I wasn’t the cause. Honest. “They had troubles long before we got together. And Harry’s going to leave her – he promised. The timing just hasn’t been right yet.”
“Hmmm…I just don’t like it, Angelina. Sounds to me like he’s using you for sex.”
“Elaine, don’t judge me. You have a husband and a family, I don’t. Harry may be my last shot at love and happiness. He treats me like his wife, not his mistress. He’s such a gentleman. Did you see the way he lit my cigarette holder? Without me even having to ask? He does that for me all the time. Plus, he opens doors for me, spoils me with expensive gifts and jewelry. Harry really knows how to treat a woman.
“I don’t like that he’s still married, but with our visit to Studio 54 last week – the first time we’ve been out in public together as a couple – and his willingness to meet my family tonight, I feel like our relationship is about to turn the corner. I really do. I love him and he loves me. I’ve no doubt we’ll be married eventually.”
“So, you’re not dating any other men?”
“What does that mean?”
“I’ve had a few harmless flings with other men since Harry and I have been together, but that’s it.”
“But you said you love him.”
“Oh, I do. But until he leaves his wife, I’m not about to turn down a date.”
“OK, well, I just hope you know what you’re doing. Are you feeling okay, or do you and Harry want to spend the night here?”
“I’m alright, but I’m really not up for dinner now. I think we’ll just go home.”
“I understand. Probably a good idea. Rocco looks like he wants to separate Harry’s head from his shoulders.”
Elaine helped Angelina off the bed and led her out to the living room.
“Angelina,” Harry said, rising from his seat on the couch and rushing over to his girlfriend.
“Anthony, could you get our coats please?” Angelina asked, ignoring her lover and proceeding directly to the front door.
“You don’t want to stay for dinner?” he asked.
Angelina looked at Harry incredulously, wondering how he could possibly think about food, much less be so oblivious to the changing mood of the room.
Thirty seconds later, Anthony returned and handed the couple their coats.
“Thank you,” Angelina said, kissing Elaine on the cheek. “I’ll call you later.”
Angelina and Harry turned to leave.
“Aunt Ang, don’t I get a kiss goodbye?” Anthony asked, looking longingly at his newfound crush.
“Oh…ah…sure,” Angelina said wearily and with mild bewilderment, as she planted a soft kiss on her nephew’s cheek, the smooch leaving behind a lipstick imprint in the shape of her pucker.
“What time should I come over tomorrow?” he asked, a woody from the kiss forming in his Levis blue jeans. “You were going to help me with my English paper, remember?”
“That’s right, the paper. How about 3:00?”
“Great! I can’t wait!”
End of flashback
“Of all the insensitive and thoughtless things. How could you, Harry?” Angelina asked. “That was the most embarrassing night of my life – and one of the oddest. After you left, Anthony came over unexpectedly, reeking like he’d bathed in Old Spice, and asked if he could watch Saturday Night Live with me. He kept dropping pretzels, chips or whatever on the floor by my feet and then would drop on all fours to the ground to pick them up.”
“For the millionth time, I’m sorry, okay,” Harry apologized. “I just forgot to take the ring off before I left my house. I mean, I don’t think I’d ever taken it off before in 40 years of marriage.”
Angelina began to weep.
“Take me home, Harry,” she said through tears.
“But we haven’t even ordered dinner yet,” her ex protested.
“I’ll reimburse you for the bachelorette auction money, if the money means that much to you. I can’t go through with this date.”
Angelina rose from the table. Harry followed. As the pair approached the restaurant exit, their path was intersected by Enrique, the maître d.
“Ms. Lione, caio. I was just on my way to your table to personally take your order. Is everything alright? Why are you leaving so soon?” the man asked.
“Enrique, ciao,” Angelina responded, trying to regain her composure. “I’ve…I’ve suddenly come down with a splitting headache.”
“I’m sorry. Please, allow me to escort you to your car.”
“I can take it from here, thank you,” Harry interrupted, stepping between Enrique and Angelina.
“Ms. Lione, chi è quest’uomo? (Who is this man?), Enrique asked, switching to his native tongue.
“Lui è il mio ex ragazzo,” (He’s my ex boyfriend), Angelina answered wearily in Italian, sensing with dread that Enrique was about to make a scene.
“Ma non capisco. L’ultima volta che eri qui con un ragazzo, ora sei con un vecchio. Mio caro, mi stai spezzando il cuore.” (But I don’t understand. The last time you were here with a boy, now you’re with an old man. My dear, you’re breaking my heart.)
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