Trophy Wife's TrophybyISawYourMommy©
Wedding time. Not Dan's, of course, but that of Marc Chapman's sister, Belinda. Dan and Marc had gone to college together, and he had gotten to know the Chapman family well during the summer months. Though Dan and Marc did not know each other in high school, they did grow up in nearby towns; as such, they saw each other frequently when they were home from school.
The actual ceremony was to be held in a Catholic church in Barrington, where Marc and Belinda grew up, with the reception to follow at their parents' small estate, also in Barrington. Marc and Belinda's aunt, Barbara Harrington, had offered to host the rehearsal dinner at the nearby horse ranch she and her husband owned.
Dan was not part of the wedding party nor was he family, but his relationship with Marc and the rest of the Chapman family was such that he was invited to the rehearsal dinner. He and Marc drove out from Chicago early on the Friday afternoon before the wedding, trying to avoid the traffic on the Kennedy. While Marc attended the actual rehearsal at the church, Dan remained at Marc's parents' house, showering and getting ready for the rehearsal dinner.
Marc's parents dropped him of at their home after the rehearsal dinner, where he and Dan got in Dan's car and drove the few miles to the horse ranch. As they approached the ranch, white fences lined each side of the road. Stretching beyond the fences on each side were acres of lush green grass, horses dotting the landscape.
"Take a right up here," Marc directed. Dan turned onto a macadam driveway that, like the road before it, was bordered on both sides by white fences and rose gently from the road. They drove for a time under a canopy of trees that were rooted between the driveway and the fences.
"How far's the house?" Dan inquired.
"Just over this hill. You'll see it in a minute."
As soon as Dan crested the slight hill they were ascending, the Harrington's home came into view. 'Home' was somewhat of an understatement, though. It appeared closer to a manor, not quite a mansion, and probably approached 15,000 square feet. Gleaming white, the front of the house was actually the back of the house, while the back faced out across acres of horse country.
Dan also noted a number of outlying structures. Off to the left of the house were a large stables; several pick-up trucks and farm vehicles were parked neatly in front of it. Behind the stables was a fenced area, containing a dozen or so horses of various breeds.
To the right of the house was an Olympic-sized pool, a large, slate patio nestled between it and the manor. A hundred yards or so from the pool was a smaller structure that appeared to be a guest residence, or perhaps servants' quarters. Its size was difficult to discern at this distance and angle, but it was larger than most peoples' primary residences and was spread over two floors.
Just beyond the pool was a large tent, bustling with activity. The Harrington's, unsure of what the weather would be like, ensured their guests' comfort this evening by hiring a tent erection company to install the huge edifice in their backyard. Right now, caterers were busy setting up bars and ensuring that the tables were properly set.
"Quite a spread," Dan muttered.
"Yeah, nice place they have. We used to come out here and duck hunt, but that didn't go over very well with the neighbors. Also, not too many ducks," he laughed. "My Aunt Barbara had a bunch of three wheelers for a while that we'd take out when we were growing up, but they scared the horses and Uncle Tom didn't let us use them anymore."
"What a shame," Dan laughed, pulling up next to the Chapmans' car in front of a four-car garage. "All this land and you can't play."
"That didn't stop us. We just took the three wheelers over to my parents' house. No rules there," Marc replied, stepping from the car. Dan followed him into the house and out the other side. Marc's parents and a few family members (from both sides of the bridal couple) had already arrived, and were sipping cocktails on the large patio. The sun had begun to set, and it cast a warm glow over the patio and a reflection across the pristine surface of the pool.
Marc's dad introduced Dan to family members that had flown in for the wedding, and also to Tom Harrington, whom he had never met. Mr. Harrington appeared to be in his early- to mid-sixties, and was overall an imposing man; when they shook hands, Mr. Harrington's engulfed Dan's, gripping tightly. Close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair capped his six-foot-two frame, which resembled that of an aging linebacker.
A waiter in formal livery asked for their drink order as Dan and Marc took seats around the large table, listening as their elders spoke of politics and taxes, and argued (goodheartedly) between Republican and Democratic policies. Dan sat there listening dutifully, and took in the rolling meadow beyond the pool, and the activity within the tent. The caterers began rolling up the plastic sides of the tent in anticipation of guests arriving.
As one of the panels was rolled up, a striking woman in a pale yellow sundress strode from beneath the tent toward the patio. Dan put his glass to his lips as the woman approached the patio, her wavy, light brown hair blowing in the slight breeze, her large breasts bobbing rhythmically beneath the sundress. As she stepped onto the slate, the click-clack of her heels reached Dan's ears, and he looked down, taking in her long, lean legs that ended with sexy feet encased in a pair of sexy Manolo Blahnik open-toed heels, her red toenails gleaming in the setting sun.
"We're all set," the woman announced to the gathered crowd on the patio, her striking smile lighting up a beautifully sculptured face. Her green eyes, set below trimmed and arched eyebrows, sparkled with life. A thin elegant nose led down to her enticing mouth, encircled by full lips smeared with shiny crimson lip gloss. "It's such a gorgeous evening, I told the caterers to roll up the sides of the tent so we can all enjoy the weather."
"Good job, Barb," Tom Harrington said, rising from his chair. "Honey, I don't think you've our man Dan, before. Dan was fraternity brothers with Marc at USC." The Harringtons, like the Chapmans, were big USC supporters. As Dan set his drink on the wrought iron table and rose from his seat, Mr. Harrington continued. "Dan, this is my lovely wife, Barbara." Dan was somewhat taken aback that this lovely creature was Mr. Harrington's wife. She didn't look any older than forty-five and, if Dan had guessed Mr. Harrington's age correctly, that put she and her husband almost twenty years apart.
Before he could reflect further, Barbara Harrington took two graceful strides and was before him as he extended his hand. "Nonsense, our man Dan," she said, laughing. She embraced Dan in a friendly hug, her lustrous hair in his face, her delicious scent wafting through his nostrils as he inhaled. He could feel her soft, full breasts mold themselves to his chest.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Harrington," Dan said, stepping back.
"The feeling is mutual, Dan. If you will excuse me for a moment." Speaking to the crowd, she continued, "I'll be right back. I need to make sure the valets are ready for when the guests arrive." With that, the intoxicating Mrs. Harrington stepped from the patio and Dan watched her disappear through the extra-wide French doors that led into the manor. So as to avoid any impropriety, Dan tore his gaze from her slim bottom as it swayed from side-to-side, and rejoined the conversation.
Soon after, the guests began to arrive in earnest, and Dan and Marc mingled with the crowd during a cocktail hour held on the patio. Dan had met a number of Belinda's friends over the years, and spent time talking with them and their boyfriends, fiancés, and husbands. He was also introduced to late-arriving family members. On occasion, he would catch glimpses of Mrs. Harrington as she, too, mingled. Once, he spied her on the other side of the patio. A champagne glass in her right hand, she brushed a few stray hairs from her face with the other; a four-carat diamond on her left ring finger sparked in the fading light of day. She then brought the glass to her shiny red lips and swallowed some of the sweet liquid, her crimson fingertips lightly holding the glass. Dan looked away too soon to see Mrs. Harrington's gaze momentarily fall upon him.
As the sun passed over the horizon, a ringing of a chime called the guests into the dimly lit tent, where they found their assigned seats. Thankfully, Belinda was kind enough to seat Dan with Marc. He was afraid that he would have to sit with Belinda's friends. They were nice enough, but he couldn't imagine sitting at a table with them for a few hours, listening to all the talk of babies and weddings and such. How boring!
As they sat, Marc introduced Dan to the two or three family members at the table that he had not yet met. They sat back and engaged in the typical banter of family members brought together for such an occasion. Occasionally, Dan was brought into the conversation with questions about his career and how he knew the Chapmans.
At all other times, Dan listened attentively, laughing where appropriate. When the main entrée was served, causing a lull in the conversation, Dan cast his eyes around the tent and they fell on Mrs. Harrington. Sitting two tables over but facing in Dan's direction, he watched as she brought a piece of lobster tail to her luscious red lips, closing them around the tines of the fork. Dan groaned inwardly, and his cock twitched. He had not previously realized how tan Mrs. Harrington was, perhaps too awe-struck by her exquisite beauty to notice. She turned her head in response to something that was said to her, and Dan caught the glint from a large diamond stud mounted in one of her ears.
Dan turned to Marc. "So, what does your Uncle Tom do? This place, and this party . . . it's all pretty amazing."
"Actually, he doesn't do anything. He was a bond trader in the eighties, and made a killing. Now, he just travels and messes around in some small businesses." Marc stuffed a piece of asparagus in his mouth and chewed.
"Have he and your aunt been married a long time?"
"Uuhh, I can't really remember when they got married, actually. Probably fifteen years ago, I guess. I was still in junior high, so that's about right."
Marc leaned a little closer to Dan, so no one else could hear. "In case you couldn't tell, Aunt Barbara's a trophy wife. Don't get me wrong; she's a great lady and I love her, but she was around thirty or so when they got married, and I think Tom was almost fifty, if not over fifty. I guess he needed a looker on his arm."
Dan nodded as he ate his lobster tail. 'Well, he sure as hell succeeded,' he thought to himself as he once again looked through the gaps to see Mrs. Harrington. Dan's heart skipped a beat when she returned his look. Swallowing somehow elegantly, Mrs. Harrington flashed a wondrous smile at him, and gave a slight wave. Dan felt like he was blushing, but waved back.
Marc continued. "Neither of them spends much time here, usually only in the summer. They have a place in Aspen and another in Naples. Aunt Barbara usually spends the winter down there, and even parts of the summer."
When the dinner plates were cleared, but before desert was served, Mr. Harrington rose to say a few gracious words to the guests, and introduced Jack's dad, who gave a very touching toast to his son and future daughter-in-law. Midway through his speech, Dan looked towards Mrs. Harrington, and saw a long, manicured nail wipe a tear from her deeply tanned cheek. She again caught Dan staring at her, and sent a demure smile his way.
After Jack's father concluded his toast, the wait staff served desert. Dan watched as Mrs. Harrington rose and walked toward the back of the tent and toward the house. She passed by him on her way, and placed her long fingers on his shoulders as she edged between Dan's chair and the chair behind him. Dan closed his eyes and savored the touch and lingering scent of the alluring woman. As she continued between the tables, Dan turned to watch her go, and found her staring back at him, her shiny lips contorted in a sly smile. Inside, he shuddered.
Mrs. Harrington returned to the tent five or ten minutes later, as the wait staff was clearing the guests' desert plates. A small band behind a make-shift dance floor struck up a tune, and people began to dance. Dan and Marc made their way to the bar, and ordered a few drinks. A few songs in, Marc wandered off to talk to his grandmother, and Dan spotted some of Belinda's friends' husbands sitting at a table, talking. Apparently, the women were in conclave with Belinda. He pushed himself off the bar to make his way over to the table, but was intercepted by Mrs. Harrington.
"Care to join me on the dance floor, our man Dan?" she flirtatiously asked, a champagne glass gripped in one manicured hand. Without waiting for an answer, she extended her free hand in the hopes that Dan would take it. Not having much choice, and in any event not inclined to decline the offer, Dan led her to the dance floor, pausing to allow her to drop her champagne glass at a floor-side table.
Once on the dance floor, Mrs. Harrington moved into Dan, and he placed his hands in the appropriate places, his left hand in her right, and his right chastely on her left hip. Having been exposed as a child to charity events and black-tie balls, Dan moved the elegant Mrs. Harrington gracefully across the dance floor. Dan could feel the warmth of her radiate through the pale yellow fabric that covered her hip.
After they had established a rhythm, Dan looked down into her darkened face. "Fabulous party, Mrs. Harrington."
"Why thank you, our man Dan. We wouldn't have it any other way for our Belinda. She's the only niece, you know. Aside from her and me, all the Chapmans are men." Mrs. Harrington's eyes sparkled, exuding a confident flirtatiousness that was difficult to miss.
"Hmmph. I hadn't noticed." Dan continued to move Mrs. Harrington around the dance floor.
"Why do they call you 'our man Dan'?" she inquired. Her left hand, which had been resting lightly on Dan's shoulder, slipped a little to cover his shoulder blades and then the middle of his back. She pulled herself a little closer to Dan's body, her breasts touching the top of his stomach.
"I have no idea. The first time I ever heard it was this evening."
"It's a rather interesting sobriquet, don't you think?" she lilted. Dan could feel the fabric of her sundress rustling against the front of his pants and shirt.
"Not really. I think its part of the old school fraternity thing, that's all." Dan spun Mrs. Harrington in a tight circle, their hands and body parts again meeting where they ought to, except that Mrs. Harrington's crotch briefly bumped up against Dan's. Her bright green eyes closed at the contact, feeling his semi-erect cock press against her taut stomach. Dan took the opportunity to look further down her body from her face, and marveled at the tanned cleavage that presented itself from the loose-fitting neck of her sundress. "I get the impression that Mr. Harrington is one of those old-school types."
Mrs. Harrington's eyes slowly opened and she almost snorted at that, adding with some derision, "You don't say. You should be here in the fall during the college football season. It's all 'USC this' and 'Southern Cal that.' It gets a little monotonous."
"I'm sure. In any event, I think the 'our man Dan' thing comes from that."
"Well, as fitting as it might be, I think you're better suited to 'my boy Dan.' How does that strike you?" As these words tumbled from Mrs. Harrington's crimson lips, she again bumped her crotch and mid-section against Dan, though purposely this time. He felt his cock stiffen further, and he stared down into her teasing eyes.
Dan smiled back at her. "I haven't been called a boy in ages, Mrs. Harrington. But I suppose I could get used to you calling me your boy," he teased back.
The band was winding up the song, and Mrs. Harrington was quick to get in the last word. As their bodies parted, maintaining contact only through his left hand and her right, Dan saw her delectably shiny lips move, and then the sounds reached his ears. "Maybe 'my boy-toy' is more appropriate then." But with that, their hands parted and Mrs. Harrington sauntered from the dance floor, leaving Dan standing there, stupefied. He heard her heels crack across the wood dance floor, and watched her delightfully firm ass swing back and forth as she joined her husband at the bar.
Dan collected himself, and moved toward the other bar, where he found Marc talking to the husband of Belinda's maid-of-honor. Ordering another drink for himself, he joined the conversation. No surprise at this time of year, they were talking about the Cubs chances at a pennant victory. A few other men soon joined the group.
"Blah, blah, blah," a slightly inebriated Marc said. "It's the same old thing every year. 'The pitching staff looks good. The line-up is strong.' Only this year, they're without Sosa, which makes it worse than last year. All I can say is this: at the end of this season, we'll all be saying the same thing we say at the end of every season – 'maybe next year.'"
Dan added his own two-cents to the conversation, but is eyes drifted across the tent to Mrs. Harrington, now seated at a table with her husband and a few others. She was already looking at him. When their eyes met, Mrs. Harrington's eyebrows arched, she shot a furtive glance toward the bar closest to her, and rose from her chair, staring pointedly at Dan.
He took the hint, and excused himself from the conversation. He nonchalantly eased his way through the tables, taking a circuitous route to the bar on the other side of the tent, where Mrs. Harrington had just received another glass of champagne. Dan ordered a Ketel One and tonic, and as the bartender prepared it, Mrs. Harrington said to him, sotto voce, "So, have you been given a proper tour of the grounds yet?" her eyes turning to fall upon Dan coquettishly.
"I don't believe I have, Mrs. Harrington, though I was able to see much of the property as we drove in." The bartender returned with Dan's drink, and moved off to take another order.
"Still, you really should see everything up close. Mr. Harrington has done wonders with this property."
"I'm sure he has," Dan said moving away from the bar to let others in.
"Unfortunately, there is staff running all over the main house, so I can't really give you a tour of it. And one of my brothers and his family is staying in the guest house, and I wouldn't want to intrude on their privacy." Mrs. Harrington paused and brought the glass to her shiny lips, taking a dainty pull of the champagne. The dim lights in the ceiling of the tent caused a flash from the diamond on her finger as she did so. Dan's cock, which had deflated after his dance with this captivating woman, twitched inside his boxers. "I'll tell you what, though, the stables are impressive. I think we're boarding upwards of twenty-five horses right now, and they really are beautiful creatures."
"Well, I'd certainly like to see them, Mrs. Harrington. But aren't the stable hands around? I wouldn't want to get in the way of their work."
"No stable hands, Dan. They have the night off. Why don't you give me about five minutes, and meet me in the stables. Then I'll give you the tour. How does that sound?"
"Perfect, Mrs. Harrington. I can't wait," he responded, a gleam in his eye.
She was about to move off, but paused and looked back at him. "You sure do use my name a lot during our conversations, Dan."
"It's a beautiful name, Mrs. Harrington. I like the way it rolls of my tongue."
"We'll see about that," she retorted, and walked off to join her husband and others at the table.