A Gentlemen's Valentine for a Lady

Her concern was that if she didn't protect herself from his charm, that she would become undone. A lady was never to become undone, especially in public, and especially one in her social position. Her disgrace could lead to untold complications and ruin her standings in the social community. No more invitations to parties and with everyone declining her invitations, she'd be ruined socially. She'd become an outcast. With nowhere to go and nothing to do, she'd be ostracized and exiled to live in her house alone forever, until the day she died.

Yet, no one would believe her and for her to believe what she believed was pure folly, nonsense, and utter lunacy. Surely, it would break her heart if he was playing her and not be true to his word in telling her that he loved her. She'd lose her mind, if the whole thing was somehow a ruse just to bed her. If he beguiled her and then deceived her, she'd need to summon the doctor to prescribe medicines that don't work and that would surely land her in the sanatorium, in the same way that happened to her cousin, Camille, when Jeffrey, her fiancé, dumped her for another.

There were doctors experimenting with a new cure for lunacy, called lobotomy and she wanted nothing to do with any of that rubbish. It sounded so dreadful to open someone's skulk and fool with their brain. Only, they'd think her crazy, if she dare tell anyone that Charles was meant for her and that he was the one because of a dream, pure fantasy on both their parts. They'd think they were both crazy.

When, in fact and indeed, since they shared the same dream, it was proof that it was kismet and just as she was no match for his charm, who was she to question her dream, especially after discovering they've been having the same dream? Now that he was here, he proved it all to be real and not imagined. To discourage her destiny by not taking this chance on love would be the real insanity.

She was described as pretty, an understatement, as anyone who has seen her has commented that she's extraordinarily beautiful, a rare beauty. Her good looks were her good fortune, as well as her sad curse, as those men who were taken with her didn't possess the self-confidence enough to approach her. It was always the same types who chased after her and who pulled on her skirt, those short, fat, bald, older men with their self-assurance reinforced by position and fortified with wealth, and their self-centered confidence that long made them pompous by their power and arrogant in their influence. Always they propositioned her for marriage in the way they proposed a business deal, as if they were suggesting a merger and a stock swap, instead of offering her love and romance, and asking for her hand in marriage.

"Ahem, the way that I see it, Elizabeth," said her last hopeful suitor, Mr. Cyrus Abernathy, "you and I should marry."

With a proposal like that, don't hold your breath, little man. As cold and calculating, as if he was buying supplies from a new supplier for his manufacturing business, wanting her only for her huge fortune, no doubt, she needed someone who wanted her, as much as she wanted him. She didn't need his wealth, position, power, or influence. She had her own. She wanted love and she needed romance, not money, never money. Love from money and for the love of money was never any good. In the way that children can make a marriage stronger, money can ruin a romance and make a bond weaker.

Blessed with an abundant bosom that some would say was very large, she had the body of a woman who could provide her husband with several sons, as well as a daughter or two. Even though she reeked sexuality by her voluptuousness, by her comportment, everyone immediately recognized her as a lady and not as a whore, never as a whore. Intelligent and blessed with commonsense, the combination of a sharp mind and a shapely body was very appealing to the gentleman.

Even so, she still had no one willing enough and man enough to share her bed. Too much woman for any man, all of them felt overshadowed by her wealth and position and none of them were willing to go to her with hat in hand and offer her their heart. If only they knew their love was more important to her than money.

Even though she was refined and born from a privileged family, in opposition to her social graces, her humor could be quite bawdy and irreverent at times, especially when encouraged by a man who enjoyed walking on the wild side with her, too, as she occasionally enjoyed doing. A woman that confounded him, for sure, as much as she intrigued him, no doubt, she was glad that he took notice of her, while confessing to her that he wondered what other secrets she held. He told her that he loved that she would rise up to meet all of his challenges, no matter how difficult she found them to be.

"I've never met anyone like you," he said taking her hand in his, while looking deeply in her eyes. The first to say the line that worked so well then, but has become so overused in the last one hundred years, he said, "Where have you been all my life?"

Then, he kissed her. It was a kiss like no other and she heard bells. The tempest that brewed beneath her calm exterior and that was well hidden from all those around her, was enough to whistle her teapot cover clean off the stove. A raging inferno of love, commitment, and loyalty, no one would ever suspect the fire that burned deep down inside her.

She was a lady, after all, and ladies aren't supposed to show their sexual feelings. For sure, ladies aren't supposed to feel what she was feeling now. Reserved for men, this was the 19th century and ladies were forbidden to even show their emotions, sexual or otherwise, not to mention their opinions.

The intensity that steeped in silence, brewed a storm of lust, while she waited for the right man to expose her huge melons for them to enjoy, before sampling her fruit muffin. No doubt, he saw her fire and recognized her passion as his own that burned brilliantly through her eyes. She loved talking dirty, but saved that for her pillow, when she was alone and pleasuring herself. No man would have her, if she spoke in such a way. They'd think her common. They'd think her a whore.

Yet, how enchanting it would be, if she could talk dirty to her lover, while still maintaining her decorum of being that lady that she is and needed to be, when not behind a closed bedroom door. A lady on the outside and a wench on the inside, but only for one special man. Obviously glad that she saved her womanly charms just for him, glad that she was still a virgin, by the look on his face, she was happy that he could sense her intense passion and cherish her for more than a woman for his personal pleasure.

"I've been saving myself for you, Charles," she said giving him a soft smile and saying all that she needed to say with her eyes.

Her look told him, no doubt, that there was much held in reserve for him, the one special gentleman she waited for so long. In the way she looked at him, tightly held his hand, and placed it upon her bosom, before hugging him, she showed him that she was willing to take him where no other gentleman had gone with her before and where no other woman dared take him. Surely, without a doubt, he's had women before, but he's never had a lady, not a lady like her, who was a wench in bed and a minx in the bedroom.

When they said hello and bade good-bye, she made it clear with her kiss that she was filled with love and wanted to share her love with him, her love of a lifetime and nothing else and no one else would do. She knew without doubt that if he was with her, he'd never leave her bed for the sake of another. He'd have no need for a mistress, when she could do anything and everything that a mistress could do and more.

They wrote and spoke to one another for months and their friendship developed quickly before blossoming into a love affair. These were different times back then. What may have begun as a nightclub encounter and casual sex today was more of two houses loaded with family, furniture, and fortune slowly moving towards one another before uniting as one. There was much protocol and decorum that got in the way of romance.

She trusted him and really liked all that he was. Having so much in common, he mentioned the same likes and interests to her, as if she was telling him all of her likes and interests. No longer holding back in reserve for the sake of convention, she was as smitten with him as he was with her and she wasn't afraid for him to know her feelings, just as she appreciated his willingness to reveal his feelings for her.

Bordering on the modern age, perhaps, through to the fifties, a time when most people still never said what they felt and revealed who they were, their relationship was already decades ahead of the Victorian Age and similar to a sexual relationship experienced in the sixties. Still, this need to reveal her reoccurring dream to him was a first for her, as she had always been protective and reserved about her innermost thoughts and emotions. Yet, it was so easy for her to reveal herself to him and she finally felt free of what everyone expected her not to be. Loving and caring, as well as naughty and forbidden, she was all of that with him.

The passion and desire was building for her to such a crescendo that she was unable to hold back any longer. Wanting to experience the thunderous cannon fire of the 1812 overture, but how does a lady approach a gentleman and let him know about her wanton sexual desire to have an orgasm without looking like a fallen woman and common whore? Women back then weren't supposed to enjoy sex. Sexual pleasure was reserved only for men. A duty instead of a need, women were only supposed to have sex to procreate.

She needed his trust and reassurance to go where no other woman during that time was willing to go. He needed to respect that she was not to be played and toyed with and that she was, after all, a true lady, but one with sexual desires and needs equal to his. For sure, if he mistook her as any other lady of the period, he would use her and toss her aside, as he's done with his other women, his wife and his mistress.

Yet, if he thought she was his equal to his sexual libido and worthy of his love, then they could have unparalleled passion and lust, while safely secure behind the holy vow of matrimony and locked bedroom door. Only, could he go against convention for her, as she had already done for him? She feared upsetting his sensibilities in having him think her too lewd and too vulgar.

From the surreptitious looks he made in that direction, whenever he thought she wasn't looking, she noticed that he had shown much interest in her breasts. She saw his furtive glances out the corner of her eye ogling her ample bosom. Still, in the way that he stared at her breasts, she could tell that she was much more than a big breasted woman to him.

Having finally seen him with his wife and after her friend described his mistress to her, she realized that he was accustomed to being with a small breasted woman. Since he had been with small breasted woman, maybe he preferred small breasted woman. She couldn't help but think that maybe her breasts were too big for his taste but, by the attention that he paid them, whenever they kissed and touched, he was just as enamored with her enormous breasts as he was with her.

Then, when they finally made love, he was crazed, when she hung her big breast down in his face, while being on top of him and riding him, as if she was riding her stallion, Precious, sidesaddle on the country back roads. Back then, it was always the man on top. It was always the man making love to the woman. It was never the woman fucking the man, but that's what she was assuredly doing, fucking him, while controlling him with her big breasts.

"That's not fair," he said with a laugh. "You know that I'm crazy for your big breasts and you continue to tease me with them. Lower them closer to my mouth, so that I may fondle, caress, and enjoy them, while sucking your nipples."

Pleased that he enjoyed talking as dirty to her, as she loved talking dirty to him, she thought, good, because she didn't plan on playing fair, not this time and not with him. She's already given him her virginity, he had better come across with a ring, especially now that he's divorced his wife and no longer sees his mistress. Time was fleeting and they were not in the season of their youth. She didn't want to waste any more time with anyone, who didn't want to have children and be with her for the rest of their life.

Then, it all happened so quickly, everything suddenly fell in place. Deciding to throw caution to the wind and not worry about her social status, she told him what she hoped he needed to hear.

"I love you, Charles."

Let it be damned! She wanted to see if his passion was a match for hers and decided to verbally make love with him. What a concept, but it was all that was available to her at the time. A period of socially inept and backward sexuality, her decision to push the romance envelope forward by seventy years with sex and sensuality obviously enchanted him. She couldn't believe it, when he answered in kind.

"And I love you, too, Elizabeth. You make me so very happy. Never have I met anyone like you. You totally enchant me."

As she continued making love to him, her body began to viscerally react to every word and she was shocked and stopped. After a slight pause, she decided to pour all that she had into this attempt because she wanted him so desperately. Knowing she wouldn't want another, she believed this may be her only chance and if he rejected her advances, she didn't want to regret not trying.

It would be up to her gentleman to decide if he wanted to accept and join with her in the way that she wanted and needed to make love or not. And so she began once again. Only, this time, she lowered herself, where no lady of her status was allowed to go and paid oral homage to a place where only women of the night serviced their paid gentlemen. She took his cock in her mouth and engulfed his erection with her tongue.

"This is for you, Charles," she said before lowering her mouth down upon his stiff appendage.

"Elizabeth! For God sakes, woman! What are you doing? How dare you?"

"Relax and enjoy, Charles, because if you marry me, you won't need a mistress to do this for you. I'll not only suck your cock but also you can cum in my mouth and I'll swallow."

"Oh, my God! I never thought this possible," he said watching her suck his big prick. "Suck my cock, Elizabeth. Blow me," he said putting a gentle hand to the back of her head and fucking her face with his hips.

"Will you marry me, Charles?"

"Of course, I'll marry you, Elizabeth."

Her name was Elizabeth and, as much as she loved her name, Elizabeth was his favorite name, too. She loved how he said her name, as if chewing it, "Elizabeth," clearing pronouncing and enunciating each syllable without running any of them running and making her feel, as if she had four distinct names and was four distinct women. She was so thrilled whenever he said her name during their secretive conversations that, now that he's divorced, they no longer needed to be so secretive. Finally, they can take carriage rides through the park and walk hand in hand out in the open.

His name was Charles and she loved saying it over and again in her mind, while she thought of him and spoke his name in the dark, loneliness of night. Endlessly, she doodled his name. Never Chuck or Charlie, but always Charles. Finally, he proposed and gave her a ring. Engaged to be married, they waited for their special day, March 3rd, 1894. It was a Saturday and Charles, with Elizabeth agreeing, gave strict instructions to toll the wedding bells at exactly 3:33 in the afternoon.

After a yearlong courtship, the wedding day arrived. At the church with all their friends and relatives in attendance to witness the wedding ceremony of Mr. and Mrs. Charles and Elizabeth--

"What a game! Wow! What an incredible game," said Bob coming in the bedroom and bursting Susan's romantic bubble right in the good part of the story. "Happy Valentine's Day, honey. Thanks for letting me watch the game. I know that I should have been up here paying more attention to you, but now that I'm here," he said reaching over to fondle her big breast, while fingering her nipple, "maybe we can fool around a little."

Still dazed from the story, her mind more there in 1894 than here in 2011, she closed the book with the disappointment of her reality. Susan gently placed the book on the nightstand, as if trying not to disturb Charles and Elizabeth's wedding. Even after thirty years of marriage, he still calls it fooling around a little but she calls it making love.

She put her head back in the softness of her pillow, while imagining that Charles was touching her. Still enjoying her romantic fantasy, she imagined she married Charles instead of Bob. Only, she had to turn off the light and close her eyes to imagine Charles' full head of hair, muscular body, and slim waistline. Charles was a man in his late twenties instead of late fifties, and she'd need another glass of wine, a whole bottle, to imagine that Bobek was that young and that buff.

"Touch me," she said wanting to say, touch me, Charles, but she didn't. It was enough that she thought that her husband's fingers were Charles' fingers.

Bob lifted her nightgown and touched her where she needed to be touched. She was horny from reading about Charles and Elizabeth and she knew she'd be sexually frustrated after taking care of Bob. She imagined making love to Charles, sitting on him, while her big breasts bounced up and down and swayed side to side. She imagined his big cock buried deep inside of her pussy and sliding in and out with each of her humps and each of his thrusts. Then, as a special treat, she imagined lowering her body halfway down the bed to take Charles' big cock in her mouth.

Being that it was Valentine's Day, for a foolish moment, she thought about role playing and so wanted to ask, but Bob would never go for that. Never like that before, when they were dating and first married, now a slam bam, matter of fact type of man, he was more of a non-fiction, black and white, kind of guy than he was filled with fiction with colorful prose and explicit pillow talk. She so wanted to continue her romantic fantasy with Bob and pretend he was Charles by calling him that, if only for one night, if only for tonight, Valentine's night.

While he fingered her and sucked her nipple, she reached over and fondled his cock. It didn't take long for the touch of her hand to give him an erection. Still pretending he was Charles, still caught up in the romantic fantasy of living so long ago, she pulled out his cock and stroked it, while pretending she was stroking Charles.

She wished he'd make love to her, but that was out of the question. Just as he needed to get up early for work tomorrow, she knew how this night would end, with her giving him a blowjob, him cumming in her mouth, and she swallowing, before he kissed her goodnight, rolled over, and fell asleep. He was a good man, but he was clueless. No doubt, just as she had romantic thoughts about A Gentleman's Valentine for a Lady, he was replaying his hockey game in his head. She was interested in romance and he only wanted to score.

"What are you reading?" He looked over at the book on the nightstand.

"A Gentleman's Valentine for a Lady," she said glancing over at it, too, with a heavy heart, while thinking of Charles with Elizabeth and wondering about their Honeymoon.

"What's it about?" He reached over her for the book.

Suddenly, with him asking about her private world, she felt invaded. He had his sports, but this was her secret fantasy. She was surprised, this wasn't like him, stopping her, to reach for her book, when she was just about to suck his cock. Maybe he was being kinder and more attentive to her because it was Valentine's Day.