A Night at the Opera

Rowdy and I would never have gone to the opera if we hadn't gotten free tickets. We got them from our boss, who made us promise we'd go, and sweetened the deal by giving us Friday off. The company spent plenty to support the arts and got tickets in return. But it looked bad if those seats sat empty.

So Rowdy and I got all dressed up and went downtown. I'd never been to the big performing arts center nor the opera and I was curious about both.

Rowdy, I suspect, just wanted the afternoon off and an excuse to dress up. She loved clothes, but the guys she dated mostly took her to places where everybody wore t-shirts.

"Rowdy" isn't her real name, of course. She got the nickname when we were in high school by having the shortest temper and the foulest mouth of anybody on the planet.

I was actually enjoying the opera, the elaborate old-time costumes and the singing, but I could tell Rowdy was getting restless. She squirmed in her seat, sighed and even started to whisper a funny remark until the old guy in the next seat glared at her.

Finally there was a break in the action and Rowdy dragged me out of my seat. Resigned to my fate, I followed her to the bathroom.

The bathroom alone was worth the price of admission! The big door swung open silently onto a huge sitting room with brocade on the walls, filled with beautiful chairs and padded benches. Large flower arrangements graced each corner.

The bathroom itself was through another door and I've never seen one so nice. The toilet stalls were huge, with multiple hooks to hang purses and jackets, and the long vanity was topped by a mirror wall that went to the ceiling. Everything was spotlessly clean and smelled like flowers. They even had little boxes of Kleenex, tampons and wet wipes for the taking. Rowdy immediately filled her purse.

"Gawd can you believe people actually pay to see that crap!" Rowdy snarled.

"I kind of liked it," I replied.

"WHAT!" she snapped derisively. "Now you love old people singing in Latin?"

"It was Italian, not Latin," I corrected her, "and yes, it was kind of neat. I just wish I understood what they were saying. I kept having to look in the program to follow the story."

Rowdy lit a cigarette, took a deep drag and gave me a pitying look. She had opened her mouth to say something nasty when the door swung wide and another woman walked in. I'm afraid my mouth dropped open.

You know those amazingly beautiful, amazingly dressed, amazingly sexy women you see in fashion magazines? This was one of those women in real life! She was a honey blonde, perhaps 40, but with a quality that made you think she'd still be beautiful at 50 ... and 60.

She wore a black, sleeveless, three-quarter length dress that clung to her like skin. It seemed like it was flat black until she moved, then it caught the light and shimmered ... now silver, now gold. There was the brilliant sparkle of genuine diamonds in her ears, on her finger and at her throat.

I was suddenly very conscious of my $150 cocktail dress and costume jewelry.

She stopped just inside the door, gave each of us an appraising look, said, "Excuse me" in a musical voice and stepped into one of the stalls.

Anybody else would have stopped bitching, knowing we had an audience. But not Rowdy. She continued to rag about the opera, the cost of parking my old Chevy, the downtown traffic and life in general. I kept my mouth shut, uncomfortably aware that the beauty in the stall could hear every word.

Finally she flushed and came out, glanced at each of us again without expression and strode gracefully to one of the sinks. She washed her hands and began examining her face in the mirror. I had a hard time reading the look on Rowdy's face, but then she opened her mouth.

"There are some high-priced bitches out there tonight," Rowdy said, with malice in her voice. "I'll bet some man is paying through the nose to have that kind of escort."

I was horrified, but the beauty at the sink just gave a slight smile and continued to check her makeup.

"You gotta wonder why a man with money would stick with one of these old bitches when he could have somebody young ... with some juice left in her!"

Now I was really squirming, and I knew I was blushing with embarrassment. But the beauty at the sink maintained her slight smile. She put her lipstick back in a tiny purse, snapped it shut and walked towards the door. She actually had her hand on the door handle when she paused and turned around.

"Do you want to know why my man stays with me?" she cooed softly, glancing from me to Rowdy.

"I suppose you're gonna tell us!" Rowdy sneered. The blonde beauty looked at her with pity.

"Weeeell ... he stays with me because I make his home life easy and fulfilling. No matter how hard he has to fight at work, at home he has a refuge where he gets everything he wants. I read his moods, meet his needs and anticipate his wants."

"Oh, and I suppose you give a good blowjob, too!" Rowdy said with contempt.

"Nooo," the woman said, staring at Rowdy and walking slowly towards her. "I give a world-class blowjob! When he's had a bad day I get him in the shower, get him to bed and give him a blowjob that sends him straight from ecstasy to dreamland. I suck him 'til he's ready to pop, then I back off, let him relax and start over.

"And did I mention that I swallow? I suck out every drop and swallow like I want it because I *DO* want it! I look into his eyes while I'm sucking him dry because I want him to KNOW I want it!"

"Anybody could do that," Rowdy said lamely in the uncomfortable silence that followed.

"They could ... but they don't," the woman said, now only an arm's length from Rowdy, looking her in the eye. "Whatever they're getting from their man, most women don't think it's enough. So they hold back. They don't understand that the more they give, the more they'll get."

"That's bullshit!" Rowdy proclaimed confidently. "Once they get tired of your pussy and your mouth, guys just hit the road!"

"That's why you constantly have to mix it up, try new things, surprise him."

"There's only so much you can do in bed," Rowdy complained.

"If you're creative, if you're committed, there's no limit," the blonde beauty declared confidently. Rowdy gave a disbelieving snort and backed up a step.

"I take care of myself and work out every day, I read and watch porn for ideas, I shop for lingerie and toys," the woman said, "I've even hired pros to teach me things."

Rowdy stared at her in disbelief.

"I'll do whatever it takes," she said intently, her eyes scanning us both. "We started out poor and now we're rich. And I'll be damned if I'll be traded in on a younger set of tits because I forgot he's a man!"

"Do you even love him?" Rowdy said lamely.

"I do, but it takes more than love. Men divorce women who love them all the time because they just get bored. They need new things. When I run out of new tricks, I'll take him in my ass. And I'll LOVE it! When that gets old, I'll bring another woman to our bed, and I'll love THAT! There isn't anything I won't do to keep him happy ... and keep him for myself ... even if it means sharing!"

There was a long silence as the woman and Rowdy stared at each other. Finally the woman turned to leave and came face to face with me. Her quick breathing made her breasts rise and fall. Her smile held me as she looked me up and down.

"You might do," she said quietly. "Big brown eyes and a real hourglass figure would be something new for him."

Then she just put her hands on my upper arms, leaned in and kissed me on the lips! In a moment her tongue was in my mouth, tasting and exploring, until finally I tentatively let my tongue wrestle with hers. I could feel her full breasts pressing warmly against mine.

Suddenly she released me and stepped back. Rowdy was standing motionless with shock.

"Yes, you might do!" said the woman and she smiled, glanced in the mirror again, and walked out. She had a great ass, round and full! I just knew it would be firm to the touch.