Chiara Ch. 01

Chiara Ch. 01

Kevin cranked up some classic rock and spent the afternoon cleaning the apartment.

He loved having an apartment scrubbed clean in every way, and he rather enjoyed the process of taking it from shabby, cluttered, and disordered to bright and spacious.

Nonetheless, apparently it took his father returning from two weeks in Italy to inspire him, because he had to admit, the place had gone to seed.

Once he had everything in perfect form, with the dryer running its last load and the dishwasher thrumming and sploshing as well, Kevin reclined on the sofa with his European History textbook. Time for more Renaissance. Leonardo da Vinci, here I come.

He hadn't heard much from his father during his dad's time away, which was a little unusual. He had expected a lot of tourist photos on facebook, and weird-angle pictures from museums in text, but all his father had said was, "I have a surprise for you."

Kevin tried not to dwell on it. If the trip had been to upstate New York, Kevin would have expected his dad to come home with a stray dog. But what does someone surprise you with from Italy? Pasta? Art? Well, they didn't have money for a proper college, much less art, so...

The flight was supposed to get into Newark in the late afternoon, and sure enough the text came through, "Back in the US of A. Get ready!"

Kevin sighed, and unloaded the dishwasher.

It was over an hour before he heard the sound of a key in the door. Kevin put his book down and rose to welcome his dad back to the apartment.

"Kev! Hang on, wait, ok! Kev: I want you to meet Chiara."

Kevin stopped, standing in the middle of the living room, mouth agape.

A stylish woman stepped into the apartment. Kevin saw her drink it all in with a flick of her eyes, but her gaze immediately met his.

"Ciao, Kevin, very pleased to meet you!"

"Ah, s... same." Kevin stuttered, and met her outstretched hand. He turned a hard glare on his father, who was beaming, intentionally, willfully oblivious.

Chiara continued. "Rowan has told me so much about you, Kevin. I feel like I know you a little already!"

"Funny, he failed to mention you at all," Kevin said, directly at his father.

"Well," his dad said, "You know you wouldn't have approved, and you would have spent the whole time fretting and making a fuss, so I thought it would be better to have it be a surprise."

"And," Chiara said, "we can start without any prior expectations. Expectations are a terrible source of suffering and misunderstanding, don't you think?"

Kevin finally let his full attention rest on Chiara. She was tall, with abundant curves wrapped in a flowing, elegant dress of dark blue and swirling patterns of dark maroon and deep rusty gold. Her smile was natural, her gaze direct and unflinching. Clear, sea-green eyes and dark hair falling in waves. She had a sense of confidence about her, a very focussed presence.

Kevin has a fleeting wonder that his father had landed such a woman, and realized he was making assumptions.

"So... you will be visiting New York then?" he asked.

His father beamed and said nothing.

"Oh no," Chiara said. "We got married."

Kevin blinked. "What?"

"It was the most romantic thing I've ever done," his father said. "We met in Rome, and there was this energy between us, undeniable. I felt it. Chiara felt it. And we acted on it."

Chiara slid an arm around Rowan and smiled at him.

Kevin felt dizzy, like he had just fallen through a mirror into Alice's wonderland.

His father shrugged. "I said I had a surprise for you."

"I'm going to need to process this," Kevin said. He grabbed his textbook, went into his bedroom, shut the door behind him, and lay face up on his bed. His mind rampaged across wildly contradictory thoughts and emotions. He could hear his father showing Chiara the apartment.

* * *

Kevin texted his oldest high school friend James. "Need to talk. Underdog. Now."

Underdog was their favorite bar. James had practically grown up in the place, so there was never a worry about getting carded. Although their ways had diverged -- James killing it at NYU, Kevin dragging his heels at CUNY -- they still met for pints regularly.

"My dad just got married."

"No. Fucking. Way. Rowan? Married? It's hard to even imagine!"

"He brought her home from Italy. Never told me a thing. Said he had a surprise."

"Well," James said, "That's what I call a surprise. Your mom died what? Fifteen years ago? Second grade right? And all this time... not even a girlfriend?"

"Not that I know of. He keeps to himself, you know. He works late sometimes. I've wondered... But. This."

"Has anyone told Maeve?"

Kevin considered his sister, upstate at Vassar. "No, I guess I should. Or maybe dad should. She will throw a fit, I guarantee it."

James nodded. If there was one thing Maeve was reliable for, it was throwing a good tantrum. "Well, what's this new wife like, then?"

"I don't even know, man. I was too gobsmacked to even talk to her. She's good looking, I guess. She's probably younger than him, but not a lot. Forties, I guess. She was kind of elegant and kind of sexy at the same time, interesting I guess."

"Italian, eh? Accent?"

"Not as much as you would think. Maybe more British than Italian, or something like that. Hard to say."

James contemplated his beer. "You suspect foul play?"

Kevin shrugged. "It's not like we have any money for her to be after. Why would someone in the EU even want to come to America. I don't know."

"You have a truly amazing condo. Three bedrooms in lower Manhattan! That place is probably worth millions."

"Legacy of my grandmother. I don't think we're even allowed to sell it. No, I don't think it's about money."

"So, what then?"

"Well, maybe they are just in love. But after what? A week? It's not like my dad at all. It takes him a month just to buy a jacket."

"Cheers to falling in love," James said. "What about you? Any prospects?"

Kevin thought about some of the attractive women he shared classes with. None of whom he had ever brought himself to speak to.

"Nah. You?"

James laughed. "You know me! Useless in that department. I'll be honest, I have a crush on one of my professors. I think she's sixty. But she is so razor smart it takes my breath away. She wrote four books on expat literature and I've read them all. She's witty, acerbic, and has such a depth of knowledge..."

"I don't think you're allowed to sleep with your professors."

James raised a finger. "Incorrect. She is not allowed to sleep with me. There's a difference. It means I can fantasize all I want. Although mostly I fantasize about sitting on a park bench among the tulips, talking about Edith Wharton."

"You are such a loser sometimes," Kevin said.

"Well, when are you going to get yourself out of community college. You're the smart one. You should be at fucking Columbia."

Kevin sighed. "Not true, James. I have a decent brain, I guess, but I'm way too lazy for any of that."

"Explain string theory for me, again," James said.

* * *

Kevin had a decent buzz on when he walked home. A light drizzle had settled across the city and the streets and sidewalks glittered with it. Passing cars took on a different sound against the wet asphalt.

It was one of those cycles in early summer when the days are bright and hot and a little humid, but the nights cool off and gentle rains wash the city.

The doorman flagged him as he came in. "Package for you, Kevin."

It was a book sized box from Amazon, but he wasn't expecting any deliveries.

The elevator was that solid, smooth and brisk sort, all stone and mirror.

Zach let himself quietly into the apartment. His father—they—were probably tired from the long flight. He didn't want to disturb them.

James was right about one thing, it was a pretty spectacular apartment. His grandmother—his mother's mother—had given it to them when his mother died. She had largely been an unpleasant woman, and there was no other legacy from her, but the apartment was three large bedrooms, a spacious living room with a view across the Hudson, and a kitchen larger than some studio apartments.

Kevin's bedroom was closest to the entry. At one time his father had been there, but as Kevin began going out at nights, they switched. Maeve had had the third room until she left for Vassar two years back. The arrangement meant that Kevin's room now had a view of the other wing of the building, while Rowan's had the spectacular view of the river.

Kevin wasn't ready for bed. The false energy of booze was still metabolizing, and the swirl of thoughts and events was by no means settled. He stood for a while at the large window, letting the newly built towers of Jersey City glitter through his consciousness, taking in the ripples on the dark water and imagining the endless sprawl of humanity.

Finally, he tossed himself on the sofa and tried to calm his mind with breathing techniques.

It was then that he heard the squeaking of his father's bed.

"Ah fer fuck's sake," he thought. "The last thing I need."

He lifted himself off the sofa and intending to go to bed, but instead, almost by surprise, he put his ear to the wall.

Yep: the rhythmic squeaking of the bed, a light thumping as the headboard tapped the wall.

Kevin realized he could hear more: he could hear their breath. He could hear quiet little whispery moans. Chiara.

I cannot be listening to my dad have sex, Kevin told himself. He did not move from the wall.

He pictured Chiara, remembering her from the glimpse at their meeting. She was a voluptuous woman, full bosom, wide hips, with nothing fat or slack about her. He remembered her cheekbones, her dark hair, her bright grey-green eyes.

For some reason he pictured her on top, riding, rolling her hips, pressing herself down... Kevin couldn't even imagine his father. His mind ran into a fog there, so he kept his attention on the sounds, the quick sharp breaths, the feminine sounds of her voice, her rising passion, her growing pleasure.

The sound of the bed very slowly increased in both pace and volume. The motions grew more vigorous, more powerful.

The headboard began to thump more convincingly against the wall.

Not letting himself think about it, Kevin fumbled with his pants, pulling his thickening cock out into the warmth of his own hand.

"Sì, sì, sì!"

Kevin heard his father growl, a sound he had never heard in his life.

And then there was silence. The rocking of the bed came to a sudden stop. He could hear them breathing. Chiara laughed lightly.

"Oh God, what you do to me!" Rowan said. "Oh! Oh! Oh! How does that happen?" He let out a massive groan.

And then the rocking of the bed began again, faster now.

Kevin's own cock throbbed in his hand as he listened to them make love.

Each time things seemed like they were coming to a peak, they stopped and there was a silence; for a moment absolute, and then breath, and then they both moaned deep and long together, before continuing. Each time, Kevin felt his own erection swell and harden. Once he almost jetted cum against the wall.

And then, they simply stopped.

"That's enough for now, my love," Chiara said. "Save your energy. Breathe it up into your body, and let it tingle, and take you to sleep now."

And as far as Kevin could tell, that was the end of it. He wasn't sure what had even just happened.

But then there was some more ordinary rustling.

Kevin quickly zipped himself away, and eased himself back down onto the sofa, as if he had come home and passed out there.

He heard the bedroom door open and the shower start running. Light from the bathroom streamed down the short hallway.

He heard the sliding glass door of the shower open, and someone get in.

He carefully got up—again to head to his bedroom—but as he passed the hallway he saw the bathroom door was left wide open. The bedroom door, however, was closed.

He saw her, the pink shape of a woman, blurred by steam. She hummed a happy little tune as she rinsed herself off.

In a tipsy, hazy, daze, Kevin walked closer to the bathroom, hoping he was well shadowed by the dark apartment.

Chiara was rinsing soap off her lush, full body. Large, heavy breasts, apparently natural. She lifted a leg to rinse between her thighs. He caught a glimpse of shadow from her pubic hair. The full, round shape of her butt.

Kevin remembered to breathe, and slipped away, back to his room.

He quickly undressed and slipped into his sheets. His erection was still strong and hard.

What the fuck is going on? he asked himself. What am I doing? What is happening to my life?

He spent time, lingering on the sounds of sex that still thrummed through his body, and the vision of Chiara in the shower. He would cast the thoughts from his mind, turn in his bed; and a minute later his hand was on himself and he was immersed in it all again.

But he truly went rigid when his bedroom door opened.

The ambient light of the city at night meant there was never true darkness without blackout shades.

Kevin saw Chiara, wrapped in his father's bathrobe, step into his room.

"Kevin," she said.

He froze. He didn't know what to do.

She came and sat on the edge of his bed.

"Kevin," she said again. "I saw you watching me."

Dammit...

"I know things are different here, people are very prudish in the United States. I am sure this is all very confusing for you, after your family was without a mother for so long. And the two of you here in your bachelor life since your sister left."

No words appeared. Kevin remained still, trying to control his breathing.

"And I'm a little different Kevin. It's what your father saw in me. I can tell that things are going to be a little difficult for you, for a while. I understand. I have a boy myself—grown, of course. A little older than you. I know what it is like for a young man at your age. And I have a daughter also, just your age. They are back in Roma."

"What am I supposed to be learning here, Chiara?" His words came out more harshly than he intended, but he thought it was a fair question.

She sighed gently, and put a hand on his thigh. Kevin felt himself throb at the touch—against his own will.

"Just that I am here, now. Life is going to be different. Harder in some ways, but I will do everything I can to put you at ease. I realize that leaving the bathroom door open may have been unwelcome to you. Confusing, like I said. I didn't mean to disturb you... just to keep the mirror from fogging."

"I see," Kevin said. It did make some sense. The mirror was prone to fog. But at the same time, her hand was softly stroking his thigh through the smooth fabric of the sheet.

"As you will learn, I am not necessarily what you would think of as a mother figure in some ways, Kevin. I am, quite frankly, a terrible cook. It is a skill I appreciate in others, but have never taken time to study. Nor am I widely known as a house-keeper, although you will find I keep things tidy."

Her hand stroked a little higher on his thigh, almost as if accidentally.

Kevin couldn't believe it was any accident. He felt the stretch of the cotton and her fingers rolling his cock against his belly. If she could see anything, she would know he had a raging erection.

Chiara shifted position, lying down next to him.

"May I?" she asked.

Kevin, frozen again, grunted.

She put her head on his shoulder. He felt her soft breasts leaning against his side.

"Kevin; I am a very open woman. Very physical. I realize that things are different in this country, but it's how I connect with a person. To touch, to hug, to speak openly and honestly. I don't know if you will every come to think of me as a mother, or if you need that now that you are a grown man yourself. I don't know if you have ever wanted that in your life. I want us to discover the connection that is most natural for our dynamic. I really want you to know: I didn't come here to take the place of the mother you lost, but I hope that I can bring that mature feminine energy into your life in ways that are nourishing and healthy."

"Is this healthy?" Kevin asked. He couldn't stop himself.

"That is always a question we must keep asking ourselves and each other," Chiara said. "To set aside all the foolish ways society tries to control us or manage us, and seek to what is truly, absolutely healing and healthy for us and each other. You can't possibly offend me, Kevin. Maybe you have anger, and that is welcome to me. Maybe grief is stirred, and that is welcome. Maybe you have some happiness that your father has discovered love after so long. And that is welcome. It is all welcome, Kevin."

As she spoke, her hand rested lightly on his upper abdomen, a few inches up from where his cock continued to throb, the erection positively refusing to subside.

Kevin could feel every nuance of her touch there, and the warmth of his own arousal, and the softness of her breasts pressed against him. He could feel the whisper of her breath across his cheek.

"But I would never, ever want to hurt you, Kevin. Or Rowan. Or, Maeve. The whole family has become precious to me, Kevin. But it could happen; people do sometimes cause each other distress. If that ever happens, all I ask is that you tell me, so that we can sort things out. So that we can find a solution, and a way forward together."

She continued to stroke him very gently. Kevin tried to relax, but found his cock had a mind of its own, was honestly trying to grow more inches to reach her hand.

As his desire grew, he felt a sensation like buzzing in his head. His brain was fogged more than any mirror.

"Is there anything you would like to name right now, Kevin? Anything that these first moments of our meeting stir in you that you think you should share?"

"Ah, no, nothing comes to mind," Kevin said, his mind full of swirling things that he could have said.

"It will all be clear in time," Chiara said. "Now, I hope you get a good sleep, Kevin. I mentioned I am no cook, but I do have some remedies for a hangover, and I will prepare one for you in the morning."

With that she lifted herself onto one elbow, leaned into him even more deeply, and placed a tender, soft kiss on his cheek.

Kevin could only feel all the ways her body pressed to him as she did so.

But then she was gone. The bedroom door clicking shut behind her, leaving Kevin alone in his room, his body on fire, sleep a thousand miles away.

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