Don't Judge Me Ch. 14

Miss Havisham and myself, and three of the most beautiful specimens of male humans ever to exist (did I mention how cute they were?) headed towards the seating at the back of the entrance hall to await the arrival of Miss Havisham's guest. Miss Havisham introduced me to Darcy and Rhett, both of whom were just spectacular boys, and I was surrounded by them all, crisply starched shirts and waistcoats, impeccably pressed trousers, and warm, friendly eyes. They were all taller than I, so there I was, the diminutive, fragile feminine figure amidst these monuments to masculinity.

My left elbow was throbbing, because of course I apparently bashed it as part of my tumble, being an idiot as I am. I didn't let on, though. I maintained my bright smile, bubbly small talk, and an impervious mental shield so that underneath it I could be the giddy teenager I felt like, walking along next to these three absolute stunners as though I belonged there.

As we were arranging ourselves in the seats, Miss Havisham motioned Angelo to sit nearest me, saying, "Would you be happy to be chaperoned this evening by Angelo, dear?" She said it as if it really didn't matter much either way.

My brain sprang in nine directions at once, and I struggled to contain my excitement. I barely managed to respond with a composed, "That would be delightful, thank you Angelo."

She continued, "Very good. The two of you have met twice now, in a manner of speaking, so I think that's lovely. Rhett, I'd like you to chaperone Miss Buchanan, and Darcy you will accompany her assistant Josie." Both men instantly agreed, accepting their assignments cheerfully.

Just at that moment, a bell rang, and Miss Havisham stood, and it was implied that we all ought to do likewise. "Well, that's good timing. They've arrived," she announced superfluously as she bustled out from between the seating and led us to the huge front doors. Angelo offered me his arm (I know, right?!?), and I slipped my small hand in and hooked it around his bicep, partially flexed as it was because his arm was bent. He started chattering to me but I honestly don't remember anything from that moment to when we got out the front door. All I remember is the bicep. Don't judge me.

We reached the front landing just as the large black town car came crunching sedately around the corner on the gravel driveway. I don't know much about cars, but it wasn't like the stretch limos in Los Angeles. More like the US President's "Beast", only perhaps a little taller. It looked like it would have room for the passengers to move around in the back, but all the windows were completely blacked out, of course. It also wasn't a gloss finish, but a matte charcoal, and the wheels were those flashy ones people put on sports cars. If you're a car enthusiast, I hope that helps.

Angelo stayed dutifully by my side with Miss Havisham while the other boys stepped down to meet the car and to open the doors on both sides. Bicep. Hmmm.

On the far side, a well dressed middle aged woman emerged promptly. She was chattering away to Darcy with what sounded like arrangements for the luggage and other practical matters, so I picked her as Josie straight away. At the same time, the driver, another of these perfectly delicious young men, hopped out and went to the back of the car to retrieve a sports bag. At that moment, Miss Buchanan burst forth from the nearest passenger door where Rhett was attending, with a loud, "Darling!" directed at Miss Havisham.

Miss Buchanan was around Miss Havisham's age, and they seemed to me two peas in a pod. She had dressed in something like early 20th Century formal traveling clothes, as if she had traveled by Zepplin or something. She had a wonderful gown, clearly with a corset, ankle length made from satin, with generous trimming of lace and embroidery. She had a pure white fur stole, long earrings, high-heeled boots, and was altogether like a scene from a movie. She held her large, wide-brimmed dress hat in one hand, and I noticed her hair, uncharacteristic for her entire outfit, was a little disheveled.

Miss Buchanan and Miss Havisham exchanged a familiar hug, with Miss Buchanan excusing herself from kissing, "Do pardon me for not offering a little kiss, my dear, but the lovely young man you sent to ride with me was quite the, er, mouthful." She made sure to catch my eye as she said this, and gave me a wink.

On the surface of her mind was the very recent, very vivid memory of fellatio with an outrageously handsome man less than half her age, in the back of the car. In her memory he was completely naked, and she was drinking his fluid. I'll admit that, although I managed, barely, to maintain my mental shield as I had been learning all day, I most certainly did blush. Miss Buchanan seemed to notice, and to enjoy my response.

"And who is this lovely young lady?" she turned to me, extending her hand.

I shook her hand, figuring that was probably safe, and grateful she was self-suppressing the need to kiss everyone for the time being.

"Shynalee is also my guest for the weekend," Miss Havisham explained. Was I? I thought I was going home later tonight.

"Well, I'm certainly pleased to make your acquaintance, young Miss Shynalee," Miss Buchanan looked me up and down in appraisal, and then also Angelo, to whose arm I clung. "I see you're well looked after here by this fine young man," she lingered on him long enough for it to be a little creepy.

The driver delivered the sports bag into the car, and it was several moments before a young man, presumably the one Miss Buchanan had enjoyed, emerged wearing sports gear. Miss Buchanan looked back over her shoulder towards the casually dressed fellow, mercifully relieving Angelo from her predatory gaze, and reported to Miss Havisham, "He was quite careless with his clothes, unfortunately, and they all ended up out the window of the car on the expressway!"

Miss Havisham indulged her, "I'll be sure to counsel him to be more careful in future" She tutted and frowned appropriately.

"Oh, my dear, don't do that. As it is he was already too careful with me by half, to my disappointment. But he's charming and sweet, to be sure." She waved off Miss Havisham's response, moving her lips as though recalling a flavor, "Very sweet. But I'll just freshen up, if it's alright with you. Josie, " she called without looking at her assistant. "Make sure to bring my toothpaste, will you?"

And with that, we all headed inside, Miss Havisham making the introductions. It seemed that Rhett was to be Miss Buchanan's second 'chaperone' for the evening, but it didn't seem to bother him at all (Frankly, my dear reader, he seemed not to give a damn)

I was still somewhat agape at this striking woman's obvious sense of entitlement over the men here, and her brazenness about the quite scandalous sex act she had already indulged in. The poor fellow whom she apparently stripped naked, discarded his clothes, and then sucked him to climax in a moving vehicle (ok, maybe he could have been less than completely traumatized by the whole experience, but still...), made his way in behind us, chatting casually with the driver who had rescued him with the bag of clothes so that he didn't have to suffer the indignity of leaving the car stark naked in front of our assembled entourage. Both of them were carrying various pieces of matching luggage. He really didn't seem bothered by the whole episode.

And Josie was apparently unfazed by the events of the journey, too, despite presumably having to sit in the same space and endure the whole thing as an observer. How often did she have to passively witness her boss engaged in sex acts with strangers? It was all just so confronting. At least... for me it was!

I clung to Angelo's arm, as if it were an anchor to something familiar as these bizarre events unfolded around me like a Hatter's tea party. He was steady, untroubled by any of it, making small talk, smiling easily, and laughing like an old friend.

I started to wonder how much of Angelo's affect was genuine, and how much was being contrived as part of the role he was employed to fill. After all Crystal had apparently been pretty right when she cast the manor as a sort of brothel, with the boys as the talent. So did Angelo see me as a mark, as a Jane Doe, or something? I scanned his mind and couldn't detect anything like that. He was just happily enjoying his role.

I then began to wonder just how far this "chaperone" gig went. Was Angelo my... escort? Was he providing "the boyfriend experience"? Would Miss Havisham put him in my bed? I didn't have any comparable frames of reference to fit all this into. I tried taking the traditional high-end brothel idea and just flipping the genders around, but it was bending my mind. I couldn't get a bead on it. I clung more tightly to Angelo's arm, even while I wondered how much I could rely on it. What would happen if Miss Havisham told him to just walk away, for example? Would he go, remaining unaffected by the change of plans? Could he be completely unmoved by me, while I'm stumbling about, dazed and lost in his presence, falling... NO! Not falling for him. Shit! No, I mean falling down the stairs, and stuff like that. Oh, my God I need to keep my head on straight.

Miss Havisham brought our ensemble deep into the manor, beyond the entrance hall on the ground floor. She showed us into a large reception room, which already had refreshments laid out, in all manner of finger food - small rolls, sandwiches, cakes and fruit, as well as bread crackers with a variety of cheeses. Champagne and cocktails were served at a bar on the far side of the room, manned by, you guessed it, an absolutely marvelous looking young man. Miss Buchanan disappeared, attended by Josie, into the bathroom for a brief time, and the rest of us found refreshments for ourselves.

When Miss Buchanan had rejoined us, her hair fixed up and presumably with fresh breath, Miss Havisham explained that a show would commence in about twenty five minutes, so we had time to relax and enjoy the refreshments (and, it went without saying, presumably also to enjoy the young men who were variously either assigned as chaperones, or serving the food and drink).

Angelo offered to fetch a drink for me and for himself, and I reluctantly loosened my grip on his muscular arm so that he could do so. I managed to pull Miss Havisham aside quickly in his absence to ask, "Miss Havisham, what is... expected of a 'chaperone', exactly?"

"Oh, well," she didn't conceal her amusement at my question. "Angelo is your host. He will ensure you enjoy the evening. Whatever you need, he will make sure you have it.," she added ambiguously.

"So... how far does that go?" I asked, a little more directly as I watched Angelo interacting with the barman to order our drinks.

"How far would you like it to go?" she quizzed, one eyebrow raised.

I didn't know how to navigate this conversation, and there wasn't much time. "I honestly don't know. I don't have any idea what is happening!" I was speaking in an elevated whisper.

"Things will become clearer as the evening progresses. While we're on the subject, why don't you stay tonight? We can have a nice picnic brunch on the south lawn, out in the garden we saw from my office. Would you like that?" She was still talking as Angelo arrived with our drinks. "Angelo, would you like to join us for a picnic brunch in the morning?"

My cheeks flushed violently. Here she went again, creating situations, putting me in awkward positions, taking charge of my intimate affairs. She was awesome.

"I'd love that, Miss Havisham. I'll especially relish the chance to spend more time with Miss Shynalee," he added, turning to me and handing me the tall flute of champagne with a broad smile.

And so it was decided. I was staying the night. Angelo would be my "host" for the evening, and join me for a picnic brunch in the morning. What would happen between those times? It was still a mystery, and Miss Havisham seemed pleased to leave it that way. She excused herself and went to attend to Miss Buchanan, who was waving her over to ask the name of the young man serving at the bar, clearly so that she might flirt with him. Rhett didn't seem to mind at all, as she continued to also flirt openly with him.

I was having difficulty comprehending this woman's approach to the men here. As I was watching, she literally reached out and pinched one poor guy, who was holding a tray of food in one hand and a stack of napkins in the other, hard on his bottom. He responded in good humor. She could literally get away with whatever she wanted, and she was determined to do just that.

"Cheers," Angelo offered, tilting his beer bottle to touch just below the rim of my champagne flute with another of his winning smiles. He took a long sip without taking his eyes off me. I sipped my champagne self-consciously and smiled as best I could, still trying to calculate how much of his friendliness was organic and how much was part of his job.

And how much I actually cared.

Don't judge me.