He Couldn't Say No Ch. 08

Today was a pretty nice round of golf. I made a few bucks, although it probably wasn't enough to cover the beer we drank after the round. One of the rules in my regular foursome is that the winner buys the first round of beer in the 19^th hole. Nonetheless, it was an outstanding afternoon. I played well (shot three strokes under my 10 stroke handicap), the weather was beautiful, I was with good friends, and now I was on the back deck of my home in Walnut Creek having a steak I had just grilled up for myself and a glass or two (or maybe three) of a good cabernet.

Well okay, the house still technically belongs to my mother, but she doesn't want to live here since Dad passed away. She lives with her old friend and lover, Lisa, in Lisa's big house in North Berkeley. Yeah, it's the one I told you about with the Crow's Nest and the locomotive bell to ring when you climax. And yes, Lisa was my lover at one time too, but that doesn't seem to be a problem for any of us. They are both coming out here for dinner tomorrow. I'm going to prove to them that I have been learning to cook since my last divorce. The menu is grilled leg of lamb and ratatouille. Lisa is bringing the wine. She has a better cellar than me. My most recent wife actually demanded half the cellar in the divorce.

I'm still a little amazed at my mother's relationship with Lisa. Yes, I know that they and Mrs. E were lesbian lovers back in 1969. The three of them, along with my father lived in the big house on Euclid Street in Berkeley. But that was in 1969, and all the time I was growing up, or at least as much of it as I could remember, Mom was a classic stay at home mom happily married to Dad, so to now have her living with Lisa, one of my former lovers, in Berkeley . . . yeah that was more than a little bit of a change. Not that I object mind you. Mom's an adult, and if she loves Lisa, especially now that my Dad has passed, it's fine with me.

I chuckled as I set my wine glass down on the table next to my Adirondack chair. Having my mom living in the Berkeley house had some advantages. She and Lisa had made it clear that if I wanted to use the house when they were away (they traveled a fair bit) it was fine with them. Lisa had even told me that since I was sort of family, I could use the Crow's Nest and let my lovers ring the old locomotive bell when they climaxed.

That had come in handy not too long ago:

I was recently invited to a wedding. I never turn down an invitation to a wedding. They are just about the most pleasant and joyous events human beings have come up with. Just about everyone is happy at a wedding. Okay, sometimes there is a jilted ex-lover of one of the parties who has a somewhat negative outlook, but they should really just stay away. The game is over and they lost. Why go to the celebration and make yourself miserable. Send a nice gift with a congratulatory note and move on. But that's just my view.

In addition to being a just general good time, there is also always the possibility of "wedding sex." Maybe it's all the booze, but I like to think that the occasion is a part of what puts people in the mood. In any case I long ago lost count of the number of women I wound up having sex with after, or even during, a wedding celebration.

The bride and groom at this wedding were both co-workers of mine from our corporate office in Redwood City—young people just starting out on their career. I had once had a little fling with Charlene, at a sales meeting in Palm Springs, but that was a result of just a little too much booze one night. When I realized how in love she and Brad were, I told her I had enjoyed our moment, but it should stay at that, and she should focus on Brad who I thought would make a fine husband for her. I guess I sort of said "no" that time, but not until I had already had my fling with her and really, who knows whether she would have ever asked me again. So maybe it wasn't a "no," just a recognition of the obvious, but I have always counted it as a no. I have too few.

The wedding was held in Berkeley at a grand old hotel in the hills to the south of the campus. The Claremont is a big old barn of a hotel that sets high enough in the hills to command a stunning view of the Bay. Completed just before World War I, it is a huge multistory wooden structure painted a gleaming white allowing it to be seen even from the City. A perfect place for a wedding, especially if you don't mind what the Fairmont chain (which runs it today) is charging you. Apparently, cost was not a limiting factor for the bride's parents because it was a huge party.

I had to admire these folks. They understood the point of a wedding for most folks is the party that follows the formalities of the wedding. They had taken care of the formalities a week earlier with a very limited gathering at the bride's parent's home before a state judge that was a friend of the family, so there was no sitting around on hard pews in a cavernous old church. Now everyone was invited to gather at the Claremont for a celebration of the nuptials. The bride and groom made an appearance before the assembled party goers in the customary wedding garb (Charlene's dress was gorgeous, as was she), requisite toasts were made, champagne having been previously distributed to all, and then the band begin to play—first a dance for the bride and groom and then one for the father of the bride and Charlene. By the time the wedding party reappeared in more casual clothes the party was in full swing. I was having a grand time finding a nearly unlimited number of women to dance with. I didn't know hardly any of them, but what the hell, we were all having a great time.

About mid-way through the evening, I was taking a short break and I found myself sitting at a table sharing a bit of champagne with the bride. I was telling her what a lovely wedding it was when she suddenly got serious. She looked around to make sure we weren't being overheard, and then she said, "Andrew, there is something we have to talk about."

"Okay."

"Remember our night in Palm Springs?"

"Of course. It was lovely."

"Yes, it was. . . . but I've never told Brad about it."

"Probably wise," I said.

"But, . . . She paused and bit her lower lip. "You haven't told him . . . have you?"

"No, of course not. Charlene, you need to understand I'm not the kind of man who talks about the women he has known. I just don't do it."

"Good." She looked relieved. Then she furrowed her brow a bit. "But there is one other thing. I might have said something to a couple of my girlfriends. We got a little drunk at my bachelorette party and we were playing truth or dare and . . ."

"Say no more," I interrupted. "I have had three divorces and it's common knowledge amongst those few people who care that I have a hard time saying no to women who want to make love with me. My reputation is long past saving and I don't worry about it."

"Oh, good." She smiled. "Oh wait. That doesn't sound right. I'm sure your reputation is fine. I mean . . . "

I interrupted her with a laugh. "Don't worry about it."

She rose from the table saying she needed to go find her new husband. Then, almost as an afterthought. She said, "Ah . . . one more thing. I might have said something to my Mother about Palm Springs."

"Is she going to come after me with a gun or send your father to do the job?" I wasn't joking. I have a paranoia about spouses, boyfriends, fathers, brothers, and even lesbian lovers armed with a weapon.

This made Charlene laugh. "Hardly. Daddy wouldn't hurt a fly. And Mommy, well she and Daddy have been estranged for years now and Mommy plays the field a bit like you. In fact, a lot like you. I don't think she approves of monogamy. So don't be surprised if she comes looking for you, but it won't be with a gun." Charlene leaned down and whispered in my ear, "I told her how big your dick is."

"I see," I said. "And your girlfriends also?"

"Yes," she said with a devilish smile.

"Well it's nice to be prepared."

She laughed and walked away in search of her husband.

As she walked away, I chuckled to myself. It sounded like I had gotten a number of references.

Normally I leave events like weddings a little on the early side, but for some reason I tarried until the party was all but wound down. I was sitting at a table on a porch outside the ballroom enjoying my first hard liquor drink of the evening (Scotch, straight up) along with a stunning view of the lights of San Francisco. I pulled a cigar from my breast pocket and rolled it in my fingers as I wondered if l could get away with smoking it here. "Probably not," I said aloud.

A seductively low woman's voice from behind me responded, "Not a chance. It's a shame though. It looks like a good cigar."

I turned and looked. The speaker was a tall willowy blonde in her forties, as best I could guess, wearing an expensive looking sea foam green dress that accentuated her ample bosom and stopped an inch or two short of her knees.

"Do you smoke," I asked.

"No, not cigars or any other kind of tobacco product. My husband does and unlike most wives, I actually enjoy the smell of them. I believe you're Andrew?"

"Yes. Have we met?"

"No, but I believe you know my daughter, the bride for this little event."

"Oh Charlene, Yes I've known her for several years. You must be Carol."

"Carolyn."

"I'm sorry. Carolyn."

"You were close."

"Closeness only counts in horseshoes."

"And a few other things," she said with a subtle smile.

" I like to get names right. I'm in sales."

"I know. Charlene told me. Actually she told me a good deal about you."

"And you're not mad?" I was still worrying about what Charlene had told her about our night in Palm Springs.

"Mad? No certainly not. My daughter sleeps with whom she chooses . . . as do I. Actually I'm intrigued."

"I see. Would you care to join me?"

"My, you are forward."

I ignored her somewhat lewd interpretation of my invitation to join me on the bench, saying,

"The view is nice tonight. I would offer to get you a drink, but I see you have one."

"Oh yes, and this is far from the first," she said as she slid into the seat along side me. It was a bench seat so there was room for the both of us, but I immediately noticed she didn't feel a need to maintain a distance. Her thigh felt deliciously warm pressed against mine.

"And so," I asked her, "What do you do, when you're not throwing lavish parties such as this one."

She laughed. "Oh I had nothing to do with organizing this. It was purely Bill's production. I told the kids to elope to Las Vegas, but nothing would do for Bill than to hire the biggest hotel in the Bay Area for his daughter's wedding. You know, you and I are almost unique at this wedding."

"How so?"

"We may be among the very few people here who have actually met the bride and the groom before this evening. Aside from Brad's parents and a handful of the kid's friends, like you, almost everyone here is a business contact of Bill's."

"And Bill is?"

"My husband." She paused for a moment. "It's a purely technical relationship."

"So you don't sleep together?" I surprised myself with that question. I guess I had had a little more to drink than I thought.

But instead of being offended, she laughed. "God no. We haven't in years. Shortly after our daughter was born I realized that he was obsessed with his work and he had virtually no interest in sex, a subject I consider essential to life." Another chuckle. "And he wasn't very good at it either. So we reached an 'arrangement.' I would remain his wife, attend his business parties, raise his daughter, and he would work. Oh and I could sleep with whomever I chose as long as I was discreet. It has worked out marvelously—for both of us."

"Does he sleep around also?" I asked.

"I have no idea, and I don't care. Given how little interest he showed in me, I doubt it."

"You are a very attractive woman. I have trouble understanding that."

She placed her hand on my thigh. It felt delicious. "Don't worry about it," Carolyn said. "People are different."

"That feels nice," I said.

Carolyn laid her head on my shoulder and sighed. Her hand slid farther up my thigh. I could feel my cock coming to life.

"So you consider sex essential to life?" I asked.

"Umm. Yes," she murmured next to my ear. "and based on what Charlene told me, you must think the same."

"Actually I do," I responded as I placed my hand on the inside of her bare leg just above the knee.

Now it was her turn to tell me how nice my fondling felt. I slowly slid my hand up her thigh as she purred with enjoyment.

"And is there any type of sex you believe is more essential that others?" She let her leg fall to one side clearing the way for me to continue working my hand up her thigh.

"Type?"

"Yes. You know what they say. Different strokes for different folks." My hand had reached her panties now and was cupping her mound. "I mean, for example, do you prefer men or women?"

"Yes," she responded with deliberate ambiguity.

"Conventional fucking or perhaps oral or", I paused for a moment. "Anal."

"Yes."

"I see." I could feel her juices seeping through her light weight panties. "Are you by chance an exhibitionist?" I asked.

"Sometimes. But if you're asking if I will fuck you here on this balcony." She paused again. "That's tempting, but no I think not tonight. That would violate my commitment to Bill to be discreet."

I chuckled. "Yes, I suppose it would."

"It's a shame though," she said. " What you're doing to me feels so good." She was rubbing my engorged cock through my trousers now. "Hmm. I think Charlene was right. You have a big cock. There is nothing I would rather do right now than to drop to my knees and suck your yummy cock. I dearly love sucking a cock."

"You know," I said, "this party is about wound down. Perhaps we should go someplace else where we can be a little more discreet."

"I have a room here," she said.

"I have a better idea," I said. "I have a house over on the north side of Berkeley. We could go there. It would be more discreet."

"That sounds lovely. Shall we go? I really don't need any more to drink."

"Shall I meet you at the parking lot? Perhaps you have some 'good evenings' to say to a few folks."

"Brad's parents and the bride and groom are gone. They were the only ones I cared about here. Bill will take care of settling up with the Hotel. He won't even notice I'm gone."

We gave up on discreet and walked out though the ballroom and down a big set of stairs, Carolyn's arm linked in mine as though we were the parents of the bride leaving for the evening. The place was almost empty. I thought we looked grand as we strode down the broad staircase.

"Do you think someone will notice us," I asked.

"Not really, she said. Then she whispered in my ear, "Fuck'm if they can't take a joke." She had had more than a little to drink.

We stood beneath the portico waiting for a sleepy looking parking attendant to fetch my vehicle. Carolyn was standing close, her hip pushed against mine. She removed her arm that had been linked with mine and let the hand slide down my back until it was caressing my butt. One of her ample breasts was pressed against my arm. We were talking quietly with no one about to hear us.

"What else did Charlene tell you about me?"

"You mean besides that you have a big dick?"

"Yes. I need to know what standards I have to live up to."

"Well, let's see. She told me you have great staying power; and, she said you are very creative—about positions and such; and, she said you have a magic tongue that can just drive a woman insane."

"So those are all things that appeal to you?"

"Yesssss," she hissed quietly in my ear. "I can't wait."

I think the conversation might have gotten even more graphic, but that was when my car arrived. The car check kid hopped out, graciously accepting my tip, and then let Carolyn in the passenger side of the car, taking time to appreciate the view he apparently had of her long, shapely legs as she slid into the car.

I steered my way down the short road past the Berkeley Tennis Club and had the presence of mind to turn right on Tunnel Road to head back into Berkeley rather than left, which would have taken us through the Caldecott Tunnel and back towards my home in Walnut Creek. Good sign, I thought. I haven't had so much to drink that I am driving on autopilot.

Once I got through the oddball intersection where Tunnel Road turns into Ashby, there by the liquor store, I headed north through Berkeley, and a few minutes later we were at Mom and Lisa's house in North Berkeley. Carolyn however, was sound asleep.

"Darling," I said. "It's time to wake-up." It was looking like this was not going to be a night for wedding sex. So life goes I thought. I was mostly hoping I wouldn't have to carry her up the stairs.

"Oh hi. Are we there?" she sounded groggy.

"Yes. This is my Mother's house."

She giggled. "Really. You're taking me home to meet your mother on our first date? That's sweet, but . . . how will we break it to her that I'm already married to someone else?"

"I don't think that will be a problem. First Mom isn't here tonight. She and her lover, Lisa, have gone down to Big Sur for a few days. Secondly, my Mother has had . . . how shall I say this . . . an unusual romantic life. Not much of anything I do shocks her or causes her to object, although she has suggested I refrain from getting married again."

"Hmmm. I can't wait to hear more."

"Let's get you inside before my boring life story puts you to sleep again."

We walked up the stairs without difficulty and I found the key behind the geranium pot and let us in. As we stood in the living room Carolyn turned, rotating on the heel of one shoe with surprising agility given how much alcohol she had consumed, as she took in the décor of the room.

"Oh, I do so love these old Berkeley homes. So art deco. This must have built in the mid-twenties."

"Very accurate. 1926 to be precise."

"I'm in the business. I sell real estate. Mostly over in Palo Alto."

"Well this house has a feature you probably never seen in an old Berkeley home. Let me show you." Her nap had given her new life so I led her up the large stair case, down the hall, and then up the narrow enclosed staircase to the Crow's Nest. She looked about at the minimal furnishings (a large bed, a small table, a couple of simple chairs, and a small cabinet with clean sheets and towels), the 365 degree windows with their spectacular view of the Bay, and the dark-stained half-walls, below the windows.

She reached out and touched the rope that went to the locomotive bell. "What's this?"

"Not yet," I said. I then explained the locomotive bell and its role in the Crow's Nest along with the history of how Lisa's father had had the little room built and the bell installed solely for the purpose of entertaining the coeds and graduate students he seduced.