Just Supposed to be a Summer Job

I was honored to be asked to participate in "Wine and Old Lace." I've never done historical or romance before, so this was quite a challenge. I hope I've earned another ask sometime in the future.

It was just supposed to be a summer job, a way to put some money in Stevie Tanner's pocket to take to his freshman year of college in the fall. His best friend, Ronnie Bailey, had persuaded his uncle, who worked at a resort in the Catskills, to get Ronnie and him onto a crew for the summer. They would do gardening, lawn work and maintenance work during the day, and hang out and drink beer in their cabin at night.

The cabins were sparse and cramped, four guys to each with a pair of bunk beds, a television and a small bathroom, but the pay was better than anything they could find on Long Island, where they lived. And the money would come in handy for living expenses, Stevie at the University of Iowa in Ames, IA, Ronnie at the University of Vermont in Burlington, VT. Stevie was going to be a CPA, Ronnie was going to be a veterinarian.

It was tough physical work, but both boys were in good physical condition, high school athletes having just graduated. At night, they would mostly hang out in someone's room, eating pizza and drinking beer, and mostly stayed away from the paying customers, as Ronnie's uncle had instructed them. The entertainers -- dancers and singers -- didn't follow that rule much, but nobody seemed to mind them hanging around because for the most part they were pretty good looking kids, both the guys and girls. Occasionally, you'd see one of the entertainers pair off with a teenage child of one of the guests, and sometimes, you'd see one of them pair off with one of the guests -- a definite no-no, both were told, although sometimes it didn't seem the rule applied to the entertainers. Neither boy really paid too much attention to that in the first few weeks as they got into a routine.

Most people came up to the resort for a week's stay, coming in late Sunday and leaving the next Saturday morning. Some of the more well-heeled stayed for two weeks straight, and by the second week had at least learned some of the staffers' names -- at least the ones in the dining hall and the service rooms. Nobody worried about learning the names of the maintenance crew, the boys quickly learned.

One warm evening, the boys drifted over to one of the gazebos where a handful of men were playing cards. Several of the wives were standing in the general area talking back and forth, when one of the men, the one everyone kept calling "Figs," looked up from his hand, turned to his wife and told her she was giving him an ulcer hanging over his shoulder. His eyes scanned those gathered about, and falling on Stevie, called him over to the table.

"Hey, kid. Yeah, you with the hair ... c'mere. Escort my wife over to the dining hall, get her some ice cream, get some for yourself, and show her around the grounds. She's killing my luck hanging back there. I'm down $37 already."

He pulled a $20 bill out of a wad for two ice creams that were only going to cost maybe $1.50. He looked Stevie straight in the eyes, so remembering what he had been taught, the young man looked straight back at the older man. The older chuckled when Stevie took the bill and walked out of the gazebo trailing the man's wife.

"God-damned kid's a walking hairball. What do they call that, an Afro?" Figs commented as the two walked off.

"Figs" was in fact Charlie Bonafiglio, a fairly high-ranked member of the Lucchese crime family. He most often went by "Figs" or "Charlie Figs." Anyone not living under a rock in the New York area knew who Charlie Figs was. Stevie took the request seriously.

When the pair exited the gazebo, Stevie got his first good look at Mrs. Charlie Figs. She had auburn hair down to her shoulders, the bluest eyes he'd ever seen and was built like a 45-year-old Sophia Loren.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you it was not polite to stare at a lady?" she asked in a sarcastic tone.

"S-s-s-orry," Stevie stammered.

Stevie thoroughly enjoyed playing tour guide for Mrs. Bonafiglio -- "Call me Angela," she instructed him, and by the time the pair returned to the gazebo, she had her hand around his upper arm. While she didn't make a big deal of it, she removed her hand from Stevie's arm as they ascended the steps of the gazebo.

Stevie reached into his pocket and dug out Charlie Figs' change for the ice cream.

"That's yours, kid," Charlie said as he looked at the money Stevie was trying to hand to him. "Thanks for getting her out of my hair for a bit, and thanks for watching over her."

Stevie's eyes got big as he put the money back into his pocket. He had worked for two years at his father's butcher shop in Brooklyn and had never been tipped more than $1 before.

"Holy shit. An $18 tip just for showing her around," he thought to himself. "That's almost a day's pay."

The next day while he was mowing around the cottages, Stevie received word that Charlie Figs wanted to see him. Stevie asked his boss if he could take off for a few minutes to see Mr. Bonafiglio, and upon hearing Charlie Figs' name, the boss told Stevie to take all the time Mr. Bonafiglio needed.

Angela answered when Stevie knocked on the door of the Bonafiglios' cottage. She let Stevie in, then excused herself and left the cottage.

It was a hot and humid day, and Stevie was sweaty from mowing. His curly brown hair had reacted to the humidity and had tightened up into a wide, long Afro, and reached down to the top of his shoulders. Charlie's hair was cut short and he had a Brylcreem wave in the front. He didn't understand boys wearing hair long like a girl. He looked hard at Stevie.

"I can't figure you out, kid. You're either a light-skinned ni ... black kid ... or a dark-skinned ki ... Jewboy wannabe with a perm."

Stevie was silently glad that Charlie at least felt guilty enough not to use the coarser descriptions of his ethnicity. Not that he hadn't heard both words hurled at him before.

"Would it make a difference if I'm either ... or both?" Stevie asked in a clear, confident voice. "The only thing I will tell you is that I'm no wannabe. This ain't a perm. Gets tighter and shorter or looser and longer depending upon the weather. Always been like this.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Yeah, kid I did. I got something to ask you, and to quote you kids, it's pretty heavy. But whatever you answer, this conversation stays right here between us. If it ever gets out any further, one of us is going to suffer some broken ribs and a busted face, maybe something worse. You catch my drift?"

"Yes, sir."

"My wife and I have sort of an interesting relationship. From time to time, I let her ... have some dates with other men, if you catch my drift. It makes up for the occasional ... relationship I have with other women. But she only does it with my knowledge and approval ... and it's done very hush-hush. You understand ... the busted face thing, right."

Although he tried to remain expressionless, Stevie's eyes widened. The reaction wasn't lost on Charlie.

"So how it's going to work is you're going to meet her at the gazebo at 9 each night, and then go off for a walk. Just make sure you're out of the cottage by 11, because I should be heading over by then ... and I don't want to see you sneaking away.

"And you'd better clean up real good before you see my Angela.

"And one more thing, kid. You treat her like a lady, or they'll eventually be finding pieces of you all over these mountains. Got it?"

Stevie just nodded his head. His mouth was so dry he couldn't talk.

Charlie nodded back and dismissed Stevie with a backhand wave. Stevie didn't waste any time leaving the cottage.

Stevie was glad for the noise of the mower. His mind was going in 80 directions at once, and the sound seemed to help him focus.

"Holy shit! Charlie Figs' wife and me! Damn, I was hoping to at least live to see my twenties," the young man thought to himself. "What if I can't do a good enough job?"

Stevie had only had sex about a half-dozen times with three different girls, and while he thought he did OK, none of them was near as experienced as Mrs. Charlie Figs. And two of the times the sex had been rushed, in the backseat of his cramped 1960 Pontiac Tempest. He remembered what his father had told him when he gave Stevie the "birds and bees" talk. "Take your time. It's not a race. And always try to please your partner."

The afternoon passed quickly. Stevie met up with Ronnie at the maintenance shack, and they walked over to the dining hall to get their employees' meal. Ronnie asked about the evening's plans, but Stevie told him that he had to take a shower and do an errand for Charlie Figs.

"Think you can get another $18 tip out of him again?" Ronnie inquired.

"Don't I wish!" Stevie replied.

Stevie was at the gazebo five minutes early. He was fidgety and sweating as he caught Charlie's eye. Charlie nodded, and Angela, who was sitting in the chair a few feet behind Charlie, got up and walked over to the young man. She put her arm around his, and the pair slowly wound their way to the cottage rented by the Bonafiglios.

Most of the housing at the resort was just cabins, but there were a group of cottages for those that wanted a little more room and comfort. A few of the cottages, like the Bonafiglios', even had air conditioning.

Angela Bonafiglio was wearing a demure blue sundress, not like the rather risqué sundresses worn by many of the younger women and teenagers at the resort, which had thin straps and lower cut backs and showed off quite a bit of bare shoulders. But Angela was about 45 and the wife of an important man, so dressing like that was not an option for someone of her station.

The material of the dress was a little thin, and Stevie noted that Angela's nipples stiffened as they entered the air-conditioned cottage. When he looked up at Angela's face, she was watching him eye her 36C tits, and her lips twisted into a crooked smile.

"I'm assuming you've done this before, haven't you, kid?" Angela said as she continued to smile.

"Yes, ma'am, a few times," Stevie answered quietly.

"It's Angela, kid. None of that ma'am shit with me," she giggled.

"Yes, ma'am ... I mean Angela."

Angela slowly walked to the kitchen, and poured herself a shot of J&B scotch over three ice cubes. She held up the glass, shook it slightly, and looked at Stevie.

"Yes, ma'am ... er ... Angela, that would be nice."

Angela repeated the pouring.

Angela motioned for Stevie to sit on the sofa, and she sat down next to him, turned at an angle to him. He watched as her breasts jiggled under the top of her dress, and she again caught him looking.

"Are you a boob man, Stevie?" she asked directly.

Stevie flamed red and dropped his eyes to the drink in his hand.

"Stand up, kid. We've only got two hours, so let's get this show on the road."

They both stood up and Angela stepped into Stevie's space. She put her arms around him, with her hands on his back. She rubbed his back up and down, then leaned in for a soft kiss. Stevie kissed back, and then put his arms around Angela, with his hands resting on the top of her firm ass. For the briefest of seconds, he thought that Angela was probably about the same age as his mother, but that thought quickly disappeared as she leaned in for a more physical, longer kiss. Stevie could feel his cock coming to life, and so could Angela as it was pressed up against her stomach.

"Why don't you do the honors and unbutton me?" Angela said.

Ever the obedient child, Stevie did as he was told, looking for all the world like a kid at Christmas, Angela thought. Once she was naked, she started to return the favor, and when she got Stevie's underwear off, she found his 6 inches of man meat hard at attention. She leaned over and gave the head a soft kiss. The kid's knees buckled slightly.

Angela led the kid to the bedroom and pushed Stevie down on the bed. She straddled his hips and sank down on him cowgirl. He started to buck but Angela put her hands flat down on his chest and didn't move. He got the hint and stopped. Angela then slowly started to rock back and forth, grinding her clit up against his cock. Stevie remained almost motionless, letting Angela lead the way. In truth, he had never done cowgirl before and had his dick in that deep into a woman. Actually, he thought to himself, he had never fucked a woman before: the others had been mere girls.

Angela started breathing heavier. She leaned over and gave Stevie the most passionate kiss of his young life. As she leaned back, he took her boobs in his hands, then gently thumbed her nipples.

Angela moaned, then her eyes flickered, she stiffened, and started bucking wildly. Stevie felt her juices cascading down his pole and onto his stomach. He'd never made a woman, or a girl for that matter, orgasm before. He joined her moments later in the biggest orgasm of his life.

Angela didn't climb off as Stevie's pole started wilting. She laid still on his chest for a few seconds, then slowly started to use her pussy muscles to squeeze the young man's softening erection back to full hard. It only took about two minutes and Stevie was back hard as a rock. Angela smiled inwardly, thinking to herself, "This old lady's still got it!"

Angela rolled the two of them over to missionary without letting Stevie's cock leave her pussy. With "the easy one" out of the way, she knew the kid would be good for a long, slow fuck, and she dictated the pace from underneath. The pair would occasionally lean in for some sensual kissing while they were fucking, and Stevie was working up a good sweat on top. His long hair was now falling down in ringlets about Angela's face, tickling her and being a new sensation. She had never had sex with anyone before whose hair was about as long as hers.

After about 20 minutes, Angela kicked Stevie into a higher gear, and the added speed gave her what she was seeking, a second big orgasm. Angela's orgasm underneath him kicked Stevie off soon afterward, and the pair laid on the bed breathing heavily, each lost in their own thoughts.

Stevie left the Bonafiglios' at about 10:30, being very mindful of the time. He practically whistled all the way back to his cabin. Ronnie and two of the other maintenance workers were kicked back watching the 12-inch Hitachi black and white television.

"Well, you certainly seem chipper," Ronnie said as Stevie entered.

Stevie badly wanted to brag to his friends about his night with Angela, but he knew better than to say anything incriminating.

"Just keeping Mrs. Bonafiglio company and eating some ice cream while Charlie Figs played cards," he said blandly. If any of the others had seen the smile spread across Stevie's face, they might have had some questions.

Stevie again met up with Angela at the gazebo where the men were again playing cards the next night. Charlie actually stopped playing for a bit to acknowledge Stevie, which made the 18-year-old feel somewhat important. He and Angela then headed back to her cottage.

Once safely ensconced inside the cottage, Angela directed Stevie to again sit on the sofa while she poured each of them a scotch over ice. As she handed Stevie his drink, she noticed the young man fidgeting with nervous energy, and was pleased that she still had what it took to entice a young man.

"Last night was good, Stevie, but have you ever eaten pussy before?" Angela queried.

Stevie's mouth dropped open. He had read enough Playboys to know what Angela was referring to, but had never yet had the chance to try it with a girl ... or a woman.

"No, ma'am ... I mean, Angela. But if you tell me how, I can try my best!" Stevie blurted out.

"That's a good boy," Angela said in an almost motherly tone as she caught herself.

Angela had Stevie remove her clothes. She could see Stevie's erection growing. She then slowly stripped him. Sitting next to him on the sofa, Angela slowly spread her legs as Stevie watched. She gently took his face in her hands and guided it to her pussy. She could see Stevie take a small sniff and wrinkle his nose. Even though she had douched earlier in the day, she knew that the smell of pussy wasn't always the most pleasant.

"Stick out your tongue and run it along my opening," she said gently.

Stevie followed her order and was rewarded with a small squeal and a slight jump from Angela. The taste, he decided, was better than the smell, and he leaned back in for another lick, going in a little deeper. This time Angela gave out a throaty moan, and in that moment, Stevie was hooked. He started licking like he was devouring an ice cream cone, and Angela started writhing and moaning like a woman possessed. Her moans made his hard-on grow stronger and pushed him to keep up a frenzied pace. About a half-minute later, Angela could stand no more, tensed up her whole body, then started to thrust her pussy against Stevie's face full force, almost knocking him off the sofa as she shrieked. At that moment, her only lucid thought was that she was glad she had the air conditioning on and the windows and doors closed.

Thirty seconds later, Angela finally finished, and Stevie's face was awash in her juices.

"Wow!" was all he said. "Wow. Wow. Wow!"

Steve waited until Angela showed some sign of life before resuming his tonguing. Now that he had an idea of what worked, he experimented with a few other movements and spots. Angela seemed to be enjoying it all, and when Stevie finally found her swollen clitoris, Angela was pretty sure the world exploded into fireworks, puppy dogs, and rainbows as she went from a squeal to a shriek.

"Damn boy. You sure you never did this before? That was fantastic! Now slide up here and give me that cock."

Stevie indeed slid up on Angela and gave her his cock. She reached her head up and gave him a big, sensuous kiss on his lips, then slowly started to lick her juices off of his face. Stevie enjoyed her ministrations as he concentrated on keeping the pace which Angela set.

The Bonafiglios' two-week vacation went very quickly, Stevie thought to himself as he walked over to the nightly card game a few minutes before 9 on the final Friday that Charlie and Angela were to be there. Some of the families were busy with the talent show that was being done in the recreation hall, but Charlie and his card buddies were in their usual spots in the gazebo with their drinks and cards. Stevie caught Charlie's eye as he took Angela by the arm, and Figs gave him the usual nod.

As it had been from the first night on, the pair had another night of fantastic sex. When it was time for Stevie to leave, Angela took his face in her hands and told him he was a wonderful lover, and that any woman would be glad to have a husband as attentive in bed as Stevie.

"You don't have to take shit from any girl ever, Stevie. You're a wonderful guy and a wonderful lover, and any girl who can't see that is not worth you."

The pair embraced, and Stevie walked off. Somehow the rest of the summer went on.

Iowa City, Iowa, was about as far from Long Island as humanly possible, Stevie thought as he got off the airplane to start his freshman year in college. He and his father had previously been at the school for a visit in May, and at that time he was so impressed he signed up to attend, but in the cold light of a sweltering Iowa August, maybe it hadn't been the best decision of his life, Stevie thought to himself.

A cab took him to the dormitory, and when he arrived, another freshman, his roommate, was already there. Gary Butkus, an architecture major, came from the western part of Iowa, Council Bluffs. Since neither was going to school with a buddy, the school had decided to make the two freshmen roommates. Stevie came in lugging two big suitcases, which had pretty much all of his clothes and a few worldly possessions inside. Gary was sitting on his bed, fiddling with a clock-radio. He offered Stevie a cold can of Miller, and Stevie immediately knew that he and Gary would get along.