Kevin's Bizarre Avocation

I was busy enough that I had almost forgotten my meeting with Joan Greene when about a month afterwards she called me. After an exchange of pleasantries and resolution of a business issue Joan said "Say, Kevin; my husband Horace and I would like to treat you to dinner this Friday. Are you available?"

I was surprised and instinctively responded "Sure."

"You can bring a date if you like," she continued.

"I don't think I can scare one up this weekend," I chuckled.

"No problem; can you meet us at La Petite Maison at 7:30 Friday?"

"I look forward to it," I replied.

I inquired of several co-workers about La Petite Maison since I was relatively new to town and hadn't heard of it. The universal reaction I got was envy. "That's the most exclusive restaurant in the city; it has two Michelin stars and it's almost impossible to get reservations," the most knowledgeable co-worker related. I was gobsmacked.

I showed up Friday night wearing my best suit; I thought that I looked good. Fortunately Joan and Horace were there when I arrived since despite wearing my best I was afraid I'd get bounced for not being classy enough. Actually the place wasn't pretentious, but it served the best food of its type that I had ever had. I noticed that the menu I was given had no prices on it - I still tried to order something that I thought was somewhat economical (if such a dish existed there).

Horace was a friendly guy, as it turns out the COO of a Fortune 1000 company. My impression that he had big bucks was sealed when he didn't even look at the bill but handed the waiter an Amex Black Card.

It turned out that there was a reason for my being invited to dinner, during which I had the impression that it was akin to a job interview. I found out the reason the next Monday when Horace called me at work and asked if I would be so kind - his treat - as to take Joan that Saturday night to a performance of The Band's Visit, which I hadn't seen yet. I stuttered an acceptance and promised to call Joan to make arrangements.

Joan was happy to hear from me. "I hope that it's not too much of an imposition for a good-looking young man like yourself to accompany an old woman like myself to the theater."

"No, I'd be honored, plus you're not old; I'll be the envy of every guy there" I replied, evoking a laugh from Joan. "I don't think that I'd ever be able to afford it myself," I gushed.

Joan's driver picked me up at my apartment an hour before the performance - we then picked up Joan. She looked really good. We got to the theater in plenty of time. I was shocked when the usher led us to a private box just above and to the left of the stage; it was the best seat that I had ever had in a theater in my entire life. The basic "plot," if you can call it that, is what happens when an Egyptian police band gets stranded in a tiny Israeli town. The musicians wait in a cafe — and get to talking with the locals - and song and dance ensue. It was surprisingly entertaining, and both Joan and I loved it.

Afterwards we went to a cast party - another first for me - and that was even more fun than the musical. Joan and I exchanged a big hug, both with genuine smiles on our faces, when her driver left her off (I of course walked her to the door) before he took me home. Despite the fact that there was not an iota of romance or sex involved it was one of the twenty most enjoyable activities of its type I had ever experienced.

Joan and Horace had lots of friends - so did the contacts I made when escorting Joan to several other events that Horace either detested or was unavailable for, and even contacts I made with cast members of various performances - who were at first somewhat startled by my relationship with Joan and Horace, but then intrigued. Within a year I was attending almost an event about every other week with one lady or another, some with absent husbands or boyfriends, others with reticent ones. Apparently I developed a good reputation because no more than a handful of husbands or boyfriends insisted on "interviewing" me before I took their women to the theater, an art gallery, or once in a while even a charity ball. I think that I was popular because I was always a perfect gentleman (even the few times when the women got drunk and handsy), never charged any money but was happy just with having the experience comped, and never had anything bad to say about anyone. The women typically ranged in age from thirty to seventy, most rich, or with rich boyfriends.

My particular form of escorting became the best avocation that someone like me could possibly have. I had no difficulty in separating my sex life from my escort duties, and actually had a few nice, but fairly short, sexual relationships with women about my age during this time.

I had been happily and successfully practicing my avocation almost two years when a seminal event occurred. I got a call from the husband of a new potential "client." He was the first one in more than a year who wanted to meet with me. His name - no joke - was Guido Ricci, and when we met at a local Italian restaurant he had on a black shirt and white tie beneath his suit jacket. Guido was pleasant, but definitely gave out the vibe that he wasn't someone to fuck with. This was emphasized by the subservient way that the staff at the restaurant treated him.

There was no doubt that this was an intense interview when he asked me questions that were often embarrassing, inappropriate, or off-the-wall, including "are you gay?" "what is it about opera and musicals that you like?" "did you ever have a sexual relationship with someone you escorted?" etc.

I kept my cool during the interview, honestly answered all of his questions, and then surprised him by asking him a number of questions including what business he was in, why he was so concerned about my life, what was his relationship with his wife, etc. I was very pleasant and deferential when asking these questions, but also serious. Even though I was sure that he was lying when responding to some of my questions (especially what business he was in) I think that he actually gained some respect for me because of the questions I asked. I sealed the deal - as far as him respecting me - when I told him a story.

"Let me tell you a story about a friend of mine that tells you how I roll, Guido. My friend had a cheating wife. He never bothered to divorce her but just disappeared one day. However, before he disappeared he knocked his wife's lover unconscious and then burned down his house. I always respected him for that; cheaters are scum," I said with a totally straight face, until a big smile at the end.

Guido laughed heartily, slapped me on the back, and said "My wife Gabriella wants to go to the opera a week from Saturday. Are you available to take her?"

"If you commit right now, I am," I smiled "but I expect to have another offer soon, which is why I need a commitment now. To be clear I do not charge, I expect to be comped for transportation, drinks, and the performance, and she will be returned at the time you tell me in exactly the same condition that she left. Deal?"

That got another laugh, a meaty handshake, and a reciprocated "Deal!"

**************

When I picked up Gabriella Ricci in a limo that I rented (paid for by Guido) I was surprised by her appearance and demeanor. She couldn't have been more than thirty years old - Guido was likely in his mid-forties - and dressed provocatively. She was definitely of Italian heritage, although obviously American, short, thin, and except for her clothes unexceptional; at first glance. She also appeared to be surly.

I pleasantly introduced myself, helped her into the limo, and tried to strike up a light conversation. She was either nasty or dismissive with her responses. For the first time since I was an escort I was having a bad experience so I took the bull by the horns - just like I had done with asswipe.

"Look, Gabby," I said in a stern tone, suspecting that she would hate being called Gabby, "my only desire is to have a pleasant night at the opera. If something happened today that makes you as surly as a snake why don't we call this off? We can tell your husband that we just had a personality conflict and go our separate ways. I have always gotten along with everyone when going to the opera, the theater, or an art gallery, but there's always a first time for everything. If you have some bone up your ass let's turn around now and I won't even charge Guido for the limo."

That got her attention. She snarled something in Italian. I was far from proficient in Italian but I had taken it for a couple of years in college and one of my roommates one year was a native Italian so I knew some salty language. "I'm not the asshole, you are," I replied in my not-too-great, but obviously understood, Italian, in response to her Italian tirade. Her eyes got wide. Then she sulked for a minute or two. I interrupted her funk by asking in half-Italian and half-English "Shall we turn around, or shall we see how well the new diva pulls off Violetta in La Traviata?"

Within a minute after my question her demeanor softened. "I'll suppress how pissed I am; let's enjoy La Traviata," she replied with a half-smile.

The rest of the conversation in the limo was about what we both liked about opera, and the operas that we had seen in the past, who our favorite performers were, etc. By the time of the intermission (the performance we saw had only one intermission) Gabriella was actually pleasant as she sipped a glass of white wine and I enjoyed a club soda. After Violetta's final illusion that she will survive, and then expires, Gabriella's emotions mirrored Violetta's. As the curtain fell Gabriella had tears in her eyes. I comforted her by squeezing her shoulder, and she smiled at me through her tears.

After the performance Gabriella again surprised me by wanting to go to a night club. Guido had given me a 1 a. m. curfew so I agreed. At the night club Gabriella was an entirely different person. It was there that I noticed for the first time that she had the elusive factor that for lack of a better term is often referred to as the "it" factor.

In my experience some women have an "it" factor because they are upbeat and optimistic, and their manner is contagious and makes those around her more upbeat and optimistic. For other women it simply cannot be properly defined; it is something that transcends their looks and makes them immensely sexually attractive without some of the physical characteristics that a particular male might idealize. As the evening progressed I was more and more cognizant of the fact that Gabriella was as sultry as hell. This turned out to be disturbing when what we agreed was to be the last dance unintentionally turned out to be a slow one and despite my best efforts my cock saluted as we moved in unison over the dance floor. I hoped to hell that she didn't notice it.

In the limo on the way back Gabriella was quiet for a few minutes and then interrupted me as I started to say something. "Kevin - sorry to interrupt but I have to get something off my chest. I apologize for my sullenness when you picked me up but I was pissed at Guido for simply telling me that he had arranged for someone to take me to the opera so that I wouldn't keep haranguing him about it, and was completely dismissive of my concerns. I barely knew your name when you picked me up let alone anything about you. I'm sorry that I took it out on you."

I smiled widely. "Apology accepted; I'd have had the same reaction that you did if I was in your situation," I chuckled.

"I've had a wonderful time," she continued, obviously serious.

"So did I - the best," I replied, causing her to slightly blush.

When we got back to her house - close to a mansion - I insisted on walking her to the door, and actually seeing Guido if he was in. She opened the door with her key and called out to Guido. He and two "associates" came out of what I thought might be a library or home office. I greeted him warmly,

"Guido, thank you for allowing me the privilege to escort your charming wife to the opera. It was a wonderful performance and I thank you for allowing me enjoy something that I couldn't otherwise afford. As promised she is returned before curfew and in exactly the same shape as she left," I said, the last sentence delivered with a laugh.

Guido laughed too, introduced me to his two associates (Vido and Carmen) who looked like actors in one of the Godfather movies, and then I said my goodbyes, leaving both Guido and Gabriella with smiles on their faces.

I don't know for sure how Gabriella got my cellphone number, but the next day she called me and thanked me for "My most enjoyable experience of the year."

Fortunately she could only talk for a few minutes, because my conversation with her was causing me some consternation. When I terminated the call and saw and felt my cock at full salute I had the most intense masturbation session that I could remember, fantasizing that I was discharging my massive load into Gabriella's pussy as she screamed in orgasm and dug her fingers into my back.

After my night with Gabriella on the next romantic date that I had I fucked my drunken lover with a passion I hadn't experienced since my best times with Jill. Unfortunately the passion was inspired by thoughts of Gabriella, which disturbed me when I remembered them the next morning. Fortunately my date didn't catch on, but rather merely complimented me on a memorable performance. After I dropped my date off the next morning I vowed to purge Gabriella from my mind. "She's not really that special or sexy," I disingenuously told myself, "and she's dangerous," which certainly was true.

My purge-Gabriella effort lasted for a month - until Guido called me again and asked me to take Gabriella to a social event at a club he was a member of since he would be out of town and she had been one of the organizers of the event. I pretended to have a possible conflict but ultimately unenthusiastically agreed to do it. He seemed quite pleased. "A happy wife means a happy life," was the trite comment he ended the conversation with.

The country club experience with Gabriella was tortuous. She not only had the "it" factor with the accompanying exuding of sexuality, but with the light makeup that she had on, and the way that her hair was done, she looked beautiful. Everyone that I was introduced to seemed to know my relationship with Gabriella, and a couple of women even inquired about the details of my avocation. I completely behaved myself during the evening, including by making myself scarce when a couple of slow songs were played by the band since I didn't want to stick my hard cock into her stomach and embarrass both of us. I did notice two guys who appeared to be out-of-place at the event who seemed to subtly be paying special attention to Gabriella and me. I was sure that they were Guido spies; they would have nothing but positive things to report.

I made a big hit with Gabriella and the other people on the organizing committee by doing cleanup work that the staff wasn't responsible for, including carrying all sorts of objects to the vehicles of a number of the committee members. Gabriella was very friendly on the way to her house. When we got there and I walked her to her front door she said "Can you take me to a performance of Hamilton Saturday the twelfth? I don't know why Guido doesn't want to go, but I can't miss it."

"Uh...sure...OK..." was my stammered reply.

"Why don't you pick me up in your car - we don't need a limo or driver," she said with what I swear was a coquettish look in her eye.

"Uh...OK...sure..." I stammered again.

She gave me a quick side hug (resulting in another unwanted reaction in my nether region) and then disappeared inside.

After another epic masturbation session that night the next day I soberly admitted to myself that I was starting to obsess about Gabriella. I got out my cellphone at least a dozen times over the next ten days to call Gabriella and cancel the trip to see Hamilton. Each time I either chickened out, or sighed in defeat, as I turned my cellphone off without making the call.

Finally the night of the Hamilton performance arrived. I pulled up to the Ricci house in my modest blue Honda Civic and went to the door. Gabriella answered herself, dressed and made up in such a spectacular way that she could make a eunuch cum. I stammered out a "You look...really...nice," the understatement of the year.

"Thank you," she smiled.

"Is Guido here?" I asked.

"No, he's out of town. I promised to call him at intermission - but no 'curfew' tonight," she said with another coy twinkle in her eye.

I was having a hard time not staring at Gabriella's toned thighs during the ride to the theater and during the performance, but I still enjoyed it. I got us a couple of glasses of wine at intermission while she called Guido. When she returned she said "Obligation fulfilled," and then chugged her glass and grabbed my arm to have me escort her back to our seats.

After the performance, which we both truly loved, we went backstage since through Joan Greene I had gotten a pass. We talked with the actors who played King George, George Washington, and Eliza Hamilton, and by the time we left there were almost no other cars in the parking garage. As I held the passenger door open for Gabriella with the most diabolical smile I had ever seen up close she murmured "I had a great time; thank you Kevin," and then kissed me on the lips.

As she sat down in the front passenger's seat of my Honda lust overcame me. I pulled her out of the car without hitting her head on the roof and planted the most passionate kiss of my life on her lips while fondling her ass. She didn't resist; in fact one of her hands stroked my crotch, and she couldn't have missed my hard-on. When we broke the kiss she had a look that said "I know what you want;" I didn't disappoint her when I said "I've got to have you," passionately kissed her again, and then helped her into the car.

Virtually no words were exchanged as we drove the seventeen minutes (the longest seventeen minutes of my life) to my apartment. She kept giving me sly smiles while exposing a thigh, and I kept trying to suppress my boner. About the only words I spoke the entire way were "Please don't flash your magnificent thighs; I'll wreck the car."

When we got to my apartment in an ultimately clichéd act I carried her over the threshold into my bedroom, fortunately almost spotless because when I'm trying to distract myself from something dangerous - like thinking of fucking a siren married to a racketeer - I clean my abode. I found out that the quickest that two smartly dressed people can shed their clothes without ripping them is about twenty five seconds - at least according to my watch that night.

Naked Gabriella was even more sultry than she was clothed; an order of magnitude more. After we zealously kissed and roamed our hands all over the other's body I gently laid her on my bed. I resisted the strong temptation to immediately shove my cock into her luscious pussy and instead kissed one nipple while pinching the other, and then licked my way down her stomach to her snatch. My tongue had flicked her distended clitoris no more than half a dozen times when she came like Mr. Vesuvius, almost pulling my hair out as her orgasm overwhelmed her.

Despite the eruption I didn't let up, fingering and sucking her pussy and clitoris until she came three more times in rapid succession and then almost went limp while emitting an exhausted whimper. I then had to attend to my needs.

I ceremoniously mounted her as her eyes blinked and her smile flickered. Ever so slowly I inserted my cock into her abused vagina, each centimeter of penetration worth a kilometer of pleasure. When I bottomed out she groaned loudly and then plead "Please fuck me; show me no mercy."