Kevin's Special Delivery Pt. 05

Kevin's Special Delivery Pt. 05 - Friends and Lovers

Kevin

I'll confess to being a little fuzzy headed at work on Thursday, after spending my day off having terrific sex with Lois at a fancy hotel. And that was just a couple of days after I spent Sunday morning unexpectedly "shtupping" Mrs. Grossman Man, what a summer it had been so far!

And I had another - um - "date" lined up with Lois for next Wednesday night at her place too, though I was really wishing I didn't have to wait that long. Seemed like about 95% of the thoughts running through my head were about doing it with Lois. Had I become a sex addict? Maybe.

Anyway, I managed to get through Thursday by trying to concentrate on work during the day and hanging out with my friends at night. My folks and my sisters were still up at grandpa and grandma's cabin in Wisconsin, so I had the run of the house and got to stay up and/or out as late as I wanted, which was kinda cool. Rob got permission to sleep over on Thursday night, and we brought home a pizza and watched TV and horsed around until really late.

I missed Lois, though. Missed kissing her. Missed the feel of her naked body against mine. Missed the way she looked and smelled and tasted and... uh, you know!

Lois

Well! That was hands down the best hotel stay I had ever had.

Not only was the room fabulous, but the - ahem - "service" was stellar. As I rode down in the elevator to find myself some breakfast and coffee, I could feel a delightful thrumming still coursing through my body. This Palmer House guest was one satisfied customer!

At this hour on any normal workday my mind would be fully occupied with the business matters to be accomplished in the hours to come. But on this day, absolutely all I could think about was getting Kevin back into my bed and my arms and my... gracious me Lois, behave!

On the plus side, my next rendezvous with the randy rascal was already in the books. In the debit column was the fact that said assignation was nearly a full week away. How would I possibly endure the deprivation until Wednesday evening?

In fact, however, there was a good reason for part of the delay: I was about to welcome a weekend houseguest - one I could scarcely wait to see. Mrs. M. Margaret Sedgwick was about to grace my humble abode with her august presence.

Mrs. Sedgwick had been my closest friend since First Grade - way back when she was simply Maggie McGovern. Maggie and I were inseparable throughout grammar school and high school.

During all that time we shared everything: dolls and hair ribbons and makeup and scandalous secrets. I loved her like the sister I never had, and even forgave her for stealing my first real boyfriend from me and sleeping with him after our Senior prom.

About the only thing we didn't share was clothes, since Maggie was already nearly a full head taller than me when we met and eventually topped out at an even six feet in High School (although she would forever insist that she was "only" 5'11 because: "Girls aren't supposed to be six feet tall, Lois!").

I plateaued at a shade under 5'4, so we were rather a mismatched pair. Our parents took to calling us "Mutt and Jeff," after a comic strip that featured two similarly asymmetrical friends. Maggie HATED that, because "Mutt" was the taller of the duo.

Despite being best friends, however, we were ridiculously competitive with each other. That likely flowed from the fact that we were always the two smartest, most ambitions and highest-achieving girls in our classes (just ask us!). I won the spelling bees; Maggie won the science fairs. I could run faster; she could run farther. She was Student Council President; I got the lead roles in the school plays. Maggie was valedictorian; I was voted "Most Likely to Succeed."

Fate eventually broke up the team, alas. Maggie won a full scholarship to Smith College in Massachusetts, while I decided to stay local, and became one of the very few "coeds" at Loyola University. We wrote long letters to each other and were inseparable again when she came back for Christmas and summer vacations, but it wasn't quite the same.

Maggie stayed out East after college while I stayed put in Chicago, and we drifted a bit further apart. Maggie married a Harvard man, gained admission into the Brahmin caste, and raised three boys in Boston (summering on the Cape of course).

I, on the other hand, was determined to make my own way in the world of Chicago business. At least until I foolishly succumbed to the charms of an older, married man and played the thankless roles of "other woman" and "homewrecker," before being made a somewhat honest woman by my now ex-husband Albert.

Our different paths meant that Maggie and I interacted less frequently. Annual Christmas cards were exchanged, of course, with photos of domestic bliss enclosed in hers. Maggie would return to Chicago periodically for family events, and we'd always try to get together for dinner or at least coffee. When we did, the years immediately fell away and we reverted to the giggling teenage confidantes we had been.

These days Maggie's sons were grown and flown and - sadly - her husband had died far too young (heart attack) two years ago now. She was coming to Chicago this weekend to celebrate her mother's 80^th birthday. In her letter, she told me that she intended to stay in a hotel, but I wouldn't hear of it. My seldom-used guest bedroom was hers for the duration of her stay. I couldn't wait to see her.

Maggie arrived late on Friday and we had a lovely reunion and chatted until she started nodding off. She spent much of Saturday morning and early afternoon visiting her parents and siblings but returned to my apartment around 5:00 bearing not one but two bottles of what looked like very nice wine.

I had promised to make dinner for us and was already in the midst of my prep work for coq au vin. Since the dish has wine in it, I already had a bottle open and was half a glass into it ("quality control," don't you know) when Maggie arrived. She pulled up a chair, I poured her a generous glass and topped up my own, and we got down to the serious business of catching up while I cooked.

We covered all of the family stuff first. Maggie was going to become a grandmother for the first time and was only partially pleased about that: happy to have a new little family member on the way, but not eager to assume the title that came with it. Her other sons were married and prospering, but not yet procreating.

We opened the first of Maggie's wine purchases (a lovely white) as I filled her in on the local friends-and-families gossip while continuing to chop, chat and chortle. Her taste in wine - as in everything else - was first rate and went down a treat with the pre-meal cheeses and crudites I laid out for us.

I had set the dining room table for dinner with my best china, silver and even candles - a rare occurrence for me - and I ushered Maggie in there as the main meal reached readiness. We drained our glasses of the last of the white wine before leaving the kitchen and Maggie ferried the already uncorked and breathing bottle of red (she referred to it as a "claret") with her to the table. She poured us both generous glassfuls.

I'll confess that I was already feeling the effects of the wine by that time, particularly given that I had had little to eat thus far. Fortunately, Maggie appeared to be similarly situated and the conversation flowed as freely as the fruit of the vine.

The talk turned to more personal matters. I complimented Maggie on how well she looked: tanned and toned, her perfectly coiffed dark brown hair exhibiting just a tasteful sprinkling of gray. She was dressed in what I can only describe as opulent simplicity. No doubt her very deliberately casual blouse and slacks were from the best Boston shops and cost far more than any remotely comparable items in my wardrobe.

Maggie delightedly brushed off the compliments, crediting her physical fitness to the de riguer social obligation to engage in regular tennis and golf matches at "the club." I had had an opportunity to experience "the club" while in town for her husband's funeral and can only say that it appeared to me to be more like a particularly posh resort than anything that could be referred to as a mere club.

Maggie found ways to compliment me as well, with all apparent sincerity. She told me that she had always been jealous of my red hair and fair skin (although, truth be told, in the midst of a Chicago winter her own skin had been easily as fair). She also praised my outfit: a stylish but casual green dress that I confess I bought expressly in anticipation of her visit.

Emboldened by another sip of the fine red wine, I decided to probe into even more personal subjects.

"So Mags," I ventured, "how is your... social life these days? Any new beaus in the picture?"

She appeared taken aback by the question, but recovered quickly and offered: "Well, I don't believe that there is anyone I would put into the "beau" category, but let's just say I don't lack for social engagements. As there is nobody left at home to cook for or dine with, I spend quite a few evenings each week at the club. And let me tell you Lo, the place can have a veritable Sodom-and-Gomorrah vibe on some nights."

"Do tell," I prodded, perhaps a bit too emphatically.

Maggie let loose a tipsy chuckle but took the bait. "Aren't you the curious kitty? If you must know, the club can be very much like a highbrow singles bar. Wealth, good breeding and the best of education clearly does nothing to banish the baser instincts. The place is positively a hotbed of sexual hijinks, particularly amongst the single, widowed, divorced or morally flexible members."

"Oh dear," I tutted in faux concern, "how vexing that must be for a woman of your delicate sensibilities!"

Maggie snorted just a bit of wine through her nose at that, and then we both convulsed in twin fits of overly loud laughter.

When I recovered, I affected a look of pure shock and disbelief and queried: "Am I meant to understand that you are a willing participant in this sort of highly improper and salacious behavior?"

"Honey, I'm one of the ringleaders," Maggie proclaimed, before we both erupted in another hearty round of guffaws!

When she caught her breath, Maggie looked at me and said: "Seriously, though Lo, you should come out for a longer visit some time. I daresay a woman of your estimable charms would have little trouble attracting only the best moths to her flame!"

"But while we're on the subject," she went on, "how is YOUR love life these days Ms. Green?"

I couldn't suppress a blush - never had been able to actually. A curse of my coloring. Maggie jumped on it.

"Aha! You've got something going on haven't you? I thought I detected a new and particular sparkle in those inscrutable green eyes of yours. Dish it sister!"

"Hmmm, since you've been kind enough to enquire I suppose it would be churlish of me to refuse to spill the beans. Soooo... yes, I am - well - seeing someone."

"'Seeing,' as in getting naked with," Maggie pried pruriently?

"Maggie!! Well... yes, actually," I admitted.

"Now that IS front page news," Maggie interjected excitedly! "But sister Maggie needs more details girl. Let's have 'em!"

"If you must know, I've been... spending time with a... younger man. His name is Kevin... and... I enjoy his... company."

"Oooh, a younger man? Good for you Lo! About time you sampled the other end of the spectrum. So, how much younger are we talking? 40s?

"Ummmm..."

"Lois, you wild woman! Is he in his 30s?"

"No," I admitted in a tiny, bashful voice.

"Girl, I'm going to stop guessing. Just tell me!"

"Oh God," I groaned. "Maggie... he just turned 18."

"18??!! Lois Ann Donovan you wanton strumpet you! What would the nuns say? 18?!"

"Now don't go getting all high and mighty on me Mary Margaret McGovern! As I recall, you were 18 when you gave it up to MY boyfriend in the back seat of his car on prom night!"

"Well sure, but Joe was 18 too, remember? Not 55! Besides, it wasn't that great. The back seat was uncomfortable and Joey was a lousy lay! As a matter of fact, you should have thanked me: I made the sacrifice and did him so that you wouldn't have to."

We jointly exploded in another hysterical round of laughing ourselves silly at that. When the hilarity subsided, I said: "But I'm only 54!"

"What?"

"You said '55.' I'm only 54 toots! You're 55."

"Oh puh-leeze, are you really going to play the Maggie's-older card on me! You'll be 55 in a month and a half sweetie!

"And anyway, don't change the subject. Are you really fucking an 18-year-old-boy? Oh Geez, did I just say 'fucking?' That's at least three Hail Marys! I need another glass of wine. 18?!" She slopped more wine into both of our glasses.

"Yes, I am... OK... 'fucking'... an 18-year-old. And it's fantastic!" I was actually starting to feel kind of proud of myself. I could count on the fingers of one hand the times I had ever been able to shock Maggie. One big point for me on the lifetime scoreboard.

"Jesus Lo, good for you. My hat's off to you, really! The youngest guy I've gotten into bed with since Tom died was maybe 49. How did you manage it anyway?

"It's a long story Mags, but the short version is... he delivered some groceries while I was stuck at home with a badly sprained ankle."

Maggie nearly fell out of her chair at that! "You had sex with the delivery boy?! Geez Lo, that's sounds like the plot of half the porn movies ever made! No wonder we used to call you 'Lo Ho!"

"Hey now," I said through my own giggles, let's not lower ourselves to using high school nicknames 'Mag Hag.' And just how is it that you know so much about the plots of porn flicks, hmmmm?"

"Touché," Maggie responded, raising her arms to declare a truce. "But I need to hear more about this Kevin. What makes him so 'fantastic?'"

"I'm not sure I've had quite enough wine to answer that question," I demurred.

"Not much left," Maggie noted, nodding toward the half-empty bottle.

"Let's adjourn to the living room for dessert," I suggested. "I made chocolate pot de crème. If you'll bring the wine and glasses out there, I'll clear up in here and see if I scare up anything else worth drinking."

Maggie agreed and we moved somewhat unsteadily in opposite directions. I stacked the dinner dishes in the sink, moved the desserts from the fridge to a tray, and after a brief search located a bottle of ruby port hiding in my pantry. I put the bottle on the dessert tray along with a couple of cordial glasses and tottered out to join Maggie in the living room.

My guest had apportioned the remainder of the red wine into our glasses and was encamped on the sofa. I placed the desserts on the coffee table and put the bottle of port and glasses between us.

"I'm not sure whether the dust on this bottle means it will be good or bad," I admitted, "but it probably won't kill us."

"Works for me," Maggie offered amiably, "but first finish your wine and answer my question."

If it had been anyone else in the room, and if I weren't already two-and-a-half sheets to the wind, I would probably have remained silent. But Maggie was my dearest friend and I was feeling in a confessional mood, soooo... I fleshed out (so to speak!) the story of my initial encounter with Kevin.

By the end, we were each a glass into the port and had devoured our desserts. The port was either excellent, or I was too inebriated to know that it was awful. Either way it was serving its purpose.

I finished up with an answer to Maggie's overarching question regarding my attraction to Kevin: "He's very sweet, cute as a button, has an absolutely beautiful penis and is amazingly good at cunnilingus."

I'm not entirely sure I pronounced "cunnilingus" coherently, but Maggie got the message.

"What's so special about this penis of his," she cross-examined?

"Well, it's very pretty, it's the longest I've encountered in my somewhat limited experience, it's straight as an arrow, and to this point I've never actually seen it anything but hard."

We both relapsed into another extended bout of giggles at that.

When order was restored, Maggie continued her interrogation: "So how many times have you been together?"

"Three, so far."

"All of them here, or has Kevin managed to sneak you past his parents into his bedroom?"

Another round of snickering at that thought.

"Twice here, but the last time was in a suite at the Palmer House," I related, with just a hint of self-satisfaction.

"Naughty wench," Maggie exclaimed! "Was the local no-tell motel fully booked?"

"I do have SOME standards," I retorted in mock umbrage!

Maggie was just about to ask yet another question when, suddenly, the door buzzer rang out.

Kevin

I finished work on Saturday and headed back to my empty house. My parents and sisters weren't due back from Wisconsin until tomorrow and the place was quiet as a library... and just about as exciting.

My mom had kindly prepared some meals for me before she left, and I pulled the last Tupperware container out to remind myself what was in store. It was her homemade spin on mac 'n' cheese, which was actually really good, so I spooned it into bowl, sprinkled some water on it, and stuck it in the new microwave oven to heat up.

As I snarfed down dinner, I considered what to do with my last night on my own. My buddy Rob was out of town with his family for the weekend, and I hadn't thought to make plans with anybody else. I could have probably nosed around or made a couple of calls and found somebody to hang with, but for some reason I wasn't in the mood.

Truth was I really wanted to be with Lois. But for that I had to wait until Wednesday night. A freakin' eternity!

Naturally, just thinking about Lois made me totally horny. I actually considered whacking off right there in the family kitchen, which would have been a first for me, but then I decided that would be kinda gross even with nobody else around.

Should I go up to my bedroom and jerk off there, like a real Saturday night loser? Nah! Honestly, masturbation had lost some of its appeal for me since Lois and I had started... you know.

And then it hit me. Duh! I should just go over to Lois's and see if she was up for, uh, hanging out and stuff. Mostly the "and stuff" part really.

I mean, she and I had actually talked about this when we were having dinner together in the hotel room. What had she said exactly? Something like she "would have welcomed me with open arms" if I had just showed up at her door.

Well Jesus, what the hell was I waiting for? I'll shower and change and....

Wait though! Should I bring something with me. I mean, it might seem kinda rude to just show up and be like just expecting her to invite me in for some sex. Of course, that's what I wanted, and maybe - hopefully - what she wanted too, but I should probably make some kind of show of being there for some other reason too.

Flowers? No. Grossman's was closed... and a terrible idea anyway for obvious reasons.

Candy? I could probably get one of those Fannie Mae assortments from Walgreens. Kinda corny though.

Ice Cream? 31 Flavors was open, but I wasn't sure what Lois might like. Well, everybody likes chocolate, or vanilla, right? Or mint chocolate chip. I love mint chocolate chip! OK, that's the plan then. A pint of mint chocolate chip and two spoons. In one of those insulated bags so it doesn't melt on the way to Lois's. Let's do it!

Wait, should I call her first maybe? That might be the polite thing to do.

But then again, if I call her, it might be easier for her to say no than if I was right there outside her place. With ice cream. Mint chocolate chip!