Librarian Finds Long Overdue Love Ch. 13

December 14, 1987

Single, middle-aged and bespectacled Angelina Lione may look the part of the prim, proper and sexually repressed, buttoned-up bibliothec, but she's most definitely NOT your father's librarian -- at least not while in a lover's company. Blessed with a ravenous and unquenchable sexual appetite, Angelina's orgasms are so intense that she oftentimes faints during the throes of passion.

While never mistaken for a perfect 10 with her large brown eyes, tucked behind oversized, Diana Prince-style eyeglass lenses, Angelina still cuts quite the desirable figure, with a fetching face always perfectly and tastefully made up, and a sleek and shapely body. Her short, black hair, speckled with gray, was cut in a chic, wedge/pixie-style, puffed and piled on the top and curled forward around the ears. Angelina's attractive physical traits, however, always paled in comparison to her overwhelming sex appeal. Using her vast store of feminine wiles, Angelina negotiates about her lovers' hearts, minds and bodies as deftly as she navigates the Dewey Decimal System, manipulating infatuated men for her monetary and personal gain.

High maintenance and even higher fashion, Angelina always models the latest designer threads -- oftentimes accentuated by any one of her dozen pairs of high-heeled dress boots. Her sophisticated look even extends to smoking accessories. The haughty diva wouldn't dream of smoking a cigarette if it wasn't filtered through her long, black holder. More of a cigarette holder sucker and stroker than a smoker, Angelina seductively works the black shaft with her mouth, tongue and fingers as if it was a penis proxy; the effect that playing with the long, stiff holder has on would-be lovers is like snake charming. Under the sexy siren's magic spell, they're entirely at her mercy; powerless to resist the temptation to pleasure her -- as if they really would.

Angelina spent her 20s and 30s as a fully-committed member of the sexual revolution of the 1960s and '70s -- bedding dozens upon dozens of men. Only when she reached age 40 did her love life settle down -- for her anyway -- when the lusty librarian entered into a long term, nearly exclusive, torrid affair with the principal at her school. After the forbidden relationship unceremoniously ended six years later, Angelina found herself alone at a time when her peers had long since settled down into blissful domestic life. A prolonged romantic dry spell followed, until a former student unexpectedly entered the scene.

Twenty-two year old Tom Bailey had been in love with Angelina since he was a 13-year-old student of hers, drawn in classic fetish fashion to the sexy librarian's stylish, high-heeled boots, seductive smoking and even her pretentious and snobbish personality. Over the past nine years his feelings -- like his fetishes -- for the femme fatale only grew stronger, until he could no longer keep them to himself. The pair had just launched an intense, physical relationship when Harry Seymour, Angelina's old boss and lover, re-entered her life. Unable to decide between the two romantic suitors, Angelina proposed a date-off -- or "fuck-off" -- as Tom bitterly described the arrangement.

Now, with her love life once again in full bloom, the amorous woman was in sex heaven -- reliving her youth, when men practically lined up around the block to date her. Preying on the men's sexual addiction to her, Angelina gleefully bounced between their beds for nearly a month, until Tom finally prevailed.

The love triangle now broken, Angelina and Tom were finally free to embark on a committed, loving relationship. But the couple's path to romantic bliss was lined with a phalanx of challenges. During their first fortnight together, Tom met Angelina's family -- and had been unnerved by her brutish and overprotective brother-in-law. She, though, had not yet met his family -- nor his friends. Tom had revealed little about Angelina, fearful they'd judge and mock the pair's nearly 30-year age difference. He worried they'd wonder what on earth he saw in her. Sure, she was attractive enough -- but Angelina was an attractive older woman. Why would young Tom be interested in a 50 year old, when there were plenty of lovely ladies his own age available? And when they got a whiff of her pompous and bitchy personality, they'd really question what was in this relationship for Tom.

Private by nature -- and especially embarrassed to confide in anyone about his smoking and boot fetishes -- how could Tom possibly explain to them that Angelina embodied all that he found physically alluring in a woman? How every time he saw the haughty diva smoking from a cigarette holder or strutting about in a pair of delicious, high-heeled, knee-high leather boots it made his dick dance and pulsate with delight. Or that when every time he and this MILF-before-the-term-was-coined made love it brought him to heights of pleasure he never dreamed possible.

Still, any future challenges to their relationship were overshadowed by how much fun the couple was experiencing in the present -- highlighted in particular by their sometimes thrice-daily, intense and uninhibited lovemaking. In these heady, early days of their dating life, Tom felt like he was attending a sex fantasy camp with his boyhood crush, while to Angelina, she was thoroughly caught up in the joy of what could be her last shot at romance and passion. For now, anyway, their intense love affair was enough to sustain and distract them from the very real possibility that those they loved would judge Tom as a weirdo and mere boy toy to Angelina's dirty old woman.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Man, I think I'm more nervous now than I was when I came to the library back in October to ask you out," confessed Tom Bailey to his girlfriend Angelina Lione, as the pair stood on the weathered old "Welcome" mat outside the front door of his childhood house in Riverdale, N.J. "Aren't you nervous?"

"Of course not, darling," she answered calmly with a dismissive waive of her black-leather gloved right hand.

"Really? I can't believe you're this relaxed."

"It's been years, obviously, but charming a boyfriend's parents, my dear, is like riding a bike. Once you learn, you never forget. Your parents and I will get along famously. Don't worry. If there's a lull in the conversation, I'll steer it toward Seton Hall. Seeing as though I'm a graduate and your mother once worked there, it'll be a natural conversation starter. We have something else in common, too, you know."

"What's that?"

Angelina paused and gazed up romantically into her lover's deep blue eyes.

"We both happen to be very, very fond of you -- although for quite different reasons," she said, the words dripping slowly and sensually off her tongue.

Bathed in the glow from the outdoor light perched over the front stoop and with a mere 2.5"-inch thick mahogany door separating them from his parents, now was definitely not the time for the two to make out, yet Tom couldn't help but forget his surroundings and succumb to his seductress by initiating a mouth-engulfing embrace. Angelina just had an innate ability to seduce him -- whether it was with a come-hither look, the slinky way she had of crossing -- and uncrossing -- her boot-swathed legs, or a sultry exhale after a soft pull from her theatre-length cigarette holder. These were just some of the many subtle triggers that sparked their intense physical attraction for one another. Indeed, between kissing, blowjobs and intercourse, the couple exchanged so much body fluid that if saliva tests were conducted on them the results would prove inconclusive.

"Wow, that was awesome, just awesome," Tom said, half a minute later after the two unlocked lips.

"I had a feeling that would relax you," Angelina responded. "Now, ring that doorbell, darling, and lets do this."

"Just a second, I can't go into my folks' house with an erection."

Angelina laughed softly at the immediate physical affect her flirtation had on her lover.

"I love how easily excited you get, darling," she said. "It's just so cute."

"Yeah, well, sometimes I wish I had more control over my arousal -- like now," Tom said as he impatiently waited out his stiffy.

A minute later, when his penis had returned to its pre-erection size, the young man let out a long exhale and pressed the white doorbell. Moments later the door swung open and the two couples stood face to face.

"Mom and dad, I'd like you to meet my girlfriend, Angelina Lione," Tom introduced. "Angelina, these are my parents, Al and Ann Bailey."

"Ohhh!!" Angelina exclaimed with a moan, her eyes rolling into the back of her head, as she fainted back in Tom's arms.

Ann did likewise -- minus the moan -- into Al's.

The women's respective lovers looked on in silence, too stunned to speak.

"Well, Tom, your girlfriend sure knows how to make a first impression, all right," quipped the elder Bailey, several seconds later, his wits now gathered.

"She's slipping here, dad, can you help me carry her inside so I can lay her down?" Tom answered, struggling to prop up Angelina's limp, unconscious body.

"Kinda have my hands full myself here, son."

"Oh, yeah, right."

Tom repositioned his fainted girlfriend in his arms for a better grip, then, while holding her upright and arms wrapped around her waist, backed into his parents' house, Angelina's high-heeled, black leather boots scraping the wooden floor as he dragged her into the living room.

"Where do I put her?" Tom asked his father feet later, still apparently flummoxed by what had just occurred at the doorstep that he failed to take into account the sofa no more than a foot to his left; the one that had been rooted to the same spot in the house he grew up with for so long that he could find it blindfolded.

"Well, if you think she'd be more comfortable on the coffee table, you could try there," Mr. Bailey deadpanned. "Otherwise, how about putting her down on the couch you're standing next to?"

An embarrassed Tom didn't respond and promptly laid the fainted Angelina across the sofa, while his dad followed by stretching his wife across the caddy-corner matching daybed. Standing over their respective fallen lovers, the father and son exchanged puzzled looks.

"What do you think this is all about?" Al asked. "It's not like fainting's contagious."

Tom shrugged his shoulders.

"Maybe a glass of water will break the spell," Al continued, before retreating into the kitchen.

A minute later, he returned with two half-filled cups of water, handing one to his son.

"What do you want me to do with this?" Tom asked.

"I dunno...splash some in her face, maybe?" Al answered uncertainly.

"Yeah, I don't think she'd like that much. I'll just wait till she wakes up on her own."

For roughly the next five minutes, father and son stood silently over their fainted lovers, the situation too odd to attempt even idle chitchat.

Ann became the first of the two women to stir from her unconscious state. As Al knelt beside his groggy wife, Angelina began to emerge from her faint. Tom subsequently took a knee beside the couch to attend to her.

"Honey? Honey?" Al asked Ann, clapping her left hand, as she moaned. "Speak to me, sweetheart. Speak to me."

"Angelina, are you okay?" Tom asked his girlfriend, gently stroking her gloved right hand resting on her chest.

"What happened? Ann asked, eyes still closed but raising her head off the couch cushion.

"You fainted, dear," said her husband reassuringly. "Let's just take it easy."

"Where am I?" Angelina asked from the adjoining couch, opening her eyes and staring up at her boyfriend.

"It's okay," Tom responded. "You're at my folks' house, remember?"

Angelina lifted her head off the armrest, just as Ann was doing likewise from her pillow, and the pair again locked eyes.

"Ohhhhhhh!" exclaimed the librarian, eyes rolling back into her head, as she fell back into another faint onto the armrest.

"Ahhhhhhh!" Ann sighed, eyelids snapping shut and her head slumping to the pillow.

"My God!" Al cried. "They're out again. What the hell's going on with these two?"

"Well, whatever it is, I think our best chance to find out is to separate them," Tom said. "If we don't, they'll just keep fainting at the sight of the other."

"Good idea. Why don't you take Angelina up to your bedroom?"

Take Angelina up to your bedroom.

Oh, how many hundreds of times did Tom fantasize hearing a phrase like that when he was a love struck teenager, the young man thought to himself, as he promptly scooped up his unconscious girlfriend and carried her bridal style across the living room and up the staircase to the second floor. Entering his old bedroom at the top of the stairs, Tom gently deposited his fainted girlfriend on her back on the top of his made twin bed with the New York Giants sheets. Pulling up the seat-adjustable chair from behind his desk, Tom planted himself beside the bed and resumed his internal dialogue on why Angelina and his mother kept passing out at the sight of the other.

Tom was so preoccupied with that question that he couldn't allow himself to fully appreciate the realization of his boyhood dream -- to have his hot librarian object of desire sprawled on his bed for the sexual taking. Too bad, he thought, gently brushing a strand of her dark hair out of her face. Well, maybe another day -- under better circumstances -- he'll have another chance to play out that particular teen fantasy with Angelina.

Meanwhile, downstairs, Tom's mother began to revive.

"Ann? Ann?" asked her attentive husband, Al, sitting on the edge of the sofa where she lay, lightly clapping her cheeks with his hand. "Can you hear me?"

"Yeah...yeah," she responded, eyes opening blearily to the ceiling.

"Easy now. Let's sit you up."

Al gently moved his wife to an upright position on the couch, then slowly swung her legs to the ground.

"Here, have a drink of water," he said, handing her the glass.

Ann took it with two hands, carefully raised it to her lips, took a sip, then let out a deep breath.

"Better now?" he asked.

"I think so," Ann responded, sounding more lucid.

"Good. Now why did you and Tom's new girlfriend faint each time you saw each other?"

"Is she still here?" Ann asked in agitation.

"She's sleeping it off in Tom's room. Now what gives between you two?"

Ann handed the water glass to her husband, then knelt over and grabbed her head in her hands.

"I know her," she answered.

"From where?" Tom asked.

"Seton Hall. I was her boss. She was a residence adviser, when I was the residence hall director. She was the one gave me so much hell that I resigned after the 1962 school year."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Angelina Lione. I'll never forget that name. Looks like her, too -- just 25 years older. And Tom said she was a grad student there when I worked there. He just didn't tell us her last name until tonight. You know I wasn't particularly thrilled when Tom announced he was bringing home an older woman he's been dating to meet us, but I tried to have an open mind. But this is just too much. What a conceited, pain in the ass, slutty bitch she was -- and now our son is dating her?! Our 22-year-old son! Good God!"

"I remember what a tough year that was for you, but honey that was 25 years ago. Maybe she's changed. Give her a chance."

"Mom, are you feeling better?" Tom asked, suddenly appearing at the top of the stairs.

"Yes, dear," Ann answered, looking up at her son. "How's your girlfriend?"

"Okay, she just came to," he said, while descending the wooden staircase. "She's getting herself together in the bathroom. She'll be down in a minute. Can you tell me what the hell's up between you two?"

Ann picked herself up from the couch and walked away from him into the kitchen, ignoring her son's question.

"Mom? I've got a right to know," Tom demanded angrily, following his mother into the room.

"I'll put a pot of coffee on. Al, would you get the cake, plates and forks out please?"

Mom? Before this night gets any weirder, tell me what the story is!"

"Forget about it, Tom. Not a big deal. Let's just have some dessert."

"My mother and girlfriend just fainted twice at the sight of the other. How is that not a big deal? I can't just forget that and pretend everything is normal."

"Not now. We'll discuss it another time."

"Dad, can you help out here, please?"

"Ann, Tom deserves to hear you and Angelina's history together," chimed in Al. "When Angelina comes down, I'll take her out to the patio, so the two of you can talk."

Ann didn't answer and kept busying herself with the Mr. Coffee machine. Moments later, Angelina joined the Baileys in the kitchen, where half a minute of awkward silence ensued.

"Well...uh...Angelina, if it's not too cold for you, would you join me on the patio for a few minutes, while I smoke my pipe?" Al asked, trying to break the tension in the room.

"Um...sure," answered the librarian warily.

Al donned his light jacket, slung over a kitchen chair, and opened the door for Angelina, who -- still dressed in her fur coat and leather gloves and carrying her pocketbook -- followed him outside.

"Okay, now what's going on with you and Angelina?" Tom asked his mother, when just the two of them were left in the kitchen.

"Sit down, Tom," Ann replied, motioning to the 1970s-style upholstered dinette chair with the floral pattern nearest her son, while she took a seat in the one next to her, inhaled and then let out a long breath. "Obviously, Angelina and I know each other. As it turns out, I was her boss at Seton Hall. This was in 1961-62, when I was a residence hall director and she was one of the residence hall advisers for an all-girls dorm."

"Wow, what a small world," her son interrupted. "That's crazy."

"Yeah, but not crazy in a good way. That experience caused me to quit my job."

"How so?"

"There were a number of things. Actually, everything started out fine. We were even quite friendly for a bit, being we were close to the same age. That was one of the reasons why I hired her. I thought because she was a little older than the average resident adviser student -- I think she was in her mid-20s -- that she'd be more mature and would run a tight ship with the girls on her floor. Boy, was I wrong. She was the most irresponsible of any of them...hardly ever around when anyone needed her because she was out partying all the time...and when she was around it was only so she could break dorm rules she was hired to enforce -- like having a man in her room overnight -- which happened quite a bit. She ate men up like candy. All she wanted to do was party; she was incapable of being supervised. I basically had to do my job and hers, because she was never there or completely lazy when she was. She was unprofessional, snobbish and a complete tramp. It drove me up a wall."

Meanwhile, outside on the patio, Al and Angelina settled onto opposite sides of the old wooden picnic table.

"Mind if I smoke?" Al asked, but only as a formality, stuffing his pipe with tobacco without waiting for an answer.

"Not at all," Angelina answered. "Mind if I?"

Al paused before igniting his lighter.

"Ummm...no," he responded with the pipe still clenched firmly between his teeth, surprised to learn that the girlfriend of his athletic, non-smoking son apparently had the habit. "This has been a kinda stressful night, hasn't it?"

Angelina rummaged about in her trim pocketbook for her signature long black cigarette holder and silver cigarette case.

"That's putting it mildly," the distressed librarian said, now readying the holder to smoke by deftly screwing a Virginia Slim into the lip of the 6-inch tube. "I wasn't mentally prepared for this. There must be dozens of Ann Baileys in this area of Jersey. Even though Tom told me his mother once worked at Seton Hall, it never occurred to me she'd be the same Ann Bailey I knew when I went to school there."