Librarian Finds Long Overdue Love Ch. 14

December 31, 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 -- not the least of which was familial. During their first fortnight together, Tom met Angelina's family -- and had been unnerved by her brutish and overprotective brother-in-law.

It was several weeks later before Tom worked up the nerve to introduce Angelina to his folks. 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 and the age difference would be even more pronounced.

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.

When Angelina finally met Tom's family, the encounter set off an unexpected earthquake that was bound to trigger aftershocks along the fault line of their courtship. The meeting with what turned out to be an old work adversary so unnerved Tom's mother, in fact, that she subsequently resumed a long dormant smoking habit.

To temporarily escape from and forget their family pressures, the May-December couple took a romantic Caribbean cruise over Christmas break, 1987. The getaway was just what the doctor ordered. Alone together, Tom and Angelina engaged in a month's worth of uninhibited and lusty sex in just one week. It was like their weekends back home -- only uninterrupted by family and work obligations -- when they oftentimes enjoyed thrice-daily, intense and passionate 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 love affair was enough to sustain and distract them from the very real possibility that those they loved may disapprove of their affair, judging Tom a weirdo and mere boy toy to Angelina's dirty old woman.

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"Bzzzzzz"

"I'll get it, buddy. Keep playing. Promise me you won't come out until I call for you, okay?" said Tom Bailey, bolting from his bedroom to answer the front door at his bachelor pad apartment in Hoboken, N.J.

Suspecting who was on the other side, the 22 year old didn't bother to look, as he usually did for security purposes, through the peephole, before swinging open the clunky metal door. Greeting him was his new girlfriend and former grade school teacher, Angelina Lione, who promptly let her faux fur coat drop off her milky white shoulders so she could show off her outfit, such as it was: nothing more than a sexy satin, low cut, v-neck negligee, held up by spaghetti straps. The night shirt extended to just above the middle-aged woman's knees, just under which began a luscious pair of black leather, high heeled boots. Dangling lazily from the left corner of her lipstick-covered mouth hung her trademark six-inch long black cigarette holder, with a freshly lit Virginia Slim fitted into the mouthpiece.

Brown eyes blazing with sexual fire behind her Diana Prince-styled eyeglasses, Angelina didn't say a word at first, preferring to her let body language do the talking for her. Tom didn't either. More accurately, he couldn't. The young man was too overcome by the awesome sight of his lover decked out in such an overtly sexy ensemble that a mere mumble was beyond him.

After about ten seconds, Angelina slipped the holder out of her mouth and broke the silence.

"Well, aren't you going to invite a lady in?" she asked.

"Umma...umma... yeah...yeah," Tom stammered, moving aside to allow his skimpily-dressed girlfriend to enter the apartment.

No sooner did he shut the door, than Angelina pounced on him, flinging her arms around his neck and planting a long passionate kiss on his mouth.

"Oh, darling. You've NO idea how much I've been waiting to do that," she announced with a sigh of relief some 20-odd seconds later, after the two unlocked lips and the oversexed but never satisfied woman had gotten her kiss fix. "After a week of non-stop lovemaking, it's been HELL going cold turkey without you these past two days. Honestly, if I had to spend another night with just my family celebrating the holidays I'd have gone crazy."

"I know. Sometimes, though, I wonder if that cruise was worth it," Tom said, hands holding on to both sides of Angelina's curvy waist.

"What do you mean?"

"Not like I'm complaining, because I'm definitely not, but we made love so much we barely left the ship's cabin. I hardly remember being on deck. We could have stayed in Jersey, saved a lot of money and still made all the love we want."

"I think it was still worth it to get away on our first romantic trip together. Tonight will be romantic, too. I brought a bottle of champagne. We'll warm up with four hours of foreplay, finished off by you fucking me at the stroke of midnight."

"Don't you mean 'kissing me at the stroke of midnight?' Isn't that the tradition?

"Uh-uh. My New Year's Eve tradition is to have sex with my man at midnight...if you can last that long. You like what I'm wearing?

Angelina stepped back, smiled and struck an alluring pose for her boyfriend.

"Oh, it's very nice, but it is cold and flu season, you know. Best to dress warmly," said Tom, quickly picking up Angelina's coat and draping it around her shoulders, before pulling the lapels tight across her breasts, the nipples of which shown through the see-through fabric of her negligee.

"What are you doing?" Angelina asked obstinately, angrily opening up the flaps. "You're acting very peculiarly, darling. What's going on?"

"Uncle Tommy, I'm hungry. Can I have something to eat?" interrupted Tom's nephew, as he walked out of his uncle's bedroom.

Angelina spun around on her booted heels to face the questioner. Sensing that her planned booty call with Tom was now on hold, Angelina's mood immediately downshifted from sultry girlfriend to stern, taskmaster teacher.

"WHAT...is...THAT?" Angelina asked deliberately with dramatic effect, jabbing a black leather gloved index finger down at the boy who was now standing in front of her.

"Buddy, I asked you to give me a minute!" Tom said, shaking his head at his nephew's disobedience.

"Hi, I'm Brian. Want to see my pet frog?" said the seven-year-old, bringing his hands from behind his back to shove the pale green croaker into Angelina's unsuspecting face.

"Eeeeek!" Angelina screamed, her brown eyes widening to nearly the diameter of her oversized glasses, before they snapped shut and her neck arched and she crumpled to the floor in a heap.

Tom quickly came to his fallen girlfriend's rescue, lifting her up and gently placing Angelina on her back across the living room sofa.

"What happened to the lady?" Brian asked innocently, stepping forward to examine the fainted woman. "She goes to sleep even earlier than me."

"She'll be fine," Tom said, removing the cigarette holder from Angelina's hand and carefully placing it on the coffee table behind him, the burning end hanging off the corner. "She just fainted from seeing Freddy. Why don't you take him into the bedroom so it doesn't upset her anymore, okay?"

Brian did he was told and skipped happily back to Tom's bedroom with Freddy the frog in tow.

Tom rolled his eyes at his predicament then turned back to his passed-out girlfriend. Normally prone to Rip Van Winkle-like fainting spells, to her boyfriend's great surprise this time Angelina revived on her own in less than two minutes.

"Please tell me it's about a quarter after midnight, I'm awakening from a blissful sleep after you've just rang my bell and that little boy holding that disgusting frog was just a dream," the librarian asked matter-of-factly, eyes now open and head still resting on the couch cushion.

"'fraid not," Tom answered glumly. "It's my nephew's pet frog."

"That's what I thought."

Angelina slowly lifted her head from the cushion, turned her prone body to the right, sat upright on the couch, planted her high heeled, black-leather booted legs on the floor, inhaled deeply, exhaled and paused to collect her composure and thoughts.

"Care to tell me what your nephew is doing here on our date night?" she asked calmly, with her eyes closed.

"Can we play a game now?" Brian asked, returning to the living room.

"Brian, didn't I tell you to stay in my room?" Tom asked in return.

"No, you didn't. You just said to put Freddy in your room so the lady doesn't fall asleep again."

"Angelina, this is Brian. Brian, this is my friend Angelina."

The librarian acknowledged the boy with a smirk and elbowed Tom softly in the ribs.

"Actually, buddy, she's more than my friend," Tom said, taking Angelina's not-so-subtle hint to correct the classification of their relationship. "She's my girlfriend."

"I have a girlfriend at school, too. Sometimes we wrestle. Is that what you do?"

"In a way."

"Well, be nice and don't hurt her when you do. Old people hurt easy."

"Charming boy," a pissed off Angelina said through gritted teeth, with a roll of her eyes.

"When can we play a game?" Brian asked again.

"In a minute, buddy. In a minute," said his uncle. "Just let Angelina and I talk alone for a second.

Tom took his girlfriend by the elbow and gently led her to the far corner of the living room to continue their conversation in private.

"Do you mind telling me what this little brat is doing here?" Angelina demanded angrily. "We were supposed to have a romantic evening alone."

"Please, Angelina, lower your voice," Tom said in a whisper, he'll hear you. "I'm sorry. My brother's babysitter canceled at the last minute and they were in a bind. He asked if I could watch Brian. I called your house to tell you, but I guess you already left."

Crack.

"Oopsy," Brian said from the coffee table, holding Angelina's cigarette holder that he'd just snapped in half in his hands.

"Wonderful. This night keeps getting better and better," Angelina said sarcastically. "That was a $150 holder he just broke. That's it. I'm out."

"No, wait," Tom pleaded, before his disgruntled girlfriend could grab her coat and leave the apartment. "I'm sorry about that, too. Listen, I'll buy you a new one. We just have to watch him for a couple hours. Neil promised they'd pick him up at 10:00, then we'll have the rest of the night to ourselves. You can wait till then to be alone, can't you? I mean...do you have anything better to do, between now and then? What's the alternative? Go back home and watch your brother-in-law eat dripped chip dip off his stained tee shirt? What kind of way is that to ring in the New Year?"

"Okay, I'll stay," Angelina answered without hesitation.

"Good news, Brian," an enthusiastic-sounding Tom said, turning about to address his nephew. "Angelina's going to play with us. What game do you want to play?"

"Trouble!" shouted the boy, as he jumped up and down in excitement, before running back into the bedroom to retrieve the pop-o-matic kids' board game.

"Trouble. That figures," Angelina said cynically. "I need a drink."

"Woah. Let's do something about your clothes first," Tom suggested.

"Like what?"

"Well, I don't think it's a great idea for a scantily-clad woman to be in the company of a seven-year-old boy."

"But this is all I brought to wear."

"Then you'll have to borrow my stuff."

"Oh, no. I'm not wearing men's clothes."

"Well, you can't wear THAT in front of him. He's an impressionable little kid -- and he doesn't miss much. C'mon, we'll find something."

Tom and Angelina walked into his bedroom, just as Brian was walking out, with Trouble tucked under his left arm.

"Set up the game on the coffee table, buddy," Tom told his nephew. "We'll be right back. Just need to find Angelina something else to wear."

"Okay," the boy answered. "Maybe get her something that covers her boobies better."

With a look of horror, Angelina self-consciously crossed her arms over her chest.

"See what I mean?" Tom asked her. "He's a pretty sharp kid."

Tom left Angelina to have the run of his closet and dresser, while he returned to the living room to help Brian set up the pop-up board game. Twenty minutes later, the 5'4", size 12 Angelina emerged, dressed in Tom's size XL Fairfield University sweatshirt and 34-inch waist, 36-inch leg Levis jeans -- the long pants rolled up and cuffed over the top of her knee-high leather boots more so out of practicality than style, lest she trip over them. Bedecked in all-baggy clothes, Angelina looked far from the confident cougar who weeks earlier strode the catwalk at her school's charity bachelorette auction decked in a skin tight designer frock.

"What took you so long?" Tom whispered to his girlfriend, as she sat next to him on the sofa. "We've played three games of Trouble already."

"It wasn't easy finding something of yours to wear," the fashion plate said out of the corner of her mouth. "It's not like you have many feminine-looking options. I tried on about half a dozen shirts and pants, before settling for this."

"Well, I think it's a beautiful ensemble."

Tom leaned over to give his girlfriend an affectionate kiss on the cheek.

"Oh, shut up!" Angelina said. "I don't think I could possibly look less feminine or attractive. None of this is at all flattering to my figure. I've never worn a sweatshirt before. I feel shapeless, like a sack of potatoes. The only way I got these jeans to hold up was with some suspenders I found in your closet. This is the worst New Year's Eve ever."

"Don't say that. I think it's kinda charming to see you down to earth; not all dressed to the nines for a change," reassured Tom. "Now, don't worry about it. Your haute couture image will stay safe with us. No one else you know will see you -- especially, not your snooty women's club. Here, I poured you a glass of champagne. Drink up and have fun. It's New Year's Eve and I couldn't think of two better people to spend it with."

Angelina reacted to her boyfriend's cheery obliviousness to the old "two's company, three's a crowd" saying with a look that could melt an iceberg, before picking up her glass and downing the contents as if it was a shot glass.

By the time 10:00 p.m. came and went, and then 11:00 and 11:30, with no sign of Brian's parents, the trio had played several dozen games of Trouble. Meanwhile, Angelina, never a big drinker, was becoming recklessly friskier toward Tom with each passing minute and each swig of champagne.

"Let's play again," said Brian, somehow still not bored after about three-and-half hours of uninterrupted games.

"Sure, we can play again," his uncle said. "Boy, I wonder where your mommy and daddy are. They should have been here a while ago."

As the little boy set about arranging each player's colored pegs on the board for the start of a new game, Angelina tucked her booted legs underneath her, inched even closer on the sofa to her boyfriend and continued her blatantly flirtatious ways. Never minding whether Brian was watching, hearing or not, the horny woman, whose left hand had been resting innocently enough on Tom's left thigh, now playfully spider crawled up his leg till it found his crotch. Once there, her long fingers with the apple red nail polish found the outline of his penis below the fabric of his trousers and began to slowly stroke it. Despite the embarrassing circumstances of having his nephew on the other side of the table, Tom couldn't help but quickly become rock hard. To ensure her coquettish behavior had the proper effect, Angelina began nibbling on Tom's neck.