Chapter 8. SUPER SCHLONG
It didn’t take more than one dinner to knock Bobby Dangler out of my thoughts. Mr. Grand was the subtle silent type. He didn’t say much, but when he spoke it was to the point and worth remembering. He listened intently and never took his attention from me. As the saying goes, he ate me up with his eyes. You catch my drift, those deep brown pools of mystery invited me to fall in and lose myself.
As the waiters cleared the dinner plates, Dick asked softly, “Do you trust me?”
No! Was my instinctive reaction, like when they hold up a flash card and you have to say the first thing that comes to mind. I was caught off guard by the question and uncertain of the context, yet had the good sense to offer a reply that was both yes and no, in other words, honest. “Mmmm Huhn,” I shared through pouty lips I hoped still had a veneer of red sheen. This man charmed and disarmed me, but the little voice in my head kept warning that Richard Grand was inscrutable.
With a nod to Anton, he said, “Averna Amaro for the lady. I’ll have a Nonino.”
As we sat with after dinner drinks, Dick took my hand in his and slowly stroked along the knuckles with his thumb. It was a surprisingly intimate gesture, but I had no objection.
“What show would you like to see?”
“Are you asking me on a date, Mr. Grand?” I looked into his face and felt myself pulled towards him, as if his body were a powerful magnet drawing me irresistibly closer. The tips of my breasts hardened at the nearness of him.
“Are you saying yes?”
“Yes, I think I am.” We stared into each other’s eyes, so close the bitter sweet of the Nonino on his breath grazed my lips.
"Best Little Whorehouse in Texas?”
“It just opened! You can get tickets?”
“Yes.” He answered with an “of course” tone in his voice.
“I would love to see that.”
Was he flirting? Teasing? Another side of this intoxicating man. “Yes, with you.”
A Town car waited for us at the curb on 38th Street when we exited Rossini’s. A few minutes later, as it pulled into the circular driveway in front of my building, Dick got out of the car and came around to open the door for me. He held both my hands in his and said, “I’ll pick you up at six on Saturday. Eat something light, we’ll have a late dinner at The Palm after theatre.”
“Thank you for a lovely evening.” I replied with formal graciousness.
“You don’t ever have to offer polite banter to me, Lori.” Dick said. He bent down and in parting offered a soft touch of lips on each cheek. Then he pulled back to study my eyes with meaningful sincerity, as if to impart his intentions before leaning in for a smooth kiss on the lips. If this was foreplay, I was eager for the game.
Upstairs I stripped to my satin teddy and stretched across the bed, images of Dick Grand filling my mind. With a vision of his starched shirt hanging in shreds across his bare chest, I ran the palm of my hand in circles across my hardened nipples. Licking my own lips, I tasted his abs, loosing my tongue along his belly as my hand slid across my own midriff and down the lacey nighty to grip my hips and thighs. Over the glossy fabric, my hand reached my fluff of coarse hair, and I fantasized grabbing his jungle and pulling it tight in my fist. Warm now, tasting the metallic ache of urgency, I anticipated the sensation of his super shlong in my clenched hand, and reached for my pleasure. My hips jolted as if in surprise when the tip of my finger plucked the bud. Working my hot spot with a steady pressure, the rest of my hand became his member plunging deep into my recesses. I cried out with the intensity of orgasmic response. Tingling with lingering bliss, I curled into a fetal ball, my hand still warm between my wet thighs, and fell asleep fully intending to dream of Mr. Grand.