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Chapter 19. SHAFT

August flew by and suddenly it was Labor Day. Dick’s club hosted a dinner fundraiser on Saturday night, so we got all glammed up to join the beautiful people of NYC to raise money for good causes. Dick’s grandfather had set up a philanthropic foundation after WWII to fund the arts and artists, and several of the evening’s donations would go to support its ongoing work.

As usual for these events, Dick wore a stunning Armani tuxedo, classic lines, satin lapels. I allowed myself the pleasure of appraising him, head to foot. My eyes drifted down the length of his strong torso. My scrutiny lingered at the fly, looking for the bulge of his oversized love shaft. The crease of his pants was smooth. I drew in a short breath when the material bulged, then realized he had slipped his wallet into his pocket adding pizzazz to my little fantasy.

I sparkled at his side in a full-length black gown, with sheer cap sleeves and some glitz on the bodice, a la Valentino gown Reese Witherspoon had worn to the Oscars the year before. She was a good ten years younger than me, but we had the same look and hair color, so I kept an eye on how the designers dressed her and blended it with my own fashion sense for a classy, upscale look.

It was a short taxi ride to the club on a clear, warm evening. As we approached the ball room, a young woman selling raffle tickets at the door greeted us by name, “Mr. Grand. Ms. Fox.”

“Good evening, Heather.” I called her by name to remind Dick so he didn’t have to say “young lady.”

“I’ll take a handful of those tickets, Heather.” He told her, nodding at me and handing her several bills.

“Oh, Mr. Grand, thank you. $500, that’s twenty tickets!” She exclaimed.

“Why don’t you bring them to our table once you’ve counted them out.” He told her and extended the crook of his arm in my direction. I slid my arm through his extended elbow and we entered the crowded room. On the way to our table a waiter approached with a tray of flutes of bubbling Champaign. Dick accepted a glass and passed it to me, then told the waiter, “I’ll have a gin martini, just a mist of vermouth and 3 olives. We’re at table 2.” He dropped a $10 bill on the tray.

“Right away, sir,” the young man assured us.

Axel and Randelle were already seated when we arrive at the table. Shrimp cocktails adorned each place. Axel stood as he popped a shrimp into his mouth, and wiped his hand on a napkin before extending it to Dick. “Welcome, welcome, welcome. Dick, Lori. How are you both tonight?”

“Randelle.” Dick nodded in greeting, “Axel. Good to see you.”

I reached past Dick to clasp Axel’s hand and he leaned forward to place a soft kiss on my knuckles. “Oh, Axel, such a gentleman.” I blushed, and stepped past him to hug Randelle.

“Hi Lori, glad you two could make it.” She hugged me back.

We enjoyed lively dinner conversation, and Dick introduced me to several couples I had not met before. As coffee and desert was served the speeches started.

Club President Ray Bohner spoke of all the good works the club does, and introduced artist in residence Liza Cooper, “Please give a large round of applause for a very talented young artist who just received an award from the Thrust Project for her contributions to mapping the Hudson Valley Thrust Belt.”

A plump young woman dressed in a flowing black tunic with black leggings and ballet flats stepped up to the microphone. She shook Ray’s hand with what appeared to be a firm grip, and turned to the room with a bright smile.

“Thank you all for supporting my work as an artist. As a 2002 Artist to Artist grant recipient, I am proud to invite you to view my work on exhibit at the Ace Gallery.” She humbly accepted the applause, “In appreciation, please accept this gift of my painting titled “Spring Flowers.” Presenting the easel, she offered a wide smile and slight curtsy to more applause, before stepping back to her seat.

“And now for the raffle!” Ray shouted to yet more applause and laughter. “Liza? Will you do the honors?” Ms. Cooper, who had barely had time to sit, jumped up and approached the microphone again. She reached into the big fish bowl that Ray held, and pulled a ticket stub. There was a bit of confusion as she handed it back to Ray, who refused and told her to read the number into the mike.

“Did you get your tickets from Heather?” I asked Dick. In response he handed me a long string of pink stubs.

“Nine four six eight seven zero.” Liza read slowly. She looked around the room.

Ray leaned into the microphone and repeated the numbers, “Nine four six eight seven oh? Anyone?”

Dick shifted in his seat and placed his napkin on the table, ready to rise. He looked to me for confirmation of the winning number as I hurriedly scanned the digits on all twenty tickets. No, I shook my head. Dick shook his head disbelieving, but sat back in his seat with a shrug as if yielding to an incorrect judgement.

Cheers erupted from a table on the other side of the room, and a stately woman wearing a bright red gown stood from her seat and waved her arm, wielding the winning ticket, “Got it! Right here!”

“And we have a winner! First prize is this masterpiece donated by Liza Cooper. Please see me after dinner to collect your painting.” Great applause filled the room. Ray lifted the bowl and Liza once again reached inside to select a ticket stub.

“Nine four six seven five… one.” She called out, and repeated it slowly as I quickly scanned the chain of tickets in my hand.

“Seven. Five. Three. Two.” Dick looked at me expectantly, “One! Seven five one!” I confirmed, handing the winning ticket to Dick. Knowingly, he raised his hand bearing the tickets for all to see.

Ray looked his way and announced, “We have a winner. Mr. Dick Grand. Congratulations, Dick, second prize is a large screen TV, donated to our raffle by B&H Photo. We can all thank them for their donation by shopping there often and spending a lot!” Ray shouted over the applause. “Dick, please see me after dinner to claim your television.”

Tired and tipsy, we arrived at Dick’s apartment. I shrugged off my heels in the foyer and lifted the hair from the back of my neck, offering it up to Dick to unzip my dress. He graced me with gentle kisses along the nape of my neck and across my shoulder, before slowly unhooking the clasp. As the zipper opened, exposing my back to cool air, he sent a chill down my spine as he drew his finger along my backbone.

“Mmmm.” I moaned, turning to face him. He grasped my face in both hands and gently planted a tender kiss, first on my lips, then on my forehead, before stepping back to loosen his tie. He headed for the bedroom, peeling off his jacket as he walked. I followed.

“What are you going to do with that big new television?” I asked, “Put it in the bedroom?”

“No, I’m too busy to watch television in the bedroom,” he answered, and glanced at me over his shoulder as he hung the tuxedo jacket on the valet stand. “I’ll donate it.”

“That’s nice.” I said, “But you seemed surprised that you didn’t win the painting.”

“It was unexpected that she didn’t call my ticket number,” he said.

“Unexpected? Do you always win?” I asked.


“Yes? You always win?” I asked at the nonchalance of his answer.

“Yes, I’m lucky. I won first prize last winter at the club dinner, and last April I won second prize. I expected to win first prize this time.”

I thought back to the dinners at the club, and to the raffle at the hotel in St. Lucia, and realized that he had won a prize each time. I sauntered over to him and drew myself into his arms, and looked up into his eyes, “Yes, you are lucky.”

He kissed me and agreed, “Yes, I am.” I watched as he unzipped his trousers, and the fabric slipped past his bulging shaft and down his thighs. He stepped aside and tossed them onto the valet with the jacket. He stood in front of me unapologetically, with Mr. Shaft nudging his head through the gap in his boxers.

As my gown slid to the floor, the sequins and spangle made crisp little clinking sounds, hitting the ground with a k-chunk.

“K-chunk.” I giggled.

“K-chunk,” he echoed, reaching for me as we tumbled into bed. Two glorious orgasms later, still hugging his now waning shaft tucked up tight in my scabbard, he played with my nipples. His manicured finger tips circled and stroked my breast in a gentle rhythm.

As his caresses slowed, I forced myself awake and wiggled my fingers and toes.

“Hmm?” He asked.

“Bathroom,” I mumbled, knowing I had to remove the layers of make-up or wake in his arms tomorrow a smudged smoky grey mess. We were both awake as we climbed back into bed, and I hoped he felt as satisfied and mellow as I did with the after effects of both the gin and the love making.

“Can we talk about Montreal?” I asked quietly.

“Montreal?” He replied with his usual I’m interested, yet circumspect, baritone voice.

“Any itinerary suggestions? I’m going to start laying out clothes to pack.”

“Oh, the usual.” He said, “We’ll be walking the Old City, so it might be chilly. And dress for dinner and evening. I think we’re having lunch at an art gallery on Saturday.”

“How chilly? What jacket should I bring?” I was stumbling my way towards asking about the fur show.

“I don’t know.” He said flatly, “Whatever you want to carry on the plane, and pack a wrap for the evenings.”

“And the fur show? What day is that?”

“All weekend? Mercy will know the details, not me.”

“Will I be coming home with a fur?” I asked, following up on our previous conversation.

“That’s your decision,” he said, kissing my forehead and turning away from me as he plumped the pillow under his head.

“Dick?” I put my arm over his shoulder, “Aren’t you taking me fur shopping?

“No,” he answered.

“But Dick, that’s the highlight of the weekend. I’ll be odd man out. Mercy will ask me what you bought me, and what will I say?”

“Whatever you want.”

“I’ll be so embarrassed. That’s the weekend before my birthday. I’d love a mink coat for my birthday present.” It made sense to me and I was not happy with his reluctance to splurge on me.

“Lori,” he said barely turning his head on the pillow to catch my eye, “There are plenty of ways to celebrate a birthday. Shopping for a mink coat isn’t on the agenda. How about a big TV?” When I pouted and didn’t answer, he said, “No? Okay. Let’s get some sleep.” He settled himself and was snoring in moments.

Well think again, Mr. Dick Grand, I grumbled to no one but me. Lorelei Fox doesn’t give up quite so easily, I promised us both before turning my back on him and taking a deep cleansing breath. I channeled Scarlet O’Hara as my thoughts drifted into sleep, after all, tomorrow is another day.

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