JuniorChapter 4 Summer of 1991 Sandy Wanda and Patti
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JuniorChapter 12: The Summer Of 1991-Leaving Atlanta free porn video
As the summer progressed, Sandy Santeria became a frequent visitor to Holly's pool and I saw less of Patti. She said it was because of her increased workload, which was a valid excuse, but I believe she was preparing herself for my departure because our time together was drawing to a close.
During my last four weeks in Atlanta our schedule became predictable and repetitive. Patti came to Holly's house on Friday night and left early on Sunday morning. She preferred to do our shopping while I played tennis on Saturday morning; otherwise the hours were filled with relaxation and spontaneous sex. We were often joined for dinner by Sandy and Smyth, who took turns supplying the food. Friday became Smyth's night to tap one of his restaurant connections. A taxi would arrive at Holly's house with a basket of food, two bottles of wine and a note from the chef telling us to enjoy. Sandy loved to cook when she had time, so Saturday was designated as her night to feed us.
These dinner parties were informal. The four of us had very little in common and made it a point to keep the conversation light. Although it was never mentioned, we all knew that Patti and I were having a hard time admitting that our summer fling was about to end. Sandy and Smyth pretended to enjoy our company, but I believe they were two lonely people seeking companionship. We stuffed ourselves, made toasts at every opportunity, laughed and acted silly, all under the guise of friendship.
Sundays, after Patti left, was my alone time. I caught up on my correspondence, read, and contemplated my future. While I was looking forward to returning to school, starting new classes, meeting the incoming freshmen and resuming Friday night pizza parities with old friends, it was going to be just Charlie and me in the apartment, no Shirley, which I was dreading.
Sandy pulled me out of my doldrums. Our Sunday 'date' began with going to a movie that she wanted to see, City Slickers, a comedy staring Billy Crystal. She thoroughly enjoyed herself, shrieking hysterically at times, pawing me to call my attention to a facet she thought I was missing and running her fingers down my arm during tender scenes. Later, over coffee, she admitted the movie was not as hilarious as she had reacted. "I just felt like letting my hair down," she said, smiling.
On successive Sundays she took me to a museum, another baseball game and once we stopped at her office to pick up something that couldn't wait until the next day. She was open with me; we talked about her work, her aspirations and her past relationships. At the end of the evening there was a parting kiss, but from Monday until our Friday night dinner with Patti and Smyth she totally immersed herself in her work. I seldom saw her.
I ran on Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings and talked to Marcie whenever something newsworthy happened. She called me too, usually to report marriage plans she and Suzanne had discussed. "I'm trying to get her to settle on a Thanksgiving wedding, but I don't think she's keen on it. Will you work on her when you're home? She says you're no help at all. When is your break from school? Will you come and pick me up or do I need to borrow a car? Could we... are you listening, Sammy?"
"Could we what?"
"Could we... you know... get together even if Suzanne decides Thanksgiving is too soon for the wedding?"
"Yes, that's a good idea. You can talk to Suzanne face to face..."
"I thought..."
"What?"
"Never mind."
She wouldn't tell me what she was thinking. I knew it must be something important and resolved to pester her about it until she told me what it was.
Mondays and Thursdays were my bachelor nights. Patti wanted the time to work and Sandy adopted the same practice of staying late at her office. Smyth and I often got together to have serious discussions, divulging things from our lives that few others had ever heard. He was a complex man, who had never had a close friend with whom he could share his deepest fears and strongest ambitions. He was very appreciative of my hooking him up with Sara and I believe I could have gotten him to do anything to repay me. I didn't take advantage of him, nor did I attempt to get to the bottom of what took place between him and my house guests, Wanda and Marsha. For all I knew they may have taken advantage of him.
Tuesday nights were reserved for Cassie's soccer games and dinner with the Fenton family. They were strangers in town, too, but they were used to moving from city to city. I believe Neill was already looking forward to his next assignment and Doris took the moves in stride. Cassie, however, was already dreading the thought of leaving the friends she had made. I seldom saw Claudia and didn't know if she had feelings about leaving Atlanta.
Wednesday was our dining out night. We kept going back to Carlo's Italia and were accepted as members by the Wednesday night crowd.
It bothered me that only half of the forty-eight seats were occupied and I wondered how Carlo could stay in business operating the way he was. The restaurant was only open for the evening meal, six nights per week and no one was seated after eight P.M.
"Carlo needs some publicity," I said as we walked to Patti's apartment.
She was skeptical. "Why does he need publicity, to attract more of a crowd? Perhaps he prefers to serve twenty-four meals. Have you considered that?"
"Everyone strives to get bigger. Its human nature," I countered.
"I can see where you're going with this, Sammy, and I think you're wrong to even try."
"What are you saying? Don't you think I can get Smyth to review Carlo's Italia?"
She was thoughtful for a minute. "He'll do it because he owes you, but let's up the ante. I'll bet you that you can't convince Smyth to visit the restaurant in person."
"He's too paranoid to go out in public. He never makes personal appearances."
We were at her apartment door. I swung it open and let her enter ahead of me. "Are you admitting that you can't do it?"
"What's the bet?" I asked.
"If you're successful I'll give you the best blowjob you've ever had."
"You're on!"
"Don't you want to know the consequences if you fail?" she asked, playfully loosening my tie and tugging at my shirttail.
"It doesn't matter, but okay, what's expected of me if I can't make Smyth come to Carlo's Italia?"
"You have to do whatever I say."
"In public?"
"Possibly, I haven't decided."
"You're still on," I said and we sealed the bet in her bed.
I went to work on Smyth the following night. I was getting out of the pool when he climbed over fence carrying four Heinekens and wearing his cut-off sweatpants.
"We're taking you to dinner next Wednesday, Ambrose. Be ready at six-thirty," I said before he sat down.
"Oh, no you're not. How many times have I told you that I don't go out in public?" he protested.
We debated the issue for the next two hours. I told him about the excellent food, the wine served with the meal and the complimentary dessert. It made no difference to Smyth that the small crowd of dinners was friendly and the hosts were anxious to please. Smyth obstinately refused to alter his stance.
I stopped short of bringing out the big gun, reminding him that he owed me for getting his cherry popped. Nor did I tell him about my bet with Patti. Would knowing that I was to collect the best blowjob of my life persuade him to help me win? I was beginning to consider the consequences if I lost. What did Patti have up her sleeve?
I tried again the next evening. Patti and Sandy were setting the table next to the pool. I was opening one of the bottles of wine and Smyth was removing four filet mignon dinners from a basket.
"Have you reconsidered going to dinner with us, Ambrose?"
My timing couldn't have been worse; I pissed him off just as we were sitting down to eat. "I'll send a photographer to the restaurant and I'll do a review, but as I told you I'm not going there in person. Please stop pestering me about it, Sammy," Smyth snapped at me.
"Yes, stop pestering Ambrose, Honey. You're upsetting him," Patti said and I could tell that she was pleased to hear Smyth's stubborn position. It meant she was going to win our bet.
"What are you arguing about?" Sandy asked and Patti, not wanting Smyth to have to endure hearing my proposal that he accompany us to Carlo's Italia, whispered in Sandy's ear.
I could tell by the expression on Sandy's face that she found our bet intriguing. The subject of Carlo's Italia was dropped, but I knew from Sandy's wink that she wanted me to win the bet.
Sandy invited us to have dinner at her house the following evening.
"You didn't say to dress formally," I said as we were greeted by Sandy wearing a long flowing dress that just about hid her nipples and had a slit at the side that ran from her ankles up to her panties.
Patti, wearing a summer frock, and me in slacks and a sports shirt, were a credit to Smyth, whose idea of formal was adding a ratty T-shirt and sneakers to his cut-off sweatpants.
"This old thing isn't formal. See, I'm not wearing any jewelry. Formal is long dangling earrings, pearls and bracelets," Sandy said, bending down to kiss Smyth on the lips. That's when I noticed that her feet were clad in black pumps with five inch heels.
We watched, spellbound, as she turned and led us to the dining room. Her blond hair was stacked on top of her head, making her appear even taller and displaying the tie at the back of her neck that supported the dress. Otherwise, her back was bare to the waist. Patti and I exchanged a look, smiling when we heard Smyth's muffled moan.
The main course was chicken cordon bleu. That's all I remember about the meal. I was too busy watching Sandy play with Smyth.
When it was time to leave she made it a point to invite herself to use Holly's pool the next afternoon. "I have a new bikini I want to try out," she said, making sure Smyth heard her. He did, he hadn't missed anything she had said all evening.
"Did you put her up to that?" Patti asked when we were alone.
"I don't know what you are talking about," I said, innocently.
"I shouldn't have told her about the bet. She's obviously helping you win."
"She certainly got Smyth's attention," I agreed. The little guy had kept his eyes focused on the bare valley between Sandy's breasts the entire evening.
Patti was especially playful. We teased each other and talked about everything except what was really on our minds, the end of our time together. We were trying to put it out of our minds that we only one week left. We didn't make any firm plans, except that we would say farewell the following Sunday morning and Sandy would take me to the airport. That's how Patti said she wanted it, casual, with no tears. I somehow knew our parting wouldn't be as easy as we predicted.
"I'm meeting with the tenant that's taking the fourth floor on Tuesday. Would you like to sit in?" she asked as we got ready for bed.
"Sure, I might learn something," I said, heading to the bathroom to brush my teeth.
"It's early, eight A.M. We're meeting at their place so I can see how they operate now," she yelled from the bedroom. "Will you pick me up?"
"Maybe I should sleep at your place on Monday night," I suggested, coming back to the bedroom. She was already in bed.
"I'm trying to wean myself from you so don't get any ideas," she said, rejecting my idea that I spend the night in her apartment.
The phone rang. Neill invited me to play golf the next day with him and the girls. I told him I would be ready and hung up. Patti was looking at me, questioning.
"They'll be here at eight," I told her.
"I'll get up early and be gone when they come. I don't want your little girlfriend to think I'm stealing you from her."
"She's not my girlfriend. Besides, she probably knows we sleep together."
Patti turned over and faced the other way. I thought she was just teasing and put my arm around her. She wasn't teasing. "Not tonight. I'm a little sore from this afternoon," she said
"Gee, was I too rough?" I asked with concern, knowing that wasn't the case.
"I'll make it up to you on Wednesday night," she said without answering my question about me being too rough earlier in the day.
"Does that mean you already concede that I'm going to win our bet?" I asked, hoping to get a rise out of her. Maybe she would laugh and turn my way. No luck.
"You're not going to win. All I'm saying is that I'll make up for tonight on Wednesday. I'm going to win and I'll make you pay next weekend."
I rubbed her back, thinking that maybe she really was sore. It wouldn't be the first time. I kept rubbing her back and soon knew that she was asleep. It took me a long time to realize that she really was trying to wean herself from me.
We got up early and Patti made sure she was gone by seven-thirty.
"Have fun. I'll call you later," she said as we kissed goodbye.
"I'll see you on Tuesday," I said, knowing she wasn't coming to the building the next day. She had reduced her billable hours to the Oldham Company to about one day per week.
"We'll have to take the tenants to lunch so wear something presentable," she warned me. I watched her drive off before going inside to get dressed for golf.
It was a hot Georgia day, but we played eighteen holes in record time, riding in carts as often as possible and drinking lots of water. I let Cassie drive the golf cart when we were together. Claudia was in one of her moods and refused my offer for her to drive.
I told Neill about Patti's invitation for me to join her and the tenant on Tuesday morning. Otherwise, we didn't talk about work. We finished the round early and Neill declined my invitation for them to come in and have lunch. "Doris wants me to take her to the zoo and the girls have plans," he explained. I knew what Cassie was going to do, run the track while kicking the soccer ball ahead of her, but I don't believe even Neill knew Claudia's plans. I thanked him for inviting me, winked at Cassie and got my clubs out of the trunk.
Sandy must have been watching for me because as soon as the Fentons dropped me off she came out of her front door, wearing a netted, see-through beach robe over two tiny pieces of material that barely passed for a bikini.
"Have you had lunch?" she asked.
"No, it's still early," I said, putting my arm around her shoulder as we walked to the breezeway door. Her long hair was bound by a bright ribbon that was actually wider than either piece of swimwear.
"Are you going to feed me?" she asked, smiling mischievously.
"Will you settle for cantaloupe filled with cottage cheese and iced tea?"
"Sounds scrumptious," she said.
We went into the kitchen and she offered to get the tea started while I changed into my swimsuit. By the time I got back downstairs, armed with towels and sunscreen, Sandy was already in the water. Smyth must have heard the splash because he was climbing over the fence at the same time I went out the back door.
"Mr. Smyth, don't you have a swimsuit?" I asked when I saw that he was wearing his customary attire, cut-off sweat pants and nothing more.
Smyth privileged me with a nod of his head to acknowledge my presence, too engrossed with Sandy emerging from the pool to answer my question. Perhaps he hadn't heard me?
Sandy was attempting to adjust both pieces of her bikini and the bow that held her long hair. Showing frustration, she gave up on the bikini, untied the bow and concentrated on extracting the water from her hair.
Smyth, I noticed, was becoming excited. He couldn't take his eyes off of her, but neither could I. While I was sure that this was an extension of her choreographed actions from the night before, my eyes were transfixed to her thin, wiry body, as were Smyth's. The bikini barely covered her nipples and her pussy.
"Ah, sunscreen, just what I need. Will you rub some on my back?" she asked, looking up at me, smiling impishly. "
Smyth turned his head and his eyes practically jumped out of their sockets when he spied the bottle of sunscreen in my hand. He licked his lips, greedily eyeing the bottle.
Sandy was already face-down on one of the loungers, arranging her long hair to the side, out of the way. I sat down next to her and watched beads of water roll down her shoulders. Ordinarily, I would have toweled her down before applying the sunscreen, but we both knew this was not an ordinary application; this was strictly for show.
Although her head was turned the other way, Sandy must have known Smyth was taking his place on the other lounger, lying on his side so he could watch the sunscreen being applied. I saw a satisfied smile cross her lips as I started with her neck, spreading the lotion all the way around to tickle her chin. Her eyes shot open when my finger touched her lower lip. I bent down and whispered, "It's working; he has a boner."
Sandy smiled and closed her eyes. I marveled at her even tan as I rubbed her shoulders. When did she find time to sunbathe in the nude? Who applied sunscreen on her back?
"There's a little catch. Do you see it, Sammy?" she asked, instructing me to undo her top. I found it and heard Smyth expel air from his lungs as the straps fell and her naked back was exposed to the sunlight. She heard it too and a contented smile appeared on her lips.
I made fast work of her back, quickly kneading the soft, but tight skin, anxious to get down to the cheeks of her ass, which I knew would drive Smyth wild.
"Want me to coat these too?" I asked, smacking the left cheek with my hand and watching it quiver.
"Of course," she answered, without reacting to my bold, but provocative slap of her ass.
Smyth, I noticed, had turned to lie on his stomach, making it uncomfortable to turn his head our way.
It took forever to cover the cheeks of her ass with the lotion. Actually, I just played with them, squirting a drop of sunscreen on the left one, spreading it with one finger in a circular motion and then massaging it in with the palm of my hand. By the time I started on her right cheek Smyth was fucking the lounger.
I gave her a smack on the ass to signal that I was finished with the right cheek and Sandy turned over. "How long will it take me to drive to Patti's apartment if I decide to join you on Wednesday night?" she asked, and then looked around and exclaimed, "Where did he go?"
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