The End of Summer

by Alex M. Smith

  The End of Summer

  Book #1 Richard series

  By Alex M Smith

  Text copyright © 2012 Alex M Smith

  All Rights Reserved

  Table of Contents

  A Perfect Tan

  West Village

  With Cream on Top

  Incense & Vinyl

  A Summer Quartet

  One Act Play

  Chivalry after Midnight

  Fever in the Morning

  Date Night

  Champagne on Ice

  Fly Away

  Glass House

  Geometry of Chance

  Pages from My Diary… Richard!

  A Perfect Tan

  We were heading back from the Hamptons after a weekend of sea and sun away from the city, slowly pushing our way through the evening traffic. It was a typical late August Sunday evening, and everybody was going back to the city. I was sitting all alone in the back seat of the BMW 3 series convertible. Joe was driving and Lyn, his girlfriend, was sitting next to him.

  Lyn took off her sandals and put her legs up with her feet hanging out in the breeze. She was wearing a light blue sleeveless dress. She had the most beautiful toes I have ever seen. She usually wears a toe ring, but she removed it to get a perfect tan. All of her body had a uniform, beautiful bronze color after three trips to the Hamptons. I never saw her swimming or even taking a dip in the ocean. The only use of her bikini was to wear it when going to and from the roof to sunbathe in the nude.

  She was five foot five and slim with a slightly round butt. I adored her medium-sized breasts and almost always exposed cleavage. I used to watch her through my window, climbing to the roof in the morning while I was still in bed, her dark blond hair flying in the light breeze, covering her beautiful face, and raining down her back. Each step she took caused her breasts to bounce slightly as she climbed up the white ladder. It was a beautiful morning view.

  Once I went up to hang out with her and Joe, and I was surprised to see her lying down on her stomach, in the nude. Joe was sitting beside her reading a book and casually caressing her back with his finger. I immediately ducked and started climbing down the ladder. I was about to escape unnoticed if it were not for one of the three beer bottles slipping from me and breaking on the cement below. Joe came rushing and he saw me picking up the broken glass off the patio. He didn’t suspect that a few seconds earlier I was looking at his girlfriend’s bare ass.

  “Why are we stopping?” Lyn said as Joe pulled over on the side of the road.

  “I wanna take a leak.”

  “Where? On the side of the road?”

  “Relax. I will go behind that rock. No one can see me.”

  “I gotta go too,” I said, as I climbed out of the car straight from the back seat.

  “Careful, man, you will scratch it,” Joe shouted at me.

  “I can see your cocks,” Lyn shouted.

  “Take a picture,” Joe replied.

  The whole trip from the East Hamptons to the West Village took us around two hours, but we were already late. Lyn’s mom was coming in from Connecticut at around six, and she didn’t have a key to Lyn’s place and it was already six thirty.

  “My mom is gonna kill me.” Lyn snapped, furious at Joe making us late.

  “Richard, can you hand me my bag, please?” Lyn said impatiently, reaching back to me. She took the bag, opened it, and started looking inside it. “Damn, I can’t find my key.”

  “How can you find anything inside that bag?” Joe asked sarcastically as he was taking the last turn, one block away from her apartment.

  “I must have left it at your place. Can we go get it?” Lyn was not asking but just telling Joe what he should do, as usual, and expecting that he would do it.

  “Now you are telling me that? I can’t make a right turn here. I have to go down three blocks, and then turn right. It will take us fifteen minutes. Why didn’t you fucking check before? Why do you keep things till the last minute? You always do tha…” Joe was going to continue, but Lyn slammed his face with her bag and told him to shut the fuck up.

  We pulled over next to Lyn’s building. It was a pre-war four-level townhouse, converted into one bedroom apartments. It had a nice, well maintained, classical look. In front of it, on the third step, sat Lyn’s mom, wearing a long white summer dress. She looked beautiful. I only met her once, more than six months ago during Vanessa’s funeral. We didn’t talk much back then. I guess we were all in shock, and no one was in the mood for talking, but I remember how sexy she looked in a black dress. She looked too young to be a mother of a nineteen year old girl.

  “Here,” I said to Lyn and gave her a key. She looked at me with a surprised look on her face. “I fixed your stove, remember?”

  “Thanks, mwah,” Lyn replied, blowing me a playful kiss, then she turned towards her mom and said, “Mom, you look gorgeous. Sorry I’m late, but you know Joe is a lousy driver.”

  Joe got out of the car first and greeted Lyn’s mom. “Mrs. Brooks, so nice to see you.”

  “Joe darling,” she said and gave him a kiss. “How are you, sweetheart? I missed you this summer. You didn’t come visit us in Connecticut?”

  “I will make it for Christmas.” Joe replied.

  “Santa baby” Lyn whispered to Joe as she was going to welcome her mom, who she hugged and kissed.

  “Nice tan, Marilyn,” Mrs. Brooks said while holding her daughter’s hand and stepping back to look at her.

  “We were in the Hamptons. It was great,” Lyn replied. “You should come with us next weekend.”

  “Your dad will be here in a few days,” her mom said.

  “Dad is coming to New York?” Lyn seemed surprised.

  “I will tell you all about it later, darling.” Mrs. Brooks turned her attention to me. “Richard,” she said as she walked closer to me.

  I was still leaning against the car as she called my name. I was taken by the view of her and Lyn. They looked like sisters. When she came closer, I stood up straight and took my hand out of my pocket to shake her hand. She opened her arms and gave me a hug, and she kissed my cheek. The kiss landed just under my right ear.

  As she pulled away, she looked at me and said: “Would you be my date tonight?”

  “Maaaaaaaaaaaa!” Lyn screamed at her mom. “Knock it off! Come on! The guys were leaving.”

  “I’ll pick you up at eight, and we will go dancing,” I replied in a teasing tone.

  “Good I brought my dancing shoes,” she replied.

  “You are grounded tonight,” Lyn said in a serious tone but jokingly.

  Mrs. Brooks laughed, looked at Lyn, and said, “Lighten up, little girl I was just kidding.” She gave me a wink.

  I winked back and smiled and started thinking what a delicious fantasy it would be if it came true. Lyn cut my fantasy short as she pulled her mother up the stairs as fast as she could. “Bye, guys. See you tonight. We are still going for dinner and drinks, right?”

  “Definitely,” I answered.

  “Hey, let me help you with the bags,” Joe offered.

  Lyn just shook her head. I climbed into the back seat as I watched Lyn and her mom climb the steps leading up to the front door. Joe looked at me and said: “You have keys to her apartment?”

  “Drive, dude,” I said, ignoring his question.

  “What would you want her keys for? Don’t tell me you sneak into her room and put on her underpants, you pervert?” Joe said, while ignoring the road and looking straight at me trying to break me down.

  “My name is Richard, and I love wearing woman’s panties,” I said, and we both laughed.

  West Village

  As soon as Joe dropped me off, I took a shower, and I dressed in a t-shirt and jeans,
took my iPad, and went out for a cup of coffee. Five minutes later, I was just across the street from Starbucks at Hudson Street. I stood outside, trying to resist the urge to keep walking on towards Grove Street. The sweet evening warmth wrapped around me, reminding me of Lyn’s mom’s hug and kiss. Her scent lingered on and on and I was so tempted to see her again. Not knowing what I was really doing I kept walking towards Lyn’s house.

  It is never a bad idea to take a walk to nowhere in this part of town. It’s a village within one of the busiest cities in the world. It gives you a sense of relief from the craziness of city life. In the early seventies, my parents met in the village, and they lived together somewhere on Christopher Street. Both were artists. My dad was a photographer, and my mom was a playwright. They were not looking for fame and fortune, but somehow they got both. They never got married, even after I was born: “Marriage complicates things,” Dad told me later. I don’t blame them; it’s their life after all.

  When I was born, they moved to a bigger house. It was both a home and a studio for their work. So many models, actors, writers, directors, and all kinds of artists used to frequent our home. Mom used to give writing and acting classes, and sometimes her class would only consist of a young handsome actor.

  I had my first kiss in that house. I still remember it as if it has just happened. I was only fourteen. Camille was a young French model who was cast for a perfume advertising campaign for a well-known international brand. She was only sixteen at the time, and her mom accompanied her from Bordeaux to New York for the campaign and to LA to film a small role in a teenage movie as a French exchange student gone wild. Mom was in London at the time. She was invited to attend the opening of a new play written by one of her colleagues, who was also one of her lovers.

  One day, I came back from school and saw that the red light above the door was on. Every time the studio was occupied, my dad put a red light on to spare him the embarrassment of someone walking in on some nude models. The studio had two doors, one at the back, which opened directly to the street, and another one which led to our kitchen. A couple of times, a nude model wandered through that door into the kitchen by mistake, thinking the door led to the changing rooms.

  I took a slice of pizza from the fridge and opened the studio door just a little bit to be able to look inside. I instantly saw flashing lights and a couple of figures, one of a woman and one of a man watching my dad as he was photographing someone. Guessing the scene was safe enough for me to enter and I would not get grounded for seeing a nipple or bare ass, I entered. Then I saw Camille under the bright studio lights. She looked perfect, a young girl wearing a white dress. She looked like a Greek goddess.

  They all turned to look at me when I came in because, clumsy as I am, I stepped on something that made a loud noise. My dad was distracted and gave me an angry look before he introduced me to everyone, then Camille told her mom something in French, and her mom explained to us that Camille was hungry. Dad told her to go with me to the kitchen and told me to fix her something to eat. Her mom said that she was not hungry, and the executive from the ad agency had to go. Camille and I went into the kitchen, and Dad came behind us to make sure that the door to the studio was closed.

  I took the rest of the pizza out as Camille sat on the kitchen stool. I offered her some Coke, but she said no. As we were eating, she saw that there was an open bottle of red wine at the end of the kitchen counter. She stood up, got herself a glass and poured some wine into it, tasted it, and poured some more. She looked at me and tipped the bottle, offering me some. I nodded a yes. I had never had wine before, but I was afraid of doing something that might embarrass myself in front of her. She was French with French habits, and I didn’t want to look too American and unsophisticated to her.

  I poured the Coke into the sink, and Camille poured wine into my glass. She said “Santé” and took a sip. I did just the same. It had a nice taste, not at all as I thought it would be. We finished eating, and I showed Camille where she could wash her hands. As I was standing behind her, I noticed that she was still wearing the Greek dress. It was white, loose, and a little transparent. When she bent over the sink, I was able to see the outline of her panties. She was not wearing a bra either. She looked behind her and saw me checking her out, and my eyes were fixed on her ass. She smiled and continued washing her hands and face from all the makeup she had on.

  We grabbed our glasses off the kitchen counter, and Camille noticed the red light above the studio door. I told her it means that whenever it is on, Dad was working, and I can’t go in. Her eyes sparkled, and she smiled a naughty smile, as if she knew the real reason behind the red light. She told me that she thinks that my dad and her mom were doing It, and we should take a peek and watch. I knew that she was most probably right, but I told her that Dad will kill me if I opened that door.

  I went into the living room and sat on the couch. Camille hesitated for a moment , then came and sat next to me. She stretched out her legs on the glass table in front of her. She was barefoot and was wearing a gold anklet that made sound when it touched the glass. She was sitting close to me, and our bodies were touching. I felt the heat of her body against mine. The sheer fabric of her dress was draped across her body now, and I could see the peaks of her small breasts. I watched her as I sipped some more wine and a smile escaped her lips.

  Just like that, she turned and quickly kissed me on my lips. A short and studded kiss that lasted a few seconds only. She moved back, looked at me, and kissed me again. This time I was ready to kiss her back. It was my first real kiss. We put the glasses on the table and kissed again, the taste of wine mixed with our breath and wet lips, and then she stopped, took my hand, and said, “Follow me. Let’s go take a peek.”

  We slowly opened the door to the studio. It was a heavy door but was designed not to make any noise when opened or closed. The moment we peeked in, we knew what was happening inside. We instantly heard moans both in French and English. Camille’s mom was bent over some prop columns they were using in photo-shoots. Dad was behind her with his trousers down to his ankles and his shirt off.

  Her mom had big breasts and a round ass, and her pussy was glistening. I stood there watching with my jaw dropped down to my knees. My dad bent down behind her and started licking her pussy. She was moaning, “Oui, oui, Nick, comme ça.” She started touching her breasts as they dropped down, and her moans were getting strong. The scene got me so excited, and I was getting harder as I watched. Camille was standing in front of me, and I was leaning against her. Our bodies touched, and I was sure that she felt my hardness pressing against her.

  I gathered some courage and lifted my hand that was at my side, and l placed it on her hip. Slowly my hand made its way up to her breasts. As soon as my hand touched her nipple, she sighed and turned around to face me. She leaned against the door closing it while still facing me. I leaned forward and started kissing her again, this time with more confidence. She parted her lips, and our tongues touched for the first time.

  Camille took my hand and took me back to the couch. She made me sit, and she sat on my lap. She felt very light, and I put my arms around her and held her tightly. She leaned forward and started kissing me again. As we kissed, my hand found its way back to her breast, small but firm, and her nipple was getting harder as I touched it. The dress that she was wearing was hooked together at the shoulders. Camille reached and unhooked it. One side fell down, and then she took my hand that was on her breast and moved it away. One side of her upper body was fully exposed to me. I stopped kissing her for a moment and leaned back to take a look at her. My heart pounded more and more as I saw her bare breast eight inches away from my face. It was so beautiful and tempting, and her nipples were half erect and light pink. I moved my hand to touch it, but Camille stopped me and placed her finger instead on her nipple. She made circles around it and looked into my eyes. My breathing became heavier, and my desire for Camille was boundless. She took her finger off her nipple and placed it on my lips. I
leaned forward, my lips one inch away from her pink nipple. I hesitated for a moment, then I gave Camille’s nipple a kiss. I moved back and went in again, and this time, I opened my mouth and took her nipple in my mouth. As I closed my lips over it, I heard a light moan escaping Camille’s mouth. Then she pulled away and a squeaked an ayy! She leaned forward again and kissed my lips. I knew that I might have bit her nipple as my sucking became more vigorous. Our lips unlocked, and I was now ready to try again. As soon as my lips touched her nipples again, I heard a voice coming from behind us.

  “Camille, que faites-vous?” the voice called.

  Camille jumped off me back to the couch and quickly re-hooked her dress. Her mom was still standing at the studio door but was obviously furious. My dad was not there. She came towards us, and I stood up and walked away from her. Camille stayed seated without looking up at her mom. As soon as her mom came closer, she noticed the glasses, took one of them from the table and smelled it.

  “Du vin aussi? Pute”, she said to Camille and took her hand, lifted her off the couch and led her through the door to the studio. Immediately, I took the wine glasses and poured them in the sink and rinsed them. Dad came out, asking what had happened. I told him that Camille’s mom saw us kissing. He shook his head and didn’t say a word.

  Five minutes later, Camille and her mom came out of the studio door, and after they said a few words to my dad, they left. Camille turned around and winked at me. She was so sweet. That experience made believe that a French Kiss is only real as long as you kiss a French girl.

  I never saw her again after that day. I only kept a couple of pictures from my dad’s archive, and Dad and I never talked about what happened. Over time, Mom and Dad grew farther apart, spending less and less time together in the house. When one was in, the other was out working and vice versa. I knew that they were not going to be together like before, but I enjoyed the brief moments that we were a real family.

  “Excuse me, how is Bleecker go?” A Japanese tourist stopped to ask me for directions, cutting short my trip down memory lane.