There was no such expression of empathy on Claudio’s part. Unlike Mark, he, without solicitousness, wanted Sharon without the hang-ups of best friends.
“We were talking about art and the artist,” said Sharon straightening up her dress. “Did you know that Claudio is an artist, Mark?”
“And an author,” said Claudio exiting from behind the wet bar agitated by Mark’s sudden appearance.
“Who’s winning, Mark?” said Sharon.
“Well, your husband is getting drubbed as usual, but he’s got the mullah so it’s good for us poorer poker folk.”
“Mullah?” asked Claudio.
“You know, money, c-notes,” proudly said Mark.
“What’ll you have, Mark?” asked an irritated Claudio.
“I’d rather hear the request from Sharon’s lips, if you don’t mind Claudio. Anyway, who made you the boss of this house? I’m gonna tell Hank, Sharon,” grinned Mark.
“I know exactly what Mark wants,” said Sharon. “He wants what he’s always wanted, a double bourbon neat. Right, Mark?”
Mercifully she actually poured him a double triple bourbon.
“Whatever you say, Sharon,” said a dejected Mark realizing he was not welcomed.
He took his double triple bourbon and crawled back to the poker table. First hand, he got a full house and the excitement killed any thoughts about Sharon and what she might have been up to behind the bar with the Italian dago.
Claudio and Sharon were once again alone, behind the bar, out of hearing range from the poker room where Hank and friends were in the throes of another Texas-hold-them poker night. Not far from the boys’ action, in the Great Room, powerful sexual feelings were smouldering in Claudio who had already confirmed with his best friend Hank that it would be OK if he screwed his Sharon. It had been a long wait but he would not be denied this night. Encouraged by the low lights hanging over the circular poker table with Johhny Unitas cocking to unload a bomb for Hank, and with all the buddies concentrating on the game, Claudio saw the score coming.
She was more receptive to his hands now which he skilfully maneuvered playfully around her waist, disrespectfully dropping them naughtily across her tightly-dress-fitted ass on his way to fucking her behind the mahogany bar well out of the way from the intense poker game. He was saying nothing, barely breathing trying to keep it quiet, she too quietly feeling mischievous and seeking an out from the boredom of the night. He stared most forcefully into Sharon’s eyes and she was momentarily mesmerized; but she recovered quickly. In a macho stance full of the tired cool, Claudio’s wandering hands sensually drifted across her back.
Sharon was at first surprised and then bemused at the puffed trousers, all too familiar, no more than the usual outrageous sexual excitations that all of Hank’s friends had at one time or another stupidly exhibited since high school. In her mind, Claudio was just another dumb friend of her husband’s whose charge, like all the others’, would invariably be blunted by the adherence to the ubiquitous code of best friends restrain. They were all lightweights, easily forgettable, her husband’s friends, including Claudio, in spite of that night, and after all these years she still could not bring herself to take any of them seriously. So emotionally removed had she been from all their jumbled displays that she was never unsettled beyond the initial surprise of rudeness.
For one last moment Claudio thought of stupid Hank and in his mind saw a foolish man enmeshed in his paltry poker losses and out of touch with Sharon, cursing his bad luck. With both hands he held her gently by her waist and looked into her face and all thoughts of friendship with Hank went to hell. He was on an emotional peak and all he could think about was spreading Sharon’s legs and fuck Hank. He was sure Sharon was lubricating just for him, and from the feel of his searching hands knew that she was commando tonight. Any protests from Hank would have been met with violent punches and screw the friendship bullshit. At that moment she was worth ten thousand friendships. For a long time he had fantasized about the feel of Sharon’s naked breasts against his unshaven, manly face, and damn the sin.
Problem was that Claudio was still the village jerk, terrifically inept, a jock without a strap, so disorderly that he lacked any semblance of charm to incite a woman to slide into seduction even when she went commando.
What a hopeless dolt, she thought.
“Imagine that; our Mark, a published author at that!” she deeply sighed, and like a practiced queen moved slightly beyond his reach.
“Claudio, Sharon. The name is Claudio, a famous Roman name,” he said coming down with a smile; he was in heat and nothing was going to interrupt his libidinous charge.
She thought of her father but no support there; nothing would come of it; he had long ago violently disowned her when she told him she had married Hank. And her sorry Judy Anton mother was nowhere to be found. She then thought of Kitty and said “Don’t” to herself and Claudio thought she was speaking to him.
Irresponsibly, Sharon decided to play along with Claudio’s sniffling game for lack of anything better going on in her husband’s poker get-together, one of the many boring evenings she had suffered many times before. Most other poker nights she would have secluded herself into her bedroom until the friends had left. But on this particular night she had decided to join the boys even for a while. It was the dress; the damn tight fitting Max Mara dress turned her on and she wanted the world to see her fabulous ass that night. So, between the easy to swallow martinis with huge green olives, she flirtatiously fluttered her eyes and toyed with Dago Claudio, wickedly smiling directly into his face.
Slightly frustrated but still determined, Claudio tried to perk up his courage in his golden scotch and went and got some more.
She went around the bar and peeked into the poker game and saw her husband’s thick neck half-hidden in the dense cigarette smoke all around him. He was half drunk and definitely more interested in the poker game with the “Hi there” gang of best friends than at what might have been going on with his wife behind their wet bar in the Great Room. She had no blazing thoughts about that particular moment in her life; everything was registering as everyday dull normal. Back behind the bar and mentally pressed against the liquor with little space between them, and her ass wet against the bar sink, she really didn’t care one way or another, and she shoved her knee between Claudio’s semi-spread legs and smiled.
She felt as surprised about herself as much as Claudio looked stupid.
It was vengeance, and she too decided to play it stupid.
It wasn’t difficult to play stupid because Sharon had many years of practice with her stupid husband Hank. She thought she loathed what she was doing, but being in close contact with Claudio’s knees was by far the activity of least regrets, other particulars to come still unforeseen. All tangled up, she felt exposed, like meat dangling on a butcher’s hook, and too late she wished she was alone in her room away from the punishing shambles of the poker night. It was an awfully awkward moment, but she felt she could out-manoeuver dumb Claudio as she had done with others many times before. She knew that she had been fantasy-fucked by all the men she had passively met during the course of her life, from a young girl on. If Claudio was revelling in his amoral fantasies, that didn’t make her a slut; and if it did, then all the world was made up of sluts.
High behind her bar, she felt Claudio’s rush on her cheeks as an unfolding adolescent play, a minor sexual embarrassment empty of threat. Shoring up her befuddled mind with a sip, the maddening thought occurred to her that it was probably her husband that had put up dumb Dago Claudio to this predatory pretence to test her out. She couldn’t believe that Claudio had the balls to put a rush on her behind her husband’s back, or Kitty’s, for that matter. Pissed, she took a good gulp of her martini and viewed the event as sexual role-playing among the wooden marionettes being manipulated by a vengeful husband getting even with a wife who wasn’t giving anymor
e. Unhappily, she knew that even if her husband was watching, he would not have strongly protested Claudio’s rude behavior towards his wife.
She decided to play out the dumb scene; after all, how long can one fend off the charge, and, anyway, what are friends for, if not for sharing, she thought?
Once again Claudio did dare, like a sixth grader, to reach and feel Sharon’s ass.
“So you write?”
Like an adolescent, he was quick to withdraw his hand, not giving her time to disapprove. He felt stupid, as if he was on a first date.
“Well, I do write and I’ve been meaning to ask you, if you have some spare time, and if you wouldn’t mind, to read some of the things I’ve written,” haltingly mumbled Claudio. “I would really appreciate your critique and opinion, because I know you like to read a lot, and Hank was telling me that you’re into religion these days.”
She covered her mouth to keep from laughing out loud and discovered a leftover drop of vodka under her tongue. It was extra smooth and gave her pause to see that friend Claudio was really dumb. There was a stupid smirk on his sterile face and the crowd was anteing up one more time. There was not a single stir of recognition from the low profile poker crowd to her impolite laughter at Roman, or more classic, Sicilian Claudio. It was one of those wet nights when no one had anything better to do than to let lust play out.
“So when do you want to do it?” he said, his eyes welting.
“Do what?” she replied, somewhat surprised.
“Get together,” he said.
At last, the waited charge of the tomcat pressing the queen, complete with near misses. The slow dance and posturing had occurred time and again between her and one or another of her husband’s pointless wide receivers in any of a thousand nights of extended, clan celebrations. For countless times, the lingering smell to fuck Sharon by one or another of her husband’s friends was always just short of its intention, because the boys were essentially dumb. But tonight’s reach by Claudio had touched a chord in Sharon’s ass and she was interested. Even in playacting, a good actress sometimes will put her soul and heart into it, and for one second, Sharon thought she wanted it. Morality was fast disappearing in the presence of powerful libido urgings with nothing but an inconclusive husband to block the heat. Her heart pumped a couple of extra powerful beats and she was sure there would be no consequences to the act. Not for her, anyway! She only hoped that the dumb Dago wasn’t playacting out some sort of misplaced neurotic macho fantasy bet with her husband, “bet I can;” “bet you can’t,” that he, and maybe others, God forbid, had made with her perpetually smiling mindless high school days in-crowd husband.
Fuck it! Who cares, she thought. Fuck’em all!
“Well, bless my fucking soul,” hushed a licked Sharon as she puckered up her over-crayoned luscious lips, “our Claudio, a writer! What do you write about, Claudio?”
There was a long pause and Sharon was disappointed.
“I write about all sorts of things. I’ve bought a lot of notebooks and I write in them all the time. Especially at night, just before I fall asleep. I find so much tranquillity in fantasizing about a lot of things and I fall asleep,” he grinned a baby smile.
She smiled back a reserved smile, like for children who say cute things.
He was mindless now, his sexual charge having scrambled his mind, mingling Sharon’s powerful odors with his Johnny Walker Black.
Jesus Christ save me from this idiot, thought Sharon, and all previous thoughts of hanky-panky gave way to the unadulterated simple feelings that she always had for Kitty’s second husband. A faint tear full of vodka rolled down her right cheek in fear that her eternal woman’s timeless defences might now be crumbling too easily. She wiped the tear ever so carefully not to smear her mascara.
Got her ass now thought Claudio aware only of the perfect tear that had rolled out of Sharon’s blue eyes, an eternal sign of female capitulation to an irrevocable invitation for sex.
“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you,” he said.
“I mean what kind of writing do you do, Claudio? Is it fiction, or history, or maybe you write about romance …” she desperately smiled and touched his hand.
She finds me irresistible, he thought.
He took the irreversible step of manly interrupting what up to now had seemed to him to be Sharon’s feeble attempts to hold back the long awaited score. He purposefully stared disrespectfully deep into the divide of her gifted breasts, rolled his tongue out, and licked his chops that were her breasts. Like a prey before the predator, poor Sharon was indeed mesmerized into shameless submission. He wasn’t “gonad fuck” around anymore, as he was known to say during serious moments such as this. He took a large gulp of his scotch, tried to control his penis rising, and articulated his natural born gifts as an author.
“I write about tits, Sharon. I write about big tits like yours.”
She felt the booze rush into her brain dulling out all other sounds.
“My tits are much too big for you, you fucking prick,” she said. “They’re a handful for any man and definitely way beyond your reach,” uselessly she tried to protest, lest she seem too easy, though her words were awash with the sweetness of the Grey Goose.
He smiled the wily smile of the alley tom knowing well enough that the more she protested the least she would resist. It was simply a matter of finding the right moment for a fierce piercing quickie, so fast, that nobody would notice.
“Everything about me is big, Sharon, including my mouth.”
It was a gross display of hormonal rage as he reached for her crotch. Simultaneously, her hormones persuaded her mind that no harm would come of it; that it was most natural and that it wouldn’t last forever.
He raised her tight fitting dress above her waist gorging on her nakedness. He entered her with ease because she had been ready and she caught her muted scream between her teeth in time for others not to hear her belatedly pained soft, “don’t.”
Powerful sexual urges, pulsating from somewhere within, most unfamiliar to her, enveloped her whole being. She was wide open, and he was out of control, and she had only herself to blame. For what had seemed to her a long time, for only God knows how long, Sharon let Claudio make love to her, and with muted approval, and freed from her tight form fitting dress, she gave in to his long-time built-up powerful thrusts. Breathlessly, she spread her legs and stood still as any ready princess would. She took it all in, not succumbing to dumb Claudio, but to the overpowering sex urge that shocks all reason, and for long powerful minutes, she let him have his way. It was a lusty scene full of vigorous plunges and she couldn’t deny the trembling moment. He was all over her and she almost passed out with each and every charge. It had never, ever, been so good with Hank.
“Are you all right,” he said.
“Yes.”
And then like a little girl she said, “Thank you, Claudio,” and meekly off she went to her room.
Claudio too grabbed his jacket and took off not saying good night to anyone.
“What fucking luck!” bellowed across the room the unbearable yell from former varsity line backer Curtis Don May, now highway toll booth operator.
“It’s uncanny,” screamed back Mark. “That’s the third inside straight you’ve drawn tonight, Hank. I’ve never seen anyone as lucky as you.”
“Especially tonight,” said Curtis.
“Me neither,” said another of the players. “Ever since high school Hank has had all the luck,” and pissed, he tossed in his hand.
“Thank you, guys, you’ve made daddy happy tonight,” smiled lucky Hank.
Everybody at the poker table guessed what had been happening in the Great Room and enviously became convinced that Claudio had scored. But if Hank wasn’t budging, if he didn’t care, why should they have cared. There was nothing to be said. They did wish they could’ve seen the action, or maybe h
ave gotten a piece of the action themselves, but that would have meant betraying Hank’s friendship; and his trust in them was more important than a piece of ass, as good as Sharon’s was. On the other hand, Hank felt relief in front of his trusted friends that he no longer had to think of Sharon as some pristine angel, that she had finally, in full view of his world, joined the ranks of common folk. Perhaps now he would not bear all the blame.
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