The Making of a Gigolo (8) - Felicity Chumley

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Chapter Two

Nobody else thought Linda had been been blatant in her sudden friendship with Paul ... except Linda. She'd been on a few dates, and had talked to a ton of boys. But she had never been fascinated with a boy like she was fascinated with Paul. He had been so sweet to her, and so shy that she just wanted to eat him up. She had wanted to kiss him in the worst way, but had not, saving that for their first official date, which she had asked him on after they ate watermelon, and were standing, watching the fireworks show.

She had said, "There's a new movie showing at the Bijou. I sure wish I knew somebody who wanted to go with me to watch it."

He'd taken the bait like a starving rat.

"I - I - I'd go with you," he stammered.

"You would!" she'd squealed. "Oh, I'd like that!"

Paul, who had thought about his erections quite clinically in the past, as he made them go away, almost bent over to hide the one in his pants at that point.

It hadn't worked, though. She'd seen it. She hadn't said anything about it, of course, and had pretended to ignore it, but she felt a thrill at having produced it, just like she felt a thrill when she went alone to see Bobby, and he got hard for her too.

Thinking about Bobby made her feel a little better. She could go see him, tonight, and take care of the heat in her belly, as she snuck secretive glances at the front of Paul's pants. Yes, she thought ... she definitely needed to spend some time with Bobby tonight.

The subject of Linda's thoughts was also the subject of a discussion that was taking place on the other side of the invisible line that separated Granger's "proper" citizens, from the "undesirables".

Bobby's name came up as a fluke, really, as a result of how the conversation started in the first place. It was being held between twenty-eight year old Felicity Chumley, and her friend from the Country Club, Millie Vaughn. "Country Club" was a euphemism for the old house, on the old farm, that had been bought and turned into a nine hole golf course. A swimming pool and tennis court had been added, and the house refurbished by gutting it, redoing the floor plan, and putting a new exterior on it. It was pretty nice, all things considered, and served excellent food from what had been the farm house kitchen, which had also been completely renovated. Granger's elite, which comprised some hundred and fifty people who could muster up the dues to become members, liked to think of it as a country club. The dues were high, so as to keep out the riff-raff.

It had been at the country club where Millie, whose husband owned one of two drug stores in town, and Felicity met. Millie was thrilled. Just about everybody in Granger knew of Felicity Chumley, who was the second wife of Chester Chumley, the richest man in town. Barely anyone actually knew her, though.

Chester had inherited wealth, in the form of his father's steel and pipe business, which had been a mainstay of the town economy for decades. Through savvy business dealings, he had made a ton of money, not only for himself, but for a number of other people in town. Then, at age seventy-three his wife of forty-eight years had died, and all the heart went out of him. He had managed to hold on to his desire to run the business for three more years, and then sold out, making even more money. The new owner had dismantled it and sold off the pieces. It had been a huge blow to the town, but nobody blamed Chester.

Chester, who was born and raised in Granger, stayed in his mansion, on a three hundred acre plot of land, South of town. All he kept, from the company that had been in his family for two generations, was his money, and his secretary, Felicity Hodges.

Felicity grew up Mission, Kansas, a suburb of Kansas City, where she was a popular girl, and a cheerleader at Shawnee Mission North High School. She knew she was destined for great things, but her family couldn't afford college, and her grades weren't good enough for a scholarship. She managed to pay her way through the Filby Secretarial School, in Kansas City, Missouri, which found her employment with a steel and pipe company in someplace called Granger, Kansas. At the tender age of twenty, she rode a Greyhound bus to Granger, and rented a room at the Dreamland Motor Inn for two nights, paying in advance, because that was all the money she had. When she reported to Chumley Steel and Pipe, the next day, she found out she was working for Chester Chumley, whose wife had died as Felicity was getting off the bus, the day before.

It was madness, from her point of view. Everybody in the place was crying, and nobody wanted anything to do with talking to the new girl. She'd already filled out the paperwork, sending it in advance, and she was already on the payroll. She wouldn't get paid for a week, assuming anyone was still capable of getting the payroll done, what with all the weeping and gnashing of teeth going on. For lack of anything else to do, she took over the desk that was obviously hers, and dug into whatever work she could puzzle out that needed to be done. She didn't even see her boss for three days.

Three years later, when Chester sold the business, and asked Felicity to marry him, she was twenty-three, and he was almost seventy-eight.

To be fair to Felicity, which almost nobody was when the wedding took place, she was probably the person who saved Chester from just withering away and dying, following his wife's death. She didn't "go after" him, as she was sometimes accused. Nor did she do anything more than care about him, and his loss. That care was genuine, on her part. Chester reminded her of her grandfather, who she had loved with all her heart, and who had died when she was sixteen.

It was her detachment from the tragedy at Chumley Steel and Pipe company that kept the business going for the first month after Chester lost interest in things. She was his executive secretary, which, in itself scandalized veteran employees. She had been sent there by mistake, obviously. An executive secretary was older ... more experienced ... not a blond bombshell, with an hourglass figure. She ignored all that, and demanded action, on behalf of Chester Chumley. When shipments were delayed, she raked the shipping clerk over the coals. When payroll was late, she ordered the payroll clerk to work overtime. When people ignored her, or, worse yet, defied her, she typed up memos, and took them to Chester, who signed them, more often than not, without reading them.

At the same time, she took care of Chester. She made him eat. She took him home each night, afraid that he'd crash into a telephone pole on purpose, if she didn't. He had servants who could take care of him at home, and who resented the questions of this interloper they didn't know. They resented her so much that they took extra care in doing their jobs, just so she would have nothing to harp about.

She talked to him, and listened to his stories about his wife, and all the things they'd done together. They were childless, which was another nail in his coffin. He had no one to pass the company on to. She sat with him while he cried, and patted his hand, handing him tissues.

Basically, while everyone else around him pulled back, for fear of getting personally involved in his grief, Felicity put herself close to him, because she felt sorry for him, and liked him.

There was never any hanky panky. Felicity wouldn't have thought of doing it in the first place, and Chester couldn't bear to think of soiling the memory of his wife. No one could say they'd seen her do anything untoward, or flirty, or seductive.

She was his sounding board when he decided to sell the business, and did all the paperwork herself, checking and double checking the contracts, to make sure what was promised in talks would actually happen. She was the one who arranged severance packages for those who didn't want to work for the new owner. Later, many people would find out about that and rue the day they'd decided to stay. They'd find out that, if they hadn't hated Felicity Hodges, they'd have listened to her warnings, and would have been much better off.

When Chester Chumley asked for her hand in marriage ... no one was more surprised than Felicity Hodges.

It was not an easy decision for her to make. The jaded might think she'd jump at the chance to marry all that money, especially since her new husband's days were numbered. But that wasn't how Felicity thought about things. She had spent so much time on her job and boss in the three years she worked for him, that her social life was non-existent. Even if she'd had time to date, it was unlikely anyone would have asked her out. She was "The Bitch", informally, if people were even that nice when they talked about her. That changed to "The Vampire Bitch" when word of his proposal got out. People weren't all that careful about how loudly they said it, either. The new owner was bringing his own staff with him, so the Vampire Bitch wouldn't be there to torment them any more.

She knew that no one would ever leave her alone, if she married the poor man. She knew she'd be hated forever. At the same time, she was without a job, without a place to live, and without prospects, since only Chester could write her a recommendation, and that recommendation would be suspect, if anyone found out about his marriage proposal. She knew what people thought. They thought she'd already had sex with him. Potential employers would think that too.

Chester wouldn't listen to anybody either, though many of those jaded people mentioned before tried to convince him he'd been duped, or scammed, and that all she was after was his money.

Chester, however, knew this girl. He knew her better than anybody else in the company. He knew she was a caring, sensitive woman, who was hurt by the way she was treated. He may not have been interested in running the business, for the last three years, but he wasn't blind, or deaf. He knew who had kept things going, and he knew it wasn't him.

He also knew he didn't have much time left, and, after three years of mourning, he decided he was going to sit back with a pretty, sweet girl, and enjoy what he could.

The overriding thing in Felicity's mind, and the thing on which her decision hinged, was that she just liked him. He was a dear, sweet man, who'd been crushed, but had struggled back up. She didn't care about his money. She just liked him. And, to be honest, she, like Chester, assumed his time was probably short anyway. She could always start over with a man her own age, when Chester went to his rest. She didn't really think about the money. Not then. Chester had never put on airs, and so she'd never thought of him as "one of those rich people."

So she'd said "Yes", and become Felicity Chumley.

She also became suddenly rich, beyond her wildest dreams, which just couldn't be ignored once she moved into the mansion.

That hadn't been the fur-lined basket she'd thought it would be. She had been right that people would hate her, and be jealous of her. She ignored that, and found new pursuits to use her intensity on. She and Chester started a scholarship program for the young people in town to take advantage of, if they wanted to go to college. It wasn't a giveaway program, but required good grades, and a willingness to work hard. They took over sponsoring the fourth of July fireworks extravaganza, which was a real relief to the town fathers, smarting by then under the loss of steel and pipe, and the revenue it had put into the town coffers, before it was disassembled. She loaned money to a young couple who started the first Humane Society office the town had ever had, and made other small business loans to people trying to better their lives.

And, over the four years since she had been married to Chester, opinion had gradually softened. Not completely, but no one called her a bitch any more. She still spent most of her time with Chester, and had few social contacts. Her decision to join the country club was an effort to ease the loneliness in her life, and advance, if possible, the glimmerings of good will she sensed being extended toward her.

When she met Millie, who treated her with respect, she reached out to her too.

It was as Felicity and Millie were watching the fireworks extravaganza, and chatting, that Bobby's name came up. Felicity had seemed distracted all night. Chester was ill, and hadn't come to the celebration, so Millie thought that might be what was bothering her.

"You're worried about him, aren't you?" said Millie.

"What?" Felicity looked at her. "Who? Chester? No, he's just feeling his age, mostly. He gets tired so easily. I think he's stretching the truth about being sick so he didn't have to come out and glad-hand everybody. I think he'll be fine."

"Well, what's wrong, then?" asked Millie. "You've been somewhere else half the night, and you haven't left my side."

Felicity shrugged. "Its nothing, really. My ten year High School reunion is in two weeks."

"Well that's wonderful!" said Millie. "Just imagine how impressed everybody will be when they find out you've done so well for yourself."

"That's just it," said Felicity. "I know how lucky I am. I know Chester loves me, and I really love him too ..."

"But ..." prompted Millie.

Felicity frowned. "I can't take Chester there. First off, he already said no. He doesn't like to travel. Second, no matter how much I love him, I'd be a laughing stock. You know that. I didn't care ... here ... where my home is, but I know it would bother me with my old friends. I know it's wrong, but I can't help it. Still, I feel awful."

"So, go alone, dressed to the nines, with enough diamonds on to blind them all," said Millie. That's what she would have done.

"I can't do that either," said Felicity. "It wouldn't work. Most of them were rich when I went to school with them, and are probably doing as well as I am now."

"I doubt that, seriously," said Millie.

"You don't know them," said Felicity. "They've had money all their lives. Money doesn't mean the same thing to them that it does to people like you and me."

"You know what you need to do," said Millie, slyly. "You need to find some young hunk to take with you, and pawn him off as your rich husband."

"That's what Chester said," Felicity replied, frowning.

"You're kidding!" said Millie.

"No I'm not," said the richest woman in town. "I was pretty pissed at him."

"Why?" asked Millie, incredulous. "If he said you should do it, why wouldn't you want to?"

"In the first place, Chester is my husband. I don't want to go on what amounts to a date with a strange man. I'm married! Besides, where am I going to find ... what did you call it ... some hot hunk? Where am I going to find somebody like that? And even if I did, I'd probably hate him. Men are so weirded out by money, and especially women with money."

"Actually,," said Millie, looking around. "I was thinking of somebody in particular when I said that."

"Who?" asked Felicity, unable to suppress her curiosity.

"He's here, somewhere," said Millie, still gazing this direction and that. "I saw him earlier."

"Who is he?" asked Felicity.

"His name is Bobby Dalton," said Millie, bending to look around an obstruction.

"I've never heard of him," said Felicity.

"You've never heard of anybody," said Millie, only paying half attention to what she was saying. "All you ever do is stay home with Chester, and come to the club with me."

Felicity was about to make a retort, when she saw Millie stiffen and smile.

"There he is," she said. There was an odd sound in her voice.

"Where?" asked Felicity.

"Okay," said Millie. "See Jennifer Langston?"

"Who's that?" asked Felicity.

"Good grief, Felicity, you have to get out more," moaned Millie. "The woman in the pink top and blue shorts."

"Okay," said Felicity.

"Look past her on the right. He's wearing jeans and a tank top ... black hair ... the one who is just killer handsome." Millie sighed.

Felicity looked at the young man, who was laughing, and holding a piece of watermelon. He seemed to be talking to a woman Felicity did know ... Martha Thompson, who had recently joined the country club, with her husband.

"The one talking to Martha Thompson?" she asked.

Millie had to move over to where Felicity was. "Yes, that's him. I didn't see Martha. OH! She knows him too! I bet he did some work for her too."

"Work?" asked Felicity.

"He's a handyman," said Millie. "He does all kinds of things. He tore up our old cracked sidewalk, and put down paving stones. It looks so much better. Anyway, I got to know him a little bit. He's a very sweet young man, and to-die-for handsome." That odd tone was back in Millie's voice.

"I can see that," said Felicity, examining Bobby. He reminded her of Elvis Presley, for some reason. She decided it was the lock of curling hair that fell on his forehead. She glanced at Millie, who was looking longingly at the boy. "Millie!" she said, her voice hushed. "Don't tell me you did something with that man!"

"Of course not!" said Millie, her face blushing. Then she took a deep breath, and got control of herself. "But I sure thought about it."

"Well," said Felicity, looking at him again. "He does look like he'd clean up nicely. Some clothes, and a professional haircut ..." She frowned. "But he'd have to be able to play the part of a businessman, and I don't think 'handyman' is going to quite cut it, for as nicely as we'd be dressed."

"He's very intelligent," said Millie. "He can talk about anything. You could just say he's in construction, and leave it at that. Who cares where his money came from? All that matters is that he's rich, and handsome, and you bagged him."

Felicity looked at her friend. Sometimes, the way Millie thought seemed crass and ... common. She gave herself a mental shake. She had no business deciding who was 'common' and who wasn’t. She was common herself. Marrying Chester hadn't change her from what she was before that ... had it?

She looked back at the man, and saw him lean down and pick up Martha's four year old, who hugged the man around the neck. The man seemed completely at home holding the little boy, and continued to talk to Martha, as if they were friends. If all he'd done was work for her, he must be very likable indeed.

"I could ask him for you," said Millie, sounding eager.

"No!" said Felicity, immediately. "I'll talk to Chester again. He may know this man, or something about him. I won't do this unless I'm convinced Chester means it. Sometimes he teases me."

"It's not like you're going to do anything with him," said Millie. "I mean he'd just be your escort, really."

"You were tempted," said Felicity. "Weren't you."

"Well," said Millie, her voice suddenly light and airy. "I suppose I was ... a little. But he was a perfect gentleman. He looked at me, but that was all. Well, he talked to me a lot, as I watched him work, but that was different. He was just being friendly."

"I'm not sure being tempted ... even a little ... would be good for me," said her friend.

What Felicity meant, by her last comment that night, before she forced a change of subject to something less unsettling, was really quite simple.

Felicity, when she went to work for Chumley Steel and Pipe, was a ripe young woman, in the prime of her breeding age. The circumstances she found herself in did not lend themselves to that situation. She went from being a carefree young woman, who could flirt with the best of them, and who had felt more than one stiff penis filling her sensitive pussy, to a dragon-lady who men feared. In the three years she was Chester's secretary, it became clear to everyone in the company who really held the reins of power. Chester signed whatever documents she prepared for his signature, including those that led to the firing of people who did less than was expected of them. It was true that she was always right ... that her head for business, though untrained, was almost astonishingly clever when it came to things that kept the company healthy. It never occurred to anyone that she had access to all the historical documents of the company and that she studied them, both at work, and at home, learning how the company had done well, and where it had done poorly, in the past.

And Chester, though he had no enthusiasm for the business any longer, wasn't simply a robot either. His malaise didn't prevent him from reading what she put in front of him. He did not, as people thought, sign anything she put in front of him. On many occasions, he made changes, and had his secretary re-type a document. She never asked questions about that, but did what he wanted, and then studied why he might have corrected her, learning more.

Then, when that part of her life was over, and she could have gone somewhere else, where men would have sighed over her and chased her with great enthusiasm, she had agreed to marry a seventy-seven year old man.

They made love, at first with the aid of certain Oriental remedies, assisted with a device she was able to find on an infrequent business trip to Chicago. It was a vacuum pump, and it helped, when she used it on his penis. He was quite good at loving her with his mouth and fingers, and she learned to do the same to him, when it wouldn't get hard enough to penetrate her young, muscular vagina. For the last two years, oral satisfaction was about all he could manage, and about the only way she could help him achieve an orgasm.

She hadn't really minded. He was tender and sweet. That he adored her was something that was plain every day. No woman could be adored like that, and not feel great tenderness for the man who almost worshipped her. She loved him. It wasn't quite the same as the love she might have felt if he were fifty years younger, but it was still true love. She tried not to think about the last man she had lain with, who had been her age. That wasn't too hard. She had lived at home while she went to secretarial school, so her opportunities to spread her legs were limited to those few times she went home with a date, and then had him take her home. Her parents would never have stood for her to stay out all night, even though she was well above the age of eighteen. It was just the way things were, and she knew that.

And, these last four years were just the way things were again, in her mind. She loved Chester. He was very good to her. He had some years left, after which she would assume some other life path - she had no idea what - and things would be the way they were then, too. To be honest, she didn't think about whether Chester would leave all his money to her or not. There were some nieces and nephews out there, who came, infrequently, to visit, and who were nice, as far as strangers seem nice. They didn't have much to do with her, because they were all older than she was too.

But, try as she might, she could not forget those powerful memories of lying under a young, thrusting bull, whose penis wasn't half hard, and attached to an old, wrinkly body. She knew what it was to be breathless during sex, and to wish that an orgasm would never stop. Some part of her mind suspected that the young man, as she thought of him, at the 4th of July celebration, would be able to leave her breathless if she let him, and that she might not be able to help but be tempted by that.

No ... even a little temptation would be very dangerous, and she knew that. She thought about that as she drove home, alone, to go to bed with her eighty-year old husband.

By the time Linda was through dragging Paul through the carnival and all over the square, she was convinced there was such a thing as love at first sight. She could not think of a time when she'd felt more feminine, or had more fun, with the possible exception of being given an orgasm by Bobby. The look in Paul's eye, as he looked at her made her feel powerful. And, once she got past the stereotype that she'd built about him, and some of his friends, she found him to be a fun and funny boy to be with. Being able to tease him with her body was fantastic fun. She had no idea how cruel that was to a young man who thought he had no chance with a girl like her, but she hadn't done it to be cruel. She'd only done it because it felt good. The three or four kisses on the cheek she'd given him had helped - him, at least - in terms of convincing him that she was not toying with him, just to laugh at him later. The amount of time she spent with him was also significant in his mind. Setting him up to laugh at could have been done in fifteen minutes. She hadn't left his side for over two hours.

What gave him actual hope was her somewhat sober reflection, which she shared with him, when it was time to go back home. She had stood, holding both of his hands, and staring into his eyes.

"I have to go now," she said. "I had a really good time, tonight. I like you, and I hope you like me."

"Are you kidding?" he almost gasped. He had done a lot of almost gasping that night, as his world was turned upside down.

"No," she said, seriously. "Since we're going to the movies later ... are you going to ask me to be your girlfriend?"

"Me?" he wheezed. "Be your boyfriend?" His knees felt weak again. He was used to that by now. He hadn't thought through a single calculation for over an hour. All he wanted to do was spend a few more minutes with her, have her touch him just once more, and smile at him. If that happened, he was sure he could die happy.

"Yes," she said. "I know I'm not smart, like your friends, but I really like you."

"Girlfriend ..." The word kind of burbled off his lips. He'd calculated he wouldn't have one of those for at least five hundred and eighty days, give or take ten days. It was one of his goals, and he had it all planned out. This night hadn't been part of the planning, or supposed to happen.

"Please don't say no," she said. "Can't you just think about it for a while? I'll try to learn science and all that stuff. My sister, Suzie likes that stuff, and she might help me."

Paul's intelligence finally battered its way through his adolescent paranoia, and poor social self image. He was about to lose a chance that every single one of his male friends would kill for.

"I like you!" he blurted.

"Oh, I'm so glad!" yipped Linda.

She started leaning closer, and Paul, thinking she was going to kiss him, prepared to faint dead away. He knew that would happen, if she really kissed him, so he bent his knees a little, so that when he lost it they would collapse, instead of stiffen. That way he wouldn't topple, and there was less chance that he'd get hurt.

"I can't kiss you good night," she said, here lips inches from his. "That would be too forward. But if you're going to be my boyfriend, I can kiss you on our next date. Would that be all right?"

Paul could smell the corn dog on her breath, and he was suddenly ravenous.

"Uh huh," he said, his voice dreamy.

She smiled, and he thought his heart would tear itself out of his chest, beating so furiously, like it was.

"We could go to the movie ... tomorrow afternoon," she suggested.

"Uh huh," he said, dreamily again.

Linda looked at him. That he adored her was plain, and it affected her deeply. She looked around. Nobody was really paying attention to them, and it was pretty dark.

"I guess one little kiss wouldn't hurt," she whispered, and pressed her lips to his. She just naturally pushed the tip of her tongue into his mouth. She kissed Bobby like that all the time, and it felt good. She pulled back. "Mmmm, you taste like popcorn," she said. "See you tomorrow!"

Then she was off, running like a deer, to leave Paul standing there, bent over slightly. Not only did he have a boner that wouldn't quit, but his balls were starting to hurt too.

Only that kept him from sinking to the ground.

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