It started when I walked up to the “First Class-International” check-in window. I certainly didn’t look like a first class passenger, wearing my most comfortable jeans and a school polo shirt (a gift from my art history teacher in exchange for delivery of a personal letter and similar shirt to the Contessa.) The woman at the station said nothing, checked me in, and directed me to the first class security queue. It certainly was different, being checked through to Europe and not having to get my luggage and haul it through JFK and check in on cattle car class on a charter flight. The fully reclining first class seat on the Chicago to Rome leg was a completely unfamiliar luxury. The other person in first asked me if I was a famous musician; I chuckled softly and told him the truth: somebody liked me a lot.
After I got through Customs, a uniformed man holding a sign that said, “Christian” walked up to me, asking, “You are Signore Kevin Christian?”
“Si,” I replied.
“Oh, you speak Italian? This is good,” he smiled, and then explained (in English) that he was there to take me to a hotel to refresh myself and recover from the trip, courtesy of the Contessa di Saltieri. He took my bag and backpack, and led me to a waiting Mercedes sedan. We chatted informally in Italian; he wanted to know what I’d done to merit such favor from the Contessa. Again, it was easy to tell the truth. I didn’t know. We pulled up to the location that had been chosen for me.
It was an appropriately grand hotel, with attitudes to match—until they found out who was paying my bill. Suddenly, I was fawned over and repeatedly apologized to. The desk clerk said something snide in Italian to one of his co-workers. He was extremely embarrassed when I caught it, and said something appropriate to him in return, spawning yet another round of apologies. I was shown to one of the best rooms in the house that wasn’t a suite. There was marble everywhere. The bathroom was almost as big as my dorm room, with a tub that was almost large enough to drown in, and a separate shower, while the toilet and bidet were through an adjoining doorway. As giddy as I was from the trip, this was absolute heaven—I didn’t have to find a youth hostel or anything like that.
Approximately an hour later, as I was trying to keep myself from falling asleep, there was a knock at my door. “Signore Christian? I have a letter for you.” I accepted it, thanked the man, and gave him a tip before closing my door. It was addressed to, “Kevin Christian, formerly of La Bohème.” I chuckled as I opened it. It read:
P.S. Hi Kevin! Jennifer
It was her handwriting, except for Jennifer’s P.S., and there was an official-looking seal on the paper. I copied the note, and then put it with my passport. I had six weeks to explore Italy, at least six nights of which were not going to be spent like a college student. More than six nights, I mused, looking around the luxury hotel room. I could get used to this. No more smelling like a college student on holiday, no more crowded youth hostels where I had to watch everybody and everything… I sighed. Although she’d probably pay for my rooms for the entire trip, that wasn’t why I was here, and I was not going to abuse her continued generosity.
It was mid-July, and I was in Sorrento, where another of the hotels on my list was located. It had been a good trip thus far; I’d managed to get myself lost more than once in the Italian countryside, where my language skills had been rigorously tested with dialects and regional accents. I had shopped in local markets, exchanged banter with several different groups of Italian soccer fans, and had more than a few beers with new friends. Today, I was hot and tired, because it had been a long, claustrophobic train ride to Sorrento with a family of eight. I stepped up to the hotel entrance, where my appearance drew a glare from the doorman, who pointedly refused to open the door. He’d be apologizing personally. They always did when they saw the letter.
As I was headed towards the front desk, a brawny man with a thick black moustache strode from across the lobby purposefully, and stopped in front of me. His big hand rested on one shoulder. “I am sorry, Signore, we are full tonight.” He started walking me back towards the door. I began to remove my backpack so I could get to my document package, but he only quickened his pace, and said, “No, Signore, this is not a youth hostel. Our clientele does not want smelly, noisy American students here.” He was quickly joined by a shorter, but equally large bellman, and the two of them walked me out the front door.
I began to protest in Italian, but a police officer noted the confrontation and immediately came up behind me. As a pair of well-dressed couples looked on, he asked the security guy if there was a problem. “No, no, he was just lost. It is no problem,” and shot me a warning glance. I debated internally for a moment, then turned and found a youth hostel. I spent a very pissed off night in Sorrento.
The next day, I cleaned myself up as well as I could and headed back to the hotel. This time, there were police all over the place, and I couldn’t get any closer than two blocks. As I was walking back to the hostel, I heard a semi-familiar voice yell, “Yo, Kev!” I turned, looked, and could not believe that I was looking at an older Geno Donofretti, my best friend from elementary, junior high and half of high school. He was accompanied by his mother, father, and siblings. After a somewhat boisterous reunion on the street, they said that they were on their way back to their hotel to drop off some things before their afternoon appointment. It was the same hotel where I had been treated so unceremoniously, but their hotel key would get them through the police. They asked if I’d like to have lunch with them. That got me past the external security.
As a part of the Donofretti’s group, I walked past the doorman without a care. The place was full of police, too. I wondered aloud what dignitary was coming to visit, but the Donofrettis didn’t know, either. They were in a bit of a hurry, so we retired to the indoor bistro in the hotel lobby. I asked about our one-in-a-million meeting. Oddly enough, it was Terese, Geno’s younger sister, now a freshman at Penn, who had recognized me. She now freely admitted that she had had a major crush on me when she was in junior high, and as such, I was easy to spot. We all had a good laugh about my former best friend not being able to recognize me after five years, but his little sister could from her teenage crush. I asked them why they were in Sorrento: Geno’s grandmother had just passed away, and her body had just been returned to Italy for burial in her hometown, which wasn’t very far from here. After giving my condolences, I told them that I was doing cultural study abroad, and that I was training for the foreign service. “So where are you staying in Sorrento, Kevin?” Mrs. Donofretti asked.
“Last night, I stayed at the youth hostel a few blocks away. I wanted to get a room here last night, but they threw me out,” I said. Mr. Donofretti was livid, and was ready to give the hotel manager a piece of his mind, but I assured him that I could handle it properly. Mrs. Donofretti blushed when I told her that the Italian lessons she had given me since when I was little were responsible for my career choice, and that I hoped to make her proud of me. The Donofrettis paid for my meal, and we exchanged our new addresses with promises to keep in touch. They had an appointment with a local barrister; apparently, Mr. Donofretti had inherited some land from a deceased uncle. We all hugged, and then they left. I finished my water, and picked up my backpack to head for the front desk. Two policemen grabbed me, and the security guard from last night walked over. He was not happy to see me at all.
“Signore, you are not only smelly American student, you panhandle our guests into buying you food. It is not allowed to panhandle in the hotel, our guests, they don’t want to be bothered. You will have to go with police now. Please do not make a scene, we have a special guest and we do not want any disturbance, but you will be removed, do you understand?” I protested again, in Italian, and went to get my document bag from my backpack. The cops grabbed me, causing the backpack to hit the floor and some of its contents spilled. I started shouting, trying to make them understand that all I needed was to show a letter from the Contessa di Saltieri to the front desk, but they got very physical and started to drag me out. Mr. Security Guy kicked my backpack before picking it up.
At that moment, a commotion broke out at the front door. The celebrity they were waiting for was the Contessa! “There she is!” I said excitedly. My arm was twisted behind my back and I was moved away from the entering throng. Decorum be damned, I need her help! I shouted, “Contessa!” as loudly as I could, and I was tackled. Landing face-first on a marble floor hurts. I yelped, and two other cops came running and piled on—at least I felt two more bodies land on the pile. Then I started getting hit. I was defenseless because two of them had my arms and legs, but I was still being subdued because I was thrashing in pain, until I heard a distinctive “click” and looked right into the barrel of a gun. I froze.
All of a sudden, I heard her voice. “What are you doing to that person?” There were flashbulbs going off all over the place.
I recognized the voice through the pain, and said, “Cont—”, which got me a face full of gun-butt reinforced hand. The policeman said something lost in the stars, but the hotel security guard came running over and started babbling rapidly in Italian. “We are sorry Contessa, he is no one, he is a crazy American beggar, he was here last night saying he wanted to check in but I knew it was to panhandle, and he came in with some guests today and begged food and we were trying to remove him before your arrival but he was resisting and this unfortunate scene developed.”
All I could see were her feet out of the corner of my eye; the open barrel of a policeman’s pistol was pressing against my head. “He is quite harmless at this point. I see no reason to threaten him with a gun,” she imperiously said.
The security guard countered, “For your own safety, we cannot, Contessa, he is crazy… I am sorry that I have allowed this to happen in your hotel.”
“Does he have any weapons?”
“No, he has nothing,” one of the people on top of me said. The security guard concurred.
“My backpa—OWWWW!!!” I started, but had to stop when one of the police officers twisted my neck and forced my ear against the cold floor. As cool as the floor was, it was getting hot with all that weight on me.
“Let him speak.” The words were delivered with no hint of possible disagreement. It was a royal command.
“My—backpack—is over there,” I grunted. My face and shoulder hurt too badly for me to even think about speaking in Italian. “It has—my—passport—in it.”
“I thought you said that he had nothing with him,” the Contessa queried; she still hadn’t recognized my voice, and as buried as I was under bodies, there was no way she could have seen me.
“It was only a student’s backpack with some old dirty clothes in it—”
“Did you look in it?” she shot back at the security guard. “Someone retrieve his passport. I don’t want one of my hotels to be responsible for an international incident,” she announced, clearly annoyed. Someone ran behind me. “It would not have been difficult to politely ascertain the reason for his presence. Why did you assume that he was a panhandler? Did you get a complaint from a hotel patron?”
The security guard said yes. I was still under a pile, and I was positive that callng him a liar would not be good idea. A few seconds later, I heard the sound of zippers being pulled, and my backpack being shaken empty. After few very tense moments, a man said, “Here is his passport. He is American.” He paused. “His name is Kevin Chris—”
“Let go of him,” she ordered, her voice incredibly stern and cold. Nothing happened for a few seconds. “Immediately. Protracted litigation is not something I look forward to, nor is it pleasant for anyone involved.” The police on top of me went scrambling to their feet. I didn’t move. It felt good to breathe. She knelt, filling my nostrils with her distinctive scent of cigar smoke and wildflowers. I was in too much pain to feel anything other than relief that I wasn’t going to be physically abused any more. She looked at me with no sign of recognition other than concern at my appearance.
“Oh, dear, your face is swelling. Let’s get you some medical attention,” she sighed. “Find a doctor,” she said, and someone went scurrying off. “Can you stand up?” I could, but it hurt. One of her bodyguards came over and supported me; she vanished from my sight. Suddenly, I was the center of attention, with photographers clicking away. I had been rescued by one of the richest women in the world, for reasons no one understood. Ergo, I was a celebrity. Normally, that would have bothered me, but I was hurting too much to care. The man holding onto my arm led me, in a surprisingly gentle fashion, to the elevator, where she was waiting with someone in a suit and hotel nametag. Pictures were taken until the elevator door closed behind us.
She conducted me to the Grand Suite, and the hotel guy opened the door. “Sit down, a physician is coming,” she said, before turning to the hotel person and dismissing him with a curt, “Thank you.” A few seconds after the door closed, she gently said, “Mr. Christian, this isn’t a part of your diplomatic training, I assure you. What happened?” I mumbled my adventure in detail, beginning with the previous night. “I see,” she finally said after I’d finished. She picked up the phone. “I’d like to see the head of security in my suite this evening, after he’s collected all the items from that young man’s backpack and has personally delivered them to his room. Make sure you recover his passport from the police. Yes. As soon as possible. He’ll be here in my suite until the doctor’s had a look.”
“You can’t stay here,” she smiled as she hung up the phone. “It would invite too much—scrutiny.” She lit a cigar, taking a long, long drag, exhaling slowly, first through her mouth, and the remainder through her nostrils. “I have an appointment in twenty minutes,” she began, pausing to take another draw. Her exhale was silent, the smoke a thick blue-gray cone from her lips until a small amount trailed from her nose. “The doctor will be here in a little while. For everyone’s sake, Mr. Christian, please don’t let people know that we are—connected. As of this moment, everyone thinks that I am only being benevolent to a young man who was being ill-treated in one of my hotels in order to avoid litigation and bad publicity. I’d like to maintain that illusion, or at least maintain plausible deniability. It would definitely be in your best interest, because the press will draw the erroneous conclusion that we are romantically involved, and you will be hounded to no end, even on your return to the United States. Do not show your letter to anyone here. Your hotel charges will be compensated as part of the—settlement.”
I nodded, understanding exactly what she was trying to do, but I also wanted to ask her about Jennifer; I hadn’t seen her at all. “Wr’s J’nnif’r?” was what came out, but the Contessa had stepped into one of the bedrooms in the suite, and couldn’t hear me. My jaw hurt a lot, and my lips were swollen from the gun butt slap, so I decided that talking was a bad idea. A knock at the door signaled the doctor’s arrival. The Contessa strode out of her bedroom quickly, letting him in. Her air was all business, a sense I’d never caught from her. It was another side to a very complex woman.
After a brief conversation with the doctor that ended with the Contessa telling him to take the best possible care of me, she left for her appointment, cigar between her fingers, without as much as a goodbye. Plausible deniability. The doctor checked me extensively, asking me questions that I could answer without speaking. He finally concluded that I seemed to be fine other than a black eye, some bruising, and some muscle strains, but also said that he would prefer to have someone check on me hourly for concussion symptoms. He called the front desk, and a half-hour later, I was in a set of adjoining hotel rooms a floor down from the Grand Suite, with my own private nurse in the other adjoining room. The doctor gave me a shot for the pain, and I was out.
By the time I woke up late the next morning, the Contessa had checked out of the hotel. She left no message for me, but the front desk called to tell me that I could stay indefinitely, and had the run of the hotel’s services until I left, as per the Contessa's instructions, as long as I agreed that there would be no lawsuit. They also said that she had personally fired the security staff involved in my “mistreatment” yesterday afternoon. She had also fired the general manager as well. They asked if I would be so kind as to have lunch in my room with the acting general manager. He had some papers that he wanted me to sign, as a part of the Contessa’s official statement on the matter.
Somehow, my suitcase had been retrieved from the storage locker at the hostel and was sitting there in my room. I was impressed. There were only ten days before I was due at the villa, and I really wanted to spend some time in the countryside. Sitting in a hotel room with a frumpy nurse for company wasn’t improving my understanding of the culture or my language skills. The doctor stopped by, saying that I looked much better, but that I needed another two or three days of rest. He said he would dismiss the nurse the next day.
I had the Donofretti family in my suite for dinner the following night; Mr. Donofretti was disappointed that I wasn’t suing; he thought I could get a lot more than I was. I assured him that I was happy with the settlement that had already been negotiated. Geno said my face looked like it did when Curtis Muller beat me up in the sixth grade. “No; he was an amateur at breaking faces compared to these guys,” I said, only half-joking. I bid them good-bye that night; I was off to the countryside the next morning, with clean clothes and a renewed sense of adventure.
I telephoned villa Saltieri from the train station, and was told to wait for a car; yes, I was expected. Mario, the driver, took my backpack and suitcase after introducing himself, and we drove along a dirt road through vineyards. It was scenic enough, but the villa took my breath away; it was a sprawling, multi-level home surrounded by trees. “Mr. Christian!!! How wonderful to see you!” the Contessa smiled from the stairway. She held another of those long, thin cigars of hers aloft, and took a drag, snap-inhaling a large ball of smoke before she descended to meet me. She had barely finished her exhale when we greeted each other with a hug and kisses on the cheek. I was surrounded by the aroma of cigar smoke—no wildflowers this time; she was wearing a bikini. Despite her obvious maturity, and the slight roll around her belly, I still almost came on the spot. She was incredibly sexy.
“You are looking well. Are you feeling all right?” Most of my injuries had faded over the past week; even the black eye was almost gone. I told her that I was feeling very good, and was very happy to be in her home. “Very good,” she said. “I fired everyone involved in your incident. After interviewing the security staff, it became evident that the general manager had a most decidedly unofficial policy about the appearance of potential guests. He condoned the sort of behavior you encountered when you first tried to check in, and that’s why he was dismissed from his position.” She dragged for an eternity, and exhaled with her head pointed towards the ceiling. I knew it was unintentional, but it was a very alluring pose. She resumed, “I feel that sort of action in one of my properties reflects ill upon me, and I take it very personally. I like to feel that I am a much more congenial hostess than that, as I hope you will come to see.” I smiled at her, and said that I was positive that I would, and that her kindness was already legendary in my eyes. She inclined her head graciously, and smiled, “Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Christian. Mario will show you to your room. I have a bathing suit for you there. Come join us by the pool when you are properly attired. Enjoy a glass of Chianti and forget your ordeal.” I followed him up two flights of steps, to “my room,” with its king size bed, plasma TV, DVD player, Play Station and private toilet. The bathing facilities were down the hall. I quickly changed and headed for the pool.
The Contessa was taking a long draw on her cigar as I approached. It was obvious that she was much more relaxed here than at any other time I’d been in her presence. She rose to meet me, exhaling slowly, and took me by the hand to lead me around the pool and introduce me to the other people there. There were six men and eight women, all of them native Italian, as far as I could tell, and each of them was attractive—especially the women. They set about testing my skill with the language immediately after the Contessa told them that I spoke like a native. She gave me a smile and patted the chair next to her after I’d been standing and speaking with her friends for a while. “Come, sit. Do you have enough wine?” I nodded, thanking her. “Excellent. Jennifer will be happy to see you again, too, Mr. Christian.”
Where was she? “Where is Jennifer?” I asked. Seeing the Contessa without her seemed—wrong.
“She is at home, back in the United States,” the Contessa replied. “She had family matters to attend, but she will be back the day after tomorrow.” I told her that I had a gift for her from my art history professor. She smiled at me, making my insides do that little dance. “You can present it to me later. For now, we are having outdoor fun. Are you hungry? There is antipasto over at the bar.” I had never thought that she could be so… informal, so carefree. Her casual sex appeal was even more enchanting than her formal sex appeal. I decided that it was time for a swim before my arousal became obvious.
I lounged in the pool for a while trying to keep my mind off the Contessa; it was obvious that none of the men around the pool were involved with her. I got into a water fight with two of the women amidst peals of laughter from everybody until we started to get the people outside of the pool wet and all hell broke loose. By the time it was over, there wasn’t anything dry on the pool deck, and all of us were in the water, laughing crazily. I suddenly realized that I had relaxed as well; I wasn’t worried about my Italian, I wasn’t worried about the impression I was making on the Contessa or her friends, and I wasn’t worried that I wasn’t good-looking enough to be in such company. When the Contessa climbed out of the pool, she said, “Time to get ready for dinner everybody; we will have it on the garden veranda.” She gave me an unscented peck on the cheek before turning towards the house with a smile. Everybody around the pool razzed me, some calling me “the next Count.” I cannonballed into the middle of the pool, and we all laughed again.
Dinner was served family-style, something that seemed at odds with the Contessa’s trappings of royalty. None of the guests were family by blood, but it became apparent that for the evening, we were part of her family. Perhaps I was feeling tired because I didn’t have any stress left to keep me awake. Maybe I had had too much wine. Whatever caused it, I was the first to leave our group on the veranda, kissing everybody at the table before I could leave, and last of all, the Contessa, whose distinct scent caused me to linger a little longer with her. I stammered an extended, “Thank you,” before leaving, hoping that I hadn’t given too much away. I fell into a blissfully dreamless sleep in my room instants after I had undressed.
“He likes you, Amanda,” Carmen said. Three of the five women around the pool agreed. “He does not know.”
“What have I done?” the Contessa asked, surprised, and with a note of distress in her voice. “I have only ever treated him like a brother… he is just a child,” she said.
“So you say,” Gia rejoined. “He does not understand that your attention is only brotherly because he is a child.” She paused. “ Rosa is… somewhat the child still as well. That has not affected your attractions and interest.” Both Rosa and the Contessa blushed as the others giggled. “And I will admit that your Mr. Christian is a handsome child,” she finished.
“Please don’t call him ’my Mr. Christian’. That is quite incorrect,” Amanda snapped.
“Oooohhhhh… Did I say something to make you bitchy tonight?” Gia shot back with a smile. Carmen laughed.
Before anyone else could react, Rosa pouted, “Well, I’m going to the pool house… Will anyone be joining me?” The young woman pivoted and left the group, hips swaying invitingly, only moonlight illuminating her bare body.
“You’re right, Gia. She can be quite the child at times,” Amanda smiled, her ill-tempered moment quickly forgotten as she openly watched the vixen leave with lust. She stood. “And the charms of youth are what keep me young.” She tossed a grin over her shoulder and disappeared along the same path Rosa had taken.
“I suppose we should move indoors… before Mr. Christian wakes up and might get the moonlit surprise of his young life,” Carmen said.
Gia smiled, “Someone should care after him… to soften the blow. Sometimes Amanda does not understand that the attraction she causes occurs in both the sexes. I will see all of you tomorrow.” She picked up her towel, and kissed the other two naked women at the pool before heading to the villa.
“Buon Giorno, Mr. Christian,” the Contessa said. “You certainly slept late this morning. Would you like some coffee?” I was hung over and softly replied negatively, thanking her for her consideration. It had been the wine. I wasn’t used to drinking, period, and the Chianti, along with probably a little bit of dehydration, had combined to make me pass out before I got very drunk. “Then, you will need water. Let me show you where we keep the bottled water,” she sympathetically said, correctly diagnosing my state. “Today is a day of rest, Mr. Christian,” she said as we sat at the kitchen table in the villa. She was dressed as she had been for our informal brunch in her suite at the Grand Hotel, an oversized men’s shirt hanging over blue jeans. She removed a cigar from the case tucked into the shirt pocket. “No need to trouble yourself,” she quickly smiled as I made a movement towards the cigar clipper on the table. As she fired the now-familiar long, slender cigar, my hangover faded, allowing me to revisit the desire that her presence caused within me. She dragged on it, again as if it were a cigarette, and turned her head away before exhaling. A silent, gray cloud flowed from her lips for an eternity. When the residual streams started to flow from her nostrils, I quickly returned my attention to my water. “My friends are very impressed with your grasp of our language. You will make an excellent member of the diplomatic corps.”
I thanked her for her kindness, which allowed me to look at her again, as she sat away from the table, obviously very much at home, legs crossed, very relaxed, with the smoldering cigar held between index and middle fingers. A passing breeze dissipated some of the drifting smoke as she took another long draw and inhaled. This time, the exhale came through her nostrils, slowly, obscuring her face for an instant. “Jennifer sends her regards,” she resumed, the final wisps of smoke coming with her words, “She should arrive here at the villa sometime tomorrow morning.”
Again I resumed contemplating my water, the hangover masked by lust now, maintaining the conversation by saying, “It’ll be nice to see her again. She’s a sweet lady.”
“Yes, she is, and as my right-hand, she’s grown quite indispensable to me these past few years.” That meant I could look at her, another lust-enhancing drag on that cigar. I envied it, her lips wrapped around it, caressing the cylinder, sucking on it… Her voice abruptly came into focus. “…Christian, I will be hosting a small gathering here at the villa for some business associates. Several of those you met yesterday will be in attendance as well.” She took another drag, holding the smoke, exhaling regally as she sat, unintentionally posed as the picture of cigar glamour, despite her informal dress, the cigar held high now, smoke rising upwards from its still-long length. “The dress will be formal… but I will take care of that for you. Mario will take you to the tailors’ shop today, and you will be fitted for a tuxedo, which,” she paused with a grin, “will be yours to keep since I have no need of one.” She raised her coffee mug.
The favor she was showing me began to eat away at my rational thought. She’s dressing me, feeding me, teaching me, and flew me here in first class. She’s gotta like me more than just as an interesting American diplomat-to-be. She stood up. “Feel free to call Mario whenever you are feeling up to making a trip into town. I have matters to attend,” she smiled, and walked out of the kitchen with that distinctive mature, feminine sway as she moved, cigar between her fingers, at her side as she left me alone with my lust.
I went upstairs after making myself a sandwich, and grabbing a couple more bottles of water. The headache associated with the hangover had faded, as had its lassitude and general malaise. Alone, in the privacy of my room upstairs, I masturbated, biting my lips to keep from crying out, in homage to the mental images of the sexiest woman I had ever known.
I went to the tailor with Mario, enjoying a friendly conversation with the chauffeur. The Contessa treated her employees well, and they were very loyal to her. Mario hinted that he would like his son, who was now fourteen, to work for her as well. The tuxedo style had already been selected, so I walked around the village while the alterations were being made. I got my fair share of shy glances and giggles from the young ladies, but I was a stranger, and that was to be expected. I blushed at some of the comments that were made, and I bet that if they had known that I understood what was being said, they wouldn’t have said anything. On the way back, Mario mentioned that I was the talk of the town, and that he enjoyed making a mystery of my identity to his friends. “But you must understand, if you are visiting villa Saltieri from America, you must be important in some way. At least, that’s what everybody around here thinks,” he said with a laugh. “I know you are just a college boy from America who speaks Italian very, very well.”
Dinner was indoors, and Carmen, one of her friends, did the cooking, for the Contessa had given the staff the night off. It was easily one of the best meals I’d ever had, even counting the four-star room service at the hotel in Rome. After dinner, the Contessa pulled out her cigar clipper, while a few of the others took out their cigarettes. “Would anyone else enjoy a cigar? Mr. Christian, perhaps?” I hesitated before declining, but she smiled at me anyway. “That is all right. It’s not a crime to decline a cigar.” She clipped her own long, slim, cigarillo and lit it herself. The first full drag took several seconds. I watched her throat work, and then her breasts rise as she exhaled a thick stream of blue-gray smoke. I shifted in my chair, to make myself a little more comfortable and a little less obvious.
Conversation meandered pleasantly, and I was more than able to hold my own in Italian, until it came to the goings-on around town, and I got a little lost in the laughter and the names. I was a lot more careful with the Chianti, and so I was wide-awake when people started retiring for the night. It was just the Contessa and I at the kitchen table, and the rest of the house was quiet. Everybody was staying in the villa that night. She was telling me about some of the diplomats and their attachés that I would be meeting soon. “I especially encourage you to speak to Jean-Claude, Mr. Christian. He will adore you for your French, and that could lead to a position with his government, in a liaison position.” She took another drag from her cigar, exhaling slowly, head tilted back. It spoke of a decadent pleasure. “However, I have had quite enough to drink tonight, and I have some duties to attend tomorrow.” She stood, simultaneously signaling me to remain seated, and gave me a good night kiss on the cheek, immersing me in her signature aroma of wildflowers and cigar smoke.
It was arousing, and the spice of the still-lit, just-puffed cigar on her breath was definitely very strong in comparison to the wildflowers. I watched her leave the kitchen, feeling excited and wanting to follow her. “Damn, she’s sexy,” I said to the empty kitchen.
“Yes, she is,” came a female answer. I groaned. “No, no, you are quite correct, Kevin,” Gia said, somehow having materialized out of thin air. “Do not be ashamed for the lust you feel. It is a good way to know that you are alive! The Contessa is a very sensuous woman, and it is just naturally who she is. But I will not tell her. That is for you to do.”
“Gia… I can’t. We don’t have anything in common. She’s… so out of my league,” I said. She cocked her head at me, so I tried to give her an equivalent explanation in Italian.
“Is it that she is an older woman?” Gia asked. “Is it that she is rich?” I answered no. “If it is the former, Kevin, you are…an attractive young man. One whose charms may be stronger than you think.” She drew closer. Wildflowers, no cigar smoke. Heat and desire flooded the decreasing space between us. I had no business even intimating that I had any interest in Gia, but my extended exposure to the Contessa had me in a state of extreme horniness, and she was clearly interested in me. “Lust is a part of life, Kevin,” she smiled. “Soon, it will be your turn to discover.” Gia started to walk out of the kitchen with a serious wiggle in her walk. That got my attention, and for the first time since arriving at villa Saltieri, I had a decent erection for someone other than its owner. She paused by the doorway for a moment, before looking over her shoulder at me. “Lei me unirà alla piscina stasera?” The look in her eyes made translation unnecessary. I wanted the Contessa, but Gia, her friend, seemed to be a more than willing substitute. I followed her outside, heading towards the pool.
I looked at Gia, straddling me in the moonlight. We were in the pool house, alone, together, naked. Gia had obviously picked me out, and I had no complaints. She moved with ease, pleasuring herself, yet I was in heaven inside of her. Without question, it was the best sexual experience of my life to that point. “Do you like older women, Kevin?” she panted from above. “We are… experienced. We are… in the full blossom of our sensuality… we… we…” She went into orgasm. Later, as I played with her lush breasts, she moaned, “Ahhhh… to be young again and have more young men to play with… again… and again…”
I found myself in a rare situation the next morning: with a naked female body next to mine. The thrill of that sensation almost dwarfed the sunrise over the vineyards. I happily whistled as I headed for the main house, Gia had given me a sleepy smile and a few kisses before promptly going back to sleep. “Good morning, Mr. Christian,” the Contessa called from the veranda. “Did you have a pleasant evening, and may I interest you in some coffee?” There was a pot sitting in front of her. I decided to show no remorse, waved and accepted her offer.
She was still dressed in her nightgown. “I am and have always been an early riser. I enjoy sunrises and sunsets,” she smiled as I sat in front of her. She took a leisurely drink of her coffee. There was a cigar sitting on the table, and I had a flashback of her regal bearing from the first time we’d met. “Would you like one too?” she asked, noticing my downward glance. I’m not a real smoker… cigars and poker, mostly, but the way she asked… She disappeared, returning a couple of minutes later with a second. I clipped them, and she lit the first, taking a long drag, getting the dreamiest expression on her face, before exhaling. She handed it to me before lighting her own, inhaling deeply, holding the smoke, and then exhaling. “These are a little different than the ones you’ve had before. I like something a little—less strong—in the mornings.” The way she dragged and held the smoke before exhaling was fascinating. Regal, yet carefree, aloof, but inviting… and sexy as all hell. In spite of Gia’s best efforts, I found myself thickening again. Older women were awesome.
“Jennifer will be arriving sometime today,” the Contessa resumed, taking another one of those long, sexy drags. She exhaled after several seconds, and then continued, “She was quite happy to hear that you’d joined us at the villa. She’s looking forward to seeing you again.”
“How is she?” I asked, never taking my eyes off the cigar and the woman who smoked it as if it was an ultra-light cigarette. Every move she made, and the way that the sunlight caught her blond… with hints of silver… hair fascinated me.
“She is well,” was the reply. “She’s looking forward to getting back to work. I’m not so sure that I want her back at work. This has been somewhat of a welcome vacation for me.” She drew on her cigar and waited for a few moments before exhaling slowly, languidly through her nose. “We were aware of this… event, and so I had accelerated my plans, allowing me to take some time off while my personal assistant was not around.” She smiled. “Jennifer is near-indispensable to me at this point. I definitely do not want to attempt my normal schedule without her.” She sighed. “Now that she’s back… vacation is over. We will leave the villa for Switzerland, and my friends will scatter to the four winds.”
Her melancholy air made me want to hug her, but I was unsure of myself. She was one of the richest women in the world, and I was going to be a senior in college. I finally gave in and gave her a hug and a peck on the cheek. Her distinct aroma, so very strong. I held her in my embrace a little longer than I needed to, but before she could say anything— “Buon Giorno, Kevin!” Gia said, perky, and… naked. “I trust you had a pleasant night!” The embarrassment of the moment snuffed out the arousal I was feeling, and I let go of the Contessa. She greeted the Contessa with kisses on both cheeks, and posed herself in front of me. We kissed—definitely not on the cheek. “Yes, it is a very good morning, indeed.” She took a cup of coffee, and disappeared outside, heading for the pool house. Well, that ruined any chance I had at making a move on the Contessa.
“She likes you, Mr. Christian. I am not sure that she would be the best match for you,” she musically said, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Many liaisons have taken place on the grounds of villa Saltieri, and I don’t expect that will ever stop. Enjoy the moment, Mr. Christian. Don’t restrain yourself on my account.” I stuttered, but tried my best to convince her that I wasn’t like that. I was a shy guy, not a womanizer. “Of that,” she smiled, “I have no illusions. Sometimes you just have to take your opportunities when they’re presented. She began to leave, but stopped on the kitchen staircase. “By the way,” she said, “I understand your appearance caused quite a stir in the town. All the young women are talking about the “handsome and mysterious young American at villa Saltieri.’” She winked and then disappeared.
“Kevin!!!” Jennifer exclaimed as she popped into the kitchen. “It’s good to see you!!!” She hugged me and I enjoyed the feel of her body, which also made me wonder about the feel of the Contessa’s body. My slowly-developing erection went unnoticed as she quickly let go to grab some water and headed out of the kitchen. “We’ve gotta conference call, but we’ll come down and we can talk afterwards.”
That afternoon, we were lounging around the pool; the Contessa was in her bikini, sunning herself on the deck, while Jennifer was doing a graceful backstroke in the water around me. I decided to stand near the pool’s edge to hide the most obvious sign of my arousal around these two gorgeous women. “So your father’s doing well, then?” the Contessa asked.
Jennifer stopped doing her lazy laps to answer, “Yeah. He’s been home for a couple of weeks now, recovering. My mom was happy I was able to stay with him during the day. Between me and the rest of my brothers and sisters, he had ’round-the-clock companionship. Thanks again for letting me go home for extended leave.”
“It wasn’t even a consideration, Jennifer,” the Contessa responded. “Family is more important than any mundane business matters. Besides, I did take care of my own affairs before I met you… although nowhere near as efficiently,” she laughed. “We’re having dinner out here tonight, in celebration of your return.”
“See? I told you she couldn’t get along without me. She’s throwing back-to-back parties, just ’cause I came back,” Jennifer smiled at me. I had almost forgotten how pretty the Contessa’s personal assistant was. The smile, and her figure in a bikini, reminded me. Before I could get too distracted, I heard the click of a lighter, which indicated that the Contessa was smoking another cigar. I looked, expecting to see the long, slim cigarillo she favored, but I was a little disappointed, for she was only re-lighting the one she had brought out to the pool. With nothing around for contrast on the sunny day, I couldn’t see the smoke she exhaled, but just knowing how she smoked, I could visualize it, and I felt myself begin to get hard. I leaned closer to the pool wall.
“Contessa,” Jennifer’s voice startled me a little, as she had moved right next to me while I was distracted, “I’ll finalize everything for the party tomorrow morning.” She swatted me on the rump. “Race ya to the other side of the pool!” and dove away. I chased her, but her head start was too much for me to make up. “I win!”
“So what do I owe you?” I laughed. “There had to be some reason you cheated.”
“Nope. No reason other than I hate to lose,” she chuckled. “But I’ll keep your concession offer in mind.”
“I missed you, Jennifer,” Amanda tenderly said, stroking the hair of her personal assistant. “I’m happy that you’re back. Rosa is—a pleasant diversion, but she’s not you.”
Her personal assistant purred. “I missed you too, Amanda. It was kind of strange being home for so long. I mean, I had to go,” she said, standing up and tossing her hair before removing her top, “my dad was going in for surgery and we all needed to be there to help during his recovery, but… I missed you. I missed the life.”
Amanda smiled, and softly said, “I have a present for you, in honor of your return.” She pulled out a gift-wrapped box.
“Oooohhhhh!!! Christmas in July!” Jennifer giggled, quickly removing her bra. She eagerly tore the wrapping off the box and gasped. “A humidor?” She opened it. “Cigars?”
“And an amber holder similar to mine,” the Contessa said, handing her a second, smaller box. “Since you don’t like tobacco on your tongue. The cigars are… mentholated. I had Rudolfo make them special for you, earlier this year. He complained about defaming his work with menthol, but I convinced him that it was a special, personal favor. It took him a while to get the blend right, he said, but he thinks that you will enjoy these a great deal,” Amanda said as Jennifer inspected one of the cigars, long and slim, almost identical in appearance to Amanda’s favorites.
Amanda stripped off her jeans. “It was a pleasure I thought I would like to… share with you, in privacy,” she smiled. “I don’t expect to see you smoking these on a regular basis in public.”
Jennifer grinned, “There’s only room for one calculating, emasculating bitch in these circles. Lord knows that if her personal assistant were to start smoking cigars…” She shivered. “Just the thought sends chills down my sp—” The click of a lighter interrupted Jennifer’s musing, and she watched Amanda take a deep drag, her breasts rising. The Contessa di Saltieri exhaled a thick stream of smoke, illustrated by the light behind her, and stood in front of Jennifer, cigar between her fingers. “Ohhh… Amanda… You know what that—”
“Yes,” Amanda replied, taking another drag, lifting her chin, and exhaling slowly, her back slightly arched. She smiled purposefully. “I do.”
“Kevin, stop! You’ll wear out the collar before midnight! That’s a really nice tux!” Jennifer urgently hissed.
“But… I’m chafing,” I complained. “The one I rented in the States wasn’t this… tight.”
“You look great. Now let’s go downstairs and mingle,” Jennifer directed. “Not to make you nervous or anything, but these are people who it would be good to know.” She took my arm. “Time for your first diplomat lesson.” She tugged on it and led me down the stairs.
This wasn’t a diplomatic event. Most of the people there had some sort of business relationship with the Contessa, or were related to someone who had a business relationship with her. Gia was not, nor was Rosa, but everybody else from the pool party my first day was there, although they were now paired. I wandered around feeling very out-of-place. Jennifer had seen someone she knew, so she’d left me for a while to speak with him and his group. I was standing by myself in the middle of the living room when I felt a gentle tug at my elbow. “Mr. Christian, I would like you to meet Signore Alberto Vitorelli,” the Contessa said. The length of her cigar was enhanced by the short holder it resided in. I almost had a heart attack. “He is the manager of all my hotels in Italy.”
“Signore Christian, I sincerely apologize—”
“Parli lui in italiano, Alberto. Sta studiando la lingua e la coltura italiane,” she interrupted, before taking one of those awesome drags. She exhaled through her mouth, and then her nose, and then the last little bit through her mouth again. He looked surprised that she had asked him to speak to me in Italian, and gave me a quick double-take. Obviously, he thought of me as just another boorish American student. His hesitation allowed me another opportunity to watch her oh-so-feminine-way with the holdered cigar. It was still long, and exciting to see her smoke it.
Signore Vitorelli resumed apologizing to me for my treatment at the hotel in Sorrento, and presented me with an envelope. Inside was a gold credit card with my name on it. “Questa carta di credito permetterà che rimaniate a c'è ne dei nostri hotel in Italia al nostro costo. La carta di credito non espirerà mai. Tutto che dobbiate fare deve fornire il numero di scheda quando fate una prenotazione. Quando arrivate, vi presentate la scheda al responsabile in servizio e l'hotel pagheranno il costo della vostra stanza, qualsiasi alimento che ordinate all'hotel, così come i servizi di traveler's, quale la lavanderia. Perdonilo prego per le vostre difficoltà con alcuni ex membri del nostro personale in Sorrento.”
Wow. I could stay at any of the Contessa’s hotels in Italy for free. For the rest of my entire life. They’d even pay for food and things like laundry. Maybe there was something good about getting beat up in Sorrento. I thanked him very sincerely, spending a few minutes with him to assure him that I was not going to sue, and that I really was serious about studying Italian culture and language. Afterwards, the Contessa led me to another group of people. I became so engrossed in the subsequent conversation that I didn’t realize she’d left me and gone somewhere else. By then, I was much more at ease with the situation. There were only about twenty-five people total at the party and I’d managed to meet, and speak with, the majority of the people I didn’t know within an hour or so.
“Il pranzo è servito, tutto!” Jennifer’s dinner announcement was followed by a polite stampede to the kitchen area. People broke up into groups and sat at tables on the veranda and around the pool. Jennifer collected me, and we ate with the group of people she knew. Dinner was followed by dessert, coffee, and more conversation.
The Contessa’s friends from the pool party were the last to leave. She thanked her staff, and dismissed them for the night a few minutes later. Jennifer had gone to bed when the party started winding down, citing the remnants of jet lag. All the other guests left shortly thereafter, leaving the Contessa and I alone in the drawing room. “You seem quite awake, Mr. Christian,” she smiled. “As am I. Would you care to join me for brandy and a cigar?” This time, I accepted. She clipped both cigars and lit one, taking a long draw, exhaling through her nostrils before handing it to me, and then lit her own.
“You were using a holder tonight,” I commented. “I mean, I just noticed because it was the first time I’ve seen you with one.”
She blushed. “Only with certain company. It seems to put some people—at ease. It makes me more—” She dragged on the cigar again, exhaling with that serene, pleasured expression on her face that I’d seen. “—Feminine, and less intimidating. There are those who wouldn’t consider me feminine if I wore pink and giggled incessantly,” she smiled. “My business acumen has—displeased some people.”
“And some of them were here this evening,” I said. I watched her swallow the smoke she’d just drew from the cigar. With her legs crossed, in a well-fitted gown, my fantasies began to gain strength. She exhaled slowly, the picture of someone entirely relaxed and at peace with the universe.
“That’s correct, Mr. Christian. You are observant, aren’t you? You may go very, very far in the area of diplomacy,” she smiled. We spoke for the better part of an hour, and when the cigars were finished, we hugged, she kissed me on both cheeks, and turned out the downstairs lights. It was another night of intense masturbation to delicious fantasies of being entwined with the Contessa’s womanly body, surrounded by a haze of cigar smoke scented with wildflowers.
“Amanda?” Jennifer softly called as the key turned in the lock and the door opened.
“Yes, dear?” she replied, her voice equally soft. Amanda closed the outer door, and appeared in the bedroom, closing that door as well. “I thought you were going to be asleep, so I chatted with Mr. Christian for a while over cigars and brandy.”
“And I missed that?” she whined. “No, I took a nap. It’s going to be a few days before I get re-adjusted to European time. I was gone for a while.” She climbed out from under the covers, naked, and with a toss of her head, moved her long, straight black hair from in front of her breasts. “One of these days, I’m gonna see Kevin smoking a cigar again…”
“I never fail to marvel at the sight of your beautiful body,” Amanda interrupted, smiling. Jennifer undid the zipper on Amanda’s dress, allowing it to fall to the floor. “So now you’re wide awake? Is this what you’re telling me?” There was a hint of teasing purpose in the Contessa’s voice.
“Pretty much, yeah,” Jennifer grinned. She opened her humidor. “Now how do you do this? I didn’t want to try it without you.”
“First,” the Contessa said, moving around behind Jennifer and gently wrapping herself around the younger woman’s body, “you run it under your nose, enjoying its distinct aroma.” Amanda took the cigar and ran it underneath Jennifer’s nose, still holding her around the waist with one hand. “You should feel the cigar to see if it is properly moist… that indicates freshness and proper storage. This one is perfect. Roll it gently between your fingers, dear.” Her hands followed Jennifer’s curves. She felt the girl shiver. “Now,” she purred into Jennifer’s ear, “you clip, or punch it. I prefer clipping the end, and so I don’t have a punch available here in the bedroom.” She kissed Jennifer’s neck. “I can go get one downstairs if you like,” she added with mischief.
“No…” she gasped in response. “That’s OK. I’ll clip it for now,” Jennifer panted.
Amanda reached to the dressing table, nuzzling Jennifer as she picked up the cigar clip. One of Jennifer’s hands started stroking the side of the Contessa’s leg. “Clip it right about where the curve at the closed end stops.” Amanda began to play with Jennifer’s breasts, and the clip fell to the floor as the girl arched her back with a moan, then ground her ass against Amanda’s body. She spun Jennifer to face her, and they kissed, deeply. Amanda resumed, “Now wet the end just a little. Run your tongue around—” She squatted a little to run the tip of her tongue around Jennifer’s breast, once. “Then take it in your mouth and suck gently. Like this.” She drew a nipple into her mouth. Jennifer groaned.
“Now, you are ready for the holder,” the Contessa panted softly, standing up again, “and gently twist the holder around the cigar so that it is secure, but not too tightly, because you could damage the cigar.” She stepped back while Jennifer complied, her eyes still on her employer/lover. “When you light a cigar, it’s not the same as a cigarette,” Amanda counseled, taking the cigar, now in its 4-inch holder, from Jennifer. “Don’t touch the end of the cigar with the flame. Roll the cigar in your mouth—” She demonstrated. “—And allow the heat of the lighter to start the tobacco. Continue rolling and puff gently until it’s evenly lit. Check the end to see how well you’re doing.”
At this point, Amanda had her lover’s complete attention. Jennifer was gently caressing herself, and one of the young oriental woman’s fingers had wandered between her legs. “Once it is lit, you may start smoking it.” Amanda took one of her customary deep drags, held the smoke, then exhaled slowly skyward through both her nose and mouth, holding the cigar by the holder from the underside, between thumb and both the index and middle fingers. A soft, impassioned gasp broke Amanda’s reverie and evaluation of the mentholated cigar. Jannifer now had one hand on her breast, and one between her legs. “I wouldn’t advise trying to inhale too deeply,” Amanda said, handing the cigar back to Jennifer, who moaned in disappointment. “Now it’s your turn,” she said, smiling wickedly.
Jennifer took a small puff, exhaling quickly. “Taste the cigar, Jennifer. That is where the magic is. That is the whole point of smoking them, inhaled or no,”Amanda counseled. Jennifer drew a little harder, and let the smoke drift out of her mouth. After a few seconds, she repeated the action, this time tilting her head all the way back, arching her back slightly, and letting the smoke drift straight up. “That’s very sexy, dear,” Amanda huskily replied. “Take a look at yourself,” she whispered. Jennifer walked over to the full-length dressing mirror and dragged, inhaling a little. She exhaled quickly, but the cigar was surprisingly mild. She tried it again, studying her reflection as she dragged on the cigar, fingers spread, before removing it from her mouth. The beautiful oriental woman in the mirror stood, cigar and holder in hand between index and middle fingers, elbow bent, as smoke began to drift from her mouth. The open mouth formed itself into an “O,” and a steady stream of thick smoke eased from the opening. Jennifer’s insides quivered a little and she was sent on a flight of fantasy powered by the pose struck by her reflection. The quiver continued as she watched herself take another slow drag, followed by a snap-inhale. She posed again for the exhale.
“Jennifer.” Amanda’s voice startled her. “Come to bed, dear.” She turned and moved to put the cigar in the large crystal ashtray. “No,” Amanda commanded, removing the remainder of her clothing. “Bring it to bed. I want you to sit and smoke tonight. Just so you know how I feel.”
Jennifer sashayed over to the bed, feeling extremely sexy and very horny. She sat on the bed, her back against the plush headrest, watching with delight and anticipation as the Contessa di Saltieri leaned to her midriff, and then slid a little lower.
I was playing PlayStation 2 in my room. Neither the Contessa nor Jennifer had been seen that morning. I assumed that they had arisen early, and were busy working in the office. I wasn’t sure if I could handle seeing the Contessa again so soon. I was cursing myself for not being aggressive enough the previous night. I had had the perfect opportunity; everyone in the villa was gone or asleep, and it was just she and I, alone, smoking cigars and having brandy. “If that wasn’t an invitation, I don’t know what was,” I said aloud to myself. “I have got to stop being so shy.”
“I think I pulled a muscle,” Jennifer said with a big grin, while brushing her hair. “But I’m not complaining.” She turned to see the Contessa reaching into her humidor. “Ummm… Amanda?” The Contessa stopped, cigar and clipper in hand. “Please… not now. I don’t think I could handle it,” Jennifer commented, pleading for understanding.
“As you wish, Jennifer. I understand,” Amanda smiled tenderly, putting the clipper down and returning the cigar to the humidor. “It’s been pleasant here at the villa. However, duty calls,” she sighed, “and if we spend many more days like this, we won’t make it back to Switzerland before September. I assume that I may have one of your Capri cigarettes without…”
“Yes, Amanda,” Jennifer smiled again. “And you’re right. We need to be back in Switzerland soon. I’ll make arrangements—” She looked at the clock. “Tomorrow. I need to review the calendar and get back into the swing of things.” She paused, looking a little distressed. “Do you think that Kevin—?”
“I am sure Mr. Christian is amusing himself in our absence, and I doubt that he knows anything about… us.” Seeing the relief on Jennifer’s face, Amanda continued, “I realize that may have unpleasant ramifications, so I’ve been at my most discreet during his company. Nonetheless, perhaps I should give him a diversion. Have Mario take him to the village for the afternoon. Tell him that I said he should work on his—cultural studies.”
“Amanda…”
“Shhhh…” the Contessa replied, joining Jennifer on the bed, and putting a finger to her lips. “Your happiness means more to me than all the fortune in the world.” Jennifer pulled the Contessa’s finger into her mouth and sucked gently. Amanda’s eyelids drooped, and she put the cigarette in the ashtray. The two women looked at each other without words, sitting a hand’s breadth apart. Amanda threw her arms around Jennifer, and suddenly, they were kissing madly. “You—need to call Mario—first,” she panted. Jennifer was on the phone in an instant, while the Contessa took a final drag from her borrowed Capri 120, and they were quickly wrapped up in each other’s charms once again.
“Do you ever fly coach?” I asked the Contessa as we boarded the plane for Zurich.
“Not since Jennifer’s been my personal assistant,” she replied, smiling. “She’s amazing that way. My business obligations flow through my travel arrangements, so that I’m able to plan virtually all of my travel in advance.”
“And if she has something that’s not planned in advance,” Jennifer chipped in, “I can usually get two open first-class seats side by side within two days of when we want to be there. People arrange their schedules around her, and I can use that to our advantage when I’m scheduling things.” The Contessa took a window seat, and Jennifer the aisle. My seat was two rows behind them, on the other side. “Ummm… Kevin, if you don’t mind? This is a working flight for us,” Jennifer asked. I told her no problem.
When we got to Zurich, Jennifer noted the goodbye I got from the flight attendant. “She was flirting with you,” she sang in my ear while we were waiting for our luggage. I protested that I had no clue, moreover, no interest since I had no opportunity. “You’re with the Contessa di Saltieri, Kevin,” she said. Any contact information from her at all, and we could have had her brought to you while you’re here.”
“Somebody that gorgeous wouldn’t be interested in me,” I said.
“Will you stop that, Mr. Christian?” the Contessa snapped. “All the time I hear you say how unworthy of feminine attention you are. My dear young man, you are not qualified in the least to judge what women find attractive or interesting in a man.” I blushed. Of course she was right. “Perhaps if you were to stop wasting your gaze on evaluating yourself, you would be able to see when someone does find you interesting.” I kept turning redder with every word, and was effectively silenced for the remainder of the trip.
The Contessa’s home in Switzerland was magnificent. Where the Villa Saltieri had been charming and rustic, this was entirely modern. She had a floor devoted to office space, complete with high-speed Internet. Jennifer showed me around the computer in my room. “There are all sorts of games here, too, Kevin. Some of the Contessa’s relatives have kids, so we keep stuff around to keep them amused. But,” she said, turning away, “I’m on the clock. Gotta check in and get to work. See you at six for dinner.”
Jennifer wasn’t at dinner, so it was just the Contessa and I. I asked about her absence. “No, it is nothing serious. She had some urgent business matters to attend for me,” the Contessa apologized. “In addition to being my personal assistant, she’s frequently my right hand when it comes to the business of art.” I remembered that her degree was in Art History. “She should be back tomorrow.”
After dinner, we settled in for brandy and cigars. “The reception is being held in Zurich, on Friday, Mr. Christian. We will all be spending the night there as well.” If that’s not an invitation… She continued, “I’ve taken the liberty of informing the United States chief representative that you will be there, and that you are interested in a diplomatic career.” The Contessa paused to lazily exhale a thick stream of blue smoke. Her relaxed demeanor wasn’t quite the same as it had been in Italy. Her vacation was definitely over. “I’ve also given him a personal recommendation,” she continued, quietly. “Make your application personally when you get back to the U.S. I’ll have Jennifer arrange the details and take care of any costs associated with this. I would like to see you as a diplomatic guest at one of my European functions after you graduate.”
I had to hug her. I was so overwhelmed that I couldn’t say anything other than, “thank you,” over and over again, and I hugged her even more tightly. That’s when it hit me, as my face was buried in her neck. The Contessa’s personal aphrodisiac scent of wildflowers and cigar smoke overrode any cognitive thought. I quickly moved and kissed her on the lips. Slowly, my tongue pushed between her lips, and was met with a jerk of surprise before she gently responded, the spice of the smoke still strong in her mouth. I was hard. She slowly, sweetly broke the kiss.
“Kevin,” she began, her voice soft and musical, “I am very flattered.” She held her hand out, stopping me from kissing her again. “Unfortunately,” she said, “I cannot give you what you want. I am not… that… way.” I felt like a fool, and my erection quickly disappeared. I wanted to disappear, having realized what she was saying. “I apologize if I unintentionally led you on, Kevin. Doubly so, since my friends in Italy warned me, and I did not want to see it.” She grasped my hand. “There is no shame in this. If you did not try, you would never know,” she smiled, sadly, “and I do not hold this against you in any way.” I turned away, wondering how long it would take me to pack and leave. The Contessa put her hands on either side of my face, and gently made me look directly at her. “You are a delightful, charming, intelligent, and handsome young man, Kevin Christian. There are many women out there for you.” She paused for a moment, as if in internal debate. “Perhaps,” she smiled mysteriously, “there is one even closer than you may ever have thought.”
I froze, rooted to the floor. It dawned on me who she was talking about. I hadn’t had a clue. Not from day one, and not now. She smiled, “You may not want to leave my company just yet, Mr. Christian. As embarrassing as this episode may have been for you, I take no personal offense—” She kissed me, just a brief cigar-spiced peck on the lips with a complicated expression in her eyes. “And rest assured that your offer is tempting... to a point, if that’s any consolation.” She picked up her cigar and carefully re-lit it, while I waited for her next words. She exhaled past my face before picking up her snifter. “You may want to—contemplate—in solitude, so I will leave you to your thoughts. Good night, Kevin,” she said, kissing me on the cheek before she left the room.
It was a major consolation. I picked up my snifter, said good night to the servant in the kitchen after getting it refilled, and went to my room. Jennifer was gorgeous, and in some ways, that made her just as unapproachable as the Contessa. “Even if she is interested in me, how do I start this?” I didn’t think that I’d be able to forget myself as I had with the Contessa. It was a dreamless night.
I took a train to Zurich the next day, ostensibly to see the city, but more to make sure that I didn’t run into Jennifer or the Contessa. I was still unsure of myself, and I wasn’t sure if the Contessa hadn’t read something into one of Jennifer’s statements that wasn’t true. I spent the night at a youth hostel after spending the day questioning everything about my summer vacation.
“Amanda, I’m worried about Kevin. He hasn’t been around all day,” Jennifer said as she was brushing her hair.
“That’s all right, dear. With the exception of the one incident in the hotel in Sorrento , he’s been quite able to take care of himself,” was the reply from the bathroom. “He’s left all of his things, and I don’t think he’s planning on leaving, since he has to go through Rome first. Besides, he has people to meet Friday evening.”
“Still… it’s not like him.”
“That’s a bold pronouncement,” Amanda noted as she reappeared in the master bedroom. “You haven’t known him all that long. Or been with him that much. One would think you like him,” she teased gently. Jennifer conceded the point with a bright smile. “He kissed me last night.”
“What???!!!???” Jennifer spun to gape at her employer. “How drunk was he?”
“Not enough to excuse it as drunkennes, and that is most likely why he has gone. He was certainly aroused,” Amanda said. “I had to tell him about me. The dear boy hadn’t any idea, but he seems to be comfortable with the concept that I’m a lesbian, although he is extremely disappointed.”
“I told you you were sexy as hell,” her personal assistant said. “And you refused to believe me.”
“Well… err… I thought you were talking about my—feminine—power of attraction,” Amanda admitted. “I also hinted that he might try and find solace in someone… else’s arms. Someone he already knows. To soften the blow, as it were.”
“Amanda!!! You didn’t!!!” At her employer’s nod, Jennifer stood up and stalked around the room. “I can’t believe that you’ve tried to fix me up!!! I mean… I mean… yeah, he’s cute… but… but… I couldn’t make a pass at him. He’s still in college!”
“But you wouldn’t mind if he made one at you.”
“No, but that’s not the point,” Jennifer complained. “You had no right to put my personal interests out there to him. Did you tell him about us?” Amanda shook her head. “At least that’s safe, but now what do I say to him? What if he’s not interested?”
She continued to complain, unaware that Amanda was clipping a fresh cigar. The Contessa brought it to life, savoring the first full drag before interrupting, “Methinks the lady doth protest too much. Lack of interest on his part should not be a problem. I’ve seen the way he looks at you when he doesn’t think we’re watching,” she smiled. Amnada took another long drag and held the smoke before exhaling a ribbon of blue-gray smoke silently through her mouth. “Jennifer, we were alone. There was no one else around. He was relaxed and open, and it was just he and I. Maybe the brandy allowed him to forget about protocol and follow the dictates of his body, but I’m not certain that was entirely it, either.” She dragged again, this time exhaling slowly through her nostrils. “I want you to be happy. I know what you think of him. We’ve talked about that on several occasions since meeting him. I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t one of the considerations for bringing him over here.” She approached Jennifer. “My personal assistants aren’t always this personal, nor is my interest in their private lives.” She took another draw from her cigar, and pulled Jennifer to her for a kiss.
As they both exhaled, Amanda resumed, “He needs to know that you are available. He has only seen you as my personal assistant, and you are sexless as far as he knows. Perhaps just the two of you should spend a little time together at the reception on Friday. Away from everybody.” She smiled, “You and I are sleeping in separate rooms Friday night.” Then Amanda posed for another exhale, with the cigar held high. “But not tonight. I missed you last night, and his lust didn’t help.”
The restrictions on my first-class ticket made it impossible for me to just go home. Besides, I’d spent virtually the entire summer as a guest of the Contessa di Saltieri. Not only would running away keep me from meeting several diplomats and their attachés, it would be incredibly rude to leave without even saying goodbye. I still didn’t know what I was going to do about Jennifer. She was gorgeous, a few years older than I was, had been all over the world, and knew lots of important men, many of whom were just as aware of how attractive she was, and in a much better position in life to woo her. I finally went back to the train station, deciding that I was too distracted to enjoy Zurich.
I got back to the Contessa’s home in time for dinner. She greeted me with, “Welcome back, Mr. Christian,” a hug, and a kiss on both cheeks. I knew she was unavailable now, but ohhh, that scent… “Did you enjoy your sojourn?” Her eyes told me that she’d noticed my arousal. She knew I was attracted to her now, and it would be impossible for me to hide my primal reaction to her when we were in body contact. I said, yes, I did, stepping a respectful distance away. She smiled with a hint of sympathy in her eyes. “Where did you go?”
“I went to Zurich and stayed at a hostel. Since I’ve never been there, I thought it might be nice to enjoy the city.” It wasn’t a lie, exactly. It wasn’t the city’s fault that I kept thinking about you and Jennifer. She offered me her arm and we walked to the dining room. Jennifer was there, smoking one of her long, extra-slim cigarettes, reclined in one of the chairs, legs crossed, seemingly lost in thought. “Jennifer… hi… I’m back,” I cautiously said.
She was in the middle of a slow snap-inhale. She exhaled deliberately before she smiled and stood, looking fine as always, and gave me a hug. “Hi, Kevin, I’m happy to see you again. Are you hungry? The Contessa had a special dinner made tonight when I pointed out that you only had a week left in Europe.” Dinner felt a little surreal; the conversation was strained and nervous, discussing many things, none of them very personal.
When dessert arrived, the Contessa spoke to me about the coming reception, and filled me in on some of the personalities. “You would think that ego has little place in diplomacy, but that’s not the case at all,” she sighed. “Better for you to know beforehand. Some of these people can carry grudges for a long, long time.” She declined the cigar box after our discussion, surprising both Jennifer and I. Instead, she stood and announced, “I am retiring to my room for the evening. I have some… personal correspondences that I need to make.” She grinned. “I’m afraid I’ve been distracted during vacation, and I am terribly behind.” As she parted, she called, “Jennifer, you have the evening off. Tomorrow will be a late night, and arrangements have already been made, so both of you feel free to sleep in.”
We looked at each other for a while without saying anything. I didn’t know what to do next. Just before the silence became awkward, I asked, “Well, what would you like to do? Do you play Play Station or anything like that?”
“Not really,” she replied. “I can’t get enough practice to be any good at it. Not enough free time. But I’m a whiz at some of the web games.”
“Double or nothing from the swimming pool race?”
Jennifer laughed. “Nope. You still owe me for that one. If you win, I owe you one. Remember, I hate to lose. C’mon up to my room.”
We headed up the steps to her room, “Wow. It’s spotless,” I remarked.
“Oh yeah, the staff pays extra attention to my room,” Jennifer grinned. “Rank has its privileges, y’know?” I nodded, and we were on her computer, trying to outdo each other in word games and simple mouse games. We were pretty evenly matched unless Jennifer was smoking a Capri while I was playing. I definitely lost those games because I tried to watch her surreptitiously. “Well, that makes seventeen for me, and twelve for you,” she said, amazing me that she had kept count in her head. “Hey, I’ve got a head for details. It’s part of my job, remember?” she laughed. She was sexy, gorgeous, funny, smart—and intimidating as all hell. I never caught up with her, either. “That’s two you owe me,” she noted triumphantly. “And it’s two a.m. We need to go to bed.”
“I guess you’re right,” I sighed. “I had fun tonight, Jennifer. It was good to hang out with you, no fancy getups, no…”
“I know. I kinda forgot what it was like when I went home for a couple of months. I missed this stuff for a while, though. And then I got used to being just plain Jen again.” She paused. “My brothers wouldn’t let me be anything else,” Jennifer wryly noted. “Thanks for giving me a night off, Kevin.” She gave me a kiss on the cheek. Time froze as she pulled back and we looked at each other… Then I gave her a peck on the cheek and turned to go.
Good night, Jennifer,” I said, part of me disbelieving I was walking out on her.
“Ummm… g’night, Kevin. See you tomorrow,” was her response. I closed the door as I left, then gave myself a swift kick in the pants.
The diplomatic reception was… a little boring. They were stuffy, and for the most part, stuck-up. The American diplomat I was supposed to speak with seemed more interested in the female help at the hotel, but he promised that he’d forward my name to the Service, in a tone that said that I was an annoying distraction. I spent most of the evening talking to the French contingent, who were pleased with my command of their language, and one of the older ladies (I think she was the slightly drunken sister-in-law of one of the attachés) fondled me with a wink. It was a large gathering, but I felt much more—comfortable in this environment now. The Contessa had indeed taught me how to handle this. I saw the Contessa, Jennifer and the PDA at her side, off and on during the evening, but I didn’t feel a need to follow them around.
I did make a couple of valuable contacts; the American attaché said that her boss was useless. “He’s the face and the big salary. Close friends with—well, you know. We do all the work. Give me your name and contact info, and here’s my card. Make sure the Contessa gets me her recommendation, and I’ll follow through.” The French were also interested in my “ability to understand languages and cultures,” and said that they would be happy to have me join their cross-cultural development group. After dinner, the ballroom floor was opened for dancing.
“Kevin!!!” Jennifer called. Her black dress with an off-center white “V” was very stylish, and she had a great body. “I need a dance partner. The Spanish representative is—persistent.” I followed her nervous glance, and sure enough, he was headed directly for her.
There was only one thing to do. “Then let’s dance.”
I spent the next couple of hours being Jennifer’s “date,” which kept the Spanish man on the periphery, always looking for an opening. We danced, and when we weren’t dancing, I lit her cigarettes and fetched her drinks. I did dance with the Contessa once, just to be polite and give the Spanish guy one dance with Jennifer. The Contessa’s signature scent had its normal effect, yet she showed no discomfort with being in my arms. She looked directly into my eyes as we danced. About halfway through the song, she pressed closer against me. “Embarassment has no place here,” she whispered. “Dance with me. After all, we both know that nothing is going to happen between us, and the appearance is important.” As we left the floor, we headed directly for Jennifer and the Spanish man. The Contessa thanked Jennifer for allowing me to dance with her, and she promptly asked the attaché to dance, rescuing Jennifer from her would-be suitor.
Around ten p.m., as Jennifer and I were dancing cheek to cheek, she whispered, “After this, we have to leave… quietly. There’s a private reception in the Contessa’s suite. Business. She wants you to see how it’s done.” We made our separate ways to the suite. When I arrived, the Contessa was mediating a discussion between the Swiss and the Spanish. Since I only had rudimentary traveler’s Spanish, I only got half of the story, but it was interesting to watch the give and take, and the Contessa’s frequent intervention. A lot of her intervention had to do with finances. She would occasionally say something to Jennifer, who would make a notation on her PDA, although there was someone else there taking very detailed notes.
The process took a little more than an hour, after which the two sides shook hands and gave the appropriate kisses on cheeks. “Cigars and drinks are ready in the next room,” the Contessa announced, and the business was adjourned. She took my arm and whispered, “This is why small disagreements stay small, and that is the critical part of diplomacy,” as she led me into the next room. She removed a cigar from a humidor in the room, and I clipped it for her. She smiled and inserted it into a holder.
“Femininity, right?” I smiled. “Now is not the time for intimidation, especially among such a… traditional crowd.” She simply nodded while waiting for me to light it. I watched her puff through the first inhale and thick, slow, oral exhale. The Contessa was still incredibly sexy, and I wished that something would happen so that I could just have one night with her. Before I could make a further fool of myself, one of the ladies from the Swiss group came over and started a conversation, giving the Contessa an opportunity to mingle somewhere else. We spoke for a few minutes, and then the Swiss woman also headed elsewhere to speak with someone else.
“Hey, Kevin,” I heard Jennifer say. I turned and couldn’t help but gape: Jennifer was smoking a cigar, in a holder! Her exhale wasn’t quite as thick as the Contessa’s, but the effect on my composure was devastating nonetheless. I grinned stupidly, and nodded, but I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. “So how do I look?” She posed for me, cigar held at mouth level, between index and middle fingers. She took a puff, inhaled it, and held it for a couple of seconds before exhaling slowly. I could only think, WOW . Speech was beyond me at that moment. “They’re actually menthol,” she continued. “The Contessa had them made special for me, so I didn’t feel left out of things like this.” She took a fetching draw, and I nodded, barely aware of what she had said. “Am I feminine enough with the holder? The Contessa can look feminine without one, but—”
Just then, her Spanish admirer, freed from the post-negotiation conversation, caught up with her. “In Spain, it is not all that uncommon to see beautiful women smoke cigars,” he interrupted with a smile. “However, I would wager my fortune that there are none so beautiful as you.” She smiled and thanked him for the compliment; simultaneously, my arm went around her waist. Jennifer turned to me with a look of mild surprise, but didn’t resist.
The Spanish gentleman raised a finger to say something more, but I pulled her to me and kissed her on the lips. Jennifer’s “Mmmph!” of surprise gave way to an eagerly open mouth, and our kiss became passionate. The flavor of smoke in her mouth heated me even more. “That’s how you look,” I said. Jennifer’s eyes fluttered.
The Spaniard looked disappointed, but not crestfallen. “Señor, Señorita,” he said with a smile. “There is a time for action,” he said to us. “I can see that this is your time,” he smiled, and walked away.
Jennifer’s eyes had narrowed. “Ummmm… Kevin,” she finally said, her voice soft and hoarse, “this is a diplomatic reception.” She gave me a peck on the lips. “Protocol,” she whispered, “but only during the reception.” She gave me another peck, and then returned half of her attention back to her cigar, puffing on it while looking up at me. “Oh, shoot, it’s gone out.” I found a lighter and held it, shakily. Her eyes danced as she steadied my hand and patiently brought the cigar back to life. She tossed her head back and exhaled through her nostrils. “Thank you, sir.”
My head was spinning, my heart was racing, and I think I forgot to breathe. Jennifer held out her arm expectantly, eyes still aflame, and I took it, letting her guide me dumbly around the small party. When we encountered the Contessa, she smiled. “Mr. Christian, I need to borrow your date for a little while. Will you excuse us?” I stepped away and watched Jennifer’s PDA magically appear yet again. With a last, creamy puff, she gave me a smile with a heated look, put the cigar down, and headed through the double door to the Contessa’s bedroom.
I was talking to the Swiss attaché again when I felt someone take my arm. “I’m off duty now,” Jennifer said after greeting my conversation partner. “We can leave in a few minutes, after I circulate solo and say some goodbyes. Be back in a few,” she huskily whispered. She reappeared about twenty minutes later, and we left.
We went to her room, which by some coincidence was next to mine, with a door between them. “Think she knew?” Jennifer asked. “I did not make these specific arrangements.” She removed a pocket humidor, holder and lighter from one of those well-hidden pockets, and sat them on the table next to the bed. That wasn’t what was holding my attention as the dress quickly slid off her magnificent body. I had noticed it many times before, but to see it in the flesh…
Awestruck, I could only manage, “You are incredibly, incredibly beautiful.” All she did was smile and slide onto the bed.
“I left my cigarettes in the Contessa’s suite,” Jennifer complained after checking her purse. “Do you mind if I smoke a cigar, instead? It’ll take longer, but…” Her eyes narrowed, and her voice got huskier. “I’d really like a smoke after that.” I quickly agreed, seeing the expression on her face. Her long black hair, usually so straight and set, was mussed and disheveled. I watched in silence, lust growing, as she carefully clipped the cigar, placed it in the holder, and waited. I got the message after a few seconds, and picked up the lighter. Again, Jennifer had to steady my hands as she patiently got the cigar aflame. She took a slow, long draw, eyes closed, a slight smile on her face. I watched her hold the smoke forever, exhaling with a contented sigh. She looked orgasmic, and I knew what that looked like from very recent experience. She repeated the cycle a few seconds later. Only then did she open her deep, dark eyes.
I was spellbound. “Oh, I’m sorry! I sorta… got lost. Would you like some of this?” she offered, blushing. She hadn’t noticed how hypnotized I was by the sight, and extended the cigar to me. I puffed on it; it was definitely different from the Contessa’s cigars. I sampled it again, letting the smoke drift from my mouth, trying to ascertain the different flavors, which caused me to temporarily lose track of Jennifer. Suddenly, her tongue was in my mouth mixing with the remaining smoke, and she was kissing me passionately. “Do that again,” she gasped, hoarsely. “I think it’s sexy.”
I did, and then panted, “Not half as sexy as when you do it.” She took the cigar back, and pulled on it, a long, deep drag. She tilted her head back against the headrest, and let the smoke flow through her nostrils in twin, thick streams. I kissed her, half-crazed with lust, and the cigar was instantly discarded into the ashtray, forgotten.
Jennifer had to call a limo to take us back the next afternoon. We had missed the Contessa’s car because our lovemaking had continued into the very wee hours of the morning, and so we had slept very late. “So… I know you were thinking of leaving here tomorrow, and taking a few days to head back to Rome,” she said, stroking my leg. “Are you…?”
“Depends on what the Contessa has planned,” I replied, getting warmed up again.
“All her business is at home for the next two weeks, so we’ll be there,” she returned. “I can book you one way to Rome in time to connect to your flight home, no problem. I’d… ummm… like you to stay for a while. I have to work during the day, but I’ll be free most of the evening, barring emergency.” Jennifer looked at me, her lips slightly parted.
“I’d love to stay as long as I can,” I said, kissing her deeply.
“Kevin, Jennifer will contact you with the arrangements for your interview in Washington with the State Department,” the Contessa said, looking very regal, even without her cigar as we stood in the Zurich airport awaiting my flight to Rome. “I have enjoyed your company these past weeks, and I look forward to seeing you again.” She smiled impishly, at odds with her bearing, but completely in character, as I’d come to know her better—more personally—over the past week. “Whenever I’m in the States, I may have an incredible need to dine at La Bohème at least once during each trip over the next year.” Jennifer smiled as well and gave me a squeeze. Her arm hadn’t left my waist since we were cleared through security.
Jennifer and I had spent every evening together since the diplomatic reception; the Contessa had taken great care to dismiss her personal assistant at six p.m. Jennifer’s cigar stock had dwindled greatly, and her signature scent of wildflowers (slightly different from the Contessa’s) was now enhanced by the spice of cigar smoke (also slightly different from the Contessa’s.) “I love smoking cigars around you, Kevin,” she had said two nights ago as we shared her bed. “It always made me horny when I watched other people smoke cigars, but now…” Her dark eyes had flashed at me in the dimly-lit bedroom, letting me know that the time for discussion was over.
“I’m glad there’s no cigars around,” she confessed in a whisper as I waited for my boarding announcement. I laughed quietly, feeling a slight rush of blood south at the thought, even as I realized that the conversations she and I had while sharing a cigar between episodes of frenzied lovemaking were just as, if not more, important than the sex. I had fallen in love with an older woman, just not the one I thought about at the beginning of my summer.
Shortly before the boarding announcement came, the Contessa gave me a kiss on each cheek. “Kevin, travel safe and well. It has truly been a pleasure getting to know you this summer.” She hugged me. “By the way, my given name is Amanda. Please call me Amanda when we are… in private,” she whispered in my ear. “I am quite sure that I may trust your discretion in this.” She gave me a complex smile, and I felt incredibly privileged. “Jennifer,” she said to her personal assistant, “I will meet you at the car. Farewell, Mr. Christian.”
Jennifer waited for a couple of moments for Amanda to vanish into the corridor and then looked at the expression on my face. “She told you, didn’t she?” I nodded. “That’s a very good sign,” she smiled, before swinging around to face me and placing both arms over my shoulders. “You know she left so we could have privacy,” Jennifer smiled. I kissed her briefly, and suddenly, we were lovers kissing deeply in the middle of the Zurich airport. I didn’t care if anybody was watching. That was another thing that had changed about me over the summer: I was a lot less self-conscious about my public appearance. “I’m gonna miss you,” she said. “Now I have a reason to look forward to coming to the States on business again.”
“What about your family?”
“Usually only if we’re on the west coast for a few days,” she said with a sigh. “Seattle just doesn’t lend itself to convenient flight schedules to Europe.” We kissed some more. “I’m gonna start taking my second week,” she cooed as we separated, but her eyes drew me closer yet again. “Wow… I need a cigarette after that kiss,” she panted slightly. “So… ummm… I’ll be in touch. Check your e-mail… daily.” The boarding announcement came, and we hugged and kissed one last time. “Kevin?” Jennifer said, stopping me for a moment. “I know we’ve just really met, and we want to spend more time getting to know each other, but you have to get on this plane. She may be casually generous, but I think she’ll be a little pissed if today’s tickets go to waste and she has to pay for another ticket tomorrow.” We smiled at each other and our touch lingered for a moment before I headed to the jetway door.
“Amanda?”
“Yes, dear?”
“It was nice of you to tell him your name,” Jennifer said.
“Well, it makes it much easier on you,” Amanda smiled. “Jennifer, my true name should not come between the two of you. This way,” she sighed, “you don’t have to try to remember to use my title, and not my name when you’re talking to your—lov—” She stopped herself, and resumed, “—Your boyfriend.”
Jennifer looked at Amanda with surprise. She thought about protesting, but after a moment’s thought, she sighed happily and said, “Yeah… you’re right. He is my boyfriend.” She looked out the window. “It’s funny… After all of the high-powered and good-looking guys who’ve made overtures towards me in the past six years, some of whom have even smoked cigars, I go and fall for a college student six years younger than I am. He’s cute, but I can name a dozen guys I know who want to date me and are better looking. He’s smart… but we know lots of smarter people. Lord knows he can’t even compete on the money front.” The click of a lighter and the aroma of Amanda’s cigar made Jennifer spin to watch her employer.
Amanda took a long, deep drag from her cigar and exhaled silently, giving her personal assistant a mischievous grin. “But he is not jaded, he has no possible ulterior motive, and he is genuinely who he seems to be.” After another drag, she resumed, “And it is that unassuming manner that has charmed us both.” Her exhale this time was posed, and a quick check confirmed that Jennifer was indeed watching. “I think we’ll be seeing much more of Kevin, you and I both.” Amanda slowly snap-inhaled her next long draw. She held the smoke before exhaling, very slowly, through her nostrils. “I know you’ll be missing him. However—” She pressed the button to raise the privacy window between the passenger compartment and the driver. “I do hope you’ll find it in yourself to accept me as a decent substitute. I missed you terribly last week, and knowing why… was simultaneously fulfilling and frustrating.” Amanda pointed to the carpeted floor at her feet, and took another long drag from her cigar, looking purposefully at her personal assistant.
Jennifer slid out of her seat to her knees, and lifted Amanda’s dress. “More than decent,” she murmured before pausing. “What am I going to tell him about… us? I don’t want it to—slip—accidentally, when he isn’t prepared for it.”
Amanda gently laid a hand on Jennifer’s head, and gave the slightest of pushes. “We’ll figure out that one later… I’m finding that I am not as immune—!” Amanda gasped as Jennifer’s head disappeared from view. “—to his… unique… charms as… you may… you would… think…”
I had left for Italy a shy boy, still unsure of himself. When I stepped off the plane in Chicago that August, I was a young man with his desired career in the diplomatic arena all but assured after graduation. I also had newfound confidence in myself and my ability to handle social situations. It must have shown, because the gorgeous and previously unattainable Carolyn Sanderson flirted heavily with me during orientation week. I had to decline her not-entirely-unwelcome advances, advances that I would have deliriously accepted in May, a few scant months earlier. My new girlfriend Jennifer, an older woman of twenty-seven, found it difficult to restrain herself when I would smoke a cigar.
With that in mind, I had returned with four boxes of custom-made, hand-rolled ones, brought into the country under diplomatic exemption. I was looking forward to Jennifer’s first visit in two weeks. She was going to accompany me to my interview in Washington, D.C. at the State Department, acting as Amanda’s official liaison. In her last e-mail, she said that she isn’t due to return to Switzerland until the following Monday, so she has Friday, Saturday, and Sunday to spend with me. She also wrote that she’s bringing a new box of her own cigars, because it definitely helps both of us get in the mood.