A Privileged Stumbling Into Love

Can a man break out of a pretentious upbringing?

My thanks to Randi for organizing this invitational event and offering me the opportunity to participate. I can't truly compete with the talent she has assembled but I can enjoy the challenge and it is indeed such being outside the genre I would usually write in. This story doesn't neatly fit into any category so it is where it is.

The normal disclaimers apply here. There is no under age sex and if you are looking for a fifteen minute pull, this probably won't be for you. Please don't crap all over the comments if there are any. I'll just liberally delete them.

* * * * *

The purple prose of Edward Bulwer-Lytton's opening to Paul Clifford could have been an apt introduction to my rather staid world were it not for the full moon and a million stars overhead. Father spilled his seed inappropriately and Mother dragged him to the altar under the auspices of two sets of approving parents and the specter of a disemboweled will should the festivities not proceed.

Milton Dennison Chadwick was the moniker the two of them saddled me with for the first several years of a somewhat privileged upbringing until I liberated myself with adolescent revelry and the nickname Denny. Who in the hell names their kid Milton anyway? That was the start of a feigned impertinence that only I and my hesitant parents were aware of.

From the time I was a toddler they called me Milton. From 14 on I was Denny to everybody else at the Academy they shuffled me off to and beyond the gates, at least to those who knew little of my circumstances. Asbury Academy, AA being shorthand for Assholes Anonymous provided a refuge for spoiled young turds and the need to keep them away from everyday Homo sapiens lest the joys of life rub off on our delicate constitutions.

It was all tripe and everybody knew it. By age 16 we were escaping out the back window and down the fire escape before trotting off to the downtown in search of girls and any alcohol our young fingers could take hold of. If it was a weekend somebody would get in a fight with a local tough while another would sneak a 'towny' girl into the dorm until daybreak. When it came time to leave at age 18 dear Mother and Father saw fit to send me off to the family alma mater at William & Mary where I avoided fossilization by learning distillery craftsmanship and the finer arts of academic married pussy.

That latter point probably needs a bit of explanation. I had been living off campus for the better part of a year when I discovered an eclectic little pastry shop a short way from my apartment. I settled down into my seat with a fresh Danish and a café au lait and started working my way through the sports, comics and Dear Abby, in that order.

I caught her lingering gaze on occasion if I glanced up from the printed page and she would cleverly look down at her empty palms; middle late thirties, mature to the 19 year old mind, frosted bottle blond with just a tad too much eye shadow accented with red lips. She rose up and grasping her coffee cup sauntered over to the seat across from me and sat down.

"Browning's Lit on even days at Washington Hall; 10am class?" She asked me.

"Yes, although I try to avoid the Friday class when I can. It gives me a running start on the weekend. I'm Denny Chadwick and you?"

"Cynthia Browning. I believe you know my husband Patrick." She smiled at my response.

Professor Patrick Browning was the self- assured gift to all of God's creatures, especially the female variety, who taught English Lit 204 on those even days in Washington Hall. How she knew me I had no clue unless she happened to be in the faculty room across the hall.

"Oh yes, I've been suffering under his tutelage for the past four weeks now." I let a smile escape but it was an easy task. I would have smiled if nothing was said. This woman had flawless skin, abundant breasts and an ass that perfectly filled the hip huggers she planted in the seat.

"Oh, he's harmless, really... Denny, if I can call you that, one of the admins in Washington Hall recommended you and I have some work I'd like to have a young man do at our home. The pay is good. Are you game?"

She didn't need to ask me twice and that afternoon I was at the Browning residence a short walk off campus moving boxes and restacking shelves in their garage. Cynthia would come out occasionally to see if I needed anything and on each trip I could have sworn she lost a piece of clothing or something suddenly became too tight. It might have been my imagination but that question was put to rest when she showed up almost wearing a two piece bathing suit and tossed me a towel and a pair of shorts.

"Shower up when you're done and join me by the pool. The shower is in the changing room off to the side."

I finished up in record time and after I had changed I joined her and she had a bottle of wine already opened. I'm not a thick headed man and given I could damn near see every precious fold of her treasure before me I had a pretty good idea how that afternoon was going to end up.

"And Professor Browning is where today?" I asked with as much innocence as I could feign.

"Pour me a glass of wine. He's gone until early next week."

This wasn't a seduction; it was a fucking takeover. Cynthia was an aggressive woman who knew exactly what she wanted and she was acquiring it. I poured the wine, rubbed lotion onto her skin and when she rolled over and removed her top my eyes feasted on her naked, full breasts lying before me, nipples sitting firmly on top of dark pink areolas.

"Don't forget this side."

I was a red blooded youngster and didn't need any further instruction. I slipped out of my shorts and let Johnson rise to his occasion before dropping down and gently licking and sucking each nipple. Of course there was a privacy fence but at that point I would have done it down on the corner.

Mrs. Browning didn't waste any time taking charge. She reached down and with both thumbs pulled off the bottoms, spread her thighs wide on the chaise and whispered 'Eat me'... and I did. When it was my turn she gave me absolutely the best blowjob I had ever received at that point in my young life and rather than make any attempt to edge it she just went for the nut, no hesitation.

The rest of the afternoon and evening was spent in her bed with breaks for eats and drinks and at one point I found myself fucking her on the edge of Professor Browning's billiards table. Her own sense of propriety prevented her from letting me stay the night for whatever reason but by that time I was about as sexually sated as a virile young man could be.

For the rest of the semester I spent one afternoon a week hammering dick into Mrs. Cynthia Browning's tight wet pink. I never did find out who recommended me but when the semester was over she and the Professor left on his sabbatical to Spain and Portugal... nice gig if you can get it.

I knew why she picked me. When I was a young fellow I was a 'pretty boy'. I had the looks, the physical build, all that charm and crap and I guess thanks to dear old Dad I was blessed in a certain physical manner. All that together created a reputation; I was comfortable and had a rapport around women and they knew it. It also helped that I had no interest in settling down with one chick; the playing field was just too damn nice.

Cynthia didn't leave me empty-handed. She convinced her husband to hire me to look after their house while they were gone and before she left she slipped a piece of paper in my hand.

"Call her. She is expecting you and trust me when I say you will not be disappointed."

I wasn't. Marjory Pillars was a puckish forty year old Fine Arts professor married to the Asst. Chair of the History department with an insatiable appetite for sneaking out of the house for raucous sex in my apartment at all hours of the night. That lasted until the end of my junior year and by then my delightful Mrs. Browning was back. We stayed regular until I graduated and she sent me off into the world with the experiences of a lifetime.

Was I a shit for fucking these other men's wives? Of course I was but at the time I was young, brash and if they wanted it somebody was going to fit the bill. I never gave any thought to getting caught and if I had at the time it wouldn't have mattered anyway. Then, life intervened and actual adulthood was forced to kick in...

"Milton, your father went to a lot of trouble to get you this position at Stearns-Rogers. Please give it your utmost best, won't you dear?"

My mother could be a pretentious woman at times but she's mom; I loved her without exception. I didn't really want the job even though it paid nearly twice what other grads were getting coming out of the same class. The carefree desires of youth were still tugging at me but after a few talks and half-hearted threats of semi-financial ruin I succumbed to the ravages of responsibility.

Father was a director on the board but he didn't have any play in the day to day affairs of the company. Nonetheless the family name got me the job and helped smooth the way through the corporate playground. I was appreciative of it but I still hadn't exorcised the careless excesses of youth entirely. Then, it caught up with me, the irresponsibility that is.

Melissa Moriarty was an incredibly cute little woman working in the accounting department. There was just something about her that said "you need to fuck this and like, right now". She was also married with a little girl. In my mind it didn't matter. It also didn't matter that her husband was a religiously jealous man, one I should have taken note of before I let my dick think for me.

It took a while to get the beautiful little woman to the place I wanted. I bought her lunch every chance I could, talked her into stopping at the brew pub down the street. I pulled out all the stops and finally I fucked her. Then, I fucked her again and again after that and before I knew it I was addicted to her. That's all I can call it, an addiction. It wasn't love, hell, I hadn't loved any girl ever, not in a real love kind of way, whatever that is.

For her part she was falling in love and I didn't do anything to assuage her differently. I just kept tapping it until one day it caught up with me...

It was like hearing the audible cracking of your own jaw which is precisely what it was. Melissa's husband caught me flush on the lower jaw with the business end of an aluminum bat. It crumpled me to the ground and he kept on coming. I woke up in a hospital room hours later with four broken ribs, my jaw wired tight, both shoulders dislocated and reset with my wrist in a cast to the elbow. I had also lost nearly a dozen teeth and my right eye socket had taken a direct hit. It appeared the pretty boy's days were over.

Melissa fared worse than me. Her husband beat her into a coma and was about to administer what would have been another horrendous strike when a deputy fired three rounds into his chest to protect her from what would have probably been a fatal blow. He was DOA and she was lying in a room two floors down comatose and on a respirator.

I didn't feel like Milton Dennison Chadwick that day in that terrible room. I was the monster that brought ruin upon an entire family. I learned from one of the nurses that Melissa's daughter was staying with her parents while they hoped and prayed for her recovery. A week later I was discharged as Melissa Moriarty remained in a coma although she was off the respirator. She came out of it three days after I left.

Mother had me stay with her at the family place on Lake Norman while I recuperated. Her housekeeper waited on me hand and foot until I had to nearly throw her out in exasperation. I know she meant well but I couldn't take it anymore.

Every attempt to contact Melissa was rebuffed by her parents and I suppose I didn't blame them. I damn near got their daughter killed all over my own selfish pleasure. That's when it started to hit home and the guilt really started eating at me...

"Mother, I'm going to leave the firm."

She didn't object. How could she? I had become something of a pariah at work although senior management never approached me in any fashion. Instead I was the philanderer that others whispered about, who nearly got a girl killed. Even her brutal husband was regarded in a more favorable light as the victim of my transgressions.

"What are your plans, Milton? "

"I'm not altogether sure but I've got enough set aside that I can explore some options. Until I can decide, I need to take some time and figure a few things out."

I had recuperated from my injuries quite well although I had a couple facial scars to carry. Modern dentistry is actually quite remarkable; implants restored my smile although I really didn't have a lot to smile about. Curiously, Melissa also came through her ordeal rather well except for the psychological terror of it. She didn't want to talk to me once she came back to work and I couldn't blame her; I despised myself as well.

One thing I did do to placate my own guilt was to anonymously cover her out of pocket medical costs at the hospital and once all things were squared away, I tendered my resignation and two weeks later started an introspective journey west on I-40...

It's funny how things turn out sometimes when we look back on life. For years I would fuck anything that looked good and it didn't matter whether there was a ring on the finger or not; I wanted it. Now, I was on an almost anti-adulterer crusade; not the religious variety but one driven by the realization that some things are sacrosanct, a husband and wife relationship being among them. Now that didn't mean I was some kind of holy do-gooder. To the contrary, if there was no ring on the finger and she was single and available then Johnson was on the clock.

I spent a couple months heading west and back before I decided to give Asheville, NC a try. An automotive parts manufacturer hired me to run their production planning department and with a good bit of patience and long hours settled into my new career.

Asheville's an eclectic community in the mountains of western Carolina, a four season destination of both retired moms and pops and the pseudo hippy crowd trying to recreate a Haight- Ashbury they never knew a thing about. One thing they have going for it like few other places is one of the best craft Ale industries anywhere.

It was while sipping a Greenman high kick IPA at Jack's on Patton Ave that I caught a glimpse of the most beautiful woman east of the Mississippi, at least as far as I was concerned. She was tapping her toes to the strumming music of a local barn band set up on the tiny stage just past the polished patina of the oak bar.

"Her name's Marylyn." The girl at the bar said when she caught me eyeing the beauty. "And she likes to dance."

I didn't need any further encouragement. I was off the stool before I could second guess myself and headed toward the object of my desire. I almost made it. At least I got to see her accept the hand of some tall blue eyed Adonis and flow into the tight cluster of souls swirling dervish in a mass of male and female flesh.

I guess meandered is the word I need. Yeah, I meandered back to my beer trying to be inconspicuously victorious in my pursuit. The girl at the bar saw right through it and just laughed.

"If you look around you'll see a couple girls checking you out... IF you still want to dance, that is."

I did but every time I kept stealing a sly glance at the mysterious Marylyn to no avail. After a couple numbers of sawdust music I just settled into the company of the young woman I was dancing with at the time. You know it's a bad night when even the 2nd and 3rd stringers move on. I rubbed the scar along my eye socket and eyed the doorway for my exit.

"You never came and asked me to dance again." She said as she took the bar stool next to mine.

Marylyn had the softest brown eyes I had ever gazed into and a slight scent of patchouli, well, it was Asheville.

"You've been pretty busy out there."

Maybe it was a secret twinkle in her eye that escaped just for my amusement but she seemed different. That could have been why I kept eyeing her through the evening; she was someone more interesting than just a conquest.

"OK, then, let's dance," She said as I took her hand.

That's what we did and then we did it again until it was nearly closing time. I knew I wasn't going to stuff her panties in my pocket that night but there was still a sense of true accomplishment for a change; something that mattered.

Marylyn Sutton worked as an admin at a local consulting firm downtown, a branch office of the company that had their main offices across the street from my old employer back in Charlotte, Stearns-Rogers of all things. Our paths never crossed there but she interned in Charlotte under the tutelage of George Nason, the senior managing partner who was a 'friend of the family' and golfing partner of my father; so much for that great big world.

We dated a few times after our first encounter at Jack's and even took a nice weekend in Atlanta together before the immense crinkle in our relationship surfaced.

"Denny, I can't go out this weekend. I have a standing date with a man that I made a long time ago."

Now I can't say that we were a committed couple because quite frankly we had never really discussed it but we had been together a lot for the past couple months.

"A standing date?" I asked.

Marylyn didn't try to hide anything concerning it.

"Yes. I committed myself to being Mr. Nason's companion when he's in town for our quarterly meetings. We've been together for as long as I've known him back when he first hired me. He's almost like a father to me, in a sense and I wouldn't feel right breaking it off without any discussion."

OK, well, so she's got a standing recurring date with a man who is like a father to her, almost. I almost asked if that included fucking his socks off but I didn't. Instead I merely shrugged and tossed in a spoonful of relationship arsenic.

"OK. I'll probably hit Jack's and see if I can get laid while you're tending to old company relationships."

She had that doe in the headlights look on her face and I didn't really give her a chance to dig in as I left a couple bills on the table and walked out the door and past the window where our table was. She was still sitting there looking at where I had been sitting when I went past and around the corner.

Was I being a jackass? Of course I was but I suppose my meandering mind was screaming 'what the fuck?' I knew who George Nason was. Hell, he had been at my parent's house when I was still going by Milton and he was a world class philanderer even if he did carry about forty pounds too much stuffing on his rich frame. Christ, it was eavesdropping on him and my father in the mahogany den at Lake Norman that taught me girls were pussies for the pleasure and enjoyment of men. The Nason's lived across the lake from us and I had been to their stately home several times.

If George Nason was hooking up with Marylyn Sutton on a regular basis every time he came to Asheville she was no doubt one of his out of town concubines; fucking women on the side, the younger the better, has been his stock in trade for years.

All that said, Marylyn had smitten me from the first time I saw her back at Jack's and she wasn't somebody I wanted to lose to old man Nason. I had to give her credit though; she didn't hide it and tell some grandiose tale of being on the family clock for dear old mom and dad or whomever. Oh no, she was giving up her prime tail estate to an old fucking fat goat!

Smitten or not, Milton Dennison Chadwick was not going to play second fiddle to Marylyn Sutton's paramour under any circumstance. So I did what I've always done best. I poured a couple fingers of Woodfords, stiffened my resolve and stepped into the role mother always wanted of me; I headed up to the Grove Park Inn to scour the offerings.