She wasn't gorgeous. She didn't have huge tits. She wasn't svelte. 
But she was lovely, smart, cosmopolitan, in every way a lady, 
and not in the sense of having good table manners and having 
walked with books on her head as a child. She was occasionally 
bold, openly sexual without flirting, she listened when people 
spoke to her, and most of all she could make absolutely anyone 
feel at ease with her whether it was with a giggle, a reassuring 
word, or a touch. I was in love with her and twenty years old. 
She was thirty-four and a friend of my father's. She was rich as 
well, well out of any hopes I might have. I fantasized about her 
every night, whether it was her watching from a chair and 
smoking a cigarette while I screwed a girlfriend I didn't have, or 
me screwing those girlfriends as they went down on her, 
watching her pretty face, or me laboring dumbly on top of her, 
having mechanical sex that I took little pleasure in. 
 
I was attending a local university and living alone. And, as 
misfortune would have it, I encountered her one day at my 
parent's house, sitting across from my mom and drinking green 
tea. Her jet-black coif without curls that curled up on one side 
framed her beautiful almond skin. "Hi, Mrs. Hsui. Do you mind if 
I butt in on your conversation?"
 
"No, Richard. That would be perfect." I loved the way she said 
my name, loved that she called me Richard instead of Rick. "Can 
you tell me about your school? About your classes." She looked 
down, apparently uncomfortable.
 
"School's going well. I'm managing to stay above a 3.5 and I love, 
absolutely love living alone. I liked my roommates very much, but 
the alcohol that was ubiquitous and cigarette smoke was getting 
to me." I couldn't believe I had used the word "ubiquitous" to 
impress her, and clumsily at that. While I was still in high school, 
she had brought out the best in me, and still did in a way, but 
now that I felt more like an adult, I was more forward and so 
my infatuation with her was more obvious. "That's not school 
though. It's slow going and I have no idea how I'll make it 
through all the . . . It's the thought that all college amounts to is 
a series of academic hurdles that you jump to get a piece of 
paper to prove you jumped them. And, in physics, I have to go 
on to grad school or I'll wind up a lab tech."
 
"You shouldn't be drinking," she said, narrowing her eyes in 
amusement and lowering her head to sip her tea. "Have you 
covered that theory of relativity yet?" She had come to the US 
on an academic visa and her English was still slightly broken but 
she showed no self-consciousness about it and it somehow added 
to her charm. 
 
"Yes. I vaguely understand it. Special relativity. It revolves around 
the notion that light owes its mass to traveling at the speed of 
light, and must travel at the speed of light relative to everything 
or it loses it's mass and ceases to exist. The universe simply 
couldn't exist without special relativity. How it happens is 
anyone's guess like Newton's theory of gravity. He postulated the 
existence of a graviton to explain how gravity worked and he 
was wrong. Simply put, how it works is beyond the scope of the 
reality of it."
 
"Smart. Acceptance of what is true and must be true is 
important to peace." She smiled compassionately. "Richard, if you 
need money, I need help with something. I'm having a party and 
I want to look cultured. If you'll play coat-checker at the 
beginning of the evening, I'll pay you and you can mingle later 
provided you leave the alcohol." She smiled again in a positively 
predatory. "You want a haircut before, maybe?"
 
"Yes, I guess so."
 
"You need one."
 
"Goodbye, Mrs. Hsui. Oh, wait. When is it."
 
"New Year's Eve. When else would it be?" She eyed me quizzically 
as though the question were dead serious then laughed out the 
words, "I'm fucking with you."
 
"Yes." I nodded, and stood to leave. "Mom, I'll be somewhere else."
 
"Are you leaving?" My mother asked.
 
"No, just heading down to the basement to, to watch TV." I 
wanted desperately to tug on my dick.
 
"Okay."
 
"It was pleasant talking to you, Richard," Mrs. Hsui said in her 
lovely, lilting voice as I walked away.
 
"Yes."
 
I spent the next three weeks fantasizing about sex Amy in the 
coat closet, sex with Amy on a bed, sex with Amy on her bed, 
sex with Amy in the shower, sex with Amy in the snow, even 
Amy catching me having sex with her dog followed by sex with 
Amy. Amy was Mrs. Hsui's first name. 
 
The night of the party, I wore the tuxedo I had rented that Amy 
promised to reimburse me for in addition to the ludicrous sum of 
money she was paying me. So I sat on a wooden stool in the 
foyer as guests rang the bell, stand, and take their coats. It 
hadn't occurred to me that I might be tipped and I quickly began 
smiling when I saw fur. And of course Amy intercepted half the 
guests before they ventured off the large tiles of the floor. I had 
never seen her so beautiful, and for the first time I honestly 
thought she was that, beautiful, in full make-up and a red dress 
with a short hemline. "Who needs a little black dress when you 
have a little red dress?" she commented to one woman in 
response to being chastised for it. She must have sensed that I 
was dying for a moment alone because she provided me with 
one. Two hours after the start of the party, she relieved me of 
my duty and escorted me into the kitchen where half the guests 
were congregated. "I'd like to introduce everyone to the hat-
check boy."
 
I blushed crimson. "I hope you saved your ticket stubs or the 
coats stay."
 
"No you don't. I have a picture, several in point of fact, of me in 
my phone wearing that absurd sable my ex-husband's lawyer 
bought me, and I mean that literal." A chorus of half-drunken 
laughter arose from the crowd. She had handed me a hundred 
dollars to hang up that absurd thing and so I burst into laughter 
at her next joke, breaking to a chorus of . . . "Oh, Danny boy, the 
pipes the pipes are calling, from glen to glen, and through the 
mountain side."
 
"You'd better be Irish. We Irish are fighters," another woman 
said. 
 
"Dutch. We Dutch are bigots."
 
Amy reached over and tugged at the fabric of my sleeve. "How 
good are you at picking random numbers?" she asked. "I need 
your help for a few minutes."
 
Following her down a hallway, I realized that she had sensed I 
wanted a moment alone with her and was providing it. It 
couldn't have been hard to sense. I hadn't been able to keep my 
forlorn eyes off her whenever she had ventured into the foyer. 
She opened a door to the garage and held out her hand. "Steps. 
Heels. Drinking." I took it and stayed inside, our two arms 
stretching as she descended the three steps into the garage, then 
spun. Breaking free of my grip, she gave a half-twirl and faced 
me. "You'd better be better at providing random numbers than 
you are at controlling your eyes. We'll be running a Chi-squared 
analysis when we're through here." Her index finger rose in the 
air at shoulder level and I realized I'd been staring at her breasts. 
She smiled widely.
 
"Am I that much of a dork?"
 
"Yes," she said with a deep nod after a long pause. "It's easier 
than it looks. Come." She led me to a hallway lined with wine 
racks. "Now I counted these ahead of time and each row is fifty 
bottles long and eight bottles high, so numbers please. If you hit a 
hole, I'll tell you."
 
My draw dropped. I simply couldn't believe she was flirting with 
me. "Amy . . ."
 
"You don't hide anything. Not from me. Did you like my coat 
closet?"
 
I began to grow hard. "I didn't get an adequate . . ."
 
"You didn't get adequate?" She stood before me, popping up on 
her toes and smiling.  I stared at her, mouth agape, for an 
eternity, lost in her sparkling eyes. She clipped on her heels over 
to a table at the other corner of the garage and pulled the tarp 
off it to reveal green felt. "Don't ask me if I want a game." She 
nudged the table with her hips then patted its top.
 
"You need help," I murmured, feeling struck by sudden stupidity 
and approached her. She backed into the table and I put my 
hands on her waist. I lifted her up to a loud high-pitched sound 
that I joined her in making then stared up at her and 
unthinkingly bobbed up on my toes. She leaned over, lips parted, 
staring quietly, softly down at me. I bobbed up again and held 
myself with my hands on the edge of the pool table. She started 
to raise a hand and I let go of the pool table, grabbed her head, 
brought it to mine and kissed her. I moaned into her mouth as 
she gently explained herself to me with her tongue, her lips, and 
her teeth as she pulled away. 
 
Amy patted the edge of the felt again. "Now," she said. I paused. 
"Now." Her eyes were wide and frantic. I hopped up on the pool 
table with her and kissed her again. Her forehead settled against 
my lips when we were through. "We have no time, Rick."
 
I reached over and tried to push her back onto the table, kissing 
her again but she resisted. I tried to pull her back onto me and 
she allowed me to, taking her time to show me I was hers and 
she was mine and there was nothing in between us but her 
panties which weren't there anymore, just as my own pants had 
come down and then my eyelashes batting as I was enveloped by 
her pussy. She said nothing. In fact,  she barely moved. Her eyes 
were flat and cold as ice, vanity sparkling through their surface, 
a simple statement on a beautiful face: "I own you." It hurt to 
watch, to know that the woman I was so infatuated with, that I 
had fallen in love with in the space of five minutes or perhaps 
the whole evening thought of me as nothing but a possession, a 
toy to her fancy and ego, my mind and heart a plaything to her 
body. It hurt and frightened me so badly that I couldn't bear 
look at her. I knew she wanted me to, but I turned away.
 
"Rick," she said, her soft, sweet voice anesthetizing the moment. 
"Me." She was two fingers at her eyes and I held her gaze. 
 
"Amy," I whimpered. "Amy, Amy." 
 
"Rick." She moaned the word deeply in her throat and something 
went haywire inside of me. It was too much, all too much and I 
began to grow soft inside her slowly grinding hips.
 
"No. Ammmyy," I whined, my head flopping back on the table as 
she rode my soft dick with increasing fervor, the tendons on her 
neck contracting and relaxing again and again. Finally, the eyes 
bulged out of her head as I stared up helplessly afraid into her.
 
"Poor baby," she said, cupping my cheek, then rose off me and 
slid to the floor. She eyed my limp penis with a sparkle of 
amusement in her eye, then leaned over and . . . I came 
instantly. "You're a good fuck, but you need to learn to be 
cleaner." She raised her arm up and sniffed.
 
"It was nervousness."
 
"We won't see each other again, Richard. Sorry, sweetie." She 
slipped back into the house and was right. I didn't see her for the 
rest of the evening, or ever again.