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.