Date: Fri, 17 Jul 2009 18:07:25 -0500
From: Klick Konner <klick.konner@gmail.com>
Subject: The Event IV

As we descended the stairs I could not take my eyes off his ass.  When
finely tailored fabrics caress the globes of a man's gluteus maximus, it is
a withering sight to behold.  Besides, I could still see the naked one
underneath as I had lifted my face from it only a scant few minutes ago.  I
realized that I had a chubby as his leather clad feet landed on the marble
floor at the base of the stairs.  His shoes were stunning, and darkly
colored.  Top drawer.

He stopped and turned to wait for me to finish my own descent.  His eyes
discovered my indiscretion, and his right hand slid to the small of my back
as he ushered me toward the dining room.  "You are safe here, Aaron." He
whispered as we walked through the open doors into a brilliantly sunlit room
that, again, overlooked the river and its colorful cliffs across the way.  Elsa
was standing by the bank of windows sipping from a flute of reddish yellow
liquid replete with crushed ice and a bright red strawberry.

"Ah, Ms Cavanaugh, I see you have had the pleasure of Hans' fresh squeezed
fruits!"   Ever the quintessential host, Kent seemed to tie everything in to
a neat little bundle with a single statement.

Elsa blushed.  Hans smiled.  I cracked up.  Kent winked.

"Tell me my dear, were the wives as entertaining as you had imagined?"

"Oh Mr. Clark!  I may never recover!!  I have begun to think you cast a
spell over me and it was all just a dream."

"Hardly, my dear.  And please, call me Kent.  They should all be joining us
in a moment.  Aaron, would you mind sitting here?"  Kent stood behind one of
the twelve identical chairs surrounding the enormous glass topped table that
appeared to float unsupported.  Pulling it a bit from the edge, he nodded in
my direction.  God!  He is so regal.  And I became a puppy.

As I sat, per request, Kent moved toward the other side of the table.  About
that time, two presidents (one past and one present) of the United States of
America walked in, followed by their wives and four others who all looked
somewhat familiar.  I learned during the introductions, a bit later, why.  One
was the Chief of Staff, one was a Cabinet Member, one a Supreme Court Judge,
and the last was the grandson of the Queen of England.  I immediately stood
again as they began circling the table.

Kent was obviously the perfect host, as he personally seated each person
with a gracious nod and quiet word, as one by one, we all sat.  He was the
last to slip like a nimble cat into the last remaining seat on the opposite
side of the table from me.  Our eyes locked momentarily.

On my right sat a prince, on my left, the current First Lady.  The prince
was tall and lean.  His head was covered with casually spiked strawberry
blond hair, erring on the side of copper.  Angular features accentuated his
astonishingly green blue eyes, that danced as he smiled and chatted with the
former president to his right.  The woman to my left had softly browned skin
that glowed golden, as if it had been basted with rich caramelized butter.  Her
teeth were mesmerizingly white.

The chatter around the table was low enough that one could hear snippets of
conversation, that could occasionally be heard across the distance from the
other side.  I caught my name being spoken by the sultry voice of Kent
Clark.  I looked up. And as if on cue, he winked.  The President looked at
me and smiled, followed by an almost imperceptible nod.  I blushed, and
turned to his wife.

Her long elegant French-manicured fingers held a fork with a wedge of
pineapple speared by its prongs, as she moved it to her full-lipped
mouth.  "Pure
elegance" was all that came to mind.

I looked over at Elsa.  She was chatting away with the judge on one side,
and the former First Lady on the other.  She looked at me and smiled
sheepishly, then returned to her chatter as she laughed out loud.

I found myself reflecting on the last twelve hours.  I had been enchanted,
seduced, sated, then introduced to a handful of the most influential people
I had ever met in this lifetime, to date.

As he stood, my heart began to pound inexplicably.  The other guests fell
silent as he lifted a flute of golden Veuve Clicquot.

"Allow me to thank you for such a civilized event last evening, as well as
the morning after.  I propose a toast to the future."  His deep brown eyes
found mine.  "I want all of you to know you are welcome here.  And that
anything that happens in Little Rock, stays in Little Rock."  The twinkle in
his eyes evoked nods, lifted flutes, several clinks of crystal stemware, and
at least a half dozen "here-here's."

Soon thereafter, the other eleven began to mill about, some retiring to the
balconies that overlooked the river.  I stood at the table, wondering.  Was
I falling in love?  It certainly felt that way.  Was this all a fleeting
dream?  It certainly seemed that way.  Was I to be disappointed as the
afterglow receded?  Probably.

"Aaron.  Can I have a word with you?"  His voice alone caused me to plump
up.  The simple timber of his cadence caused a visceral reaction in my
loins.  I looked at him.  He smiled, and intoned his head toward a set of
French doors to my left.

As we slipped through the opening he had indicated, he shut the doors and
locked them, pulling the draperies together, in two swift movements.  This
gorgeous apparition gently dropped to his knees in front of me and began
releasing the buckle of my belt.  My heart raced wildly as he slid my slacks
and boxer-briefs to by knees.  His voice had already prepared me for what
was to come, as it were.

As I looked down, he was already making contact with the enflamed part of me
I no longer seemed able to control.  The tender moistness of his mouth
forced my breath to catch.  His hands moved deftly around my thighs and up
to my glutes, squeezing gently as he took me to the root.  I wanted to
scream!

It took two minutes, including a deftly place finger, for me to explode.  He
stood, put his hands behind my neck, pulled me into a kiss, and then shared
with me my juices.

As we walked out onto the balcony, I could still taste the salt of my own
fluids on my tongue.  If this wasn't love, what is, I thought?

When Elsa leaned up to kiss me on the corner of my lips, she leaned back and
said, "Hmmm."  I blushed.

"Is that what it tastes like, Aaron?"

"Shhh!" I hissed.

"It is!  Is it his?"

"It's mine, Elsa.  Later."

"Hmmm.  Sooner rather than later would be my guess.  I certainly want to
hear *this* story..."

One short hour later, we were again in the shower suite.  He was on his
back, knees to his shoulders, and I was sweating, despite all the cooling
spigots aimed at us in the center of his exquisite oasis.

Perfection is such a subjective term, but I had never once been attracted to
youthful, skinny, hairless men.  The one at the end of my extension was
fifty-five, well defined, and moderately hairy.  He was also delirious at
this point, as we crossed the finish line simultaneously.

I was still inside when he pulled my face to his, as I rarely softened in
his presence.  He held my face within an inch of his and said, "My head is
in a spin, my feet don't touch the ground."

I began to cry.