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(Dedicated to my wife, Darla, in celebration of 30 years of marriage and kinky sex)

*quot;You're not going to believe where I went today!*quot; Darla blurted with an enthusiasm that revealed she'd been bursting to tell me all day.

*quot;Where?*quot;

*quot;Remember that house you've always wanted to see next to the Country Club?*quot;

*quot;Be more specific.*quot;

*quot;You know, it's the one at the end of that long windy street with the contemporary gate house? All you can see is the driveway,*quot; she said in slight exasperation.

*quot;610 Cypress Crossing?*quot;

*quot;Wow, you actually know the address? I made a delivery there today.*quot;

Darla was practically hyperventilating with her news.

*quot;Damn, I can't believe you went there without me!*quot;

*quot;The guy who lives there came into the shop the other day...I've seen him a few times before...he asked if we could deliver it.*quot;

*quot;Fuck! Why didn't you ask me?*quot;

*quot;It was just a mirror, plus I didn't want to bother you.*quot;

*quot;Man, I've always wanted to see what was behind that gate!*quot;

*quot;I had no idea that's where I was going until the GPS pulled me up to the front gate. I freaked out!*quot;

*quot;You should have called me!*quot;

*quot;I wanted to, but I'd barely pulled up and was already on camera. I couldn't back up then.*quot; Pleading her case. *quot;They buzzed me in. It was the longest driveway I've ever seen, through it's own mini forest. You can't even see a neighbor. There's no way to even get a glimpse of this place. It's all glass and super-cool, very contemporary but not brand new.

*quot;Fuck! I want to see it!

*quot;I'm sorry,*quot; She said sincerely.

*quot;Is this what you were wearing? No wonder he wanted it delivered.*quot;

*quot;The instructions were to leave it at the front door or I wouldn't have worn this.*quot;

*quot;He just wanted to see you in yoga pants.*quot;

*quot;Funny,*quot; - she flatly retorted as I characteristically tried to divert her storyline to sex - *quot;I'm sure he wasn't thinking I was going to deliver it, plus I don't wear yoga pants at the shop.*quot;

*quot;He probably just thought you were hot and wanted another look at your sexy ass.*quot;

*quot;Ha Ha,*quot; she dryly retorted once again.

*quot;If the word gets out that hotties are making deliveries, sales are going to go up.*quot;

*quot;Hmm...maybe so...our thing could be slutty delivery chicks,*quot; she mused just to humor me.

*quot;What was the house like?*quot;

*quot;I didn't get to go in actually. As soon as I pulled up he looked like he was about to leave and came over to grab it.*quot;

*quot;I bet he did!*quot;

*quot;Don't be jealous,*quot; saying each word slowly.

*quot;Of all the houses, fuck! Who is this guy?*quot;

*quot;His name is Rick Favreau, he owns some kind of construction company Brenda said.*quot;

*quot;Fuck!*quot; I couldn't hide my disappointment.

*quot;I did drop that my husband had always wanted to see this house. He said next time he'd buy something bigger so you could help deliver it.*quot;

*quot;Ha, I hope he does.*quot;

*quot;I think he was just being funny.*quot;

*quot;Call him and tell him you have something big to show him and dress slutty that day.*quot;

*quot;You'd pimp me out for a home tour?*quot; she said, shaking her head in mock disappointment.

*quot;I'm thinking yea.*quot;

*********

Darla had plenty of shop *quot;boyfriends*quot; as I called them. Darla's shop is an upscale vintage store specializing in Mid-Century Modern (MCM) and 70's style furniture and fixtures. She was somewhat naive in her complaints about her fan club always stopping by on her workdays. This one *quot;is such a talker,*quot; and *quot;I can never get anything done,*quot; when such and such comes by.

Her slender, sexy build, along with playful attentive banter, that amped up in the company of intelligent men especially, exuded a charm and youthfulness that defied any sign she was just beyond her own mid-century. She's tall with shoulder-length dark brown hair, perfectly fills out a pair of Rich and Skinny jeans, and armed with perfectly perky C-cup tits, all wrapped up in an intelligent, witty, classy and sassy woman with style. She knows what she wants, how to get it, and what to do with it. If I wasn't married to her, I might be finding excuses to shop for fancy furniture myself and brush up on my retro designer lingo. Basically she's a hot-fucking Mid-Century MILF, covetable, collectable, and rare as it gets.

After quite a few casual mentions over the following weeks, I'd added Rick as a new member of the club. I suspected he was inspired to join because of the quality delivery service.

*********

It was almost three months later, while taking care of a maintenance issue at the shop, when I got my first introduction to *quot;Rick this and Rick that.*quot;

*quot;Rick, this is my husband, Alvin.*quot;

*quot;Hey Rick, nice to finally meet you.*quot;

*quot;Same here. Darla told me you were interested in post-modern architecture. You two should come over for a cocktail sometime and see the house.*quot;

*quot;Oh wow...hey, I was just hoping to get a delivery gig.*quot;

He chuckled. The short grey waves of his salt and pepper hair put him probably just a little older than me, teetering around 60, plus or minus, but a fit, cool-looking 60. He probably works out and I imagined Escort Bayan he still has abs. He looked like money and wore it well, the kind of rich guy who didn't seem to condescend with it, just happened to have or make a lot. The graciousness of his manner showed he was a people person and wasn't flashy just to impress, even though I now assumed the black Mercedes two-seater outside was his - and obviously would necessitate everything being delivered.

*quot;No really, come out to the house one evening and I'll give you both the nickel tour.*quot;

*quot;Awe, that would be great, thanks so much,*quot; I added, trying not to sound overeager and resisting the temptation to press for the 'alternate choice close' - would you prefer Tuesday or Wednesday?

*quot;And I'm dying to see what you're doing with all the things you've been buying,*quot; Darla chimed in.

I peeled back off to my task and let Darla escort him on, hoping she'd secure a firm invite.

*********

Six more weeks passed before Darla casually and artfully nailed down an official date and time without coming across as desperate. By this point he'd become a significant customer for her, having spent tens of thousands on miscellaneous pieces of accent furniture and retro trinkets. I could tell Darla had a crush on his taste if not the man himself, and had rhapsodized endlessly about seeing his Paul Evans and Tommi Parzinger collections. She'd been a bit frustrated that she hadn't been able to worm her way back for any deliveries since the first one with Rick always insisting to send his own people back to get them.

In spite of Darla's relentless references to *quot;Rick this and Rick that,*quot; my knowledge of him was limited to stalking a satellite photo of his house from Google earth and that he was a widower with two grown children abroad but lived alone in the house he had built in the 90's to stay in town, close to his business interests that spanned several generations.

*********

Tour Day finally arrived and we were both giddy and excited as if we'd landed a royal invitation. We were going early enough in the evening that we planned to catch a quick dinner after the tour, but by the way Darla was primping you'd have thought she was heading for a fancy blind date.

*quot;What do you think about these shoes with this? Stockings, no stockings? Day or night hoops?*quot; peppering me with choices.

*quot;Panties, no panties?*quot; I interjected.

*quot;Don't get testy.*quot; She threw back, along with a momentary and reassuring flirty gaze.

She looked smoking hot from head to the red painted toes visible through the sheer, nude, stay-up thigh highs and harnessed in high-heeled black strappy sandals with a sexy ankle cuff. The long fringe of her black, lacy, Ramy Brook wrap-around skirt went modestly to mid-calf, but the split up the front left side revealed the top of the thigh-high when she walked - classy and provocative at the same time. I could see she was braless the way the silky, iridescent blue tank top dangled on her tits. She went with the bigger *quot;night hoop*quot; earrings, by the way, which was usually a sign I was getting laid that night. She also put on a black-banded disco ball choker, which was a second sign that she was in the mood for it to be a little rougher if I got my chance.

I better at least upgrade to my nicer jeans!

*********

I felt worthy pressing the intercom button at the uber-contemporary unmanned gatehouse in my new Mustang convertible; happy I wasn't showing up in the 16-year-old delivery truck. We were buzzed in at ten after six, early enough to see the place in daylight, but close enough to evening that Darla wasn't overdoing the dress code for a drink and a home tour.

The driveway really was long. As we came around, the line of trees broke revealing the first glimpse of the house, which was stunning. By the time you see it, you're already almost on top of the front entrance looking down the length of two stories of pure glass intersecting with another glass wing in the distance offering a cutaway of the entire interior. The whole place glowed from the inside even in the daylight.

I struggled as I exited the car to absorb the panorama; the full length of Darla's stockinged leg emerging up and through the split in her skirt on my right as she climbed out of my sports car, the glass monolith rising from the lush grounds on my left, and Rick strutting up the middle to greet us.

*quot;Darla, Alvin, welcome!*quot; (to 'Fantasy Island' I added in my own head.)

*quot;Darla, you look lovely tonight.*quot; (and me?)

*quot;Thank You*quot; she drew out with effort, never being one quite sure how to receive a compliment or produce the required fake graciousness. She was likely torn between thinking 'Yes I know, planned it that way' or 'lovely? Is that the best you can do?'

They exchanged a hug, we a handshake, and handed him a token nickel of wine as underpayment for the tour as he conducted a ceremony that normally takes place in a foyer instead of a driveway. Once you passed the entrance gates to this inner sanctum, the lines were blurred between inside and outside with the house itself making barely a distinction. Bayan Escort

*quot;Would you like to walk the property before it gets dark?*quot; he suggested.

*quot;Yes, definitely!*quot; Darla responded, as she simultaneously signaled with a glance to be on alert to help with heels on grass.

She had been a horticulturist by education and no doubt just as eager to explore the landscape as she was the furniture collection.

Tall, thinly branched trees were planted in a connect-the-dots grid filling the front quadrant of yard created by the crossed wings of the house. We strolled the pathways and grounds with intermittent stops and conversation about plants, landscaping, history of the property, and the story behind the construction of the house as the light of the day slowly retired.

The emerging darkness forced retreat around the rear of the house revealing it's layout as a massive *quot;T-shape.*quot; Protruding from the backside was a small-by-comparison thin plane of roof forming an outdoor living room on the first floor with a sunbathing deck above. The structure framed a grand view to the ocean of pool on the other side and created an invitation to this cozy, sofa-filled shoal. Glowing blue light washed the ceilings of the breezy hangout in the dusk of the evening and illuminated a grand canopy of cantilevered overhangs capping the main two-story wall of glass.

*quot;Wow!*quot; we said, or maybe only thought, struggling to swallow the radiance and magic of the view.

*quot;Would you like a drink?*quot; Rick offered as he welcomed us onto the polished stone landing of the pavilion toward a fully stocked bar with enough liquor to satisfy a thirsty resort crowd.

*quot;Or a snack?*quot; palming his hand to present a nice spread of nibbles, meats, and cheeses, seemingly placed and curated by a dismissed staff nowhere to be seen.

*quot;Oh Rick, this is amazing, thank you,*quot; I said appreciatively, humbled by hunger and thirst.

I reached with mild restraint to sample the goodies. We'd already stayed longer than I'd expected the whole tour to take and hadn't even been inside the 8,000 square foot house yet.

*quot;Darla, what would you like?*quot; Rick proffered.

*quot;I don't know if you know what's in it, but I love Lemon Drops or something close to that,*quot; she posed, unaware of it's inadvertent challenge to his skills.

*quot;And you Alvin?*quot;

*quot;I hate to say I like girly drinks too,*quot; I confessed as we all chuckled.

*quot;Martinis all around then!*quot; Rick announced and got busy while we molested the snacks.

Rick was an adept bartender and fairly quickly shook and poured to present Darla with her sugarcoated rimmed cocktail and seamlessly half-filling a second glass with the leftovers. He instantly proceeded to refill the shaker with more liquor to finish out the threesome of aligned glasses.

*quot;Oh my God, this is good,*quot; Darla anointed as she sipped, continuing to finger the snacks in a belated attempt to lay a foundation.

Once armed with cocktails and enough sustenance to keep our stomachs at bay, we continued for the inside portion of the tour. There was so much to look at with the open floor plan revealing everything at once and yet simultaneously teasing you from the other side of glass walls.

I could see Rick and Darla were not going to be breezing through this tour as every piece of furniture, wall art, and tchotchke required an in-depth sidebar into the designer, the items history, and its lineage. Upon reaching the Paul Evans collection they lost me in spirit as my body dutifully followed but my mind split from the tour group to wander and muse on the collage of interior architectural elements; the floating stained-wood open stairs, unseen air vents, a roof supported by glass, and where were the light switches?

Darla, an Objectophiliac, was in heaven, intoxicated at least as much by the objects in the room as the libation she was nursing. Her biggest challenge was not spilling the liquid from the precariously engineered conical glass in hand, balancing her act as she clicked through the rooms in heels while also bending forward and back as she fondled the knickknacks.

Rick's biggest challenge was stealing glimpses of her naked tits during the bends while diverting my attention throwing bones of architectural interest.

He was gracious and adept at conversation, counterbalancing his charm, shared passions, and unmistakable attraction with Darla, without alienating or antagonizing me in any way. He juggled the two streams of dialog and neither of us felt cheated. I genuinely liked him, a class act and quality guy, even felt some empathy imagining he must be lonely in spite of his wealth, status, and the company he keeps.

After a quick peek into the kitchen, one of the rare spaces in the house not visible through glass, we concluded the first floor portion of the tour. Rick escorted me out for another round of drinks while Darla popped into the only other room without a glass door.

*quot;So, Alvin, you've got quite a special lady there,*quot; He attested.

*quot;Yes, I know, it'll be 30 years next Tuesday.*quot;

*quot;Wow, that's impressive. You're a lucky man.*quot;

*quot;Thank Escort you, I think so too.*quot;

*quot;What about you, Rick? Do you share this place with anybody?*quot;

*quot;Well I'm sharing it with you two right now,*quot; we both chuckled. Touché I thought.

*quot;I'm just kidding...I have to entertain a lot, the construction business is still an old boys network*quot;

*quot;This would be a fantastic place to throw a party.*quot;

*quot;I'm sure Darla told you I'd been married for over 20 years myself. She was the love of my life and mother of my two grown children. My daughter works for a firm in Switzerland and my son's in New York.*quot;

*quot;Wow,*quot; - I added genuinely impressed at the family's worldliness - *quot;see them often?*quot;

*quot;I always make the time.*quot;

*quot;Girlfriend?*quot;

*quot;I've had some 'special' friends over the years...I am a pretty good catch.*quot;

*quot;I know, hell I'd marry you.*quot;

Darla walked back in just in time to hear my proposal.

*quot;You're already married,*quot; she retorted with a laugh, reaching for her second martini.

*quot;Not willing to share me?*quot;

*quot;I'm sure we could work something out,*quot; She continued to play along sitting back on her barstool.

Rick bantered with us from behind the bar for a while as we worked off the tops of the new drinks. Walking with a full martini glass can be it's own field sobriety test.

*quot;Ready for Part 2?*quot; Rick probed our readiness to resume.

*quot;While I still can,*quot; Darla chimed.

We cautiously approached one of the open staircases guaranteed to reveal any latent acrophobia. Topping the height between floors, gaping space between steps, glass landing zones, not to mention two martinis and Darla having to scale them in tall heels would be a feat accompli.

*quot;How am I going to make it back down these?*quot; she verbalized with a hint of honest trepidation.

*quot;I'm sure we can work something out,*quot; I threw in, hoping to milk the callback for a laugh.

The upstairs tour moved along quicker with fewer sites to discuss. The floor to ceiling glass bedroom walls had an eerie effect, compositing a ghostly image of your reflection onto the dark backdrop of night from the outside. The estate was secure and private but I still felt exposed and it made you wonder if you were being watched.

Rick's master suite took up half the second floor with an open, sumptuous, conjoined living and bedroom area outfitted with designer sofas, chairs, an oversized ottoman, and a big ass bed as the centerpiece, all opulently overlooking the throbbing glow of the pool below.

*quot;Whoo, I need to sit for second,*quot; Darla exclaimed.

*quot;Overwhelmed by the view?*quot; I interjected.

I knew full well it was the euphoria from mixing Vodka, Tommi Parzinger, Paul Evans, and Rick Favreau on an empty stomach. I could see her head was spinning in sapiosexual overload, enchanted by Rick's knowledge and interest in a subject she couldn't get enough of.

I casually commented on the upper deck right outside the glass bedroom wall, hoping this could be the next stop of the tour, and wanted to use the break to find a restroom.

*quot;Use mine and feel free to wander, there's nothing off limits. It's just a house,*quot; Rick volunteered.

His bathroom was a palace itself, clad in mosaic glass tile with plenty of room for cartwheels. Being alone made me aware just how strong my own buzz was. I was a bit lightheaded too, especially when looking into the mirror. Whoa, what a place, what a night! I thought.

Taking Rick up on his offer, I planned to explore the outside deck attached to his bedroom. When I walked out of the bathroom en route, I turned to catch a glimpse of Darla tilted slightly back in one of the vintage swivel bucket chairs with her left ankle extended straight out across Rick's knee, gifting her stockinged leg into his possession. This was one of her classic flirt moves she'd used over the years to tease men and make them nervous. She liked to watch them squirm, unsure how to react to her provocative moves and comments, many times with me close by or seated next to her, which threw them even more off-balance.

Rick was being gentlemanly, sitting up straight on the adjacent sofa without a hand on her. I'm sure he's resisted plenty of attention over the years by seductresses trying to lock him down and working to get the prenup waived.

I couldn't help the urge and twisted back as I exited to blurt, *quot;feel free to wander, there's nothing off limits here...*quot;

I pushed through the glass door, immediately hit by the breeze and the spectacular view overlooking the pool and surroundings. I sat down on the outside sofa to stop, smell the chlorine, and gaze for a while at the star-filled night sky. The scene was rimmed with shimmering soft blue light on the undersides of the towering trees that encircled the ocean of water below.

Conflicted between soaking this in forever and not abandoning Darla, I eventually headed back to check on her. As I reached to enter the glass door, Darla was gone from the chair. Disquieted for a microsecond, then seeing her head bob up from behind it, I'd realized they'd taken my joking comment as an endorsement. My hand fell from the handle. I stood watching, hoping my presence was concealed by the dark night behind me. Rick was bolstered stiffly against the back of the sofa watching her admirably as she stroked and sucked the first fresh dick she'd had in decades.