Ectasy on Fire

He liked to hear the word "Steve" from her lips. It did something to him, made him feel more adult, less boyish, more of a man. The sound of Stephenson made him feel like a choirboy, some prissy boy student in some prissy boy school, wearing a white shirt with a black bow tie and the school blazer.

"You mean," he began, "that I can call you that, like, any time? In public, too?"

"If you wish, you may," she said slowly, pausing, then adding, "Steve."

As the opera house lights came on, catching more than one elegant bejeweled member of the audience dozing off in utter and complete boredom, Steve turned to Melissa.

"I'm dying for a drink of water… Melissa."

Her hand touched his knee and this shocked him. The smile on her face was extremely tender. She looked like a woman half her age.

"You want to know what I'm dying for?" She had a wide grin now, and this made him smile in return.

"Yes."

"A drink, but of something a little more substantial than water. Maybe an ice-cold beer, huh?"

Steve couldn't believe this either.

"A beer? Where?"

"Across the street. In the cafe. They have a back room where."

"Where they leave you alone, right?" He was shocked that he'd said this.

She laughed softly. "Yes, but I'm sure that if we sort of sat in the shadows and attracted the attention of a waiter swiftly, we could have two ice-cold beers."

Steve's heart swelled up inside his breast. All the time he'd been sitting there being bored to death with this stupid, dumb, boring Puccini opera, he'd wanted a beer so badly he could taste it. He'd also wanted to steal off and smoke a cigarette, but how he'd manage to accomplish that, he'd had no idea.

Melissa took his hand and they stood together. She was slightly taller than him. Steve could smell her delicious perfume. It was intoxicating. He also loved the feel of her fingers holding his hand. She would exert certain pressures that were reassuring to the boy. She squeezed his hand and he squeezed back. They shared another smile. Steve was beginning to like Melissa.

"Let's go," she said, grabbing for her purse. "And you bring the camera, okay?"

He looked at her. His eyes had a puzzled expression. "The camera?"

"Yes, we don't want to leave it here, though it's safe enough."

"But… aren't we coming back for the rest of the opera?"

"Are you kidding?"

This made him giggle. He couldn't imagine a woman like Mrs. Melissa Staunton with all her money and elegance, her charm, her age, her social position, saying, "Are you kidding?" It was incredible!

Hand in hand, they went out of the lodge, parting the heavy velvet curtains, then passing through the great door out into the corridor, which led to the grand staircase, which in turn led to the entrance of the fabled building.

Maurice, sitting in the limousine, saw the couple leaving the opera house. He wrinkled his eyes. This was highly unusual. Had something happened?

But he didn't start up the engine. He just sat there. He did stuff his prick back into his pants and zip them up. He then put the little French magazine with the obscene comics in a safe place under the dashboard and hid the small bottle of cognac in the glove compartment.

As Melissa Staunton and Steve passed down the stone steps of the opera house, Maurice saw her turn and quickly search for the limousine. He knew what this meant. It was her private signal to him to move the vehicle to another spot where she could climb into it without being seen by any of her many acquaintances.

This happened infrequently, but when it did, Maurice was always astonished. Quickly, he turned on the ignition and deftly began moving the car out of the line. Backing into the street, he drove slowly around in back of the opera house. He parked near the rear entrance of the cafe which faced the sea. He knew this was probably their destination, and sure enough, they came into sight after a few minutes.

Maurice had to admire Mrs. Staunton's walk. She had a delightful sway to her tall body. Her breasts jiggled perceptibly. Her hair, beautifully coiffed, bounced on her shoulders. Her long, slender legs, encased in expensive silk stockings, seemed even longer in her high heels with the thin, sexy straps covering her toes. Those sandal-like high heels exposed more of her stockinged feet than they concealed, and were one of her favorite pairs. Melissa had a vast collection of specially made high heels, boots and other footwear, for which she paid a fortune to an Italian boot maker who visited the chateau from time to time.

Maurice watched them enter the cafe and head for the secluded tables in the rear, under the palm trees, which flapped softly in the evening breeze blowing in from the Mediterranean. Something was happening between Melissa and the boy. Maurice could hardly believe his eyes. They were holding hands!