White Shoes After Labor Day
As I am watering my roses, I keep splashing my toes. These new white peep-toe shoes will be ruined if I am not careful. I frown as I look down at my wet toes. The past few days have been like an indian summer, so my roses are confused and needing water. I can’t worry about it now, though, as I have a date with Mr. Stunning. I look at my shoes and smile. I am breaking all the rules about wearing white after Labor Day, but these shoes from the clearance rack are too cute to stay in the closet until next summer. So because of the unusual warm weather on this early November day, I decide I shall dress like spring in my flowered dress and white peep-toe shoes. I hope Mr. Stunning likes them as much as I do. The way he obsesses over my toes and feet, I figure he will love that I broke the rule to let my toes peep out.
Lost in all that is Mr. Stunning, I am startled when my happy thoughts are interrupted by my nosy neighbor Eileen. She comes running up the driveway looking at my outfit with pursed lips.
“Hello!” she cries out. “Aother date with that man you keep bringing home?” she asks.
I ignore her implications. “Yes,” I say with a broad smile to let her know I am enjoying every minute with him.
“With the shortage of men from the war, you sure are lucky to have a guy interested in you,” she says. “You should really try harder to catch him, dear. It gets harder to get a man to marry you the older you are—and you are very close to 30. Also, did you know it is not appropriate to wear white after Labor Day?” As I bend over to turn the hose off, I try hard to clear the smoke coming from my nostrils. I turn around and look at her red-and-white-checked house dress, and I know that I could easily take her down like a Spanish bull. I would leave bits of her all over my lawn.
I smile and say, “Thanks for the advice but I have no intentions of getting married anytime soon. I shall take my chances.” I don’t even approach the white topic. Why bother, I ask myself. I grab my white handbag, say goodbye and head down the street towards the bus stop, proud of the fact that I am challenging the fashion rules of society. Eileen yells out behind me, “My Aunt May always regretted her decision to not get married. I hope you change your mind.”
Yes, I have seen Aunt May. She is the size of an elephant, so I seriously doubt it was her decision. I wave to Eileen and huff and puff all the way to the bus stop. As I stand there fuming, the thoughts “How dare she,” “who does she think she is” and “unhappy, nosey old woman” swirl in my mind. Finally, I decide I shall not let her bother my beautiful spring/fall day any further. The bus pulls up, and Mr. Stunning is making silly faces at me out his window. He immediately cheers me up. As I sit down next to him, he purposely drops his paper down by my feet. As he is grabbing it, he runs his fingers along my toes. I know he approves of wearing white after Labor Day. He rolls his eyes as he comes up, and I can only smile. Eileen knows nothing about catching a man. I could catch one any day I please, and right now let’s just say I am a cat and he is the mouse, and I haven’t chosen to devour him yet. I take his hand and hold it, letting it rest on my pretty sunflower dress.
He whispers in my ear, “You are Ravishing today!”
“Why, thank you Mr. Stunning,” I say as I stare deeply into his eyes.
I can only imagine the pursed lips if I told Eileen that I don’t even know this man’s name. She could spend her days telling the whole neighborhood how I parade around in white after Labor Day and go on dates (and most likely sleep with) a man whose name I don’t even know! Scandalous! I giggle because I love the fact that I don’t know his name. This is delightful to me, and we are having so much fun together I don’t care what anyone says. Society will not determine the course of my happiness.
I smile and say, “Where are you taking me?”
“To bed I hope,” he says with a chuckle, looking down at my toes. Then he says, “We have been invited to lunch with the judge and his wife at the country club.”
“Sounds lovely, especially the bed part,” I whisper with a smile. The bus drops us off at the bottom of the country club driveway. The beautifully manicured hedges and stately marble lions make the walk along the drive lovely. Two young men open the doors for us as we approach the double mahogany entrance, and the host takes us to our table once Mr. Stunning tells them that we are meeting the judge for lunch. My knee brushes the tablecloth, and I lay my napkin on my lap.
“The Judge will be here shortly,” the host tells us as he hands us menus.
Mr. Stunning plays a little game of footsie with me under the table, and I am glad the tablecloth is long. The waiter arrives to let us know the judge is stuck in court and would like us to go ahead and order our drinks and lunch. A few moments later the judge and his wife come up to the table, apologizing for being late. Mr. Stunning and I stand to greet them.
“May I introduce Ms. Ravishing,” he says and smiles big. My cheeks flush as the judge and his wife shake my hand. Mr. Stunning introduces “The Big Judge” and “The Beautiful Judge’s Wife.” Apparently, Mr. Stunning has already told them of our game and they are playing along beautifully. I shake my head at him as we sit down and everyone laughs. The Big Judge is a big guy tall and broad shoulders with a football player’s body. He has a big voice, and I imagine he scares the heck out of defendants in his court. His wife is petite and lovely with short brown hair, a big smile and a sweet disposition. The Big Judge tells us a story about the latest case in his court. A drunken man who accidentally goes into this poor lady’s home thinking it was his house. He makes some food, drinks the rest of her bottle of brandy, falls asleep on her sofa, and when she comes home and tries to wake him up he slaps her on the backside and says, “Get me another sandwich, wench.” Well, she calls the police and presses charges: assault, breaking and entering, and theft. The guy is humiliated and very apologetic, but she is unforgiving. So the judge sentences him to do some handyman work for her in exchange for her dropping the charges. She agrees, and now he has to paint her house and repair her screen door.
“Of course, if there is any disrespect he will be right back in my courtroom,” says the judge. “He is really embarrassed and feels terrible about the incident, so I am hoping since they are both single that maybe they can get to know each other on better terms.”
At this point, he is almost in tears laughing, and we are all just giggling away. He looks at his wife and says, “What would you say to me if I slapped you on the backside and said, ‘get me a sandwich, wench?’”
He wipes the tears from his eyes from laughing so hard.
“Darling you know I would do anything for you,” she says with a twinkle in her eyes. He kisses her hand and gives her a look of love.
“How long have you two been married?” I ask, assuming they are newlyweds.
They reply, “15 years.”
“How refreshing to see two people in love after all that time,” I say.
“Here, Here,” Mr. Stunning says as he raises his glass. “To the Big Judge and his beautiful wife! And, of course, let’s not forget my love, Ms. Ravishing!”
I raise my glass and stare deeply into his brown eyes. I wonder could I ever get tired of looking into those sweet eyes? I smile at the judge and his wife, who are looking all lovey-dovey at each other and then lovey-dovey at us, obviously excited for their friend’s newfound love.
After a delicious lunch and a few more hysterical stories, some of which involve Mr. Stunning fumbling in court, we say goodbye. I walk away a definite fan of theirs and tell them how much I look forward to seeing them again and how I haven’t laughed so hard in a long time.
“We have a Christmas party, and I hope Mr. Stunning will bring you!” The Big Judge says with a chuckle.
“It’s a date.” Mr. Stunning agrees.
Mr. Stunning grabs my hand and takes me back through the double doors and down the drive to the bus stop. We don’t have to wait long before the bus is there, and I am so happy when we are finally dropped off near his brownstone. We both walk so fast holding hands and it takes all of society’s holds to keep us from mauling each other in the street. As soon as he gets me in the door he pushes me into the parlor and up against the bookshelf. I feel Hemingway’s leather cover pressing up against my head. I am grateful that the shutters on the bottom windows are closed and the upper windows are too high for anyone to see in.
“How could you taunt me with these shoes? I could barely concentrate all during lunch!” he demands accusingly as he bends down to take them off and kisses every toe through my sheer nylons. “You really have the prettiest feet!”
White after Labor Day is a good idea, I decide. It must have been banned for very good reasons. Mr. S looks up at me with his animalistic look and I know he is going to devour every inch of me starting in that parlor. Once he has had a good taste and I am half naked, he picks me up and takes me up to his bedroom where he finishes the job. The intensity of his fucking tells me that he can’t get enough of me, which is the same feeling I have for him. It is as if I am so thirsty and all I can get is a capful of water at a time when what I want is a pitcher poured down my throat.
As he lies on top of me, pinning my arms above my head, he says, “I am so in love with you I can’t see straight! You bring out the animal in me, and it is like nothing I have ever experienced before. You make me absolutely crazy!”
I give him the innocent eyes and say “Moi?” in my best French accent.
That just gets him started for a second round, and he says, “Zee vhat you do to me,” in a ridiculous French accent. I giggle and hold him tight. I switch spots with him and lay on top of him, pinning down his arms and letting my breasts dangle on his chest as my long nipples sweep across lightly. I lick his lips with my tongue in a soft, luscious way. They are soft and perfectly pink. I lick them over and over, and my addiction sends him into round 3.
As the sun goes down, we lay in bed listening to some Frank Sinatra, sharing some Bourbon and sandwiches made by his sweet housekeeper.
I tell him, “I love you and I can’t wait to see you again.”
“I know the feeling,” he says. “You haven’t even left and I am already missing you.”