A NIGHT AT THE OPERA
By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
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"Aw, Grandma, do I have to go?" I whined as I put on my tuxedo jacket.
"Nonsense, dear, you must learn to cultivate an appreciation of the arts." Grandma said. "Your tie is a bit crooked, dear, straighten it out."
I went over to a mirror on the living room wall (kept there for such things, I think) and fixed my tie. I wish Grandma would let me get a false front for my tuxedo instead of the real article. People laugh at the "dickey shirt" but honest to God, the stiff shirt you wear with a real tuxedo is a hell of a lot more uncomfortable.
Done, I checked my hair. Stalling, actually.
"You'll have a nice time, dear." Grandma said.
I knew that tone of voice a little too well. "Who is she, Grandma?" I asked.
"Whatever do you mean?" Grandma said innocently.
"Every time you tell me I'll have a nice time, I meet some girl or other you've picked out for me." I informed her.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Grandma objected.
Never mind, I told myself "So what are our seats like?" I asked instead.
"I got us the second tier balcony, third right." Grandma said.
My suspicions crystallized. "And who are the other two who will be coming to join us?" I asked. The opera house balconies seated four!
"Abigail Greeson and her husband." Grandma said. "So you can forget about me pulling any matchmaking tonight."
"All right, Grandma, I'm sorry." I said and gave her a kiss on her withered white cheek. She smiled and we went out to the waiting limousine. Grandma's limo, she's the one with all the money, I'm just the lucky guy who will inherit a shitload of money when she passes on...not that I'm pushing my Grandma into the grave. She's a swell old girl, and when she dies, I'm going to have to attend a lot of stockholder meetings and read prospectuses and attend board meetings and all the other crap that comes with an estate of around two hundred million dollars. As it was right now, I had all the fun of the money, and none of the headaches. Nope, Grandma could live forever and that would be swell with me!
But it did explain why, when she wanted to go to the opera, I was drafted into service as her escort. It was a small price to pay...if you don't mind sitting through hours of Verdi or Paganini a couple of times a month. I had a small radio in my pocket and could quietly slip the earphone in after Grandma got distracted. She was heavily devoted to the classics, especially "La Traviata" which is what we were seeing (again!) tonight.
We got to the opera house and that's when Grandma sprang it on me. "Why, Miriam, dear!" she waved gaily. "Look, Deacon, it's Miriam, she's Abigail's daughter." And a fairly pretty girl about my own age, just radiating availability, came dancing up to us. Well, sashaying might be a better word, you know, when a girl walks over to you and wants to make an impression on you? That kind of walk.
"Sorry, Mrs. Thibideaux, but my mother and father couldn't make it tonight." Miriam said as she stared at me. About the way a farmer stares at a hog he's thinking of buying! "She gave me the tickets so you wouldn't be all alone tonight. I hope you don't mind, for I just love the opera!"
"Oh, not at all, dear." Grandma gushed. "Miriam, this is my grandson, Deacon, the only child of my dear son Galen." My father and mother had died in an accident when I was only two years old, my only memories of them were photographs and a few old home movies. "He's such a good boy, he brings me to all these events."
"Pleased to meet you, Miriam." I said as I took her hand. You don't shake a lady's hand, you give it a brief hold and then let go. Miriam gave me a squeeze as I did so, but I pretended she hadn't squeezed hard enough for me to notice it. "Did you bring an escort with you tonight?"
"My brother, Jordan." Miriam nodded. "He's around here somewhere." Jordan I knew, he and I had gone to school together, sort of. Four years older than me, he had moved away with his family when I was about nine years old. He'd been a cute guy, I remember thinking back then.
"Oh, I know Jordan." Grandma said. "There he is! Oh, yoo-hoo, Jordan!" Grandma gave a not-too-elegant wave.
I looked and now I was interested! In case you're wondering why I wasn't giving Miriam (an admittedly pretty girl of a good family) anything more than a passing interest, it was the usual reason, and the proof was in my intent gaze on the auburn-haired hunk strolling our way. Tuxedos at this level of society are always cut to fit, but in Jordan's case, there was a lot to fit! He had a smooth, strong cheekline, a perfectly shaped and proportioned nose, and two of the most penetratingly steel-colored eyes you'd ever had undress you with a glance. Those teeth were perfect pearls, which usually means a lot of high-powered dental work, but I didn't think that was Jordan's explanation. Below this elegantly handsome face was the body of a football quarterback, strong-armed, slim-hipped, and smooth in motion.
"Why, Jordan, so nice to see you after, what has it been, two years?" Grandma said to Jordan.
"Something like that." Jordan agreed, but his eyes were on me. "Is this Deacon?" He gave Grandma the light touch of hands that wouldn't have broken a soap bubble. Considerate of him, given Grandma's age.
"Yes, this is Deacon." Grandma said. "Jordan is Miriam's older brother." she informed me and that was all.
"I'm very pleased to meet you, Jordan." I shook his hand. God, that grip of his was a killer! I didn't wince at it, but it was an effort, but I don't think he was trying to hurt me, I think he was just that strong!
I was the one who gave him a squeeze in the grip, but he didn't seem to notice it. "They'll be calling us to our seats very soon." Jordan said to Grandma.
"Yes, let's go on in now." Grandma said as she took Jordan's arm. I was stuck with sticking an elbow out to Miriam who melted onto it like the fake cheese of a cheap-ass pizza, and I bore up under it as well as I could up the ramp to the balcony. I was glad it was only one flight up, or Miriam might have dripped and stained my tux beyond the salvation of dry-cleaning before we got there!
Grandma took the left-most seat as usual. Jordan, as her abducted escort, sat next to her. I took the seat next to him, which left Miriam on the far right.
My job was to next make small talk to our companions, and before Miriam could steal my attention, I said to Jordan, "So, Jordan, where do you attend university?"
"Stanford." Jordan said in return. "But I graduate this year. In December, frankly, I missed a couple of classes and had to come back this year to finish up, but...." and Miriam sat neglected as I sat entranced.
Before Miriam could scrag me for herself, the opera music began, and by custom, all talk ceased. Miriam reached over and pre-empted one of my hands and smiled at me when I looked at her, startled, but I turned away and left my hand limp in hers and she gave it up after a time. Miriam wasn't stupid, she gave up entirely at that point and I was left completely alone to bear the travails of that idiotic tramp Violetta and her equally stupid lover-at-first-glance, Alfredo. These two morons took one look at each other and promptly fell head over heels. Which, when I think about it, worked out for them about as well as doing that in real life works out, which is, it doesn't!
So, I sat there, waiting until the first of the three acts finished when I could again talk to Jordan some more. I had never met Jordan all grown up before (if I had, I'm sure I would have remembered him!), but his family had lived several years on the other coast until just a couple of years ago. That would have put Jordan three thousand miles away from me until he went off to college.
As I was musing this far, I felt my hand being pre-empted again. But this time, it was the other hand!
I looked at my hand, and Jordan had placed his hand on the armrest next to mine. Now his fingers were brushing over the back of my hand. I looked up at him and he had his face carefully aimed at the stage. The next step was mine!
I gently lifted my hand up and down, brushing back at his fingertips. Now Jordan's face turned to mine, and I greeted his look with a smile, which he returned, and our hands fumbled with each other's briefly, and then interlocked.
Holding hands with Jordan, I gave a quick lean over to look at Grandma. As usual, she was entranced with Violetta's travails, oh, the agony of being a high-class call-girl permitted to move in high society and be adored by all the men! Grandma was mouthing the notes of the song right along with Violetta. I guess she identified with Violetta, because Grandma had been a strictly middle-class young girl when Grandpa found her. She might even have been a call-girl herself, or whatever they called them back in those days. Whatever, he married her and Grandma's days of deprivation were over for good.
Jordan looked over at his sister on our other side, and when my eyes met his again, he grinned and gave me a "turn around and see" sort of shift of his eyes and eyebrows.
So I did and I had to grin myself. Dear Miriam who "just love the opera," had a wire running from the knob in her ear down to her small clutch-purse! Her eyes were closed and she was quite possibly on the way to falling asleep!
Jordan's hand clenched mine and I clenched back. You can say so much with your hand if you let it, he was doing the hand-only equivalent of putting the make on me, and I was saying, yes, yes, yes!
Still, holding the hand of even a hunky hunk can get a bit repetitious, and I was beginning to think of how I could extricate my hand before we got caught and what else I might could get away with here, tonight, when Jordan took advantage of me transferring my grip to slip his hand out of mine.
That surprised me and I looked over at Jordan (I had been pretending an interest in the opera up until then, Violetta had just fainted for no good reason whatsoever, which apparently was all it took for Alfredo to fall madly in love with her, for she is lying on the divan and he is pouring his heart out in song to her), and I see his hand returning and held my own open for him again. A hand might not be much, but it beats nothing, especially while listening to Verdi.
But his hand buzzed over mine like a plane on a bombing run whizzes past anti-aircraft guns, and hit its intended target which was my leg. Not too high up, just above the knee, but with the fingers firmly ensconced on my inner leg. I check. Grandma is more entranced than before. Miriam seemed to have fallen asleep. I smiled at Jordan and waited to see what he'd do next.
A sharp race-car dash up my inner thigh to the groin! When it cupped my basket, I gave a sharp gurgle that surprised me and Grandma heard, looked over briefly. I was panicked but she gave me a "shhh!" motion and turned back. She hadn't looked to see why I had made that noise. Maybe she'd thought I had belched!
Meanwhile, Jordan's hand was getting intimately acquainted with my crotch. I kept my moans muffled, but it was damned difficult. Could Grandma be so enthralled by the opera, could Miriam be so bored by it all, that we'd go unnnoticed?
Now Jordan's hand was at my fly and his intent was obvious; he was going to unzip my fly! "Geez, Jordan!" I hissed. "Shouldn't we go outside for this?"
"Shhh!" was Grandma's only comment.
Jordan's lips moved so close to my face, I thought he was going to kiss me. Instead, I got the barest whisper. "Relax, Deke. Where's your spirit of adventure?"
"Guuuhh!" was all I could manage, which I kept to a whisper. Now Jordan had my fly unzipped and was fumbling about inside. I wished I hadn't worn briefs, but hell, who expects to get a blow-job at an opera? But Jordan felt around until he could worm his hand into the flap of the briefs and then he.... "Ahh-hahhh!" I said.
"Quiet down, Deacon." came Grandma's sharp sotto voce response. "Be still and let me enjoy the show."
You may wonder at Grandma only noticing me talking, but Jordan was seated a bit forward and at first glance from Grandma's side, he appeared to be watching the show. Grandma was leaning back to speak with me, and he couldn't see my crotch from back there. Not that she was trying to see, only trying to get me to stop my groaning and moaning.
So I bit my lip and held still. I wasn't going to make a single sound here, if Grandma caught on, let her realize that Jordan was the one doing all this!
I kept quiet as Jordan caught hold of my dong and pulled it out into the open air, I held still as his hand moved up and down the length, even though now I had to squinch my face up like a little kid getting a vaccination. I managed to keep my sigh of satisfaction silent as I fell into the rhythm of his hand's movements on my dong, letting the old, familiar pleasures of masturbation wend their way up my body to my brain, there to nestle in like old familiar friends before a fire in winter, and welcome indeed they are, and I figured this was going to be the entirety of it. Jordan would get his little jolly by beating me off, and then maybe I could do the same for him (I couldn't now, not in his forward position, not without making a scene), and we could watch the rest of the opera in the more relaxed state of two men who had gotten their rocks off. Later, after I saw Grandma safely back into her limousine, I could help Jordan ditch his sister and then we could really get it on and....
Jordan moved and only my iron resolve not to make another sound kept me quiet as Jordan's lips dove down to wrap around my cock, and now I was sure he was insane, the madcap scion of a wealthy family who has tossed all sensibility to the wind. There are plenty of them to be sure, they make regular appearances in tabloid papers, but this would be a new one to me. Getting a hummer at "La Traviata!" Jordan must be absolutely out of his mind!
But whatever his mind was, his mouth was fully under control. God, I hadn't had much sexual experience before, but this was right up there with the best blowjob I'd ever get! Maybe the public place and the chance of being caught, of being humiliated, played into it, but I was loving the feel of Jordan's lips on my pud, the way he milked me smoothly and evenly, and I made a small snort as I realize his motions were in tune with the music! Every word the star playing Violetta belted out as she extemporized about whether or not to fall in love with Alfredo (she had a choice? Not if there was going to be a musical, she didn't!), every tone she hit, that was Jordan's cue to hit my buttons by shoving my dong all the way down his throat. As she paused, so would he, and it was like the opera and the blowjob were integrating into one. As the music swelled, so did my passsion as Jordan wrung it from me, as the music dimmed, so did my desire as Jordan released me again or held me in check.
The music increased its fury as Violetta was remonstrating with the off-stage Alfredo (now playing the voice in her head, I guess), Violetta trying to be sensible, Alfredo coaxing her to be an idiot and go for it!). I found myself rooting for Alfredo on that. And when Violetta decides to stay independent (a lie, Act II starts with the two of them shacking up together in a small house outside of Paris), her crescendoes were echoing my own, and I barely managed to keep my passionate groans to a minimum (drowned out in the diva's bellowing tones) as she chose freedom, freedom! Or as they say in the musical, "Semper libera!" Libera, libera! Yes, yes, yes!
"Cuhh-huhhh!" was the sound I made as I hit my climax and spurted my jizz into Jordan's hungry throat, while Violetta finished her song and applause rocked the theater. Grandma didn't hear me, she was too busy making her own noise. I closed my eyes and let the fireworks explode behind my eyelids as I shot my spunk out and Jordan gulped it down, and then it was over and the lights were coming up, I hastily fumbled my cock back into my pants and, with no time to zip up, held my hand over my crotch in what I hoped was a relaxed looking position as Jordan straightened back up.
"Wasn't that a lovely first act?" Grandma asked Jordan.
"I loved every bit of it, Mrs. Thibideaux." Jordan told her sincerely.
"I could cultivate a taste for it myself." I said. "We'll have to see how the second act develops." That was for Jordan, who caught the reference and smiled.
"Miriam? Miriam, dear?" Grandma said as she went to Miriam. I took the opportunity to zip myself up.
Miriam was out of it, still asleep despite the racket. Turns out she had both ears plugged with her music and it was turned way up, she yanked out the plugs and the tinny sound of a heavy metal band leaked out. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Thibideaux." Miriam said. "I didn't get much sleep last night, and I guess I was sleepier than I thought."
"That's all right, dear." Grandma said. "Why don't I have my driver take you home, and Deacon, Jordan and I will enjoy the rest of the opera?"
Miriam smiled gratefully (since I was definitely not going to be caught by her) and she took the graceful exit. That left Act II and III for me and Jordan, now with an empty seat between us and Grandma, to play around in.
I even dared to get down on my knees and suck on Jordan's cock. Grandma was too busy watching Alfredo's father convince Violetta to give up his son's affections for the sake of his social standing, and she was dimwitted enough to agree to that, so I managed to scarf down Jordan's lucious pud and bring him off before Alfredo gets Violetta's note telling him they're through.
Act III was a joy with me and Jordan just sitting there, two come-drained lovers holding hands and waiting for the chance to get out of there. We made arrangements to meet again the next day and so it was with a light heart that, the opera over, Violetta dead of some unspecified illness and Alfredo crying by her side, we went back to our limousine and headed home.
"Did you have a nice time tonight, dear?" Grandma asked me.
"Yeah, Grandma." I said. "But I wish you wouldn't try to play matchmaker."
"But I know you better than anyone." Grandma protested.
"Well, I guess so." I said. "But every match you've made so far has been a complete disaster."
"That's too bad." Grandma said. "And here I thought Jordan was perfect for you. At least this time you didn't spend all night talking with the woman instead of the man I'd picked out for you."
Dumbfounded, I looked at my Grandmother, suddenly as enigmatic as the Sphinx, and the limousine moved on through the warm, dark night toward home.
THE END
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