The Beautiful Olivia

The cab driver grumbled grumpily when Pico told him Aunt Olivia's address. Pico felt hurt, for the fare would surely cost quite a bit. Later, as they drove along the coastal road toward Porto Andraitx, the mood lightened and the chauffeur nodded with satisfaction when he realized that Pico was not Spanish. He enlightened Pico that only the Catalans said San Telmo, because the place is really called Sant Elmo. He didn't love them, the Catalans, really!

A good half hour later, Pico was standing in front of Aunt Olivia's house. He was here for the first time, because Uncle Rodolfo's funeral more than half a year ago had been held in silence, only among the closest relatives, as Rodolfo had stipulated in his will. When he later received the letter from Aunt Olivia informing him that he had inherited Uncle Rodolfo's ship, the TITANIA, he was at first bitter. Uncle Rodolfo had earned enough money from the bar in Palma to afford the ship's cost. Pico could not handle that, he could not be happy at first with the thought of owning such a large ship. But months later, when Peter was dead and the elderly detective had asked him to come and give him back the coffee‐table book, when the file marked "Suicide" in the cellar archive, when Pico had his money and also Peter's money in his second bank account, he was able to get something out of the affair with the ship after all. Also because it no longer suffered him in Vienna.

Olivia received him very graciously; she embraced him warmly and kissed him on both cheeks. They had not seen each other since Lila's funeral, and Olivia had aged quite a bit by now. Nevertheless, Pico noticed that she was blooming and cheerful despite her age. Pico knew she must be in her early or mid‐sixties — there was something radiant, enthusiastic about her. She was small, slender and petite, for the years had apparently done little to her slender, girlish body. The deep wrinkles in her dark brown face gave her something gnome‐like and interesting, her gray‐blond hair was cut in pageboy fashion, but stood recalcitrantly off to the left and right. Pico knew that she was of Mallorcan descent and still had quite a bit of Moorish blood in her veins, but was surprised anew that Olivia was blonde. Only later, when she was leafing through old photo albums with him, did it occur to him that she naturally had black hair, which she had always dyed blond.

Olivia had never been involved with Rodolfo's bar in Palma, even though the bar was Rodolfo's Life's work, his one and everything. She had defied him and had become more and more involved with esotericism, astrology, and then later with herbs and her garden plants. In the past decades they had drifted further and further apart; he often stayed in Palma for days at a time, as after the nightly curfew the drive home probably became more and more arduous for the old man. But perhaps also because they no longer had a shared bedroom and Rodolfo — although increasingly rare, still — grabbed the opportunity of the evening when it presented itself. Olivia was completely absorbed in her herbs, the essences and the witchcraft, she did not miss the sex for a long time...

Pico had no idea about esotericism, astrology or medicinal herbs. Patiently he listened to Olivia, who immediately led him into the garden and showed him her plants. Cautiously, he nodded to feign interest until she laughed and said she didn't want to bore him with her whims, then they went into the house. They drank spicy tea from her garden, then she told him about the funeral, which I'm sure Uncle Rodolfo would have enjoyed, with all the good or not so good friends and acquaintances who had come to the funeral. All the dignitaries of the surrounding towns were present, after all, Uncle Rodolfo was one of the most famous men in the area. Olivia asked him what had kept him in Vienna when the funeral took place, because all the living relatives had come, and now Pico would have to tell her about Peter's suicide and the subsequent criminological investigations. Olivia expressed her sympathy, since he had had lost a friend so tragically, but showed little sympathy for the sheriff, who would not have let Pico leave town, even for a funeral.

Already on the third day, Olivia asked what the two suitcases full of dollar bills were all about. Pico got a red head because she had gone through his things, but he answered, it was black money that he had diverted in the bank, some 1,8 Million Dollars. No problem, she said, and made a phone call to her bank. She opened an account in her name where he could deposit the money and be authorized to sign for it. Problem solved. Olivia thought no more about it just a day later.

Pico felt comfortable in the guest room, showered and slept for an hour. In the evening Olivia led him through the small town and walked with him along the beach to the small natural cove where some fishing boats and the TITANIA were moored. He couldn't see much in the dusk, but he knew her from photos: a fifteen‐meter wooden yacht that had been built in Taiwan. They discussed that they wanted to clean up the yacht, because in two months they were expecting Heinz, the son and heir of Uncle Rodolfo's business partner from Germany, who wanted to buy himself out of both the bar and the TITANIA — only the ship, he wanted to see a last time. Olivia had been born rich and with Rodolfos management she had become even richer, but it was against her nature to show off the bar or the ship in an unkempt state, let alone hand it over. In the evenings, he would sit with Olivia on the terrace and drink her homemade herbal liqueur, which contained quite a lot of alcohol.

Their conversation was odd; Olivia talked very fast in a mixture of Italian, Spanish, and Mallorcan; he spoke only a few scraps of Spanish, but struggled to keep up with her. Her Italian sounded strange to his ears, but probably his rusty Italian was also strange to her. Nevertheless, they understood each other. Their conversation was essentially about kinship, about the TITANIA, and about Olivia's witchcraft skills. Pico smiled when Olivia told them how she had treated some of the locals had removed warts with herbal decoctions or treated other troublesome things like rheumatism, cramps, or headaches. Olivia must have been a very busy woman, for the large house was in excellent condition and shone with cleanliness, although the two servants whom Rodolfo had employed in the past had taken well‐deserved retirement and she was currently taking care of the house alone.

Pico lay restless in his bed, tossing and turning sleeplessly. He had been with Olivia for the third day with Olivia and could not escape her spell, her erotic attraction. He couldn't get it out of his head that he had repeatedly looked covetously at Olivia's body on the terrace; she might be a lot older than he was, but she looked interesting and somehow beautiful and desirable. Again and again his gaze had slid to her small bosom, which shimmered through the thin nothing of a dress, again and again he had looked at her body, which was clearly visible under the gauzy fabric. She wore neither bra nor panties, he could hardly take his eyes off her beautiful nudity. If he looked very closely, it could be seen that she had shaved away her pubic hair. He couldn't help but think that regardless of her real age, her young girl's body had a very special erotic appeal. His desire was growing by the minute. Now he was turning restlessly in bed, trying to fall asleep despite all the tormenting thoughts and not think about her anymore. The burning in his abdomen grew stronger and stronger, desperately he rumpled the bedclothes until he could stand it no longer. He got up quietly and knocked softly on Olivia's door.

Sleepily she murmured what was the matter. He opened the door a crack wide and said quietly that he couldn't sleep, he couldn't fall asleep alone, he wasn't used to sleeping alone. His voice betrayed well‐played, genuine desperation, which Olivia interpreted differently than it was, because he was desperate to have to use that rotten old trick. He repeated it two or three times until Olivia mumbled sleepily, yes, yes, it was good, he should finally go to sleep. Pico stepped into her bedroom and crawled naked into bed beside her. Olivia protested powerlessly, because she was still deep in her dream, and mumbled sleepily what he wanted from her, she was an old woman, and then she fell asleep again. Pico lay tensely under the blanket and waited until his heart calmed down.

Olivia awoke speechless. Pico had been infinitely careful to push up her gauzy nightgown and press his erection into it from behind, but she had become instantly wide awake. She smiled at the first moment she felt Pico's impatience and his wildly beating heart pounding in his cock. Overwhelmingly clear, she sensed that he was about to do her and penetrate; but she felt no pleasure at the moment, and in no way wanted to fuck him. She withdrew from him, gently pushed him back and sat up. Stupid boy, she muttered, what do you want? He faltered for a moment, after a while he put a hand upon his cunt and masturbated.

No, she didn't really want that either, but she didn't want to offend him either. She tried one last time to talk him into it, but then she gave up, because there was obviously no point in trying to reason with him. She snorted and went into the next room to the Sofa to sleep on, and heard Pico moaning and groaning for a long time.

She closed her eyes and remembered, remembered things that were very far back. Rodolfo had never done it before her, but she remembered that when she was a little girl, she had sneaked to the bathroom after her father to the bathroom, often and often, for years. Curious and heart pounding, she had pressed one eye to the tiny little hole in the bathroom door and watched her father wash and shave naked. Her heart beat like mad when he stood wide‐legged in front of the washstand and masturbated. Clearly she remembered his big, hairy hand rubbing his cock quickly. She held her breath when she saw in the mirror above the washstand how the bright jets pulsed out. When he afterwards humming contentedly, cleaned the washing shell, she hastily retreated to her children's room. From then on, her childish masturbation fantasies revolved around the bathroom mirror and her squirting father. Quite soon she found out that her father accepted the rejection by her cold mother good‐naturedly and was content to masturbate daily for years. In her mind she competed with him, loved him fiercely in her obsession. These deeply buried memories came up again all at once. But also memories of Rodolfo.

Olivia heard the typical sounds through the open door as Pico masturbated like mad in the next room and cum with a loud yip. She had sat up and watched Pico's masturbation and violent cuming from close by.

Rodolfo and she rarely slept together soon after their wedding. She was only 18 and a real virgin when the dashing forty‐year‐old widower courted her, but when she slept with him, she was disappointed because she felt nothing during sex. Soon he was staying in town more and more often to take care of his new bar. The rumors that he also took care of one or another pretty waitress, she did not believe.

Until her fourtyeth birthday she had some hundred young lovers to fuck, when she fell in love with a girlfriend. It was a shock to her then to discover that she loved this woman. When she was finally in bed with her, she knew that this was her destiny. The girlfriend had more experience than she did in all these things and taught her everything, because Olivia had grown up very sheltered and had only vague ideas about sex. Since she was a little child she masturbated every night feverishly until she fell asleep. Blissfully, she experienced orgasm in the arms of her friend and learned to make her equally happy.

It hurt her terribly when her girlfriend turned to someone else and left her. For months she mourned, letting Rodolfo fuck her silently and apathetically when he felt like it, and when she was alone again, she cried over the lost love. One day she woke up thinking the pain was over, but she felt nothing but emptiness. There followed a period in which she sought to replace the lost happiness with obsessive masturbation and fucking a lot of boys. She only stopped this obsession when she fell in love again.

And it was years before she fell in love again. But it was very different this time; not a fierce, insane love, but a fierce, purely physical desire and lust to go to bed with this girl. Olivia was ashamed at first, because her lover was still a young virgin, an inexperienced girl. Her own feelings confused her, but she still did everything she could to seduce the girl. Irritated, she admitted to herself that she was unconsciously taking the place of the lost lover by taking such a young lover.

It was a long time before Rodolfo spoke to her about it, and she felt in this conversation like a little lost bird that did not know its way in and out — she suffered from the vague fear of how Rodolfo would react to lesbian love. But he listened gently and empathetically, soothing her with soft words until her palpitations subsided. Rodolfo made her feel loved no matter who she took to bed. She believed that she loved him, too, more than ever, even though she still couldn't feel anything during her daily sex with him.

A strange situation was developing. Physically, she felt climax only in the arms of her lover, but she still loved her husband, who discreetly stayed in the background, like a good friend and waited patiently to the night to fuck her. Sometimes she noticed his covetous glances, but it still took a a very long time before she found out what he craved, what consumed him. At some point, late in the evening, as they sat on the porch drinking heavy wine after fucking, he confessed how much he wanted to be there to watch, how much he wanted to be with her when she made lesbian love. Olivia was startled, for this seemed to her like betrayal of her beloved. She froze in the middle of the conversation, and the last spark of her love for Rodolfo was buried deep under indignation and jealousy.

Some time later, Rodolfo surprised her and her lover in bed. They had neither of them heard him coming; now he stood drunkenly swaying naked under the door, watching them. Olivia was caressing the girl just and was pleased with her horniness, when she looked up and noticed him. Immediately she let go of the girl, who let herself sink back, mewling and languid. Rodolfo came closer and lay down with them. Uncertainty and fear filled Olivia as Rodolfo approached the girl and began to caress her; she had a dark suspicion of what he was really up to. The girl, however, smiled carelessly and closed her eyes in pleasure at drunken Rodolfo's pleasant masturbation of her. Olivia stared with her throat tightened at his erection approaching menacingly and screamed silently in horror when Rodolfo took the girl all of a sudden and deflowered her brutally. Her protest choked in her throat and when she tried to pull the girl from him, Rodolfo brutally pushed her back and continued fucking the girl. They fought with each other, but she got the girl free only when he became erratic because he had started to squirt inside the poor girl. Wild as a bull, Rodolfo pounced on Olivia, driving his wet behemoth into her and immediately continuing to squirt. Howling helplessly, Olivia freed herself from him as he went limp, then she wrapped the weeping girl in her arms and tried to comfort her.

The hatred and anger of that night never left Olivia. She and her lover could not get over that night, though together they tried to forget it. It destroyed their love; and when the girl left her for good, Olivia remained lonely and mostly renounced new relationships. Rodolfo regretted what he had done, but he could never make it up to her. Olivia refused completely and only allowed herself to be taken from him by force. He never knew that she had discovered how much sexual pleasure his violence secretly gave her. But this happened less and less often, for Rodolfo had aged rapidly and, when he passed sixty‐five, soon had no desire at all. Olivia, though a good twenty years younger than he, did not miss it. She also felt something like revenge as she indulged in her obsessive masturbation night after night while he lay beside her, witnessing her rapture dull and impotent. Rodolfo had died two years ago, he was 74 then, she 53.

Olivia turned restlessly in bed, trying to fall back asleep. She was disappointed in Pico, she thought at first, how could he have made such an unworthy pass at her! The next morning, at breakfast, she wanted to make it clear to Pico that he could either go to a hotel or spend the night on the TITANIA. But then she admitted to herself that the disappointment was her own, since she had herself, since she had so lightly let him into bed with her — how could Pico have known that she was a lesbian and did not enjoy pleasure in screwing? No, Pico had even aroused her arousal a little, even if she had felt nothing at first. It came back to her that Rodolfo had told her about Lila and Pico in great detail and salaciously, because it hit him hard that his childhood sweetheart had been in Pico's bed for nearly 30 years. Olivia masturbated quietly, thinking of Rodolfo, who had taken fatherly care of the unfortunate Pico and who always drank a toast to Lila with him. Olivia was impressed by Pico's stiff cock, it was bigger than she would have expected. It surprised her a little, she had certainly fucked some hundred lovers and most of them had much smaller dicks and the fucking was mostly disappointing too. Olivia took off her thin nightgown and continued masturbating naked as she was used to. She hadn't masturbated for a couple of days and had to have it now urgently. She remembered the young Pico who had been so shaken by his grief for Lila that she had instantly had taken him to her heart. She pressed her lips together so as not to make a sound in orgasm as she rubbed her G‐spot and triggered the orgasm. She lay there for a long time and got up, went back into her bedroom and lay naked next to Pico. She had forgiven him and felt an unusual pleasure after her orgasm. She knew that she wanted to fuck Pico eventually. She put one arm under his neck, snuggled close to him and put her other hand on Pico's big cock. Then she fell asleep smiling.

The other day Pico was very contrite and clumsily tried to apologize. Olivia let him fidget for a while and listened to his stammering with amusement, then she laughed kindly and said it wasn't that bad and kissed him on the mouth.

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