Kassandra, Woman of Mystery

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Sometimes living with danger is exciting.

I met Kassandra not long after I took up residence on Chicago’s northside while I was attending DePaul University as I worked on my MFA in 2001. I had managed to sublet a studio apartment three blocks from the campus from the son of the previous tenant, an older woman who had moved to an assisted living facility in Evanston because of her health.

My new abode was the rear apartment on the fourth floor of a mid-century five-floor walkup in the Lincoln Park area. A Chinese restaurant occupied the street level of the building at 2415 N. Halstead Avenue, and there was a separate entrance to a stairway that allowed access to the upper floors. For the first month and a half I lived there I had no contact with any of my neighbors, but that changed one fateful day.

Since I first moved into my new abode, I was serenated almost nightly by loud music that came from the apartment directly above. I didn’t mind the volume, because I enjoyed their taste in rock, jazz, rhythm & blues, and classical music. I often found myself humming along as I cooked, cleaned, and did my schoolwork. Still, I wondered who this kindred soul was.

My question about the identity of my upstairs neighbor was answered one morning in mid-October as I sat in my regular booth in the front of ‘The Coffeehouse’, a small neighborhood coffee shop directly across the street from my apartment. As I mindlessly gazed out the front window people watching and pondering my place in the world, I was roused from my reverie by a voice that sounded almost angelic asking, “Do you mind if I sit here?” I looked up to see a mass of curly blonde hair that framed the most beautiful blue eyes I had ever seen. I realized I must have been staring when she smiled, and I motioned for her to sit.

As she sat down with a mug of steaming black coffee just like mine, I took the rest of her in. She appeared to be about 5′ 6″ and was slender but had curves in all the right places. She was wearing skinny jeans and a faded jean jacket over a white crop top that was straining against her firm B-cups and erect nipples, and her long slender fingers were tipped with long blood red painted nails that looked dangerously sharp. When my eyes returned to those hypnotic blue eyes, I realized that she was older than me, but was perhaps the most beautiful woman I had ever set eyes on. I found myself completely captivated by her beautiful smile that was ringed by blood red lipstick that matched her nails.

She started the conversation saying, “Hi, I’m Kassandra Inverness, and I’ve seen you in my building. You rented old Mrs. Kowalski’s studio just below me, didn’t you?” When I told her I had, she said, “It’s a lovely place, I used to check on Mrs. K for her son, and I was saddened when she left. I hope you don’t mind me playing my music so loud.”

When I finally found my voice, I cleared my throat, and said, “I’m Todd Magnussen, and the volume doesn’t bother me at all. In fact, I’m really enjoying your taste in music.”

She looked at me puzzled, and remarked, “Really, I didn’t think that anyone your age enjoyed ‘real music’.”

I smiled and said, “My father is the Chair of the School of Music at Millikin University, and I grew up listening to everything from Beethoven to Beck. The only kind of music I don’t care for is Rap, but I do like Hip-Hop, because they use classic Jaz riffs in their ‘compositions’.”

She nodded, and changed the subject, saying, “So Todd, how is a small-town guy like you coping with our great big city? Is all of this insanity too much for you?”

I smiled and answered, “Growing up in Decatur didn’t prepare me for Chitown, but some of my father’s students were from the suburbs, and most of the roommates I’ve had over the last four years in Carbondale when I was getting my BA, were Chicagoans. They filled me in on a lot of the local ‘customs’, including dealing with panhandlers, and riding the EL. I’m also glad to be living so close to Wrigley Field. I grew up one of the few Cub fans in a city full of Cardinal fans.”

She smiled and then and pointed to the Cubs button on her jacket. Then she motioned to my Nikon FM-2 and the 35-105 Ais Nikkor attached to it that was on the table next to my coffee, saying, “Asking if you are a photographer seems unnecessary, because that ‘classic’ from the ’80s already answered my question.” I told her that my ‘Baby’ was a present from my father for my 14th birthday and added that most of my classmates at DePaul had modern autofocus electronic marvels and wouldn’t even know how to use a camera like mine. We spent the next two hours talking about photography, and I was impressed by how much she knew about cameras and film. She was impressed when I told her that I did my own developing and printing in the lab at DePaul.

Next, she told me an ‘abridged version’ of her ‘life story’.

She had been born in a Navy hospital in American Samoa in 1964, when her father was stationed there. She grew up in San Diego, had always loved martial arts, and by the Beylikdüzü escort time she graduated UCLA with a degree in Political Science, was a black belt Karate.

She told me a little about her brief career as a model that had helped her pay for her undergraduate degree in Art History. She finished her story by telling me how she was introduced to a ‘black ops’ guy at a party after she graduated, and how he recruited her for the CIA. She said they had traveled all over the world for the next decade, ‘fixing’ things.

She finished her story by saying, “When I get to know you better, I’ll fill you in on some of the ‘gory’ details.”

As she was leaving, she said, “By the way, when you take Dr. Kelso’s ‘Art Nude’ class, I’d love to be your model. When the weather permits, I sunbathe nude on my balcony, so I never have any tan lines. You’re welcome to join me when the weather gets warm if you like.”

I watched her walk out of the coffee shop and followed her perfect ass and shapely legs that ended in brown Doc Martins, wiggle their way north on Halstead, until she disappeared around the corner. When I finally pulled myself together, I realized that I had developed a painfully uncomfortable erection during my conversation with this incredibly beautiful woman. Then I did the math in my head and realized she was almost two decades older than me.

I knew most of my friends would consider her a MILF, and even though I was not normally attracted to older women, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I looked at my watch and realized that my time slot at the University photo lab was in fifteen minutes, so I left my empty cup on the counter next to hers, grabbed my camera and backpack, left the coffee shop, and headed for the lab, making it there with five minutes to spare.

Once inside the darkroom, I loaded the three exposed rolls of 36 exposure Kodak Tri-X 400 I had taken for my semester project into the soup and set the timers. When the processing was finished, I rinsed the negatives, hung them to dry, and went to the closest vending machine to buy a Coke.

As I was sitting on the windowsill thinking about this beautiful mysterious woman, Adam Ruggieri, an old roommate from SIU, walked up to me and asked, “Dude, who was that hot babe you were talking to at the coffee shop this morning?”

I smiled and said, “That was Kassandra, my neighbor.”

Adam asked, “Why haven’t you told me about her before? Man, she’s smokin’ hot!”

I grinned and said, “Actually, I only met her in person today. I’ve been listening to the music coming through the floor for a couple of months but never knew who my upstairs neighbor was until she asked to sit with me this morning.”

The rest of our conversation consisted of Adam telling me all the things I should be doing to ‘get into her pants’, and me nodding politely in agreement. When my friend stopped to take a breath, I looked at my watch and realized my negatives were probably dry. I excused myself saying, “Later dude, I’ve got work to finish,” and returned to the lab. I took my now dry negatives down and I cut them into shorter strips. I arranged them on an 8″X10″ sheet of Tri-X paper and made contact prints of the three rolls I had processed. Since Kodak had endowed DePaul’s Art school, we were provided with their products for free, so this was a great deal for a ‘financially challenged’ post-grad students like myself.

I headed to my next class when I was finished. When I was done for the day, I headed back to my apartment to fix something to eat and look over the contact prints to decide which images were worth using for my semester project.

After I ate, I sat at the small desk next to the convertible couch, that was the only bed left in my apartment, because Mrs. Kowalski’s hospital bed had left with her. The sofa-bed, however, was much more comfortable than the dorm room beds I had when I attended SIUC, and I slept well on it. I used my magnifier to choose the images that were good enough for my semester project, ‘The invisible Homeless in Chicago’.

Of the three rolls I was using for my project, the first one was shot in the Loop, the second on the Westside, and the third on Lower Wacker Drive. I decided to pick the best dozen images from each roll and make 5″X7″ ‘proofs’ of my choices on my next visit to the lab. I would show them to Alfredo Sanchez, Professor Phillip’s assistant and let him pick what he thought were the best ones. The rules of the semester project said that each student could submit no more than a dozen 8″X10″ prints matted to 11″X14″.

I had, however, been told by Rob Fury in Art History class who had taken Professor Phillips’ class last year, that my professor was more impressed with a lesser number of more ‘Powerful’ images. Because of this, I had decided to limit my final selections to 8 images.

Just as I finished making my choices, I heard the music upstairs start. Tonight, it was Wilson Pickett’s ‘Mustang Sally’ that was shaking my walls, so I knew it was going to be a rhythm & blues Beylikdüzü escort and soul night. I put my things away, turned off all my lights except for the lamp next to my ‘bed’ and started dancing around the room as I undressed and got ready for bed.

By the time Otis Redding’s ‘Try a Little Tenderness’ was just finishing, I was completely nude, and climbed into bed. I turned off the light and fell asleep listening to Wilson Pickett wailing, “I’m gonna wait till the Midnight hour…..”

A week later, I was sitting in my regular booth at ‘The Coffeehouse’ looking over the proofs I had just picked up from Alfredo and was considering his choices, when Kassandra slid into the seat across from me, dressed exactly as she had been the first time we met, except this time her lips and nails were smoky brown and matched the eye shadow she was wearing.

“Wat’cha doin’ Todd?” she said with that thousand-watt smile on her face.

I told her, “I’m trying to decide which images to use for my semester project. I submitted proofs of the best dozen shots from each of the three rolls I took to Professor Phillip’s assistant Alfredo, as some of the other students had suggested. However, the images he picked were not as good as the ones I thought were my best.”

Kassandra smiled and asked, “Did you offer to pay Alfredo anything?” When I looked at her puzzled, she said, “Alfredo is a pervert and a corrupt bastard. If you didn’t bribe him, he probably picked your worst images. Gerald Phillips is a fine artist, a talented photographer, and an honest man, but he’s too busy to take care of the day-to-day details, so he lets Alfredo have free reign with stuff like this. Show me what you’ve got there.”

I slid the three dozen 5″X7″ proofs across the table to her, and she shuffled them around until she had them spread out across the whole table, arranged into three groups of twelve. She had them grouped together by the locations where I had taken them. Then she started removing certain ones and setting them aside. When she was finished, what remained were the eight images I had originally picked as my best.

Then she said, “Todd, these are some very powerful photographs. I’m guessing that that your project is about the homeless in Chicago?” When I nodded, she said, “And the ones that Alfredo chose are now in my ‘discard pile’, right?” When I nodded again, she said, “I know you are limited to twelve images, but you’ve been told that Professor Phillips is more impressed with a lesser number of more powerful images, is that also right?”

When I told her she was, Kassandra said, “Todd, your assumptions are correct, Gerry is more impressed by quality over quantity, and in my opinion, these are your best eight images.”

Then she removed two proofs that I had originally been ‘on the fence’ about and said, “I think that if you use these six images and print them on Illford Premium Max paper using Kodak chemicals, your results will be well worth the extra effort and cost and will earn you exceptional marks.”

Before I could open my mouth, she continued, “Todd, I know that Kodak provides the school with all the supplies you need, but printing these on Illford paper will make your photos stand out from the crowd. Are you allowed to have someone help you in the lab?”

When I told her I could, she asked, “When is your next lab time slot?”

When I said it was next Thursday at 10AM, she said, “Meet me here at 9:30 with your negatives, and we’ll work together. I’ll provide the paper and teach you some of the secrets I’ve learned over the years from the best people in the business.”

Kassandra looked at the clock on the wall of the coffee shop and said, “Todd, I have an appointment I need to keep, and I know you have classes, but I would really like to talk to you about your ‘project’ some more. I’d like to make you dinner tonight, so if you don’t have any other plans, knock on my door about ‘sevenish’, and we can finish our discussion.”

She stood up and continued, “You don’t need to bring anything other than yourself and the appendage that seems to be causing that large bulge in your pants every time we meet.” She smiled when she saw me blush, and as she left the coffeeshop, I could hear her giggling.

After she walked out the door, I watched the sexiest ass I had ever seen as it walked up the street and disappeared around the corner. As I finished my coffee, I realized how embarrassed I was that she had seen through my calm facade.

I realized that not only had I gotten an erection both times we had met, I also got hard whenever I thought about her. I wondered, ‘Was I becoming obsessed with this gorgeous older woman? Was she alright with this? More important, how did she feel about me? Did she want my body as much as I wanted hers?’

These questions would haunt me for the rest of the day and make it difficult to concentrate during my Art History and Photojournalism classes. When I got back to my apartment, I showered, shaved, and brushed my teeth. I decided to forgo Escort Beylikdüzü underwear and dressed in a well-worn pair of 501’s, a tee shirt with Andy Warhol’s ‘Marilyn’ printed on the front, and my brown Topsiders, without socks.

When I stepped onto the landing of the top floor, I heard Vivaldi’s ‘The Four Seasons’ coming from apartment 5B. I knocked on her door, and when it opened every one of my senses were overwhelmed by the sights, sounds, and aromas what greeted me.

What I saw took my breath away and caused an immediate painful erection. Kassandra had tied her curly blonde hair up in a messy bun and appeared to only be wearing a white apron that hung around her neck, covering her breasts, and was tied around her waist.

My ears were overwhelmed by the sound that seemed to envelop me, and I realized it was coming from two custom made large floor-to-ceiling column speakers. Standing between them was a bookcase with the upper shelf filled with books. The next shelf held a McIntosh tuner and preamp next to a McIntosh tube type 400A amplifier. The third shelf held an Ampex 7½’ reel to reel tape machine, next to a professional looking turntable. The bottom two shelves were completely filled with vinyl albums in their original covers, and I wondered what treasures were hidden there because I had heard nothing but great music so far.

My sense of smell was also overwhelmed by the aromas of garlic, oregano, fennel, rosemary, cilantro, and basil. The apartment smelled exactly like my grandmother Tombolo’s kitchen every Sunday when we visited her house after Sunday Mass when I was small.

She kissed me and grasped my tumescence that was trapped by my left pantleg, and said, “Someone’s happy to see me.”

When she turned around, my suspicions were confirmed, because I saw ‘in the flesh’ what I had been the object of my lust since the day we first met. After I closed the door behind me, I watched her naked posterior wiggle as she walked across the room toward the kitchenette, as she said, “My ass looks better without jeans covering it up, doesn’t it sweetie?”

Without thinking, I answered, “It looks amazing no matter how you dress it.” When she turned around, she smiled when she saw how much I was blushing, and said, “Dinner will be ready soon, relax and make yourself comfortable.” When I sat on her couch, she looked over her shoulder and said, “Loose the textiles Todd, whenever I have guests, I expect them to be naked, just like me.”

I quickly slipped off my shoes and tee shirt, and as I unbuttoned my jeans and slid them down my legs, I watched her smile get even bigger when she saw my growing erection, ‘in the flesh’. Then Kassandra turned around, turned the oven control to ‘Warm’, took off the apron and walked over to the couch where she sat next to me.

She took my hard manhood in both hands and said, “I need an appetizer before dinner,” and bent down to kiss its circumcised head. She smiled and said, “You have a beautiful cock, Todd. I have been wondering what he looked like since the first time I saw that sexy bulge in your pants.” Then she took me into her mouth and swallowed me until her lips were touching my pubes. I could see the head was lodged in her throat by the way her neck was bulging.

She pulled her head back, licked my precum from its head, and said ‘Yummy.” Then she went to work, licking, sucking, slurping, and stroking me until I was on the edge of exploding. Somehow, she knew what was about to happen, took me deep into her mouth again, and started swallowing as soon as I erupted. She drank every drop of my seed, and when I finished squirting, she eased back off me, licking the final remnants from my slit and swallowed the rest of my load.

Then she kissed me and said, “Todd, you really taste yummy, but now it’s your turn to ‘take care of me’.”

She lay back on the couch and I looked at the most beautiful vulva I had ever seen. It was smooth and hairless except for a small tuft of blonde hair at the top that looked like a ‘Hitler mustache’. Her lower lips were pale pink, swollen and completely hid everything, like a very young woman. When she spread her legs, her womanhood started opening like a flower blooming in the early spring. As her Labia Majora parted, her Labia Minora came into view, and they were bright pink and very wet. When she spread them open with her fingers, her vagina gaped open, and was oozing her fragrant juices. I leaned forward and inhaled, enjoying the wonderfully erotic fragrance.

I looked up into her lust filled eyes and said, “Kassandra, you smell like heaven,” just before I dove tongue first into what turned out to be the most delicious and responsive vagina I would ever encounter during my lifetime. It tasted like ambrosia and spasmed on my tongue when I reached in and ‘tickled’ her very prominent ‘G’ spot.

As I dined on her and did my best to ‘take her to heaven’. She seemed to be enjoying what I was doing to her, but it wasn’t ‘rocking her world like I normally did. When all the tricks I normally used didn’t work, I tried something one of my roommates at SIU had shared with me. As I sucked on her clitoris and rammed the first two fingers of my left hand in and out of her vagina, I used her juices to wet my right thumb before I stuck it in her asshole and twisted.

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