This isn’t exactly a word-for-word play-by-play; it’s to the best of my memory.
Well, it worked. Hot little red dress, which I paraded and pirouetted in front of Monsieur, and K and I went out after that to see this kinda Celtic/zydeco/square dance band, Zen Pig. Good dancing, loads of fun.
Before we left I had my first drink of the night and the first one in weeks, a whisky rocks, which I sipped slowly and the spilled a little bit of it on my chest. I wanted to smell like I might be a little tipsy.
When I got home, he was still awake so I asked him if he had waited up.
“No, no,” he said, “I just couldn’t sleep.”
I moved the conversation to me, again. “Monsieur, dear? Would you take me upstairs to bed?”
“How many drinks have you had?”
I rolled my eyes and I held up one finger. “Enough to throw myself at you and not be afraid of what you will do to me.”
“Maybe you should go to bed and we’ll talk about it later,” he said, getting up.
I dropped my dress, and stepped closer to him. I hadn’t worn a bra. I was in my panties and my heeled sandals.
He muttered something in French, and then he said, “If you are the worse for drinking, I would not forgive myself.”
And I said, “Well, if we don’t go to bed, I won’t forgive you. So decide now.” I ran my fingers inside the waistband of his shorts. “You just don’t want me, do you?”
“It’s not that I don’t want you...”
“Don’t you like girls?” I pouted.
He laughed, in a feeble way. “Of course I like girls.”
“Well, is it OK if I just sit on your lap and play with myself?”
“You’re really serious?”
“Um, DUH.” I rolled my eyes. Then I kissed him. “A gentleman wouldn’t make a girl beg like this,” I whispered. (A line from Desire in the Threshing Field, a very bad play I was in.) “Should we go to your room or mine?”
“Well, [Littlest Boy] is in my bed,” he whispered.
I gushed my panties; I knew I had him.
Did I mention “yum”? Yum.
Practicing with “The Monster” helped, too. He sank into me, all 1/8 of a fathom in
One
Smooth
Stroke.
That’s as many details as I can give about that.
Oh, yeah, he did whisper “unbelievable” as he fucked my brains out. That made my head spin. He’s so good.
Afterwards, we talked a bit. He asked me what I “intend”.
(Geez, I don’t know!) “I intend to love you, and to care for your children.”
“Do you want more?” he asked in a whisper.
“That’s totally up to you, sweetheart. I will take what you give me, and smile.”
“I don’t know how ready I am, or whether I will be ready,” he replied.
I giggled. “You’re so wonderfully 17th century. Kiss me and hush.”
He did.
“I just don’t want to hurt you,” he said and I could tell he meant it.
“You’re wonderful. I’m a grown-up. I won’t let you hurt me too badly.”
I was going to make comparisons, just then, but for a second I totally forgot SH’s name – and I lived with him for a year! So I guess there’s no comparison.
No comments:
Post a Comment