At one juncture in my life my girlfriend and I lived in the same city but in two different countries. Yes – it is confusing! I had a rather nice little apartment in Niagara Falls, Canada and she lived with her parents over the Rainbow Bridge in Niagara Falls USA. It did put a bit of a strain on our relationship having to pass through immigration and customs two or three times a week, but we did it for at least a couple of years before the subject of marriage came up.
Nina was a great looking girl, always ready to oblige sexually, although when I say oblige I should point out that it tended to on her terms. She was pretty, and she was fun to be with but like all relationships there was a fly in the ointment, in our case that fly happened to be her father. He was a nice enough guy, we got along really well, but when Nina suggested we might get married one day I suddenly became the son he’d never had and he wanted me to join him in his mail order company. The operation, which sold party supplies, was obviously successful but I really couldn’t see myself packaging personalized paper plates, plastic glasses and table napkins all day.
I tried to explain to her that I was a budding writer and then, thinking she was being helpful, she suggested that perhaps I could write some amusing ditties to print on party favors. She just didn’t see where I was coming from.
What really aggravated me more than anything was when she kept bringing up the fact that I was a security guard. It was as if she felt I should be ashamed. I knew it wasn’t quite like being a doctor, lawyer or a children’s party organizer but it paid my rent. And I’d always looked on it as a part time job, as first and foremost I was a writer. I’d written for the local paper, had two short stories published and had penned an industrial video script for a company that sold electronic capacitors. I was a bone fide published writer, how much more fucking proof did she need.
When I told her about the novel that I had buried inside of me she sarcastically suggested that I should leave it buried there, but then when she saw that I was offended by her comment me she offered me a deal.
“I’ll give you six months to write your novel and get it published and if you don’t manage that, and you still refuse to work for daddy – I guess there won’t be any future for us.”
I don’t like ultimatums, but I went along with it providing that during my probationary period, we would keep having sex two or three times a week. She agreed and immediately began to strip off to prove her sincerity.
Holy shit the sight of Nina’s beautiful tits and trimmed muff weakened me to the point where I would have agreed to almost anything, even a lifetime of packing party supplies. I never told her this of course, a woman should never be aware of the power she has in this regard. Fortunately, she was going through a hormonal phase at that time where she was as horny as I was and so I never really had to beg for it.
On that particular occasion it was like our sexual organs were sending signals to each other, she was rubbing her crack as if it was getting really wet and my dick was throbbing like a pneumatic drill. I couldn’t get my clothes off fast enough, and when I was naked I quickly swept away the papers that were strewn all over my bed and literally threw her onto the covers.
I knew what she liked and I got down to it pronto. She loved me to suck her nipples really gently, barely touching them with my lips. And while I was puckering up to one nipple, I’d spit on the palm of my hand and just as gentle I’d rub it over the other.
Copyright 2016 Cristiano Caffieri