I stood near the corner of the room and watched all the happy people at the party.
I was not happy. I was a dark force in an otherwise joyful house. A lone dark rain cloud on an otherwise sunny day. The off-key screech in the middle of a perfect piece of music.
I had been unceremoniously dumped by my boyfriend of two years. The dumping had been a public event, taking place over what I thought would be a nice lunch for the two of us at Panera’s. He announced we were through. I upchucked the half sandwich and soup I’d eaten, fortunately getting some of my vomit on his meticulously clean shirt and slacks.
I believe I also screamed a number of epithets at him as the rest of the restaurant watched open mouthed, many with food partway to their mouths. When I stomped out, there were over a hundred people who knew that Malcolm was a big shit, a cad, a player, and a first class asshole extraordinaire, and my detailed list of the reasons why. I hoped the city had a strong rumor mill.
That was Wednesday. This was Saturday. I had cried for most of that time. The fantasy I had of a happy marriage, two-point-one beautiful children, a dog, a cat, a gerbil, and a little love nest in the suburbs behind a white picket fence had been blown to smithereens, because Malcolm had to ‘find himself’ before he could continue in a committed relationship. Finding himself would apparently involve seeing other girls. I had the feeling he’d already started in that process.
I wish I’d thought to use my pepper spray on him in the restaurant. I also thought of a hundred other things I wished I’d screamed at him.
I was nursing additional revenge thoughts when I became aware of a masculine presence next to me.
He smiled down at me, “Don’t look so sad. I saw you smile at our hostess earlier, but you went back to the dark side. Don’t listen to Darth Vader; come back into the force.”
“Bad week,” I mumbled.
“Break up with somebody?” he inquired, accurately nailing the situation.
I glanced at him. I wondered just how much was written on my face. Did everybody at this party know my story? I only knew a couple of the people, including my sister Cindy who dragged me out of my bedroom and away from my box of Kleenex. I still wanted to cry, but doing that in public seemed out of place.
I nodded. “Yeah. He took a couple of cheap shots, and left. At least we weren’t married or engaged. Two years down the drain.”
“I’m sympathetic. It happens to everyone. I think it’s part of becoming a real adult.”
“How’s that?” I asked.
He opined, “Well, despite a few experiences here and there I think we get to about age twenty-five and most of us still have a naïve streak about relationships running down our backs. We think that there’s a soul mate and some perfection out there, and we pursue that goal. If we find someone reasonably acceptable, we force fit them into that mold of perfection we’ve created in our minds. Later, we discover that no one is perfect, the concept of a soul mate is probably a myth perpetuated by greeting card makers to sell anniversary and Valentine’s Day cards, and that everyone is a little bit broken with no hope of fixing those terminal faults. The force fit you made no longer works.”
I smirked, “Spoken like a true life cynic.” I liked this man, whoever he was.
“At your service.” He bowed slightly.
“Mark.” We shook hands. Already, he’d made me feel better. I actually smiled at him.
I sized him up. About six foot two, dark hair, insightful eyes, trim athletic form, and clothes that looked custom designed for him. They fit perfectly. His shoes were highly shined too, and they looked expensive — Italian leather. I felt good vibes from him, although we’d said little to each other.
He just stood with me leaning against the same wall. We were both sipping glasses of wine. When mine got empty, he politely took it without a word and got me a refill. After we’d been there a half-hour, Mark said in a low-key way, “Go out with me next Saturday evening? Dinner? Maybe dancing? I’m not good at the club scene though; it’ll be more like ballroom dancing. I’m trying to learn, but I promise I won’t step on your feet.”
I studied Mark’s sincerity and apparent trustworthiness.
I said cautiously, “Can I send a photo of your driver’s license to my sister?”
He laughed, “Of course.” He fumbled in his back pocket, extracted his wallet, and passed his license to me.”
“You hold it,” I said, forcing him to display his state license. I pulled my cellphone from my pocket and took a picture, verified that it was legible, and then thanked him and immediately sent the pic to my sister Cindy. Of course, I ignored the actual writing on the license, only verifying the photograph. Next week, if I turned up dead in some alley, she’d know where to start.
Mark took my hand in both of his, “I sensed you wanted someone to kind of ‘be with,’ but you didn’t want to talk. I think I’m a witty conversationalist, but I gave you some space and was just ‘with you.’ When you’re ready — next week, maybe — we’ll chat. Appreciate that the hurt you’re feeling from your breakup will subside and eventually be a long distant memory. As a friend, I can maybe help with that, at least by diverting your attention for a few hours.”
“Thank you.” I gave a wan smile.
I gave Mark my home address and called his cell so we had that connection, and he promised to pick me up at seven-thirty.
Another man came up to Mark and mumbled in his ear. Mark turned to me with a smile, “Gotta go. I have miles to go before I sleep. See you next week Elsa.”
We parted and I found myself missing the aura of Mark, my mystery man. Later, I told Cindy all about him, what little I knew.
This would be one of the nicer parties I attended, mainly because there were only three people there who really knew me. To the rest I was a tag-along with Andrew Martin, my chief of staff; his pretty, sexy, and vivacious wife — Margo; and my executive secretary, Sheila Arden. We looked like a foursome, but our work and relative standing to each other was unknown and we kept it that way at my request. Andrew had gone to university with the host and hostess — Tyler and Kelsey, been in their wedding party, and at the party we helped celebrate their tenth wedding anniversary.
Running around the perimeter of the party were two young children that I learned were a by-product of the union we feted. I made a note that they seemed on sugar highs from continually eating the candies and brownies on the dessert table. Not my problem. They’d probably go to sleep the next day.
Most of the parties I went to did not have children around except for a few trophy wives and aspiring starlets, many of whom were of questionable legal age for any adult activity. Almost all of the people at those parties felt they had to genuflect in my direction, and many were bold enough to ask for something — money, usually, and often in subtle ways. Fifteen years earlier, those same people wouldn’t have given me the time of day.
I found those parties hollow, shallow, and a waste of time. They had long ago ceased to provide even entertainment value. Too much posing and posturing went on, and when I expressed those opinions and some other negatives to Andy, he politely asked if I wanted to go to a ‘normal’ party with him before we got on the corporate jet to fly to Europe. I said, “Yes.” Sheila was along for the trip, so was coming to the party as well.
I liked the anniversary party. Sheila made sure I arrived with a modest gift for the couple — some wine and a cheese board; something that wasn’t over the top and kept my anonymity preserved in the group. I met some interesting people, folks like me that were hard working and trying to get ahead. I had been lucky, made some good decisions, took some major risks, and by their standards had it made. I didn’t tell them that, only that I worked at Worthington Industries. I happened to be ‘The’ Worthington who had created and built the company — the multi-billion dollar international empire.
I didn’t think I was on the prowl at the party until I saw Elsa standing out of the way, watching the festivities. She was stunning in her simplicity and beauty, and I was instantly drawn to her. She also oozed unhappiness. Some rare part of me felt compassion for her, so I talked to her briefly. I sensed she wanted some companionship, but not an interrogation, so I just stood with her, with little conversation, for over a half-hour.
I can tell a lot about a person in that time, just by watching them. They may not make oral noises that pass as conversation, but their bodies talk in a unique language of looks, posture, gestures, and deportment. Elsa was a nice person. Some of the people I had to do business with were not nice, and I’d learned the hard way how to hone my instincts and body language skills. If I played poker, I would be a daunting opponent. In the business world I was a force to be reckoned with.
I’d had bad luck in relationships. I wanted someone in my life who I resonated with in mind, body, and spirit. I wanted to feel an electric connection with someone else, and I had yet to meet that person. As much as I ridiculed the idea of a soul mate, that was exactly what I was looking for. Someone where the best in them would hale the best in me, and together we’d make each other infinitely better in every dimension.
During the short time that Elsa talked she briefly explained her down behavior, not giving me a lot of unnecessary details — some guy dumped her in a public setting with no warning. I figured him for a loser with shit for brains. Elsa apologized for being a ‘dark force’ at a happy party; I told her to forget about it and that everyone had such days.
Elsa was a rare beauty in my opinion: blonde, blue eyed, trim, late twenties, athletic, and even sensuous in her own way. Further, she oozed personality and her own brand of sexuality — subtle and sweet, although I felt there was a lot hidden about that part of her that didn’t show. I’d seen a few other people at the party try to engage her — even hit on her, however she seemed rooted to her spot and not in a social mood.
After we’d been in each other’s presence for almost a half-hour, I asked Elsa out and amazingly she accepted. I didn’t pressure her, just politely asked. I thought ‘low key’ might have more of a chance with her than a high-pressure sell that I could easily do. I suggested dinner and ballroom dancing — not club dancing. There were still a few places around that did that. In my early thirties, I’d often be the youngest in the dance studio.
I also didn’t talk much, and yet I was ready to respond to her questions — questions that never came. I didn’t try to impress Elsa. My ego didn’t need stroking, and she didn’t look as though she wanted someone trying to impress her at the moment. I kept it simple and brief, and this after we’d just stood in silence for a long time feeling each other’s vibes. Amazingly, in those vibes I started to feel that special connection but I didn’t articulate it to myself until later.
Andy nudged me about ten-thirty and reminded me in a whisper that my jet was waiting at the local airport for a midnight flight to Milan. I did have business to attend. Leaving at midnight would time our arrival perfectly for a few day’s worth of business meetings where I was buying a company that complemented two I had in terms of product line. I’d get their R&D pipeline too.
I bid Elsa goodbye, promised I’d see her Saturday, and left in my foursome after again congratulating the hosting couple who only knew me as one of Andy’s friends. Andy and Sheila were traveling with me. He kissed his wife goodbye outside the house, and the three of us took my limo to the airport. I hoped that Elsa hadn’t seen the limousine.
I had continued to wallow in my depression following Malcolm’s departure, but as the week after the party went by I started to realize I felt relieved. I had built up a fantasy about my relationship with Malcolm. I liked the fantasy, and the various features in it, except for one — Malcolm. I came to the realization that he had not been the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Thus, while his departure put cracks in my fanciful notions about my future, I felt it was for the best.
Mark had been right; the pain of the breakup faded with each passing hour. Moreover, I think it faded faster because I had felt something special with Mark. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was more than just I thought he was hot. He was hot and we had some chemistry, but most of my thoughts were probably specious dreams.
Mark called me to confirm a couple of days before our date. When my caller ID on my cell phone lit up with ‘Mark Worth’ I felt my heart jump a couple of beats. I was excited and thrilled to be going out with this mysterious man.
My first date with Mark Worth was pleasant and did wonders for me. He had been a perfect gentleman. He picked me up in his old Jeep, and we went to dinner at the Skyline Steakhouse atop the tallest building in the city. He got a table with a fabulous view. He insisted that I have the best steak in the place, even though the price was quite high. He wanted me to taste a really great steak, and he was right; it was like nothing I’d ever tasted before, it was so good and tender. He looked pleased that he had pleased me in some unique way.
Mark got me talking about my life: growing up, parents, aspirations, college, grad school, and the three jobs I’d had since. He seemed fascinated with every word out of my mouth, and I got carried away enough to get embarrassed for monopolizing the conversation.
Mark said, “Elsa, you fascinate me. If I didn’t want you to keep talking about yourself, I would stop asking questions. Maybe we can just do a Vulcan Mind Meld, like they did on Startrek. ” He laughed, and I loved the sound of his laughter. It was relaxing and inviting to participate. I already felt we were doing some kind of mind meld.
I did get to turn the tables on him a few times. He’d grown up on the wrong side of the tracks, but somehow managed to escape, as he put it. He’d worked his way through college, and had even started a couple of businesses to help him earn money while he got his education. After college, he went to work for Worthington Industries, and thought he had a pretty good job there with a lot of room to grow as the company grew.
More than listening to his words though, I floated along over dinner to the sound of his voice. He had a hint of some cologne on or maybe it was just his natural scent; either way I kept inhaling him all night long. His dark brown eyes were captivating and I kept staring into them, even falling into them completely more than once. He enthralled me at every step. His manners were impeccable. Despite the point that the Jeep was pretty open, he held the door for me and even helped me with my seatbelt. He was very attentive, and that scored big points with me. He was treating me like a porcelain doll.
We never left the restaurant that night. We were seated at eight o’clock after having a cocktail in the bar, and at eleven-thirty, our waiter suggested we might want to move back to the lounge. We were the only two patrons left in the restaurant at that point and he obviously wanted to go home. I certainly hadn’t noticed the absence of other patrons.
Mark drove me home, and was a perfect gentleman. He didn’t try to invite himself inside. He helped me out of the car, and walked me to the front door. I don’t think he even expected the kiss I gave him — on the lips yet. I smiled. He smiled and thanked me.
When I kissed him, I felt this electrical charge race back and forth between our bodies. I almost had an orgasm, and my knees went weak. I wanted to pull him inside and do nasty things with him the rest of the night, but I stopped myself somehow. Hell, yes, we had chemistry — damn near explosive chemistry.
Sunday morning, a delivery from a florist shop got me to my front door at nine-thirty. Mark had sent me two-dozen pink roses — my favorites, a point he’d elicited from me at dinner the night before. The card said, ‘Elsa. You were enchanting. I hope we can see other again soon. I’ll call midweek. Hold Saturday if you can. We still haven’t danced. Fondly, Mark.’
I danced around my apartment all day long. I inhaled the scent of the flowers so much I almost hyperventilated. I even called my sister and told her all about my date and this new man in my life. She laughed right along with me as I told her every detail I could remember about the night — words, questions, looks, sounds around us, drinks and dinner, Mark’s eyes, voice, manners, and scent. I also described my latent lust for the man.
Cindy reminded me that I might be on the rebound, and that I should hold myself in check until at least the third date, except she was a little more blunt than that: “Sis, don’t let this guy fuck you until at least the third date. Remember what happened with Malcolm, and how fuckin’ well that turned out.” Cindy liked to tell it like it is, plus she liked a little shock value so she often used the ‘F’ word with me. I preferred terms like making love or intercourse, despite my own colorful and sexual past.
I was not a virgin, and I’d had a goodly number of one-night stands before I toned things down with Malcolm. With those it wasn’t that I was even looking for Mr. Right; I was looking to get fucked and have some great orgasms and sexual release. If Mark had been slightly more aggressive I suspected that he could have bedded me that first night we went out. I had been that kind of girl. He was such a gentleman that he had me swooning about him all night long, and that is one way into my bedroom — make me swoon.
Mark did call me on Wednesday evening. He explained he was on an airplane on a business trip, but had some time to talk. He explained he had a breakfast meeting with ‘some important people’ bright and early the next day, so he couldn’t afford to try to get there the next morning, especially with a weather front moving through the area.
We confirmed the Saturday evening date — dinner and dancing, again, only this time he promised we’d make the ballroom he wanted to try. He told me to bring some comfortable shoes to dance in too; none of those six-inch heels that might have me teeter tottering. Six-inch heels would make me exactly six feet tall; that’d be two inches shorter than Mark, but I wouldn’t do that to him.
My first date with Elsa went extremely well. I knew I had to win her over to even considering another man in her life after some chump dumped her, so I allowed my natural charm to come through. I was attentive, hopefully without giving the appearance of stalking her. I got her talking a lot about her life. I could be an insightful interviewer, and had long ago learned to ask great open-ended questions to get people to reveal themselves.
Elsa was the older of two girls in her family. Her parents still lived in Upstate New York. Of course, I already knew that. I’d had my staff check out everything they could find out about her, Cynthia — her sister, and Bart and Martha — her parents. They were of good solid, slightly upper middle-class stock.
Elsa told me more about her upbringing, college when she’d been a math major, and more. She was no slouch in the brains department. She worked in an architect’s office, crunching a lot of the numbers involved in calculating loads and stresses on new, large buildings being planned. She was paid well, but nothing over the top.
I even checked out Malcolm Griswold, Elsa’s recently declared ex-boyfriend. He was a junior engineer for a manufacturing company in the burbs. He helped keep the assembly line moving, and also made improvements to old stuff or helped design modifications to the line when new products came along. He was a schmuck, and as it turned out a cheat. A little tootsie named Rose had started work at his company in their marketing department right after graduation. He liked what he saw, and went after her. They’d started dating about three months ago or twelve weeks before he broke up with Elsa. Malcolm and Rose had been having a torrid affair most of that time, and indeed things continued to move along for them.
One thing I noted about Elsa that I liked was how understated she was. She’d accomplished all sorts of things in college scholastically, athletically, and in her volunteer work, but she treated it all as normal, and nothing that deserved anything more than passing mention in response to some specific question I’d pose to her. Apparently, she could be a social animal because she’d belonged to a popular sorority on her college campus. She didn’t need to blow her own horn. From what I could tell, she was repeating that pattern where she worked: outstanding work on many fronts but low key.
Even before our first date, I had arranged to have flowers sent to her. I wasn’t sure what kind, so I left that option open with the florist, promising that I would text him further instructions very late Saturday night. He was making a special delivery for me, since they were normally closed on Sundays. After our date, I texted him about pink roses and the message I wanted included.
I called Elsa from my plane while I was on the way to Amsterdam from Tokyo. It was Wednesday evening her time. Again, I had an early morning meeting with some chemical company executives from Akzo Nobel/ICI to try to close a deal to sell several large domestic chemical plants in the U.S. and trade a few others. Fundamentally, I was restructuring the industry on a global scale; the result would pour hundred of millions into my coffers.
I asked Elsa for a Saturday date, and I could tell from the tone of her voice how happy she was about the occasion. We had not made it to the ballroom on our first date, but I promised her this time we’d cutback a little on the conversation and be sure to dance.
Even talking with Elsa from the plane via satellite phone link, I could feel the vibrations with her. I’d tried to find these same feelings with several dozen other women, but had never gotten even a tickle of anything. With Elsa, it was like I was hearing a blaring trumpet while standing on top of an active earthquake.
After I hung up, I turned to my chief of staff. “Andy, can I borrow your son’s Jeep again on Saturday into Sunday?”
He laughed, “Same terms and conditions as last week, and I’m sure the answer is yes.”
I had bought Andy’s son Scott new rims and a set of high-end tires for the Jeep before I borrowed it last Saturday. The cost had run to almost two thousand dollars. In the process I’d learned that he also wanted a hard top for the car to make it more palatable to use in the wintertime. The price would be about the same. I didn’t mind paying just to keep up my somewhat middle class subterfuge until I was ready to reveal myself to Elsa.
Andy said with a chuckle, “I’ll text him now, and tell my son to go ahead and order that hardtop for his Jeep.”
I nodded my acquiescence. I laid my head back and hoped to get a few hours sleep before we landed at Schiphol and taxied to the general aviation terminal. Beyond the business meetings, I’d be back home in time for a business dinner with some executives on Thursday.
Naughty me. As I drifted off to sleep in the reclining seat, I had a series of erotic thoughts about Elsa. Somehow, I pictured us naked on some Caribbean beach in the shadows of a palm grove. She only wore a colorful sarong that revealed all her charms, was inviting me to make love to her, and I was moving slowly to be with her — total smitten with her. She was perfect — breasts, her flat stomach, the curves of her hips, and the beauty of her legs, all only amplifying how pretty she looked overall and she had love for me. The sarong slipped away from her lithe body. The dream deepened, and my memory of its features faded away into my deeper sleep.
Friday I arranged for more flowers to be delivered to Elsa. I didn’t think that was over the top, but later I’d find out that I had targeted on one of her cute weaknesses — she loved little gifts from someone who appreciated her and her favorite was flowers. Right then, I was very appreciative. I was also becoming consumed in my thinking about Elsa. It felt as though every minute I had some thought about her flit through my head.
Saturday evening, I drove the Jeep over to Elsa’s to pick her up. I liked the change of pace from the limousine. It felt good to be doing something routine for myself in my down time. As had been the case the week prior, behind me there was a black Escalade with two armed guards in it, just in case something started to happen.
Elsa opened the door, pulled me inside, and planted a kiss on me that melted the nails in my shoes.
I pulled away with a smile, “What brought that on, not that I’m complaining, mind you?” I continued to hold her in my arms.
She hugged me, “The flowers, of course. You’re so romantic. I just love it.”
Our date went rolling along from there, and it was as though I could do no wrong. Elsa was so appreciative of every little thing, every small attention, and hung on every word I said. I have to admit the feeling was mutual. Further, I knew it was because of ‘Me,’ and not because of my money or position in the huge company I ran.
I thought of that line from some country song — ‘You had me at Hello.’ Well, Elsa had me. She wasn’t even aware of it, but she was slowly reeling me into her. When I looked at her I saw an angel surrounded by stars and love. I chased her hoping she’d catch me.
All through dinner I wanted to kiss her again. We were across the table from each other, and I spent an inordinate amount of time swimming in her sexy eyes and trying to read her mind.
After dinner we walked a block to the ballroom dance place. They had a live ten-piece band doing old favorites. Why I liked them remained a mystery to me, but I did — old Glenn Miller, Dorsey, Goodman, and other songs from a bygone era, but all of them danceable. We were the youngest couple in the place by thirty years. I heard comments about how ‘cute’ we were.
I got Elsa back in my arms, and told her that this was where she belonged. She nodded and then kissed me on the lips again. My heart did little flippity-flops. My God, I was feeling this immense connection with her — mind, body, and spirit, just what I’d wanted for decades.
One of my little devils got after me. I was losing control over some part of my life, and he thought that was intolerable. I couldn’t show weakness, and getting all mushy over some girl was definitely a weakness. I had to be strong, macho, and manly in this situation.
Just about the time I had decided to assert myself with Elsa, she melted into my arms again with another kiss. She then whispered to me about how handsome I was, and how much she liked being with me. She then waxed eloquent about my personality, and how I came across to her. She avoided using the ‘L’ word, but came right up to that door. I was already there.
The ballroom closed at eleven o’clock. We retrieved the Jeep and drove to a 24/7 coffee shop. The black security car behind us went unnoticed. We sat outside on a stonewall and nursed some lattes, and just talked. I got her talking about her work and life, and that led to some talk about important values we saw in a relationship.
I winced internally when she talked about openness and honesty, knowing I was hiding a large secret from her. I decided that when I was certain that Elsa was ‘The One’ I would remedy that situation, and we’d go on from there. I felt certain she’d jump for joy with the news I’d eventually share. I was almost sure; I just wanted a little more time not being the billionaire in her eyes.
I was in his arms, snuggled against his chest, and this felt so wonderful. I felt swept off my feet by this beautiful man. I loved to slow dance with him; I felt so safe and protected, … and I felt my heart slipping away.
I tried to be rational. I’d been dumped only a couple of weeks earlier by Malcolm. I was sad and even devastated, but in hindsight I had come to realize that it was for the best. We had so many incompatibilities. I tried to talk myself into worrying about my relationship with Mark for the same reasons, but I couldn’t be objective. I’d talked Cindy’s ear off about Mark too, and even she was starting to feel as though she knew him as well as I did.
I didn’t feel incompatibilities with Mark; just smooth sailing. He obviously thought highly of me too. Our two dinners out had been at two great restaurants, and I hated to think of the cost. The wine alone had been almost a hundred dollars a bottle, and then he recommended to me the first or second most expensive thing on the menu. He told me he’d had it once before and it was marvelous; he was right both times. He was out to impress me, and he had. I did keep telling him that I could be fine with the house wine, and the ground beef, but he wanted me to have the best.
Before he had a chance to ask me out on another date, I asked him out. Well, I asked him to my apartment where I could cook him a dinner. I also mentioned that we could dance or ‘whatever.’ The ‘whatever’ was my euphemism for having a wild make out session with him. I might even be ready to make love with him. Heck, I wanted to fuck his brains out on our first date; by our third date I’d probably kill him because I’d be so sexually worked up.
Yes, I felt that simpatico with him that I’d invoke the third date rule. I thought that might be a little trite, but I didn’t think Mark had any expectations about me in regards to sex. He seemed over joyed at our kisses and our snuggling on the dance floor at the ballroom, and then kissing goodnight on my door stoop.
I wanted to seduce the man. I wanted him in my bed. I wanted him next to me, under me, or on top of me. I wanted what he had inside me. I couldn’t believe how horny I was for him. He really had my attention. I knew I’d be masturbating with my magic battery toy to a vision of us making love shortly after he left me that Saturday evening. I renamed my battery toy ‘Mark.’
Mark accepted my dinner invitation with a huge smile. He promised to bring wine.
A week later, he showed up at my door with two bottles of what looked like more of his hundred dollars plus a bottle wine. It was so smooth, and blended so well with the salmon I’d fixed for us. I’d also splurged on dinner, buying the best salmon and fixings for a superb meal.
I was a good cook. My mother had been a great teacher, and I paid attention. If the way to man’s heart was through his stomach, I was creating an express lane between our two hearts.
Mark seemed on his best behavior. He didn’t try to maul me or try anything that might be interpreted as over the line, but we sure did kiss and stroke each other a lot during the cocktail period before dinner. The most I can chalk up to heading in the right direction was when he stroked one of my breasts outside the several layers of my clothing. I swooned it was so nice. Of course, I added some extra passion to my kisses then. I wanted him to know how receptive I was to his advances.
We had a great conversation over dinner. I learned how familiar he was with the European Union, and some of the laws and tariffs they were relaxing on U.S. products being imported into that zone. Yes, we had an erudite conversation. Mark’s knowledge of high level international trade amazed me, not only dealing with Europe, but also the Middle East, Latin America, and Asia.
After dinner, I whipped through my rehearsed drill to get the important food put away, and left the rest in the sink. Mark poked around my bookshelves.
I put on my carefully crafted playlist on my iPad, and flowed into Mark’s arms with the imperative, “Let’s dance.”
I dimmed the lights, and the music got dreamy, just as I’d planned.
It took me a half hour to woo a highly motivated Mark Worth into my bed. He then took me to the stars and back.
We got naked at my instigation, and then I was on him, sucking on the nicest cock I’d ever enjoyed. He was not only long, but also had girth, so much that I could barely get him into my mouth. After I got used to him, I found ways to please him and to take even more of him. I became the highly motivated one between us, wanting to bring him superb pleasures. I wanted him to never forget that night.
Mark pushed me off at one point; he admonished, “This is not how I want to finish our first time together.” He smiled and kissed me. “I want to be making love to you properly.” I didn’t need a college degree to figure out that ‘properly’ meant with his cock deep inside my hot and desirous pussy.
He immediately went down on me, and spent the next half-hour with his mouth and fingers doing things to my cunt that kept bringing me to orgasm and driving me higher and higher up the lust scale.
I finally pleaded for us to couple, and Mark came over me, and by then I was so wet and so lubricated that he could have driven his damn Jeep into my cunt. I should note that the hornier I am, the cruder my language becomes. I could be really slutty, and had been on many occasions.
Mark slid right into me, and in three strokes was at his full depth. I came and came and came. I flooded our union and my bed, but I didn’t mind. Mark didn’t mind, and in fact seemed pleased with my involuntary reaction to his penetration. He voiced his pleasure over my reaction to his lovemaking.
I blurted out, “Oh, God, Mark. I love this. I love fucking you. I love you!”
Mark whispered back, “The feeling is more than mutual, Elsa. You have stolen my heart. I love you.” I was so happy that he could say those three words — that we’d shared them. It was a major breakthrough in our relationship. I was in love. WE were in love.
My heart soared, and I followed right along as yet another orgasm pelted my body like an intense storm spawning immense F5 tornadoes. Mark’s equipment was so large and the way we were joined meant that his cock kept stroking against my clit, and when it wasn’t doing that it was rubbing against my G-spot. I kept cumming.
I cried with joy I was so happy and so satisfied. No man had ever gotten me off the way he did, and I was not inexperienced. That said, there was more to it than just the physical connection; something deeper was happening between us. We were sharing some kind of transcendent experience where we were in each other’s minds, heads, and souls.
We made love three times that evening. I lost count of my orgasms. Mark told me it was the most satisfying night of his life, and from the vibes I felt from him I believed him. It was my best night ever too, and I told him that.
As we lay in our final afterglow, Mark explained that he had to travel again during the week, but wanted to spend the following weekend with me. He wanted to take me to a resort area about a two-hour drive away from the city. I agreed.
Mark got up, dressed, kissed me goodbye as I displayed my nude body to him without a shred of bashfulness. I wanted him to remember that I could also be a slut in bed. Oh, I wanted him so much. I hoped he wanted a woman who was highly sexed.
Midweek, I got an email from Mark. He suggested some casual things to pack for a night away. He apologized that he only had one night to be away, but promised to pick me up Saturday morning about nine o’clock, and thought we’d be home Sunday evening. I was so excited I almost peed myself.
I called my sister and we talked for hours. I told her about every little thing that Mark and I had done and the feelings I’d felt. I think we were both so horny when we ended that call that we jilled off.
Despite my upbeat mood, I still wanted to know more about Mark. There was something about him that remained a mystery that I hadn’t figured out. I wondered if it was important or whether I was making up ghost stories about my boyfriends again.