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A sad history with a happy vignette
A sad history with a happy vignette I had a wonderful romance with a pretty French girl a long time ago. It's one happy chapter in a long dreadful saga. The whole story covers over twenty . Let's begin: After having spent eight months failing win my wife back I returned Western Michigan finish my degree. I registered for classes and lived in an adandoned paper mill on Portage Street. It reeked. I had a lot of time to think, to strive, to seek, to find, and not yield to my dire circumstances. In the student union I met a pretty girl at a msg board, tall, blonde, and blue-eyed, I had become acquainted with her by chance a year before. She volunteered her phone number and her class schedule. She liked me. I liked her. I wasted the next seven of my life on a devastatingly failed relationship with her. We were boyfriend/girlfriend. At least that's what she led believe. The difference between a slut and a bitch is that a slut will fuck anybody, while a bitch will fuck anybody but YOU. This woman was a bitch. Her father and I once had a surreal discussion about her sexual proclivities, un roman noir in itself. He cried. She ended up dumping yours truly for a much older guy who could get her into medical school. They married. She had . He didn't have any. He committed suicide when he found out. Her was killed in a crash a few ago. She still practices medicine, locum positions after losing her private practice. After we both graduated I followed her Samoa where she was assigned in the Peace Corps. Pisi Koa, as the Samoans . They called tamaloa aulelei, beautiful man. Also matai, and tusitala, storyteller. They liked my stories. The Tusitala Hotel in Apia is named for the Scottish author Robert Louis Stevenson, whose stately grave is on a hill outside of town. I smoked a blunt there. He would have approved. He was that kind of guy. Before that I followed her to Europe when she had the opportunity to study in France one summer. I mailed hashish to her in a sealed ampoule from Kalamazoo. She asked me to join her. So I did. I quit my job, got flights that got me to Stuttgart, got busted by les keufs in Strasbourg for hitchhiking without a license, got a ride from a flic to Paris, walked the length of the Louvre without paying to get in, saw the Winged Victory of Samothrace, and at last hiked up the lane to the French farmhouse outside Tours where she was staying. It rained. More to come. I have some online flirting to do. It's a hobby. Now then. A fat girl in baggy clothes and dark hair in a ponytail was checking the post. She watched me for the time took for me to come up the lane in the warm drizzle before striding off gracefully into the house. Madame was animated and profusely apologetic. She explained that my girlfriend was aware that I was coming but had gone off the day before to London with a Dutch danseur to catch the opening of a musical. I had to sit down. Madame spoke in a Breton patois and I could catch parts of , so she repeated herself in halting Parisian, with details. Monsieur greeted me with kisses the cheeks in the French manner and shook my hand and said some warm kind words of encouragement, again in Breton patois I could barely make out. They felt very badly for me. I felt very badly for myself. This wasn't the first time this sort of thing had happened. It was the latest incident in a pattern. This one just happened to have occurred in the Touraine. The fat girl in the ponytail watched us pensively from another room. They explained that she was their sixteen-year- Marie and that she was very shy for no good reason. They gestured for her come meet me and she ghosted. We had a light lunch of cheese and bread and charcuterie and water and wine without Marie. Monseiur invited me stay and help him with some heavy work and I cheerfully agreed. Madame and Monsieur genuinely liked me, so of course I liked them. Marie was not so sure. Monsieur introduced me the ducks and the chickens and the orchard and the horses and the cows and the fields. He showed an engine that wasn't working and while he was off the house I was able do a couple of things and get it started. "You got that running! I was going sell it cheap and get rid of it!" The work he needed done was very heavy. We were soaking wet from the rain and we stripped off our shirts. "Ah, a good strong man! We will need our muscles for this." It took all bloody afternoon and into the evening too. Marie furtively observed our progress. Afterwards we cleaned up, taking turns with an outside shower fed from a tank on the roof of the house. Madame served us a weirdly marvelous stew with bread and wine and cheese. Marie ghosted, haunting the house. The rain had stopped but it was dark out and getting chilly. Papa and Mama assured me I would be more comfortable in a wing of the stables. Mama had made a comfortable low cot and had provided an electric lamp on a stand with some books. The room was warmed with a fire in a small hearth. We talked for some time, working out our language differences. They told me their story. They already seem to know mine from their time with my girlfriend. Marie came and sat with us, silently. She looked at me with big eyes. Mama and Papa ignored her. They excused themselves and we bade each other bon soir. I undressed and climbed into the big cot and read a book for a while before going to sleep. It had been a hell of a day. I tried not to think about my girlfriend. I left the little light on. It barely illuminated the cot. I soon awoke sleepily in the weak half-light with the sensation that something was messing with my face. Not just my face, but my package. I opened my eyes a little and was Marie, sitting on the floor, lightly stroking my dick with a couple of fingers. Apparently she had also been kissing me while I slept. More to come. J'ai sommeil, je vais dormir un peu. Okay, rested and rarin' go. Please note that the dialogue that follows occurred in la langue française and not in English and that I have provided a translation here. I don't actually remember exactly what was said anyway, so what follows is just the gist of it. "Marie? What's going on?" That startled her. She drew back and looked away. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean wake you." I don't really see how kissing me and playing with my dick could fail wake me up, but I think we can let that go here. "'s okay Marie. Don't let upset you." I kept reassuring her until she loosened up and looked at me. "Marie, what are you doing here? Aren't your<b> parents </font></b>going to find out?" "They told me to come to you." "They did?" "They told me how to get you to like me." "They did?" "Papa said, Marie, just show him your breasts." "He did?" "Mama said, Marie, that's all you have to do." "She did? Why?" "They don't want me to marry a poor French farm boy. They want me to marry a rich Americaine so they can have some money." "Oh." "Do you like me?" She looked at me hopefully. "Of course I like you, Marie. Why wouldn't I like you?" "Because I'm a cow." "What?" "My boobs are too big. I'm a cow." "Marie, you're not a cow." "Yes I am." "Marie, I like you. I like you very much. I think you're a very nice person. Of course I like you." She brightened and beamed at me, smiling broadly. "I should still show you. Mama and Papa told me to." "Okay. Show me." She got up on her knees and opened up her heavy dressing gown. Oh. My. God. Marie wasn't fat. Her baggy clothes just made her look that way. She wore baggy clothes to hide herself because she was self-conscious and uncertain about how she looked. She looked fabulous. She looked impossibly fabulous. She revealed the most beautiful breasts I have ever seen before or since and the sight of them will haunt my wet dreams to the end of my short happy life. I'll be back after my cold shower. Down boy! Down I said! So what happens next? Do me and Marie make love? Oh jeez, you think? We barely did anything else. We couldn't keep our hands off each other. We fucked like animals for weeks. We stopped long enough to eat, sleep, and shit. Go ahead. Ask your questions. But what about that first time, Tamaloa? Did you pull out in time and spray her down? Did you get your cum smeared all over your bodies? Or did you spray down the lamp and short it out? Did it get fixed? Did the sheets ever get changed? How many times? Did Mama come out and join in? Did Papa? Did your girlfriend come back and join in? Did you get busted for fucking in public? How many times? What's the age of consent in France? So what happened Tamaloa? What's the rest of the story? Did Marie get pregnant? Was it a boy or a girl? Did your girlfriend get pregnant? Did Mama get pregnant? Did Marie come back with you to the States? Did your girlfriend? Okay, this is twenty questions. The answers, in order: What about it? Yes. Yes. Yes. Monsieur fixed it. Yes. Once. Yes. No. No. Yes. Once. Fifteen. This is boring, and it's too much typing. Yes. But not by me. Girl Yes. She got another abortion. Hey, it wasn't mine. Yes. No. Yes. Our relationship lasted another five before it blew up. Figure it out. I don't have time for this. My date stayed over last night and I think she's ready for more. I did write out the Marie-and-Me Fuckfest even though Mr. Happy wouldn't leave me alone for a second the whole time, but if you want it you're going have ask for it. It took , Bonnie, and Kim like hours type it up. We took turns and I edited. They wanted to give it a woman's touch. Squared, because 's of them. How a gal can go total apeshit over a guy she's well and truly crazy about. Made them crazy. So long, and thanks for all the fish. |
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8/22/2020 1:16 pm |
After making love with Marie for a month she developed a runny nose. I think she was full.
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