Quiet interlude.

“Why so many?”

You lie tied up on the bed. It looks like we stole it from some medieval castle, velvet roof included.

Your wrists and ankles look even better, even more enticingly vulnerable, with the thick rope curled around it, like some adamant snake, that seems intent on strangling your limbs.

I come and lie next to you, repeating your question. For the past two weeks you have been bombarding me with questions about my past exploits. Despite the huge age difference, sex is sort of new to you.

“Why so many, hey?”

I take a deep breath and say:

“I don’t know. Every woman is an adventure. A university of life moving on killer legs.”

“What do they teach you?”

I caress you, with slow strokes, my hand barely touching your naked skin.

“Some teach me to enjoy life, to be less tense, some teach me to get a grip, some heal me, some teach me about women in general, how to be good to them, what it is they need. I enjoy pleasing them.”


“I guess it heals the wounds in my fragile manhood or something. Apart from giving me the deepest pleasure I know.”

‘What am I teaching you?’

“That the most freedom loving people find it most exciting to give themselves over to the feckle will of an obsessed womaniser.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

I grab your breasts, and knead them like dough. You want me to come between them.

You are more excited than I am. I prefer to come in different fashion.

When it’s done, it’s like there is a white jellyfish sucking on your neck. I rub it off with my hand and put my fingers in your mouth.

“Why does it taste like salted coffee?”, you ask.

“I don’t know. It just tastes like that.”

“Is it because you drink so much coffee?”

“I don’t know. Some say you can sweeten the taste of it by eating a lot of fruit. But I don’t believe it.”

“Why don’t you give it a try?”

‘I don’t know. It’s time-consuming to eat a lot of fruit.’

“Then drink smoothies. You should take better care of yourself.”

I’m tempted to say ‘yes, mummy’, but given the circumstances, I don’t.

“Choke me”, you say.

Your sea-green eyeshade looks really hot. It’s my fetish colour, but you don’t know that.

I straddle your belly and put my right hand firmly round your neck. Do all girls like this? Maybe not all, but I’m starting to think 20 percent is a fair estimate.

You breathe heavily and I move away to go down on you, my right hand still gripped tightly around your neck.

I lick you to the rhythm of the song ‘When the levee breaks’, by Led Zeppelin.

You come shaking and trembling, the bed moves a few inches.

I untie you, and you lie there, beaming, curled up, like a little child, half awake, half asleep.

I put on ‘Summer of 69′

It’s meant to tease you. You were born in ’68.

You are the best friend of my aunt.

My aunt introduced us. She thought it was exactly what you needed after a 24-year marriage to a guy who tried to plaster his insecurities with lots of booze and lots of insults thrown at you. You have two children. The eldest is already copying his father and calling you ‘a limp brain chicken’. You let him, you have no self-defence mechanisms. Your mother was an alcoholic. The world crashing down on you, is your idea of normal every day life.

Apart from a wrinkle here and there and the stretch marks on your belly, you look like you have just turned 18.

When I go down on you again, 20 minutes later, you say “thank you”.

That’s the difference between 18-year old girls and 43-year old girls, the former you thank for letting you go down on them, the latter insist on thanking you.

I say you have nothing to thank me for. To me you really are 18.

My tongue moves so slowly, you almost sound like you’re in pain.

I stop and say I give you 24 snail paced licks, for every year spent in a sham marriage.

“You make it almost worth it”, you say.

When you come a second time, you say: “good boy, very good boy, that was…lush.”

You run your fingers through my hair.

A woman who understands dogs, has all the knowledge she needs to keep a man happy.

Before we fall asleep, you say: “I know I have to find someone my own age, but for the next six months or so, you can give me all the licks I have been missing out on.”

Orgasms do something to the spirit of woman. It makes them more self-confident.

When you kick out your oldest son and send him packing for calling you names again, I say, with a big smile, I think you can move on now.

“What was in it for you?”, you ask.

“I never pass on beautiful 18 year old girls”, I say.

“You’re crazy”, you say.

And you smile, with such radiance, I just have to give you one last kiss.

Women often try to fend off a compliment, because they know it’s impossible for them not to believe a compliment.

When I close your front door behind me, I’m also smiling.

In the bible of seduction, ‘The game’ they say: “always leave them better than you found them.”

For once, I think I can be sure of that.


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