it’s temporary. All I think of is Tony. All I want to talk about is Tony. I love the sight of his face, I love the way his muscles ripple under his shirt. I love even more the way his muscles ripple when he’s taken his shirt off. I love the smell of him, clean from the shower, and I love the scent of him in arousal. I love what he talks about, and the way he says it. I love that Spanish difficulty he has with “d”s and “t”s when they come in the middle of a word. Did you ever hear a Bolivian say “Madrid”? I love it when he goes down on me and I love it when he pulls me over him so I’m sitting on his face. I love it when he throws me down and has me. And oh how I love”—and would she have blushed when she said this? Perhaps. But, knowing Merrill, probably not—”I love his cock. Just the sight and the heft and the feel of it. I love it when he has to pee and I hold it for him. I love it when I take it in my mouth after he’s washed it clean because he knows we’re going to bed. And I love it when he puts it in me.”
That is the kind of conversation she would have had with Alice. Of course she could have had the same sort of conversation with her mother, but it would have needed heavy censorship and Merrill was in no mood to censor her conversation about Tony. The now staid matron Mrs Abercrombie had once been the young Sicilian virgin Irene Secco and in neither of those guises could she have been allowed to hear her daughter rhapsodizing about her lover’s cock. The word alone could have Merrill banished for life.
Merrill had heard many times the story of how Irene, newly arrived in America, had met and fallen hopelessly for the young and vigorous New Yorker Brian Abercrombie – and how her brothers, equally fresh off the boat and still imbued with the values of the old country, had sought out the young American and delivered an uncompromising message. “You may marry our sister with our blessing. Or you may sever your connection and never see her again. Those are your choices and your moment of decision is now.”
Knowing her father as she did, Merrill was still amazed that he had not simply told the two immigrants to get lost. But he had been as utterly besotted with the beautiful young woman as she with him. They had married. She had born him four fine sons and a daughter and they had stayed blissfully together for forty years until his death.
Brian Abercrombie had followed his heart. His daughter intended to do likewise. She had not yet communicated that decision to Tony, nor explained his role in it, but she was sure that, at some level, he knew.
There was one thing she could have added to the list of things she loved about Tony and probably would not have done, even to Alice. She really would have blushed to hear herself say, “I love it when he spanks me” and she was not sure she was ready to run that one past her friend. What if Alice failed to understand? After all, Merrill herself would probably have turned up her nose if someone had mentioned that particular indulgence only a week earlier.
“He spanks you? You mean, on your b-t-m? And you let him?”
She felt differently now. But it still seemed to her the most private and intimate of activities—far more so even than the sex act itself—and not something she could mention to another person. Not even one as close to her as Alice.
Even Tony himself had expressed doubts, however slight. ‘We don’t have to start every love-making with a spanking,’ he had said as she prepared to lay across his knee.
‘I know,’ she had answered—but she had lain down there anyway. She had sensed he wanted more. ‘I can’t explain it.’ She had said, trying, ‘It’s very hard to be a woman today. We’re supposed to be independent and I am independent and I like being independent. But sometimes it seems like that means we have to take the lead on everything. Sometimes I want to take the lead and sometimes I don’t. Being…you
That is the kind of conversation she would have had with Alice. Of course she could have had the same sort of conversation with her mother, but it would have needed heavy censorship and Merrill was in no mood to censor her conversation about Tony. The now staid matron Mrs Abercrombie had once been the young Sicilian virgin Irene Secco and in neither of those guises could she have been allowed to hear her daughter rhapsodizing about her lover’s cock. The word alone could have Merrill banished for life.
Merrill had heard many times the story of how Irene, newly arrived in America, had met and fallen hopelessly for the young and vigorous New Yorker Brian Abercrombie – and how her brothers, equally fresh off the boat and still imbued with the values of the old country, had sought out the young American and delivered an uncompromising message. “You may marry our sister with our blessing. Or you may sever your connection and never see her again. Those are your choices and your moment of decision is now.”
Knowing her father as she did, Merrill was still amazed that he had not simply told the two immigrants to get lost. But he had been as utterly besotted with the beautiful young woman as she with him. They had married. She had born him four fine sons and a daughter and they had stayed blissfully together for forty years until his death.
Brian Abercrombie had followed his heart. His daughter intended to do likewise. She had not yet communicated that decision to Tony, nor explained his role in it, but she was sure that, at some level, he knew.
There was one thing she could have added to the list of things she loved about Tony and probably would not have done, even to Alice. She really would have blushed to hear herself say, “I love it when he spanks me” and she was not sure she was ready to run that one past her friend. What if Alice failed to understand? After all, Merrill herself would probably have turned up her nose if someone had mentioned that particular indulgence only a week earlier.
“He spanks you? You mean, on your b-t-m? And you let him?”
She felt differently now. But it still seemed to her the most private and intimate of activities—far more so even than the sex act itself—and not something she could mention to another person. Not even one as close to her as Alice.
Even Tony himself had expressed doubts, however slight. ‘We don’t have to start every love-making with a spanking,’ he had said as she prepared to lay across his knee.
‘I know,’ she had answered—but she had lain down there anyway. She had sensed he wanted more. ‘I can’t explain it.’ She had said, trying, ‘It’s very hard to be a woman today. We’re supposed to be independent and I am independent and I like being independent. But sometimes it seems like that means we have to take the lead on everything. Sometimes I want to take the lead and sometimes I don’t. Being…you
Similar Books
