[author's note: Thanks to the real Connie whose story this, in broad outlines and in many phrases, and everyone else who added details and encouragement.]
*
"Well, Connie, here's another fine mess you've gotten yourself into." That had been my Dad's favorite expression to me, growing up.
Sometimes, under stress, like now, I imagined that he was still here and I talked to him.
And my first response had always been an angry denial. "It is not a mess!"
I could just imagine Dad standing there. He was a master of just saying nothing, and I know he would just look at me. In this instance, tied up naked on the kitchen table and my son Brian somewhere on the road home from college.
"Uh huh," he would say finally say after a bit. "Not a mess..."
"Well, maybe, but it's not my fault!" That had always gone over well too.
"Uh huh. Whose it is then?"
"It's Rick's."
My father would stare at me, I just know.
"So he put a gun to your head, did he?"
"Well he was the one who tied me up and he was the one who suggested it all in the start, and he was the one who told be what to do around Brian, and he...."
"Did you EVER tell him 'no' Connie?"
"No, but a girl can't say no when there a 100 Brendas out there...
OK, so taking responsibility has never been one of my strong suits.
"Wait, it is Brenda, she's the one, the bitch. She's the one, that barely 20-something bimbo with the perfect tits who apparently just giggled and pouted, and took away my husband AND our business and sent me into the downward spiral that lead to this. After I had gotten us through 2008 and years of him treating the house like a piggy bank. No, Brenda had entered and wiggled and giggled and suddenly Fred had a Soul Mate and One Last Chance at Happiness and Out the Door See Ya, Connie. And then for ME, if the utility bill was $10 more, it was a cause for a deep seated panic attack that had me yelling at Brian for not turning off the computer, and me really hoping the "check engine light" really meant, "here's another pretty little graphic that doesn't really mean anything."
Fred. The fuck. Buy a corvette, asshole, and keep it zipped.
And if you want to party like you were 20 again party with me, not a 20 year-old.
It's just sad when you are like the oldest one in the room, Fred.
You know, tied up on the kitchen table, one really has the time to see how dirty the ceiling is. Rick had really tied me up good. I should be grateful, in a sense, that he had tied me up lying in my back. At 50, tied standing up would probably show more of my things sagging. 5'3'' 125 36DD blonde and blonde and trimmed looks better flat spread eagle on the kitchen table. It helped smooth out some ridges, creases and folds that might otherwise be, um, more visible.
Trust me on this.
Rick, oh yeah, My Knight in Shining Armor who had seen me in that crappy little dump place someone with a intense sense of irony labeled a "Lounge" a couple of years after Fred, the day AFTER her 47th birthday had told me of his One Last Chance of Lasting Happiness AKA Big Tit Baby Brenda. Fuck, if I had known then what was gonna happen in the next 24 hours, I would have ordered TWO desserts AND the fucking lobster.
"I just want to take this one last chance at happiness. You can understand that, can't you, Connie-honey?" In his whiney, pathetic oh woe-is-me voice.
I would have taken the lobster fork and shoved it though his smug, smarmy, pitying puffy face.
"Understand that, asshole."
But Rick found me and at first it was all A Dream Come True. He was charming. Cute. Listened. Had a job. Hell, he had a business. Didn't live with his mother. Never lived in a basement. Called back even after a night when I was less than spectacular with the sex. Hell, he called back. Period. Therefore, at my age, a keeper.
It didn't hurt that Rick is 5'10," 210, moustache and side burns. And did I mention an 8-inch cock? The first time I saw it, just a few hours after I met the body around the cock, I thought, literally, OMG it looks so big and soft and heavy just hanging there.
And then it grew.
I was and remain a slave to that man's cock.
I know you want details, so here ya' go: It's large, I think I mentioned that already, very thick, very veiny with a large mushroom head on it. He likes to lay it across my face with his balls against my chin and when he does so the head of his cock is over my forehead. Yeah, his cock is longer than my face. Oh, when he smacks my face with his cock, it feels like he has hit me with his forearm, or an elephant's truck.
He was also a BIG upgrade from Fred.
Screw you, Brenda. BIG screw you.
And yes, a large cock will make a woman do some crazy things.
Well, for this woman it does.
At any rate, Rick soon moved in and we had sex all the time. Sex, flowers, huge cock and new appliances.
Good times.
The conversation we had when we had sex to celebrate the new washer/dryer was the point where I could have most plausibly said no; should have said no; but no, I didn't say no.
The conversation had apparently started without me, as my mind already was drifting to the possibility of changing my brand of dryer sheets.
"What was that honey?" I asked.
"I said, maybe he should begin to learn more about sex."
"He who?"
"Brian."
"What?"
"At home."
I was so caught by surprise; I really didn't know what he was talking about.
"I don't think he really needs to have that talk...I'm sure he knows...
"There is talk, and then there is experience, Connie...."
"I know but that's what school is for."
"No, that is what family is for," he laughed.
