By nature I’m a selfish creature. This is who I am, I make no apologizes. If I love you then you have my loyalty and everything I possess. If I hate you, which I do often, then there is no hope of reconciliation. But life has a funny way of handing your ass back to you when you least expect it. In walk Samantha. The first time I laid eyes on her she was walking to class accompanied by a student. I couldn’t hear their conversation but her lips never stopped moving and she continuous fussed with hair. I remember thinking, why doesn’t she pull it back away from her face? And why does she hide her figure? Wrongly I assumed it was because she was ashamed of her body or shy. Samantha isn’t ashamed of anything and she certainly isn’t shy especially in academic situations.
I sat in on a few of her classes in an effort to get a picture of her, to see what made her tick. I was immediately taken by her passion…her teardrop eyes became animated when she spoke. Her students peppered her with questions and arguments and she never flinched. Aw, I said to myself, she’s haughty. It’s a quality I appreciate in women for there’s nothing less attractive than a silly woman. In all my travels, I’ve never met someone who has intrigued me as much as she does. On one hand she meets my tenacity with equal force, but of the other hand she’s pliable and bends to my will. Now that I think about it, this is her way of keeping me in check. Um, sneaky.
We’ve been together for a few months now. I don’t believe Samantha realizes how much she means to me. I’d move heaven and earth to protect her. Although I’ve never spoken the words, I love Samantha. Therein lies the problem; I love her. You see, I haven’t been lucky in the relationship department—let’s just say it’s been a slow walk through hell. To say my last relationship ended poorly would be a massive understatement which is why I don’t open myself to others. But with Samantha things were different. It’s difficult to verbally express—Samantha has ‘it’.
The morning after our first sexual encounter, I rose before she did. This isn’t anything abnormal; Samantha isn’t exactly a morning person. What bookmarks this moment in my mind is the how peaceful she looked lying in bed. She’d kicked the covers off of her and taken to my side of the bed for warmth. I didn’t know it then but this pattern of kicking covers and dashing to my side was her routine. At the time I simply smiled down at her hair, it was an absolute train wreck but she was lovely. Aside from her trip home for necessities, we spent the entire weekend locked in my flat. It bears mentioning that Samantha’s cooking is abominable. In light of this revelation I assumed all culinary related duties. Seriously there’s nothing redeeming about it; it was fit for neither man nor beast. I’d like to think she wasn’t purposely trying to harm me but one can’t be sure.
In that one weekend, I learned her life history and we skimmed over mine. Women aren’t hard nuts to crack—ask them questions and they’ll answer. Men, on the other hand, we’re tightlipped. If she walked away knowing anything beyond my candy coating I’d be surprised. I don’t disclose the details of past to anyone, not even to her. There’s not much to tell. Well, there is but it’ll all come to light soon enough. For the time being I prefer the innocence of our relationship. I love her too much to do otherwise. I’m selfish, remember? I don’t, of course, tell Dorian any of this. He’s sorting out his own life with Claire and I have an image to uphold. If he knew that I enjoyed our post-coital cuddling I’d never hear the end of it.
Which brings me to this: Samantha’s appetite is savage, she doesn’t get enough. There are times when our lovemaking has left me utterly knackered and thanks to the makers of Trojans she isn’t knocked up—though the threat of throat-babies has crossed my mind. I’m not complaining; I love head! I still remember the look in her eyes when I slowly ran my fingers along the side of her face and asked, “Do you consent to what is about to happen?” Now, any right thinking person would’ve gnawed their way through the ropes tethering them to my bed and ran for the hills. Not Samantha. She batted her lashes innocently and bit her lower lip. She was cumming—I know her well.
This is one of the many things I find fascinating about her: from outward appearance you’d imagine her to be a mild mannered sexual prude. She’s not. Behind closed doors she’s an insatiable minx. How she manages in my absences is beyond me. According to her, she doesn’t….which explains why I’m held captive after my business trips. Again, I’m not complaining. She feeds my ego and I feed her pussy every chance I get. Most men would kill to be in my position—than again most men would be happy to get a wiggling orgasm from their women. Not me. I take Samantha’s orgasms through hell and back until her arms flail wildly, her words become unintelligible and I see that fleeting twinkle of surrender in her eyes. I used to think I was hurting her. But then she’d bat those lashes at me—so desperate for the catharsis of our lovemaking that I’m obliged to give it to her. I know, I’m selfish but, in this, I’m very altruistic. I’m the Ghandi of hardcore fucking…selfless I am.
My Samantha, the joys of having a normal relationship with an emotionally healthy woman rather than someone who’s constantly attempting to sell your soul to The Lord of Darkness. That’s not the kind of play I’m into…well, that and fisting. Where do I see our relationship going? I don’t know. Ideally, it would grow into something longstanding but, like I said, life has a funny way of handing your ass back to you when you least expect it.
Spread The Word
This article is part 2 of a 2 part series. Other articles in this series are shown below:
Through Gabriel's Eyes