Chapter 4, Parochial School, God Loves Me, Maybe Not

Amateur

Tuesday and Thursday noon times at Edward’s were rushed. Past the apartment door, he displayed his latest branding item, attire or jewelry. After putting it on, he undressed me but retained on me the newest acquisition, then took me in a fury. Finished, we snacked, I redressed, then rushed home to greet the kids as they returned from school. It was short-time branding, a quickie and return to mom and wife. Usually, the new acquisition stayed behind in his apartment closet or dresser, parts of my expanded mannequin presence which soon overflowed onto a portable clothes rack and into a second dresser  A few Friday nights with Edward were leisure times in contrast to noontime trysts. I arrived, we took time undressing and redressing me, had leisurely sex, I cooked dinner, we ate then settled down like a domestic couple and watched TV or read. I often napped until undress, redress and depart time before the sun met the morn.More often on a Friday night, we went out, typically to an upscale restaurant with lounge. His connoisseurship introduced me to mixed drink cocktails and upgraded repast deportment.In the lounge, at his direction, I ordered a gin and tonic unless the bartender was professional. Then I was allowed Singapore Slings. It had to be with Beefeater Gin, Benedictine, Cointreau, grenadine syrup, pineapple juice, lime juice and a dash of Angostura all shook in a tumbler and poured in a glass with ice. Then cherry brandy was poured over an upside-down spoon for a top layer, a maraschino cherry and pineapple slice were then added as a garnish.Arriving at the lounge I’d plead for a Singapore Sling, Edward checked with the güvenilir bahis bartender and if his criteria were met, he obliged. We sat at the bar so I could watch it made but was limited to two.                                        Dinner was accompanied by an examination of the wine menu, a lesson about wine growing regions, vintage years and wines appropriate for entrées. I typically ordered a salad versus his soup selection. He exposed me to a wide range of entrees that never tasted previously but frequented waiter recommendations and specials to enhance the meal into a new experience. Neither of us liked dessert but he introduced Amaretto and Benedictine B & B after-dinner liqueurs.After dinner, he liked to say, I was primed and hot to go as we walked to the Porsche, my cheeks flush from the Singapore Slings before dinner, the wine during and the liqueur after. Once in the car, I’d dart my tongue in his ear as he sped to the apartment for my unwrapping.One night we went to San Francisco. He wanted to go to Fisherman’s Wharf but I nixed that because of my first kiss. His alternate was Italian fare in North Beach, away from tawdry Broadway and its Red Balloon with sidewalk slide and Carol Doda’s swing roost.He’d dressed me in a short red sequin dress.  After dinner, flush with drinking, we walked out to the fog hand in hand. The valet ran to retrieve his Porsche, revved the engine as he returned, parked with a little squeal of tires, jumped out, ran around and opened the door for me. As I approached, he stood close, brushed against the rear of my dress, then stared at my thighs as I swung myself around to slide güvenilir bahis siteleri in. Once in the car, he leered down as I pulled the sequined hem to cover what I could.                                                                                                         Upset, Edward, told him he’d just got his tip. I laughed. We screeched out of the driveway, zoomed up and down hills until stopped at the top of a steep one by a red light. While he played with the brake, clutch and gas pedals to keep from sliding back down, I bent over, unzipped his pants and pulled out Sir Lancelot. When the light changed, he shifted gears. I shifted Sir Lancelot into high gear as we sped to the freeway on-ramp at the end of Broadway. On the freeway home, I gently stroked and kissed my knight to keep its attention until we parked in his carport stall.Wet, I jumped out of the car and ran to the apartment. He jumped out chasing me but struggled to get his pants re-zipped without catching Sir Lancelot. Unbuckled, he pulled his pants down then up with Lance poking out. We raced to his apartment laughing.Past the door, I jumped on the couch, lifted the dress hem the few inches necessary and spread my legs. He yanked his pants down to his ankles. It was a frenzy on the sofa with shoes on and attire asunder. Spent, it was too late. We’d skipped the condom.Driving home near dawn, re-dressed in work togs, a sober wife, I realized my stupidity.Edward took responsibility. He assured me he would take care of it, if necessary. I knew what that meant but was afraid to confirm it. After three days he gave me a pregnancy test and assured iddaa siteleri me all was okay. It was not all okay with me. It was me who could be pregnant. I didn’t know what I would do if so. How could I pray to God? It would be God’s retribution.I knew I couldn’t have an abortion, confess to my husband or marry Edward. Each day I lived in terror and soon lost five pounds. I counted the days.  No, I counted the hours. Was it a week, no it was longer, oh God not two weeks since my period? Hubby noticed and became concerned.  My excuse, a supervisor at work harassing me, deflected him but his solicitousness compounded the terror if I had to confess.  I told no one the truth, not even the older woman at work who I normally confided in.While we talked on the phone, I didn’t visit Edward. As the days added up the terror increased as the day of reckoning approached. Days fourteen, fifteen, sixteen and seventeen passed. By day eighteen terror was slipping into depression. Then the next morning, a cramp pain, more joyous than any physical pleasure experienced came. I wasn’t pregnant! To celebrate, Edward took me to the Mark Hopkins Hotel in San Francisco.  I’d seen it from the street but had never been inside. He dressed me formally with a black lace pencil dress, pearl necklace and high heels.                                                                                                    At its classic bar, I had my Singapore slings, my terror left behind. He had his martinis. We then had a formal dinner with a bottle of Napa Valley wine in the hotel restaurant. Dinner finished, we stayed there. The trip to bed was a tipsy elevator ride. We had a view of the city before, while and after sex.Edward knew the in spots in San Francisco, those not generally known by tourists. We went once more to the city and stayed at the Hotel Griffon, a boutique hotel in the Embarcadero.

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