The Reluctant Bride

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Somewhere, probably while I was still in high school, I decided I wanted to be rich. Would be rich. Life would be better with money. And then later, at some time, I figured out that the way to riches was through stocks or bonds. People in that business all have money. The fact that I was poor and had no knowledge of stocks and bonds was no deterrent. To get there I needed a college education so I worked my way through with all sorts of jobs. Being poor and working at minor jobs isn’t as bad as it could be.

For some reason, I was very successful with women. All the work left me in good physical shape and my pursuit of a good fuck was about as powerful as my pursuit of an education. Late in high school a girl and I discovered sex together and then went on to fuck as often as we could manage to find a time and place. In college, I managed to find a girl and pick up where I left off in high school. After her there were a couple more. I made a mistake and had a one night stand once but otherwise I always had relatively long term relationships. And I think that’s the better way to do it. Both of you get used to one another and what each of you like and there’s very little phony impressing one another or wondering what to do next. I mean you just get to sex right away and do it in the ways that you both like.

I also read everything I could about the brokerage business. Or businesses, really, there are a lot of variations and possibilities. Upon graduation, I applied for work at a number of firms. I ended up moving to Los Angeles, where I was offered a job at a brokerage as an assistant to a fairly young guy that had been an assistant himself a few years earlier. It was exactly what I wanted. The whole idea was that I was his flunky. I would do all his time consuming work, leaving him free to deal more and make more money. As he succeeded, I succeeded and also made more money. A fraction of his but still something. The idea, which he understood completely because he had done it, was that as I learned more I would eventually go out on my own with my own clients and then get an assistant of my own, and so on.

So, here I was, with a small, inexpensive, furnished apartment in L.A., purposely on a bus line so that I could get down town to the office easily. And cheaply. I would become rich some day but in the beginning I was at the bottom of the totem pole. Since the stock market is in New York on Eastern time, we start very early in L.A. on Pacific time. I got to work at 5 am. Of course, I was done early, too. It’s just a normal work day skewed several hours early. The buses don’t run often at that hour so it was important that I catch the one I needed. For me, that meant getting to the bus stop five or ten minutes ahead of time in order to be sure.

The very first day there are two of us there. A girl and me. Like most guys, I can’t help looking girls over. I have no intentions of ever getting to know her better or anything like that but, still, I look her over. She’s actually sort of cute. Dark hair, dark eyes. Nice features. Looks European for some reason. Sort of small. Maybe 5’2″ in height, trim body. She’s a waitress, I think. What she’s wearing looks like a waitress outfit. It’s practical and not flattering. It hides her instead of showing her off. She also seems shy. Or maybe afraid. She doesn’t run away but she backs off a couple steps as if she’s concerned about me. And looks down or away but I can tell, she’s checking me out. I think she’s wondering if I’m going to attack her.

Well, we both ride the bus. She gets off just one stop before me. Going to work, I imagine. Going to be serving breakfast. The next morning she’s there again. The third morning I smile at her and say, “I guess we’re going to be riding this bus at the same time a lot. I’m Tom.”

I don’t try and shake her hand or touch her in any way, just want to ease her fears. She hesitates but finally gives a faint, sort of polite, smile and softly answers, “Jean.”

Each morning, it’s, “Hi, Jean,” and a quiet answer and little smile, “Tom.”

It’s probably the seventh or eighth day, the second week anyway, that she actually moves across and sits next to me. “You go to work early,” she asks, “What do you do?”

So I tell her and then ask her where she works. “The Regal,” she says. I know of it. A coffee shop kind of place. Pretty busy because the food is relatively inexpensive and decent.

After that, we ride next to one another every day for the fifteen minutes or so that we share the bus. Gradually we learn more about each other. She find outs where I work, where I’m from, where I went to school, and that I hope to make good money but haven’t have much yet. I learn that she graduated from high school less than a year earlier and lives with her parents, is attending night classes at the local community college. I also begin to learn that, while her parents met and married here, they were both immigrants from Romania. Her mother brought a dowry to the marriage, which was illegal bahis arranged by her parents and her in-laws. Apparently Jean’s Dad is the absolute boss of the family. Jean’s older sister is married, all arranged by her Father and her in-laws.

The more we talk, the more I realize she isn’t happy with her family at all. She says her mother is essentially her father’s slave. Her mother has no voice in anything and spends her life servicing her husband’s needs. She also is fairly sure her brother is going to end up just like her father. But she absolutely isn’t going to end up like her mother. In the meantime, though, living at home she has to do as is expected of her. She has never dated a guy. Had accepted a date in high school but had been forbidden to go out with someone from a different religion and without her father’s approval. I think she knows that some day she either has to break with her father or give in, there’s no in between possible. And she isn’t ready to break yet. Isn’t ready to throw over the only life she’s ever known.

Meantime, my life is going fine. The few minutes on the bus in the morning are a very small footnote to everything else. My work is going well. I’m starting to make more money. I’m meeting people, joining a few organizations, starting to have a normal social life.

My boss suggested that Young Republican parties are a good place to meet people so I go to one. It’s in a hotel and there must be several hundred people there. I see the most desirable female ever, a tall blonde, slim, beautiful ass. Sort of like the actress Cameron Diaz but about ten years younger. I ask her to dance. Fortunately, I don’t suffer from fright or embarrassment around women. She agrees, it’s slow so we get to hold one another fairly close as we shuffle around. We both make some comments about the crowd and then it’s over and I ask if I can get her a drink. She agrees.

“What’ll you have?”

“I don’t know, what are you drinking?”

“I haven’t started yet, probably beer.”

“That’s fine. Light.”

We’re standing at the bar. She doesn’t use the glass, just puts the bottle to her lips and drinks a little. We finally introduce ourselves. She’s Rachel. I tell her about working for a stock broker and how early I start. She tells me that she’s a personal trainer, works for a gym, helps put people through their exercises. Which lets me say, “That explains your gorgeous body. Rachel, you’re the best looking woman in the place,” She grins and leans to me and gives me a quick peck on the lips.

“Thanks. I know it’s B.S. but it’s always nice to hear.”

“No, I really mean it. I guess I can B.S, like most people, but in this case, I’m being honest. There’s something about you. I was attracted the moment I saw you. You’re just, I don’t know how else to says this, desirable. The most desirable woman here.” She grins at me and I notice her hand is lightly around the beer bottle but sliding up and down a little. Somewhere I remember hearing that’s a sign of sexual interest, perhaps like masturbating the bottle.

“You’re pretty scrumptious yourself, Tom. Why don’t we dance again,” she says. It’s another slow number. I can’t help myself. Seeing her and holding her close turns me on and I get an erection. She’s bound to feel it. She pulls me a little closer up against her and leans her upper body back slightly to say something to me, which pushes her hips even more against my erection. ‘I guess you do like me,” she says with a big, dirty grin. It makes me realize that most likely she’s here for the same reason I am, to get laid. So I slide my hand up her back to pull her closer and lean to her and get my lips to hers and start a real kiss. A serious kiss. She kisses back and I slide my hand down onto that lovely, round butt that I noticed early on. It lasts a while as we grind against one another. “Where do you live, Tom?” she asks as our kiss breaks apart.

I tell her and also say that it’s just a ten minute bus ride. She comments that if I have to get up so early then maybe I should get home early and then offers to drive me there. When we get there, there’s actually a parking space almost in front of the building and once she’s got her car in, I suggest that maybe she’d like to come up. She does.

Here I am with this real California blonde beach girl, a surfer. I can hardly believe it and tell her so as I kiss her. She rubs up against me and, to cut through all the fooling around, we end up naked in the bedroom. She’s even more desirable naked. Perfect body, slim and lithe. Through everything, she can hardly let go of my cock so it’s no surprise that when we’re finally naked, she’s got me in her mouth. “I can hardly believe it,” I tell her, “my dream goddess with the perfect body is a terrific cock sucker, seems to really like it.”

She looks up at me, slides her mouth off for a moment and with a grin says, “Doesn’t like it, loves it,” and immediately swallows me again. She really works at it and it doesn’t take long illegal bahis siteleri and I shoot off into her mouth. She never loses a drop. Then she slides up over me to kiss again, telling me, “You have a delicious cock, Tom.” Then another kiss and, “Your turn.” So I start on her body. As I suck on a nipple, she says, “My breasts aren’t big enough, I’ve thought about getting implants.”

I move my lips from her nipple long enough to tell her that her breasts are terrific. And they are. Not DDs but very full Bs, more than a handful each. On her body, larger ones would look wrong. A minute later I’ve worked my way down to that lovely pussy. She’s a real blonde. Her pubic area, her lips, are pink and look soft, sort of puffy almost. I get my tongue into her and do everything I’ve learned, licking all around and sucking on her clit as it grows and then getting a couple fingers into her. It’s a sexy vagina, firm and not mushy, and even her clit seems almost like a little erection rather than the soft worm-like shape that I’ve run into before. I feel as she did earlier with me, more than like it, I love it. She’s not quiet. No huge yelling but lots of moans and “oh fucks”. And she’s active. Her bottom is bouncing around so much it’s difficult to keep working on her. And those long legs darn near smother me as they tighten around my head when she cums. And cums. I suck up everything I can.

I get up over her and slowly push my way into her. She’s really fit. A vagina that’s as tight and firm as the rest of her body. And she loves sex. I wasn’t a virgin and neither was she and we proved it to one another. I’ve never seen legs spread open so wide before, never before had long legs wrapped around me that could lift me and almost toss me around until I could hardly keep my cock into her. Flexible, almost double jointed. And strong.

It was definitely the best sex of my life and I tell her so. I feel very lucky to be with someone that’s essentially sort of a dream girl and I tell her that, too. She lets me know that I’m o.k., too, and we start over and do it all again. The second time I take longer to cum and she almost devours me, slurping and sucking and almost biting. She does love it, I guess. But once I get my mouth to her sticky, swollen, pussy full of my cum, she cums even sooner than the first time. She ends up staying through the night. I tell her how I have to leave really early for work and she wants me to wake her so we can go at it one more time and then she’ll have time to get to her place and get cleaned up before she has to go to work a couple hours later.

So what seems like only a few minutes later when my alarm goes off, that’s what we do. She climbs on me and uses my hard-on to masturbate herself for a minute then sits on me and takes me up into her and fucks the hell out of me. I’m going to be sore. Once we both cum, I say that I need a shower and she joins me there. I wouldn’t think it was possible but washing that naked body with my bare hands gets me aroused and I pound into her standing up against the tile wall. She tells me how good it all was. I realize that I’d probably had more sex in the last few hours than I’d ever had before in the same length of time and tell her so. She just grins and asks if I was complaining and when I say “no” she suggests that maybe she could train me into shape to do even more.

I kiss her goodbye as she gets into her car at the curb across from the bus stop. She drives off and I cross the street. Jean is already there.

“A girl friend, huh?” she says with a grin.

“Well, yeah, sort of. I mean, nothing serious, we just met last night.”

“And she spent the night?”

I look at her. Where is this going? “Yeah.”

“You meet her and she sleeps with you, has sex with you, right away. That same night?”

“Well, yeah.” The bus pulls up and we get on, show our passes, and go to a seat. She has me sit next to the window because she gets off first.

“I’m just surprised, that’s all. Having sex like that, right away, that’s pretty promiscuous. For you, too, not just her. Are you planning to see her again?”

“I don’t know. Yeah, probably. I mean, things went pretty well between us.”

“You enjoyed yourself?”

“Uh, well, yeah, I did.”

“Did she?”

“Well, you’d have to ask her. She sure seemed to. I mean, having orgasms must be considered enjoying yourself. And she didn’t leave, she stayed for more.”

With that she sort of glares at me, crosses her arms in front of her and is quiet, a grumpy look on her face, until she gets off without saying anything.

The next day, as soon as I show up, she touches my arm. “I’m sorry, Tom, it’s none of my business your having a girl over for the night. I apologize. I guess I’m just from a different culture or something. Sex only goes with marriage and isn’t done casually. But that’s my problem and I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

“That’s o.k., Jean. I understood right away. I’m not a virgin. And the girl I was with canlı bahis siteleri the other night isn’t one, either. I haven’t been with a whole lot of girls but some. I was raised sort of the same way as you. I felt really guilty the first time. It was the girl’s first time, too. I think we both felt guilty. But we liked it so much we did it more. A lot, in fact. Sex is just very, very good. There are a lot of virgins that wait. Maybe they’re right and I’m wrong. But once you experience it, you can’t stop. At least, I can’t. And I think most can’t.” The bus pulls up and we get on.

“I think that’s why parents and churches tell you not to have sex until you’re married,” I tell her after we’re seated. “Because once you do it, you love it and you’re not going to stop. So it’s probably good for society for people to connect all those great, sexy feelings with being married and making babies and all that.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard,” she answers, looking at me. “My mother had a talk with me and pretty much says it’s what a woman has to do, it’s part of being married and having a secure home. But it’s a chore. And my sister feels the same way, I’ve heard them talk. I don’t think they enjoy sex at all. So maybe that girl was just pretending in order to try and hook you, get you to marry her.”

“Well, I can’t be sure but if she was pretending she’s awfully good at it because I think she really liked it a lot.”

She looks at me for a moment, opens her mouth to say something, then stops, Turns away, looks back, then seems to think. And then we’re at her stop and she says, “See ya” and gets off.

The next couple of mornings we pretty much talked about innocuous things, the weather, our work. Then one morning she brought up women having sex again. “She must be a whore,” she says.

“A whore? Who?”

“That girl that spent the night with you. You claim she must have enjoyed it. Good girls don’t enjoy it, only whores. So she must be a whore.”

I almost laugh. “Jean, you’re so wrong. Good girls enjoy sex, too. If anything, it’s whores who don’t. They do it to earn a buck not because they want. to.”

“Well, I still can’t believe it. From what I know, good women don’t enjoy sex.”

Without thinking, I reply, “Jean, I can prove it to you. Get naked with me and if you’ll let me, I’ll make you feel so good you’ll never forget it. You’ll love it.”

“I’d never do that!” she exclaims and, since we were at her stop, gets up and leaves the bus. I only ride on a minute or so but decide I’ve just goofed. I should never have said that. She’ll think even more that I’m some sex pervert or something.

The next few days were again innocuous on our commute together. She never brings the subject up. Then she does. “Have you ever dated that girl that spent the night at your place again?”

Well, I had, so I tell her so. “Yes, in fact she called me. She’s been back to my place twice. She hasn’t spent the night so you haven’t seen her in the morning. Unless she’s changed her mind, she’s coming back today after she finishes work.” What I didn’t tell her because she wouldn’t believe it, is that Rachel loves sex and always wants more, just about wearing me out. Not that I’m complaining. Sex with a goddess is probably more than I deserve.

“Been to your place. Does that mean you had sex again?”

“Yes. Often.”

“And she called you. She initiated these meetings?”


“You better watch out, Tom. She’s not a good person and you don’t want her to get her hooks into you.”

I smiled. Jean actually is right to some extent. Rachel, the girl in question, actually isn’t a bad person. Meaning she doesn’t rob banks. She’s actually very smart and friendly and easy to get along with. She’s also very free sexually. Has told me about other guys. Fairly many, I think. So if Jean means her kind of good girl that would be her idea of an ideal wife, Rachel probably doesn’t fit the bill. But she sure fills my bill, is the best I’ve ever run across. Trouble is, I’m fairly sure that Rachel sees me only as a fuck buddy and not a husband. And if she ever does decide to become a wife, she would probably make a good one for the right guy (me?). I mean, she’s gorgeous and loves sex. What more could a guy want? “I’ll make sure she doesn’t, Jean,” is all I could think of to say.

So, for a couple days, my morning commute conversations with Jean are fairly innocuous. But she must have kept thinking about Rachel and me and my saying that Rachel enjoyed the sex. Because out of the blue, one morning Jean surprised me.

“Well, you must be good at it. Maybe I should take you up on your offer.”

“Good at what? What offer?”

“Sex. Having sex with girls. Once you told me that if I would get naked with you that you’d make me feel so good that I’d never forget it. I would love it.”

“Yeah but I also said only if you would let me. You never would. And you’d be right. You’re a nice person. You should be a virgin for your husband. But he should be a husband that you want to be a virgin for.”

“Well I agree with that. My father has started making remarks that make me think he may be thinking of arranging a marriage for me and I don’t want that.” And with that, we’re at her stop.

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