Chapter 9: A Kinky Valentine’s Day gives me a headache

We returned to our dating formula when classes started again, Friday night dinners, dancing, and sex running over into Saturday evening. Our dates were anything but routine now; monthly, we drove up or down the coast on a Friday, staying at random hotels, and going wild with the locals at night, then returning home on Sunday. In late January, I flew Liz to Las Vegas for a weekend, and the sex was highlighted by me fucking her with her naked tits pressed against a six-foot-high window on the 50th floor of our hotel. We had sex in empty classrooms, in movie theatres during a movie, on deserted beaches, and even in a crowded bar. And the sex ran the gamut from making love to rutting like animals.

I once asked Liz, “Babe, why is there so much variety with, um, you know how we have sex?”

She had an answer ready, almost like she read my mind, smiled a sultry, seductive smile, and said, “Because I like variety in my sex life. Think of sex as being like ice cream; both have lots of variety; some you love a lot, and others, not so much. To simplify, I like making love any way possible, I adore being fucked in every position possible, and I love fucking you, anytime, anywhere, and anyhow!”

I couldn’t dispute that logic.

Valentine’s Day arrived on a warm Friday evening, and Liz took me out for dinner and dancing. She wore a white dress covered with red hearts and a shiny red vinyl choker. Her hair and makeup made her look like Marilyn Monroe, but I’ve never seen Ms. Monroe wearing 5-inch red patent leather stilettos and three-inch red heart earrings in any of her movies.

After dressing, Liz surprised me with a present, a new Armani suit she purchased with my momma’s guidance. I noticed she even bought me new underwear as she dressed me. Liz grabbed the car keys and beat me to the car as I finished tying my tie. She was sitting behind the wheel when I dropped into the passenger seat, and I noticed she had to remove her shoes because it was impossible to use the pedals safely while wearing five-inch stiletto heels.

While breaking several traffic laws, including speeding and running red lights, Liz carried on a conversation with me. Translation; she talked, and I listened.

“Now, Marty, you took me to that eye-opening party on New Year’s Eve, and I had a wonderful time. So tonight and the rest of the weekend are my gifts to you. Relax and enjoy, I have everything covered, and we’ll be talking about it when we’re old and gray.”

Our first stop was at Oasis, a gay and transgender nightclub with shows, dancing, and cross dressers in costumes. After Liz escorted me in, we had some champagne and danced nonstop. If anyone tried to cut in, she whispered something in their ear, and they went away.

“Liz, what are you telling these women who want to dance with you?”

“Oh, Martin, my love, they all want to dance with you, not me, and I’m telling them perhaps another time. You belong to me tonight.”

I tried not to stare, but those women who weren’t real women were as beautiful as any women I’d ever met. That statement sounds as confused as I was. After an hour, we left the dance floor and waited for the valet at the front door to bring my car around.

Critiquing us was a group of gay and lesbian party-goers standing in front of the club. As the valet pulled my car up, Liz unleashed a toe-curling, tonsil tickling, red hot kiss on me as she cupped my junk with her free hand. The oohs and aahs we received were in harmony, and they all gave us a thumbs up. Then, as Liz released my lips, she blew the crowd a kiss and opened the passenger door for me. With a shake of her hair, Liz strutted around to the driver’s door like a streetwalker, slipped into the driver’s seat, removed her shoes, then left two long strips of rubber on the street.

Liz drove towards San Francisco and told me we were going to Alice’s Restaurant & Fine Dining. Going from sixty to zero in four seconds, we slid to a stop next to the restaurant’s valet parking station. Liz escorted me to the maître d and tapped on his podium to get his attention, “Reservation for Mrs. Martin Stevens, please. I believe I reserved your best window table for two.”

He did the finger slide thing they do, start at the top of his list, slide to the bottom, and then back to the top again, pretending he couldn’t find her name. Liz placed her right hand over his left hand and slid a bill under it. He glanced down and smiled, “My apologies; how could I have missed it?”

Taking two menus, he handed them to a beautiful Asian woman and whispered to her, “Table one.”

While being escorted to our table, my eyes struggled to adjust to the dim lighting in the packed dining room. Quickly I became aware that the only lighting was from the candle lamps on each table, creating a romantic atmosphere. After we were seated, our waitress took our wine order, and Liz requested an appetizer of oysters on a half-shell. Holding hands and gazing out the window, the lights on the horizon drew our eyes to the stars in the sky, creating a beautiful panorama. My woman was, hands down, the most beautiful woman ever to grace this restaurant with her presence.

We had a fabulous dinner, not talking much, merely making love with our eyes. I barely tasted the food, although I cleaned every bit of food off my plates. Liz paid with my American Express card, and as we were standing up to leave, she whispered in my ear, her warm breath sending chills down my spine, “Wait until I reach the foyer before you leave the table.”

As a guess, the slowest time to walk from our table to the front door would be maybe forty-five seconds, and only longer if a waiter was serving food, blocking your way. Instead of taking the shortest route, Liz strolled along a crooked path through the main dining room, brushing against male and female diners before pausing to apologize and flirting with anyone who caught her fancy.

By the time she was halfway through her promenade, you could have heard the vibration of a fly stuck to a spider web. Everyone in the dining area, patrons and waiters alike, silently followed Liz with their eyes. For the coup de gras, when she reached the restaurant foyer, Liz took out her lipstick, opened her engraved gold compact, and slowly touched up her luscious lips, aided by the mirror. Then, turning and facing the dining room, she blew them the Marilyn Monroe trademark kiss.

I followed, hanging my left hand down to cover my erection, and taking the shortest path to her side, I offered her my arm. She smiled, gave me the tiniest peck on my lips, and we walked out the door. While waiting for my car, Liz looked back and saw a crowd watching us through the glass.

“We’re being watched. So, kiss me, Mr. President, and give them a show.”

So I took Liz in my arms, dipped her, and laid a big kiss on her luscious red tips. Then, as my car pulled up to the curb, I pulled Marilyn up, and she curtsied to the crowd. Then, after helping me into the passenger seat, she bent over and buckled my seat belt, further entertaining the crowd. Once comfortable behind the wheel, she accelerated away from the curb and laughed. “Well, darling, how’s your Valentine’s day so far?”

Later inside my bedroom, Liz stripped my clothes off, threw me on the bed, and fucked my brains out. Jumping on top of me into my favorite position, 69, she gave my dick two licks and a kiss on the head before kneeling and sliding her dripping pussy all over my face. Liz was paying no attention to my cock, standing at attention and pointing at the ceiling; her only concern was how quickly I could make her come. It didn’t take long after she started rubbing her clit with two fingers, and she emitted an earthy moan from her diaphragm as she pushed down on my face cruelly. Her body was shaking like an electric current was running through her body. When she stopped coming, she got up, turned around, and dropped her cunt over my prick without saying a word.

There was no lovemaking in our coupling tonight, only pure unadulterated fucking, and Liz could fuck. She was like a pile driver, and while riding me, Liz appeared to be possessed by demons from hell. I didn’t use self-restraint tonight; I just relaxed as she flowed over me like a scorching and unpredictable solar wind.

I howled as I came deep inside her, and she jumped up before I finished, flipping into 69 again, but this time as I was cleaning her out, she swallowed my cock and, within three minutes, restarted the blood flow to my staff. Twice more that night, I shot my load inside her, the last time as the sun rose in the east over the Santa Cruz Mountain range, and after each eruption, she planted her landing strip over my mouth, using me for cleanup on aisle five.

I don’t remember falling asleep; in fact, I considered it a miracle that I was still alive. I rolled onto my side but was alone in bed with my thoughts as I struggled to remember what Liz said to me last night?

Rewind the recorder in my brain, hit stop, push the start button, and now I remember her announcement, ‘Tonight and the rest of the weekend are my gifts to you.’

What gifts did I get? I was her arm candy at the gay nightclub; her driving nearly gave me a heart attack, I would’ve preferred eating dinner much earlier but wasn’t asked, and in bed, I was an eight-inch dildo attached to the mattress and a stiff tongue for cleanup. Forty years from now, Liz might have warm and fuzzy memories of this year’s Valentine’s Day if we’re still married. However, it’s doubtful I would remember anything I liked about this Day other than her using the restaurant’s dining room as a runway for a fashion show.

I felt a pain in my belly like my bladder was protesting the amount of fluid my kidneys sent to it. So I ran into my bathroom, where I found a naked lady perched on my toilet, and I mean perched. Liz’s toes clutched the toilet seat as she squatted down and was flushing her pussy out with a douche, making a tinkling sound in the toilet.

“I’ll use the guest bathroom.”

“Stop. Come here, Martin.”

I complied and walked over to the toilet, squeezing the base of my dick so I wouldn’t have an accident on the floor.

Still flushing, she pointed and asked, “Is that enough room?”

I wasn’t going to argue, so I took aim and let the water cannon flow.

After emptying my bladder between her legs into the toilet bowl, the last thing I had to do was shake the snake. I stepped back to let Marilyn M. up, but she surprised me by pulling me closer and sitting down before wrapping her lips around the little head. Then, after fifteen seconds of cleaning, as I did for her at the New Year’s Eve party, she stood up and planted a good morning kiss on my lips, even though it was starting to get dark outside.