The Recruiter IV Tiff takes it all
- 1 year ago
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Chapter 15, Tiff And Tat, Lovers' Spats, Trophy Ring, Thanks, Now Goodbye free porn video
Enrico, being married, could only see me on the sly, which suited me.
Enrico worked all over Silicon Valley, fixing equipment. He told me who was hiring and paying more. I left Nortec and flipped companies with a raise.
Before cell phones, we tried CB radio communication. My handle was Cobra and his Supini. The problem with CB was it broadcast to the crowd. We set up a meeting at a coffee shop by CB and a few more males than Enrico showed up. If we’d had CB broadcast a meeting at a motel, it would be a crowd. Our arrangement settled.
He called my home at noon and I only called his work number. Both paranoid, we briefly mentioned an alignment machine number, 314 needing repair and when he could fix it, the number being the room at the Holiday Inn. Our relationship devolved into a weekly noontime tryst and on occasion, after my swing shift, our rendezvous there, not much different than "F and F". Enrico once suggested sex in his car. My reply was, "No hotel, no honey."
After a few motel meetings, Enrico wanted sex, sans condom.
“Why aren’t you on the pill like other women? My wife’s on the pill. What makes you special? I don’t like rubbers.”
"Let's screw without. I 'm sure your wife will be pleased you’re going to have another bambino."
"Why don't you just take the pill?"
"Why don't you just get fixed, like my husband? You need to be snipped. Perhaps I should suggest it to your wife so she doesn’t need to take the pill."
Thereafter, he complained but rolled it on.
We went to the Holiday Inn in separate cars. To enhance daytime trysts above “F and F” I typically brought food to eat after sex. Occasionally we met for lunch at a Lyons restaurant but his nervousness made it unpleasant. In public, he lost his alpha veneer, nervous someone might see us, think we were having an affair and tell his wife. My original suspicion he had been caught before was verified when I asked him.
He didn’t drift randomly into my mind even though Vixen enjoyed his company. I did tell my husband an engineer was flirting with me. With tryst times limited and my routine normal, he only worried an engineer was interested in me, not I in him.
I also told him the engineer was reported to have an eight-inch penis. When he asked how I knew, I told him the girls at work told me and had nicked named him "Super 8". If we passed a Super 8 Motel I would say.
"Look another Super 8!"
I figured the best camouflage was being an open joke.
He pestered about who Enrico was, evidence he hadn’t forgotten the confessed two words I regretted saying.
I told him he was Italian, true, his name was, Enrico Supini, true in a way and he lacked polish, also true. He checked every phone book in Silicon Valley looking for a "Mr. Supini", even pestering me about its spelling. I told him I didn’t know the spelling and he was married with kids, to ease his suspicions.
Enrico was smug with wife and three kids safely tucked away on his home turf while he raided another’s. He took his wife as guaranteed safe from invasion and was the type who would fall apart if a male invaded his domestic domain.
I never talked about family with him. He, in contrast, bragged about his, especially the kids. From what he said his wife was a good mother but a messy housekeeper and a lousy cook who thought the grocery food aisles were frozen, canned, dairy and cereal. She never cooked from scratch. His requests for Italian food were met with microwaved, frozen ravioli and boiled spaghetti with canned sauce.
His expensive clothes weren’t poorly ironed, they weren’t ironed and he looked scruffy unless he had them dry cleaned. She was, however, blond, attractive and thin from the picture in his wallet I stole a glance at while he showered. What was most important, she worshipped him.
The banter from which our affair began eventually turned into acrimonious personality spats. Enrico was a cheapskate, never left a tip for the hotel maid, bought his wife nothing, tipped the minimum at restaurants and grumbled about how much our affair cost.
After our third hotel encounter, I upped the maid tip to two dollars. He thought to leave a tip for the maid was inane. I never told him about my mother. He, of course, could not bring home the left-over soap or shampoo and snickered about a maid's fate when I opened the unused ones for the maid to take home.
While loving the food I prepared and complaining about his wife's cooking, food was a source of conflict between us. I love cooking, which provided the strongest bond with my father. In thirty minutes, I can make Asian dishes others marvel at. In Mountain View, a childless, elderly, Italian woman across the street adopted me when I was an eighteen-year-old pregnant bride. She taught me Italian cooking. The Mexican women next door grew corn, ground it and made tortillas. From her, I learned to cook the "real enchilada". I befriended older women and learned their recipes and got good advice about men.
Food and drink influence happiness, health and appearance. Unfortunately, many in America have surrendered their palate to "heat and serve", "shake and bake" or microwave. "The way to a man's heart is through his stomach," is trite but true. A rendezvous while centered on sex preferably includes food and drink either at a restaurant or a meal I prepare.
Enrico never took me to an upscale restaurant, gulped down food I prepared and failed to see food and drink as art in life. While educated with a degree in engineering, his deportment suggested a lack of “proper” education, a geek knowing one thing and nothing else. Once I brought lasagna to room 314 with a small bottle of ice wine and a bottle of his favorite, cheap beer. Deflated after our quickie, he got up naked, piled the lasagna, still warm from my oven, on a plate and was back in bed gobbling it down with his beer chaser instead of waiting for me while I re-dressed.
Alma
- 14.06.2022
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