Lessons
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Lessons free porn video
Lessons
Inspired by a movie, a husband tries to paint his wife's nails. He's not
very good, so he ends up with a very public lesson in the proper
technique.
Don't try this at home. That's the disclaimer they give on those extreme
stunt shows. Maybe they should have put that in the movies, too. For
when I tried to copy a scene in one movie, things just got out of
control.
My story begins happily. I was in my mid twenties, employed as an
advertising copy writer and already married. My wife, Christina, whom I
met in college, has a successful career in business herself. We had just
about everything you could want.
As for our sex life, it was very robust, given that we were young and in
love. We never did anything too crazy, but we made love as many times as
possible. Christina always was a little demanding, taking a leadership
role in our lovemaking. And every once in a while, she would surprise me
by initiating something in a public space. "You're so cute when you are
embarrassed," she explained.
One day, we watched the movie Bull Durham together. I've always been a
baseball fan. My wife enjoyed the comedy and romance story. We both
were especially intrigued by the scene at the end, however, where the
main character painted his lover's toenails in bed. There was something
both romantic and erotic about that scene. So I tried it a few times.
It was fun, but I'm not very good.
"I'm just not very experienced," I told Christina. "Let me keep
practicing on you. I'll get better quickly, I know it. And if I don't,
we can stop."
"Tony, you know I enjoy the intimacy of our thing. And it could help me
keep my nails business-ready, if you can get better. We will try. But I
will set the rules."
With that, she laid down my "Improvement Plan." First, I would do my own
nails, fingers and toes, with a clear polish. I would do my toes twice a
week, to gain experience. Every Thursday, I would also do my fingers.
Nothing glossy. It would not be noticed, she assured me. But I could
remove the clear coat from my fingers before work on Monday, though I
would have to do them again Thursday nights. In addition, I would do her
toes with a color of my choice once per week. I would also do her
fingernails only on Friday, after work. She would keep her standing
Monday morning manicure appointment for now at least.
Week 1 went well. No one noticed my nails on Friday, thank God. The
clear coat hid my mistakes on my own nails, and I got a little better
with hers. "Not half bad," she declared that first Friday night.
Week 2 was about the same. The manicure still was sloppy, though. About
as good as a 13 year old girl might do. But I vowed to press on.
Week 3 showed some improvement. I couldn't get an even coat on her
fingernails, but I no longer painted outside the lines, so to speak.
"That's better," she said, "but still not very professional. The red you
chose is very bright. Because it is bright, it shows when the color is
uneven. And your work is very uneven. You have to learn how to handle
colors."
On Sunday, Christina had an idea. "It's hard for you to get the hang of
this, just through trial and error. If you are going to learn, you need
to see how manicures are done. I could show you on your own nails, but,
honestly, I'm not that experienced myself. As you know, I have had a
standing nail apppointment Monday mornings for years. So, in order to
gain some pointers, tomorrow, you will come with me to my appointment.
I'll tell my manicurist that my car broke down, and you agreed to give me
a ride. You'll get "great husband" points with that story. You just
have to sit there while I get mine done. Then you will see how a
professional gets that even coat."
I resisted, saying that I didn't want to go, that I would feel stupid,
that everyone would think I was a "fairy." Nothing worked. "Look," she
declared, "you were the one who wanted to learn. You're going to do
this, with my cover story -- unless you would like me to end this and
tell my manicurist the truth about why my nails have looked so beautiful
during the week and amateurish during the weekend. Your choice."
"Alright, alright, I will go. But don't tell her the real reason I'm
there."
At the nail salon
Things started out OK at the salon. I was very nervous entering the
shop. I've never been in a place like this. It's obviously so feminine,
and the distinctive smell of nail polish permeated the air. I became
unsure of myself.
I was the only guy in the place, even though it was pretty crowded.
Mondays must be a popular time, I thought.
"Hi, Sandra," my wife said to her manicurist. "This is Tony. He gave me
a ride today. He just needs a place to sit while we're working on me."
"No problem," Sandra replied. "The reception area is pretty busy, and
the owner doesn't like guys hanging around there. It upsets the
atmosphere she tries for. But you can sit back here with me while I do
your wife's nails."
Sandra motioned to a stool on the side of her desk. I had to sit a
little bit behind the desk, so as not to interfere with the manicurist at
the next station. Sandra and Christina settled into a conversation to
pass the time.
"I see you tried a bold red this week."
"Yes," Christina replied, "I'm experimenting with the home manicure. It
is a good relaxer after a stressful week."
"Maybe so. No offense, but you're not very skilled. Didn't you ever
play with polish when you were a little girl? Your application is very
uneven. It's almost like Tony did them." And they both laughed.
"You're probably right. I'm all thumbs, I guess. But don't make
assumptions about Tony. You don't know, he might be very talented."
What was she thinking? Did she really just suggest that I can paint
nails? She said she wasn't going to tell anyone. You could see the look
of surprise on my face. And I immediately started to blush.
"I see your point," Sandra said. "I shouldn't assume anything about
Tony. Everyone has a hidden talent. This could be his, I suppose."
And she turned to me. "So, Tony, I apologize. How are you at manicures?
Did YOU paint your nails when you were little?" Sandra laughed again.
I tried to play along, laughing myself. But somehow, it didn't sound
very convincing I thought. "Ha ha. Very funny. Of course I didn't play
with nail polish when I was little."
"Funny. You seemed to stress that last part -- when you were little."
Sandra pounced, but still playfully. "I don't mean to embarrass you. It
would be OK with me if you wanted to experiment. They did it in that
baseball movie, Bull Durham. If I were Christina, I might even like my
guy waiting on me. I'd feel like a princess. And look like one too,
after he finished." Again, she laughed.
I laughed again, but didn't respond. Thankfully, Sandra turned back to
her duties. She removed Christina's nail polish, massaged her hands and
got ready to paint her nails. I returned to playing with my phone,
trying to peek at what she was doing, without being obvious.
When it was time for the color coat, Sandra turned to me. "OK, manicure
boy, pick a color for your wife."
"Yes, sweetie. Pick a color. Something you would like, ... if you were
me, of course."
I tried to ignore that last comment. "If I were her." What was that
supposed to mean? Did she want to embarrass me in front of all these
women? Anyway, I picked a nice coral polish. OPI's Cajun Shrimp.
Something with color but that did not look slutty.
"Nice choice," Sandra commented. "That color looks very professional on
everyone." (Again with the open ended comment. Was that supposed to
refer to me? Maybe I'm just being paranoid.) "OK. In case you are
going to give your darling wife her Friday manicures, pay attention. You
start with one single stroke down the middle -- like this. Then, you do
one stroke on each side, to fill in the nail. Don't do more than that.
Additional strokes just move the polish around and make it uneven."
"Thanks," I said nonchalantly. And I watched her do all the fingers on
Christina's left hand. Sandra started on her right hand, and then turned
to me again. "Do you understand how to do it now? Why don't you try a
nail or two?"
"Oh, I don't want to do that," I protested. "You're the professional.
I'm just here as a driver."
"Look, honey, I'm not buying your little story. Like I said, I'm not
judging you. I think it's kinda cute. But a couple of weeks ago --
after years of me doing her nails -- Christina suddenly starts painting
her own nails? And doing a not-so-great job of it? Odd, don't you
think?"
I couldn't respond. But I see Christina hide a little smile. It's like
those times she pushed me on the edge of public exhibitionism.
Uncomfortable, and a little embarrassing. But no harm done.
"And then, this week, you suddenly have to drive her to her appointment?
I know you work, too. It seems more logical that she would have dropped
you off at work and then come here in your car. Don't you think? So why
didn't you go to work today? I think you wanted to be here.
"Finally, you are wearing clear gloss on your own nails, you peek
constantly at what I'm doing and you blush like a school girl when we
talk about you painting your wife's nails. So, get over it, and get the
lesson you came for."
Now I was a red as some of her nail polish on the wall. I could have
continued to deny everything. Maybe I would have gotten away with it.
Maybe. Probably not. I don't know.
But instead, I reach out and take Christina's hand. "Come here,
princess." I say. At least if I play along with the charade, maybe this
won't be so bad. I try the technique Sandra showed me. One stroke down
the middle, then two strokes, one on each side. I do most of her hand.
"That's good," Sandra proclaimed. "See, it's not that hard. It's in the
second coat where we even out the colors and get that shine. Watch."
And she proceeded to show me how to do the second coat. I don't get to
paint any of Christina's nails, though. I just watch and I try to
pretend that none of the women in the shop are watching me.
When Sandra finishes with Christina, I start to get up and leave. But
Christina blocks my path. "Sit down in my seat," Christina tells me.
"Honey, your lesson is only half over."
"What?" I say. (That's brilliant, I think. Why couldn't you say
something better than that?)
"You, see, dear. Sandra knew about you all along. I slipped last week
and told her that you had done my nails. Once I spilled the secret, I
ended up telling her the whole story -- how you really wanted to learn,
how you were doing your own nails to improve. I even told her that you
seemed to get harder and to make love better after having done our nails.
Like you are now," she said, motioning to my pants. To my shame, my
excitement was showing.
"These women suggested that you get your own nails done in order to
learn. They don't judge. They think it would be just darling. So, we
made an appointment for you right after me. You saw the process. Now
you will experience it. And when we get home, we both will get lucky
today."
I didn't know what to do. After a brief moment, Sandra reached out,
grabbed my hand and gently pulled me down to the seat. "Now, let's get
started on you, Tony. We're going to make that Toni with an "i" for
today."
And Sandra started to give me a manicure. She used the same coral she
put on Christina, since I said I liked it. "Pay attention, Toni. You'll
want to learn fast -- unless you plan to keep coming in here on Mondays
with your wife."
The whole time, Sandra is narrating what she's doing, and explaining the
technniques she uses. Be careful of this, be sure to do that, don't
waive your nails to dry, etc. A half hour later, my wife and I exited
the shop with matching "Cajun Shrimp" colored nails. I had instructions
to buy my own polishes and to refine my newly-learned technique on my own
nails. If I didn't get better, they promised, I would be coming back to
Sandra for another lesson. Secretly, I was thinking that might not be
such a bad idea.
Grace
- 09.12.2021
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