Love Is Strange free porn video

Hi guys. It’s been a while. But I’ve been busy. I got a chance to stretch out and try some different things. I helped a friend write the script for a play that one of our local theater companies are doing, I started on the plot for the second book even though the first one isn’t out yet and I worked on a couple of new stories. I’m stuck on two of them, so I figured I’d write something short (for me) and fun as a break. There is a kernel of truth to this story although the actual situation is purely fiction. It’s also a little bit different from the typical stories I write.

I couldn’t hook up with the great one on this story, so my guest editor is that weird woman who drives the red Mustang parked between my Yellow GT and my Black Boss 302 in our garage. Any, and all goof ups in the story are my fault, not hers. Here we go. SS06. Vrooom!

“Cornelius Carlisle Carrington...” my wife said. She was talking to me and using all three of my names. All of you married guys out there know that when your woman uses all your names, it’s some serious shit.

“Do you love me?” she asked.

“With every breath I take,” I answered.

“Then get in there and fuck the cowboy shit out of that little red-headed skank,” she hissed. “When you get done with her, she’d better be walking funny!”

My mouth dropped open in surprise. I’m sure yours did too as you read this. I mean shit like this just doesn’t happen to ordinary guys does it?

Love is strange. I know that sometimes fate just decides to shit in your cornflakes, but this one takes the cake.

“C. C. is this a trick?” I asked her. She just pointed towards our bedroom.

“C. C. I love YOU,” I said. “I don’t want anybody else. I don’t want a divorce.”

“Then get in there and fuck her,” she insisted. My feet refused to move.

Her features softened a tiny bit. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Honey,” she said. “I want us to grow old together.”

“That’s what I want too,” I said.

“Then get ta’ steppin’ already,” she said. I slowly turned towards the room where Crystal and I slept.

“And don’t try pretending or faking it,” she said. “I’ll be popping in there to make sure your dick is in her.”

I was sure there was more to this situation than met the eye. Crystal and I had been married for twelve years. She was very loving and kind, but she was also honest and truthful. Those were two qualities that were rare in a woman. Normally I wouldn’t expect any type of subterfuge, but there was too much riding on this.

Crys was usually pretty jealous when it came to me and other women, so none of this made any type of sense. I realized that somehow this was my fucking fault.

I hadn’t intended for any of this to happen. I still don’t understand how we got here. During the long walk to the bedroom ... all ten feet of it ... I tried to figure out how this all got started. As near as I can tell, it all started four days ago...

Crystal

As usual men have no idea of what’s going on. In HIS version, this all started four days ago, but in reality, this shit has been going on for years and it’s high time it ended.

My husband and I are perfect for each other. We may not be perfect for anyone else, but together we are a perfect pair.

We met in college. Doesn’t damned near everyone? But in our case, it seemed to be especially fateful.

I mean if you look at pictures of us before we met, you’d be sure that we didn’t know each other. We were completely different animals. Shit ... most people wouldn’t assume we were from the same planet, let alone the same species.

I’ve always been the kind of girl who defied conventions ... I was always the one who fucked up the curve.

I’m not tall, but at five foot nine, I’m not short either. I have a very tiny waist. Even after bearing two extremely spoiled kids, my waist is only twenty-four inches.

But my waist is the only thing small on me. CQ ... That’s what we call my husband. I’ll get to that later. Anyway, he loves to put his hands around my tiny waist. He can almost get his fingers to touch.

Then he slides downwards and can barely wrap his arms around my ass. My boobs ... He always says they look like I’m trying to smuggle cantaloupes under my blouse.

I’ve always been built like this and I work pretty fucking hard to stay this way. But in college, it caused problems.

Almost as soon as I arrived, before I even had my fucking classes scheduled, I was visited by two sororities and a delegation from the cheerleading team. They all showed up at the same time, like some uncoordinated welcome wagon.

First, the president of one of the more popular sororities stepped up in front of me.

In a well-modulated voice that sounded surprisingly deep for a woman, she began speaking. I have no idea what the hell she said, but that Martha Stewart/Kennedy-esque accent she affected turned me off from the start. Before she was two sentences into her pitch, I held up my hand and told her to stop.

“No thank you,” I said.

She turned on her heel and walked away, followed by her two disciples. They did leave several handmade craft items behind though.

Next up was a short, fat, hairy woman with big glasses and I swear she had a mustache. She was obviously representing the lesbian sorority.

“We...” she began. And that was all I could take.

As she’d begun talking, she used her hands to emphasize her points. Doing so meant that she raised her arms, and the smell coming from her underarms made me nauseous.

“No!” I said pointedly. “Just No!”

As she turned to walk away she mumbled something under her breath.

“Did you just call me a GRUNT?” I asked. She turned and gave me a nasty smile, so I mumbled back at her.

“What do you mean Sucking Bike?” she asked over her shoulder as the next group moved in.

The last group was the cheerleaders. They came running up in front of me with so much exuberance and energy that it made my head spin. I was tired just from watching them.

They looked at each other and then stood in a line and nodded. They had their pom-poms at their waists and did a little kick step in perfect alignment.

“Wait!” I shouted just as they were about to begin. They all stopped and looked at each other in confusion.

“Gimme an H,” I yelled. “Gimme an E,” I screamed rolling my hips to one side. The lesbians who were sticking around to perve on the cheerleaders, stopped in their tracks to watch me.

“Gimme a double L,” I screamed. “Gimme an N and throw in an O,” I screamed punctuated with a big pelvic thrust. “There ya go!”

“Oh goody,” chirped the cheerleaders excitedly. “Welcome aboard!”

I was taken aback. “Did you not understand what I just spelled out?” I asked incredulously.

“I’m not really good with numbers and stuff,” chirped one of them.

“It’s not numbers ... aren’t you in college?” I sputtered.

“Duh ... yeah,” she chirped. “It’s awesome!”

“Don’t you have to like ... read and stuff?” I asked.

“No,” she said, shaking her pom-poms. “I just have to cheer!”

“But how are you gonna ... I mean after you’re done cheering how will you make a living?”

“You are SOOO dumb!” she smirked. “That’s why I’m glad you joined us. We don’t have to make a living. We just have to marry a football player. Then we put up with them for a few years, divorce them and take half of their money. There’s an art to it. You must time the divorce for when they’re at the height of their career. That way you get more money. If you wait until they’re a has been, you get a lot less money and you have to worry about them getting violent. Men can’t take too many stresses at once.”

“You’re a parasite!” I said.

“No there’s three of us,” she chirped. “I’m not good at math but I do know that a pair of anythings is only two. So, we can’t be a pair of ... sites or anything else.”

“How about if you three just get the fuck out of MY sight,” I said. I pointed at the door and they looked confused.

“This is your fault,” said one of them to the leader. “I think all of that talking and math-ing and spelling made her feel dumb. So now she doesn’t want to cheer with us.”

“I was trying to teach her,” said the other one. “But don’t worry there’ll be hun ... thou ... lots of girls at tryouts this weekend.”

It took a few months for me to settle in and get the lay of the land. But by my senior year it was all figured out.

Academically, I struggled at first. I also had no idea what I wanted to study or to do with myself. So, I dabbled.

I tried several different fields. I also tried a couple of internships and work study experiences. None of them really suited me.

I’d tried the sciences without much luck. The medical field was out because I was weak in the sciences.

I have no great appreciation for art and no desire to perform or be stared at any more than I already was. So, I became a rarity, I didn’t specialize in anything.

When I met CQ, I was three months away from graduating with a degree in liberal arts.

I’d spent the previous three and a half years defying the college’s caste system. I wasn’t a cheerleader, I enjoyed tormenting them though. It was the same with the sorority girls.

I dated a lot of the school’s athletes. So, if Johnny Quarterback took me to a sorority party, even though non-affiliated girls weren’t allowed at the party ... they’d pretend not to notice me.

They really didn’t have much choice. After all, the reason they wanted to have the party was to get guys to come. If I was dating one of the athletes, he was probably more interested in getting with me than any sorority girl. If the sorority tried to kick me out, my date would go with me. And since the football team was really close ... If one of them left ... they all did. The word got around that if you did anything to Crystal ... Your party quickly became an all-girls slumber party.

Most of the sororities looked the other way when I showed up. Some of them even began inviting me, because if I showed up, so would the guys.

It’s important that I acknowledge the fact that I was not a virgin. I was also not a slut. Sure, if I liked a guy, and I was in the mood, I had no problem giving up the pussy. But it was always MY choice.

That is until I met CQ.

I was at one of those parties that all the kids on campus dream about going to. It was one of those parties thrown by the cheerleaders for themselves, the football team and a few other selected individuals.

Usually those parties are just like the ones thrown by all the other eighth year high school students all over the world. The only difference is the people going. I think that it’s mostly just the fact that most of the kids can’t attend them that makes them seem so special to everyone else.

I was there for two reasons. One: I enjoyed playing with the cheerleaders’ tiny brains. And Two: my on again/off again semi-relationship with Johnny Quarterback was at a critical stage.

A few nights previous, he’d boasted in front of some other students how he couldn’t wait to get out of the restaurant we were in and have me drain his balls.

Needless to say, there was no ball draining done that night, so he had a little fit and told me how lucky I was to be with him. I told him that he was the lucky one.

So, three days later we met up at this party. He was here with a cheerleader whose hair was as blonde as mine. And I was there with a sack of meat named Jimbo.

“Wow, you fell pretty far,” he smirked. “What’s it like down there on the second string?”

“You, know far more about it than I do,” I said. His eyes widened in confusion and he followed me across the room.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

“First, look at her,” I said, pointing to his date. “She’s like an under-equipped copy of me; a really bad copy. Her ass is almost flat, and her boobs are fake. What kind of girl needs fake boobs in college?”

“Her boobs are not fake,” he sneered. Then he looked at her. She turned away from him and refused to make eye contact. “Who cares,” he said. “Boobs are boobs and I never liked a girl with a big ass anyway.”

I laughed. “Three nights ago, you had your face buried in my ass, motor-boating my cheeks. You’re a bad liar. And a stupid one. Enjoy the second string.” I stepped away.

“You’re the one on the second string,” he said, he’d followed me and continued our conversation.

I shook my head and laughed. “I talk to people all of the time,” I lied. “I actually spoke to some people last weekend when you begged me to go and watch you play. According to them, your stats are falling. And you’re losing the team. Your coach is calling more running plays than passing plays because they lack confidence in your abilities. How long do you think it’ll take before you’re the second stringer to that freshman they brought in?”

His look of shock made me smile. He stood there with his mouth open, unsure of what to say. Naturally I’d made it all up. He was a football God at our school. And I hardly ever spoke to people anyway. Most people got on my fucking nerves, so I didn’t bother with them.

“You fucking bitch!” he spat, he was almost in tears.

“Maybe so,” I said, cheerfully. “But I’m not fucking YOU.”

I walked away from him and went over to my date, who was impressing a group of people with his ability to drink out of the side of a beer can.”

“Watch this Babe,” he said as I got to him. He took a knife and plunged it into the side of the can. I quickly side-stepped a spray of foam that came out of the can and covered his face. He stuck his mouth over the hole and sucked all of the beer from the can in one huge chug. Then he took what was left of the can, stuck it inside of his elbow, and crushed it by flexing his huge bicep.

I rolled my eyes, wondering how I got into a low budget remake of Animal House.

“Ooh that was amazing. Do it again,” chirped a tiny brunette whose boobs were bigger than mine ... she also wore a top that unlike mine, showed nearly all of them. She was a foot shorter than me and almost a hundred pounds heavier, but all the drunken guys would notice was her huge cans and her high pitched, breathless voice.

At that point, Johnny Quarterback came over to me again.

“I’m sorry babe,” he whined. He put his arm around me. And he did it right in front of my date, who apparently took no notice of it.

“Uh Jimbo,” I said. “Can you ask your friend here, to keep his hands off my ass. I’m here with YOU, not him.”

“He’s the quarterback ... I’m his left tackle,” he said as if that meant something. I walked to the other side of the room shaking my head. There in the corner, were some of the less popular people who’d been invited as some sort of reward.

There was a smattering of cheerleader wannabes, nerds who tutored or did homework for the cheerleaders or football players, and other people who were in some way useful to the school’s celebrities.

But there was one guy who broke the mold. He had brown greasy hair and big glasses. But his body was very fit and toned. He wasn’t awkward or overly shy either. In fact, he was telling them a story about the house of one of their professors.

One of my professors had taught a class, I’d taken in art appreciation. He’d taught us how to critique a piece of art. I used a similar technique to appraise the guy who was talking.

I LOVED his voice. I stood there mesmerized listening to him talk. He drew everyone around him into the conversation and listened to their responses. He was almost masterful in the way he included them all and got them to talk.

I also loved his smile and how animated he was. I loved his body. He was nowhere near the size of either of the football players that I was avoiding, but he was obviously in good shape.

The shape of his face was beautiful. It was manly without being a cave man’s. He smiled easily, and his laugh was infectious. I found myself wondering who he was and who he was there with.

I wondered what his eyes looked like under the glasses. And I wondered what it would take to get him to cut that long greasy brown hair into something that didn’t make him look like an eighties reject.

Even as I contemplated those questions, I felt a hand on my ass.

“Okay, Babe, you win, we’re back together,” declared Johnny Quarterback.

“We were never together,” I said loudly. “So, we can’t be BACK together. We WERE casually dating. And you’re here with a date, remember?”

“GOD ... BITCHES,” he yelled in frustration. “Hey Jimbo!” he screamed across the room. “Can we trade dates?”

A nearly drunken Jimbo had been called on while sucking the contents out of yet another sideways beer can. He couldn’t answer while draining the can, so he just gave a thumbs-up sign.”

“There ... Are you happy now?” smirked Johnny.

“No ... I’m not,” I said. “I’m not a piece of meat that you can just hand off or pass around...”

I was pissed. “Jimbo, I’m ready to go,” I yelled.

“Not my problem,” he yelled back, getting a lot of laughs from the cheerleaders who wanted to see me put in my place.

“See, Sweetie,” smirked Johnny. “It’s all fine.”

“It’s not FUCKING FINE,” I screamed. “We are SOOOO far away from FINE. We’re not even in the same God damned zip code as fine.” I was screaming on purpose. I’d noticed that making a scene tended towards getting all the possible attention in the room.

And with everyone looking at me, the chances of anything stupid happening was reduced.

“Calm down,” he said. He reached for me and I moved away from him.

“Are you such a loser that you have to force a girl to hang out with you?” I asked. “Now who’s second string?”

It might have been one quip too far. Especially with an ego as big as his, and everyone watching us. His face morphed into a mask of anger and he reached for me with both hands, this time.

I had visions of an angry man killing me, using an adult form of shaken baby syndrome. But it never happened.

Before I could blink, the interesting, greasy brown-haired guy was between us.

“Do I know you?” bellowed Johnny. He scratched his head and stared at him. “You’re that nerd ... The stuck up one who won’t do anybody’s homework.”

“I guess,” he said casually. His entire demeanor seemed to project calm.

“Get your boney ass out of the way,” hissed Johnny. “I’m arguing with my woman.”

“I’m not YOUR woman,” I said from behind my savior.

“Uhm ... she said no,” he said.

“Who gives a fuck what she said?” asked Johnny. “I don’t have time for this shit...” He swung a ham-like fist at my would-be savior, that somehow missed.

I was right there but it happened so quickly that I had to watch it later, on someone’s phone.

Johnny’s punch went right past the guy who seemed to have just leaned out of the way. Johnny’s fist met no resistance, so his arm was extended past his intended target, throwing him off balance.

Almost as if it was an afterthought, the greasy brown-haired guy did the weirdest thing. He circled his right fist and slammed it into his own left hand. It made his right elbow shoot directly into Johnny’s biceps area and we heard a sickening pop.

Johnny’s eyes got huge, his mouth dropped open and a low moan came out. His arm dropped uselessly to his side and he screamed.

He started running around the room holding onto his arm. “That’s my throwing arm ... God damn you ... That’s my throwing arm,” he whined.

“Well ... you threw it,” said the greasy brown-haired guy, shrugging his shoulders.

“Shit ... this hurts,” Johnny whined. A few moments later, the campus police arrived. Someone had called them to prevent Johnny from hurting my guy too badly. They walked right over to Johnny.

“Been fighting again, Walker?” asked one of the cops. “Who’d you hit? You’re probably gonna be off the team for this. Quarterback or not you’re all out of warnings.”

The cops looked around and corralled a couple of students. They asked for their phones and saw videos of the incident. The cops were laughing as they watched it.

They broke up the party and sent everyone home, including Johnny.

“You didn’t actually hit anybody,” they laughed.

By the time I left the party, driven home by one of the officers, my greasy haired hero was gone. He’d disappeared without a word.

I was so used to guys who wanted to brag and blow their own horns, that the thought of someone putting themselves in danger for me and expecting nothing in return, seemed unfathomable.

There had to be something weird going on. I mean who goes all out to get something and then doesn’t take the prize?

It made me doubt myself for the first time in my life. I began to wonder what the hell was wrong with me that he didn’t want me?

Maybe my ass was too big. A couple of days of seeing guys staring at it, assured me that wasn’t it. And I knew that all guys ... Okay, most guys like boobs. So, I came to the realization that it had to be him. Maybe he was gay.

While staring at a book in my dorm, I absent-mindedly blurted it out. “He’s probably gay!”

“Who’s gay?” asked my room-mate.

“My mystery man from the party,” I said. “You probably haven’t heard about this but...”

She started laughing and laughed so hard she choked.

“Crystal ... Everyone has heard about that party. And I don’t just mean at our school. It’s all over the country. Our first-string quarterback has a career ending shoulder injury halfway through the season. And we lost the second-string guy in the game yesterday. It changes everything in the country.

We were in line to play for a championship. But our season is pretty much over.”

“Yeah well ... Johnny pretty much deserved what he got,” I said. “And the second-string guy ... I’ve never heard of him or met him, so that wasn’t on me.”

“Yeah it kind of was,” she said. “Jimbo is kind of stupid but he’s a tank. It had taken him three years to get used to the idea that all he had to do was protect Johnny...”

I knew what was coming.

“So, he just pretty much directed everyone towards the new guy while he looked for Johnny. Our new quarterback was sacked eighteen times...” she said.

“That’s a lot for one game isn’t it?” I asked.

“That was in the first quarter,” she said. “He got hit so hard in the first play of the second quarter that he broke all of the ribs on his left side.”

“Oh shit!” I said.

“No Shit!” she said. “Jimbo looked so awkward and stupid that no NFL team in the country will give him a chance. He’s become a quarterback’s nightmare.”

“Holy Shit,” I gushed. “Are they only blaming me ... or does the guy who actually broke Johnny’s arm get some of the blame?”

“That’s the funny thing,” she said. “Corn has never done anything like that before. He’s the nerdy type. But he’s kind odd. I mean they play jokes on him all the time like they do the other nerds and you get the idea that he lets them. It’s like he put up with it, because it was easier to go along, but the party was just his last fucking straw.”

“His name is Corn?” I asked.

“Did you listen to a word I said?” she asked.

“What’s his whole name?” I asked.

“Cornelius Carlisle Carrington,” she said.

“And where might I find him?” I asked.

“You don’t have to find him,” she said. “He’s not lost. But he’s not your type ... he’s smart and...”

“Are you calling me stupid?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “But the guys you date are. And Corn is kind of...”

“Kind of what?” I asked.

She bit her lip as if she was thinking about how to express her next statement.

“He’s kind of fragile, emotionally,” she said. “He doesn’t need the flash, purr, thank you sir, treatment. He’s been through a lot.”

“What the fuck do you mean by that?” I asked.

“Come on Crystal, it’s what you do,” she said. “You flash those big boobs to get a guy’s interest. Once you’ve got him you start purring like a cat in heat. Then once you’re done fucking them, you politely kiss them off.”

“So ... I’m like some kind of whore, huh?” I said.

“No Crys, I didn’t mean it like that. You don’t charge money or anything, and I don’t even think it’s about the sex, but you go through a lot of guys and Corn isn’t like that. He’s a really nice guy,” she said. “And you’re kind of self-centered. It’s like you think the world revolves around You and nobody else matters.”

Not only did she NOT give me his number, she refused to tell me where he hung out. Acting alone it took me almost a week to track him down.

I caught him coming out of one of his classes and stopped him. I walked him to his car, an old junker of a Mustang and enjoyed every second of it.

I did all my tricks and none of them worked. I was sure he was going to just drive away and not ask me out, so I asked HIM out.

To make a long story short, that day changed my life. CQ or Corn was like no one I had ever met. It was like he was a missing piece of me. Suddenly, things mattered to me.

I suddenly had dreams and things I wanted out of life. And I wanted them with him. I won’t go into the details of our courtship and marriage. This isn’t that kind of story. Just suffice it to say that from that first meeting, even before our first date, CQ owned me.

His friends called him CCC or C-cubed if you speak nerd. Over the years that was shortened to CQ. When I married him, I became C.C.

It took me three dates to cut his hair. Two more and he tried contacts for me. Another date and I had to kick some Nerd Girl’s ass over him.

After a month we knew all of each other’s secrets. He knew about all the guys I’d been through and I knew about that skank who’d ripped his heart out.

It scared the shit out of me. Before me, CQ had only been through one serious relationship and he hadn’t had sex with her. She was some redhead named Lisa and I made it my religion to blot that bitch from his memory.

The first few times that we had sex, I let him have and do anything he wanted. It gave me the chance to make him comfortable with me.

And then I taught him. I taught him the true way to make a woman happy. And more than any other man I’d been with ... he learned. After a while he’d learned so well that he took control of me physically the way he’d already taken control of me emotionally.

So, jumping quickly ahead, we married. We got careers and prospered. After a few years our daughter was born and two years later our son. I’d always wanted three kids, but we stalled at two.

By the time we had the kids, I was tired of working, so I retired to become a stay at home mom. CQ is a software engineer, so he makes more than enough to support our family in style.

CQ drives a much better Mustang nowadays. It’s a Shelby GT 500. I have a BMW SUV. I love CQ more than life itself. He is my life. I know what you’re thinking but it has never happened. I have never once cheated on my husband.

I could have. Even at thirty-five years old and after having two children, I work very hard to keep my body in shape for my husband. He does the same. I think we’re in better physical shape after all of these years than we were when we met.

CQ, had grown up taking martial arts classes. His parents had made him take the classes because his dad always said that CQ just looked like the kind of kid who got his ass beaten a lot. He wanted his son to be able to protect himself.

Like my roomie back in college had said, CQ could have stopped the guys from picking on him any time he’d wanted to, but it took a threat to me, to make him fight.

Nowadays, CQ likes to go for runs in the woods around our house. I on the other hand like to go to the gym. I like variety in my workouts. So, one week it’s yoga and the next a spin class.

There are always guys in the gym who try to hit on me and I just laugh. They have nothing to offer me. I love my husband too much to ever consider it.

And CQ and I are so close that I think he would know. Just as I know him. And that’s what this story is about. I have given my all, my heart, my soul, my body and my mind to that man. I know him. I love him, and I want all of him.

And I have most of him. But there’s a tiny bit of his heart that still belongs to that Lisa bitch. His first love ... the one who broke his heart.

They say you never forget your first love. I guess that’s my problem. You see, I sleep beside my first love every night. My first fuck was some guy from high school. He jammed his dick in me and came immediately. I don’t think either one of us counts that as our finest moment.

I can’t even remember the guy’s name. But I remember everything about my first times with CQ.

But from time to time, he still thinks about HER. I can see him sometimes, it’s not often, maybe once or twice in a year, staring off into space. I can tell she’s on his mind. And I don’t fucking like it.

Like most men, CQ thinks he’s pretty fucking smart. Like when we got our boat. I admit it, I still like to show off. I do it for different reasons now though. I want my husband to know how lucky he is.