A Well-Lived Life 2 - Book 8 - NIKAChapter 9: A Cracking Good Time free porn video
September 15, 1994, London, England
All those life lessons I’d learned recently rushed to the forefront of my mind. What had happened with Ailea, Mitsuko, and Sakurako, as well as with Michelle, meant I needed to treat Pippa’s request properly. The only question in my mind was whether or not there were special circumstances which would warrant me trying to talk her out of it. I was concerned about regret, but I’d discussed that with the three Japanese girls, and in the end, I couldn’t control a partner’s reaction one way or another.
That said, given that she’d been untruthful about her experience, there was a bit of an issue of trust. I could honestly forgive lying about it, given the circumstances; and I’d encountered several girls, including Jenna and Rosie, who hadn’t told me in advance they were virgins. But, it did call into question whether or not she’d actually had an STD test, though saying she had the test results with her was definitive. Fortunately, I didn’t have to worry about birth control, but she certainly did. It was a serious issue of trust to have sex without a condom, trusting that the guy’d had a vasectomy.
If I did take her back to the hotel with me, I had to be prepared for her to change her mind, stop, or be insanely nervous, all of which could make for a very emotional situation. Not for me - I could deal with it - but for her. And could I manage THAT? If she turned into an emotional wreck because she couldn’t do it, or because she did, what would I do? I didn’t know anyone here who could help, nor did I know anything about her other than what she’d told me and that she had a brother named Harry who had a girlfriend named Diane.
That last bit was the major risk, and it did give me pause. How emotionally stable was she? I had no idea, and no way to know. That argued against taking her back, though my notion of doing the least amount of harm required me to consider the ramifications of turning her down after she’d worked up her courage. I felt I needed to talk to her a bit more, not in the sense of trying to talk her out of it, but finding out if this really was the best thing. It seemed the best way was to agree to walk back to the hotel, ask about the STD test, and talk about birth control. That would give me a decent idea.
“OK,” I said, standing up.
“Really?”
“Yes; really. Come on,” I said extending my hand.
She took my hand and I helped her up. We held hands and I began walking slowly in the direction of the hotel.
“You were telling the truth about your STD tests, right?” I asked.
“Yes. I have the results paper, but I’ve never been with anyone, so...”
“You could get HIV through blood transfusion or another route, so it’s always important to have the test even if you’re a virgin.”
“I’m glad I did it, then. It was part of my cover, you know?”
I smiled, “I know. It’s OK. How are you doing?”
“Nervous!” she said.
I was going to need to get her relaxed, or she’d be so tense it might even be painful for her.
“It’s OK to be nervous. If you trust me, and let me guide you, it’ll be fine. But we need to get you relaxed without resorting to booze. There is one thing we need to discuss.”
“What?”
“I’m guessing you’d prefer NOT to get pregnant?” I said lightly.
Pippa laughed nervously, “Uh, yeah! I figured you would take care of that. I’m not on the Pill.”
“That’s something you want to talk about beforehand, not wait until the last moment.”
“Why didn’t you ask?”
“First, I’d expected you to raise the issue, but if you hadn’t, I would have. I would have asked before we got to the hotel. But, I had an out because I’ve had a vasectomy. So in the end, there are no worries from my side. For you, either you have to trust me or we need to stop at a chemist’s shop, I guess.”
“Truth? You don’t need a johnny to keep from getting me pregnant?”
“Truth,” I said. “I’m guessing that’s slang for a rubber?”
“Yeah, a ‘rubber johnny’.”
“I always thought they were called ‘French letters’ in the UK.”
“My parents or grandparents would use that phrase.”
“If you want, we can stop and get some.”
“No; as careful as you’ve been all night, I can’t imagine you would risk something like that. I guess you have as many kids as you wanted?”
I chuckled, “You could say that.”
“What’s so funny?”
“I have a large family,” I said.
“How large?” Pippa asked.
And here was an interesting inflection point. It was going to be difficult to answer this question without going into at least basic details about my relationships and that might put her off.
“I have seven children by four different women. Two are my current wives, one is a former lover, and one is a former High School girlfriend who finally came to terms with her lesbianism.”
Pippa dropped my hand as if it were a scorpion and stopped walking just as we turned onto Stratton Street. I stopped and turned to see a look of complete shock and disbelief on her face.
“Let me get this straight; you have seven kids by four different women? Seriously?”
I nodded, “Yes. We all live on the same property back in Chicago. The mom to my eldest boy is the lesbian. She wanted a kid with her wife, but biology doesn’t allow that, so we had a kid together. I have two boys by a former lover who lives in the house with us. I have two wives, though only one of them is legal, and I have two girls by one of them and a boy and a girl by the other.”
“I’m gobsmacked,” Pippa said.
“That’s a fairly common reaction,” I said gently. “And if that changes things, I totally understand.”
“You mean about what I wanted?”
I nodded, “Yes. Maybe you don’t want your first time to be what amounts to a one-night-stand with a guy with that kind of history.”
“It’s a little much to take in, you know? But I said I would.”
I shook my head, “You can ALWAYS change your mind, as I said before. I’ll repeat that - you can ALWAYS change your mind. Nobody can ever consent irrevocably to sex. I don’t care if you’re in the middle of the main event, if she changes her mind you get up, get dressed, and talk about it.”
“Oh come on!” she laughed. “Nobody would do that!”
“I would. I have.”
“You seriously stopped after you had your willy in a girl?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“It’s a long, long story from High School, but that girl and her husband are our best friends back in Chicago.”
“That’s five girls I’ve counted already! How many have you been with?”
“More than five,” I said.
“No, seriously; how many?”
I shook my head, “More than five. It really doesn’t matter, does it? You volunteered that information, although it wasn’t accurate; I didn’t ask. Asking for details about that can only cause problems in a relationship.”
“But wouldn’t you want to know if the girl had been with like twenty guys?”
“Why? How is that different from a guy being with twenty girls?”
“But...”
“Sorry, I don’t buy the ‘guys are studs and girls are sluts’ idea at all. What she’s done before she’s been with me isn’t really my business. Well, so long as she’s had her shots, as you put it. It’s silly, really. One of our advice columnists, I think you call them ‘Agony Aunts’, once answered a question about that. A guy wrote in and said he wanted a virgin for a wife but couldn’t find one, strongly implying he was experienced. Her response was that if guys wanted virgins for wives, it might be a good idea to leave a few around!”
“And you’d be OK with your daughter having a string of lovers?”
“If she practiced safe sex, yes. You yourself told me before that not being a virgin was important to you. If you do it with me, you’re going to have at least two lovers in your lifetime, and I’m willing to bet that the next guy you’re with won’t be your husband.”
“Probably not,” she allowed.
“The only person who has any business worrying about how many lovers you have in your life is you. If you’re comfortable with the number, then who cares what anyone else thinks? BUT, keeping that number to yourself is probably a good idea.”
“I’m starting to wish you lived in London. Nobody talks to me like this - not my parents; not my teachers; not my friends.”
“Do they treat you like a little kid or an adult?”
“Kind of a mix. It’s weird because they let me do stuff I want that sixteens are allowed to do, but they still talk to me like I’m a little kid a lot.”
I took her hand and we started walking again.
“I’m curious, do you know what they’d say about you deciding to have sex?”
“They’d spit the dummy,” she laughed. “They did when they found out my brother was shagging Diane when he was seventeen.”
“Tory?” I asked.
“Yes; how did you know?”
“Just a guess. Our conservatives are often like that in the US as well.”
“Why did we pass the hotel?” she asked.
“Because you haven’t decided what to do. I know there’s a shop not far from here and I thought you might like an ice lolly.”
She laughed, “Now who’s treating who like a kid? Or do you just want to see what it looks like when I put it in my mouth and suck on it?”
I laughed hard, “I seriously had not thought about it that way!”
“Right,” she teased.
“Seriously. But now that you mention it...”
“I so wish you didn’t have to leave tomorrow! I’m having a cracking good time talking with you!”
“So? Ice cream or ice lolly?”
“Are you trying to stall?” she asked.
“Not the way you mean. I’m giving you time to think and time for us to talk. I’m enjoying this.”
Pippa shook her head, “But you thought we were going to have a shag!”
“What I thought doesn’t matter. I’m really enjoying being with you.”
“You’re serious?”
“As a heart attack,” I said.
“Ice lolly!” she laughed.
We continued down Stafford Street, then along Piccadilly to the shop I’d seen. I bought two cherry-flavored popsicles and handed one to Pippa. We unwrapped them, then walked back out onto the sidewalk.
“Steve?” Pippa giggled.
I turned to watch her make a show of pushing the popsicle as far into her mouth as she could, then pulling it back out and licking carefully around the top, then pushing it back in.
“Nice,” I chuckled, and then mimicked what she had done.
Pippa started laughing so hard she had to lean against the railing that separated the sidewalk from the street to keep her balance.
“You did NOT just do that!” she said when she regained her composure.
“Why not?”
“There is NO WAY you’re a queen!”
“True, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be silly!”
“You are barmy!”
I made a theatrical bow, “At your service, ma’am!”
I took her hand and we continued along Piccadilly until we came to Piccadilly Circus. We walked over to Shaftesbury Memorial Fountain and sat side-by-side on the steps and finished our popsicles. I took the sticks and dumped them in the trashcan, or dustbin as they were called in England, then went back to sit down next to Pippa.
“So do you know about the statue?” Pippa asked.
“I heard it was damaged and only recently replaced,” I said.
“Yes. Most people think it’s Eros but it’s really Anteros, his brother.”
“Ah, yes; from the basic idea that love has to be returned to be true.”
“Do you believe that?”
“I think it depends on what kind of love you’re talking about, but in general, I’d say yes.”
“What kind of love?”
“English, unfortunately, has only one word for ‘love’ and we use it to express quite a few feelings. For example - ‘I love my job’, ‘I love chocolate’, ‘I love the Pittsburgh Penguins Ice Hockey Club’, or ‘I love you’. Those all have different nuances. Koine Greek has three separate words for love - «phileo», which is brotherly love; «eros», which is erotic or sexual or romantic love; «agape», which is self-giving, self-sacrificing love. The Kama Sutra teaches four kinds of love - love acquired by habit; love from imagination; love that is mutual and proven true; and finally, love resulting from experience.”
“Isn’t that the book about sex positions?” she asked.
I chuckled, “That is what most people know it for, but it’s really a philosophy text.”
“And you read Playboy for the articles, right? That’s what Harry says!”
I laughed hard, “I don’t read Playboy, but it does have good articles. The pictures aren’t too bad, either.”
“You are very cheeky!” Pippa laughed.
“Shall we walk again?” I asked, standing up and taking her hand.
I led us back towards the hotel, where I could put her in a cab if that’s what she wanted. I wasn’t quite sure what she was going to do, but she was certainly much more comfortable and was, in my opinion, being more herself than she had been when she’d shown up at the hotel or during dinner. I liked the girl I was with now much more. Before the revelation of her fib, it had all been about sex. Now it was about becoming friends and enjoying time together. Oddly enough, or perhaps not oddly, that made her more attractive.
We walked in silence, holding hands, until we came to the front of the hotel. I stopped and Pippa stepped in front of me and looked me in the eyes. She was searching for something, though I couldn’t tell what. I held her gaze, and tried to deduce what she was thinking and what she’d decide. She was a very desirable young woman, of that there was no doubt. Whether she was actually ready for what she’d purposed when she’d come to the hotel earlier was an open question, and one only she could answer.
“So, Steve Adams from Chicago, what is it you see?”
“An intelligent, fun, beautiful, desirable, young woman.”
“And if you could have anything you wanted right now, what would it be?”
I smiled, “Your friendship.”
She cocked her head to the side, “You actually mean that, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“And you think I should get in a cab and go home, don’t you?”
“What I think is far less important than what you think, though obviously we’d need to agree on any other course of action.”
“You chose your words very carefully,” she said with a smile. “Will you answer a direct question with a direct answer?”
“Sure.”
“Do you want me?”
I nodded, “I did say you were desirable, didn’t I?”
“Then ask,” she said with a smile, still looking deeply into my eyes.
Her words reminded me of Michelle putting the decision on me, when she’d decided what she wanted. But I wasn’t sure Pippa HAD decided. That meant I had to ask for something that didn’t require a commitment.
“I’d like you to come up to my room with me,” I said, not breaking eye contact.
“And what are we going to do there?”
“Anything you fancy,” I said with a smile.
She smiled, took my hand, and we walked into the hotel. We went straight to the lift and up to the fifth floor. I led her to my suite, opened the door, and we walked in. We both kicked off our shoes.
“Nice room,” she said. “I don’t suppose you have anything to drink.”
“Two bottles of sparkling water,” I said. “Or I can call room service; but no alcohol if you want anything more than scintillating conversation.”
“I’ll take some water, then,” she replied.
I poured some water into two glasses and handed one to her. We both drained the glasses and then she opened her purse and extracted the paper showing a clean STD test. I took my card from my wallet and showed her, and that bit of business out of the way, I walked over to the sofa and sat down. I patted the spot next to me and Pippa came over to where I was, but instead of sitting next to me, plopped down in my lap. She put her arms on my shoulders and looked me directly in the eyes, just as she had on the sidewalk. I put my arms loosely around her and waited to see what she would do. She cocked her head slightly, then slowly moved forward until her lips brushed mine, then surprisingly, she pulled back, and looked deeply into my eyes again.
“Aren’t you supposed to take the lead?” she asked quietly.
I nodded, “Yes; remember, you can say ‘stop’ or ‘no’ to anything at any time. Understand?”
“Yes.”
I tightened my arms around her and she moved her lips towards mine once again. This time, it was no mere brush of lips, but a soft, sexy, slow, French kiss. As our tongues gently danced together, I slid my left hand over her small breast. I squeezed gently then ran my thumb over her erect nipple. Pippa moaned softly into my mouth as we continued to kiss. She broke the kiss for a moment, took a deep breath, let it out, then moved her lips against mine once again. I was determined to take it slowly, ensuring she had ample opportunity to stop, but realizing that at some point, she might be so turned-on that she couldn’t stop. It was a fine balance, and I had to be careful, but not overly careful.
Lizbeth
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