The Miner s Strike 1984
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Scenes From An AffairScene 7: June 1984 - Chicago free porn video
The wait finally ended, Phil felt peculiarly unrushed. As they say, he'd waited over two and a half years, what's a few hours? Sitting in his old red VW beetle, probably on its last legs after the long journey from Cambridge to Chicago, he watched for the motherfucker Marisol married to leave the house.
Arriving in Chicago late in the evening, he had slept at his fellow Harvard graduate's parents house. Despite the dark cloud of lost love and the unresolved discord with his parents, by and large Phil had no trouble making friends. Charming and easy going and comfortable in his own skin, classmates wanted to be in his company. He could pick and choose.
These bright young men and women surrounding him through the four years of college shared wit and embraced the eccentric in each of them. For Phil, his sartorial splendor stood out from the others. Bigger and taller than most, wearing perfectly tailored outfits of the finest threads couldn't help be noticed. The first time he visited his father's tailor in Danbury Connecticut to be fitted for a suit at 10 years old, he examined every fabric and chose the best. Most children either didn't care what they wore or wanted the loudest suit possible. Phil chose fine and subtle and classic. It impressed the tailor. Each visit afterwards as Phil outgrew his suits and shirts became an enjoyable event for both of them. Phil subscribed to men's fashion magazines. Every visit to New York City included stops at Barneys and fabric stores in the fashion district as well as high end shoe stores. When his parents reduced his funds, his father kept his account available at the tailor, so the only free clothes were of the finest quality.
At first glance, his future friends misunderstood his clothing. They figured him to be either stuck up or trying too hard to look rich. Once they got to know him however, they discovered him to be neither, and in fact, like them in other ways, it was his eccentricity.
Gay men and hetero women who appreciated fashion gravitated towards him because of his style, but the superficial attraction didn't last except for a couple of each. One woman became part of his group of close knit friends. The other became an occasional lover. A child actress in film, she tended to be shy, but his warmth and easy going nature charmed her. They would spend an evening in their finest clothes, going to a high class dining establishment and then to some classical musical event--all paid for by the well off young woman--ending the evening in bed fucking. Being extraordinarily busy combined with wanting to keep these special evenings fun kept her from pushing their relationship into seriousness. Fine by Phil. His heart developed callouses. However when they made love inhibitions dissolved. Both worked hard to give the other the most pleasure. And afterward, they felt completely warm and intimate. Like other women fortunate enough to cross his path at the bedroom, she rarely if ever had better sex in her life as she had with Phil.
One of the gay men initially attracted by his sartorial splendor became a very close friend. Phil stayed at his house in Chicago. As soon as Phil told Joey about finding Marisol and his application to the University of Chicago and for scholarships and loans to enable his matriculation without benefit of his parents' wealth, Joey insisted he stay at his home.
Joey didn't tell him of his plans to come out of the closet with Phil as the provider of strength and moral support against his conservative parents' reaction. It didn't go well. Joey's father, a Vice President of Marshall Fields and a former soldier, though in the mercantile aspect of the army, proud nevertheless of his long stint during the Korean War, with soft features and a fey presence like his son, must have either fought inclinations or never had them and fought off those who did. He called his son a piece of shit, spitting the words and stormed out the door.
His mother, equally punctured by the news, fought against her pain with brittle, nasty invectives. She turned her back to him throughout the evening and into the night, doing dishes and other household chores while savaging her son as a man. Phil sensed she had practiced such harridan speech on Joey's father.
In the middle of the night, she visited the guest room crying, wearing a long nightie that revealed nakedness draping over long thick nipples. "I'm sorry Phil," she whimpered, sniffling. "You must think we're some awful backwards parents."
"To tell you the truth," Phil said, stifling a yawn, having been awakened, "I didn't know he planned on springing it on you."
"Are you gay too, because I really have nothing against gay people?"
"No ma'am, not in the least. Joey's just a really good friend."
"So you never ... went to bed with my son?"
"No. We've stayed up all night together, with friends of course, studying or partying or having adventures, but we've never been intimate. I guess he wanted to be when we first met, but I told him I wasn't interested. He's ... had a relationship or two that ended with complete and sometimes uncomfortable separation since the boys attended Harvard and had classes with him, so I'm glad we could be friends, because that won't change."
"He needed you here."
"It seems so."
"You're strong, unlike some men I know."
"Joey's strong. I guess he just needed more strength."
"But he succumbed. He's ... a faggot.
"It's what makes him happy. Being with women ... It just doesn't work, you know? To dare to pursue happiness despite the consequences, that took courage."
"You like being with women?"
Phil chuckled quietly. "Very much. Nothing gives me more pleasure than giving women pleasure, especially the woman I love, although ... Ma'am?"
"Call me Margie," she whispered, climbing into the single bed with Phil. Her large soft breasts pressed against his chest. Her sex pressed hotly against his hip.
"Margie?" Phil spoke quietly. She kissed him, her eyes pleading, her lips warm and soft.
"Please Phil, it's been way too long."
Succumbing he kissed back, sharing his tongue with hers.
Thick but not fat, the woman in her mid forties kept her body in pretty good shape. "Tennis and swimming," she'd inform him later that night. A little over five feet tall, her large breasts and butt looked bigger on her small frame. Her cute round face--freckles appropriate to her auburn hair and fair skin dotting her nose abundantly--belied the intelligence and strength of character housed within. Guiding his hand, she led it to her robust butt, voluminous and voluptuous, when clothed her sexiest feature. Her hand pushed his between the surprisingly firm cheeks to the heat and wetness of her sex. His fingers circled the gaping lips.
Having led him where she wanted him, her hand moved to remove his pajama bottoms. Rising an inch to let her finish the task, his massive cock bounced free, slapping her thigh. She took hold of it.
"God," she remarked. "I'm safe. Tubes tied. You?"
"No diseases, Margie."
Smiling tightly, her green eyes tense, she lifted high enough to press his glans at her wet cunny lips. Three children had exited that hole, but Joey, the youngest, was twenty-two. Despite her big butt, Phil experienced pressure he hadn't felt around his cock since he last fucked the diminutive Myra.
Slow going, Margie murmured expletives, keeping as quiet as possible. Finally their pubic hair meshed and he felt her cervix whispering against his tip.
Her descent had been relatively quiet. They celebrated the conjunction with passionate kisses. Margie tossed off her nightie, bringing Phil's hands to her large, soft breasts. He experimented, and found she enjoyed aggressive play. He lifted up until his mouth took a nipple, teeth chewing on the thickness. She moaned and began to move. Unfortunately the bed squealed in complaint.
"Shit," she spouted.
Phil glanced at the dark room and suggested putting the mattress on the floor. Reluctantly her pussy lifted off his cock. The deed done, she waited for him to lie down. "You first," he ordered.
Exploring her became a slow journey. At first she insisted he just fuck her. He ignored her. While his fingers kept pressure on her cunny lips and clit, his mouth moved from her forehead to her pubic bone and everywhere in between. Her first climax came when his mouth replaced his hand. Just a quick lap of her large clit sent her into shivers. Her mouth covered by a pillow contained her bellow.
While she calmed, he moved his body up. She tasted her nectar on his tongue as he guided her hand to his cock. She placed it and he pushed. His mouth muffled her moan.
Four thrusts--each from a retreat threatening his bulbous glans slipping out--gradually deepened until their pubes collided again. He kept the thrusts lengthy, lifting slowly out before shoving hard and fast. The pillow contained her moans when his mouth moved to her breasts, assisting his mauling hands. One hand paused the mauling to guide her fingers to her clit and assist her rubbing before returning to the breasts.
He fucked aggressively through her second climax and fought back his orgasm until she achieved a third. Her intense inner throbbing brought his semen out, filling her narrow passage as his cock throbbed in counterpoint. Tossing aside the pillow, her mouth met his in an exultant kiss
"Incredible," she murmured when their mouths separated.
He kissed her hot forehead before asking, "Where's your husband?"
"Out whoring probably, though good luck to those cum merchants getting him hard," she growled bitterly. Just as quickly as she got bitter, she looked up at Phil and smiled. "Could you be my whore?"
He chuckled, but noticed her expression. "You're serious."
"I've never been fucked like that. I mean I've never been made love to like that. You're still inside me and I already miss it." On cue, his shriveled penis slipped out. They laughed.
"I'm here to reunite with my love," Phil explained. He told her about Marisol. She told him her life.
"You let me seduce you, and yet you don't look the least bit guilty," she finally asked, stroking his rising penis, kissing it and sliding it into her mouth.
"I ... She's not the jealous type, and I ... It would be silly for me to be. She's a professional mistress really. That's how I met her."
"Maybe it's time we hired a maid," smiled Margie. "I've been playing homemaker way too long. Me and my girlfriend keep talking about starting a bookstore. Her cousin owns a book warehouse in Milwaukee. My father always said I should use my head for business." She used her head to give him head. "I should get off my fat ass."
"You have an amazing ass," said Phil, rubbing between the cheeks, flaming her desire. She straddled him, slid him inside and fucked him. When she tired, he rolled her onto her back and fucked her hard. They came together, mouths sealed to quiet the moans.
"I could hire you to help with the store," she whispered, cuddled warmly along his side.
"I could use the money, but I've got a clerk job a professor of mine set up. I'd only be available evenings."
"Evenings work for me," she said, kissing his cheek.
At last the asshole drove off in his noisy Ford pick up truck. The door opened before Phil could knock. Marisol stood in it wearing a stained, worn flannel nightie, her face showing fading bruises. Even so, it had matured, tightened, become more definite and more beautiful.
"Hey," she said shyly. "I saw the car."
Phil nodded and swallowed. Her voice sounded worn and broken, but it was Marisol's voice. Tingling warmth spread through his body.
"Could I come in?" he asked.
She didn't move for a moment, staring into his eyes, her eyes sadder than usual. She smiled. His heart felt like a thundercloud releasing a torrent and shards of lightening. Finally she stepped back and let him enter.
"I didn't know when you'd come," she said shutting the door and standing a couple paces in front of him. "I hoped you'd give up, but when that PI visited..."
"Sandy."
"Yeah. Pretty. Sexy."
Phil nodded.
"I knew you'd come," said Marisol.
"I had to wait until school ended, until I graduated."
"Congratulations." They both smiled. It had been the first word between them so many years before.
Suddenly they couldn't stay separate anymore. Flung together, hugging, the fit seemed perfect. "You're crazy," she murmured against his chest, hearing his big heart.
"Marisol, I can't live without you."
"You just did."
"The incomplete me."
"I know."
"Divorce the bastard."
She flung herself away from him, ending up sitting in an old, threadbare overstuffed chair. "I can't. It's against my religion."
Phil crouched to her level, sighing, holding back the invective. "You want to though."
A tear crept from her eye. She wanted to deny it, but she couldn't. Not to Phil. She barely nodded.
"I know how much you depend on your faith, my love. Your integrity awes me. But ... either you divorce the motherfucker or I kill him. I should anyway. No one abuses you."
"You could never..."
"I swear to you with all my heart, which is your heart, I will kill him. I'd rather spend my life in jail then have him near you ever again."
"But my dear sweet gentle bear, you could never kill a man, even him."
Phil reached into a shoulder bag, soft leather, deep brown like Marisol's eyes, and brought out a large silver automatic. It chilled her seeing it. "Mike showed me how. We went to the firing range."
"Can ... Can I see it?" Phil handed it to her. She tried handling it gingerly, but it was heavier than she thought. "This must have cost a lot. Sandy said your parents..."
" ... practically disowned me. I barely had enough to keep this big body fed."
"So how could you afford it?"
"Sandy bought it for me."
"She loves you."
"I know. I love her too. I love you twenty times more."
"I know."
"I'm now officially and completely disowned, not just sort of."
"They know why you came to Chicago."
"I told them."
Marisol nodded. "You should have forgotten me," she said to the gun in her hand. "Look what I've done to you."
"Too late."
"I'm terrible Phil. I definitely don't deserve you."
"I feel the same about you."
Marisol shook her head. "That doesn't make sense. I've never been anything but a mistress, a rich man's whore born and bread. The best I've been has been a maid. And you. You're a fucking genius. You could be anything you want, have any woman you want."
"Only if I can have you."
"Even if I ... divorce, I won't marry you. I'll be your mistress until you wake up and see the real me. I won't have your child. That's for your wife to have, for you to have a real family. And ... if your wife divorces you because of me, I'll disappear again."
"Why won't you marry me?"
"I ... can't. You deserve a wife you can stand proudly beside at the altar, not some..."
"I'd be proud, prouder than any man who ever married."
Her sad eyes brought another cloud burst to his heart. She whispered, "Promise me. No marriage. No children. No divorce because of me."
"I ... promise."
She smiled completely. Handing him his pistol as if it burned her, she insisted, "Put this ... thing away. Go wait in the car. Give me ten minutes. I hate you being in this house. Go!" Jumping out of the chair, she disappeared into her bedroom. "Go!" she yelled and waited for the door to latch.
Bouncing into the small closet, she extracted her canvas bag. She smiled and giggled and pranced about, gathering clothes she never wore for anyone anymore, a little black dress, a cute sundress, a clingy evening gown, stashed in garment bags for ages behind her housecoat and jeans and khakis. She rifled through her undies drawer and grabbed a rolled up black negligee and her lacy black, red and peach colored bras and matching panties. Last but not least, she found her fishnet stockings, a run but still wearable, a precious present from Edie years before. Back in the back of the closet she located her sexy two inch heels. Over these she piled her newest jeans, t-shirts, tennis shoes and socks. She shrugged on a long brown skirt and threw on and buttoned a brown blouse. Nothing underneath. Once shod in short socks and brown pumps, she glanced through the room and the bathroom, deciding to leave everything else behind. She wanted little to remind her of the hell she had created for herself. She'd been punished enough.
Then again, the reason she deserved punishment waited for her, wanting her. She'd stolen his soul like a succubus. She hadn't intended it. It's just that he'd stolen hers, and to get each other's souls back, they needed each other. They needed each other's eyes and voices. And just as much, the air cooling her damp thighs where her juices ran down from her swollen cunt reminding her, they needed each other's lips and genitalia. More than anything at that moment, she wanted his big cock fucking the shit out of her, making her cum like she had the last time they fucked. Making her cum like she hadn't since then. And then holding her, touching her, making love.
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