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He Trusts Me
Contemporary Erotica Romance
© Copyright Cupideros, Wednesday, August 14, 2014
Erotica Contemporary Romance
Juandiego is in love with his ice queen senior girlfriend who has everything class, looks, smarts, and leadership skills, but is Juandiego, a romantic at heart or a lover of society’s wishlist?
This story could be titled “SexMath” or “Cry from the Heart,” but you’ll see why it’s not as you read on. I lived in a house off campus filled with sorority girls. Never mind that one of the girls was my longtime girlfriend who I seriously intended to marry, Zacherie. Zacherie and I moved through the lust, respect, and trust phase of our relationship already. We’re cruising through the “Love” phase right now, just so you know. Even though other people refer to Zacherie as the “Ice Queen,” I am able to get under all those frozen cubes, snuggle right and warm next to Zacherie’s heart. Right now, she’s focused on an upcoming interview as assistant administrator at a university in California. She always wears her honey-blonde hair pulled back so her artistically round-corners beautiful square face displayed its maximum glamour. And many opportunities arose for me to play around on Zacherie, but I didn’t. In fact, some of the girls, Erin, an Asian girl, specifically tried to wedge her tight-small Asian fuckhole between my dickprong and Zacherie’s most-fuckable softcuntslot.
It never worked.
If big raven-haired Asian Erin failed to pull me into the sack with her mountain glories stuffed behind those tight-black tees and her flat-ass in poured-on-hot-pink short shorts over two years, I was safe as candy in a locked bank vault. My mind waxed strong against the female force of mating and the necessity of continuing the human race. Another reason Asian Erin failed is that Zacherie possessed the most helpful personality and was like the very soul of that hen house of young college women. I overheard Zacherie telling the girls once, “I’ll stop you girls from turning into fuck-crazy, needy-man-slut hoes if I have to fuck every one of you every night.”
In typical up-and-coming-rival nature, Asian Erin replied, “Zacherie you know every girl in this pseudo-soro house is tidy as fuck. And slut only means an untidy girl.”
A few of the girls out of the twelve giggled.
Not enough to upset the feminine power dynamics, but Zacherie in her icy tone and cool as a new-deck-of-cards-still-in-the box manner countered after pulling a stray wisp of her honey-blonde-thick hair back behind her small left ear. “That’s fair and quite correct. First, I’ll sneak into each of your rooms, turn it into a mess; then I’ll stop you girls from turning into fuck-crazy, needy-man-slut hoes if I have to fuck every one of you every night.”
All the girls laughed on that one because Zacherie was a straight-up mano-to-womano heterosexual type of chick. I’d have trusted my younger sister, Annelise, to live in that pseudo-sorority house with one lone horny dickguy long as Zacherie lived there. But that’s another story entirely.
You’re probably saying but yeah Juandiego, Zacherie’s a figure-eight, five feet, nine-inch beauty who holds enough feminine assets to buy ten years for Troy against the Spartans and entire Greek fleet. Of course, you stayed fuck-loyal. Well, I don’t disagree with you. Zacherie has honey-blonde hair that is thick as a wheat field. Her smile doesn’t so much as please as it soothes. Her smile soothes your troubles away, troubles you didn’t even know you had! Then she has this fashion sense so that all the girls in this pseudo-soro-off-campus house all go to her for fashionista advice. It’s boring sometimes just listening to them talk about how to wear boots all year long. Or how a girl can remove bubblegum by first freezing it using an ice cube and then simply peel it off. On top of that, Zacherie’s got the deepest-tightest fuckhole, and when she rock-slow fucked your throbbing dicklong with her corkscrewing hips and ass movements, you developed stray-amnesia.
So, I developed a well-earned, positive reputation as being a straight-up-honest dude. Someone all the girls could come to me with any problem, even sexual ones. This usually happened when Zacherie was not around. Everyone accepted my help except this snotty-nosed, underclass freshwoman math major, who cornered the virgin market in the whole pseudo-sorority house. Yenifer came into the house announcing, “Virgin in the house! Virgin in the house!” And she intended to save herself for the right man, and no one’s persuasive powers possessed the strength to change that. Yenifer made it clear; she wasn’t fucking a guy just to be part of the chick-clique crowd.
Emotions are a good thing. I was all for a girl keeping her virginity. Girls have a mind and can define their own sexuality. Whenever a girl desired sex from a guy, she practically always got it. This type of thinking left me utterly unprepared for when Yenifer lost her first boyfriend pre having given herself away, and she cried like a river rushing into a lake dropped twenty-five feet off a rocky cliff, “No, No, No,” night after night in the room next to Zacherie and I.
I said to Zacherie what’s Yenifer’s problem, she’s five-foot, eight inches of near supermodel beauty, her eyes showered you with a special light, and soon you wished she never go away. Her platinum-blonde-shoulder-length hair put her on both the cute or the she-can-be-a-sexpot-if-she-worked-hard-enough sides of the sexual equation. She mastered every math course, set a goal to win a Fields Medal, whatever that is, and only had a problem in history that I know of. She will be an unstoppable force in the financial field in the future.
Once Yenifer made up her mind, it was like pulling out Excalibur from the stone; you’d need a little magic help. Right or wrong, once Yenifer decided a course, you’d save yourself a lot of trouble trying to change it; better to help her achieve her path. She had the angst of five eighteen-year-old girls in one sexy-thigh-gap-can-wear-pants-and-skirts-well beings inside her body.
Zacherie responded that Yenifer’s own mind held the problem. She’d made up her mind that this guy Sabastian was her life and love. Zacherie described Yenifer’s love for all things as “Crie de Coeur” that is to say a “Cry from the Heart” in French. “‘Sabastian was The One! The One! I know it, Zacherie!'”
After the fiasco of Sabastian, he transferred to the other side of the country; no one knows why Yenifer’s confidence sunk like a nuclear submarine searching for land mines on the bottom of the ocean floor. My black with blue gift boxes on them boxer shorts went missing. She moped, cried, and sniffled. She dragged her feet. Although, she put up a great face during the daytime, on campus, of course. She flashed her bright white tooth smile, and her characteristic stone earrings always matched her blouse and brought out the color in her pale-blue eyes. Already the God-dess blessed her vocal cords to eroticize any spoken word in the English language. She says, “I thought so,” and the boys considered Yenifer meant something about sex. If she said, “Post Dada Stage of Twenty Century Art,” most guys heard something akin to “post desire stage of purity cunt art.”
Yenifer wore yoga leggings ninety-percent of the time and long colorful blouses that dropped just past the cameltoe cookie under her hips.
The pain Yenifer was in became unbearable, even for the girls, even more unbearable than that strange week of the month when the moon seemed to howl. And the pedigree moon heightened the women’s howling. That’s something I can’t speak properly on seeing how I’ve not been inducted in those feminine mysteries. But at the apogee moon, the pseudo-sorority house is a lot quieter during that week. Each girl tried to console Yenifer. Asian Erin even called her a “condom-twat,” hinting at her closed-off-still-virgin status, hoping the smear my jolt Yenifer into a state of anger instead of the self-depreciation-emo feeling she painted the entire pseudo-sorority house with. Well, Asian Erin is the badass bitch in the house. Someone in a group always played the bad girl in a group of girls or life would not seem like life. I mean eventually, every girl in the pseudo-sorority house tossed their bras into the air and gave up trying to calm Yenifer’s, broken heart.
When Yenifer came to me, she explained her desperation. “I’m caught up in SexMath to put it simply. My cunt is missing something.”
“Your cunt is perfect and highly desired, Yenifer,” I retorted.
“Come to my room, Juandiego. We can’t talk in private in the hallway. You see my problem completely different than a woman sees it.”
I entered her room.
“Come here to my study desk, and I’ll explain how the misogynist mind sees the SexMath equation. SexMath is going to be my thesis paper.”
We sat down at her computer study desk.
“It goes something like this,” she wrote on a blank notepad of paper. One male plus another male equals two males. Under the first line, Yenifer wrote, one female plus another female equals zero females.”
“My mansplaining self didn’t understand. Run that by me again, Yenifer,” I said, contorting my handsome face.
“Sure,” she crossed her pretty legs at the knees towards me. She folded the written equation over so new blank notepaper showed. “See one dick plus one dick always equals two dicks. But one cunt plus one cunt always equals zero cunts. I’ll write it again in its simplest form.
1 +1 = 2
0 + 0 = 0
It’s a trick of the reptilian brain, back here,” Yenifer touched the back of her thin-platinum-blonde hair near the nape of her neck. It’s not a logical brain; it’s an emotional brain.”
“Then why do I find something annoying about one dick plus another dick equaling two dicks; and something somewhat pleasing about one cunt plus another cunt equaling zero dicks.”
Yenifer twirled her hair around her index fingers. “Did you just hear yourself say it?”
“Say what,” My face was a serious as a rock cliff one might soon climb.
Yenifer’s lips clamped down on the eraser head of her pencil. She waited.
“You just said one cunt plus another cunt equals zero dicks; so no matter how many times the misogynist male mind adds feminist things up they can’t match the male’s anatomy.”
“Meaning that women never count no matter what they do! I get it.”
I left her room puzzled and realized I didn’t solve her problems of heartache and loneliness one bit.
Finally, even Zacherie tried to reason with Yenifer. She said, “Yenifer any man who does not want to break through a thin piece of girlflesh deserves to lube his dickmeat and fuck condoms all his life.” That made me laughed hard when I heard it. My girlfriend embraced her “Ice Queen” persona at that moment. She is going to make an excellent honey-blonde university administrator in her future. She said Yenifer immediately stopped her tears and crying and laughed. But the damming up of her emo reactions didn’t last long. Love hurts when you’re innocent and believe love can only be a positive thing. On that success, senior Zacherie went away to California for her interview as an assistant to a college administrator of a large school. This brought us all relief. Knowing we all failed Yenifer and found no solutions to her emotional pain, even briefly, eased when Zacherie took her one lone successful example to the other side of the country. There is nothing so embarrassing as a group fail.
This left only me, the long guy in the pseudo-sorority house. Yenifer came running to me one night asking why it hurt so badly?
“Why does math hurt so badly?” I shook my head, knowingly. My fingers naturally went up to my dark-gray tee that read, “Stay Calm Somebody in this World Knows Math.” I rubbed my collar back and forth, feeling the increased heat in the room. My beige khaki shorts fit loose enough that a hardon emerging disappeared in the pant’s many long wrinkles. “Math requires an ability to understand that things don’t move and as Einstein once said, “Nothing happens unless something moves.”
She giggled. She wore her open, innocent cherry face and pink off-the-shoulders peasant blouse with white trim on the collar and sleeves. “Nooooooooo,” she cooed, playing with her black bra strap. Her black mini-bra showed under her pink, peasant blouse. “That’s not what Einstein meant. I meant, why are you so attractive?”
Yenifer proved I should not be a betting man and keep my ass away from casinos. I shooed Zacherie’s slight worries away long ago.
Zacherie said, “If you get involved with her after she gets kicked out of this pseudo-soro house, I can see her standing outside the alley window, drenched in the rain, crying ‘Hey Juandiego! . . . Juannnnndiego!'”
“You and Yenifer are like worlds apart, Zacherie. You are cold. She is hot. You express no need for emotion. All Yenifer knows is casting her emotions before everyone in this pseudo-soro house. Yenifer knows I love you. Why would Yenifer change and think I’d love her?” I shook my head, “Doesn’t make any sense, Zacherie. Don’t worry about it. It’s never gone to happen. Long shots rarely win when people most want them to.”
Yenifer wore her black yoga pants again. Things occurred between Yenifer and me on levels I understood, only on a deep level. This was no random question from a near supermodel with a broken heart.
Yenifer said while in my room, “Yeah that thick slick black hair of yours—I like it. You don’t use hair mousse. She reached out and tried to touch my hair.
I moved to one side slightly. “Only Zacherie can touch my hair. Some things occur only between a man and a woman in love and touching a man’s hair is one of them. First, a woman touches your hair and next thing you know, her fingers all knotted in your mane and your face and shoulders are heading south to view the great divide between the sexes. And once a man gets a whiff of that great divide, he’s hooked for least six months.”
Yenifer persisted, “I’ve just been thinking how immature Sabastian acted. How I couldn’t possibly love a man who feared a woman’s love, hymen, and commitment.” She kept approaching closer.
The way she put that, her hymen foretold a special occasion of lasting union and marriage. No wonder the guy high-dick stepped it out of here to Connecticut to be with his ex-ballet girlfriend. “Yenifer, some men can’t handle a mature woman’s commitment.”
“But you can.”
She cornered me by my physics and women’s studies books. Goner now I was. Nothing came to mind conversation wise. Unusually I’m on my toes, but this was serious.
“I’ve always admired how you don’t have all those unsightly muscles as he had. Your body frame is so nonthreatening. Why I bet if I got on top of you, you pretty much agree to take my virginity. And those soft features on your face, cheeks, and strong nose I like best. Eyes that love to listen to another soul — you work so hard to get along with every girl in this house, and maintain your humanness around Zacherie.”
What? What I thought? She spoke in equations of math. She put humanness into mathematical terms; forcing my hand; now I had no choice but to agree with her or look like a stupid masculine jock. “Uh, Yes, I–am very aware of the opposite sex. I believe we find each other’s company somewhat on the agreeable side depending on the moon’s cycles. I just wanted to say, Yenifer. What you feel and hurt about is normal, and I respect that.”
She touched the belt buckle on my khakis. “I like a man who hides his assets, too. No man should go swimming in Speedos like Sabastian. Your butt is so hard. I saw you left you and Zacherie’s laundry basket unattended one day–” she looked downward for the first glimpse of what might be bashfulness or shame? “I couldn’t resist, I pulled out your boxer and kept them. The black pair with the tiny blue gift boxes on it.”
My mind flashed forward, then backward, “I almost accused Asian Erin of stealing them.” My mind flashed forward, “You wanted what–never mind.”
“You must admit you thought ‘what happened to my favorite underwear’ every day. Every day you thought about some other girl than Zacherie.” She had already unbuckled my pants.
“Wait! Wait! Enough. Out of my–our room, Yenifer!” I ordered her out with my last bit of reserve strength.
“It’s okay,” Yenifer, said, turning away. She played with the hem of her pink blouse and pulled it up, showing her pure belly button without any jewelry. “I’m a heterosexual mano-to-womano, too. There are no other options in this pseudo-sorority house,” she practically sneered repulsion. She walked toward the door and turned back, looking over her shoulders, “I’m pure everywhere, Juandiego. No tatts. No piercings. No dicks.”
I rushed forward and ushered her out as she pulled on her black bra strap again.
I closed the door. My confusion went with my missing boxer shorts. She would be holding them later on that night. Life was only for the persistent and those who wouldn’t take “No” for an answer. I can’t believe she practically had me undressed. I needed to be fuck-loyal for Zacherie. If she found out about this, she’d ring that “Little Bo-Peep” neck of Yenifer’s. What a high cost we all must pay for being attracted to the opposite sex? She is out of her misery of lost love; I find myself caught in the swirl of her emo actions and desires. How many guys would love being pursued by one of the hottest virgin girls on campus? How many would welcome the desire to take her veil of passion and begin the most erotic theater of a woman’s sexual life? Traveling around with a chest of heavy gold means little to carrying the epic memories of her erotic awakening.
Yenifer was not pretending either. “Our futures may be unavoidably changed from now on.” She spoke as if it is a done deal, romantic fact. Love sealed. I’ll have to make a sacrifice. I’ll sleep with her, and it will be done. I can’t do that. It’s not right. Zacherie has everything. She a known math quantity. Yenifer is an unknown quantity. She might dump me after she discovered I couldn’t keep her satisfied all night. Maybe she won’t dump me because all she wants is a man to love her and be by her side all night. My strength of loyalty is now my undoing. The old boy tools of keeping one’s dick in one’s pants don’t work. I can say Asian Erin’s a big boob Asian slut. I can accuse other girls of having slept around since they are no longer virgins. I can use my own dirty mind to taint all the other girls now that their hymens’ vanished into the atmosphere or wherever the fuck it goes during sex.
But none of these things cleared me of wanting to bang the fuck out of Yenifer sexually. I am lonely without Zacherie. Why has she left me at this particular wild moment of our lives? Calling Zacherie won’t work. She’ll know I was mentally impure. She’ll suspect the cutting of our threads of relationship and love. I must face Yenifer alone. I am a senior after all. This is the worse day of my life. The worse.
The sound of knocking rattled my door at three AM. I turned to view my gold watch, a gift from Zacherie. “Who would want me in this hour?” I dragged the top sheet of blue tulips and pink tulips across my body, tight, toga style. I was not about to accidentally fall nude before one of the dozen women in this pseudo-soro house. I padded my feet to the door.
When I opened it, scents of many flowers, freshly picked, and from fields in one of the romantic lands of love, Spain, Italy, or France assailed my smelling awareness. “Yes, Yenifer.”
Yenifer stood there dangling my boxer shorts on her outstretched middle finger high at the level of my groggy-face. Being a man of symbols, she was either saying “fuck you, goodbye” or “fuck you, hello.” I snatched my once missing boxers relieved to have them back, trying to think of where to stash them as Yenifer pushed in very gently and closed the door. The door click sounded loud to me. She leaned back on the door as if to stop anyone else from making it a ménage when she intended this to be an extraordinary night duo of the heart and loins. She flipped her curly thin platinum hair off her bangs. She wore a yellow-net mini dress. Her naked boobs and five foot eight, inverted triangle frame stared me in the flesh. Her cameltoe labias looked wet and silky. “See. I am not a bad person, Juandiego.”
I balled up my shorts that had a distinct, different feminine smell. I quickly tossed the garments away toward the dirty clothes bin I and Zacherie use.
“Gotcha!” Yenifer blinked slow and said.
Of course, her voice tone pretty much said, “Gottofuckyou,” as the sounds entered my ears.
“You smelled them once, and you’ll have to smell them again to hide them someplace else,” Yenifer said.
I rushed to pull my boxer shorts, smelling of Yenifer’s perfume, pussy juices, and well my own masculine dirty scent. I turned around, looking for another hiding place.
“A woman can always tell, Juandiego,” she whispered, as she stayed propped up on my bedroom door; only her shoulders and hands touched the door, her hands were behind her back, under her temptingtush. Her slanted, inclined position struck me as very provocative. Her long, near supermodel legs spread wider now. This caused the yellow-net mini dress to rise on her hips and almost hang there above the love bell of her pearl that stuck out, thick, juicy, and nestled in the folds of her cuntflower. She giggled. “Just make love to me. Give me that charming send off into the realm of female desire every virgin girl wants.” She started to walk closer as she crossed her arms in front of her hips and raised the yellow-knit mini dress over her modest breasts. Her long rounded-squarish nipples hung up in the tiny loops for a microsecond as the mini dress. Yenifer tugged, and the mini dress snapped free and over her thin-curly-platinum-blonde hair.
I was a goner.
“How could you ever trust me, Yenifer?” I said, struggling to hold up the toga top sheet.
Yenifer reached me as I waddled back and forth, unsure where to put my shorts. Tossing them out the window only raise more suspicion, I didn’t want.
She slowly grabbed my sex in the sheet. “He trusts me. He trusts me already. Math is a rather moving field of endeavor. We all know there is power in crowds,” she stroked my sex until it reached it’s full seven and quarter inches. “You’re straight as a pole, not curved like some used porno-dick Sabastian.”
“Now…if we’re going to start judging each other’s anatomy….” I lay my once missing boxer shorts on the bed.
Yenifer stared at them. “Thank you for giving in, Juandiego. It’s really for the best. Zacherie has no feelings in her veins. She’s an ‘Ice Queen.’ Men fall all over for her type because she never reacts to their taunts. They want to see if she has any emotions. Instantly, she’ll find another guy I promise.”
“And you?” I said, allowing Yenifer to finger-stroke-fuck me using the bedsheet. My tummy buckled as the passion rose throughout my body. My aching rigorouscock lubbed the top sheet like crazy.
Yenifer put her arms slowly around my shoulders. “You must be into bondage. All wrapped up in this sheet-like a mummy.” She dragged her finger down from my collarbone to my stiff nipples. She pulled me closer to her as her hot searing lips burned against mine. My lips are helping to melt her peach lipstick decorating, coating her thin-passionate lips. She held me by the waist and pushed me back on the bed. “I don’t know how I’m going to get your other decision-maker out of there,” she looked down at my drooling-throbbing stiffcock, but it’s going to be a fun puzzle to figure out. In fact, I think, I’m going to just–“
She spread her legs and then sank down on my hot fuckprong. The excessive juices she’d built up got absorbed quickly in the top sheet, but more juicers seemed to come from deep within her hot sexy, near supermodel body. Later that morning after we woke up, I’d realize the extra juices contained her virgin blood.
“Fucking is a serious leap in the relationship phases.”
“Yes, but I’m already at the love stage, Juandiego. You may be hovering,” she looked down at my sex, “in the lust stage, but” she let her full weight fall on my hips and then my chest as she leaned forward. We were fully joined now. “Two people in love always catch up eventually.”
“I guess they do,” I said, allowing my body to accept the reality. I really wanted her more than I wanted Zacherie. I was not as loyal as I thought. I had no clue what I’d be tomorrow or the next day, after that.
“Don’t worry about tomorrow, Juandiego. Love has a way of working . . .” she humped against my every hardening heated bonermeat. “love has a way of working itself out.”
After Zacherie came back and announced she got the job, there was a big fight. Zacherie proved she had many emotions and as much depth in physical fighting as in bossing everyone around. It was no contest, Zacherie won easily in one round, constantly yelling “You slut! or You Whore!” or You MathSlut Hoe!” before each blow to Yenifer’s pretty frame. Yenifer got in a couple of punches to be fair. She hadn’t mastered the art of girlfighting without trying to pull hair like Zacherie. Afterward, Yenifer looked an untidy mess. Her platinum curly hair poofed up from the back like she half-finished blow-drying her hair, and ripped light-blue top formed a make off-the-shoulder look. How do yoga leggings got ripped at the kneecaps and hip in a fight? Every bit of clothing on Yenifer draped out of place on her body as if it were too big or too small; everything except for the pink-sex glow and happy smile still on her face. Zacherie looked—well as put together as an Ice Queen—perfectly neat, composed. She did have that one stray wisp of honey-blonde hair to pull back behind her left ear. Other than that, she could have gone to another interview right after the big fight. Somehow, though, I wasn’t impressed, but in all honesty, I failed Zacherie. I could never accept her forgiveness, because honestly every time we’d argue my nuts would freeze over at her favorite ice phrase for men she disliked, “You’re a double-scum-bag cessdick.” I imagined the cold frost coming from Zacherie’s pretty mouth as she yelled, “You don’t know how to be faithful!” That wasn’t a pretty sight or feel, believe me.
Anyway, I doubted if I’d stay true to Zacherie. It’s not that Yenifer could fuck as well as Zacherie. Yenifer couldn’t; she made awkward and awesome movements, sometimes one after another. It was something else about Yenifer; she passionate wanted me emotionally. That feeling rang deep inside my soul, more than the professionalism, class, and sheer awesomeness of Zacherie’s stature and style. I was a fool, perhaps, but I could honestly say I was a fool in love. I knew I was in love, not just thinking about it.
Later, a month after Yenifer and I moved in together into my apartment; she quipped, “See. The heart wants what it wants.”
“And the mind, Yenifer?” I said as I gently hugged her backside as we lay on the bed after another of her favorite bouts of speed fucking, her on top.”
“How would I know? I’m an emo girl, Juandiego–you know that. I don’t follow my mind. I never have.”
I laughed. “I’m pussywhipped, Yenifer,” I said, and softly caressing her naked back as she lay across my tummy. “And for a man being pussywhipped is a very scary, scary feeling.” I realized in a flash; I was Excalibur stuck in Yenifer’s Stone. “Now I . . . Can’t sleep with another woman ever again. I’m trapped.”
In a slow, seductive tone, Yenifer replied, “Oh, Juandiego. My Juandiego!” She motioned with her head back and forth in the no gesture. “Stop using SexMath language,” she cooed. She raised her head from lying on my naked chest. She lovingly caught my eyes with her light-pale blue eyes that made you wish never to leave her. “You’re in love, my Juandiego. Just admit it.”
“I–I am–in love. There! I said it and meant it, Yenifer!”
I finally owned up this is the reason guys run off to war, strike out on their own to some faraway place to shape themselves into great men; the reason they run off suddenly back to Connecticut to their ballet ex; the reason they become monks. They feel love is a marriage trap waiting to bolt them down to Earth, hold them back from the heights of achievement. What did a man actually get from being with a woman? What was a woman’s purpose outside of sex and children? What man could explain this to a woman? This is THE reason men deploy the four evil strategies to break free of being pussywhipped: one raping and demeaning a woman’s self-confidence until she leaves; two dirtying the girl up in their male mind if she’s so much as fucked a different dick or sucked another cock other than his; three, belittling every little thing about a woman until he feels he’s made a poor choice and deserved a better, more beautiful all-around woman; and four, deploying all the same three previous strategies again with the new woman he is with, in the awesome-male desire to simply fuck as many girls as he can forever. Each deployed evil strategy turns the woman into a slut.
For the man, this cuts her emotional hold on his heart which he feels and will hardly admit, unless it is to say euphemistically he is quote-unquote pussywhipped. And sluts don’t deserve loyalty, protection, or respect. Besides, there was no way to guarantee love’s continuing. It was the biggest gamble a man had to make in his entire life, outside of dedicating one’s self to the God-dess. I strongly suspect Yenifer, Zacherie scarcely knew this is the fear inside the man, and how much more significant is that fear in an immature man than in the mature man!
“I’m scared, too, Juandiego! Love is a scary thing, but it’s worth it.” She rose up higher and kissed me. “You invaded me physically; then I invaded your heart emotionally. My pussy between my legs is not holding you; it’s my love, Juandiego! My juicy pussy is just a lure and opposites can’t help but be initially attracted by the different lure. Zero and one again–SexMath.”
I raised my head and kissed her loveable lips. “But Yenifer,” I relaxed my arms to my side. I stayed flat on my back in a helpless pose, ready for an onslaught of slaps, shrieks, punches, tears and her rushing to get dressed and leave me forever. “What exactly is a woman’s purpose outside the birthing children and providing a man with sex?” I honestly wasn’t deploying one of the four evil mantrick strategies.
She laughed aloud. “Don’t be Silly, Juandiego.” Yenifer placed my arms, one by one, around her back again. “I’m cold, but to answer your question. A woman is here on Earth to teach men how to love. We are living symbols of nothingness, the Great Abyss in our cunts and wombs. The God-dess knows it is hard for men to learn to love them.”
“Men love achievement, ideas, power, money, and such things.”
Yenifer rose up on her two arms. Her hands placed on the bed by my sides. Her deep, loud hearty laughter was contagious; her modest breast jiggled. Her square-roundish nipples were hard. I wanted to suck them.
“Juandiego, you call that love? Loving things like achievement, ideas, power, money, pets. Look around you! Men create constant wars, conflicts, death, scarcity, hunger, misery in their love of those things that can’t love you back! And being in a relationship with the opposite sex is second only to loving the God-dess. I learned this by staying a virgin; struggling with my sexual energies all those eighteen years: A man loves the female aspect of the God-dess; the woman loves the male aspect of the God-dess.” She stopped talking. “He wants me again.” Yenifer smiled.
Her eyes caressed mine. I wanted to just stay there with her and feel her presence.
Yenifer grabbed my hardsex and slid me inside her pleasing warmth and passion. She lowered herself and lay on my cold body again. “That’s what you want to return home to the Great Abyss, but until you’ve lived millions of billions and billions of lives or got a leap-glimpse of the Great Abyss, this–being inside my wet cunt is as close you’ll come. Children are birth through women because we are the doorway to the Great Abyss.”
Yenifer flipped her thin, platinum hair back out of her face. “Ideally, each one of us would love the God-dess; and there is no loving the God-dess outside of it being a relationship. People think it is a matter of mind, rules of dos and don’ts. It’s a relationship! To be in relationship with the God-dess is to be possessed by them. You agree to live and work with the God-dess throughout your life. See, Juandiego, we are parts of the whole and when we come together as woman and man–we are whole. No man can truly understand Heaven until he can love and stay in love with a woman. Woman, to answer your question, silly, is your training ground, My Juandiego. Your training to learn to love something that can truly love you back!”
Yenifer had a mind, after all, an emotional-mind.
Three months later, Zacherie started her new Assistant Administrator job in California. Asian Erin became the new Head Bitch of the pseudo-soro house. And I tried to think of what I was. I had new information now. I was meant to learn what love really meant. Yenifer, by being a woman, fulfilling her most significant purpose on Earth, was meant to teach me, as we taught each other the Greatest Principle of Life–Love. If I were a mind guy, I’d have stayed with Zacherie; maybe missed learning the Greatest Life Principle. Although according to Yenifer, every woman is here to train men; therefore, the love training would just come about another way. But I didn’t stay with Zacherie, so maybe I’m not a mind guy at all.
Nine months later, secretly, I decided I am a believer and romantic at heart. Not just one who plays around and charms girls because I think that is cool or what the girls want. I am a romantic, at least in love anyway. I do believe that love, not just getting sex from women, has a place in this cold, cruel world. That love will find a way to win out against all the odds or the costs.