Can I Tolerate Her Superstitions?

In some ways I had a life that most men would kill to have. I had looks, money, respect from those that I worked with, and a gorgeous famous wife. Then came a major hiccup - but who hasn't had them so I won't bitch about it (at least not much anyway), I'll just tell it like it is.

******************

Giselle, my wife, was a professional tennis player when we met. We encountered each other for the first time at a charity fundraiser about twelve years ago when she was near her peak; I was twenty eight, she was twenty four. She was rated in the top ten in the world in tennis even though she had not won a singles tournament (the press called her Anna Kournikova II, which irritated the hell out of her). I thought that she was number one in the world in beauty, charm, wit, and athleticism. I bid $150,000 (including a jump bid from $100,000) for the main auction item at the charity event - lunch with her. That impressed her. So did my humble manner when we initially met, and my offer to let her off the hook and avoid a meal with me if it would interfere with her schedule. Fortunately she declined that offer and remarked that she was looking forward to our luncheon.

I didn't attend the charity auction by accident. I knew that lunch with her was one of the auction items, and since I give 20% of my gross income to charity each year (I believe that you get back in satisfaction and good karma more than you give) and I make lots of money as an entrepreneur (I sold my first company at the age of twenty six for the high eight figures), it was a foregone conclusion that I would be the highest bidder.

Giselle has almost a perfect body to be a world class tennis player. She is six feet tall, 145 pounds of muscle. She has ultimate fast twitch muscles, long arms, and her left arm (she's left-handed) is as powerful as 95% of men's. She also has muscular thighs and legs that are long even for a six foot woman. Her only drawback - her boobs are too big and can especially interfere with her backhand, but she somehow manages to overcome that obstacle.

Although not relevant to her tennis playing skills, Giselle also has a beautiful face with a "Celestial" nose, and long blond hair - in my opinion she's a better looking (and non-grunting) version of Maria Sharapova.

My luncheon with Giselle was in one of the best restaurants in Los Angeles, the very next day after the auction, since she would be leaving LA in a few days and not likely to return for quite some time. The luncheon was the most unique personal interaction experience of my life. In conversation I am typically to the point, and I am honest in the expressions of my opinions; I guess that's just a nice way of saying that I'm blunt. I quickly found out that she is too.

I arrived dressed in smart (and expensive) casual clothes while she had on a yellow sundress cut just above the knee, an amethyst necklace, a tennis bracelet, and three inch fashionable - although they looked comfortable - high heels the same color as her necklace. Since I'm six feet five inches tall she was only two inches shorter than I am.

The restaurant "required" a coat and tie, even for a lunch where they considered that you would be honored to pay $150 per person, and didn't want to admit us despite my reservation. I advised the maître d', who turned out to be a tennis buff, that he should be honored to have Giselle patronize his restaurant and certainly would not like the Style Section of the L A Times to report that she had been denied entry. I concluded my case with "Since I am accompanying this famous vision of loveliness in her beautiful yellow dress, and bright bold necklace and shoes, you can be sure that no one here will be looking at me."

He thought for a second, retorted "But of course you are right," smiled, and seated us at the prime table for two in a window alcove so that any passerby who cared to look could see that Giselle was dining in his establishment.

Giselle thought that the exchange with the maître d' was humorous. However, she was initially a little non-plussed when I told her "You can have your bodyguard and chauffer go back to your hotel; I am very capable of returning you to your hotel unharmed, I hate to see them waiting in the hot sun, and I certainly won't be paying for their lunches." Then she got a big smile on her face, pulled out her cellphone and sent a text to her bodyguard who was waiting outside. He nodded at her through the window, got into her limo, and left.

We touched on many subjects during our luncheon conversation, and actually got to eat too. Neither of us drank alcohol, but we both ordered the most expensive entree on the menu so the waiter was happy - as if he wasn't already just by getting good looks at her long sculptured legs. We found that we had much in common, but also vastly different views on some subjects.

I noticed that she seemed to almost perform a ritual when preparing to eat, that her water glass had to be positioned a certain way, and when I knocked over the salt shaker that she threw some salt over her shoulder.

"Why did you do that?" I asked.

"I'm very superstitious," she replied.

"You seem too intelligent to be superstitious," I responded with only a hint of a smile.

"You seem too closed-minded to appreciate other people's habits," she shot back, also only with a hint of a smile.

The repartee continued throughout our conversation. Perhaps my favorite part came right after I paid the check. "You look too young and baby-faced to have afforded this lunch or the donation you made to get it, let alone have credibility with high rollers in business," she snickered.

"Your boobs look too big for you to be a world class tennis player; I would think that they'd get in the way," I instantly responded.

"Well at least we know where your eyes were focusing during lunch," she tittered.

At that point I wasn't sure if she liked my personality or not - but I've never been shy so I plowed ahead.

"Have you ever been to Venice Beach?" I asked.

"No - never have," she replied.

"How would you like to go - it's less than ten miles from here, and I'll drop you off wherever you want after we take a stroll."

"Don't you have other things to do?" she inquired.

"Sure, but they're boring while being with you is supreme fun."

"I have other things to do too," she responded, now with a diabolical smile.

"I'll cancel if you will," I shot back.

She literally beamed, her smile even more brilliant that her outfit and the headlights on her chest. "Let's go!"

We both made cell phone calls before we got in my car.

"I thought that you'd drive a Ferrari," she giggled when she saw my car, a Prius, at the time probably the "greenest" car on the market.

"I take the environment over status whenever confronted with a choice. Maybe if you play your cards right I'll show you the solar cells on my house and my solar heater for my pool and hot tub," I grinned.

She laughed, entered my Prius when I opened the door for her, and then I gently closed her door behind her.

We left our shoes, and my socks, in the car before strolling on Venice Beach. It had the typical activity for a Thursday mid-afternoon, as bizarre as on the weekend but not nearly as crowded. She actually took my hand as we walked along. We had an exceedingly pleasant twenty minute stroll.

As we started back we were approached by a classic looking blond surfer dude and his blond surfer girlfriend who was almost as big as Giselle and in a string bikini. The dude was holding a volleyball, the girl a towel.

"Yo, dude and dudette," the girlfriend said, "Our friends left us and we need one more game of beach volleyball to conclude our bet; we're tied one game apiece. Do us a solid and join us, will you; surfers against gurfers."

Giselle had a puzzled look on her face. "Gurfers are female surfers," I chuckled as I tapped Giselle on the arm and looked her in the eyes. She smiled broadly. I then continued, staring intently into Giselle's doe eyes, "My key man insurance policy with my company probably forbids this, but I'm game. How about you?"

"My coach and sponsors definitely forbid this," she replied.

"You sure that's it? Or is it that you just can't stand the thought of a world class athlete losing to a has-been jock," I snickered.

She sneered, then smiled, then snipped "You're on."

Without a word to each other I stripped down to my boxer shorts, and she removed her sundress, neckless and bracelet so that she was in her bra and panties. Her panties were actually a thong, exposing much of her world class ass and leaving no doubt that she had beyond awesome thighs. Her bra was substantial, however - it needed to be to properly support her oversized mammary glands.

"Gnarly," the surfer dude gasped, lifting up his sunglasses as he looked at the scantily glad Giselle.

"Derelict," his girlfriend smiled, running her forefinger through my chest hair; I'm proud of my pecs.

"One thing, though - what's your names?" I started to say, and then asked.

"Dane and Sage," the dude said, as both of them extended and shook our hands. "Of course they would have surfer names," I laughed to myself.

"Giselle and Blake," I replied as we shook. "As I was going to say, do either of you have any athletic tape?"

"Sure, dude," Sage replied, pulling a roll out of her beach bag.

"Can we use some?" I continued.

"Be my guest," she responded.

"What are you doing?" Giselle asked as I started wrapping her left wrist with tape.

"I don't want you to blame me for losing your next match because of an injury," I replied with a smile. She returned my smile, and then after I finished wrapping both of her wrists she wrapped my wrists for me while smiling broadly as she threw out the barb "I wouldn't want you to not be able to keyboard on your computer and blame me."

Dane took me aside supposedly to talk strategy. "We gotta win, dude. I get Sage's backdoor if we do."

"Say no more," I chuckled.

The game was heated - you would have thought that we were in the Olympics. Sage was obviously skilled and motivated - Dane didn't tell me what she got if she won - and Giselle was very competitive.

Giselle did distract me a little during the match - and not just by how hot her body was, or the way that despite her substantial bra her tits flopped when she hit the ball overhand. She seemed to have a procedure that she went through before each serve, different ones for when we served or they did; and she insisted on an odd type of high five with Sage whenever they scored a point, or a particular slap of her right thigh if Sage wasn't nearby. "More superstitions," I concluded.

Both Sage and Giselle hit me on the head with spikes - much to their amusement. I hit them in their lower bodies with my spikes on several occasions - I made sure not to harm their beautiful faces (Sage was almost as pretty as Giselle, in addition to also having a killer body).

We were tied at sixteen with them serving when we took a water break. I suddenly realized that we had attracted a lot of attention; there were at least thirty people standing around watching us, mostly guys of every age, shape, size, and character. I can't blame them - I would have stopped and watched too if I saw Sage in her string bikini, let alone Giselle in her bra and thong.

During the water break Giselle sauntered over to me. "Let's make this interesting," she said out loud, obviously at least partially playing to the crowd. No shyness there!

"I thought that it already was," I countered.

"No - a bet."

"What terms?"

"I win you show me your solar heated pool tomorrow and take me out to dinner. You win, I give you a half hour back massage."

"Deal," I instantly replied with a smirk on my face, holding out my hand. I couldn't lose this bet, but if I won I intended to demand my backrub in my bed.

"Deal," she smirked back when shaking my hand.

I went back to Dane. "We hafta win this dude," I said.

"That's what I told YOU dude," he replied, somewhat confused.

The "gurfers" beat us when at the second game point Sage got a perfect setup from Giselle and spiked the ball into my forehead, and it bounced out of bounds, as I was trying to block at the net.

"Fuck man," Dane swore as he kicked the sand with a forlorn look on his face.

Sage strolled up to Dane and gave him a passionate kiss while grabbing his balls through his swim trunks.

Giselle simply giggled as she put her dress and jewelry back on. "You did pretty well for an office boy," she snickered as I pulled my pants back on.

When I dropped her off at her hotel I asked "What time do I pick you up tomorrow?"

"Six sharp," was her reply. Then she gave me a quick peck on the lips, an enormous toothy smile, blurted out "Thanks for lunch and the trip to the beach," and then walked away, swinging her hips to the delight of all the males in the area.

**************

When I picked her up at six the next day Giselle was possibly even livelier than during our luncheon.

"I see that you still have your enviro-car," she giggled.

"Only the 'greenest' for you," I chuckled.

"Today I saw two magazines that said that you were one of the ten most eligible bachelors in LA," she chortled almost before I pulled out of the hotel driveway.

"Why were you reading those rags?" I laughed. "Looking for a husband?"

"Maybe," she snickered. "Also, several articles on the Internet call you a 'player;' interested in collecting, not a relationship."

"Maybe it's just because I haven't previously met a woman who could beat me in beach volleyball and undoubtedly hold her own with me in left handed arm wrestling," I shot back with a smile as I squeezed her toned left bicep."

That got about the widest grin I had ever seen in my life from her, and it is likely that mine was just as big.

Giselle liked my house, especially the art work, small interior courtyard, and fully equipped exercise room. "You have great taste, Blake," she said after a tour, "but I'd expect a multimillionaire to have a bigger place - what is this, only 2500 square feet?"

"About that," I replied. "It's got everything that I need and my solar cells provide almost 100% of the power. Anything bigger would be superfluous."

"The environment over status," she giggled.

"You're catching on," I replied.

She really liked my Infinity pool and hot tub, and was surprised that I had a tennis court too.

"I didn't know that you played," she smiled.

"You think that I'd tell a world class pro that I piddle around on a tennis court? 'Play' is not exactly what I do, more like 'Stumble and Flail,'" I laughed.

She inspected the court surface. "I've never seen a surface like this before," she remarked with a puzzled look on her face.

"It's porous concrete so that water goes through it and doesn't run off; plus it's easier on the knees than most regular hard surfaces," I instructed. That got another grin from her.

"Shall we hit some balls?" she asked.

"Hell no," was my reply. "I'm trying to impress you, not humiliate myself; how about a swim instead?"

"I can't take the chance of the chlorine turning my hair green, no matter how 'green' you like to be," she chortled.

"You're in luck. It's a salt water pool, no chlorine necessary."

"Is it cold? I hate, and I mean hate, cold water."

"It's eighty degrees - my solar pool heater works great," I chirped in reply.

She changed into a bikini and we had a nice swim. When we got out of the pool she asked "So where are we going for dinner?"

"I thought that I'd have it catered here," I replied, pointing to the previously unnoticed table set for two on the pool deck. "Is that OK?"

"That way you still get to see me in my bikini, huh?" she inquired with a diabolical smile.

"If you want to punish me you can put a cover-up on," I chortled.

Two people from a catering company showed up five minutes later. One cooked in my kitchen while the other served. "I hope that Sports Illustrated was right about your favorite foods," I said as fresh gazpacho was being served, "because the entrée is Chicken Kiev with rice pilaf, and green beans; and bizarrely sweet potato fires. The desert is chocolate mousse."

"They got it right," she smiled after a couple of spoons-full of gazpacho, "and I hope that it's all as good as this soup - it's delicious."

We had a great dinner conversation; I think that we learned more about each other in an hour and a half than most people do in a month. Not everything was great, but it all was honest, and we both seemed to be on some unknown, or at least unsaid, mission.

The caterers cleaned up and left as soon as they served the mousse. I put on some soft music and asked Giselle to dance on the pool deck. We were only in flip flops and bathing suits so the dancing wasn't skillful, but we were more interested in talking and body contact anyway.

After we had some tea, played a word game - we quit after each of us had won once since she was so competitive I thought that she might storm out if I won the rubber game - and enough time had passed so that our dinner was sure to be digested I asked "Since it's still warm tonight how about another dip in the pool?"

"Do you have nosy neighbors?" she queried.

"Actually, the house on the left is for sale and no one lives there now, and the neighbors on the right are out of town for a week - and as you can see there is only a cliff behind the back yard," I responded.

With that Giselle gave me a look that I hoped that I properly interpreted as seductive, undid her bikini top, dropped her bottom, and dove in. I had trouble getting my trunks over my rigid cock, but soon dove in after her.

After a couple of laps, playful splashes, and laughter, she stopped where the water level was just high enough to cover half of her nipples. I approached her with fire in my eyes - there was no doubt about what each of us wanted.

As we passionately kissed I massaged her mammaries while she fondled my balls. Once she started stroking my cock while moaning into our kiss, I worked one finger and then a second up her channel and started wiggling them back and forth. She had the fastest orgasm I'd ever seen, and apparently her pc muscles were as powerful as her biceps because when she climaxed she clamped down on my fingers so hard I thought that I'd never be able to extricate them.

Her orgasm broke our kiss, but I didn't waste time. I turned her around so that she faced away from me, she put her hands on the side of the pool, and I buried my steel hard cock in her pussy in one stroke. We were soon thrashing around like a couple of sharks in a feeding frenzy. He pussy fit my cock like a glove, and as her pussy squeezed and released me while I violently reciprocated in her I too got to orgasm more quickly than ever before in my life. I was making every effort to hold back for her second orgasm, but I had an unprecedented level of eagerness and I groaned loudly as I rapid fired cum bullets into her eager cunt. By the time the third one hit she was flaying wildly as her second orgasm overwhelmed her.

Fortunately our mutual exhilaration didn't drown us although we both sputtered somewhat as sexual excitement and then fatigue occasionally caused our heads to dip into the water. We finally separated about five minutes after I exploded into Giselle, and we squeezed our bodies together as we again passionately kissed.

"Please stay the night," I plead when we ultimately broke away from each other.

"I have to find out how good you are at making breakfast," Giselle giggled, "otherwise I wouldn't. I do need to make one call though," obviously to tell her coach that she wouldn't be at breakfast at the hotel the next morning.

That night was the best of my life up to that point. I got virtually no sleep, but I learned a lot - specifically: a) where all the erogenous zones were on the most fabulous body I'd ever imagined, let along seen; b) that I could orgasm four times in a ten hour period with the correct partner; c) that her powerful thighs wrapped around my waist was about as close to heaven as a man could get on earth; and d) that a woman could have at least two dozen orgasms before she passed out. By the time that I was serving her blueberry pancakes, orange juice, yogurt and sausage patties the next morning, I was smitten.