I Hate Redheads

"I got a great commission," she chuckled. "Come on, a mark of a generous person is one willing to receive as well as to give."

"Is that a quote from Gandhi?" I laughed.

"No, M. Johnson," she laughed back.

I had a fleeting moment of Deja vue (thinking of Anna) when she arrived promptly at 6:00 with a bottle of wine and fixings for lasagna, but I quickly dismissed it. We had a nice dinner that she primarily prepared, although I was in the kitchen with her and was some help. I'm still not entirely sure how she ended up topless in my living room, or how my cock ended filling her expectant pussy within ninety minutes after dinner concluded; but that is what happened.

I found that for a thirty seven year old -- which is what she said her age was -- that her body was prime. It was clear that she wasn't lying to me about her exercise regime -- flat abs; muscle definition in her arms, ass, and legs; great stamina -- and that her regime included Kegel exercises because her pussy milked my cock like a milking machine.

She didn't go home until Monday morning. While the weekend wasn't as good as with Juliet at the resort -- which would probably always top my list -- it was a 9.9 on a 10 point scale.

I'm probably the slowest learner on the planet when it comes to relationships with redheads because this one proceeded just like the last three. First great sex; then starting to have feelings; trying to fall back but being trapped again by great sex; and then feelings progressing even further.

Within three or four months of Mary's welcome-to-your-new-house greeting we were going hot and heavy. She really kept excitement in the relationship by meeting me around noon about one weekday a week at one of the houses for sale that she was handling, and role playing. One time I arrived and she was a French maid with only a cap and apron on, and speaking with a French accent. Another time she was a desperate agent in tattered clothes that was willing to fuck to make a sale, and another she was a whore who demanded payment (with Monopoly money) in advance. During the role playing she was a good enough actress to make it on Broadway. However, the piéce de résistance, which she had somewhat primed me for and even though I didn't really want to go along she was so insistent that I did -- was a fake forced ravaging.

I roughly handcuffed Mary to a metal headboard in a suburban house that she was selling, blindfolded her, and literally cut her clothes off. The entire time she was fake pleading with me not to ravage her, telling me that she was super religious and that this would ruin her life, and otherwise plead for mercy. She also kept saying "Please don't put your big penis in my poor little vagina; you're much too big for me, and I'm a virgin."

I was slightly embarrassed that some of her talk was turning me on -- but my turn on wasn't half what hers was. When I porked her she squeezed and released her pc muscles like a peristaltic pump, flipped around the most she possibly could given that she was handcuffed to the headboard, and went through two orgasms before I was ready to blow. The first injection from my cock seemed like a cattle prod given the effect that it had on her. Every muscle of her body contracted, she screamed, would have flipped off the bed despite the fact that I was on top of her if she wasn't handcuffed, and after the last salvo of seminal fluid penetrated her she passed out.

I honestly thought that I had injured her, and after absorbing the post-coital afterglow for only half a minute, pulled out, uncuffed her, removed her blindfold, and held her in my arms. "Are you all right, Mary?" I asked half a dozen times before her eyes opened, she grinned slightly while looking into my eyes, and mumbled "That was the most intense -- and best -- experience of my life."

After that, somehow our sexual -- and non-sexual -- connection grew even stronger.

But...(you knew a "but" was coming)... then there came a Wednesday about 1:00 p. m. in the master bedroom of a house Mary was showing when we were having a really nice "nooner." I was really giving Mary a pasting in the doggy position, with a vibrator up her ass that was on low, when some guy with gray hair came into the room filming us with his iPhone.

"What the fuck!" I yelled at him, while still stimulating Mary's pussy and puckerhole, "Get the fuck out of here!"

Mary turned her head toward the door and screamed as the guy yelled "I knew that you were cheating on me you bitch."

That confused me, but by then I was too far gone not to cum and deposited a load in Mary's pussy, then immediately pulled out both my cock and the vibrator from their respective holes.

Mary started a stream of typical caught-cheater's excuses and phrases; "It's not what it looks like," "this was the first time," "he coerced me into doing it," blah...blah...blah.

"I thought that you learned your lesson after cheating on your first husband, but we've been married less than two years and you're already cheating on me, you slut," the guy yelled over Mary's plaintiff excuses.

I got off the bed, pulled my boxers on, and yelled "Stop" at the top of my lungs. They both interrupted their yelling and excuses for a minute. I continued "Look dude, I didn't know that she was married. She told me that she was divorced, never wore rings on her left hand, always seemed to be available except when working, and I found nothing on line to dispute that. I never knowingly fucked a married woman," not technically true because I knew that Juliet was married when I made love to her although I earnestly believed that she was well on her way to a divorce. "This is NOT our first time, but maybe our fiftieth, and I never, ever coerced her. If you really are married to her I'll testify at your divorce hearing."

The guy calmed down, Mary covered her head with a pillow and sobbed, I got dressed, gave the guy my card, and said "I'm sorry."

Derek's demeanor (I heard Mary call him that, so I assume that is his name) had calmed down enough by the time that I gave him my card that he actually forced a smile and said "I can't blame you; she really is a great piece of ass, probably the best fifty year old this side of Elizabeth Hurley."

As I left I muttered time and again "Fifty, not thirty seven; and married; I really hate fucking redheads!"

I was tired of licking my wounds, but I had no choice but to do that. I never answered the phone the three times that Mary called me after her husband caught us, nor did I answer the door when she showed up one night. I did text her that I would get a protective order if she tried to contact me again, and that apparently dissuaded her.

About a week after I threatened Mary with a protective order a temp filling in for Doris while she was on vacation buzzed me and said "Mrs. Phillips on line one." It didn't register with me who Mrs. Phillips was until I heard Vanessa's voice on the line. While I had not intentionally followed any of the redheads who fucked me over, I did read in some celebrity news on the Internet that about a year ago Vanessa had married a bigwig at NBC named Phillips.

The upshot was that Vanessa would be in town the next few days and nights and wondered if she could treat me to lunch "To catch up." Despite my better judgment I agreed -- probably because I hoped that she would be fat, covered with zits, and poorly dressed. Of course that wasn't the case; when she greeted me at the restaurant, with a big hug and a quick kiss on the lips that I wasn't able to avoid, she looked just as hot as ever.

We had a "cautious" (at least on my part) lunch until coffee was served. Then Vanessa got a gleam in her eye and with her left hand -- sporting what appeared to be five carat diamond in her engagement ring -- grabbed my right one. "You know that you were my best lover ever, Bryan; I think about you all of the time."

I "harrumphed," but that didn't seem to put her off.

"I'd love to check out of my hotel and stay in your big new house the next two nights to relive old times," she stated in her most sultry voice.

"But you're married," I replied.

"It's a marriage of convenience only, to advance my career. You're the only man I've ever loved," was her evil reply, which was a surprise to me!.

I stood up, pulling my hand from hers, mumbled "I hate fucking redheads," and walked out of the restaurant without looking back. My only regret was not seeing the look on her face when she realized that I was not returning.

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

REPLAY

Derek got his divorce from Mary, under favorable terms given my sincere offer to testify if she pushed the case to trial, and I was again trying to date any woman aside from a redhead. I was now thirty and wishing that I hadn't wasted so much time with the four redheads who fucked up my life since I really did want a wife and kids now that I had the four bedroom house with a picket fence.

It was a gloomy day just before lunch when there was a light rap on my office door and in walked Juliet. She was now twenty seven, but if possible looked even more luscious than when I knew her when she was twenty four. "Hi Bryan," she said in a shy voice.

"Juliet?!?!" was my loquacious reply.

"I hope that you don't mind me stopping in. I was here on an interview for a paralegal position with your firm and really wanted to see how you were."

"A paralegal job?"

"Yes, since I saw you last I went to community college, got a paralegal associate degree and then a paralegal certification, got divorced after Bob cheated on me again, and here I am."

"Uh...great...how is your job hunt going?" I stammered, not normally at a loss for words but her showing up and her information really bowled me over.

After an exchange of a few more tidbits she seemed to suck up her nerve and asked "Can I please take you to lunch; you were so great to and for me and I'm really sorry how I left it with you."

My brain said "No, no, no -- fuck no;" but my heart and cock said "What have you got to lose." The two outvoted the one.

Over lunch Juliet and I exchanged basic information about our lives. She seemed to perk up when I confirmed that I wasn't married. "I thought that a great catch like you would have been snapped up long ago," she smiled, and then turned red when I looked her in the eye.

"It's a long story and one I'd not like to tell," I sighed.

Once she paid for lunch -- she wouldn't let me pay saying "I asked you, it's not fair," she pulled some papers from her purse. "Here's a copy of my divorce decree and paralegal certificate."

"Why are you giving me these?" I asked.

"Because I want you to know that I'm telling you the truth; and because I hope that I can start the application process for the job that I really want," she responded, her face now four shades of red darker than her strawberry hair.

"What job is that?" I asked.

"Mrs. Bryan Van Pelt," was her quiet reply, after which she looked down at the floor for a few seconds before lifting her head and staring me in the eye. I was speechless, she wasn't. "Walking away from you for another try with Bob was by far the worst mistake of my life. I'm sure that you'll have lots of applicants for the position but if you give me a chance I think that I can make you happy -- happier than you've ever been in your life."

βγβγ

As Juliet and I left our hotel the second night of our trip to Paris to celebrate our tenth anniversary, while our two kids (neither with red hair) stayed with my parents, I thought back on that gloomy day ten years and eight months ago when Juliet asked me to consider her application for a Mrs. Bryan Van Pelt degree. My mind was a little foggy as we got a taxi to take us to the Louvre since I had spent the entire last night either sucking on Juliet's puffy nipples or trying to set an all-time pussy pipe-laying record. I was amazed that even after thirteen years we were still just as hot for each other as our first weekend together. I did get enough clarity, however, to pinch her nose, whisper "I love you," into her ear, and get an "I love you more than you'll ever know" verbal response, and heart-felt kiss, from her.

I still hate redheads -- except for one.