Chapter 4
And the sex is always that good.
I mean, as time passes, I keep experiencing orgasms that feel impossible.
This situation is pretty damned exciting.
I mean, I’m going to get to keep my Nana’s house and, in the meantime, it’s like I have a sex slave dedicated to my pleasure!
All right, I shouldn’t use the term sex slave.
I just don’t know what else to say to describe it. The deal is kind of the opposite really. I mean, we don’t formalize it or anything but it’s also not unspoken that part of what Jonathon gets out of the deal is free access to my body. I guess if there were a slave involved, that would be me.
But I’m not.
Instead, it’s the exact opposite. I swear it’s like Jonathon has magical powers when it comes to knowing how to turn me on and how to deliver pleasure.
We have sex something like three times a week during the first month. Then, one of the lawyers for Nana’s estate visits. I’m not sure she believes the story. So, after the visit, I asked Jonathon to move into the house until I officially own it.
Now that he’s living with me, I think we screw twice a day!
Yeah, that’s a little bit of an exaggeration but it’s definitely more than once a day on average. That lasts about a month. From there, we settle into almost every day. There are more quickies, which is sexy and fun. I give him a lot of blowjobs, too. I don’t think there’s any time in my life where I’ve felt so sexually fulfilled.
But what I’m really enjoying is the non-sexual side of things. When he comes home, I usually get him right to the couch. I bring him something to drink and encourage him to relax. Sometimes, I encourage him to relax by getting on my knees and sucking his cock. I always love that. But the point is that not everything is sexual.
I’ll finish up on dinner and we’ll often eat right there on tray tables on the couch. We’ll watch the television but get this… We usually watch concerts. We’ll sometimes watch opera together. He’s opening my eyes to music in ways I never knew before. One day, while he’s helping me unbox some of my grandmother’s things, we find vinyl records of Elvis Presley. I remember what a big fan she was. The next day, he comes home with an honest-to-goodness record player. We listen to Elvis, and his music ends up playing fairly often.
We’re so comfortable with each other that it really doesn’t take too much effort for us to be believable as a couple. When we get another legal checkup at the end of a month and a half of him living with me; the lawyers are definitely convinced. I mean, I definitely play the part of a doting, happy woman and he doesn’t even have to try to behave like a badass bad boy tamed by the love of a woman. I mean, we just fall into behaving that way without trying.
We like the same things.
Or we introduce each other to new things and end up both liking them.
I’ve never enjoyed anything as much as I enjoy my time with him. I really expect it to be an awkward, stilted, and crazy kind of six months. I expect that even though I anticipate a lot of sex as his compensation, so to speak.
But it’s not awkward or stilted at all. It’s crazy but it’s crazy in such a surprisingly pleasant way. Not only is this going to keep Nana’s house in the family but I get to actually enjoy the process.
But…
But days pass.
And somewhere along the line, I realize we’re getting closer to the six months.
I ought to be really happy about that, right? After all, it means that I won’t have to be fake engaged to this guy anymore. It means the whole issue of Nana’s house remaining in the family will be settled. It means that I can get back to getting on with my life instead of this rather lengthy distraction taking over and keeping me from moving ahead.
I ought to be really happy.
Everything is working out exactly how it’s supposed to work out.
But every day that passes makes me die a little bit. I die a little bit inside every single day.