Although I pride myself for the crisp title of this article, she was not really coy; rather reserved. When I told her that I found her a positive and sympathetic person once, she said that she regarded herself as phlegmatic.
Back then, I thought that the word meant something like uptight, but a quick look in the dictionary reveals that it just describes a somewhat calm temperament. No idea whether she shared my misconception; I reckon she did. Nonetheless, I loved her temperament that I believe to be.
Born a secretary, she decided to it’s first part: An observation.and study in a different field in her mid-thirties, which led her right into my tender tutoring arms, only in metaphorical sense unfortunately. But this isn’t a story about me. This article is of the same nature as
In case you wonder – the title picture is not her; it is a microstock image.
To be or to become
I’m playful today and headings are a great way to structure articles.
This girl was a French beauty. Despite her age, she was a slim and hot gal; I would have her. I reckon she was a late bloomer. The day she decided to not be a secretary anymore must’ve been the day she started to become a whole different person. Possibly without knowing it.
The first time I met her was when I presented to her a project during open house at the private school I was working for. She told me her life story to that day.
Her life story to that day
She must’ve been in her twenties when she met the man she would marry. I know him; he is a cigarette smoking, somewhat misanthropic guy who was cursed by nature with an ugly face and the obligation to wear glasses. I’m not saying he is a victim, but he definitely wasn’t dealt the best cards in terms of looks.
Being no ladies’ man and her a shy secretary, they fit together like pot and lid. The first time they met was the beginning of a relationship that lasted until the day she was telling me about it.
Having such a caliente woman for oneself, what else could a man expect from life, I thought. Stories like these keep a timid man’s defeatist dreams alive.
Her life story from that day – and corrections
The studies took about two years during which I got to know this woman – let’s call her Anne – better. As practically all women I had come to know, she was not aat programming; but she was the most interested. To be fair, most of the students were guys and lazy losers.
She was also a photographer, even if not a particularly good one. One of the type who photographs beautiful things instead of making beautiful photographs.
One day, we were sitting together in a room and she showed me her photographs. We came to look at a collection of semi nude photos. I naturally became aroused, but hid it. I thought: Hey, another chance to prove I am better and unaffected.
She told me that she was a nudist and it meant nothing to her.
I began to agree and told her how great that was and blah blah. Today, I would simply say: Hey, girl, vags and tits arouse men. Easy as that. I will not feel ashamed for it. It was such a natural way for me that I did not even think about it. If a woman implied that she held some kind of standard, I immediately became a proponent of it. Simply to prove that I could. That I was different, better, Jesus-like.
Truth is, of course, I would have liked to fuck her.
Anyway, she somewhen told me about her husband’s jealousy and suspicions for the first time. How betrayed she felt of his lack of trust.
She also told me about a vacation where she ran around without panties or bra. And how people assumed she was interested in the men she was chatting with in that state. And how it upset her sense of normalcy. It went something like: I mean, just because I talk and flirt to a man nakedly, that does not mean I have any interest. That is just normal interaction.
All this seemed perfectly believable, because she was – really – a quite intelligent and confident women in my eyes, if somewhat shy – which only made me like her more. Not the vapid type at all. She had this kind of majestic and dignified face that provokes trust and reverence. In other words, she just seemed like the kind of woman who is not the typical slut. Smart. Controlled. A bit of a nerd. And those big inquisitive eyes, just right. She was like the queen and seemed to speak out of integrity and dignity and somehow, her look screamed morally righteous woman to my eyes. I wish I had better words for it, but I do not.
Once, we went on a trip together. As we were driving in my car, she told me how she enjoyed it that we could just spend time together and enjoy the moment. I was proud. I said yeah, true. What a liar I was.
Eventually, the marriage started falling apart.
His jealousy and suspicions.
Yet as we spoke about it occasionally, she one day revealed to me that she was having an affair.
She told me about that vacation she had been on. About the guy she met. How she enjoyed an evening and a night with him and thought nothing of it, until he then wrote her a message on Facebook and they met again and again and fell in love.
She did not say it regretfully. She then said that she, even prior to that, had had occasional one night stands. And how she learned things there, which in turn improved the sex life with her husband. A win-win.
But the husband became jealous and suspicious. But frankly, I think it was the fact that she was suddenly living the life she wanted for herself. Finally. And with all that excitement came lust, too. At least that accounts for the most recent deviations.
The inevitable came and she moved out. The husband felt betrayed and was pissed. I was helping her move. I was on her side and thought of her husband as a coward and weakling for putting up such a show and making her feel bad for wanting to live her own life.
These days, I think I would have been pissed, too. Disappointed about the split, yeah. But also pissed and devastated by the dishonesty. By the dream I had lived in.
As it turned out one evening in a bar, she had even had a threesome with a fellow student and his girlfriend. She asked me to tell no one, though. Well, right. I become the good friend. The keeper of the secret. This is my fuck you to you, Anne. I wanted your hole, not your secrets.
One day at a party, she also had a very hot dance with an instructor of our school – whose girlfriend was standing by. I did not understand it. But things are starting to make sense.
But yeah, I was a coward for not trying. So I have only myself to blame.
Was it all a shit test in the end? I do not know. How to know? Ask her? But how do I know she tells the truth? How do I know she knows it? What is the truth?
It probably comes down to observing patterns. If it makes reliable predictions, it is the truth.
And the hamster was apparent here, too. She managed to convince herself the marriage was perfect and that her sidestepping was just a natural thing that she needed to do to improve the marriage.
And maybe it did improve the marriage.
But in the end, it fell apart.
Would it have worked out, had she been honest?
How should I know?
Is she bad for doing it?
I do not care. I do not moralize. I.
But I do know now, that appearances deceive. That things are not one-dimensional. That women can be queens and sluts at the same time. And that men can be nice and reckless assholes both in one person.