I guess you would have to experience my old church to understand. Bob was a great teacher who would read a passage from the Bible, then explain it in a way we could all understand. He never put on airs, treated everyone the same way and better yet, he could play a mean guitar. Every Sunday after service, he would pull that old thing out and entertain the congregation as we gathered around picnic tables outside, enjoying the food that everyone brought. Yeah, for me, church was a fun time with friends and family.
Marissa didn’t attend church, and she never understood my desire to find one. I never quite understood her feelings on the subject, but I respected them. Sometimes, though, I felt as though she never respected my opinion. All she would do is roll her eyes and admonish church-going people as prudes and hypocrites. Granted, some of them were, but I still thought her characterization was a bit unfair.
I asked her several times to come with me on Sunday, but she always refused. Finally, one day, she told me that she never felt comfortable in church, so I quit asking. I didn’t understand why at the time, but I figured, to each his or her own.
I did notice, though, that she would take off three times a year for two or three days at a time. She told me she would be with her mother, sisters and cousins for a “girl’s time out.” I figured there wasn’t any harm in that — after all, she would be with her mother, so what could possibly happen? Surely she wasn’t cheating on me with her mother there, right?
After the second year, I realized she was gone the same time — at the end of June, the end of October (including Halloween) and the end of February. When I asked her about it, she just shrugged her shoulders and gave a flippant answer. Then when I asked if I could come with her, she gave me a look that could melt the Arctic ice cap.
“No,” she said. “It’s not your time yet.” When I pressed her, she clammed up even more. “You’ll find out soon enough,” she said. “Besides, we’re not married yet.”
So I shut up about it. I did notice, though, that she would take some odd-looking jewelry with her — mostly bracelets and necklaces with strange pendants. I asked her about them, but she dismissed my questions, telling me they were heirlooms.
So she would leave for two or three days and come back ready to screw me into oblivion. I’ll never forget the time she came into the bedroom late at night, jumping on top of me. She had shaved her pussy bare and mashed it against my face, growling at me to eat her to orgasm. Naturally, I did, and it looked to me as though her eyes actually glowed when her orgasm hit.
“Just wait till we’re married,” she whispered. “I’m going to fuck your brains out in ways you can’t even imagine.” Part of me liked the idea, but another part of me was a bit worried.
I once made the mistake of asking her father about these time-outs. He looked at me with fire in his eyes as he spoke.
“I can’t talk about it,” he said.
“So you’ve been with them before?” I asked.
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