Lunch with Ingrid 3

Counting the days now before we leave for Rome. Haven’t had much time to write posts – I still have a ton of cases to look at and reports to read and write. Dry stuff.

I got up early this morning and wrote the piece below, before I got in the car and headed back to the city. It’s full of holes probably, but better something than nothing. Fortunately that time still haunts me – no, not haunt, a better word would be disturbs or maybe preoccupy my mind, so the images and words are still crystal clear.



“I gave it up for a few sweet words and empty praises,” Ingrid continued running her finger around the rim of her wine glass and listening to the crystal sing for a moment. “It really didn’t matter what my name was, to him I was just a pair of firm breasts and a tight unused pussy. He was married of course, though I didn’t know it at the time, and to be honest, I’m not sure it would’ve mattered. I was ripe and ready. I’d been in the business six months and I’d managed to hold on to my virginity. Do you know how unusual that is?”

I shook my head.

They can smell it on you, you know, the newness – the virginity – the innocence. It marked me out. It’s like having big target painted on your naked back. Someone, sometime was going to take it from me. That’s a fact of life. He was the boldest, or so I thought.
His eyes were pale blue, he had a hard jaw and straight teeth and he had something about him. I knew that he was the one, even before he smiled and placed a hand on my shoulder. That one gesture marked me. I’d been claimed.”

She stopped and took a long swig of her drink, her eyes in the middle distance, as if she was trying to picture the scene in her minds eye. I don’t know why, but I felt sorry for her.

She took another sip, letting the silent seconds elongate like a piece of elastic.


Her eyes focussed on my face as she rubbed her lower lip gently with her index finger. “We went to my room after the show in New York. He locked the door and proceeded to strip off my clothes, laid me down and went down on me. You know what that’s like, I suppose.”

I nodded. I ought to know what that’s like, my husband has a real letch for pussy licking. Lucky me.

She smiled and nodded slightly, as if we were exchanging the memory of the first time someone had gone down on me too.
“I came in his mouth twice before he came up for air,”  she said. “After that I would’ve done anything he wanted. By morning I had. He was a gentle lover, but it still hurt like buggary the first time he pushed his cock into me. And a couple of days later he took my ass too. That hurt worse than hell. Have you ever bent over and let a man take you up the ass? No, don’t answer. We don’t know each other well enough for me to expect an answer to that.”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t think I had to. She could have seen in my eyes that I still recalled the immediate pain and the eventual ecstasy.
“When I woke up he’d gone back to his room,” she went on, her slight smile telling me she’d read a little of the truth in my look. “There was a note on the pillow. ‘Wonderful night. You’re very special,’ it said.

I read a lot into those five little words. Much more than was meant. He’d made me a woman, but I was still naïve and trusting and half in love with his thick cock.

I didn’t see him that day. There wasn’t time to think, the show was full on. Nobody seemed to notice that the reek of virginity had gone. No one but me could smell the fresh sex that seemed to cling to me. Being in love made me gay and nothing would have spoiled my day.”

The waiter came over, interrupting her story. “Are you ladies ready to order?”

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