Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
"Such a perfect specimen of manhood."
I spin around to see Guinevere, an older club girl, standing in the shadows by the four-poster bed.
"Guinevere, what are you doing in my room?"
Guinevere was my first experience inside a woman. I was a teenager when she took my virginity—in this very room. Older and more experienced, she became my sexual teacher and I was her willing student.
For months we fucked in my bed, learning and exploring each other’s bodies. She taught me how to touch a woman to get the reaction I wanted. A gentle caress for a moan. The flutter of my tongue against a sensitive bud of nerves for a whimper. A slow thrust of my cock to make an orgasm last longer and the cries louder.
After a while, I wanted to experiment with other women, but Guinevere had fallen in love with me and wanted me to commit to her. I was a teenager with a permanent hard-on, and I didn’t want to commit to anyone.
She cried and begged me to marry her. But I was too young and too naive to realize how strong a woman could feel those things, and I cast her aside so I could indulge in all the club pussy I could get.
And I indulged a lot.
"So the prince has claimed a princess," she says with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “How wonderful for you both.”
There was no joy in breaking her heart. But there was also no remorse for doing it either. I was young and self-absorbed and my inexperience made me cruel.
Years later, I realize how much it must have hurt when I rejected her.
"You shouldn't be here," I say, trying to figure out why my ex-lover would be hiding in the shadows of my bedroom on the eve of my wedding.
"I know, but how could I resist saying farewell?"
"You're leaving?" I ask.
She looks wistful and nods. "Tonight."
"You're not staying for the wedding?"
“No, it’s time for me to move on. But I thought we could share a drink before I leave.” She gives me a self-conscious smile. “Call me a sentimental fool, but I thought it would be nice.”
I don’t want a drink. I also don’t want Guinevere in my room. Jennifer is the jealous type, and if she finds out my ex-lover spent time in my room the night before our wedding, there’s going to be trouble.
But I’ve done enough damage to Guinevere’s pride and I don’t want to hurt her feelings.
I figure there’s no harm in a quick goodbye drink.
I accept a glass of wine from her.
She holds hers up to toast. “To Adam and his bride.”
Our glasses clink and she takes a drink.
I hesitate but then take a sip.
It’s good wine.
It’s the berry wine from the vineyard on the edge of town.
My favorite.
I take another mouthful.
Then another.
Guinevere smiles. Somewhere in her forties now, she’s very beautiful. Long strawberry blonde hair. Legs for miles. Tits a man could spend hours licking and sucking.
“So where are you going?” I ask, ignoring the tingle beneath my skin telling me to beware.
“To stay with family out of town.”
“Out of town where?” I ask, taking another mouthful of wine.
When we used to fuck, she would tip wine on her belly and have me lick it off her smooth skin.
“Far away,” she says.
Her answer is cryptic. But I’m suddenly very tired and decide not to pursue it.
Slow down with the wine.
But it’s a warning I don’t heed, and when she tops up my glass, I don’t stop her.
“Listen, Guinevere…when we broke up, I didn’t behave like I should have.”
“Oh? How do you mean?”
She’s being gracious about the fact that I discarded her so carelessly.
“You had feelings, and I didn’t consider them. And I’m sorry. A man shouldn’t treat a woman that way.”
Her eyes momentarily lose focus but come back just as quick. “Of course, you were young and foolish. I understand completely.”
“You’re letting me off too easy. I need you to know that I’m sorry.”
Again she smiles, but it lacks truth.
She’s still hurt. All these years later.
Of course she is, you broke her heart, asshole.
“Jennifer is very lucky to receive your chivalry when I did not.” She doesn’t try to hide the iciness in her voice and I don’t blame her.
I take her hand. “I’m sorry. Really I am.”
Her hand is cold to touch. At first she lets my hand linger over hers before she pulls it away. “Well, I’ll certainly toast to that.”
We clink glasses and both take another mouthful.
I smile at her over my glass, feeling excited for the life ahead of me. I have a lot to be grateful for. I’m about to embark on a new journey with a woman who is going to make a good club queen. At least now I can move on without the guilt of what I did to Guinevere lingering in my gut.