Love in a Changed World Ch. 03

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Chapter 3


We finished in the shower and toweled off. She started drying her hair. I wrapped a towel around my waist and wandered into the bedroom. I worked my head around to loosen my stiffening neck. It was dark. It couldn’t have been later than 6:30pm. I collapsed on the bed with the towel draped over my middle and drifted off for a minute’s respite.

“No rest for the wicked, little man. We have a night out planed,” I heard Nadia’s voice through my haze. She was lying next to me, on her side, head propped up on her arm. I opened my eyes to see her face close to mine.

My god, she was beautiful.

She never wore much makeup. She didn’t really need to. Her facial features were alluring without needing accentuation — her cheekbones high, but not with the stark look of a heroin-chic model. She had subtle curled eyelashes that blinked over the deepest brown eyes. It’s hard to explain how something as common as brown eyes can be extraordinary. Nadia’s were. They could be icy cold when she was angry or determined, but they could be soft and warm when she was. Or they could be hungry when her appetite needed sating. Her skin was flawless. Her lips. Her lips were art. If Davinci had painted her lips, the Mona Lisa would probably be hanging in some Italian coffee shop. She was wearing a loosely tied black silk kimono with some kind of red dragon pattern, that hung open with an alluring reveal and extended just to the bottom of her firm ass.

“Are you going to get up? Or should I…” her hand rested on my chest then slid down my torso and under the towel taking hold of cock, “…get you up.” Her hand worked my member stiff in a few seconds. In another few, I was rock hard. She snaked her downside arm around the back of my neck and pulled herself on top of my right half. Her leg draped over mine and snaked around it. She put her lips to mine and kissed me.

Her hand on my now-raging boner shifted from a massaging motion to a grip. It was firm, but, somehow, delicate. She began stroking up and down. Her tongue plunge into my mouth and danced with mine. Her breasts pressed into me; I could feel the hardness of her quarter-sized nipples. Her grip tightened and loosened as she played my cock like a virtuoso. Her music building to a crescendo.

I began to tense. I flexed my leg again to ward off my impending blast, but she locked hers around it. My leg muscles were no match for hers. I tried to sit up. She pressed her body harder into mine; I helplessly pinned down. I tensed my abdomen. She could tell what I was doing. She broke the kiss. She propped her head up with her arm angled from the bed, smiled, and spoke, “I think it’s cute that you think you can hold out on me,” she said as she steadily continued stroking. “You know you can’t,” she said flatly but with a tease, “How long do you think you can keep tensed like that?” Up and down her hand went, building in speed. “I can do this all day, you know,” she said her hand relentlessly pumping, “Can you?”

“Yes,” I said but was thinking “No.” She was right. I strained against cumming with maximum effort; I couldn’t hold this long. She just kept on pumping, almost absently — certainly without effort. I was already beginning to weaken. I tried to breathe deeply. I inhaled deeply, followed by a full exhale. As my lungs emptied, she pulled herself more tightly into me, limiting my next inhalation.

Responding to my feeble effort at self-control, she asked, “How’s that working out for you?” She smiled and sped her pumping, again a question, “Is your plan to just hope I get tired? Did I mention I ran six miles in the half hour you were passed out?” She paused and sped up her pumping again, “If that didn’t tire me out, I don’t think this will.” I made one more push to increase my resistance. Nadia noticed and increased her speed to match. “You’re just going to wear yourself out. You look like you’ve run six miles. The difference is, I could go run six more right now,” She mocked.

I couldn’t last. I was physically spent. She looked like she was watching TV. My resistance faltered. My cock started to spasm. “You’re done. Give it to me.” She said commanded. I complied as my resistance collapsed entirely.

My load blew into the towel. She worked my dick faster at first. I pumped out more cum and it lubed her grip. I was dizzy with orgasm. She slowed as my orgasm waned. My cock softened and became more sensitive. In a few seconds she was just pulsing her grip without any up and down. Suffice it to say, I was awake now.

Nadia released her hold on me, went to the bathroom, I hear the sink run. She returned with two towels. She pulled off my now soiled one and cleaned up her work with one of hers. It was wet and warm and felt amazing. Understanding that she had my full attention, she spoke “My cousin said this new dance club down on Duvall is the total shit.” She switched towels to a eryaman rus escort dry one as I understood her meaning. She would say things line “My said is .” What she meant was “my family owns” or “I have a silent interest in” the place she wanted us to go. She either felt some sort of guilt over such personal wealth or wanted to shield my ego from her easy success. I never told her that her family’s wealth and her personal success didn’t bother me. The former was just reality. The latter I was prouder of that she probably was.

“We should get dinner first. We can walk from here.” I moaned a little. “Or we could get an Über,” she said in response, “Besides, you need to save your strength for dancing — and for me.” She finished drying me off, hit me with a peck on the cheek and went to dress.

I pulled myself out of bed. This was going to be a long night. Nadia seemed to never tire, but I knew that was a thing and took precautions. Namely, I brought a bunch of amphetamines, Viagra, ibuprofen, and a bunch of miscellaneous supplements from a friend who was a homeopath. The ibuprofen and the Viagra were easy enough to come by. Ibuprofen, of course, is over the counter, and Viagra has a doctor mill that can get you a prescription pretty much in the time it takes to drive to the pharmacy. The speed was trickier, but crucial. No way I was going to go throw for throw with the Amazon princess for 20 hours at a time without some help.

Fortunately, I didn’t have to go far.

Actually, no farther than my second period Honors Physics class. It was mostly boys — the girls all took the tougher AP class. The boys at this prestigious private school mostly came from old-money families with names to protect or the nouvelle riche with something to prove — both mostly did so by bragging about their kids’ success. A couple of years ago — after “the change” — girls started to blow the boys away academically. Families of both types with boys in school scrambled desperately to save face. The boys did their part, but there was no keeping up with girls with a 30 to 50 IQ point head start who could study until 2am and hit first period bright-eyed and sharp as a tack. The parents, without fail, turned to chemistry. Adderall was a part of a lot of kid’s academic life before the change. At my school, all the boys were on it. As the girls’ started dominating the top half of class rank, the boys’ doses went up. There was nothing wrong with most of them. Their regular brains and ordinary bodies just couldn’t compete with the girls enhanced brains and physically surpassing bodies. The boys’ parents just couldn’t accept it. Most of the boys did. And a lot of them just palmed their doses and sold them. I offered cash but got off without much of a wallet hit. Which is not to say the boys didn’t drive a hard bargain. This semester’s Honors Physics class was going to set a new bar for A grades in the course.

I pulled out a mix of pills and downed them all. I dressed and met Nadia in the front hall. I found her in front of the of the entry way’s full-length mirror making adjustments to her attire. She was a perfectionist. I always saw her as perfect, so she never asked me if she looked okay. was an absolute vision. The purple minidress hugged her form like it was sprayed onto her. She accessorized with some sparkly amethyst earrings (her grandmother’s — they cost more than my car), a choker with a matching amethyst teardrop, and some bracelets. Her hair was layered with curls and draped over her shoulders. And then there were the heels. She got more out of a pair of heels than any girl I’d ever seen. These were three — maybe four — inches. The curve they imparted traveled the length of her sultry toned leg and took her ass from being simply amazing to an existence beyond the mortal plain. We’d been together for years, and she could still render me speechless.

I realized I was staring and walked over and looked out through the door. I saw Manalo, the -what was it = butler? (I have no familiarity with such things, he was too old and took care of too much to be called a “house boy”) He was carrying a matched set of a medium sized suitcase and a smaller bag — the sort of thing a woman with a lot of make-up would have when she traveled. I though it odd; Nadia said we were the only guests. I brushed it off. For all I knew, it was bags of money the family sent to here to be stored.

As Manalo disappeared around the corner, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around and was face to neck with Nadia. She stood about 6’3″ in those heels. She was three inches — two and half I often insisted — taller than me in bare feet. The last time she wore flats to anything except the mailbox was our wedding day. The heels doubled the mismatch. She smiled down at me. I knew what was coming. Every time we go out, she had to amuse herself with a joke about our height difference. She was creative and never used the same ankara etimesgut escort bayan line twice, but it was every time.



“Excuse me sir,” she asked as her smile widened, “Is this the line for the dwarf tossing?”

I sighed as she laughed at her own joke like the nerd she is on the inside.

“Our ride is here,” was my reply as I led her to the door, “Mind your head on the doorway, miss.”


Dinner was at a trendy restaurant. I don’t recall all of what we had. I ordered the oysters — apocryphal or not, I wanted every advantage I could get. I wasn’t really hungry — the speed. We drank two bottles of wine. Well, she drank most of it. By the time we got to the dance club, there was a line down the block. I wasn’t worried. I’d seen this show before. Not that we went to this sort of place much, but we never waited to get in. Nadia was either known to the staff or she charmed her way in. A brief exchange of glances, a couple of words, and the doorman was waving us in.

Apparently, my interpretation of the interaction between Nadia and the doorman was off -we were expected. We were soon escorted past the thumping dance floor, beyond the ubiquitous velvet rope, and up a flight of stairs to a lofted VIP section where a table awaited us. The table was laid out with a bottle of a tequila in an urn of ice, limes, salt, glasses, and, thankfully, some bottles of mineral water. The tequila was a brand we’d drank a lot of on our honeymoon in Mexico. While exquisite, it was not commonly sold in the states nor did it have much of a distribution apart from a select few resorts south of the border. This was obviously part of someone’s, namely, my blushing bride’s, plan. I looked at Nadia who gave me an overly feigned, totally transparent, and inexorably guilty, “What, I have no idea?” look, then a smile while she poured a shot, salted her wrist, and placed a lime wedge between her teeth. She stepped toward me, handed me the shot, and offered me her wrist. I licked off the salt, downed the ice-cold, ultra-smooth tequila, and met her lips for the lime.

Nadia excused herself and went off, I guessed – wrongly it turned out – to the bathroom. This VIP section was legit, and probably closer to Nadia’s life before we met than our Tuesday trivia nights at our local pub back home. The clientele alone was telling. On the way in we’d passed by a few minor celebrities – two of whom waved to Nadia as we passed. [Among just about every other possible profitable business venture out there, Nadia’s family held controlling interest two domestic movie studios and one in Japan. I guess it pays to make nice to the boss’s daughter.

We’d also passed a couple of tables of notable NBA players. Those guys were flashing a lot of cash and had some hangers-on — but not so many as they once had. It seemed I’ll-advised to me given recent developments, but professional athletes aren’t known for wise financial decisions.

By “recent developments” I refer to something that had just been the talk of the sports world. The current NBA champions had just been beaten in an exhibition game by one of the WNBA’s developmental teams. The young girl cagers schooled the champs something like 140-40. It wasn’t even that close – the girls made these pro ballers look like a rec team. Most of the men’s points came in garbage time at the end. The WNBA coach put in the last five players on her bench at the half, and never bothered subbing. The men were piles of sweaty flesh at the end, despite subbing. The girls from the dev league who’d played the whole half didn’t even look like they needed to shower. There was talk that the NBA might fold or arrange some kind of buyout where the WNBA team rosters swap with the men’s’ teams. The worst case was some teams would go get women players on their own and mop the floor with the ones who didn’t. Those guys we passed were probably going to be out of a job in a month. A lot more things in the world had been affected by “the change” than the dynamics of my marital bed.

Nadia came back to the table with someone tow. It took me a minute to recognize the muscular build and bright green eyes of the spike haired bleach-blonde in the shoulder-less minidress being practically dragged behind my wife’s longer strides

“Pudge?” I asked making the connection with the pony-tailed fat little sister of the late Jack McNair – my best friend from home. I hadn’t seen Pudge in years. I missed Jack more than anyone I’d ever lost in my life. Jack loved that motorcycle, and he could ride it like the devil himself. Even the devil couldn’t beat the physics of a runaway logging truck on a blind mountain curve. Jack was killed instantly. Pudge and I shared a drunken night in a seedy motel after the funeral trying to exorcise our grief. It was a mistake. We recognized that immediately and agreed to never talk about it.

Nadia gave gölbaşı rus escort bayan me a slightly-harder-than teasing punch to the sternum. “Stop it.” she admonished me for my teasing use of the girl’s childhood nickname, and turned to Pudge, “They’re all little boys. All of them. I swear, the other day, he pulled my hair to let me know that he liked me liked me.” They both laughed. “Pudge” was actually Juliette Anne McNair – Jules to pretty much anyone but me and Jack. The nickname hadn’t fit since she was a chunky ten-year-old. A friend brought her along to a gymnastics practice, and Jules was hooked. She turned her fat into dense muscle, and, by the time she was a high school freshman, it looked like the Olympic podium might be calling.

Then she grew six inches her sophomore year. She added more muscle, but the added power didn’t have any more luck with physics than Jack did. Another two inches put her at 5’9″ by the end of her junior year and put her out of the super-elite ranks for good. The international stage might not be calling, but she was still good enough to land a scholarship and become the tallest champion vaulter in NCAA history. The spiked hair had replaced the taut ponytail that must come with the gymnastics leotard, but her build was the same powerhouse that took that medal from a bunch of shrimps years ago. She’d always be “Pudge” to me. At least until Nadia collapsed my chest for it.

Pudge and Nadia met when the former was looking for an apartment after college and the latter was lonely and wanted a roommate. The girls hit it off immediately – like sisters each other never had. It was Jules that introduced me to Nadia. I hadn’t dated in the year or so since Jack died.

“She’s out of my league, Pudge,” I told her over a dollar beer in the local college town bar. Triggered, Pudge grabbed my collar and pulled me halfway across the table (even before the change, she was a powerful young woman).

“Look, Simple Simon,” she always got that childhood dig in when she was serious, “you need to understand something. There is no such thing as ‘out of your league’. I’m a girl. And I can tell you a girl is going to decide who she fucks and who she doesn’t. That isn’t your call and pretending that it is, well, that’s just your way of not trying.” She was Inches from my face as she finished. That I had once, in raging grief, considered Pudge to be in “in” my league and, that I consider ‘my league’ to be something less, a mild insult was implied. Then she sealed my fate. Locking my eyes she said, “If Jack was here, he’d call you a pussy and ride your ass like Seabiscuit until you asked her out.” The girl knew her stuff. There was no shame like shaming yourself before a memory. I got up the courage to ask out Nadia. A few years later Pudge was maid of honor at our wedding. In recent years it we’d been less in touch. I regretted that, but life is life.

“I thought sure I saw her on our way in,” Nadia said explaining where she ran off to. She turned to Pudge and asked, “Jules, what are you doing in Key West?”

“Not fucking getting engaged,” the younger woman answered pouring herself a shot of tequila, downing it, and throwing the shot glass off the balcony, and, I hoped, across to the far wall and missing the dance floor below. “Woohooooo!” being the only immediate explanation offered, but then came the tears. Pudge buried her head in the taller woman’s chest. Nadia put a comforting arm over her, and we all sat down.

Now, Pudge, apart from that one badly mistaken night, was also the little sister I never had. Jack would be at my door with a baseball bat and a thirty-pack if anyone hurt his sister like this. All I would have done was grab the keys to the old Chevy pickup and tell Mom I’d miss dinner. That Neanderthal Code still applied to replacement brothers, so I needed to know what happened. So I asked, “Juliette Anne,” I had called her by her baptismal name exactly one time since she was ten – right before we left the church hall to find that seedy motel. “Tell me what happened.” Nadia gave me a look, but I waved that off. I think she understood. At least she didn’t punch me in the chest again.

Pudge started to explain, “I’ve been with Trevor for a year. Loved him. I thought he loved me. I assumed we were coming here so he could ask me. We even went down to square for sunset.” She paused, took another shot, this time just putting the glass back on the table. “He started into this speech, even held my hands,” she continued, “but it wasn’t what I thought. He said he couldn’t stay with me. He just couldn’t live feeling like less of a man. He said he hated having sex with me because it made him feel weak and used,” She paused, “like sex with him was sooooo fucking great. He said he’d met a girl who didn’t emasculate him nightly, and he was leaving me.” Pudge sobbed her way through the last couple of words. The obvious implication was that Trevor’s physical relationship with his new love was more than theoretical.

“He met a girl. A girl that didn’t make him feel weak?” I asked with a twinge in my neck from my “shower” with Nadia. Was that even still a thing. I mean, a few weeks ago, a 110lb teenager nearly put me in the hospital. My face must have betrayed my incredulity.

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