Putting my sapphire ring in my purse I slid on his ruby ring, opened the window curtain and let the sunlight play on it. It was beautiful. I French kissed him, pushed him on the bed, slipped off his shoes, pulled off his trousers, slid down the silk boxer underwear I bought him, skipped the towel and gave Mr. Supini a slow and long oral stimulation. I looked at the ring on my right hand holding his shaft while my tongue twirled the head.
After sex as good as our first date I asked.
“What did Mr. Supini do with the pearl ring?”
“I gave it to my wife.”
“What’d she say?”
“She was elated.”
Saying she was elated was a bit of a comeback to my rejection of it but I let it pass and instead put her definitely in the safe wife category.
Despite high employment income he
was financially stressed due to house payments as a late arrival to the Silicon
Valley housing market. Unlike Edward, Enrico and I sparred for control, he unused
to a woman challenging him. While having an engineering degree he was
culturally ignorant and didn’t read books. To him great music was the oldie but
goodie radio station. He lacked a sense of life's irony and his sense of humor
was slap stick. He maintained his elevated ego superiority by projecting faults
Other than sex he began to bore me
and I began to torment him. I called him Mr. Schadenfreude.
“Schadenfreude, who’s he?”
a German you remind me of. I think you’re part German, not all Italian.”
Still not getting it he replied.
“No, no, I’m Italian.”
I enjoyed my little joke but it was true of his character. On one rendezvous I intentionally didn’t wear his ring to keep him from assuming I was "safe". He noticed immediately.
"Where's your ring?"