Murphy’s Romance – no not the Sally Field movie


There’s a funny relationship between transport and velocity. For my sperm, the route from my home to Murphy’s uterus was a complex one at greatly varied speeds. The trip began with a car to the airport parking lot and a bus to the terminal. From there it raced at more than 500 miles per hour to Chicago’s Midway International Airport and a rental car south for 45 minutes. From there was a meeting at a bar, where Murphy awaited me. We’d planned every detail of this meeting for weeks following a six month internet relationship that gathered interest, steam and passion. I knew that somewhere in that bar, Murphy’s unseen husband was looking me over, and that through some secret signal, his ultimate decision would be conveyed to Murphy. She’d add her vote to his and either suggest that we leave the bar, or she’d finish her drink and kiss me goodbye, no hard feelings. If the decision went in my favor, the evening would progress to dinner and dancing after which my sperm would make the most exciting part of their journey, like racing competitors in a white water raft my ‘guys’ will leave my body in a heated rush and enter hers, swimming at a screaming, desperate pace to reach Murphy’s uterus. The lady’s name isn’t “Murphy,” that’s a nickname I gave her soon after we met online. She’s Irish, and wears her thick, red hair mid back – something that really turns me on. From one of her more intimate photos I noticed that she’s a ‘natural’ redhead but mostly keeps herself shaved down there something else that turns me on immensely. Although she disputes it, I think Murphy is beautiful. Her flaws are the stuff of humanity; an ass that’s a little big, beautiful breasts that have some forty year sag to them. These things appeal to me. Women without flaws are like a white wall. Murphy’s wall compels you with its fine art treasures so richly displayed. Murphy is one of the classiest women I’ve ever met who prides herself on acting the slut when conditions call for down and dirty. The woman can carry herself like an heiress, smile sweetly and turn the corner, take a cock Maltepe Escort into her body and ride it like a Cajun whore from the back alleys of New Orleans. Then, she can turn the next corner, again smiling sweetly, leaving people raptly unaware of the gel melting down her thighs. What I savor most is that while I like Murphy, respect her, desire her and sometimes ache for her, I don’t love her nor does she love me. Murphy is a woman whose compelling desire is to be used and degraded by men and I ache to use and degrade her with the greatest of respect. I love the paradox of Murphy and deem it astounding that sexually, she is an Irish subordinate. There aren’t a lot of those women around; she’s like rich chocolate milk served in a fine gold, Eucharistic chalice. How could I not want her? Loving her would put me in competition with her husband and I don’t wish to compete with him, I want simply to fuck his wife and send her home to him used goods. Well used. I want to be grateful to him for blessing our union if only for a night or a weekend. I want him to be grateful to me for fulfilling their fantasy. It’s symbiosis. She wants to be used and degraded. He wants her to be used and degraded and I want to use her. We’re the perfect storm. If my wish is granted at the bar, by mutual agreement, I will give Murphy fifty dollars for our time together and she will hand it to her husband and he, in turn, will give it to charity. The point isn’t the money, except to make a cut-rate prostitute of Murphy, to give her that extra trashy bit of sluttiness, out there doing her “pimp’s” bidding. My flight is quick and comfortable. As a bonus, the airline bumped me up to first class because I fly with them often. Crossing Lake Michigan, I looked out over a gorgeous afternoon sky. Approaching Chicago, I glanced down sadly at what once was Meig’s field and silently cursed Mayor Richard Daily for bulldozing it for land development. On landing I hired a rental car, a bid Dodge Challenger similar to the one I own at home, checked into Maltepe Escort Bayan the Hyatt Regency, changed and then headed south towards Hickory Hills where I had a job lined up the following afternoon. After doing a ‘dry run’ to the job location, I completed my journey to the bar where the course of my fantasies will turn on a virtual coin-toss of a decision. Murphy was at the bar, sipping a drink and a man had just left her with the unhappy expression of a man just blown off by a pretty girl. Pretty she was, in a black cocktail dress, black stockings that I hoped were lace top thigh highs, and high heel pumps. The dress had a matching black jacket with silver lapels and cuffs and ample cleavage was there to enjoy. “Is this seat taken,” I asked easily, knowing that Murphy would recognize me from photos. I gave Murphy a kiss on the cheek and whispered, “You look amazing! Thank you for being here.” “Thank you,” she whispered in return and I took my seat. “Margarita”? I asked and Murphy smiled that I remembered her drink. I ordered one for her and a rum and diet Coke for me. About seventy five percent of my body wanted to sit Murphy on the bar and eat her sweet pussy right then and there. The other twenty-five percent wanted to turn around and scan for Murphy’s husband but I resisted both impulses. We began some small talk about how was my trip and how the Chicago Cubs were doing and in about ten minutes although I never once saw Murphy’s eyes leave mine, she said, “Let’s go out to dinner. I’m not sure which part of my body reacted more dramatically, my heart hammering in my chest or my cock straining at the seams. I had decided to give Murphy a surprise and handed her two black business cards onto which I’d printed instructions. The first card instructed Murphy to approach the man whom I’d nod to and give him the second card. The second card read, “Dear Sir, I am a subordinate and have been instructed to escort you into the men’s room and give you a blowjob. Please do not say a word, just lead the way to Escort Maltepe the men’s room.” I directed Murphy to flip over the first card which had further instructions directing her to return when finished and to deposit his ejaculate into a shot glass that would be on the bar waiting for her. Murphy read both cards and looked deeply into my eyes. I tried but couldn’t read hers and I hoped that I didn’t blow my chance with her. Murphy cast a gaze towards the tables at the back of the lounge and then whispered to me. “You’re on. Who”? I had already picked out a man sitting alone down the bar. He was the dictionary definition of the average businessman stopping for a drink before heading home to the missus. I nodded his way and Murphy kissed me on the cheek and went over to him. The man looked confused and read the second card at least three times and then got up, looked around and then headed off to the men’s room with Murphy in tow. I hope that her husband was enjoying the little twist on one of his favorite things to do with her. I asked the bartender for a shot of tequila and freshened my drink with it, leaving the empty shot glass at Murphy’s place. She returned silently about fifteen minutes later, sat down and raised the glass to her lips as though knocking back a shot. She returned the glass to the bar nearly full of ejaculate and smiled at me like the cat that ate the cream and took a big swallow from her margarita. “Now I think it’s time to go I said.” Murphy looked at the shot glass, then at her margarita and then at me. She took a final sip of her margarita, smiled and stood. Again I wanted to scan for her husband but again I fought off the urge and took Murphy’s hand and led her out to my car. “Wait a minute” she said and walked to a car not far from mine and retrieved a small overnight bag from the trunk. I opened my passenger for Murphy and she smiled and said, “Oh, a gentleman.” “A gentleman with a lady,” I replied with a grin. Driving up Interstate 55, we chatted like magpies and soon arrived at the John Hancock building and hopped the elevator to the Signature Room on the 95 th floor. I am not taking this sexy woman to an Olive garden! We both ordered sea scallops which were excellent. The view of Chicago and the lake is breathtaking, but not nearly as exciting as the woman across the table for me and what lies in our immediate future.

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