A Gift from My Lover

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I grew up dirt poor. The whole town was. It was a no nonsense, no fun farming town in the middle of no where, and it seemed like my parents spent the first 17 years of my life trying to instill those values into me. It didn’t take.

I rebelled – hard – and long story short, they threw me out of the house a few days after my 18th birthday. They let me know that I wouldn’t be welcome back and basically disowned me. Looking back I can’t blame them – they had another daughter at home and I was a bad influence – but at the time it was very difficult.

I tried waitressing which I was miserable at, went on welfare which made me feel useless and cheap, did a bit of hooking which I was good at except I kept getting busted and even had a promising future in porn movies that I totally fucked up.

I tried going back to hooking after the porn thing tanked, but found a more lucrative career that wasn’t as dangerous. Selling pot and pills to truck drivers at the local stop kept me from living on the street, and it came with an unexpected perk. I found the love of my life. I fell for the man i got my supply from, we dated for a few months and I finally moved in with my supplier.

It could have been an abusive relationship but it wasn’t. He was good to me and treated me well. I didn’t have to sell at the stop anymore and I became a part of his business and his life. We worked hard together during the day and at night he treated me like a princess and his personal whore at night, showering me with amorous attention.

He was gone a lot, picking up product and dropping off supply to his people. bahis firmaları Sometimes for days at a time I wouldn’t see him and he didn’t call because it was always unsafe to be on the phone. I missed him when he was gone.

One night he came home and gave me a gift. It was a sexy negligee. Not one made for wearing outside the bedroom. Your mother never wore this kind of pajama as she flipped the pancakes or made the eggs in the morning. It was elegant – not slutty – but it’s elegance was a mix of luxury and sex.

Apricot in color and cut to the mid-thigh, with a white fringe of lace on the bottom, made of satin as soft as a baby’s skin and little more than paper thin, it was my favorite thing ever.

When I tried it on, it hugged my boobs and my bottom and there as a discernible V shape where my legs met. It was almost like a coat of paint wherever it touched my body.

I’d never worn real satin – even as a blouse, skirt or slip, my mother preferring rayon during those rare times she bought my clothes not made from denim or cheap cotton material. It was the first thing I ever owned in the way of real lingerie. Something not bought in a three pack at the Five and Dime.

It was beautiful and it made me feel beautiful. The feel was so luxurious it made me hold my breath when I slipped it on. The soft feel of it against my body made me wet every single time.

I wore it just for him. Due to what my man did for a living he was often gone at night, but when he was home I wore that negligee a lot. During more athletic nights it would wind up on the floor, but on evenings when kaçak iddaa a fuck was just a fuck he would spoon me, slip the material above my waist and take me in that position. I had no complaints.

One night he was playing a bit, sliding himself against my covered ass. He loved the feel of the material as much as I did. He got a little too excited and he came. It was a sticky mess and I removed it and threw it beside the bed before we went back to our evenings activities.

We left the next morning early from somewhere – we would often just jump in the car and go to Chicago or St. Louis at a seeming whim. When I returned I found my lovely nightie was a crinkled mess on the floor. It actually stuck together and felt like it was made of paper. My lover’s “liquid excitement” had turned into an unsightly chalky mess all over my beautiful nightie.

Had I simply rinsed it out it probably would have been fine, but I was not trained to care for the fabric and the label and long ago been cut out of torn off, so I used some advertised laundry spray. It created a permanent stain that was big and blotchy and it made me cry.

It was still the only lingerie I owned other than some panties, but I no longer wore it most nights. I lay unused on the window seat in our bathroom.

Finally, one night he returned from a few nights away and I wore it for him, though it didn’t stay on long.

In the morning when he asked me to wear it to make breakfast for the guys. (Because of our business, my lover had people with him constantly – bodyguards or whatever you wanted to call them.) This was a little ritual kaçak bahis – a way he enjoyed showing me off to his people.

I refused. I explained my embarrassment at the stained fabric, and how it made me feel so bad that I had hurt something so beautiful and that I loved so much. He listened with sympathy as I shared my regret and dismay. And then, being a man, he laughed.

He promised me that I’d have a replacement as soon as he got back to St. Louis where he’d bought this one. And then he slipped it back over my head.

We never got around breakfasting that morning – or lunch. Instead all weekend we snorted coke, made love and had sex, laughing periodically as he would “take aim” at my negligee whenever he felt ready to shoot his seed or dribble his juices.

By the time he left, that poor used piece of satin looked like a Rorschach test or perhaps a piece of camouflage one might wear to hunt. The number and depth of the stains were actually kind of impressive in a really perverse way.

The next negligee was emerald green with black trim. He always knew that it was my favorite color. Then one of baby blue… and on and on. Turning each new nightie into a laundry woman’s nightmare became something of an obsession with him.

As each became too stained to wear it was hung up on a hook behind the bathroom door like some odd trophy. I have no idea what guests or customers using that bathroom might have thought, and really never cared.

Eventually the house got raided and just about everything in it got tagged and taken away. I left town before the trial and never returned so I don’t know what ever happened to it all. They probably are still sitting somewhere in an evidence locker along with Polaroid’s, some drug paraphernalia, and sex toys. A sad end to a happy time.

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