My Two Martines

My Two Martines

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Summary

a novella charing two women who share the same name and are known to the protagonist; as they move in and out of his ife over a thirty year period.

Summary

a novella charing two women who share the same name and are known to the protagonist; as they move in and out of his ife over a thirty year period.

Chapter1 (v.1) - Martine One

Author Chapter Note

a novella charing two women who share the same name and are known to the protagonist; as they move in and out of his ife over a thirty year period.

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: January 01, 2012

Reads: 539

Comments: 1

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: January 01, 2012

A A A

A A A

My Two Martine’s

By Dashitoff

Chapter One: Meeting Martine One.

So in the beginning there was the first Martine, the first Martine in my life, and certainly the first with a French sounding name that has a brightness as well as an allure about it. She was the first, and there was no way of knowing of course that might be a second Martine along a year or two hence, or that the first Martine would introduce the second Martine, then become jealous that we became lovers, nor was there of course any presentiment of any further Martine’s down the line, a quarter of a century later ....

The first Martine was as wild and exotic as the y in her name, despite the fact she originally came form Scunthorpe. She was intelligent, highly aesthetic, sensual as sensual can possibly be without becoming a parody of itself, deeply conversational, wildly neurotic, massively seductive, intermittently moral.

We made our connection at a conference. Massage was a thing of mine at that time - and of some others at the conference who were massage and embodiment curious. I massaged her deeply luxuriously and with a growing sense of intentionality about my actions. Afterwards we talked we clicked, though 'nothing happened..' well nothing happened though of course in our minds and in the plotting of possible futures then everything happened.

She worked for an airline and flew everywhere with her work, which added to the whole exotic flavour of our coupling as few travelled widely in those far away days. She wrote to me an airmail letter written in the first class cabin of a 747, and then another from a hotel in Nairobi.

it was a marvellous letter. It leapt off the page at me as I read it again and again. My heart pounded as I read it. It talked of restlessness, of aloneness, or her stirring sensuality amid the heat of a Nairobi night. I read it 50 times till the blue airmail paper was wafer thin.

Of course I went to her on her return at her first summoning, it was ineluctsble that I would, reckless, thinking not at all of the consequences.I, fled to her, found her flat in Victorian London, and fell completely deep deep deeply in love. I was entranced, and in some strange way ennobled by the encounter though I knew it would disrupt my entire life. It was fated , ill fated, such a tempestuous experience. Such a sexual experience. Such an unremittingly erotic experience, perhaps because of the emotional lightening storms that flashed all around it as we clung together in that dark old building in that dark old room, a single bed barely able to contain our coupling,

It flickered it flamed, it exhausted itself. She became cruel. I suffered, but persisted for a while. I once ran to her, to tell her that at last I had found a job, a great job in London, to be near to her. On the sofa were her knickers, she, she explained in a tired cant be arsed sort of way that she had an old flame around the night before, it was just one of those things.. The whole relationship was one of those things.

So I moved to London, anyway, left my marriage anyway, and she would drop by . my London flat in an equally direct Victorian edifice. She tortured me some, she slept with me, she refused me, she beguiled me, I was lost utterly lost, looking back. She decided she needed a lesbian fling, even asked my advice about this. And so in time she seduced her dentist, who wasn’t gay at that time, but totally is now. Martine had that kind of impact. She would come around to my flat to discuss this affair, to ponder, to describe how it was to be with a woman. Once she came around early one weekend morning when I was heading for the bath, I needed to be clean before a wedding I was to attend with a really sophisticated neighbour from the same building on a Saturday morning. ‘But I need to talk to you about this affair, no one else might understand’ she whispered, intently her will would not be ignored. I was lost once more. Her kiss good bye was a long one. And my neighbour as she appeared at the front door was swept aside and looked me in the eye and then in the towel wrapped around my tent pole and knew more that words might have said.

And so from time to time would she drift into my life for maximum interruption and maximum disruption of all my intentions to forsake her forever. Then she sent the other Martine my way, the Martine that worked for her.. was she a gift? A test? A peace offering? Meat? Or a soul for me to nuture?


© Copyright 2018 dashitoff. All rights reserved.

Chapters

Add Your Comments:

Comments

Other Content by dashitoff

More Erotica Books

Popular Tags