*This is my first time. So please be nice.* I hope you enjoy it!
CHAPTER 1: ISHTAR
Chrissy and I were finally going to Los Angeles so I could meet his family. He was naturally anxious about the whole thing, seeing as they were very likely to be disappointed in his choice for a wife. They were steeped in old money, they had their hands in several political pots, and of late, they had acquired what Chrissy called more than a passing interest in those politics. Theirs was a family of socialite ambition and my nifty little liberal background offered nothing as far as progressing those ambitions went.
My parents had expressed somewhat of a similar feeling when they met Chrissy. But having gone their entire lives with the pride of being the farthest things from bigots, they couldn't bring themselves to say: "He represents the man-machine we've worked our entire hippy lives trying to dismantle." All they did was say (when Chrissy wasn't close enough to hear), "Are you sure he's the man for you? You know there's no need to rush into marriage just because you're twenty-nine, right?"
Of course, I knew that my age wasn't supposed to make me anxious about whether or not any man would ever want to marry me. (It's just that I couldn't exactly explain the entire situation to them. I knew that if I did my parents would definitely state their disapproval of the marriage outright). Most of the time, when they weren't too worried about growing old without grandchildren, my parents knew it too.
But sometimes they allowed the fears of their generation to shine through, slightly threatening that perfect non-bigot image they worked so hard to preserve. Anyway, we were finally going to LA and I wanted to make the best impression on Chrissy's family.
I quickly slid into a white, full-length dress with thin shoulder straps. It was a bit of a tight fit but I figured it was too late to return it to the store. I coiled my curls into a neat heap at the top of my head, put on the fake diamond earrings I borrowed from my mother, and surveyed myself in the mirror.
Overall, I approved of the look. It was dull for my liking, not enough color and far too prissy, I thought. My short stature and lack of curves didn't help, either. But none of that mattered. I just needed to impress Chrissy's parents and siblings. "Babe," I said, walking into the tiny space that was our living area. "What do you think of this dress?"
He lazily looked away from the TV. Some football team was on the way to making some kind of history, or something like that. I didn't really care to tell the truth, sport things were never my thing. "What?" he asked.
"I said: do you think this dress makes me look like a respectable daughter-in-law?"
"You know how, according to movies and TV and most things we watch for that matter, women just want to know if things make them look fat?"
"Yeah?"
"Why can't we ask each other those kinds of easy questions?"
"You want the easy answer?"
"Yeah."
"We don't want to. Now please, does this dress make me look respectable or not?"
"How does a dress make a person look respectable?"
"Well, remember that lingerie set you bought me for your birthday?"
"Yeah."
I shook my head as I said the next part. "I absolutely cannot wear that, it's the very definition of not respectable when I'm meeting my fiancé's parents."
A wide grin appeared on his face. His attention on the game become increasingly limited and his back, which was previously reclined on the couch, was then fully erect. As was that other part of him, I suspected. "This conversation just became far more interesting. We should definitely ask each other these kinds of questions more often." He got up from the couch and started walking towards me.
"No," I said. "If we do this now we're going to be late to the airport." I walked backwards and into the wall.
With his long legs, he quickly reached me and immediately ruffled my hair into the wild mane of curls it usually was. "What does it matter?" he whispered, with his with his tongue already softly assaulting my neck.
"I'm trying to get your parents to like me and being late isn't going to help with..."
I couldn't finish the sentence because his right hand was slowly making its way to the wet place between my thighs. He slid my underwear to the side and gently rubbed my clit with his middle finger. It had to be his middle finger because it was just so big, and he knew how much I loved it when he did that. My hips started grinding against his finger, slowly and silently begging for more. Then, abruptly, he stopped and held my face in his hands.
He looked at me and smiled that annoying little smile of his; it went all the way to his green eyes. I used to think I loved those eyes; that is, when I wasn't as sexually frustrated as I was in that moment.
They were what pulled me to him in the first place. I was standing at the bus stop crying because I had received another rejection letter for a potential thesis supervisor. My car had broken down and I couldn't afford to have it fixed. My hair refused to cooperate. Mrs Williams had just popped out another baby so I wasn't exactly getting any sleep at all. Most importantly, it was one of those days on which I missed my sort-of-ex quite a lot. I felt like the universe was closing in on me that day. Then a pair of eerily familiar-looking green eyes appeared in front of me; their owner asked me if I was okay, and held me as I cried like a child.
