(I never wrote a mind control story before, so I thought what the heck? Why not?}
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How did I end up there? I was happy as a clam in butter sauce before, how could I not be? Now things had gone basically all to shit.
The cops did mercifully take off the handcuffs before the door slammed shut with a very final sounding "clang."
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Kirsten had said yes when I asked her to marry me, actually a surprise.
I knew that I loved her by then but even though we necked and petted, she just would not go all the way. I was sort of willing to wait, she was stunning, beautiful.
Her body was so slender and sleek, she never seemed to even notice that most men turned into stammering idiots around her. Include me in that mix, I wanted her desperately.
Hell, some women turned into stammering idiots around her.
So while I did accept the wait, I also tried. Lord did I try.
Nothing I attempted worked, I could play with her and pet her, but the slightest sign of trying to unfasten any clothing, or reach underneath anything she wore was met with an instant "NO!"
I even asked her once, long after we had tried everything a person could imagine from just plain fun to downright kinky, why she insisted on waiting to have sex. I asked because once we did it that first night she wanted to do it all the time. There were no inhibitions at all after that.
We had just finished an amazing session, I had walked in the door and set down my lunch pail from my job building homes at the company the bank and I owned. She came in and said, "Hi, Honey!" and began to more or less molest me.
That was the day I asked her why she had chosen to wait. She had one hand between her legs making squishing sounds and had her lips gently teasing my left nipple at the time. Her other hand was between my legs, tickling my testicles with her fingertips. She did that a lot in the aftermath of our lovemaking.
That sounds like a rather awkward position but when you realize she worked out and also did gymnastics, Kirsten could scratch herself behind the ear with her big toes.
Both at once. I would tease her that I was going to grab our cheap camera and get some photos when she did that, both of us giggling hilariously but she wouldn't let me.
Her answer to my question was simple.
"Mom told me to wait, she said I had to be pure on my wedding night. She told me that to the right man it was more precious than Gold."
For Kirsten, it actually was that simple. To her, I was the right man.
The other thing I noticed is she never seemed to understand much, having a chat about anything at all ended up without fail in a series of questions. If I asked her to balance the checkbook, she would look at me blank and there was a good chance I would find it later, sitting on something, teetering.
That's an exaggeration of course, but if she did try to make it come out even she just could not.
Decimal points? She wasn't sure what they were for. $0.51 was a dollar and $0.49 wasn't.
What she did do was write everything down carefully in her perfect little handwriting. Her notations looked like she had typed them out.
When she did any math at all, everything came out to round numbers.
Unless she was cooking. Cook? My God, could she cook! Her Mother wrote down the recipes, without fail Kirsten got out the little book, followed every step, right down to the fraction of a teaspoon for seasoning, timing it to the second. She had a little tool that she used measuring.
Interestingly, her Mother's handwritten recipes all looked to be typed out, also.
I remember her Dad making a wisecrack one day about Kirsten being probably from the mailman after she made one of her strange comments about something.
I defended her by telling him the mailman sure did a damn fine job. He just grinned at me.
I noticed her Mother laughed out loud at that one.
When we got a computer, I set up an email address for her. One day she mentioned that nobody ever emailed her, so I went in to check because I started getting ads in mine within 5 minutes of signing up my own. We were on dial up, she had never dialed in. I tried to explain that, she got down and looked underneath the desk.
"The wires are all hooked up? Why won't it just work?" She asked.
"It's like the stove, you have to turn it on first even though it's always hooked up." I told her.
"Oh." Was all she said, but from the blank look she got on her face I knew she still didn't get it.
I gave up on that. When I opened her email box (with the password 1234) she had a few hundred spam emails.
I was in the process of deleting them when she asked me to stop.
"Why?"
"You aren't supposed to open other people's mail!" Kirsten told me.
"It's spam!" I told her.
She looked at me like I was making a joke, she knew what spam was. She sometimes chopped that up and mixed it with Mayo and sweet pickle relish to make sandwiches.
Yes, her Mother had that written down for her, too.
Kirsten could make spam taste good.
There were lots of things like that, but you get the picture. I just assumed that upstairs Kirsten was not blessed, little did I know the truth of all of that, though.
She was a natural beauty on the outside, yet appeared to be a bit less smart than a box of rocks on the inside. Some people would not be able to stand that, I was deliriously happy with her. She completely doted on me, every single waking minute of every single day.
If I said I liked Ham, or anything at all, that was for dinner the next day, without fail. If I said I liked a certain outfit, she had it on when I got home.
Our house? Perfect, she got down on her hands and knees and looked for any dirt, I am serious. I came home one afternoon to find her sitting cross legged on the floor underneath our antique kitchen table, carefully washing the legs of it. She was using a pink toothbrush, she knew I wouldn't touch it so she always grabbed those out of the package for house cleaning tools.
