If I had known Rhoda's history before I married her, our nuptial would never have happened. Her history was carefully concealed from me by all who knew her. I at least have to give them credit for their subterfuge abilities even if I detested their silence; they should have worked for the CIA (better yet the old KGB). That is I detested their silence until...
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At the ripe old age of twenty four, I, Chris Minton, fresh out of graduate school, moved to a small city remote from my home town. I moved there for an excellent business opportunity that would allow me to use both my materials science and engineering degree from Northwestern and my MBA from Carnegie Mellon.
I was to head a newly created, presently very small, department of the large multinational XYZ Corporation. The department's goal was to investigate new technologies and business opportunities.
In most ways I'm a normal guy, although I have to be a little smarter than average to get the two degrees that I have. I'm also a little bigger and better looking than average – but not by much. I appear to be a really nice, "chill," dude; however that is where I go off the rails. In fact while I normally "play well" with others, I have a latent vindictive streak that would be impossible to suppress even if I wanted to – which I don't. I'll give just one example of my spiteful persona.
When I was a sophomore in High School I apparently made the cardinal sin of being nice to, and helping her with her chemistry homework, Becky, the senior girlfriend of Winston, one of the seniors on the baseball team. Winston apparently wasn't man enough to confront me alone even though he had me by two years and twenty pounds, so he and three of his baseball-playing comrades caught me after school one day and beat the shit out of me. They apparently believed that their warning about not reporting them to any of the coach, administration, or cops, kept me quiet. What really kept me quiet was plotting my revenge.
I had a number of scenarios partially planned out for exacting my retribution but I didn't think that they went far enough, or they were too difficult to implement, so I was fresh out of ideas. Then serendipity appeared.
A friendly acquaintance of mine was the manager of the baseball team. In our school being the manager for a team got you out of all physical education requirements, and Brian was less interested in physical education than any other person I've ever met. He soldiered on as manager even though he detested most of the players on the team and they treated him like dirt. His father was in the armed forces and had received a transfer to Germany. While Brian could have waited until the end of the year to join his family, he badly wanted out of our school, so he planned on leaving mid-semester during baseball season. While he had told the administration that, he hadn't told the coach of or players on the baseball team.
Brian and I were eating lunch about a week before his move when he told me about it, and that he was looking for some way to get his own vengeance on the baseball players for the way that he had been treated, especially the four that I was interested in. "Let me help with that," I chuckled.
"How so Chris?" he asked.
"Come over to my house after dinner tonight, and we'll talk about it," I replied with a diabolical grin.
I was a man on a mission after school that day. An idea that I had previously rejected as being too problematic to implement now might be doable. In my advanced placement chemistry class, ostensibly for my real end of the year project (I did a second conventional project which was the official version that the teacher knew about), I could make a concentrated form of urushiol oil (the component of poison ivy that causes the rash and itch) and put that to good use. When I explained my plan to Brian, he was on board.
One of the unpleasant jobs that Brian had as team manager was to collect the practice uniforms – including jock straps – after practice each day, and wash them, and then put the clean clothes in the players' lockers for the next day. He did it with gloves on because of the unpleasantness of the task. Each player had his name in indelible marker on all of his items of clothing, including his jock strap.
Brian's last day as manager – his plane left the next morning – after the coaches and players had left, I met him in the locker room just as the uniforms were coming out of the dryers. We both put surgical masks, gloves, and goggles on. Then I sprayed the concentrated urushiol oil that I had made in chemistry class onto the interior of the jock straps of Winston and his three comrades that had attacked me, and we carefully hung them up in their lockers. By the time that they used them the next afternoon any obvious odor would have dissipated, but the urushiol oil would be sure to be released once they sweat, if not before.
Brian and I hi-fived each other as we left school that evening and I promised to email a report to him in Germany.
It turned out to be retribution to the tenth power. All four of them ended up in the hospital because they were too macho to admit a problem at practice until it was too late. "Poor Winston" turned out to be allergic to urushiol oil way beyond a normal reaction, and was out of school for ten days – and a very unpleasant time it was for him too.
As a serendipitous bonus, about the fifth day Winston was out of school Becky approached me after chemistry class. "I know that Winston and his buddies beat you up after you helped me with my chemistry homework, and I know that you got even with him in the most diabolical way," she chuckled. I started to deny it but she put her finger to my lips. "Want even more revenge? My parents will be gone Friday night. Here's my address," she continued, handing me a slip of paper.
After Friday night I was no longer an 18 year old virgin. Although I used a condom – two different ones, to be exact – it was the best experience of my life up until that point. Becky's parting words as I left her house about midnight were "With a little more practice you're going to make any girl lucky enough to fuck you very, very happy." That may have been the best that I ever felt in my first 18 years of life.
Anyway, that little story of retribution is only one of four over-the-top scenarios that I practiced on deserving victims before I went to work for XYZ, so you should have no doubt of what a vindictive prick that I can be.
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In my new city I quickly joined some social organizations, including a co-ed softball league. About the third game a girl on the other team caught my eye. After the game I found out that her name was Rhonda Fleming (no, not the 1940s-50s famous actress). When I tagged her out in the third inning as she slid into second base I was gentle about it. However, to spark a conversation I apologized to her. "I hope that I didn't tag you too hard; I wasn't expecting such an expert slide," I said as she stood up and brushed herself off.
"Too expert for a girl?" she chided.
"No, too expert for anyone aside from a professional, man or woman," I grinned, obviously overstating her proficiency. It did get me a chuckle and a smile, however.
When she returned the favor – without the bullshit complement – in the sixth inning with a "Gotcha – now we're even," as she tagged me out at third base I had an entrée for a discussion after the game.
Since it was a friendly league, after the game both sides drank beers or soft drinks together. I approached her. She was cute and easy to talk to. As things broke up I brazenly asked her for a date, and she accepted. And so my relationship with the non-famous Rhonda Fleming began.
Rhonda was twenty five, a year older than I was. She had a twenty three year old sister, Britt, who had been married for about a year and a half to a guy four years older than her by the name of Jack Rawlings. Britt looked very much like Rhonda, although she was significantly taller (probably five feet ten inches to Rhonda's five feet five inches). While you could tell that they were their mother's daughters, their mother Jaquelin looked quite a bit different. In actuality, she looked like a bigger-boobed, more jovial version of Natalie Morales (for whatever reason my main celebrity crush when I was a teenager). While Jaquelin was likely in her mid-forties she had taken good care of herself and could almost be mistaken for her daughters' older sister.
I immediately liked Jaquelin and Britt, and not just because they were easy on the eyes. They both were friendly, although Jaquelin was much more outgoing. I early on found out that one reason that Rhonda, Britt and Jaquelin were so easy on the eyes was because they were workout fiends; all belonged to a health club, and they worked out almost daily.
While I liked the female members of the Fleming family, I didn't like Rhonda's father Dave, or Jack. I primarily didn't like Dave for the way he treated Jaquelin, and unfortunately Jack looked and acted too much like my old high school nemesis Winston for me to like him.
Rhonda also had a good group of friends, who I easily fit in with. In accordance with my "chill" character, and some apprehension on Rhonda's part since I was new in town and no one knew anything about me, we took it slowly for about a month. About the 32nd day that we knew each other, things changed.
While Rhonda seemed basically normal (except for her killer body) up until that time – and was a good kisser – there was nothing wild or feral about her. When after a Saturday night of dancing she wanted to "see" my apartment, everything changed. She turned out to be a freakazoid, and her particular freaky talent was fucking.
I like both romance and erotic movies with strong sexual female characters, and have seen dozens of them including my favorites Body Heat, 9 ½ weeks, Bound, and Unfaithful, at least thrice each. Not one actress – not even Jennifer Tilly in Bound – had the raw animal passion that Rhonda exhibited that night. I considered myself fairly experienced sexually, but there were at least three new things that she introduced me to that night including teaching me how to execute a "shocker," The Wheelbarrow, and deep-throating my cock shortly after I came in her pussy. She had no use for condoms, no inhibitions whatsoever, and she was almost insatiable. I never thought that I could not only get it up but blast a significant load four times in one eight hour period, but that night trailing into the next morning I did just that.
The number of orgasms she had was almost infinite, including a genuine orgasm while I was titty fucking her.
Before she left the next morning – just after massaging my tonsils with her tongue at the same time that she fondled my testicles – in no uncertain terms she told me that she liked the way that I "did it," and that she could see a future together.
