There is an old saying that a good mistress keeps a bad marriage alive, and as such Marina was probably the best mistress that any man could wish for. Needless to say she couldn't cook for toffee, but went like a steam engine in bed, could deep throat without gagging, and was willing to let me sleep after my labour's were over - what more could any man reasonably ask for?
We met in late 1997 when I was a 41 year old working at a university in Mexico City and Marina was a student aged 19. Mexico is nothing like England so bedding a female student is no big deal, but alas for me I didn't take into account the pecking order, and I managed to annoy a senior figure who wanted her for himself. With my usual lack of tact I just shouldered my way past everyone with my "excuse me, excuse me, get out of my fucking way, cos this one's mine" air about me and left that very senior figure with his dick in his hand - anyway if he reads this then he can rest assured that I stretched Marina's pussy on many occasions over the years that we were together and he need not worry that she was not well seen to. Ahem...
Enough of this merry banter: we are here to discuss la cosa nostra, aren't we? I suppose that you want to know about the first time I had this delightful young trollop across my knee, don't you? Well, it happened on our first date, and before I had even poked her. That's right: her knickers came down for matters disciplinary before sex was even considered... Well, sort of...
We arranged to meet the first time in the university's car park. I need to point out at this juncture that le tout Mexico would not be seen dead in public transport so just about every student came in their own car; thus the car park was spread over several acres of space. Anyway, we managed to miss each other, at least that was Marina's version of events, but I have always believed that she mixed up the time and actually didn't show up.
The second attempt came a day or so later and involved a rather nice restaurant called Sanborne's part of a chain that dots to country. At least I could sit down and smoke in air-conditioned comfort, which was a good thing because Marina did not show up that day, either.
I checked my e-mail as soon as I got home - hard though it is to believe, but most people in 1997 did not have a mobile 'phone - and read her litany of excuses that all seemed to involve a silly girl getting lost by taking a succession of wrong turns. So we made a third date and I told her quite simply that if she was even late, never mind failing to show up, I was going to smack her bare bottom hard. Marina swallowed hard and nodded her head as that information was relayed to her, but I don't think that she really believed me, which was a pretty big mistake on her part when you think about it.
The good news is that Marina actually turned up the third time, but the bad news for her bottom was that she arrived about half and hour late. The Mexicans, like most native peoples, have a very free and easy attitude to time, so when madam did show up, wafting expensive perfume in her wake, it was with an air of total nonchalance on her exquisitely carved features.
After the usual air kissing that Mexicans love so much, Marina sat down and fished a Virginia Slim out of her handbag - Gucci, of course. She sat in front of me with a big grin on her face, waiting for me to light her cigarette for her. That I did, concealing my own grin with some difficulty.
"What are we going to do?" Marina was all wide-eyed and enthusiastic and she sent away the waitress with a practised wave of her hand.
"I plan to take you to Tlalpan," I replied, naming one of the main avenues that leads into the centre of Mexico City.
"Tlalpan? What are we going to do there"
"We are going to a hotel."
"Really?" Marina began to wriggle deliciously in her seat at the thought.
"Yes," I told her, as I signalled for my bill. "Or would you prefer it if I smacked your bare bottom here and now?"
"Nooooo! What have I done? You can't be serious!"
Alas for Marina's bottom, I was very serious indeed.
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