Napoleon mon amour
December 1, 2005
Ok it happened. Wednesday night I finally saw Napoleon alone after one whole week and he couldn’t hold his erection for long. Now, this week his girlfriend was here let’s call her, Josephine, and I had a fight with my mom.
I called him in tears and he calmed me down. He told me, “man yekii keh nokaretam,” That was sweet and made me feel better. That night he invited me over to his place to watch Real Madrid play Barcelona. They both were nice and he was all civility. He asked me over almost every night since-- but Josephine being there we could not do anything.
Until last night. We had planned to meet last night, which began the week that Josephine has her son with her and Napoleon sleeps at his own place. I, of course, not having anyone else at the moment was dying to see him. Also, seeing him so often even if it is with Josephine and his attentiveness toward me when I am feeling down makes me want him more sexually. Women get turned on by kindness if it is not overbearing.
He called me around eleven and I went over. I was wearing a tight jean skirt with a slit up the middle and back and fishnet stockings and a very low cut black sweater and an at- -least-one-size-too-small black, satin bra. They could have written on my forehead ‘meekhaad emshab bedeh.’
We sat down on the same couch I had spoon fed profiteroles to Josephine the night before. We drank and smoked a joint and necked. He told me I looked sexy and buried his head in my breasts biting them hungrily. It did not take long before he took me to his room. We undressed in a hurry. But he lost his erection. Not one to be put off by a little technical set back I started giving him a blow job. Once hard he pulled me off and turned me over and entered me but went limp not long after that. He then kissed me and told me he was not, “en forme,” as the French say. I asked him if he had slept with Josephine or someone else earlier. He told me that the culprits were work worries and the drinking.
He started kissing me and touching me and tried to make me come. I got so turned on that I took him in my mouth for one more try. I used to play basketball with the same dedication when I was a teen. Anyway I got him hard enough to penetrate me and reach what seemed like an enjoyable, much appreciated, orgasm. That night it was so hard to leave him. I so wanted to sleep in his arms till morning. A sense of sadness--a premonition of a loss took over me and lays heavy on my heart as I write.
Now, I am experienced enough to know that even the most virile of men have problems from time to time. I cannot blame my weight gain like I did in my marriages because in fact I have lost at least ten kilos since I started this affair with him. But I am insecure being still rather on the heavy side and forty-five. Also, I think that ever since I stopped sleeping with other men and showed that I love him he must have lost interest in me. Men don’t want their mistresses to love them. Napoleon certainly likes it more when others fuck me. If I belong to him alone he will lose interest. In fact he has already. I, too, probably have fallen for him because he is so unavailable. It is unbelievable that after so many lovers, two husbands and two cesareans I still fall in love like this. I am so scared of losing what I have with him-- I cannot breathe.
This is the predicament of those of us who have guts but are fragile. All my adult life I have tried to find someone who would not be afraid of that combination in a woman—or who would a least discern it. I have yet to find him/her. I know, baazi eshkanak daareh saar shekastanak daareh. I am too poroo to stop playing the game but too fragile to actually play it. So I keep playing and getting hurt.