Read Online Not Your Ordinary Housewife: How the man I loved led me into a world I had never imagined by Nikki Stern - Free Book Online Page A

park-bench-style seating. We thought it all incredibly romantic and couldn’t wait to get back to our room.
    Paul was tender and passionate, telling me it was the happiest day of his life.
    ‘We’ll grow old together,’ he said, smooching me.
    I in turn told him how he fulfilled all my needs. ‘I’ll never want anyone else—you’re perfect.’ I’d taken my wedding vows very seriously and intended to always stand by him.
    Suddenly Paul produced my wedding present: a new vibrator— with clit tickler. Using assorted items from the room, such as the belt from his jeans, he lightly immobilised my hands and feet so I was spread-eagled on the mattress.
    ‘Lean back and enjoy,’ he commanded. ‘I’ll have you begging for more in no time.’
    With a makeshift blindfold, I let him transport me. He told me not to resist; his kisses and caresses covered my body. He focused at first on my nipples, flicking them with his tongue, then twirling and pinching them; later, my clitoris, manipulating it with his fingers and tongue. However, as I’d climb towards orgasm, he’d stop abruptly, telling me he loved me but I’d have to wait. After a pause he’d recommence, using the vibrator to maximum effect—inserting, removing and re-inserting it as the tickler buzzed playfully on my clit.
    And then he took out the vibrator and entered me for a bit, before stopping again. Then re-entering, doing this over and over (as I vascillated between agony and ecstasy), all the time staying hard. He was right—I wanted more. He was driving me wild. And finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he thrust into me, pumping me in a frenzied fashion as he shoved the vibrator into my anus.
    We came together almost instantaneously and I lay gasping in his arms. ‘I always thought you’d like a bit of B& D,’ he snickered.
    Our debauched afternoon in bed continued with more sex and champagne. Later we lay on the mattress in a state of post-coital exhaustion. We had left the rat with food and water on top of the wardrobe, the wooden cleating around the perimeter providing an enclosure. But suddenly Chaimie launched himself from the wardrobe. He must have taken a running jump, because he landed on the bed covers, narrowly missing our faces.
    ‘Holy fuck!’ said Paul. ‘Chaimie can fly.’
    I was in hysterics. Admittedly, it had felt funny having sex with the rat scurrying around on top of the wardrobe. There was no point putting him back there now, though, because he’d learnt how to escape—I knew how smart rats were.
    Paul was laughing too. He said we had no choice but to let him run round the room. ‘Be careful if you open the door though—he might escape.’
    ‘But there’s going to be rat shit everywhere,’ I said, realising that we were going to have to take him with us whenever we went out. I told Paul I flatly refused to carry Chaimie around, since it was his stupid idea to bring him.
    Later that night, there was a fracas in the street below our hotel room. Paul went to investigate while I stayed put and took photos of the disturbance. Soon after, two bobbies turned up and arrested someone.
    We spent the remainder of our wedding night in conjugal bliss, with the rat running around the room and periodically making squeaking noises. It was without doubt a most unusual wedding day, but we were happy.

    Ever since reading Bruce Carter’s The Children Who Stayed Behind , I had wanted to visit Brighton. We now had the opportunity to travel there for the briefest of honeymoons. The pier and foreshore provided excellent subjects for colour photography using Paul’s camera. I’d been having trouble with mine and was devastated to discover that some black-and-white negatives had been destroyed— including my photos of Dachau and Richard Brautigan.
    It was with some relief that we finally arrived back in Amsterdam. Again Paul carried Chaimie through Customs as I nervously watched him. There were letters galore waiting for me; among