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She*walked into my seminar room with an older man. They had arrived 15 minutes late and, consequently, they sat at the very back of the room. I think all of us have an imaginary visage of what perfect beauty, sexiness and true love might look like... The ideal, imagined soul mate that lives in our place of dreams. We build this visage upon our earliest and most satisfying puppy loves and from our fantasies - including those that have been inspired by hard or soft-core pornography, and from movies, TV shows and books. This mystery guest in the back of the room was the sum total of all those things for me. She had blonde hair, bright eyes, a wide, natural smile, the face of an angel - at least as I see angels, strong posture, a beautiful figure, and a tasteful outfit. I analyzed these characteristics in the sixty seconds as she and her partner signed our register and picked up their nametags. Would they stay to the end? An early departure would really disappoint me! I assumed the man was her husband. Lucky bastard.It was foolish of me to have these thoughts. But I've always been a romantic fool, as the songwriters describe us. "Fools fall in love in a hurry/Fools give their hearts much to soon/Just play them two bars of Stardust/Just hang out one silly moon." I can't name that song, but I remember those lines. Every song that's ever been written about romantic fools has resonated with me. 'Statue of a Fool,' from the sixties puts me in a trance.An hour passed before our first break. Eager attendees captured my time at bursa escort the front of the room. My*mystery woman*and her presumed husband stayed in the back. Forty feet of separation, but I could see that one of my seminar organizers seemed to know her. I might never meet her up close but I'd be able to find out some details. Her personality was effervescent. A knot of people*surrounded her, all engaged in animated conversation. Damn! This was killing me.The older man turned out to be her father, a minister. That radiant smile she wore all the time was a believer's smile, learned in church, ingrained from birth. She was one of those virginal women who projected her purity and love for Christ through her countenance - and she was great at it. Cultish people make me puke. It is so nutty. But when my need to puke was stirred together with my desire to fulfil my*dreams with this woman, the puke part disappeared.Would she be interested in me? Yes! The groupie effect was on my side. I was the great Bill Xxxxxx, the teacher whom everyone assumed was a good Christian. Audiences and my followers appreciated my honesty, my knowledge, my wit and my good character. Indeed, that's not far from the truth. I'm a bright guy and a good person. But it doesn't come from Jesus. No one's goodness comes from Jesus. There are good Christians and bad Christians. There are good atheists and bad atheists. Good Muslims and bad Muslims. Goodness is not based on religion."God bless you, Mr. Xxxxxx." I heard that many times each week. bursa escort bayan Some might call me, "Such a good Christian man." Those same people would bless me every time I sneezed. That may not bother most people but it bugs the shit out of me.At the end of the meeting I*met Beth and her father. Through our mutual friend she became my friend and I, hers. Her father liked me, as did her husband. I can't reveal my exact profession, but, indeed, I became a positive force in these people's lives. I never strayed into their marriage and never let on that I was sort of in love with this delightful woman. More than a few times she was the honored guest in my mind when I masturbated, and sometimes she had that honor as I made love with other women. I flirted with her when the opportunity came up but never did or said anything that was out of place.One day, a few years later, I heard that Beth and Jimmy were getting divorced. "Oh, my gosh," I said. That's terrible." I didn't mean it. In my mind I was doing handsprings. I didn't have a solution for the Christian conflict we would surely have, but I knew I'd have an at bat with this woman. She knew it, too.Post divorce, the first time we were together was at a another seminar. She attended under the pretence of bringing a guest, but she found time to have dinner with me and stop by my room where we immediately went at each other like animals. We fell into each other's arms, engaging in deep, probing, hungry kisses. I did plenty of full body groping, which escort bursa she did very little to fend off. Within minutes we were wrapped around each other in bed, fully clothed. My hand was under her dress, enjoying the feel of her firm, round ass. At first she didn't want my hand in her panties but I was close enough to smell her woman scent and was dying to put my fingers against her slit so I could bring them to my mouth and taste her. Our shoes came off and then my shirt - to avoid wrinkles, you know. We shared more and more deep kisses that were as good as full-fledged sex with some women. My juices were flowing and I made sure she felt my erection against her leg and hip. At one point I grabbed her hand and placed it on my cock. She held on and reciprocated by allowing my fingers to rub on her clit and probe into her slit. I pulled my fingers to my face and let her see that I liked her taste. I rubbed what was left of her aroma on my upper lip, right below my nose. A couple of minutes later I unzipped my pants. "No, don't do that," she said. But when I pulled my cock out she held it like she owned it and said it was larger than she was expecting. I think she had touched only three other cocks in her life and perhaps mine was taking the blue ribbon based on that limited sample size. I put some precum on my fingers and put them into her mouth, which she greedily sucked in. When I tried to go down on her she resisted. "No, no, I can't do that." "What does that mean?" I asked. "I want to lick you. We don't have to make love." That was my compromise for the night and I meant it, but she insisted that she could never have an orgasm out of wedlock. "That's something very special for a husband and wife. I just can't. Please respect me." Oh, fuck, the respect card.