Listen to me read the story

“Ms Fontainbleu, my verdict is thirty-six hours of community service. Failure to comply will result in a two-year prison sentence.” There were consequences for my hatred of men.

That was the second time I appeared before a judge for road rage. The chauvinistic pigs, whom society refers to as men, crossed my path again. Two hooligans speeding in a BMW on a suburban road swerved into my lane. When I caught up with them at the traffic light, I got out of the car and pummeled the bonnet. The youngsters got a fright when I dented the passenger door with my karate kicks. I was content with sending a message not to mess with a robust woman.

Avoiding contact with men has been my life purpose. I have been single my entire life and worked at an insurance company covering only women since I graduated from university, and I exercise at a female gym.

On my first day of community service at the nursing home, I had to report to Sandy. “Welcome to Greysville Retirement Centre.”

I kept staring at him without responding, feeling foolish for thinking that it would be a woman. My nightmare didn’t end there.

I gasped as I walked in. A lump developed in my throat, and my lungs clogged up as I looked at the emblem in the lounge—Greysville Retirement Centre for Men.

I repressed my regurgitation for the sake of my freedom as I shook his hand. Wolves had surrounded me and were eager to pounce as I walked into the lounge. Unfortunately for them, I was no sheep.

After the tour, I wanted to dart for the door, but Sandy reminded me of my shackles. “I’ve been informed by the courts that I have to sign off the papers after you’ve completed your hours.”

How bad could my tasks be? I figured the brunt of it would be keeping the men company.

“Most of the pensioners are limited physically, which means part of your responsibility will be to change their clothing, feed them and escort them to the bathroom,” said Sandy.

My jaw lowered, and my eyes widened while listening to the death penalty. Physical contact with men equated to incarceration to me, so I stormed out.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of getting your hands dirty,” Sandy yelled at me from the front door as I entered my car.

The one word nobody dared to affiliate with my name was ‘scared.’ I marched up to Sandy and said, “Point me towards my first grind.”

He smiled and showed me. Sandy’s cheekiness reminded me of myself. He was unlike the few men I had encountered, especially my father. 

The arduous tasks of wiping the old men’s mouths, removing their pants and brushing their hair did not get more comfortable with repetition. Most of them treated me with respect except for one audacious soul, whom I walloped when he pinched my bum.

Sandy’s guidance helped to ease the burden of engaging with men. He had volunteered his services for the last five years. One of the things I admired about him is that his smile chaperoned him everywhere. He had a contagious smile, something I had not shown in years.

Sandy often stayed late to ensure the pensioners had fallen asleep and in case of emergencies during the night. The retirees loved his caring temperament. He dedicated a lot of his time to conversing with the men as he felt they were bored and lonely.

I sat in the lounge without blinking, only looking straight ahead. “You okay?” asked Sandy. “Seems like you’ve got something on your mind. I’m a good listener, and I’m non-judgemental.”

“No. I’m fine.” My tone was icy.

Sandy backed off after several attempts when he saw I was not going to budge. I admired his determination, but my past was impenetrable. 

In the morning, sweat covered my face due to the recurring nightmare I had since I was a teenager. Years of therapy had not helped me to overcome the trauma.

At five o’clock as everybody abandoned the office, I could not recollect what I had done during the day. I always feared that the ordeal would affect my mental health, and now, it seemed imminent.

My attempt to be furtive at the nursing home failed as Sandy noticed my odd behaviour. “What’s going on, Amber? You’ve misplaced every pensioner’s belongings, not to mention letting Mr Thompson take his pills unsupervised.”

My chin lowered, hearing the disappointment in his voice. He was the only man I did not want to disenchant. “Sorry, Sandy. I’m a bit unfocused because my boss gave me grief.”

Lying to him may have patched the wound of my mishaps, but it prolonged my torment. I thought about confiding in him on several occasions, but I could not risk becoming attached to him.

After the hour at the nursing home, I drove to the nearest Chinese restaurant since I was not in the mood to cook. The couple sitting at the table in front of me gazed in each other’s eyes. The lady put her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her palm as her eyes glistened at the man. I sighed, disappointed that my life had not turned out similarly. The one thing I knew was that ridding myself of the hatred would open my heart to love men.

At home, I reached for my favourite romance movie. A man got on the bed and slithered on top of the woman. That was all I needed to get in the mood. I closed my eyes and slid my hand up my shirt, squeezing my breast and circling my nipple with my finger.

I unzipped my pants, pulled down my g-string and ran my hand over my pussy. My two fingers slipped inside, making my pussy wetter. I closed my eyes and pictured a thick dick inside me, pounding my wall.

My head craned up, and my mouth opened as I drilled my pussy with my fingers. I moaned and ran my hand down my leg, then tapped my clitoris.

“Aaahhhh. Ah, yes. Oh, God. Yes. Hmmm.”

Fluid squirted out of my pussy as my leg trembled, and I grimaced.

I wiped the fluid off the floor and got dressed. As I watched the movie, I realised that my physical and mental torment were intertwined. Forming a relationship with a man was the only way for me to heal. The decision of which man to target was easy.

I called Sandy to ask him for dinner availability and got to the Italian restaurant early to familiarise myself with the setting and adjust to the first date jitters. My foot tapping quickened, and my grip on the empty wine glass tightened as Sandy’s arrival neared.

As he walked in, I recoiled from the chair and tensed up. Sandy frowned as he neared, probably after noticing my anxiety. He embraced me, and I rested my head on his shoulder and clenched my arms around his waist. That was my first physical connection with a man in years. His scent prompted me to whiff his neck. I pulled back and looked him in the eyes.

As I craned my head up and pouted, the waiter interrupted. “Can I get you two anything to drink?” His determination to serve drinks was laudable, but annoying to me.

I could not believe the bliss I felt in Sandy’s company. His gaze settled my nerves and obliterated the mental torment.

I giggled at Sandy’s jokes, even though they were not funny. His caring temperament spurred me to share specific experiences of my past, but not the most significant one.

The waiter clipped a step with his foot as he approached us and spilt soup on my favourite dress. I flinched and shrieked.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am. It was an accident,” he said.

Under any other circumstance, I would have bludgeoned him, but Sandy saved the waiter’s life by rubbing my arm. His touch calmed me, and I felt ashamed of considering hurting the waiter.

“Sorry,” I said to the waiter. He frowned. Sandy chuckled. “Don’t worry about this. It happens,” I said.

Sandy proved to be a gentleman by paying the bill and escorting me to my car. He stroked my face and said, “Thank you for the lovely evening.”

My lips quivered, and my heart palpitated as he leaned in for the kiss. His soft lips pressed against mine, and his tongue tingled me as he bit my neck. His hand on my thigh aroused me.

“I think I should drive you just to make sure you get home safe.” His suggestion portrayed him as a cavalier to an inexperienced dater like me.

We sat on my couch and gazed at each other. Sandy slid his fingers down my arm and pecked my shoulder. He lowered my shoulder strap and nibbled my neck. My loud moan released years of sexual suppression. It felt so good. He augmented my pleasure by intermittently withdrawing his kisses, teaching me the power of playing hard to get.

He swooped me into his arms and lay me on my bed, then removed his shirt and crawled over me. I did not fear being stalked by this tiger. He kissed my stomach, then dipped his tongue on my nipple and sucked my tit. I closed my eyes as his hand lowered to my pussy. I moaned as he rubbed it.

He spread my legs, lay on me and stuck his dick inside. Oh, God. A dick in my pussy for the first time felt unbelievable. As he thrust, I clenched my teeth, and the corners of my eyes wrinkled. My tight pussy got wetter.

I moaned and grabbed Sandy’s shoulders. He closed his eyes and carried on bobbing, so I put my arms over his shoulders, and his cheek brushed mine.

A few minutes later, he got off me, then stood in front of the bed and pulled me towards him. I watched him put his dick inside me, and he grabbed my ankles and spread my legs wide. My ass was on the edge of the bed as his dick went in all the way.

As I rubbed my clitoris, my face flushed and pussy got even wetter. He looked at me as I screamed, noticing that I was going to cum. Sandy pulled out his dick, and my body tensed up as I squirted on his stomach and the floor. He tapped his dick on my clitoris and shoved it back inside.

Sweat had formed on my hairline as Sandy carried on banging me for the next twenty minutes. I noticed his abdomen tighten, and he grimaced, then pulled out his dick and gushed his load onto my chest.

He fetched a towel, wiped the cum off me and then spooned me. I had never felt more at peace than in Sandy’s arms. He was the only man who I could trust and who needed to know everything about me.

“I’m ashamed of what I’m about to tell you, but you’re the only man who deserves to know,” I said.

“Okay.”

“My father was an evil man. His gambling problem got so out of hand that he…” I lowered my eyes and gulped. “There were two men in the house that night. They demanded money my dad owed them and threatened to burn our house. To prevent that, my father offered…” I covered my face with my palms. “…he offered me to them. They took me, then called my dad the following day and threatened to beat me up if he didn’t pay. He skipped town, and they saw that they couldn’t use me as leverage. So, they threw me out of a moving car.”

My eyes filled up with tears, and my body shuddered. Sandy held me tight to his chest as I released the anguish I had suppressed for far too long. He kissed my cheeks and forehead to soothe me. I tucked my head in between my shoulders, ashamed and uncertain of Sandy’s reaction. He raised my chin with his finger.

“Hey, look at me,” he said. The tears blurred my vision. “I’m here for you now, and I’ll be there for you whenever you need me.”

Sandy’s words obliterated the hatred, resentment and fear I felt towards men. I looked in the eyes of the man I love.

I paused to gulp. The four hundred people in front of me awaited the conclusion. Sandy squeezed my hand to help me persevere. Tears coursed down my neck and onto my white dress. The guests had never heard such a wedding speech. Of course I left out the naughty bits. That was just for you.

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