TMI Thursday: Minnesota

It's always delighted me that I have so many followers and readers from Minnesota. It's a fabulous place, Minnesota, and I can say that having visited it a couple of times. Perhaps the winters are a little long--even for my tastes--but when Minnesota greens up in the spring, wow is it a beautiful sight.

My connection to the Land of Ten Thousand Lakes extends well beyond my best friend in the fifth grade moving there. Perhaps that heart-breaking tale is why I found a girlfriend from Minnesota and then subsequently fell in love with her.

It's true; the Ex- was a Minnesotan, complete with that soft northern accent dominated by nasal a's and long, drawn out oo's and oh's. Despite her speech impediment (I kid, I kid), I did manage to fall in love with her and ask her to marry me. She accepted, and so we had to start this whole "marriage and wedding prep" thing.

Which is why I've been to Minnesota a couple of times. I headed up there the spring before I jigged my way to Notre Dame so that we could begin the arduous task of thinking about flower arrangements, photographers, places to get married, and cake. You know which of these was the real reason why I agreed to come to Minnesota. Cake frosting goes so well with 36Cs. What?

Oh, and there was the small task of meeting her father.

I know I should have waited to ask permission for his daughter's vagina hand in marriage--I should have done that with the girl I, you know, actually married, too...but I didn't. In either case. However, I had made the decision to ask this person to marry me, and I was so nervous that I kind of just let it slip my mind. Er, I mean, I totally overlooked it.

Plus, she didn't care. And her dad was okay with it. As long as she was happy and some such bullshit.

So, anyway. I found myself in the suburbs of Minneapolis on a fresh and lovely Friday afternoon with my affianced in her father's huge and empty house. Dadums was still at work. He said he would meet us at the restaurant--his tip!--for dinner.

Which means that we had a few hours to ourselves. In a big, empty house.

She showed me around and we carried our stuff into her room. It was a lovely light blue color, and she had a pretty big bed for someone who was supposed to be sleeping alone. I made the comment and she got that sultry, smoky look in her eye. And I knew it was on.

I slammed her (delicately) against the wall, my arms wrapping around her waist and my hands grasping her ass as I began to kiss her. She fervently returned the attention and began pulling my shirt up off my head. We were going to need to shower before dinner, anyway, so we might as well get naked, right?

And so we did. I practically ripped her top off and threw her bra somewhere behind me. She tugged and pulled at my belt and my pants, finally releasing me. Falling to her knees, she pulled me into her mouth and began stroking and sucking me. After a few minutes, she began to rise, but I all but tackled her onto the bed, pulling her pants down and kissing my way down the front of her body. Once she came to the throes of ecstasy, I mounted the bed and entered her.

Now, the Ex- wasn't necessarily a screamer, but she liked to get loud. Especially in an empty house. She was moaning as I was thrusting deep into her, demanding more (or "mohr"...oh, those delightful Minnesotans!). I pulled out and she turned around, bending over the side of the bed. I came at her from behind--our favorite position--and things got even louder. As I was pounding away at her, I thought I heard some strange noise from the first floor of the house.

"Did you hear something?" I asked, slowing my rhythm.

"It was probably just the mailman. He comes around this time of day," she said, gasping with each thrust. "Harder," she begged. "Please. Fuck me. God, please, fuck me."

And so I did.

I reached up and pulled on her ponytail, causing her back to arch. I grabbed onto one hip and continued to pound away and she screamed and moaned with each thrust. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore and I pulled out of her, pulling back on her ponytail so that I could cum on her breasts. I, too, moaned with delight as I coated her chest with my seed. We both collapsed onto the bed.

And then we heard from downstairs, someone--older and male--clear his throat.

Oh. Damn. If "FML" had been invented at that point, I would have said it. Several times.

Giggling, she hastily got up and cleaned herself off. We put our clothes back on and--red-faced, me moreso than her--we went downstairs.

Her father wasn't an overly large man. In fact, I was taller than he. I was also broader of shoulder and--back then--I was in much better shape. Of course, none of this factored into how imposing he was at that very second when I shook his hand, trying to force myself to look into his eyes. However, his stony demeanor and the way he was staring daggers at me might have played into how I had trouble looking him in the eye.

"So," he finally offered after the initial platitudes about having a good trip, nice to meet him, oh look at the ring he bought me were out of the way, "are you two hungry?"

I muttered something incomprehensible and the Ex- told him that we should probably shower to get the travel funk off our bodies. His look said "travel funk...uh huh..."

So, we showered--in separate showers--and got dressed and ready to go to dinner. We pile into Papa's car and then head off to the restaurant. We get there, and instead of waiting in the vestibule of the restaurant, we hit the bar--again, his treat! After a couple of Manhattans, apparently the old man has cooled toward me. We get our table, and we sit down. The waitress comes over and tells us the daily specials--some fish dish (presumably not provided by the Cat in the Hat), some low-carb offering (we were just starting in with that craze at the time) and some smothered chicken breast dish.

She took our drink orders and let us mull over the menu for a bit. After she left, the Ex's dad--a regular at this restaurant, presumably--said, in a low voice, "You should go for the steak. I assume you've already had enough breast for the day."

I tried to die of embarrassment right there, but I failed miserably. However, that was the only time during the evening--the entire weekend, in fact--that he mentioned our little afternoon entertainment.

That night, when we did it again (imagine this...he didn't protest at all that we would be sleeping in the same bed) we were much quieter.

EDIT: What the hell? I meant "ten thousand lakes". Honest.