The McCain Marriage Contract

Keep your friends close, keep your enemies closer. This was the strategy I employed with Valerie. I would respect and pamper her the much I could until I extracted the true terms of her deal with my dad. I didn't know what it was exactly but as long as it involved Tony McCain, it had to be shady. Plus Valerie wasn't a saint and I hadn't forgiven her for the manner in which she hurt and humiliated me. Many years may have passed but there were some wounds even the longest stretch of time could not heal. We were rivals whether she knew it or not, and not even the perfect sex we had could change that.

Talking about the sex, it truly was perfect. Beautiful, blissful perfection. It was still very difficult to believe I was her first. Her history did not exactly match this, especially also considering that she was still best friends with my dad. But unless she had a really good vaginoplasty done before we had sex, there was no other explanation for the pain I saw in her face when I first entered her or the drops of blood that stained the sheets. And she was a novice, too. I had to instruct her on different things like how to arch her back so that her ass assumed its most-rounded orientation when I entered her from behind. Plus she had a box of sex toys she was unsure how to use; I doubted she knew their names at all. If all of this was an act, then Hollywood had to hire her soon because she had raw, untapped talent.

I always desired Valerie's body the second I was out of it. What I felt for her was beyond my control, like I was in a strong magnetic field of which she was the center. I desired her body and sometimes I craved the relationship we once had and lost. I couldn't deny that a part of me still loved her like I once did when I was a hormonal teenager. But now I listened to my brain more than I did my genitals and I had to accept that we were both playing a silent game of wits, each of us trying to outsmart the other secretly while playing the perfect couple in public. We had even graduated to making public appearances, walking hand-in-hand, and letting the paparazzi have their fill of our pictures. The blogs were not left out as they came up with hashtag after hashtag, calling us couple goals and such. It was exhilarating, all of what the media said about us, and a part of me sometimes wanted them to be true. But that was never going to happen; it was all a big fat lie.

With or without meaning to, Valerie had changed my life in more ways than I ever thought possible. For one, I did not desire any other female but her. I couldn't explain this big turnaround. It was just like it used to be when we were younger, when she was all that my eyes wanted to behold, when she was all that truly mattered to me. After that, I became what the woke society called a "man-whore" and I messed around with all females that crossed my path. The might of my father overtook me. The more females I slept with, the more I wanted to sleep with. It seemed like there was some gulf inside of me that I needed to fill desperately. And since none of the women could fill it I just kept on fucking them on and on. However, the minute I got married to Valerie, I could not do anything with anyone else. I tried a couple of times in the Maldives to no avail. I was unable to sustain an erection. It was as though when the penis got hard for the few seconds it did, it was just to remind me that I still had nerves that were a bit functional and reactive. But they were unwilling to get to work and even the different shapes and sizes of the girls, and all the wonders they did with their bodies did not change that.

I was not a very superstitious person but maybe I needed to be because none of this made sense to me any longer. What if Valerie was using some supernatural powers on me? I had heard of something in Africa called 'kayanmata' that women usually drunk, ate, rubbed on different body parts, or even wore; the purpose was to make men literally swear allegiance to their pussy. However, the effect was only activated when there was actual intercourse, until then its powers remained dormant. But from the moment Valerie and I got married, even before we had sex I could not envision myself with any other person, not even for casual sex. It was a lot more than any African fetishism could explain. I was totally hooked on her body.

Valerie was taking ages to prepare for our dinner and so I decided to check on her. I went into her bedroom which used to be mine -- my master bedroom -- and knocked twice. Without waiting for a response I opened the door and what I saw surprised me.

It was just for a moment, a very brief moment because the second she saw me she put all of it away and forced a smile, but I could swear that I had just seen Valerie Jensen-McCain, my own wife, sewing up a portion of her dress with a thread and needle.

I apologized for the intrusion and left the room but I had a lot to think about. There was no way in hell she was that broke. It just didn't make sense. Besides I was sure my dad was giving her money. Even if he wasn't paying her for the

marriage, I was almost certain he gave her some money every now and then. Dad was always very generous with the ladies, and he was particularly fond of Valerie. I just could not believe that she was too poor -- or was it too miserly? -- to get herself new clothes. I had long ago noticed that she only had a few dresses that she wore on repeat, all those her long dresses that hid her scars. I had just assumed she wasn't so materialistic and all.

There was something really interesting at play here, more interesting than I earlier thought. And I knew I had work to do.