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A second visit with Murphy

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About a month after my first date with Murphy, I just had to see her again. Working hard to pull it together I scored a consulting job that would put me in Hinsdale Illinois, about thirty minutes from her, for a couple days. I could become addicted to Murphy. Her Irish strength of purpose and seriously good looks are captivating. There’s a character, Nellie Coyne, in Andrew Greeley’s novels that I associate with Murphy. The character is a hazel-eyed redhead, a woman with considerable command of presence who reeks of sexual power and chemistry. The Coyne character is unattainable, and Murphy nearly so depending on the whim of a husband who enjoys sharing her on occasion. She too, is a hazel-eyed redhead. In another reality Murphy might’ve been a nun for her avocation is one of self sacrifice, self-effacement and strict obedience to a superior. The difference is that she relishes wringing baby-batter from a stiff cock more than a nun might enjoy scrubbing a floor or teaching an obsolete catechism to a roomful of bored 5 th grade kids. I’m imagining her as Sister Mary Murphy, from Our Lady of Bodily Charms. She ministers to those entrusted to her care and she does so joyfully, adroitly, dragging her body through bayan escort beylikdüzü the muck and mire of human sexuality to leave men spent. Is the deeply relaxed well being we call pussy-whipped comparable to the Catholic construct called a state of grace? Both conditions bring peace of mind – maybe so. Perhaps God in His wisdom blessed Murphy and said, “I made you to fuck, to be attached to a cock, many cocks. You are for man’s pleasure and for you to take pleasure in doing that well.” Perhaps God had a woody the day she was conceived. A shrink might wish to write a white paper on Murphy. He might divine a Freudian basis for her proclivities. Perhaps he’d wax philosophical on her rebellion against a repressive, chastising, hypocritical Catholicity where girls having ‘impure’ thoughts were tramps and whores, while their priests are fucking kids and somehow that’s acceptable. He might want to write about Oedipal impulses and parenting. Whatever his loftiness for a scientific paper in the journals, his opus might never reach peer review or publication. Why? I’m imagining Murphy on his patient couch with her skirt ‘accidentally’ open just enough. Her panties might just be escort bayan beylikdüzü off to one side revealing her fleshy, engorged labia. Putting herself on display excites Murphy and so, as the session wore on, her heady musk would permeate the room. Perhaps her own feminine bouquet is blended with the pungent scent of semen from a man she was directed to service before her visit to the shrink. With his mentality reshaped by the compelling sight of a supine Murphy, her charms wet and ready, and the disquieting aromas of her nether regions, might a man abandon strict canons of medical ethics and discharge his testicles deeply, almost violently, into her body? Would he succumb to a desperate effort to displace whatever sperm was in her body with his own? He would ever catch-on that Murphy was directed to seduce him? That’s Murphy and I just had to see her again. This trip I ‘borrowed’ Murphy for a day and a night. We drove north for a tourist trek along Chicago’s Lakeshore Drive. We sculpted the fantasy like we were on a honeymoon. We walked as lovers, spoke as lovers, shared meals as lovers, held each other as lovers and fucked like alien beasts on amphetamines. Our first kayaşehir escort stop was the John Shed Aquarium, where we enjoyed the sensuality of huge water animals gliding nearly effortlessly through the clear water. I hugged Murphy warmly from behind, the scent of her hair and the closeness of her soft body driving wood unseen but turgid against her bottom. Sometimes Murphy would push back against it, nearly driving me wild. My arms around her placed my hands atop her full breasts and when no one was near I’d let them slip lower for a finger to stray against the side of an erect nipple. There was something about the sharks that seemed to bolster the sensuality in both of us. I think it was the power in those creatures and the inherent danger they might pose but not for the thick glass of the tank wall. Our next stop was the planetarium where the soft ethereal music and darkness of a star show gave occasion for soft kisses and intimate touches unseen by our fellow ‘stargazers.’ I’ve had a bad habit of falling asleep during such shows with my wife over the years but touching Murphy had me anything but sleepy! A classical concert was scheduled at the Grant Park and coincidentally it was Ravel’s ‘Bolero” a pulsing, heady mix of sensual music and so rather than have dinner in a quiet restaurant we opted to pick up sandwiches, fruit and wine to picnic in the park. Buckingham Fountain was lit beautifully and the increasingly dramatic music had me wondering if I could hold back from humping Murphy right there on the lawn.

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