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THE STRINGPOINT GROUP

"His fingers disappear in my jeans"

Friday

I don't understand how I could be stupid enough to ask Mark to leave his wife for me. I've tried so many times and know he hates it when I make myself tearful and pleading. It works better when I try to be tough and independent. When we see each other again next Thursday, I will behave differently. And until then, I'm going to take a look at how I could become a successful influencer. I don't have 1000 followers on Instagram yet and I have no idea how I could increase it. I put on LinkedIn that I am available again for artist management and PR jobs and I look for ways to possibly buy new followers. I just have no idea how I would pay for it. I wish I could think of someone to help me but can't think of anyone other than my sister. Well, I'll just call her. She's not mad at me anymore. Yet Frederique sounds more defensive than usual on the phone. It's only when I try to flatter her with the words that I don't know anyone who can advise me better than she does that she thaws out a bit. “Come and have lunch on Sunday,” she says. "Are you taking Ella with you?"

Sunday

I'm a little nervous when I drive to Ouderkerk with Ella. No matter how I twist or turn it, there is always a brooding atmosphere between my brother-in-law Maarten and me. I don't think he's that nice at all, but he's so handsome that I always want to jump on him when I see him and I think that's completely mutual. Anyway, it has almost led to a breakup between my sister and him and my sister and me at one point. So I just put on a little mascara and put on an old sweater and jeans to be as sexless as possible. Maarten is in the kitchen. He looks ridiculously sexy in a leather apron. I get a kiss on my cheek and he lets his eyes slide down my body from top to bottom. I feel my cheeks color and I'm glad we're going to dinner. While my teenage nephew and niece scroll through my Instagram, they provide me with advice. “You have to focus,” says Jill. So pick a topic. Ella for example. It's so cute!"

“You can't do that,” my sister says sharply. “Ella is still too small to have an opinion about this herself, so I don't think that's possible. Moreover, you always have the chance that people will abuse this, have you not seen the documentary by Welmoed Sijtsma?” I sigh. Frederique always disapproves of everything I do. Besides, I wouldn't know any other subject so quickly. I can't cook, I don't know anything about make-up or clothes and I never travel. As my sister continues to preach, I suddenly feel a hand on my knee. It's Maarten's and he slowly goes up. That he dares to do this in front of his wife! I grab his hand and place it on his own knee. "So," I change the subject. “What are you going to do with Sinterklaas this year? Will you all come to me? Then I invite mom and make a big pot of soup.” I look around excitedly. At least that way I avoid sitting alone with Ella on prom night.

When we're done eating, I take the plates to the kitchen. The teenagers play a game with Ella and my sister immerses herself in her laptop with the apology that she still has some pieces to read. Suddenly I am alone with Maarten. "I'm sorry," he mutters. "I just can't keep my hands off you." He closes the kitchen door softly and pulls up my sweater. He pushes my bra aside, kisses my left nipple first, then my right. Then his fingers disappear into my jeans. He caresses me in just the right place. Within two minutes I come to a shocking orgasm. My brother-in-law knows exactly how to turn me on. I resist, step back and hope he hasn't noticed the effect he's had on me. “Act normally, Maarten,” I say. “Do you want to destroy your marriage permanently? Let's just pretend we're related from now on, okay?" Maarten grins and winks. I doubt he's going to stick to this.

Fortunately, no one noticed anything inside. In fact, my sister suggests taking me out to dinner because she has so little time for me right now. "Thursday, can you?" I shake my head. Thursday is my regular night for Mark. Then his wife thinks he's on the tennis court and we do something fun together, like going out for dinner or having wild sex at my house.

Wednesday

“Beauty,” Mark texts. “Unfortunately I have to skip tomorrow. I have dinner, something business. See you next week!" My blood is boiling. Why does he have a business dinner on Thursday and he only texts me one day in advance? He knows how important these evenings are to me. I would prefer to scold him, but given his reaction last week, I don't dare. Suddenly I get the unpleasant feeling that he might be on a date with another woman. With Pauline, for example. And that tomorrow he'll be in the Hilton with her instead of me. And then I know what to do. I call my sister. “Hey Frederique,” I tell her. "I can have dinner with you tomorrow. Nice right? Shall we go to the Hilton together?”

© The Stringpoint Group

 

bron: de Telegraaf

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