Not Your Ordinary Housewife: How the man I loved led me into a world I had never imagined by Nikki Stern Page A

panted:
    ‘Take it all—to the hilt!’ I opened my gullet so as not to gag and, as I relaxed my throat, I could feel him deep within as his hot semen spurted into me.
    Apparently, I was a good pupil, because Paul told me it was the best blow job he’d ever had.

    We were still frequenting the Milky Way and Paul had found a leaflet with a timetable of events for a forthcoming poetry festival.
    ‘Why don’t we check this out,’ he said. ‘It’s called the One World poetry festival and they have readings and book signings.’
    I looked at the flyer. ‘Look,’ I said excitedly, ‘there’s that writer I told you about—Richard Brautigan, my second favourite author. He’s not exactly a household name, but he’s up there with Kerouac and Ginsberg. A beat poet of the 1970s. I’ve gotta go see him.’
    So one evening, we took the half-hour bus ride downtown and seated ourselves in the large Milky Way theatre. There he was, tall and lanky with thinning blond hair, looking exactly as he did on the cover of his books. I sat enthralled as he recited poems and passages from some of his many works.
    At the conclusion of his reading, I told Paul I wanted to meet him. Paul could see I was shy and immediately took the initiative: Richard was talking to some fans at the front of the stage and Paul walked up to him.
    ‘Hi, I’m Paul Van Eyk and this is my fiancée Nikki Stern. She’s a big fan of yours and has read all your books.’
    ‘Well, I’m glad someone in Amsterdam has heard of me,’ Richard said sardonically. Admittedly, there had been a very small crowd at his reading.
    Realising that Paul was a local, he complimented him on his excellent English. ‘Hey, how about we go get a drink and you can explain Holland to me,’ Richard suggested.
    At the bar, Richard ordered double vodkas, insisting that it was Paul’s job to keep his glass full. I was not used to so much alcohol, but the two of them were bantering unself-consciously and obviously hit it off. I was astounded at the quantity of spirits Richard was imbibing: his speech, barely slurred, was remarkably coherent. I listened to his stream of anecdotes and watched as his trademark moustache constantly dripped with drink.
    ‘Listen,’ Richard said, ‘I’d really like to get laid tonight. Why don’t you see if you can get me one of these Dutch girls?’
    ‘I’ll try,’ said Paul, ‘but don’t hold your breath. They’re pretty picky. I’ll tell them you’re a world-renowned poet, novelist and counter-culture hero—that might help.’
    I was feeling somewhat uncomfortable as Paul made the rounds of the room, trying to procure someone for Richard. Eventually, he returned to us at the bar, looking slightly abashed: ‘Sorry, mate. No luck.’
    Apparently Paul had asked anyone he thought was a likely starter: ‘How would you like to sleep with a world-famous beat poet?’ Some of them were interested—but in Paul, not Richard. He apologised for his failure, but then became brutally frank: ‘I mean, be realistic. You’re what, fifty-something? And they’re all twenty-something.’
    Since we had already been drinking with him for several hours, Paul offered to take Richard to the red-light district.
    ‘Okay. I’d really like a Japanese hooker,’ he drawled. ‘You can be my minder and interpreter—my guardian angel. I like you. I can’t believe you’re only nineteen—you’re a very bright boy with a big future.’
    ‘Thanks,’ said Paul. ‘How about we all pose for a photo—I’m sure Nikki would love one of the three of us.’
    It took some fast talking by Paul to persuade Richard, as he was obviously not comfortable with being photographed. Finally, the three of us sat on the first-floor stairs with Richard in the middle while Paul called in a favour from one of the Milky Way staff. I could hardly wait to get the film developed.
    The walk to the red-light district was difficult in my high heels. I’d not anticipated such a lengthy