A summary of our adventures, which I leave to the experts to develop into a real story
A few weeks after our wedding, we moved to Africa where I was transferred for three years. A beautiful life for newlyweds in love.
As is often the case in such countries, the French expatriates lived among themselves and organized their activities often within their compounds.
During one of these first evenings, I had the opportunity to discuss with Patrice, one of my bosses. Handsome, antillean, in his forties, he is a charmer, a good talker and divorced. But sometimes quite raw in his comments and authoritarian. All young executives like me admire him.
While my wife is having a drink at the bar, I talk to him about our newly married life. I tell him, in the course of the discussion, that among the things that attracted me to Véro were her hair and her haircut, which I adore. He answers me: "I prefer women with short hair, with a boyish look. This androgynous side turns me on, especially when they suck."
Two days after this evening, I leave for my first professional trip in province. When I come back home, one week later, I find my Véro with short hair. It certainly suits her, but we had never talked about it before, especially since she knew my penchant for her initial hairstyle (see the two photos).
She never mentioned this decision to me (except: it's too hot, it's better!) but I still have a big doubt, doubt reinforced because she kept this boy's haircut (and even sometimes a little shorter) during months, until Patrice's return to France. And then, as if by chance, she let her hair grow again.
I would like so much to know what happened during this week..... and at the same time, I dread it. Would she answer frankly a few years later? especially since thanks to Patrice and the months I spent with him, I was able to pursue a very successful career within the company.
But I must admit that I think 90% that something happened. I think it, I have long feared it and I fantasize about it today. The possessive and jealous young white executive has matured.
Sorry for my poor english
A few weeks after our wedding, we moved to Africa where I was transferred for three years. A beautiful life for newlyweds in love.
As is often the case in such countries, the French expatriates lived among themselves and organized their activities often within their compounds.
During one of these first evenings, I had the opportunity to discuss with Patrice, one of my bosses. Handsome, antillean, in his forties, he is a charmer, a good talker and divorced. But sometimes quite raw in his comments and authoritarian. All young executives like me admire him.
While my wife is having a drink at the bar, I talk to him about our newly married life. I tell him, in the course of the discussion, that among the things that attracted me to Véro were her hair and her haircut, which I adore. He answers me: "I prefer women with short hair, with a boyish look. This androgynous side turns me on, especially when they suck."
Two days after this evening, I leave for my first professional trip in province. When I come back home, one week later, I find my Véro with short hair. It certainly suits her, but we had never talked about it before, especially since she knew my penchant for her initial hairstyle (see the two photos).
She never mentioned this decision to me (except: it's too hot, it's better!) but I still have a big doubt, doubt reinforced because she kept this boy's haircut (and even sometimes a little shorter) during months, until Patrice's return to France. And then, as if by chance, she let her hair grow again.
I would like so much to know what happened during this week..... and at the same time, I dread it. Would she answer frankly a few years later? especially since thanks to Patrice and the months I spent with him, I was able to pursue a very successful career within the company.
But I must admit that I think 90% that something happened. I think it, I have long feared it and I fantasize about it today. The possessive and jealous young white executive has matured.
Sorry for my poor english