Lust 3

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Adult Romance  |  House: Booksiesilk Classic Group

He has the gift of giving people the most incredible orgasms of their lives. The high he gets from it is addictive, he can't think of anything that compares to it. No drug is as intoxication. No trip as thrilling. Nothing, except, perhaps, the one love he is throwing away.

This is the conclusion to the Lust trilogy. Please read Lust 1 and Lust 2 if you haven't already.

LUST

Part 3

 

 I was the kid who always tried to save himself by being a Superhero. Trouble came rolling in, and I’d stand definite, chin to the onslaught, fists clenched. When fighting and yelling didn’t work, I would call mom and dad for backup. Then I got older and moved from my folks to follow money east. Adulthood became the worst foe I ever faced. It  tripped me worse than any bully. I fell, rose, fell, rose, fell, fell,  searched for something to keep me lifted. I called God like the preachers  wanted. I kept saying, God are you listening?  I heard nothing. God, why can’t I find my place in the world?  Still nothing. Damn are you listening?

God being God, was always silent.  Mom said look for Him, because He answers in actions not words. But I never saw anything. I  soon forgot about Him, and fumbled around blind until I stumbled into Taryln, Now she’s all I see. Her face always across from mine, surrounded by whatever dark background I give her. Her lips moving with a smart ass smirk,  “Listen stupid. Save yourself. Nobody can do it for you.”

She is forever cleansing  fire and nourishing rain, mama, sister, best friend, everything.  She would take me by whatever body part was near, and pull me to her. Kiss my silliness and shove me in the chest. “You’re not leaving me. So stop trying to bury yourself.” 

I always nod and feel a smile lift my soul. Looking at her makes me complete. I am someone because Taryln lives in me. That’s what fucking her is about, giving her access to my center. My way of saying hug me baby. 

But I’ve needed more over the last two years. Happiness isn’t enough. I need something more than  the security in Taryln’s arms and  truths coming from her lips. I want the thrill of flying reckless, and basking in constant intoxication. That’s the feeling I get when I make other people cum. The excitement of my dirty little secret keeps me from jumping off a bridge or taking a bottle of Benadryl.

I have everything, yet I take my dick out for anyone who desperately wants to pop. Every time I do, I feel a head in the clouds euphoria that lasts for several days, sometimes as long as a week. The low pay of my stressful job doesn't smother me. The loneliness of missing my folks isn’t as bad. Taryln’s poor housekeeping isn’t as much of a pain. I love her, love her to death. But the girl can’t clean, and she’s home much more than me because her job sucking dicks affords her that luxurity. 

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind her job, the money it brings home is more than my puny paychecks’. Her customers praise her. Lavish gifts on her. I don’t mind. She doesn’t get yelled at, made to feel stupid. There’s no embarrassment in looking through want ads, hopefully applying and feeling the stab of rejection. She’s her own boss and the dicks she sucks are the ones she doesn't mind sucking. Dicks belonging to fun loving, polite gentlemen, with good humor, who often give her stock tips. She’s not drowning in melancholy, so I don’t mind that she sucks dicks for a living. 

It’s her niche, like seeing peoples’ lusts and making them cum is mine.

My problems are solely on me.  But the crash after the highs are so damn hard. I  want to slap myself because I’m always back where I began, same issues, same self loathing. Then the guilt of having betrayed my Taryln, going behind her back to fuck and leave in other people what should only be my girl’s. Getting the highs from them that I should be getting only from her. 

I’ve tried to stop, but can’t. I look at other people and I see what I can get from their desperations. I look at Taryln and there is only brightness, a blinding white that I can’t feed off of. 

In the midst of every crash I keep hearing her voice. The sound cleaves through my bravado and gets to the guilt. “Stop burying yourself under shit.  Listen stupid. Save yourself. We can make it.” 

Taryln is persistent, even when she’s not around, she tells me  I’m someone. I feel her voice carrying the words through my blood, into the marrow of my bones. “You’re someone.” Her stubborn voice won’t give up. No matter how many times I cheat on it. Her voice is never failing, “You’re someone.” It has more faith in me than I could muster myself.  “You’re someone.” They are words I can’t corral. They thrash about in my insecurity and spill out of my mouth to the  girl on the floor. “Melody. You are someone.”

I want to cry. Melody is barely breathing. I can see her chest fighting to rise up and grab some air. The color is nearly gone from her face. She has the pallor of an old photograph. One of those black and white lifeless images posted in documentaries. She actually looks like she belongs in one. Not  pretty. Handsome, an odd word for a woman, but it fits her. A round face with large dull eyes that seem more pleading than intimidating. Straight lips with no sexy fullness to them. Practical farm wife lips, a bit out of place on a 22 year old living in Connor Skylight apartments. 

We both sit on the cheap carpeting in her bedroom. I’m holding her hand and she still has the cord that made her cum, noosed around her neck. “The….best….orgasm….of…..my life. Totally . . .the best. . . I’m done.”

 My orgasm was incredible, I’m still panting. But her sitting here dying is wrecking my buzz.  Over it all is Taryln’s voice, in my bones, in my blood, coming out of my mouth. “You said you wanted to cum.”

Melody coughs and clears her throat. “I did.”

“You said nothing about dying.” 

“I said I wanted to cum hard and be happy.”

At the department store I saw her need, it flagged behind her, waving like a banner, she wanted to be choked. I saw her topless with a cord around her neck. She coughed and rubbed her clit as fast as she could to beat death. Nipples erect. Her body stiffened and jerked. Her bottom lip went into her mouth and her head bowed as she gasped. She made sounds like an attacking cobra. Then the pop. The bursting balloon of needs. It splattered wet from her pussy and over the sports drink aisle like a floating vision. 

That’s what I saw. But never the conclusion she had in mind. 

“I’m calling an ambulance.”

“No....Just leave….This is what I wanted.”

“No, you said you wanted to cum hard. Hardest in your life.”

“Yeah….Now….I’m done.”

“That’s stupid!”

“I’M NOT….STUPID!....EVERYONE STOP….CALLING….ME….STUPID!”

I stay quiet. Her breathing slows and her eyes focus on a corner of the ceiling.

“I’m not stupid.”

I want to hug her, but don’t. Petite, green eyed college kid, sitting on the floor in just the panties she had pulled aside so she could rub her pussy. I had stood over her viciously pulling the cord, choking her as I recited all the wicked thoughts in her head. She wanted me to jack off on her as she squirmed.  I did, and  blasted her tits with semen. The splash made her pop so hard she gashed herself  to the bone on the cord. Now I’m naked on the floor with her, trying to  figure how to get the cord from around her neck without her pushing me away. 

“There’s blood everywhere. I’m going to call.”

“You...call...and I’ll say...you did this…to kill me.”

“Shit.”

“I just want….to….go.” She looks at me. Her eyes aren’t as alert as they were in the store or over the dinner she cooked for us. What little shine they had before is gone, but she looks relaxed. “Thank you.”

“Shit. I’m calling.” I’m scared as hell but I get up, grab my phone, and push the digits. The operator tells me to stay calm, as if saying it would magically slow my pulse. I click off the phone and look down at Melody, a bloody, near naked crime scene. I have at most three minutes to get dressed and out. She doesn’t know my full name so I can easily disappear and leave her as a memory.  I quickly put on my clothes and head for the door. Taryln’s voice in my head makes me stop and turn around.  “You’re somebody.” I repeat it louder. “You’re somebody.” The Tayln in me makes me go back and  sit down beside the co-ed. I hold her hand until sirens fill the air, and red lights flash the windows. 

Taryln’s words still coming from my mouth. “You’re somebody. You’re somebody. . .”  as paramedics tend Melody’s wound and load her on a gurney. I thank them when they cover her with a blanket before rolling her through the hall lined with nosey students trying to get a glimpse. 

I don’t let go of her hand so all the gawkers know she’s not alone. I squeeze tight whenever she looks up at me. I smile everytime she needs me to. 

An hour later, I’m in a police detention room answering questions about how I happened to be in an apartment  with a naked girl who has a steel wire around her neck and semen on her tits. I swallow hard and answer honestly,  “Lucky.”

The officers don't laugh. Both stare at me like I am going to hang. Floating over them are their needs, moving images of what would give them the greatest highs of their lives. The big pudgy detective on the right looks like a mafia enforcer.  He  doesn’t ask any questions. His partner  is younger, mid forties, with gray on the edges. He’s the Q and A guy.  Handsome. He uses words like surgical instruments, every sound, every facial expression has to make an impact. 

But  neither guy scares me. I tell them what they need to know before they ask. Starting with the last big money job I ever had, before the recession and my mouth killed it and sent me spirialing. Then the years stumbling around working in stores and warehouses, until I came across a  job I truly loved. “The money wasn’t as large as my big job. This was a smaller company. But I liked the people and I liked the travel.  I think, most of all, I liked being asked my opinion on things. I liked being a resource. I was a resource at all my jobs. I have a natural need to know things, so I try to learn as much as I can. But I’m sometimes slow. It takes me a while to get a total understanding.”

Mr. Handsome askes, “How many big money jobs have you had?” 

“A few.”

“You lost them?”

“Yes. Downsizings, recession. I wish I was smarter than I am. But I’m not. Otherwise I would know what to do and what not to do.”

“You still at the job you love?”

“No”

"What happened there?”

“Not smart enough. Even with things I love. I saw the signs and ignored them.”

I tell them how much I hate interviewing. “One time this manager asked me how my coworkers would describe me. I said ‘funny.’ He looked at me like that was a bad thing.  He wanted to hear hard worker, loyal, a leader. But I think making people feel good is important. Don’t you?” They stare at me with no sign of an opinion.  “I mean everything else is what is expected. Everyone is expected to be driven, hard working. Company loyal. But to take time to make someone laugh. When the day is stressful or boring and everything is cloudy even when the sun is out. To make someone smile. Better, laugh. Isn’t that important? I thought so. But I didn’t get the job. Fuck him.

 “After I lost my favorite job, I sat in my car and screamed. I screamed so loud I could look out the window and see what people were really like. That took away my fears and insecurities. Because no one’s really any better than anyone else. Some have titles and money, but that doesn't make them better. I see  what leaves them a shaking mess. Seeing all that, constantly, just made me madder. I’m a hard working, good person. Why can’t I fit in?”

I know they don’t believe me. I ask for a pen and pad of paper. The hulking one, with wide shoulders and heavy gut, gets up and leaves the small room. In a few seconds he comes back with a  pen and legal pad, I take the items, thank him. Before I write I ask for mercy “Don’t get mad. Please. Don’t get mad. I just want to prove I’m telling the truth. You won’t get mad at me? “

The bigger man looks at his handsome partner. Mr. Handsome answers, ever so nicely, “No, we won’t get angry. Write what you want to tell us.” 

For Mr. Handsome I write six words; slim, asian, medium breasts, small cock. I make sure his partner and the camera in the top left corner of the room can't see what I’m writing. I cover the page like a grade schooler guarding his test answers. A glance at the detective’s face and I see what he wants. One night, a slim girl with ebony pupils in almond shaped eyes. The cosmos in her glaze.  She’s wearing a tight white dress that doesn’t keep the excitement in her nipples secret. Her legs are long with thighs meant to clench and never release. I can see him kissing her, unzipping her dress as she stands nervous in his affections. The dress begins to fall. She purrs and sighs, looks up to him and jerks her face away in embarrassment. I see Mr. Handsome getting harder.

The girl turns her head to watch him as she lowers her panites. I see the descent. The panties shimmer in the light. It’s  some fabric he wants to be soft and slick and stains when damp. There’s big moist circles on the front, He helps her push the underwear down. Puts his mouth on her right shoulder and bares his teeth on her flesh. I can hear her mumbling shit, oh shit, oh shit. She’s in trouble but she wants what’s happening to her. She  nearly passes out when he grabs her cock and starts tugging it. She repeats Shit, shit. Her voice is husky yet timid. This dream of his. 4, 5, yes, 5 inches. That’s the best estimate of her cock. That’s what he wants it to be. Not too small, not too large. A 5 inch feminine cock, pale and delicate. A cock that would break from a good suck and send its Mistress into convulsions. 

The loud pants and mmmmms. I see it all, vivid and booming. Full color images of  blushes and pink lips. Fingernails, bright, manicured, sharp, scraping into skin.  I hear the hungry sounds of two people breathless over a lavish meal. 

I tear the paper from the pad and fold it, lay it aside and write on the next page. Six words that I  protect like I had the last six. Big smile, big breasts, Sweet fragrance. I look again at the big guy as I tear his sheet and fold it. Floating above him is Ms Right, hanging in the sky as his ideal heaven. A girl secure in her weight, her big smile makes all his blues run away. She smells of mom, home, security, love. So much love. She opens his shirt and kisses his hairy chest. She doesn't mind his belly, even kisses it with lips that are very African. She pulls him on their bed. He knows it’s their bed. It could be in a hotel, or a friend’s house, but it’s their bed. No matter where it is. 

She tells him to open her blouse. He isn’t the kind of bull that takes orders, but her voice cuts away his armor and he complies. He’s all gushy from her spell, opens her blouse and removes her bra. This is a girl he knows. I don’t hear a name, but the familiarity is written all over his face. He knows this angel. But has been too shy to properly talk to her except in his dreams. 

Her breasts  spill over her brown chest. He sucks their spiritual milk like a starving baby. “You don’t have to be afraid to talk to me” She says “Tell me about your day as you put your cock in me. Yes daddy, kiss my tiddies, suck them,  and tell me about all those sick fucks society says you should try to understand. You can be open with me.  Call them what they are. Call me what I am. Use that word. I deserve it. Call me what I am while you fuck me. Don’t mind my screams.”

I give the first folded sheet to Handsome, and the second to Big. “Don’t get mad at me. I’m just trying to prove what I said.”  Mr. Handsome reads his and turns so red I swear he’s bleeding. “Don’t get mad at me.”

I’m already braced for their mean glares. Mr Handsome wants to deny the meaning. I tell him, “You want to explore. Nothing wrong with that. No one can blame you.” I suddenly know what to say. The phrases that lower his anger. I know which facial expressions to use to make him feel guilty and aroused. “It’s about seeing what you want. Having it without hurting anybody. That’s it really. No harm. All secret. Late night. Just you. All consensual, except for some nervousness. But you know how to handle that. It would be alright.”

Big Guy looks on, tries to see his partner’s paper, but it’s guarded like a miner’s only nugget of gold. Mr Handsome’s jaw clenches. Tense muscles bulge over his temples. He can’t take his eyes off of me. There’s no malice in them. No urge to choke me. They seem to scream out, help me. 

I turn to Big Guy. “You going to read yours?”

He opens and reads. It’s the investigator in him, no matter how bad he wants to keep the paper folded, to deny me my say, he has to open it and stare into the unknown. 

”Freedom.” I say in the right tone, the perfect mix of sympathy and philosophical understanding. “This fucked up, scared to say anything world, needs more freedom.”

Both of them want to kill me, then hug me. I lean back in my chair and feel a flush of confidence. “I don’t know why I’m like this. But I know I’m addicted to it. I don’t know how to get help. But the worse the desire, the more forbidden, the better I feel when I unleash it. A big pop and I know. I know we’re on the same level. No one’s better than me. We’re one. The job means nothing, the pay means nothing, My girlfriend’s whoring means nothing. My color, my future, none of that means anything. I’m just high.”

They both do the same thing, fold up their yellow sheets and stuff them into their front pants’ pockets. Safe from life’s thieves. They ask more about the girl. “Melody, like a song. She deserves her name, not a morgue number. A name to be remembered and fought over, Will she be alright?”

“Yes.”

I don’t believe them. I keep praying for God to hear me.

There’s a knock on the door and the station’s chief comes in. He seems the middle child between Handsome and Big, good looking and strong but not alot of either. He’s the only one not wearing a gun. “You got someone to see you.” Taryln barges in behind him. Her face in pale contortion. I know that expression. She’s the smallest person in the room but the biggest in scope. 

She introduces herself like a bomb. “WHAT THE FUCK?”

We listen as she tells  everyone in the room what to do. I’m not to answer any questions unless I’m going to be arrested. If I’m arrested then I don’t talk without a lawyer. Is the girl alright? If so, has she talked? “If she fucking talked then what did she say? If she didn’t fucking say this dumb fuck tried to kill her, then why is he still here?”

That’s when I knew for sure Melody was alive. 

Taryln says not a word during the ride home. She literally growls every time an angry turn shoves me towards her. Looking out the window, I watch people walking hunkered in their coats against a cool drizzle.  Their lusts flutter large and warm behind them. Paying attention to their needs distracts me from Taryln’s pain. That voice  inside me mutters and tries to speak up. But nearly suffocates whenever it attempts to shout. I can’t help it. Like a fucking idiot, all I can do is look out the window at a woman getting into her car. Her fantasy of publicly blowing a cock with large hanging balls, gets in with her. 

I look at Taryln. I see nothing but gray. “I’m so sorry.”

She drives like a NASCAR pro. The road is slick with a sheen of cold water  which reflects the street lamps’ glow.

My girl sniffles and wipes a tear before it rolls from the corner of her eye. A bright star quickly extinguished. Her mouth quivers to say something, a few shakes then stillness. She takes out her frustration on the steering wheel, jerking it side to side, getting honks from careful drivers, and the finger from motorists who are almost as dangerous as she is. 

I say nothing. I close my eyes and imprison myself in my guilt. Faces and pussies come at me. Cocks and men with secrets. Too many to count, not that I would ever try. 

The car squeals to a halt. I almost go through the windshield, my seatbelt strains to keep me safe. The engine groans then coughs and goes silent. 

Taryln sits staring at the door of our garage. Our home looks dead in the darkness. I can finally hear the rain.

“Get out of my car.”

I do as she says because I have no right to protest. I unbuckle and get out of the car. She follows behind me, close enough behind that I can’t run without her tripping me. She asserts herself by pushing me aside to unlock the door. “Get in”. I do as she commands, walking through the doorway into a house that’s darker than the night. I kick off my shoes. Taryln hates shoes in the rooms. I hang my coat in the hall closet. Taryln hates coats in the rooms ever since the plague. “Get me something to drink.”

The kitchen is to the left. I know what she wants, fruity alcohol  that stings the tongue but goes down smooth. The bottle is in the back of the frig. Dumb me, never bothered to remember the name on the label. Something a man who  loves a woman  should know, what relaxes her, what gets her drunk when she feels betrayed by everything she holds dear. I bend over to pull it from the shelf and start to read the label with interest for the first time in the four years Taryln and I had shared a life. Gold label on an amber bottle, holding red  liquid relaxation. Big letters that suddenly blur and waver when a train hits the back of my head. The label spits its words at me. Words burst into random letters that roar into nuclear explosions. The world goes upside down, spins and big bangs into a billion pieces. 

I wake up, I don’t know how many hours later.  My head’s full of pain, my eyes can’t focus. Shapes are barely defined shadows that vibrate and hum. I’m on the floor, and don’t want to get up but try anyway. That’s when I scream. There’s a sharp pain from my balls that’s worse than the one in my skull. 

“You better not move or you’ll shear your nuts off.” Taryln’s voice comes from all directions. Pain bolts through my scrotum and  forces me to focus. Through the  mental fog I see a thin metal cord around my sack. My glaze follows it as it threads through a hole drilled in the bottom of the counter, then up. Pain gives details to the shadows. Taryln becomes clear in the splotches. She sits on a counter stool, legs crossed, the ends of the silver cord around her right fist. Purple rings rise from her blunt and spread into the haze surrounding her. “You move and I’ll pull this wire so hard your nuts’ll go flying across the damn house.”

My hands are cuffed behind my back. I can tell from the thickness that it’s a real pair. Not the comfortable ones she and I play with. These are the official cop cuffs she uses on  clients she thinks will squirm too much when her fucks them in the ass with her 8 inch, Joker laughing, strapon. My feet are tied with zip cord. “I won’t move.”

“I know.” She puffs a purple heart shaped ring to the haze. It rises and disintegrates. Its fragments feed the room as the kitchen slowly becomes definable.  “I like heavy pans, I call em my nigga droppers. You were out so long I thought I’d killed you.”

“My head hurts.”

“Duuuuuh. I fractured your fucking skull. I felt it while you were out. It’s soft where I hit you. It moves a bit.”

I start crying from the pain and she pulls the cord. I yell.

“No! Shutup Motherfucker. Fuck you! Shutup!” She puts the burning blunt on the marble top she had always been proud of. The blunt lies beside her smashed cell phone and an electric drill that has stone dust on its bit.   “I’m not dumb. Don’t ever think I’ve been stupid. All these years, I’ve known what you’ve been doing. I could smell it on you. You can’t wash shit like that off. I could smell it when you put your arms around me. I could taste it when we kiss. Don’t you fucking deny it.”

I don’t.  I just lie on the floor, still wearing the clothes I was interrogated in, same shirt and jeans. My cock out of my fly, hard as a stone tube. Taryln always has that effect on me. She’s viagra and Spanish Fly boasted on steroids. Every time she’s around, I get hard. Even when I’m hurting. 

Three more yanks of the cord. I don’t know why the neighbors haven’t called the police, My screams are horrific. “I’ve known.” She starts crying and I want to hug her and stop those tears. “I’m not stupid. At first I let it go. I said, ‘Fuck, look at what I’m doing. I can’t get mad at him.’ All those fuckers meant nothing to me, just money and a good time. I told myself, all your fucks were nothing special. You always came back to me like I always came back to you. I said, you don’t mean to hurt me. You just wanted to use your power. I know how addictive that can be.”

She stares off into space. I don’t know what she’s searching for. Whatever it is, she finds it in the abyss.

“You see what people want. That’s it right?”

I nod. Pain makes even breathing difficult. 

“What do you see when you look at me? Tell me.”

 My mind is working somewhat clearer. Her gray banner is a shade darker than before. “Nothing, Just Gray.”

Her shoulders shake from a short laugh, or cry.  “You know why you’re seeing that? Because I have everything I want.  The home I wanted. Money. You. Fuck I always had you. Someone I thought  would always be mine. No matter what I was.” She draws another puff from the blunt. The cord around my nuts is yanked as my girl tilts her head back and blows smoke rings to the ceiling. She’s the only bright thing in the house right now. “I said, he’ll get over it. He’ll come to me like he always does. You’re a fucking manager. We live in a good neighborhood. I don’t fuck as many men as I used to. I don’t have to. I got good clients who I don’t love. I love you.”

She says nothing after that for a long time. The pain in my scrotum is persistent. I don’t even notice the thread of precum falling from my dick until Taryln calls me on it “Fucking sick fuck.”  She pulls harder. I curl up and shiver on the floor tiles we had installed last month.  “I kept thinking, it’ll get old. He’ll find he has so much to be grateful for. Like I have. Then you do shit like this. Risking every fucking thing. What if she had died? You know your black ass would be under the fucking jail!” 

Taryln drops her blunt on the floor and  hops from the stool. She still  looks like a high schooler. The past years had barely aged her a second. I think tonight she looks older than I’ve ever seen her, but it’s the look of a girl nervous about graduation. 

“Come here.” She pulls the wire and I scream like a bitch and scoot myself her way. My scrotum hits the counter and presses hard on the stone. The counter blocks me from touching my balls, even if I could. Only the head of my dick is accessible. 

I watch Taryln climb the stool, and step on top of the counter for extra height so she can tie the ends of the wire around the ceiling light.  If I try to  stand, if I try anything  without thinking, I’ll become a eunuch. 

She steps back on the stool, climbs down, steps over my head and walks out of sight. The front  door opens. I can’t see to be sure. There’s the sound of heavy luggage being lifted. Taryln speaks up. “I’m not going to let you hurt me again. Look in the fucking mirror and see what you want. Find me if it’s me. But I won’t be waiting for you.”

The door never closes, but I hear her car screech, then roar off. Its growling away is the loudest sound I’ve ever heard. Then a long silence. I lay on the floor alternating thoughts of self loathing and hating Taryln, self pity and plans of how to get free. Every thought, every attempt comes with profound hurt. I bang my head on the floor, but nothing changes. I’m still me, 

My mind starts wandering for company. I look up and see spectral guests gathering around for a visit.

The old man  from Denny’s stands beside five neglected wives I fucked from  the rental store.  Behind them is the college boy who shot streams when I pulled his penis. I told him I wouldn’t tell anyone, and I never did.  More and more people surround me. The busty  blonde exec I fucked in the ass, comes wearing high heels and a long leather coat.  More people flood  in after her. 300, 400. I stop counting after 900. They crowd into the kitchen, moving  through each other, in and out, like well dressed spooks. Four years of fodder, walking, sullen faced, surround me. 

They ask questions and throw down judgments. “What happened to you?”  “Selfish asshole” “She always knew.” “You dumbass, she always knew.” “ You were always too tired.” “You  were always playing catch up.” “The faint smells, all the  minor hesitations, kept giving you away.” “But she loved you. That’s why she stayed.”

I shout for them to go away, to leave me alone. I gave you what you wanted.

“No, You took our secrets and left us  with the fallout.” The old man said. 

Everyone at once began telling me what their orgasms had cost them; needs for more, relationships left hollow. They tell of the harm caused by looking for a bigger fix that never came. The coed who nearly died describes  the shame of surviving. 

I yell, “You could’ve said no!”

Pain jolts through my balls as I try to curl tight. I close my eyes and see what I’ve been blind to. Taryln. My eyes flash open. I’m once again alone. Silence everywhere. Every now and then a car can be heard passing by. For a long time there’s nothing, I’m again by myself. That’s when I start bawling like a baby. 

Night becomes day becomes night again. The light through the window above the breakfast table counts down my sentence on the floor. A squirrel and rabbit looking for a warm place to winter, become my house mates. I name them Harry and No Tail. They tour the place and make themselves comfortable. A couple field mice come to join them. They are all respectful of my privacy and let me pee in peace. They don’t complain about my human stink, or my mumblings. I think, if I have to stay like this, it wouldn’t be so bad with friends like these.

I hear my neighbor the third time sunlight comes through the window. I used to call him James, but Taryln had told me his name is Jamal. How could I miss that? The only other black in the neighborhood and I had his name wrong. 

Jamal  comes in, calling me by my right name. I’m long past being ashamed, so I answer him. I’m over here. Help me. 

“Shit, what the fuck happened to you?” He is not alone. Him and his buddy  look around to make sure they aren’t in danger. I tell them we’re the only people in the house. “Shit who did this?” I  ask to be cut loose. “Taryln did this?” I keep asking to be cut free and they start laughing. 

The buddy looks for insight while Jamal looks for the wire cutters I tell him are in the hallway closet. “Your girl did this to you? Damn man, what did you do to her?”

 “I was stupid.”

He shakes his head in mournful response. Jamal returns with the heavy duty wire cutters just in time to hear my admission. “His girl is Asian. You never disrespect one of them. They go crazy.”

They both start laughing. I’m mad but what can I do? The buddy sees a lesson in all this. “Yeah dem Mai Lings be acting all sweet and shit but you make them mad and they will fuck your shit all the way up!”

“All the way!”  Jamal tries cutting the wire with my dull clippers, *Shit, don’t forget the sistahs. One of them would’ve burned down the house on him.”

“Nah, They would want the house. So they’ll burn him, get someone to come in  and vacuum up the ashes.”

“Stanley Steamer or some shit like that.”

“White women are the worst.” The deep thinker says “All nice in your face, then up all night looking for poisons that taste like sweet potato pie.”

“They’ll be finding them too. Mess your ass up.”

I see what they really want, it’s hovering over them in plain sight. A senorita, hair black as spun coal, eyes just as dark, looking down on the philosopher as she rides his dick like an out of control carousel. A thick curvaceous doll, big breasts and matching butt. Thighs that  lock on and won’t give up. Him clawing the rolls of her hips. Her letting loose wicked screams that have the police knocking at the door with a battering ram. 

My neighbor pinches the cord with the clippers. His mind is on deep chocolate skin, a pink pussy, and coco tits. Youthful dreams, middle age man desires, thinking of an erotic Euro brunette kissing his back and rubbing his nuts while he fucks a Nubian Queen. 

The cord finally snaps and twines on itself. Getting the cuffs takes longer. I’m too weak to yell for joy, the ties are cut from around my ankles and I teeter as I try to stand. The guys give me encouragement, warn me to stay away from my crazy bitch. 

“You lucky we found you. If it had been one of them white boys you would be all over the net by now. Cuz you looked like a fool.”

The philosopher agreed. “You really did. A big ass fool.”

I have to laugh with them to hide my shame. I offer them some money in  gratitude and to keep them quiet, but they decline the offer and tell me we have a bond, no one will know. It’s between us brothers.

They leave and  I spend the night sitting alone in a dark house wishing I was someone else. I’m important, I’m someone. The  words come and go, leaving me sadder with every passing. The mice and squirrel chick from their secret places. I push a hand over my curls and tell my furry friends it’s time I take a shower. 

I  get up and steam the bathroom trying to scrub away my regrets. The water stings and heats up old memories. I open my mouth hoping to drown, but the water floods and falls over my jaw. I’m left naked in the world. There’s an isolation in being trapped in your own skin that’s worse than  any medieval torture. I want an iron maiden to close on me so there isn’t a  body for a funeral. 

The vanity mirror over the sink is covered with fog. I mean the mirror Taryln bought, is covered with fog. She’s the one who decorated the house. I wipe it with my drying towel and study my reflection to see what it wants. It’s been a while since I  last looked it straight in the eyes.

The last time was after a hooker in pink wig and 6 inch platforms wanted to relive the tenderness of her first kiss. It was also the last time I remember seeing a smile on my reflection’s face. My reflection looked happy and proud back then. It had life in the eyes and  beamed of a future. I look closer to make sure this one belongs to the same person. After kissing the hooker I came home,  showered, looked in the mirror and saw the smile. Then I went to the kitchen. Taryln was going to be home late because of a client, but she had packed dinner for me in sealed plastic bowls with humorous love notes on top. 

I stare my reflection in the eyes and ask, what do you want?  I already know because  I see the answer floating, lucid, wide, my face between the hands of someone who appreciates me. To be the hero in someone else’s story. The hands have always belonged to Taryln. The voice that has always encouraged me, always, Taryln’s.

In the morning I get dressed and go looking for true happiness.  She’s not at her hotel.  Not at Denny’s. None of her friends have seen or heard from her, at least that is what they tell me. I knock on her parents’ door in a pressed suit and tie, polish shoes and speak with a professional voice. “Hello sir. I was the one who convinced your daughter to visit you two years ago. You and your wife yelled at her and there was a big argument and the whole thing didn’t end well. For anybody.” 

Taryln’s father starts to close the door but I’m quick. “She loves you. She still does. You and your wife, her brother and sister. She loves you all.  She loves me too. We all failed her though and she ran away. I hurt her because I thought about myself and not her.  I’m going to look for her. You can help me or not. But when I find her, I’m going to listen to her and make sure she never feels abandoned or small again.”

Her father keeps the door open and calls his wife. They stand in the doorway of their large house and hold each other by the waist. I repeat to her what I had said to him. My voice is prim but strained. I can see she feels it. Her mouth tightens, her posture stiffens. She’s regal  just like her daughter. “When you find her. Tell her she can always come home. “

I promise her I will. We don’t hug, no melodramatic gestures. I turn and get in my car. I drive a mile from their house and park on the side of the road. Bright day falling on me. Birds chirp. I close my eyes and feel Taryln inside. I can hear us both whisper at the same time, “Help me find her and I won’t eat any more poisoned fruits.”

 

***************

 

For the past year I come home from work and do what I always do. Search the internet for beautiful asian camgirls and any ads Taryln would have put up. I comb through wedding announcements and obituaries for her picture or real name. I become a  social media stalker, though I never find anything. I stopped calling hospitals because the Privacy Act is strong as a mother fucka. No personal information. Jails and prisons are just as protective. As the world gets smaller, cherished institutions become Big Mother, shooing away prying eyes and ears. I call universities and small colleges. I put out fake job postings for smart asian models in their mid to late twenties. Although I sometimes think my worldly Peter Pan is much younger. 

I take vacations to the nation’s fancy sex districts, and ask expensive brothels for lineups. Taryln is never among the girls, so I go  back to my hotel bed thinking of places I haven’t looked. That’s when my head throbs the worst. I haven’t been to a doctor about the fracture because I figure it would raise too many questions.

Late nights before going to sleep is when I count the days I’ve been sober. 367 and no stranger’s pussy or cock. A year and two days without putting my tongue on someone I only met a few minutes ago. 

y body is bigger, stronger. I want to be the best I can when Taryln sees me. The hours  spent looking for a fuck become time doing weights in the family room. I do push ups when I’m feeling anxious. I lost my job at the rental because I was absent for three days, tied up, without calling in. My mind started tripping  when the woman at the unemployment office began lecturing me on being responsible, “We can’t help you if you won't take ownership of your livelihood. Three days without calling your manager. “ The rest of what she said became incoherent, a sound that drifted further and further until it was an annoying whine. 

The only way to stop it was to speak up. “I made a lot of mistakes. I fucked up. Really fucked up. But I’m not a bad man.” 

I got nothing that day. I walked out having said my peace and eventually became a low wage call center salesman. I didn’t take the job seriously. It was simple work, and I could joke around with customers. I knew I wasn’t going anywhere and accepted it. I dived into what was before me and just enjoyed having a job. My sale’s numbers jumped, customer compliments earned me bonuses. Being in something simple and not caring about prestige or status, is what I become best at. I became a manager in less than a year. 

More money, more trips to brothels for lineups and questions. 

I lean back in my chair. A long dry year and I’m still in a quiet house, dim with no company. I turn on the computer and look through webcam sites, do some porn watching, hoping for a sighting or clue.

I comb through an universe of erotica that  makes me want to cum. I find an artsy video of a cute asian escort calling on a lonely black business man. I do what I have since Taryln’s been gone, digitally replace the girl’s face with Taryln’s. I have lots of Taryln photos stored on my computer to choose from.

The girl knocks on the door and the guy answers. I would’ve run to the door, but he walks casually. I fast forward because I want to cum, not listen to him being cool or her trying to talk sexy. I get to her counting the money. Fast Forward. She starts striping. My dick gets hard. She puts on the lingerie she’ll be fucked in. Seeing women getting dressed for sex is like watching the start of  pagen ritual. I’ve heard the racing hearts and seen twists of fear and excitement send shivers up and down their bodies. The coming through the bathroom door all made up for the sacrifice. The lambs coming to the lord and lying on the  altar bed for their holes to be stabbed.

I see Taryln on that bed, under a black man not nearly as well built as me, yet I cum when he picks her up and shoves her against a wall. The sight of her standing on one leg,  with the other over his shoulder. The sight of him fucking her with his creamed covered dick, makes my stomach collapse on itself. I can’t talk, I can barely breathe. The only word that eventually sputters from my lips is her name. 

The rag around my cock is soaked. My head is thrown back trying to reassemble the world. When I look at the screen the end credits are flashing. The writer/director catches my attention. Rewind. Pause. I read the name again, stare at it, T B Hart.  Hope and imagination go wild as I read it as Taryln  Bai Heart. Bia being her real middle name.

I look up the porn director T B Hart and find a written interview on some obscure site only a porn aficionado would care about.  There are no pictures of T. Hart but at the end of the article is an email address where  questions to the director can be sent. 

On a hope and prayer I type “Are you my Taryln? I have been looking for you. I’ve become the man you wanted. If you are her, and have found someone new, and want nothing to do with me, I still want to say thank you for all that you’re given me. I am so sorry I didn’t appreciate what I had with you. “ 

I send it and wait for an answer. Life moves by seconds, each second is loaded with potential. I see 60 possibilities in a minute. I put Taryln’s face on more porn, search my heart for what I want, find it and blow.


 

***************

 

Another day and I’m rushing home from work. Today was a good day. Corporate noted my efforts by posting my picture on the company online newsletter. There I was, smiling like a rock star over the caption “Earnings And Customer Approval Up 30% At Eastern Center”. I like the part where I was asked my secret, the article quoted me, “Be Happy.”

The first thing I do when I get home is turn on the computer and look through the emails. It’s become my routine. Before peeing or drinking water, or washing my hands and face, I look for Taryln. I used to whisper a prayer, now I don’t. I just feel my gut clench and look for her name. 

After nearly a month I see what I’ve been hoping for. Behind a gold star is the name T. Hart. I click it and read the message. “It’s me. You’ve always been the man I wanted. I knew you would find me.”

I type back. “I had to.”

A response comes just  before dinner. “So what are you doing?”

“Sitting at this computer wishing I could talk to you.” I click and send it off.

“Same phone number?”

“Yes.”

My phone rings and I answer. The voice on the other end is girlish yet confident, the kind of voice you want to hear the morning after the best night of your life. After the hey yous, we start stumbling over small talk and catch up.

“You still have the house?”

“Yeah. It’s been hard but I did  all I could to keep it. I couldn’t let it go. You know, because it’s ours.”

“Your balls with the cut cord  around them are over the internet, so I’m surprised you haven’t been laughed out of there. Or were stormed by the moral pitch fork moms.”

I cuss out my saviors and explain how I was freed. Taryln, always the opportunist, didn’t blame the guys. She giggles and notes “One or both of them probably got some money for it.”

“Seriously, I didn’t even see them take pictures. I didn’t know any existed until you just told me.”  I laugh with her. We get into a familiar groove, talk about how fast the year has sped by, how I looked for her half everywhere. 

“Half of everywhere. You looked hard then.”

Hearing her was like feeling her hand on mine. I wanted to kiss her. I tell her her mother wants to see her.

“To yell at me?”

No. To hug you like I want to. My brazen girl goes quiet. I ask where she is. 

"Put your phone on face to face." I do and there she is.  “Arizona. Lots of girls for my movies here.”

She’s done 124 streams and 12 videos. I’m impressed. I tell her she’s even more beautiful than the last time  I saw her.

“Thanks. I’m making good money being the girls’ agent too. I make sure they aren’t mistreated, or put in roles and situations they’ll later regret. Nobody fucks with me. I’m a rising talent in the industry. My own production company. The agency. I’m working on a sexy fashion line for sluts and housewives.”

I laugh. She grunts. I want to kiss her. We play around, tell each other about the best and worst parts of our careers. I tell her how proud I am of her.

She smiles at me. “You got something that makes you happy. Sounds like you found your niche.”

I ask if she’s seeing someone. 

“No.”

Our conversation lasts four hours. At the end of it I ask if I can see her in person.

“If you come over.”

I ask for her home address.

“Arizona.”  She licks her lips and says goodbye. 



***************


 

Taryln always had a thing for wide vistas. She once told me she wanted to live by the desert where the view of far away mountains wouldn’t be obstructed by rooftops. 

There were lots of places like that in America.  Ocean to ocean of wide open spaces trimmed by mountains. I searched a lot of them, but for Taryln not T Hart.

I think about all the ‘should haves’  as I drive through a lane of mcmansions with fake rustic fronts.  A range of small but impressive mountains stand  on the horizon. None of the peaks are tall enough to be snow capped. They are brown and gray their entire height. 

Taryln’s home is the last mini-mansion on the right. The one with nothing obstructing its view of the mountains. I turn onto the circular driveway and park in front of the stained glass doors. The grandness fits her. High columns support a terracotta awning. I walk up five grand steps and try pressing the doorbell. I see Taryln through the colored glass. Her hand is faster than mine. She gets the knob before I hit the bell.

The door opens and Taryln peeks out. “I knew you would find me. “ 

I tell her how I tracked her number through an  app. She doesn’t want to hear all that. She takes my hand and guides me in. 

The beating of her heart thumps through her palm. We sit on a large sectional in the living  room and talk while the shadows in the desert grow longer. By night, we couldn’t take our eyes off each other.

She leans back and fold her legs in lotus position. “You think you’re fixed now?”

 “No. I’m still broken but I’m managing it better. I still see what people want. I know their dirty little secrets. But, now I walk on by and don’t think about it.”

My girl gets up to bring in a plate of high grade, pot infused, gummies. We get high as angels off of it.  The desert and Taryln’s closeness puts me in a better place. 

She looks out into the dark backyard. It’s bigger than the one at the old house. “Two more  months of streaming and I can buy this place. I’m thinking about it. I’m renting now.”

I swallow hard and ask if she wants to stay here. She answers yes. I ask why. She answers. “I like creating ways of making  people cum, and filming it. I like making them feel sexy and beautiful in front of cameras while I tell them what to do. I get the same feeling of power I had when guys threw money at me for walking in a room wearing lingerie. And merch, I’m starting to merchandise around some of my stars.”

We laugh. “I can help you.”

“You like making people cum?”

Not anymore. “I like  making you happy.”

She  resumes a lotus pose and puts her elbows on her knees and her chin on her knuckles.  “What do you see?”

You. 

“Come here.” She kisses me.  “I knew you would look for me.”

We make love through the night. In my heart I know what she wants, bite marks making a heart on her lower stomach around her belly button. Putting myself inside her is the only thing in my life that has ever made sense. The one thing I’ve done for myself without guilt or waiting for the hammer to fall. I follow the rhythms of her body. We move in concert. A series of inseparable tides. 

I’m happy.

When she cums I shout from the clench. We grab each other and breathe as one. When I cum, she trembles and humps hard on my dick, milking  all she can get. I keep fucking, wanting her to use me for everything I’ve got. I know when I’m in her I’m truly special. She  doesn’t make excuses for me, she doesn't cautiously say “I’m not picking on you, but…” She doesn’t have to, because she doesn’t have any complaints. I’m safe. I have all I really want. Realizing she’s the one, she’s the only one, finally kills my gloom. 

 

**************


I’m a broken person, with little redemption. I’m now married to my precious Tarlyn, a millionaire smut maker. We live near the mountains. Almost every morning I wake to Taryln’s face and arm on my chest, and bright sunshine on white curtains. 

I’m happy. 

We visited her parents a year ago to show off the baby. Our little rolly polly bundle of joy. I have big hopes for her. That she’ll grow up to be nothing  like me. Nor much like her mom. But, the two of us, father and mother, aren’t really that bad. Our production company treats its performers well. They get above average pay. The streaming sites are bringing in good money. We have a row of homes near the city that we rent out, mostly to single moms. We have a strip mall close to downtown.  I have a series of videos on the net summarizing how to write winning resumes, and deliver interviews that get the attention of employers. Things I’ve learned through my triumphs and failures. 

Taryln’s parents hugged us both. They played with their granddaughter way into the night. Granddad came to the car before we left for the airport. He reached his hands through the passenger window and  held Tarlyn’s face, “I love you, Bai. Be good.”

Taryln started crying like she does when I make her cum. She hugged her dad through the window and whimpered  “I love you too dad. I love you so much.”

I turned off the ignition and let them bask in the reunion. 

So I guess Taryln and I aren’t that bad. We’re us. When I look over her head I  see an empty cloud, none of the lusts I see over almost everyone else. She has all that she wants. Me.  I have all that I want. Her. 

A curse is a curse if you let it consume you. If you face it, look down its throat and yell “Why am I letting you eat me!” You’ll get an answer. That’ll be God talking. That’s his way of giving blessings.

 


Submitted: March 24, 2022

© Copyright 2022 Jisilver. All rights reserved.

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