Baby Girl by Hildreth, Scott (3)

“Kelli, the extent of what we have done, sexually…well, it’s just one facet of my sexual life - my sexual preferences. I am slowly, and I do mean slowly exposing you to what a sexual relationship with me would consist of. I am not an exhibitionist, by any means.  Movie theatres, patios of restaurants, and dressing rooms at the mall, those are acts of spontaneity. That is not, in any fashion, the extent of my sexual prowess or interest. As I said, it is a facet. One cut on the face of a stone that will later become a diamond. Do you understand?” he asked in a matter of fact tone.

“Yes, sir,” I responded quickly. I was both scared and excited. I wondered what else he intended to do with me. A sexual relationship with me…I wonder what he means by that. Not the sexual part, but the relationship part. We hang out and fuck with no commitment? I may not have committed to him, but I was convinced that no other man could satisfy me. I suppose that was some form of commitment. Sitting here thinking was making me want more of an answer. I had everything to lose, but the curiosity was killing me.

We were sitting outside in a covered patio area of what looked like an old airplane hangar that had been turned into a restaurant and club. The hangar doors were open, and the wind was blowing through the hangar. One set of doors faced the runway of the little airport, and the planes were flying in and out as we sat and talked. It wasn’t hot out for this time of year, but my tea glass was covered in moisture. I took my hand and wiped the cold layer of moisture from the glass, collecting it in my hand.

“I understand the sex, the sexual part of the relationship. I understand that, but what about the relationship? What does our relationship consist of? In your eyes?” I asked as I wiped the moisture from my hand onto my forehead, and then ran my hand through my hair.

“That’s you and I being together. Like we are now, doing things together,” he responded, outstretching his arms, “this is the relationship.”

“That doesn’t tell me anything. Sex and hanging out, that’s it?” I felt myself starting to get frustrated.

“Are you disappointed baby girl?”

It wasn’t as satisfying knowing that he was saying baby girl to try to get me to shut up - to try to satisfy me. We had started this conversation, and I wanted to get some satisfaction out of the answers, regardless of what they were.

“I guess, I don’t know. I mean, I want to know what you’re thinking long term. I don’t care where this ends up. I mean, well, I do, but I don’t. Whatever you answer, I am going to be the same person with the same interests. But I want to know what you’re thinking. In a perfect world, as you always say, where do we end up?” I asked as I stared at my glass, waiting for more moisture to collect.

“Well, let’s see. Kelli, I enjoy your company. I enjoy your company immensely. I want to make the most of this – what we have, and for both of us to be happy with it,” he responded quietly, as if that solved the questions I had asked.

“No. I want an answer. You talk in circles about things that you don’t want to answer. Us. You and I. Am I different enough? Do I spark enough interest in you that I qualify for something…anything that other girls in the past haven’t?  Is it too early to tell? Are all women the same to you? Is this the same…”

“Stop. Let me try to explain,” he interrupted.

“No, let me finish,” I asked.

“Let me finish, Kelli, I think this will answer everything,” he said.

“Ok.”

“Let me see. You are different to me, much different. This is not something I had intended to talk about today, or really even in the next month or so, but this is how I feel.” He paused, took a drink of water, and continued.

“I never missed my father. I never knew him, really. My mother dying caused me to miss her. I still miss her today. I miss talking to her, seeing her, listening to her talk, her cooking, her smiles, everything. But I have never missed anyone else in my life, ever. Male or female, people come and people go. It is all part of life. I have never sat at home and wanted to see someone in particular. I have been bored with being alone, and wanted to see someone, but I never cared who that someone was,” he paused, looked down, and rubbed his forehead.

“Until I met you.” He continued.

But. Where’s the ‘but’? The however? This cannot be happening. He’s falling for me. Oh. My. God. Is he falling for me? Seriously?

“I have effortlessly floated through life while everyone else around me is frantically flapping their arms to keep their heads above water. I have never wanted much out of life, and never expected much. My lack of expectations has allowed me to live with minimal disappointments. I have always wanted to keep it that way. Kelli, I have no expectations of you, but I know this, when you’re gone, I miss you. I want you to come back. For the first time in my life, I know what it is like to have someone leave, and want to say, ‘no, wait, come back, I don’t want you to go’, he took another drink, and didn’t immediately speak.

I didn’t want to say a word. I wanted him to keep talking. I wanted to know everything he was thinking, had thought of previously, and may think of the future. I sat with my chin resting in my palms, and looked at him, trying not to smile.

“Before I met you, I never knew what it was like to think of someone - and smile; for no real reason. But, I sit and think of you, and I smile. If I am exercising, and I think of you, I smile. I walk through the grocery store, and have a recollection of something we have done, and I smile. I don’t sit here, now, and have any expectations of you staying forever. I don’t have thoughts of being married or anything like that, but I sure can’t fathom having a life without you in it. I guess that’s it. So, what are your thoughts?”

I sat for long moment and thought. I thought about what he had said. I thought about  Columbia. I thought about my father, and what he would say about me being in an actual relationship with someone that was fifteen years older than me. I thought about kids, and the fact that I hated kids. I thought about Erik changing his mind, and tossing me aside after he got mad, or bored, or just decided enough was enough.

I thought about how he made me feel. I thought about living life without him. I thought about what I would feel like if he or I walked away from this.

“You scare me, Erik. Your willingness to toss me aside, your willingness to do without me at a moment’s notice, those things scare me. I wonder about your sincerity, long term, with this. I want, more than anyone, what you’re talking about, and I guess time will tell. I don’t feel like I can give you my all, mentally, spiritually, and emotionally, and then chance losing you. That, without a doubt, would crush me. I am just like you. I have never been in a real relationship. Not a loving, caring relationship - add to that that the fact that you’re dominant - and all I have experienced is one grain of sand from the beach of your sexual desires,” I stopped, thought of what to say, I didn’t want to make him mad, but I had so much to say..

“What you’re saying excites me and scares me both. I guess I feel the same way you do,” I looked up from my tea glass and batted my eye lashes.

“So, tell me about what else you’re going to do to me, sexually. I want to know,” I said, wanting to know the depth of the sexual portion of the relationship.

“I’m not going to do anything to you, Kelli. We are going to do things together, experience things together. We talked about this before. We will, at length, discuss the elements of this relationship from a sexual standpoint. What we agree on will be agreed upon. What we don’t agree on will be excluded from the options. It’s that simple,” he said as he tried to get the attention of the waitress.

Waiting and not knowing has never been a huge strength of mine. I liked knowing what was going on, or what might go on in my day to day activities. I have always been able to come to terms with the fact that life will bring me the unexpected or the unknown; it is part of living life. Simple things like this made me anxious. I wanted to know what we were going to do. We had been together, for the most part, for six weeks. He would probably just fuck me forever and never say anything if I didn’t bring it up.

“Well, I am ready. Let’s make a list,” I said as the waitress approached the table.

“Can I get a refill of water and a cup of coffee, please? Kelli do you need anything?” Erik asked.

“No, I am fine, thank you,” I responded.

He finished his water and set it at the edge of the table as the waitress walked away. A small plane flew over the runway very low and fast, and we both turned to see what was going on. Erik turned back around, and as he started rearranging his silverware, I asked him again.

“Let’s make a list, I am ready. Let’s talk about it,” I asked anxiously.

“Well, Kelli, this isn’t something that we just nonchalantly discuss. It’s something more intended to be a serious discussion, we will need to make notes of what we discuss, and make lists…it’s fairly complex,” he said, trying to dismiss the subject.

“Now, I want to do it now,” I said, again, anxiously. I moved forward in my chair, and reached out toward him with my right hand.

He reached toward me and touched my hand with his fingers, eventually clasping it between his fingers and thumb. He began to rub my palm with fingertips. I love it when he touches my hands.

“We can get a start, I suppose, but it’s just not that easy, baby girl. Let me ask you some quick questions, and you answer yes or no. We won’t go into detail now, just answer yes or no to the questions. Some of these things we have talked about before, some we haven’t. Let me see…” he let go of my hand, and touched his palms together as if he were praying. He opened his hands, revealed his face, and began to speak as he twirled his butter knife in between his fingers.

“Let say, for the sake of answering these questions, we will have four categories. Yes, maybe, soft limit, hard limit. Soft limits are not now, but maybe later you’ll consider it. Hard limit means you’ll never consider it. So, yes, maybe, no, and hell no. Understood?” he asked.

“I read, and I am aware of the soft and hard limits, yes. Let’s get on with this,” I said, trying to get him to get started.

“Anal?”

“Yes.”

“Bondage?”

“Yes.”

“Wearing a collar.”

“Yes. Are we going to go in alphabetical order?”

“You little smart-ass. No, I was just going from memory, and alphabetical order was easiest. Nipple clamps, clamps in general, and being beaten?”

“Yes, yes, yes.”

“Being gagged in any fashion, wearing a leash, being humiliated?”

“Yes, yes, yes.” I got turned on as I thought about him putting clamps on my nipples.

“Role play, piercing, marking, making videos?” he asked, leaning closer to me, smiling.

“Yes, yes, yes, and yes,” I responded, leaning toward him.

He extended his arms, palms up, toward me. I reached across the table, and placed my hands in his. He lightly squeezed my hands. I loved the size of his hands, the shape of them, and how he held my hands in his. Firm, but not too firm. I watched as he held and massaged my hands.

“Threesomes, being electrocuted, and beatings?”

“Yes, depends, and you already said beatings, and I said yes,” I said, scowling a little at him over the electrocution question.

“I said bondage. I hadn’t said beatings. And electrocuting depends?” he asked.

“Well, fuck yes, it does. A little electricity sounds sexy. Actually being shocked would probably make me go into convulsions and pee,” I said, laughing.

“Well, we’ll call it a soft limit - or maybe a curiosity for now. Speaking of peeing…”

“Let’s just cut it short. I will make it easy. No animals, and no crapping on me or making me do anything with crap, that’s it,” I said, smiling proudly.

“Well, that’s easy, but you may not be thinking of everything,” he responded, smiling back at me.

“Cutting, marking permanently, like a tattoo or scar, piercing permanently, or temporarily, threesomes, foursomes, gangbangs, watersports,” he asked, raising his eyebrows and smiling.

“Yes to everything. But, everything involving other people, we’d have to discuss at length. I meant what I said. No animals or shit. Oh, and nothing illegal. Other than that, I want to be yours. I want to make you happy. But, I will tell you this, if you tattoo me, scar me up, and have all of your buddies fuck me, and then leave me, you will be the world’s biggest asshole. Ever,”

“I’m not saying I would want other people involved, I was trying to prove a point that you weren’t going to do everything…or well, that you weren’t willing to do everything. And I would never mistreat you like that, Kelli. I already told you that,” he said as he squeezed my hands.

“I would say if it didn’t involve a dog, horse, snake, or a pile of shit, I will do it. As long as it’s what you want. I want to make you happy. I want to make you happier than you have ever been, or ever thought you could be. What have other girls been willing to do?” 

“I am not going to talk to you about other women I have been with, Kelli. But I will say this: they have not been as willing as you are to please me. You stand alone in that regard,” he let go of my hand as the waitress handed him a cup of coffee and a glass of water.

“I really like your tattoos,” the waitress said as she handed him the coffee.

“Thank you,” Erik responded to her, smiling a half-fake smile.

This happened almost every time we went out together. Some girl would tell him that they liked his tattoos. Oh my God, I love your tattoos…Your tattoos are so pretty…I really like the way your sleeve looks…I really got tired of hearing it. It was bad enough that he was gorgeous, and a Channing Tatum double. The tattoos just gave random people a reason to talk to him.

“What about kids?” he asked.

Oh, this was easy for me, but I wondered what he wanted me to say. Kids --I fucking hate kids. Every girl I know couldn’t wait to have a kid. The thought of having or being around a kid made my stomach ache. When I was in public, and I saw someone with a kid, I wanted to leave – have them leave, something. I detest children. I decided to roll the dice.

“I’m undecided on that; I guess it depends on the person and the status of the relationship. You know, if I felt comfortable, I would consider it,” I said, trying to look naturally happy. I may have even smiled a little.

“You just lied,” he said. His pursed his lips, and his mouth formed a little smile, like he had caught me stealing something. He shook his head.

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

“Because you did. Your eyes. You lied. Let’s do this correctly, Kelli. No lying. No trying to tell me what I want to hear. I can’t stand kids. Kids make my skin crawl. The thought of children makes me ill.”

“Okay, I am sorry. I lied. I hate kids too. They make me sick, and that will never change,” I said, relieved.

He added cream and sugar to his coffee and stirred it. “Let me get a few drinks of this, and let’s get started,” he said, looking up from his coffee as he took a drink.

“Get started on what?”

“This relationship, baby girl,” he responded.             

 

 

 

 

 

 

ERIK. The mention of me being in a relationship, just six weeks ago, would have made me laugh out loud. Today, I was actually eager to see what may happen between Kelli and I. The thought of it truly working was exciting to me. As we pulled out of the airport, and began to accelerate up the road, I smiled.

Not having children was probably the single most important thing to me regarding a relationship. Children bring a certain responsibility that I wasn’t prepared to attempt to manage. Over the years, this one thing, subconsciously, kept me out of several relationships that I may have entertained being in. Kelli not wanting children was a tremendous relief. Even though she was adamant in her declaration of hatred toward children, I wondered about her sincerity.

We would spend some more time discussing children in the future; if I was certain that she didn’t want children, being in and maintaining a relationship with her just may be something that I could do. The thought of being in a relationship with her was comforting. Traveling, vacations, going to different countries, different states, and sharing all of that with someone that I  enjoyed spending time with – the thought of doing that with a woman was appealing.

I had decided when I was young – maybe as young as sixteen, that I did not want children. That feeling never faded. I felt, being an only child, and being the son of parents that were only children, that bringing a child into this earth would be wrong. If I were to die, and at some point in time I certainly would, that would leave a child in this world no different than me – without any form of elder to lean on. No family. Alone.

Having Kelli on the back of the motorcycle was another comfort that I would not have guessed I would enjoy. In the past, the thought of having a woman on the back of my motorcycle was repulsive. Having a woman on my motorcycle was something that I looked at as being intimate. I differed from a lot of men in that respect. Most men that I rode with would give any woman that asked a ride on their motorcycle. I purposely rode a motorcycle without a permanent back seat. Unless I added the seat on the motorcycle before I left the house, there was not an option for a person to ride on it.

Not having the seat saved people’s feelings and saved me a lot of grief. I could count on one hand the amount of women that had ridden on the back of my motorcycle in my lifetime. It would require a tremendous amount of time, calculator, a pen and paper to count the amount of women that could have ridden on it.

Kelli riding behind me felt natural. She was petite, and did not weigh very much, so she wasn’t even noticeable when maneuvering the motorcycle. Her arms wrapped around my waist  provided a reassurance that she was there. Not just on the motorcycle, but as a part or an extension of me.

Riding a motorcycle had become, at an early age, part of me. It was not something that I did because I enjoyed doing so; it was a part of who I was. For me, it was a type of therapy. I could have the worst possible day, take a thirty minute motorcycle ride, and rid myself of all of the thoughts associated with the day. Being on a motorcycle separated me from all of the realities of life; money, bills, requirements, people, rules, and regulations did not exist when I rode. To describe the feeling of riding, to me, would be the same as a bird describing flight. A mode of transportation and a certain feeling of freedom combined.

The small airport where we had eaten lunch was in a rural area between two cities. A series of paved county roads and a highway tied the airport to the major city. I had opted to come to, and leave the airport on the county two-lane roads. On the way to the airport, I had seen a large home for sale directly off of the paved road. There were several fenced acres of grass, a long driveway, and what appeared to be a very nice two story home marked by a realtors sign. As soon as I noticed the sign in the distance, I began to slow down the motorcycle.

I decelerated until we reached the driveway to the home, and turned into the drive. As we slowly rode up the driveway toward the house, Kelli spoke into my right ear. The exhaust noise of the motorcycle typically made conversations impossible while riding, but at this slow speed, there was virtually no wind and no noise from the exhaust.

“What are we doing? Do you know this guy?” she asked.

“No, we’re just looking,” I responded.

She sat back in the seat and relaxed. As I approached the home I revved the throttle to create as much of a disturbance as possible. The driveway circled around the front of the home, and tied back into the entrance. I pulled directly in front of the front porch of the home and killed the engine on the bike. I placed the kickstand down and secured the bike on the asphalt driveway.

“Go ahead and get off, Kelli. Be careful of the exhaust,” I said, pointing to the exhaust pipe beside Kelli’s leg.

“Okay,” she said as she got off the motorcycle.

Standing beside the motorcycle, she admired at the home.

“This place is huge. What are we doing?”

“I saw it was for sale, I was just pulling in here to take a look,” I responded as I got off of the motorcycle.

I began walking to the front door of the home, and Kelli followed. Standing on the porch and looking into the window of the home, it looked vacant. All of the lights were off, and there were a few local newspapers on the porch. I knocked on the door and rang the doorbell.

“So, do you want to buy this place?” Kelli asked as we stood on the porch.

“Not necessarily. I was just seeing if anyone was home,” I responded as I picked up the welcome mat and looked under it for a key.

“What are you looking for?” Kelli asked as I picked up the mat.

“A key,” I responded.

“Oh my God, why?” she asked, with both her eyebrows raised in wonder.

“Because I am going to take you inside and fuck you senseless, and if I can’t find a key, I will have to break a window. To tell you the truth, I would rather not break a window, so I am looking for a key.” I responded as I ran my hand along the structure of the awning of the porch.

“Holy crap, are you serious?”

“Totally,” I said, still feeling for a key along the wooden structure.

“And you don’t know these people? This isn’t a joke? You are just going to take me inside and fuck me? In some random house?” Kelli asked as she looked through the window into what appeared to be the living room.

“That is correct. I have no idea who lives here. All of the grass appeared to be recently cut, but there weren’t any garage doors open when we rode by earlier. It’s Saturday, and most people with this much grass to cut would be up cutting it this morning. The fact that it’s already cut means that someone did it in the last few days. More than likely they’ve hired someone to take care of it, and they’ve already moved elsewhere. The newspapers you’re stepping on mean they haven’t been on this porch for at least a few days. Now, it is Saturday, so the realtor could arrive any minute with a client…here we go,” I said as I felt a key along the structure.

I pulled the key down and looked at it. Schlage was imprinted on the key. Clearly this was a key to the door. I walked to the door, inserted the key, and turned the handle. The door opened. I placed the key in my pocket, and walked inside the door.

“Get in here, Kelli, we’re going to have to make this quick, we might not have much time.”

 

 

 

 

KELLI. I have always thought of myself as a fairly adventurous sexual person. I have done some things, sexually, that I am well aware most other girls would never do. I have also been highly aroused by situations and circumstances that would more than likely make a lot of girls feel uneasy or uncomfortable. In the past, I have wondered if there is something wrong with me because of what excites me, sexually. I have never talked to anyone about it, but I know that there is something wrong with me mentally. Normal people are not aroused by the strange sex, and the strange sexual circumstances that I am.

The things that Erik and I have done never scared me for one minute. I never thought, should I do this, or should I say no. To me, it was just sex. Something fun. I never thought for one minute that it was something that I should consider not doing. I would say that Erik and my sexual escapades have been mild compared to what I would consider doing. When we left the mall, I wondered what he might offer, sexually, that would make me wonder if I had the ability to go against my best judgment.

Going into this house wasn’t that one thing, but it certainly was close. Walking into the house, I could tell that I was already wet. My groin tingled and itched for Erik. I had left my panties in my purse when I changed into my jeans, and my jeans were pressed into my crotch for the entire motorcycle ride. Wondering what he had in mind, I looked around. Surprisingly, the house was clean, and didn’t smell bad.

The home had a modern look to it, and a very open floor plan. The kitchen was in the rear of the home, and open to the rest of the living area that we were standing in. The front of the house, separated by the front door, was two large rooms that were covered in windows. The large windows faced the street that we had ridden down to get here. None of the windows in the house had any form of coverings or blinds on them. I followed Erik into the home, looking around as we walked through it.

“This place is huge,” I said, looking up the stairs that led out of the kitchen to the upstairs.

“Come here, Kelli,” Erik said, standing in the kitchen.

“We haven’t got a lot of time, get in here,” he said in a more demanding tone.

The hallway that I was standing in was a hardwood floor, as was the kitchen. The rooms on the other side of the hallway were carpeted. My sneakers squeaked as I walked on the hardwood floor. I looked into the kitchen where Erik stood, and watched him remove his shirt.

This was the first time I had seen Erik with his shirt off. When He removed it over his head, his stomach muscles flexed. His stomach was flat, but rippled with muscles. He had an eight-pack, not a six-pack. His entire stomach was covered in a snake tattoo that went up to his chest. Both sides of his chest were covered in the same tattoo. From his belt line, the tattoo started, and went back and forth across his stomach until it ended at his chest, right below the collar of where a tee shirt would cover it.  As he lowered his arms, and tossed his shirt on the kitchen counter, his size of his chest was obvious. In a tee shirt, it was clear that he was in shape. With his tee shirt off, it was very clear that he was in better shape than in shape. A small waist, wide chest, large upper arms, and very broad shoulders. The muscles on his chest twitched as he stood looking at me.

“What the fuck are you doing, baby?” he asked, chuckling as he asked.

“Uhhm, I was admiring you. I love you without a shirt on. Let’s leave it off. Forever and ever. You’re not allowed to wear a shirt, ever again,” I said as I began walking to where he had tossed his shirt.

As soon as I was walking past him, he reached out, grabbed me, and picked me up by my waist.  I wrapped my arms around his neck, and he wrapped his arms around my back, holding my feet off of the floor. His forearms were wrapped around my back, and his biceps were on each side of my chest. As he held me, his bicep muscles flexed. His body drove me crazy.

Something about being in this house, having him standing there in his jeans and boots without a shirt was more than I could handle. I felt like putty in his arms. I wrapped my legs around his waist and locked my toes together. One of his hands slid up my back, and grasped the back of my head, holding it firmly. As he held my head, he turned it to the side, and began to kiss me.

His lips met mine, and he pressed the back of my head to force my face hard against his. Our tongues found each other and began to tangle in my mouth. His hand slid from the back of my head, and touched my face. His fingers on one side of my face and his thumb on the other, we continued to kiss. He slowly began to spin in circles as I held myself tight to him with my arms around his neck and my lags around his waist. He moved my face with his hand as we kissed, making my mouth meet his perfectly as if it were a missing puzzle piece snapped into place. Erik’s kisses were wet and his lips were soft, but they were not sloppy.

He held my head in place, and continued to kiss me. His kisses drove me crazy. I wanted his kisses to last forever. Kissing Erik made all other things small. Life, entirely, became unimportant and insignificant when we kissed. Nothing else mattered but the kiss. I had no idea of whether or not it was night or day, which direction I faced, or where I was. It was just Erik and I and the kiss. The three of us. The three of us melted into one. I could feel his heart beating against my chest. As our lips parted, I took a shallow breath and looked into his eyes. His mouth slightly open, softly, he spoke.

“Kiss me, Kelli. Fucking kiss me.”

We continued to kiss, his hand on my face the entire time. His tongue slid past my lips, and licked and darted across my top lip. Out warm, wet lips met again, warm and wet, pressed against each other - held into place perfectly by his hand. His finger lightly traced along my chin, and to my lips. As we kissed, his finger traced the outline of my upper lip. Our lips parted and he touched my lips with his index finger, circling around my upper and lower lips entirely. I licked the tip of his finger. I opened my mouth and began to suck on his finger, pressing it to the roof of my mouth with my tongue. I slid my mouth up and down along the length of his finger. As I kissed and sucked his finger, he carried me to the island in the center of the kitchen.

Standing at the end of the island, he bent over and lowered me onto the island. As my back touched the island, I released my legs from his waits, and let go of his neck. I grabbed each edge of the countertop and gripped it tightly. Laying there on my back, my mind racing, I stared at his muscular upper body. I wanted him to take me, but I wanted it to be his way. I wanted him to do whatever he wanted to do to me…however he wanted to do it. Take me. Fuck me. Fuck me now, I can’t take this anymore. God, I wanted him so bad… shove me full of your cock…make me scream.

Standing at the end of the island, he unbuttoned my jeans, grabbed the material on the thighs, and pulled them down. When they met my shoes, he pulled my shoes off, and dropped them. As my jeans hit the floor, he picked my shoes up, and slid them back onto my feet. He grabbed my ankles, and raised my legs up until my feet were on top of the counter top.

Extending his arms, he pressed my feel back until my heels were at my butt. With my legs bent, he reached around the outside of them, and grasped my thighs with his hands, pulling them apart. He edged his wide upper body between my thighs, and kissed my stomach. His mouth slid to my hip bone, and his tongue began to circle around my hip bone. As tongue circled around the bone, he sucked and licked the tip of the bone. It was driving me crazy. I started to squirm and laugh and tingle all over.

“Hold still baby girl. Hold still. I need you to do something for me,” he said quietly.

I opened my mouth and said, “What?” but no words came out. I tried again. Nothing.

He smiled.

He continued to lick my hip bone. He kissed it and looked me in the eyes.

“You listening?” he asked.

As I squeezing the countertop with each hand, my arms beside my body, my hands beside my butt, I nodded.

“Fuck my tongue. I want you to fuck my mouth, do you hear me?”

I opened my mouth and squeaked. My eyes closed. I felt his tongue move from my hip to my clit. His palm slid slowly across my hip, and was resting in the depression between my hip and my pussy. His thumb was positioned on the skin above my pussy, and was pushing upward, exposing my clit totally. As his tongue met my clit, I squirmed.

I felt his lip on top of my clit, and his tongue on the bottom. He started a motion with his tongue and lip, with my clit in between. About three seconds into it, I was done…almost to climax I felt myself begin to cum. No, not yet, not yet, please….make this last.

He lifted his head, and looked me in the eye. He must have sensed I was going to cum.

“No, don’t stop. Please, Erik, don’t fucking stop.” I begged.

“Fuck my mouth. Grind your pussy on my face baby girl, do you hear me?”

“Yes sir. Do it. Do that again. Exactly what you were doing, exactly,” I said, hoping he could duplicate what he was doing.

His mouth went back to where it was before, perfectly. His tongue started darting back and forth across my clit, and then his upper lip pressed against it. He then began licking my pussy lips, from the bottom to the top, with the tip of his tongue. When his tongue would reach the top, he pressed my clit against his lip with his tongue. This began in a rhythmic motion, the same every time. His hands slid to under my butt, and he used them to raise my butt off of the counter top.  I began to work my hips against his face, and to the rhythm he was setting with his tongue.

I felt like we were a machine, working in unison with one another. This was perfect. With my eyes closed, there was no time, no space, no house, and no kitchen, just us. We weren’t two people any more, we were an us. A we. We became one. His tongue sliding up and down, and pressing against my clit. Each time his tongue touched it, my hips were raised as high as I could raise them. When he released my clit from between his tongue and his lip, I lowered my hips. This system of movements worked perfectly. It was the same every time.

With my eyes closed, I tried to focus on the movements. I don’t know how much time passed, but I heard my breathing change. I felt as if I was turning hot. I opened my eyes and looked at Erik. His eyes were open, and he was looking at my face. His mouth encompassed my entire mound. I opened my mouth. He raised his mouth off of me for a split second.

“Do it, Kelli. Do it. Cum in my mouth. Do it. And when you do, scream. Scream, Kelli. Cum in my mouth and scream. Do you hear me?”

In a short, shallow breath, I responded, “Yes.”

His mouth back in place, we began the rhythm again.  Within a few seconds, I was at climax. As his tongue licked up and down, I began to scream. I squeezed the countertop and screamed as loud as I could. As I screamed, he fixed his tongue against my clit, and forced it against his upper lip, holding it there, licking it rapidly. My entire body went into convulsions, and I screamed. I screamed and screamed, at climax the entire time. I have no idea if I had one long orgasm or a hundred small ones, but I wanted it to stop as much as I wanted it to never stop. My body shook, and I could hear myself screaming. When the screaming stopped, I was laying there, shaking. I could feel my wetness all over my thighs and down my crack. He began to blow on my pussy making me shake more. It felt cool.

As I lay there in shock, still recovering from my orgasm party, he unbuckled his belt. As he unfastened his pants, my heart rose to my throat in anticipation. He unzipped them, and they fell to the floor. Standing at the end of the island, his cock sticking straight out, swollen and thick, he placed his hands at his hips and almost smiled. I pressed my elbows to the island, and raised my upper body off of the countertop, so I could admire him. He stood there, muscular, covered in tattoos, looking gorgeous. This. Man. Made. Me. Melt.

I sat up, and pulled my shirt over my head. I placed my shirt on the end of the counter, and unhooked my bra, and removed it. I slid across the counter, and jumped to the floor. My sneakers hit the floor and squeaked on the hard wood, reminding me that I was still wearing them. I looked down at the sneakers, and back up at Erik. I had to admit, I felt cute, naked except for my sneakers.

I got down on my knees, and slowly worked my way to Erik. He stood still in front of me, his hands at his hips. As I got close enough to him to touch him, I grabbed his thick cock in my hand. I studied it. It was almost as thick as my wrist. I licked the tip with my tongue, and put my lips on the head. Circling the tip of his cock with my tongue, I licked my lips, moistening them. I slowly slid my mouth down the length of his hard cock, pressing the soft head against the rook of my mouth with my tongue. I grabbed his butt with my hands, and pulled him against me. I looked up into his eyes as I began to suck his cock.

I slid my mouth down the length of his cock, allowing it to work its way into my throat. He began to moan softly, and closed his eyes. It turned me on so much when he moaned. To me, there was nothing sexier than hearing him moan. I slid my wet mouth up and down the length of his cock as I squeezed his hard butt with my hands. As his cock slid into my throat, I could feel my heart beating in my pussy. I wanted him so bad.  I kept looking up at his face as I sucked his cock.

“Stand up, baby girl. Stand up and put your hands on the countertop, palms down.”

“You don’t like it?” I asked, wondering if I did something wrong.

“No, I love it, that’s the problem. You suck my cock too good, baby. I can’t take it,” he said, shaking his head. His chest muscles twitched as he stood there. Does he make them do that?

“Now put your hands on the countertop, and bend over. I’m going to shove you so full of cock you won’t even remember how to spell your name for a week,” he said in his deep voice.

“Oh my. Ok,” I said as I did what he asked. As I grabbed the edges of the countertop, I felt his foot kicking the insides of my shoes, spreading my legs farther apart.

“You long legged, sexy little bitch. I have to get your pussy down here where I can get to it,” he said, as he slapped the right side of my butt, hard. The slap startled me, and the sting felt like fire.

As soon as he stopped kicking my shoes and spreading my legs apart, I felt the head of his cock slide past my lips. His hands grabbed my waist, and he slid all the way inside of me. As soon as I felt his balls against my clit, I began to contract and felt as if I was going to cum. His cock slid out, and then back in again. He found a rhythm and began to fuck me slowly, his hips slapping lightly against my butt as he slid all the way into my wet pussy. As his hips slapped my ass, I could feel his balls against my clit. I couldn’t take it anymore. If he kept up this pace, I would explode.

“Fuck me Erik, fuck me. Fuck me harder. Fuck me,” I said loudly.

“Fuck me, Erik. Oh God. Fuck me.”

“Fuck me.”

“Harder.” I begged.

“Who owns you, baby girl? Who fucking owns you?” he almost screamed.

“Oh God, you do. You own me. You.”

“Don’t forget it, do you hear me?” he said in a loud, stern tone.

“Yes, I am yours. You own me,” I responded. I loved this.

In and out he forced himself, each time it felt as I was being stretched open for the first time. Not a tremendous pain, but each stroke felt like it was the first, the entry stroke. It was a new feeling to me, and it was more than I could take. I was going to explode.

“Please…Faster. Fuck me. Give me that cock. Give me that big fat….Oh my God. Give it to me.”

He began to go faster and faster, his hips slapping against my butt harder, making a popping sound each time they made contact with my butt. The rhythm of his balls banging against my clit was more than I could take. I tensed up, tightening my butt muscles.

My hips were against the countertop of the island, and he was smashing me against the countertop with each stroke. The pain from his hips smashing me into it began to take my mind away from the pleasure I felt from the rhythm of him sliding in and out. The pain felt so good. I began to focus on the pain to give myself more time.

“Harder, fuck me……harder…….Erik. Oh….My….God….Erik.”

“Erik…”

I couldn’t take it anymore. It felt too good. Looking back at his tattooed forearm on my hip and seeing his muscular legs, rippled abs, and tattooed chest was more than I could take.

“Fuck me harder.” I begged.

“Please. Oh my fucking. I am going to cum,” I said in a high pitched voice.

“Erik. I am going to.”

“I am. I am. I am. I am,” I screamed as loud as I could.

His hands slid to my neck and began to grip me slightly. Oh God, I really, really like fucking this guy.

“Cum with me. Holy fuck. Oh. My. God. Cum with…..Ahhhhhhhhhhhh,” I screamed.

As I screamed, his cock swelled, and I felt his warm cum shoot inside of me as his cock pulsed, swelling each time it pulsed, filling my with his cum. He continued to slide in and out slowly as he came, and I kept having an orgasm to end all orgasms. My legs quivered beneath me. My knees bent, I was afraid I was going to fall. He slowly buried himself inside of me, and kept his hips against my butt.

“Do not move,” I said. I felt a pulsation throughout my entire body.

“Did you like that?” he asked, still inside me fully.

“Like it?” My hands still on the countertop, I turned around and looked at him. “Like it? Are you fucking serious?”

“You’re tight little pussy is more than I can handle, baby girl,” he said.

“Well, anyone’s pussy would be tight with your huge cock in it,” I said, laughing.

“Just don’t move,” I reminded him. “I’m still recovering. Holy shit, now that was a fucking orgasm,” I said, turning and looking at the countertop. I felt certain my legs were going to give out.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I think so,” I responded.

“I am going to pick you up, and sit you on the countertop,” he said.

“Okay.”

He slowly skid his flaccid cock out of my throbbing pussy. He grabbed my waist and picked me up, holding me in the air. As my butt cleared the height of the countertop, he plopped me down on it, facing away from him. I turned to face him.

“Stay there a minute, let me see what I can find here,” he said, as he shuffled around the kitchen.  I could see that his jeans were resting above his boots and around his ankles.

“You’re cute,” I said as I watched him.

“It’s been a long time since I have heard that. My mother. Well, she said it all the time,” he said, his voice trailing off and getting quieter at the end.

“I’m sorry,” I said, remembering the story of his mother’s death.

“No, Kelli, not at all, I enjoyed you saying it,” he responded as he turned and looked at me.

Opening the drawers under the countertops, and looking in them, he said, “Here we go,” as he pulled out some dish towels.

“Oh lord. I thought leaving the cum covered pants at the Buckle was bad,” I said, laughing.

As he chuckled, he said, “We’ll throw them in the trash, I am not putting them back in the drawers.”

He handed me a towel, and turned and ran water over one in the sink. “It’s warm, I let the water get hot,” he said as he handed me another.

As we both wiped ourselves off, I wondered how long we had been in the house. It had been some time. With Erik, sexually, I had no concept of time. None whatsoever. I finished wiping myself off, slid to the edge of the countertop, and jumped down. I removed my shoes, and got dressed. As I was putting my shoes back on, Erik spoke.

“Turn around,” he said.

“Let me finish tying my shoes.”

“No, now. Turn around, and stand up,” he said again.

I stood, one shoe tied, and one not. As I was turning around, he wrapped his arms around me and kissed me on the lips. His mouth encompassed mine, and he licked my upper lip. Our lips parted, and he quickly kissed me again. Then, a quick peck on the lips.

“Tie your shoe,” he said, pointing at my shoe.

I stood there amazed. Amazed that I had met this man. Amazed that he was everything in a man that I wanted. Amazed that he would even want me. And amazed that I could please him.

I bent over and tied my other shoe.

“Who owns you, baby girl,” he asked.

“You do, sir,” I responded proudly.

“You amaze me,” he said.

“What?” I said.

I knew what he said. I think I knew what he said. I wanted to hear it again. I stood up and turned around to face him.

“I said you amaze me, Kelli. You certainly do,” he said, smiling.

Yep. That’s what he said. You amaze me, Kelli.

Fuck yes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ERIK. “No, I met you just before high school. Damn near twenty-five years ago. We started riding together right after your mother passed. What’s that been, five?” Crash said.

“Yeah, five or so,” I responded, nodding.

“Well, you haven’t been in a real relationship for as long as I have known you,” he said as he took a drink of his beer.

“All you’ve done is fuck bitches,” he stuck his finger in his mug of beer.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I asked, wondering why he had stuck his entire finger into his beer. As he pulled his finger out of his mouth, he responded.

“This is the coldest fucking beer I have ever had. God damn, its freezing. And this mug; this is a nice fucking mug. I’m going to drink this mother fucker, hide the mug, and order another. Then I’m gonna walk out of here with these two mugs and put ‘em in my bags. You gotta have a matching pair, or it looks like you stole a mug,” Crash said, holding the mug up, admiring it.

“Dude, it’s a fucking glass beer mug, it doesn’t even have the name of this fucking place on it,” I said, shaking my head.

“That’s what’s cool, Doc. It’ll look like I bought em.”

Teddy and I met when I was young. We immediately became friends. He was fun to be around, and one of those people that always made you laugh. I never spent any time around Teddy that the majority of it wasn’t laughing. When we were in a large group, he was always the center of attention, and for good reason. He had an ability to tell a story like nobody else could. He always commanded the attention of the group for at least one of his tales. The group would always listen eagerly, knowing at some point they would laugh out loud.

I found, since my completion of college – and my riding with the motorcycle club, that I altered my speech patterns and my demeanor based on who I was with. When I was around other members of the club, I would talk just like they talked, all in an effort to make them comfortable with me. There was nothing worse than being around someone that made you feel uneasy or tried to talk above your ability to comprehend. I purposely, in the company of any group of people, tried to talk like they did, and never above them or below them.

About ten years ago, Teddy’s bike was parked in a line of bikes at a local bar. When the night of drinking ended, he attempted to get on his bike and start it. When he did, he knocked it over. The limited parking space at the bar required that all of the bikes be parked side-by-side, and in front of the bar. His bike fell into the bike beside it, knocking it over, and in turn, knocking the next bike over. This continued as a chain reaction, until all of the bikes to the left of Teddy’s bike were knocked over. About fifteen of them, all in all. Initially, he tried to claim that he came out of the bar to find the bikes toppled over, but after a few minutes, he admitted that he had caused the pile-up. His club name immediately changed from Bear to Crash. Bear was fitting, as Teddy stood six foot three and weighed 260 pounds. He was not, in any respect, fat. He had short curly brown hair, and a full beard. Although he kept his beard neatly trimmed, it made him look bigger and meaner than he looked already. The stereotypical biker tattoos littered both arms from shoulder to wrist.

“Holler at the waitress if you see her. She hasn’t been out here in a bit,” Teddy said.

We were sitting outside, underneath a covered patio in a new bar in town, Twin Peaks. The theme was a Log cabin lodge type environment, and the patio had ten wooden tables with six loose wooden barstools at each table. The waitresses all wore khaki shorts, boots of some sort, and a cropped flannel shirt, unbuttoned. The shirt was tied at the bottom, instead of hanging loose outside the shorts. All of the shirts were carefully fitted to ensure that the entire midriff of the waitress was exposed, and that her boobs were incapable of being covered. For all practical purposes, they were naked from the waist up. Places like this didn’t necessarily appeal to me, but it was one of the few biker friendly bars in town, and our club patronized the establishment. In turn, the owner of the bar donated money to the club, primarily to support the fund raising ride that we had in the summer.

“If I see her I will,” I said, looking around to see she was on the patio.

“So, Doc, tell me about this chick. She’s good people?”

“She’s great, Teddy. She’s easy to be around, she’s fun, and she is respectful. She’s everything I want in a girl, and so far, nothing that I don’t want. She’s college educated, intelligent, and articulate. If I were to paint a perfect picture of what I wanted in a girl, so far; she’s it,” I responded.

“Well, for fuck’s sake, when you two getting married?”

“She makes me happy, Teddy. Happier than anyone else ever has. A whole hell of a lot of them have tried. She succeeds by just being herself, that’s it.”

“I’m just giving you shit, Doc, you know that,” he held his beer mug over his head, upside down, allowing it to drip into his mouth.

“That mother fucker is definitely empty. I need another beer, Doc.”

He no more than lowered his glass, and our waitress came onto the patio from inside the bar, with another waitress walking beside her. The other waitress was extremely tall, attractive, blonde, and had breasts the size of large cantaloupes. Approximately ten percent of her breasts were concealed by her flannel shirt.

“It’s shift change. You guys can either tab out, or carry your tab over to your new waitress, Heather. This is Heather,” she said, pointing to the large breasted blonde standing beside her.

“Hi, guys,” Heather said.

We had only been at the bar for forty-five minutes, and probably had a tab of fifteen dollars. I reached into my pocket, pulled out a twenty dollar bill, and handed it to waitress number one.

“Here, just take this for your tip, we’ll tab out later. That’ll let you get out of here,” I said as I handed her the money.

“Oh, wow. Thank you. Okay, well, have a good evening, guys,” she said as she walked away - leaving Heather, Teddy and I at the table.

“So, what can I get you two,” Heather asked smiling.

“I want another mug of Coors and your phone number,” Teddy said.

“Oh stop it,” Heather said, smiling at Teddy.

“I’m dead serious. You’re fucking gorgeous. I want to know more about you, but I don’t want to pester you at work. You know anything about riding on a bike?” Teddy asked as he pointed to his bike parked a few feet from where we were sitting.

“Oh my God, thank you. You’re so sweet. And yes, I’ve ridden on a bike before,” Heather answered, smiling at Teddy.

“Well, I want to get you on the back of mine, let’s make that happen,” Teddy said.

“Sounds good, let me get your beer, and I will be back in a minute. Do you need anything?”  Heather asked as she turned toward me.

“Oh my God, are you Erik?” Heather asked, her mouth opened wide in an obvious display of surprise.

“As a matter of fact, I am, why?” I asked.

“Well, Kelli is my best friend, so she talks about you all the time. And I’ve seen you around town a bit, while she’s been at college,” she said.

“Oh, you’re Heather?” I asked.

“Yes, we saw you a few months ago at The Pump house. I think that was the first night she saw you,” she said as she shifted her weight from one of her Ugg boots to the other. Her boobs shifted with her, and about fell out of her non-existent top.

“Yeah, she told me about that. Well, it is nice to finally meet you,” I said, as I held my hand out to shake her hand.

“Same here,” she said as she shook my hand.

“Let me get your beer, and I will be right back,” she said as she looked at Teddy.

Teddy pointed at her with his index finger, and then pointed at me.

“Brother, I’m going to fuck the hell out of that little girl. Did you see the tits on her? God damn. She’s got a set of fucking jugs on her. Tall bitch too. She’s probably as tall as you are. Maybe taller. Jesus. Long legs and huge tits. That makes for some good fucking,” Teddy said as he shook his finger at me.

“Listen, Teddy. Just don’t fuck her over really bad. It could be bad for me if you did. She is best friends with my girl, Kelli. That’s what she was talking about. She’s Kelli’s best friend. They hang out almost every night that Kelli isn’t with me. They’re down in Old Town at The Pump House all the time together. And, from what Kelli has told me, Heather is a nice girl. Naive, but nice. She’s been fucked over her whole life, and never really had a boyfriend,” I said, hoping Teddy received it without being irritated.

“How old you suppose she is, Doc?”

“Well, Kelli is twenty-two, and they went to school together, so I’m going to say twenty-two or so,” I responded.

“Sounds good to me. I will be good to her, Doc. I ain’t looking to fuck her over, if that’s what you mean. I will be good to her, as long as fucking her good and hard is what she likes,” he laughed as he spoke, rocking his bar stool back on the rear legs.

As soon as Teddy was done laughing, Heather walked out with a beer in one hand, and a pitcher of ice water in the other. She walked up to the end of our table, handed Teddy his beer, and filled my glass of water, smiling at me as she did.

“I can’t believe as long as you and Kelli have been seeing each other, this is how we finally met,” Heather said as she sat the pitcher down.

“I know. I’m going to say something to her tonight about it,” I said, smiling back at her.

“Is your beer always this cold?” Teddy asked as he took a drink of his beer. His stool was still on the rear legs, leaning back.

“Coldest beer in town, it’s 28 degrees right now. We have a thermometer on the wall,” she responded, pointing to a huge digital thermometer on the wall inside the bar.

“Well, I like it,” Teddy said, smiling back at Heather.

“Hey, Blondie. Why don’t you and those big titties come over here and take our order?” said a voice from across the patio.

I turned and looked in the direction of the voice. There were two tables in the patio that had people at them. One was two elderly gentlemen, eating a late lunch. The other table was a table with six fairly large twenty-something year old guys, all drinking beer. At the same time, I stood from my chair, Teddy stood from his, and Heather spoke. 

“Let me go help those guys,” Heather said.

“No, you stand right here,” I said. Heather looked back at me puzzled.

“I got this, Brother,” Teddy said as he took a drink of his beer.

“Which one was it?” he asked as he walked around the end of our table.

“Not sure, I think the one in the wife beater,” I responded.

“What’s going on?” Heather asked.

There was one empty table that separated us. “Teddy’s going to have a talk with those gentlemen,” I paused as I watched Teddy approach the table. “And teach them a little bit about being respectful.”

“Oh my God, I don’t want to get in trouble,” Heather said.

“You’re not, don’t worry,” I assured her.

“I could lose my job,” she said, looking at me worriedly.

“Don’t worry, we know the owner. You’re not going to lose your job over whatever happens here. I don’t care where you are working, never let anyone treat you with disrespect, Heather, do you understand me?” I asked her, realizing that I was talking to her as if she were Kelli.

“Okay,” she said, nodding.

Teddy walked toward the table as if he was going to walk right past it. I noticed that he was looking all of the guys over at the table, kind of sizing them up. They were all sitting down, and not paying attention. As he got close to the end of the table, he turned and grabbed a bar stool from the adjoining table, placed it at the end of their table, and sat down. As soon as he sat, the guy wearing the wife beater stood up.

“How are you fella’s doing?” Teddy asked.

The entire table stopped talking and looked at him. A few of them answered, “Good.”

“I’m Teddy. I’m going to talk, and none of you are going to interrupt me while I am talking, because that’s disrespectful. Understood?”

Everyone nodded, except for the guy in the wife beater. He was clearly the largest one of the group, and was about six foot two, and probably 200 pounds. He was no match for Teddy, but was clearly under the false impression that he was the biggest and toughest one at the table.

“Who the fuck are you?” The guy wearing the wife beater asked Teddy.

“I already told you, you disrespectful little prick. Now we can do this one of two ways. Either I’m just going to start beating on you until the cops come - or your boys here get me off of you, or you can shut the fuck up and listen to what I have to say. Which one you want?” Teddy asked, still sitting down on his stool, focused on the guy standing up. No one responded.

At this point, the entire patio was paying attention to the table where Teddy sat. People were walking across the patio to enter the bar, and there was the other table of older gentlemen eating, who were also watching. All eyes were on Teddy. Heather stood beside me with her mouth open, watching as if she were in shock.

“Okay, listen, this is simple. That girl over there standing behind me is a waitress here. She needs to be treated with respect. Always. It don’t matter where you little fucktards are, if you have a waitress, you need to always treat her no differently than you’d treat a waitress if you were at dinner with your mother. Remember that. The place where you’re eating or who’s waiting on you doesn’t change how you treat a waitress. She’s a woman, and she’s a human being, treat her like it. Now, which one of you made the titty remark?” Teddy asked as he looked at each individual at the table.

Everyone at the table looked toward the guy wearing the wife beater. Still standing, he looked down at Teddy, and responded.

“I was, I mean I did,” he said.

“Tell me that isn’t going to happen again, here or anywhere else,” Teddy demanded.

“It won’t,” he responded.

“Okay, now. I ain’t looking to embarrass you anymore than you already are. So I ain’t gonna make you walk over there in front of all of these people. But, look over at her direction, and tell her you’re sorry,” Teddy said as he turned to look at Heather.

The guy in the wife beater stood erect, looked directly at Heather, and spoke quietly, “I’m sorry,” he mouthed in her direction.

Heather continued to stand beside me, mouth agape, clearly amazed at what was happening. I put my arm around her to comfort her. She leaned into my shoulder as I placed my arm around her.

“Well, that ought to do it. Again, so there’s no confusion, I’m Teddy. That’s Doc. Well, to you guy’s, he’s Erik,” Teddy said, pointing in my direction.

I nodded. They all nodded back in my direction. One waved.

Teddy stood up, grabbed the bar stool, and as he walked away, said, “Nice talking to you fellas.”

As he walked back toward our table, Teddy placed the barstool at the table he had taken it from. As he approached our table, Heather broke my grasp, and walked toward Teddy, arms open. Teddy turned and looked at her as she hugged him. He hugged her back and whispered something in her ear.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me,” she said, smiling from ear to ear.

“Being disrespectful to women is something Doc and I won’t stand for,” he responded, as he took a drink of his beer.

“Well, that was nice. And it was hot. You still want my number?” she asked.

“Well, hell yes. We gotta go on that ride, remember?”

Heather pulled a pen from her apron. As she pulled out the pen, she grabbed Teddy’s wrist, and turned his hand over, palm up. She scribbled her number on the palm of his hand and drew a heart around it. As she was writing, the six gentlemen placed money on the table under a beer mug, and left.

“Thank you for saying I was pretty, for asking me to go on a ride, and for talking to those guys. You’re sweet. Text me. I have to run inside, I have tables in there too. You guys alright?” she asked.

“We’re good, bring us the tab when you come back out,” I said.

“I’m staying,” Teddy said.

“Heather, I’m leaving and Teddy’s staying.” Turning her direction, I continued, “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

“Pleasure meeting you, Erik,” she said as she walked through the door into the bar.

“You staying?” I asked Teddy.

“Yeah, I’m gonna stay here and talk to her for a bit, holler at me later,” Teddy said as he stood.

We embraced in what had become a typical biker hug, patting each other on the back.

“Love ya, brother,” he said.

“Love you too, Teddy.”

Walking out to my bike, I wondered about Teddy and Heather; how and if that might work out. Although Kelli had mentioned Heather several times, and suggested that we all get together, we had never done so. I wondered if there was a reason for that.

I got my phone out of my pocket, and sent Kelli a text.

Baby Girl: I’m headed home. Text me when you get a minute. Met Heather today at Twin Peaks.

If there was a reason for her not having Heather meet me, this would give her time to think about it.

I placed the phone back into my pocket and got on my bike. It felt different riding it without Kelli. 

Lonely.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

KELLI. Since I was a little girl, I have kept souvenirs as some form of proof or confirmation of things that have happened in my life that I felt were unbelievable at the time. I always wanted proof that the event itself had happened. It was a way for me later to look at a material object as a reminder of the event that I associated with the object itself.

When I was about six, we went to California to the ocean on vacation. I picked up shells from the beach, and made sure that the ones that I had chosen to keep were the most perfect ones that I could find. When we got home, I placed the shells in a box, and kept the box in the closet in my bedroom. Whenever I thought about the ocean, and our trip, I would wonder if it really happened. The more time that had passed since the trip, the more difficult I found it to believe. I would sit and try to remember the scenery, where we went, and what we had done.

As soon as I pulled the box from my closet, and removed the shells, I remembered each shell, and where I had obtained it. I remembered picking each one up, and how I had decided which ones, of all of the shells, to keep.

This same pattern of obtaining some form of souvenir from a memorable event continued throughout my life. Boys in middle school would give me a note telling me they liked me, and if I wanted to remember it, I would keep the note, and place it in my box. If I got a birthday card from my father on a birthday that I wanted to remember, I would place the card in the box. Over the years, the box ended up with of some form of souvenir from almost each year of my life.

Today, I still have that box, and I still add objects to it as time passes, and unbelievable events happen in my life. If the event is one that is unbelievable, and I want it to be memorable, I save an object I would associate with the event. Something that would jog my memory many years in the future. This box of souvenirs allows me to look back at my life with vivid memories. Memories that will remain undeniable. Memories that cannot be questioned by me or anyone else. Memories with proof.

As we grow older we change. Our lives change. Patterns of living, what we deem to be important, and sometimes our beliefs even change. I imagine, with me, this collecting of souvenirs from my life will never change. When something is or seems to be too good to be true, I want proof of the fact that it ever existed.

As a child, I made up memories of my mother. My mother left when I was one year old. I had no memories of my mother, because I had no mother. I was raised by my father, and my mother, to me, never existed.

Yet.

When I was in early grades in school, kindergarten, first grade – roughly that age, I made up memories in my head of things that had happened when I was younger. Memories that included my mother. My mother that never existed. I told myself the stories long enough, and repeated them in my mind enough, that I began to believe them.

I believe the collecting of souvenirs was a way for me to know that the memory was real. That this memory was not like my memories of my mother, fabricated false hope. We, as people, are no more than a mentally advanced animal. Naturally we take whatever steps we have to that will support our survival. Feeling loved is a large part of what we, as humans, need to survive.

We yearn to be loved. The perfect love. Women dream of being swept off of our feet by the knight in shining armor - off to a castle in the distance - to live a life happily ever after. We wait, and we make decisions, and we live with the decisions we make. Sometimes those decisions prove to be good ones, and sometimes they prove to be poor ones. Inevitably, decisions that we make when we are young, regarding relationships, prove to be bad decisions.

No one meets the person that they are going to marry when they are 14 years old. Yet, when we are 14, we are certain that the boy we fell in love with in school is the person that we are incapable of living a life without. We are in a relationship with that person until we are 15, and we break up. Our heart is broken, and three months later, we have another boyfriend. One that we cannot live without. One that is perfect. The one.

Survival.

When a woman gets pregnant, she commits to be in a relationship. Generally, women find someone to marry when they are completed with college. Or high school. When the time has come that she looks around her and sees that things are stable or still in her life. From what I have seen, this has nothing to do with stability in a relationship, but a perceived stability in her life. The still, stale, stable life causes her to look around for stability in a relationship, and she attaches herself to the first person that comes along and makes her feel as if she is being loved.

And, in time, she learns. She isn’t being loved. She wasn’t being loved. She was being used. Used for sex. Used for sex by a man that also settled. He settled for a woman that provided him with what he wanted at that particular point in time in his life. In time, he too will look around him and wonder.

What am I doing here? Is this where I belong?

And whether he leaves physically or he leaves mentally, he will leave. I have seen it happen to friends, family, and school mates. Men stray, they wander, they cheat. Mentally, emotionally, or physically, it will happen. And, in time, it will progress from whatever it is into a physical separation of some sort.

My girlfriend’s husbands or boyfriends have lunch with other women. They text other women. They will meet another woman for a coffee or a drink after work, and call it business. They develop a relationship, of some sort, with another woman. In time, because of the repetitive exposure, the woman becomes interested in the man. And, because she is in a relationship not at all unlike the relationship that the man is in, she begins to believe that the guy she is having lunch with loves her. He feels for her. And those feelings are different, he actually loves her.

And she agrees.

And they cheat. Because a man is after a new sexual adventure, and the woman is seeking the perfect love.

They are trying to survive.

They divorce.

And now, they are in a relationship. A relationship destined to lose. Because it wasn’t meant to be. It was two people doing what they had done before. Settling. A man settling for a new sexual adventure, and a woman settling for what she believed to be love. I believe that those two components are what most relationships start out with. A man on a new sexual adventure, and a woman believing she is in love. What makes the relationship work, or what makes it last, is when two people settle. When they throw their respective hands in the air and say, I am done. I am done looking. I am done trying to find something new. I am done making changes.

I am willing to settle.

Settling equals love.

I don’t believe in love. Not between people that aren’t family. I believe that my father loves me. I believe that his mother and father loved him. But I do not believe that there are many people in this world that are actually in love. I believe that most people on this earth that are together have settled. Settled for something that is other than what is the most likely thing to make them as happy as they can be.

Erik makes me as happy as I have ever been. The things that he says, the way he touches me, how he treats me, and how I feel when I am full of his cock. I cannot imagine, for the life of me, another man having the ability to make me happier than Erik. The trick, regarding keeping Erik, or anyone like Erik, is continuing to give him a new sexual adventure every time he turns around.

Sex is the most important part of any relationship. It is the portion of a relationship that drives us. When the sex goes to hell, the relationship goes to hell. When a woman stops having sex with a man, there’s something wrong. There’s no longer affection. There’s no longer attraction. Bu something is definitely wrong.

When a man stops having sex with a woman, there’s something wrong. He’s either having sex with someone else or he’s getting ready to. There’s no longer an attraction, or he’s become sexually bored.  Bread and butter sex is just that.

Bread and butter.

If we were able to survive on bread and butter, and I suppose to some extent we are, how many of us would be content with a bread and butter diet. Living a life that was otherwise perfect, with bread and butter as the only available food. Breakfast - bread and butter. Lunch - bread and butter. Dinner – bread and butter. Next day – bread and butter. Next year? Bread and fucking butter.

Or.

The same life that was otherwise perfect. Breakfast - yogurt, grapefruit and oatmeal. Lunch - turkey sandwich, Greek salad, and an orange. Dinner - grilled chicken, rice pilaf, and grilled vegetables. Next day – Bacon, eggs, Chinese stir fry, steak, sushi…

Which life would we choose?

Diversity. Diversity satisfies our ever changing minds. It allows us to become satisfied. To become content that we are receiving what it is that we want, or need – without life becoming stale, stagnant, and repetitive. It keeps life adventurous. The not knowing. Just like when we were children.

I wonder what’s for dinner?

When we were in school. What’s for lunch?

Being in a relationship and knowing what’s for sex is a recipe for disaster.

Diversity.

I had always obtained my diversity by being diverse with my partners. I ran from man to man to man, never getting attached to any one man - knowing that eventually, I would be bored with any one man that I settled for. Knowing this allowed me to be honest with myself, and as a result, I was never in an actual relationship. The sexual diversity came from having a different sexual partner at every turn in my life.

There is no such thing as love. There is sex, affection, and satisfaction. With those things comes pleasure.

Erik provides me with those things. All of them.

 

 

ERIK. “So, Heather was nice. I found her to be a genuinely good person, from what little we talked,” I said, hoping to get Kelli to talk a little about Heather.

“She is nice, that’s why we’re such good friends. You always talk like, well, listening to you talk is like reading a book. You’re so serious when you talk. Don’t get me wrong, I like it. I like it a lot, it’s a good quality,” Kelli responded.

Not quite what I was after.

“Bear said, excuse me, Teddy said that she was nice. I guess they’ve been out a few times. He hasn’t said a tremendous amount about it, but what little he did say, it sounds like they’re getting along well.”

“Why did you call him Bear? Is that a nick-name?”

“Yes. A club name. A nick-name. His name is Teddy. The name “Bear” was a nick-name for years. He is big, and looks like a teddy bear. A few years back, he accidentally knocked a bunch of bikes over at a bar, and he got a new nick-name, “Crash”. People that have known him for a long time, like me, sometimes call him Bear,” I explained as I folded the receipt from the coffee and placed it at the edge of the table.

“Why do you all have nick-names?” she asked.

“Well, most motorcycle clubs have nick-names for everyone. It’s easier that way. I suppose it started as a means of protecting people from anyone knowing their real names. If something happens and people are questioned, no one knows your name. There are guys that I have ridden with on and off for years that I still do not even know their real names,” I offered.

“If something happens? So do you guys break the law?”

I raised one eyebrow and looked at her, then took a slow exaggerated drink of my coffee, looking over the top of the cup at her as I did.

“Okay, sorry I asked. Club business is club business. I remember,” she said smiling.

So, Heather…” I said, once again opening the topic.

“Well, Heather is nice. Just like we have talked before, she has been really unfortunate. She has spent her life looking for a guy to love her, and she’s willing to do whatever a guy wants, always hoping to get love in return. She is so eager to get it, she sleeps with about every guy she meets, thinking that he’s going to love her. He doesn’t, and she moves on to the next. Lather, rinse, repeat,” Kelli said, shaking her head.

She looked great today. As she sat across the table from me I admired her. Late summer tan, straight black hair, and piercing blue eyes. She was wearing an orange summer dress, and this was the second time I had seen her in a dress. For the most part, the entire time I have known her, she has worn Chuck’s, shorts, and a tee-shirt. She looked quite beautiful in whatever she chose to wear, but today, in this dress, she looked exceptional.

“Baby girl, you look fabulous today. This is the first time I have seen you in that dress, and I must say, I love it,” I said as I nodded at her.

“Why thank you. That’s nice of you to say,” she responded, nodding back at me in mockery.

“You’re adorable. It pleases me that you’ve become comfortable being yourself around me. Joking around and being yourself. When we first met, you were extremely reserved and quiet. You’re not necessarily a chatterbox now, but your more comfortable being you. I like that.”

“Why thank you, again,” she said, nodding again.

“Baby girl, who owns you,” I asked.

“You do, Big Daddy,” she answered.

A week or so ago, we rented a few movies, and watched them at her loft. One of the movies, Kick Ass, was a kind of cute teen superhero movie. One of the characters was a foul mouthed teen girl who called herself “Hit Girl”. Her Mentor was called “Big Daddy”. As we watched the movie, she began to call me Big Daddy, and so far, it had stuck. She didn’t say it all the time, but jokingly, she used it often.

During sex a few nights ago, she started screaming, “Fuck me Big Daddy. Fuck me Big Daddy” as we were having sex. We both erupted in laughter.

“That’s right, baby girl,” I said, smiling.

Can we talk? Like seriously?” Kelli asked quietly.

“Sure, baby, what’s going on?”

“Well, I mean seriously. I want to ask you some questions,” her hands were on either side of her face, her palms curved, and facing inward, making a little tunnel she was looking through.

“Here? You want to talk here?” I asked.

“Sure, there’s no one here, if you want,” she responded through the tunnel. Her body language indicated she was being an immature girl.

“This is fine. Let’s hear what you have to say.”

“Can I speak freely?” she asked through the tunnel.

“Always, Kelli. You’ll never be criticized by me, ever,” I responded in a reassuring tone.

“Okay. Uhhm. Well. What do you think is wrong with me? With us? What make us the freaks that we are?”

“Well, first of all, we’re not freaks. I suppose you mean sexually?”

“Yeah, sexually. Why am I different than most girls, sexually? Why does it make me happy to have you hold me down? How come I like you to choke me? Why does it make me wet when you call me baby girl? And why do I love calling you Daddy when you fuck me? It isn’t normal,” she asked the questions in a whisper-like tone, as if she was embarrassed.

“Well, let me try to explain. First, we’re not freaks. We’re normal. It gets down to definition, kind of like your book, Broken People said, ‘define normal’. But we are normal, okay?”

She nodded slowly.

“Sigmund Freud and Carl Jung didn’t totally agree on all aspects of these theories, but they agreed on most of them. It gets down to upbringing. How we grew up. Neither of us grew up with a same sex parent in the home, so it makes our upbringing kind of one-sided, and difficult to pinpoint exactly what may have happened, but let me try.”

“There are five stages, according to Freud, of psychosexual development. Oral, anal, phallic, latent, and genital. The phallic stage is between the ages of three and six years old, give or take. At this point, children become curious, and begin to become aware of their bodies, and the differences between boys and girls. When they become aware, during this stage, well…it develops a tremendous amount of jealousy toward the parent of the same sex. That jealousy or perceived jealousy is what caused Freud to dub the complex, the Oedipus complex. Oedipus was, in Greek mythology, someone who killed his father so he could sexually possess his mother,” I offered, surprised how much of this information I recalled from school

“I’m kind of lost,” Kelli said, still speaking through her protective tunnel.

“Let me finish, baby, we’ll see if you understand,” I said softly.

“Believe it or not, at that young age, children become fixated on things, sexually. They notice things - they even subconsciously have an understanding of sex and sexuality. Boys become jealous of their father for sleeping with mother, and vice-versa for girls. The boy becomes fixated sexually on their mothers, and jealous of their father. Think in reverse for girls. The boy wants to eliminate the competition of father from the equation, like Oedipus did, by killing him,” I took a drink of my coffee, and thought.

“But, subconsciously, and from probably a practical standpoint, the child realizes that the father is the more able – let’s say the more physically able of the two, so he competes for the sexual possession of the mother, all the while fearing the father. Now, to make clear, all of this is what naturally happens to a child as he or she grows up,” I paused and took a breath.

Kelli had her fists clenched, and her forearms flat on the table, leaning toward me, listening intently. I continued.

“That sexual desire to possess their mother is what allows all ‘normal’ as you say, kids to grow up - again I am talking of boys, wanting to have a relationship with a woman. Alterations to this stage of growth - the elimination of one or the other of the parents - be it by divorce, death, or lack of existence, cause problems in what is “natural’ for a child to experience. This natural resolve for the sexual competition for the mother or father – with the opposite sex parent of the child - is of ultimate importance for the psychosexual development of a child. If it goes unresolved, it may result in a woman who is submissive, or a man who is dominant.”

“You, for instance, at a young age, realized the same things that I have described. Consciously, and subconsciously. The lack of a mother in your life more than likely allowed you, or well…caused you to subconsciously look at your father in admiration. You grew up wanting to sexually attach yourself to a man that reminded you of your father. Older. Protective. Able,” I took a slow breath, exhaled, and reached out with both hands, slowly, and held Kelli’s fists.

She opened her hands and held mine in hers.

“You’ve heard the expression, ‘we play the cards we are dealt’ before?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Does that make sense to you?”

She nodded again.

“Well, baby; we’re normal. Considering all things, were on the upper threshold of normal,” I stopped and chuckled.

“There’s nothing wrong with us. The atmosphere we were raised in, our parents, their involvement, or lack thereof, it’s what causes us to later be the people that we are. Realizing who we are, embracing it, and allowing ourselves to be who we are naturally is healthy. Some people fight their entire life to try to be someone or something they are not. The result is someone that lives an extremely difficult, unhappy life,” I took another drink of my coffee.

“When I talk about this, it’s kind of upsetting. Every time someone asks me. I’ve talked about this, not to this degree, but about it, several times. People don’t understand - parents, primarily - about the importance of being involved in the upbringing of their children. They’re too quick to give up, divorce, cheat, allow their children to see them with their respective mistress, whatever it may be…and these actions by the parents cause a change in the development of their children. The children can’t do anything about it. Parents always say, ‘Oh, the kids are young, they won’t understand’. Well, three years old is the beginning of the phallic stage of psychosexual development. We start developing, psychologically, when we take our first breath. The oral stage is from birth to about two years.” As I spoke, I began to get angry, so I stopped.

“Well, we can’t change the fact that your mother and my father, for all practical purposes, were absent since birth. So, we are who we are,” I said, and exhausted what little air was in my lungs.

“Make sense?” I asked.

“Actually, it does, now that you’re done. I have more questions, though,” she said, still holding my hands.

“Okay, baby, what are they?” I said, softly.

“What are your thoughts about love, in general? Do you think love is real? Do you think it exists, or can exist in all of us?” she asked, squeezing my hands and looking directly into my eyes as she did.

I was both pleased and shocked that she asked this question. I intended to answer it with what I believed to be the correct answer, but it may not be what she expected to hear. Although my answer was already formed, I wondered what she expected to hear, and what she wanted to hear.

“The effect that I have on you causes you to have affection for me,” I placed emphasis on the ‘e’ and the ‘a’ in the two words.

“The affection that you have is emotional. In my presence, you feel good. You feel influenced by my presence. Your heart, when you’re around me, no longer feels heavy. You realize that there is a difference in being alone and being together based on how you feel. In my absence, you feel a want or a desire to have me near you, because my presence allows you to relive those feelings that you do not have in my absence. The void of those feelings, the good ones, to most people is described as pain. When I am gone, you feel pain. Being around me is some affirmation that I exist; that those feelings that you believed you had, the last time I was in your presence, but now are absent, exist as well,” I paused for a moment, and looked up at Espresso A Go-Go’s disco ball, which hung from the ceiling.

A thousand broken pieces of mirror formed the ball. Little broken pieces of a reflection of what was below the ball looked back at me. I studied the ball as it rotated slowly, the reflections changing as it rotated – every piece of mirrored glass a little different from the one beside it.

“We are all different people. We all need different things to be pleased. I believe, and I may be wrong, that we are, as your little book said, broken. We should find someone that is what we need, someone that is broken in the same fashion, and see if affection develops or exists. If and when it does, most people describe it as love,” I said, still looking at the bottom of the ball.

“Love takes determination to develop,” I paused.

“Love requires courage, persistence, and maintenance. Love just doesn’t lie there with us as we live our lives, and engulf us, providing us with an assurance that it exists.”

“Love is developed, and it is never perfect. We, as people, are flawed. Therefore, love is flawed. Most people live their lives trying to find the perfect person to provide them what they believe to be the perfect love. In my opinion, people should find someone that provides them with affection, someone that makes them feel, then develop and maintain the perfect love. That is the closest thing to real love that could ever possibly exist,” I took a sip of coffee, and continued to speak.

Kelli was looking intently into my eyes, and for this entire morning seemed content with listening to what I had to say. I felt that she had asked questions that were important to her, and that she felt she needed answers to. She was hearing what I had to say, and offering little to the conversation, so I continued to express my beliefs.

“We settle in a relationship for a person that provides us with comfort. When someone makes us comfortable, we tell ourselves that it is love, and it isn’t. Love can, for most people, be found around every corner they turn in life. This isn’t love, it is settling. I refuse, as should all people, to settle,” I paused and thought. I looked back up at the disco ball.

“People believe that they fall in love, and they begin a relationship, which turns to marriage. Eventually, the relationship falters, stumbles, and they tell themselves they’re out of love. Like it has run out. There is no more. The tank is empty. If that relationship were provided with maintenance, if it were provided with the attention that it needed, affection would redevelop, and with that affection the effect of love would, without a doubt, follow.”

Warren placed two more cups of coffee on the table beside us, and quietly walked back behind the counter. I looked around the coffee shop, and noticed that it was still empty. Afternoon s here had a lot of foot traffic in and out, but not many people sat here and drank coffee. It wasn’t infrequent that we would be the only people actually in the store when we were here in an afternoon. I looked at Warren and smiled. He smiled and shook his head slowly side-to-side as if it were no big deal.

“Other people, for some reason, settle for someone that was substandard to their requirements for a lover. These relationships, from the beginning, are destined to fail. Inevitably, when a codependent woman is involved, she tells herself that she will never find another man to want her, to take care of her, or to love her. She ends up spending a life of agony in a relationship with a man that mentally, emotionally, and possibly physically abuses her. The fact of the matter is that she could easily find someone to love her, but for the reasons we talked about before, her psychosexual development in a non-typical family setting, has left her with no self-esteem. This lack of self-esteem tells her she can’t do any better.” I took a drink of my new coffee.

I picked up the two empty cups and carried them to the trash. Kelli sat at the table, relaxed, with her chin in her palms, and her elbows on the table – looking at the empty chair where I was sitting as if she were in a trance. I walked back to her side of the table and placed my hands on her shoulders. She reached up and grasped my wrists. As I massaged her shoulders she moaned lightly.

“Erik, all of that stuff was great to hear, and I wish I would have written some of it down, so I could remember it. But, really, like you always do, you talked a little above me, and in huge circles. Do you believe in love?” Kelli asked, turning her head around to make eye contact with me.

I released her shoulders, and walked back to my seat, thinking. As I sat, I looked back at the disco ball and took another drink.

“I think this, Kelli. I think that I am in touch with who I am, at least more than most people are aware of who they are. I am quick to admit my character defects, and I know my strengths. Again, I am human, so I am flawed. We all are. I think we should all be honest with ourselves, and know ourselves well. We should not try to be someone that we aren’t,” I paused and thought.

“If we are honest with ourselves about who we are, and what we are capable of, and what we aren’t capable of, we should find someone that is compatible with us. That doesn’t mean that they are a certain height, or hair color, or have a particular physical attribute. The outer physical attractions help, but they don’t fit a particular mold in regard to who a person is. Now, when we find that person that is compatible, we should attempt to develop a relationship. With that relationship, over time, comes love. A love that is developed and maintained.”

“Two people that are compatible with one another can build a perfect love, but it takes both people to build and maintain it. Have you ever seen what a heart looks like? An actual human heart?” I asked.

Kelli nodded as she looked into my eyes, waiting to hear more.

“It doesn’t look like the heart that we have all drawn since we were kids. The heart that we all draw, the heart that’s on all of the cards at the store - it looks like a “V” with two semi-circles at the top. A human heart looks like an upside down teardrop of sorts. Small at the bottom, and large at the top. The heart we draw represents love. The human heart represents life. If we take two human hearts, and touch them together at the pulmonary artery, it forms a perfect shape of the heart that we always draw. The representation of love. It takes two people to have and maintain love. It takes two hearts to make love. And Kelli, to answer your question, I believe love exists, and I believe that it is developed between two people, the joining of two hearts,” I stopped and smiled. Proud of my explanation.

“Do you believe that we are compatible?” she asked.

“I certainly do,” I responded.

“Do you believe that we could develop a love for one another? Do you think it’s possible?” she asked, her face expressionless.

“Possible? Yes, I do, baby girl,” I responded, waiting for her next question.

She nodded her head and extended her arms across the table, holding her palms up. I reached out and held her hands. She sat, with her hands engulfed by mine, and closed her eyes. As Bright Eyes, First day of My Life played over the stereo system, she sat motionless. 

And her mouth formed the shape of a smile.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

KELLI. The blindfold had been over my eyes for a long time. Probably more than thirty minutes. Maybe an hour. When everything is dark - really dark, you lose track of things. I wasn’t sure which direction I was pointed, where doors and windows were, or what time it was. It wasn’t much different at first, but over time, my hearing had become more sensitive - and I was hearing all kinds of things that I normally wouldn’t hear.

Erik had brought some things to my house, and we were playing around. He brought me in my room, and asked me to lie on the bed. When I did, he told me that he was going to blindfold me. I have never been blindfolded before, and it was really dark. Darker than night time. So dark that you can’t see anything at all.

He asked me to lie still on the bed, and I did. I heard him making some noises that sounded like the metal on a belt buckle, and I thought he was going to whip me, but he didn’t. I was pleased that he didn’t, because I do think that is something I would really have to be in the mood for.

He wrapped something around each of my wrists, and told me not to move, and not to feel them with my hands. They felt cool on my wrist, but not like metal. Then, he put something on my ankles that felt the same way. I heard the metal noise kind of like a belt again when they got tight on my ankles.

I decided after he got done with my ankles that he was going to tie me up in some way. When he came back into the bedroom, he pulled my arms out to the side, and up toward the head of the bed. My legs were still at the bottom of the bed, but they were spread quite a bit. He did ask me if I was comfortable, which I thought was nice.

Now, I was stretched out on the bed, blindfolded, my arms and legs were secured tight, and I couldn’t move an inch. I couldn’t wait to see what was next. I was trying to listen to what he was doing in the other room. I could hear keys moving around, and some other noises, but I couldn’t tell what he was doing. My pussy started getting wet. I felt like it was opening up, but there was no one in here with me.

I was thinking of what could be next, and I was fantasizing of Erik, and what he might do. I wanted him to come kiss me and tease me, making me want him more and more than I already did. I heard the keys again, and then the front door opened and closed. I heard the door lock, and then footsteps.

No. No. No. Do not leave me here like this. No. God fucking damn you Erik Ead.

I tried to wrestle myself loose from the restraints, but I could not move at all. I was stretched tight, my arms in one direction, and my legs in another. I could not open my eyes or see anything at all. I wanted to cry.

Why didn’t he say anything before he left? Where did he go? Was this part of the game? Making me wonder? I was uncomfortable. Not uncomfortable with how I was tied up, I actually like how it felt, but I was uncomfortable with the fact that Erik was gone, and I was home tied up, alone. I tried to count in my head, so I had some concept of time, and how long he was gone.

I counted One, one-thousand, two, one-thousand, three, one-thousand, four, one-thousand until I got to about six hundred. At six hundred, I heard a nose downstairs in the street. It was people walking by and talking. I tried to listen to what they were saying. I could tell that it was a man and a woman, but not what they were saying for sure.

It was Wednesday night. There was not much going on in Old Town on a Wednesday, so there was not a lot of foot traffic below my bedroom window. Maybe it was Thursday. I couldn’t remember for sure. I tried to count the days of the week, and wasn’t sure how many I had worked this week. Wednesday or Thursday, it did not really matter.

I heard the air conditioner kick on and start to blow. The air felt cool on my thighs and stomach. I wanted to cover up. I wanted Erik to come back and tell me why he left. I wanted a drink. I was thirsty. How long have I been laying here?

I was laid down onto the bed and blindfolded. Erik told me to lay still and be a good girl. I laid here for quite a while, and he came back and tied me up. Then he left. No, he went in the other room, and walked around and then left. He went to the bathroom, and then he went in the other room. Yeah, that’s what happened. He tied me up, and then he went into the bathroom, used the bathroom, flushed the toilet, and then I heard the keys. After I heard the keys, I heard the door close and lock.

How long would all of that take?

I didn’t have a drink before we walked into the bedroom. The last time I had a drink, we were in the kitchen after we ate. I wonder if he had me eat the salad because he knew I would be tied here alone forever, and he didn’t want me to be full of food. No, that doesn’t really make sense. But, I had water with my salad. How long ago was that? Two hours. I needed a drink.

What if I became parched and my lips cracked because I was here with no water?

Oh. My. God. What if I have to pee? I’m going to have to hold it. What if I can’t hold it? I’d pee in my bed. Oh yuck, that’s gross. I can’t pee in the bed. I will hold it if I have to pee. I’m so thirsty, I need a drink.

My eyes itch. I need to scratch my eyes. Someone needs to scratch my eyes. Scratch my eyes and give me a drink. If I have a drink, it will make me pee. I don’t want a drink. All I need is my eyes scratched. That’s’ it. If someone would come scratch my eyes, I would be fine. If someone could scratch my eyes, they could untie me, so it wouldn’t matter.

If someone untied me or scratched my eyes, they would see me naked. No, that’s not going to happen. No one except for Erik is seeing me naked. I didn’t need anything. I could lay here for a lot longer and need absolutely nothing. Nothing at all. There was blindfolding me, tying my arms, and then he left. That’s when…no, wait. We had salad. And then we came into the room. And then, there was the blindfolding. And. I counted to six hundred. Six hundred seconds is sixty minutes, there’s sixty minutes in an hour, so I counted for an hour.

I have been here, tied up for hours. What did I do? Did I make him mad at me? Did I deserve this?

What did I do? When did I make him mad? When?

We ate sushi on Tuesday, and on the way here, I sucked his cock in the car. He didn’t cum. We got here, and we had sex, and fell asleep on the couch. On Sunday we watched movies. I didn’t do anything on Sunday that was bad.

Oh, maybe the blowjob in the car? Maybe it was that. Maybe I made him mad because I didn’t make him cum. He came when we had sex. Before we fell asleep on the couch. But maybe he wanted me to make him cum in the car. I don’t ever want him to be mad at me. I don’t want him to be disappointed in me, ever. I didn’t make him cum in the car when we left the sushi place.

That’s it, this is punishment. I deserve it, I am so stupid. I should have demanded we stay in the parking garage until he came. He wanted to cum, and I didn’t do it. I gave up too early. It was a test and I failed. I am so stupid. God, I am so stupid. I am so sorry, Erik. I am so, so sorry.

Wait. Six hundred seconds. That’s six hundred seconds. That’s. There’s sixty seconds in a minute, so divide. Divide. Divide six hundred by sixty. Sixty goes into six hundred. Ten.

Ten.

Ten what?

Six hundred seconds.

Ten fucking minutes. You’re such an idiot. You’ve been here ten minutes. Well, no. You’ve been here ten minutes, plus everything else.

Thirty minutes.

Maybe an hour.

This was so disappointing. Not Erik, but me. I was so disappointed in myself that I didn’t make him cum that day in the car. How stupid am I?

God, please make Erik come back. No, God, please let Erik forgive me for being so stupid. No, no…no. Stop. Stop. I’m not stupid. Well, I am stupid, but I don’t want to say ‘stupid’ in a prayer.

God, please let Erik forgive for making the mistakes that I so easily make. Let me be a better person, and make good decisions for Erik, like a good girl. Let Erik see that I am not a bad girl, and that I always want to do whatever I can to make him happy, above all. Above all except you, God. In your name, Amen.

I woke up. I think I woke up. I may have been asleep. Maybe I wasn’t asleep. I am not sure what is going on. I’m hearing noises. There’s someone in the kitchen. Oh my God. Someone is in the kitchen.

It’s got to be Erik. He came to untie me. My punishment is over.

What if it’s not Erik?

Lay here and be quiet. Be quiet in case it’s not Erik. Be quiet, Kelli. Be quiet.

The footsteps are getting closer. Someone is in the room, I can hear them breathing. It’s really dark, maybe they won’t see me.

I felt a hand on my thigh, and I twitched.

“Erik?”

“Erik, is that you?”

“Erik?”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Motherfucker, if Erik finds out you were here, he’s going to fucking kill you. Erik Ead, he’s a fucking bad-ass, and he’s going to cut your fucking throat, do you hear me?”

I felt a finger on my face. It was on my lips. I spit at it.

“Get your hands off of me, asshole. I am serious, he’s going to find you, and he’s going to cut you in little fucking bitty pieces.”

The hand covered my mouth. I felt pressure on the bed, and heard breathing next to my head. By my face.

“Shhhhhh,” the voice said.

“Shhhhhh,” it said again.

I felt a hand on my thigh. It moved closer to the inside of my thigh. It slowly creased against my pussy. I felt a finger touch my pussy lips.

Oh my God, I am soaked. I am so wet. Why am I wet? I shouldn’t be wet. I shouldn’t. I can’t see this person. It isn’t Erik. It is Erik, Erik is playing a game. What if it’s not Erik? Cross your legs, Kelli. Cross your legs.

I can’t cross my legs…they are tied to the bed posts.

Fuck.

The finger slid into my wet pussy. Oh God. It is so wet. I could feel the wet dripping down my crotch and in between my butt cheeks.

Oh God, this isn’t happening.

The finger slid in and out, slowly. In and out. Another finger started to tickle my clit, while the finger was sliding in and out of my pussy.

Oh God, no. This feels so good. Why does it feel so good? I have no idea who this is. Oh God.

Another finger is starting to slide in. Oh God. Oh God. It is so wet, and so tight. His fingers are huge. My stomach muscles tightened and released, then again. I pulled my hands against the restraints, but I could not move. As I pulled against the restrains, my muscles tightened, and contracted. I stopped fighting, and let him…

Oh God. Yes. Slide them in and out. Oh my God. In and out. Slowly fuck me with those fingers. Please make me cum. Make me cum. Slowly.

The other finger was rubbing my clit, and getting a faster rhythm. The fingers were sliding in and out faster. Oh God. He’s going to make me cum. Oh my God. 

The fingers sliding in and out feel so good.

I’m going to cum. I’m going to cum.

I bit my lower lip as I felt myself start to climax. My stomach muscles tightened, and my body jumped up and down on the bed as I came over and over and over. This was insane.

Holy fuck, I am still cumming. Oh. My. Fucking. God.

As I started to cum, his fingers began to slide in and out faster, and so deep I could feel his hand against me when they slid all the way in. Faster and faster, they slid in and out. I continued to have orgasm after orgasm.

Fuck yes. Keep fingering that pussy. Fucking slide those fingers….Oh God, yes.

In and out…..Yes, in and….oh, my God.

Yes. Yes.

Yes. Deeper. Oh fuck. God. Yes. Holy God.

I have never felt an orgasm like that. I could feel the cum running down my inner thighs and onto the bed as his fingers slid in and out. I felt wet under my butt. The fingers kept sliding in and out. Slowing down, but sliding in and out. I could hear my wetness.

Wet, slippery sounds as they slid in and out, his pace beginning to slow down. 

He’s moving in between my legs. I can feel his thighs between my legs.

Oh God, he is huge. The head is pressing against my lips. It’s not going to fit. There’s no way. Oh. My. God. Please stop, you’re going to rip me. 

Oh. My. God. He’s in. It feels sooooo good. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me like a dirty whore. Fuck my little slut pussy. Fuck me hard.

He began to find his rhythm. In and out. His fingers touched my nipples. I flinched, and squeaked. No, Kelli, be quiet, he said to “shhhh”.

His cock feels so good. He’s going inside of me so deep. I can feel his balls against my butt crack when he goes all the way in. Oh my God, his cock is so long, I can feel it in my chest. Fuck yes, yes…fuck me.

Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me fuck me.

I could feel every inch of his cock. Sliding in deep, and sliding back out, all the way out. The soft tip piercing my lips again, and sliding in slowly…It was so dark, and I could feel so much of his cock…the friction.

God, fuck me….holy fucking…fucking fuck, yes. Oh God, yes.

Harder. Deeper. All the way in. Pinch my nipples. Squeeze my huge tits. Suck them.

“Suck my tits, bite my nipples, suck them,” I screamed.

“Shhhh,” the voice said.

“No, suck them. Suck my titties. Bite my nipples. Squeeze them. Fuck me harder. Fuck me….oh God, please fuck me…”

I felt his hands around my neck. They began to squeeze my neck as he continued fucking me. Tighter and tighter they squeezed.

Oh God, I like this. It’s so exciting. God, I fucking love this. Choke me. Choke me. Fuck me harder. Shove me full of cock and choke me. God yes.

His hands squeezed harder, and held my neck tight.

As he held my neck firm, he pounded in and out of my pussy. His cock sliding inside of me made me feel as if I was being fucked for the last time in my life. One last time. This. Felt. So. Good.

Please, keep fucking me.

He began to fuck me harder and harder, faster, deeper, and found a new rhythm. He was going so deep, his balls were hitting my butt crack and I could feel him all the way up to my throat. I felt relief for a second as he slid out, and then he would slide right back in…Oh, God, I can’t take this. He bit my nipple….and bit the other.

Back and forth, his mouth on my nipples. Licking and sucking…nibbling.

In and out. In and out…Oh, my God. Yes, fuck me.

I’m going to cum again, oh fuck, here it comes. I am going to cum. God yes. Squeeze my neck you son-of-a-bitch. Oh my fucking God, yes. Go….go…..go….make me cum….go…go….fuck yes, fuck me.

He kept up the rhythm, slowly sliding in and out, I began to climax, and I started to cum. It felt as if I were being electrocuted from the inside out - slowly and softly as I continued to have small orgasms from the outside…and it increased as he thrust in and out. The electricity got more and more intense, and he began to…

“Oh my fucking God….Yes, oh please keep fuck me…” I screamed

“I’m cumming….oh, God, I am going to cum…I am cumming…again….oh God…..I’m cumming….again……again…oh. God….”

I felt his cock begin to swell, and he began to cum…..his warm cum shot out of his cock like it came from a gun. Oh God it felt so good. He slowed down as he came, and buried himself deeper, he was throbbing and convulsing inside of me…small spurts of warmth inside with each convulsion.

As he came, I came with him, hard. “Holyyyyy Fuckkkkkkkk.

“Oh, my….”

“God.”

I could feel his shirt on my bare chest and stomach. It felt like silk. It was skin tight. Smooth. I could feel his chest muscles, and his rippled stomach. He was huge. He covered my entire body.

I felt him slowly side out. His weight shifted on the bed. And then the bed was free of all weight.

His lips press against my lips. Softly they kissed me, and were gone.

Fingers on my face. Sliding to my cheeks. My blindfold sliding…

Oh wow. So bright. I can’t see. I’m fucking blind. Jesus, I went blind. Bright. So bright.

I blinked my eyes. I could see a halo of a man in front of me. A shadow. A silhouette. I blinked again. And again. I focused my eyes, and blinked again.

“Erik?!”

“You didn’t sound very certain,” he said, laughing.

“Well, I couldn’t see you, I was blind for a minute, I knew it was you,” I assured him.

“Did you?” he asked, still laughing softly.

“Yes, I could tell by your touch, your cock, your smell,”

“I purposely didn’t wear cologne here tonight, and when I left, I went to the basement and put on different cologne,” he said.

“Well, I could smell you,” I said, “You have a scent, and I know it.”

“Okay, I’m sure you do, baby girl,” he said, leaning down to kiss me.

As he kissed me, he reached up and unbuckled each of my arms. Surprisingly, they didn’t hurt. I reached around him, and held him in my arms. As I held him, he sat up, and pulled me with him. As we sat on the bed, he reached behind him, and unbuckled my ankles.

I raised my legs above his thighs, and wrapped them around him. My arms around his neck, I held him tight.

“Did I make you mad the other night?” I asked.

“Nope,” he responded quickly.

“Well, wait. You don’t even know when I am taking about. This was the night…”

“It doesn’t matter,” he interrupted.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I have never been mad at you,” he responded.

“Okay, well, did I disappoint…”

“Nope, same answer, you’ve never disappointed me,” he said sharply.

“Never, not once,” I asked, excitedly.

“Not one time baby girl,” he responded.

I felt warm inside. I hugged him and held him tight. I had so much to say. So much to tell him. I held him in my arms. He held me, his hands sliding up and down my back slowly, pulling me closer to him.

Love that is developed….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ERIK. As I pulled my bike in and parked it beside Teddy’s, I look at the patio. He was sitting where we were seated the last time we were here. He turned and watched me as I shut it off and pulled the key from the ignition. As I began to walk toward the patio, he stood up and walked to the patio entrance.

As soon as I got to the entrance, he shook my hand, and embraced me in a hug.

“How’s it going, brother?” I asked.

“It’s all good,” he responded.

I walked to the table where he was sitting and sat down in the same seat I sat in the last time. That is one thing I never quite understood or complained about either. With bikers, when we frequented places, wherever it is that you sit in an establishment, it is always your seat. If we went into an establishment for the first time, and I sat in the third seat from the left at the second table from the end, that seat would become my seat. The next time we went there, if someone tried to sit there, one of the fella’s would say, “Hey, that’s Doc’s seat”. Strange, but comforting in the same respect.

“I ordered you water and I got a beer. I just got here myself,” Teddy said.

“I heard your exhaust crackling as soon as I shut my bike off, I knew you hadn’t been here long,” I said as I motioned to his bike.

“Ride it like you stole it, you know how I do it, Doc,” he said, smiling.

I shook my head.

“So, how’s Heather?” I asked.

“She’s god damn good, Doc,” Teddy responded, nodding his head.

“Good, you guys actually get along?” I asked.

“Oh hell, Doc, all we been doin’ is fucking for the last few weeks. She fucks me silly. Gets those big titties out, gets on top of me, and she just rides my meat like she’s getting’ paid,” he said, laughing.

“Do you guys get along?” I asked.

“Shit, I just told ya,” he said, scowling at me like I was an idiot.

“What’s her last name?” I asked.

He raised his eyebrows.

“Middle name?”

He raised his eyebrows again, and shook his head.

“Birthday?”

“Fuck Doc, we been fuckin’, not filling out applications for employment. I ain’t got no goddamned idea what her fuckin’ name is - beyond Heather. Wouldn’t know that had you not told me. I don’t know where she lives, when her birthday is, or nothing. I know this, she’s six foot fucking two, and her titties are 34 J’s. I looked at her bra.

“Jesus, J’s?” I asked.

“Yep, J’s,” Teddy responded, smiling as he nodded his head in an exaggerated fashion.

“Biggest fuckers I ever seen. They’re crazy big. And, she ain’t got no kids, so they’re still good and high. Well, as high as a ten pound titty can be.”

“Well, that’s good, I suppose,” I said, laughing.

“How’s baby girl,” Teddy asked.

“She’s good. She’s a damn good girl. She may be around for a bit,” I said, waiting to see how Teddy would respond.

“Well, if she makes you happy, Doc, it makes me happy.”

“Hey, you hear about A-Train?” Teddy asked.

“Well, I heard there was some mess with him and his wife, but that’s it,” I answered.

“Listen to this. Lemme see. Okay, Train’s wife was hanging out with that friend of his, Steve. They’re going to lunch, getting a coffee, and shit like that.  So, people start telling Train, Hey, Steve’s fuckin’ your girl. Train tells ‘em all, Nope. I don’t believe it. This was maybe a month ago, from the way I heard it,” Teddy said, stopping as the waitress walked out.

The waitress delivered our drinks, and left menu’s at the table.

“Where’s Heather?” I asked.

“Working inside. She ain’t got the patio today. Okay, so this goes on for a bit, people telling Train that his girl’s being laid by his buddy Steve. He tells ‘em bullshit. So, I guess a week ago, maybe two, Train pulls her aside one night. They’re at home. He asks her, you fucking Steve? She tells him no. He says he can tell by looking at her she’s telling a damn lie. He asks her again, she starts balling. Admits to fucking Steve for a few months,” Teddy stopped and took a gulp from his beer.

“So, he tells her, okay, it ain’t that big of a deal. He says they can get through this. Work it out. Tells her to agree to stop fucking Steve. She agrees, and begs Train to not beat Steve’s ass. Train agrees. Now I am telling you, I’d a beat the brakes off that motherfucker if he had fucked my girl. But, you know A-Train; he’s all about giving a guy a chance. Guy. Girl. Hell, anybody. Heaven help a motherfucker crosses him twice, though,” he took another gulp from his beer, swallowed, and took a breath.

“Let me get this straight…he caught her fucking Steve - or she admitted to it, and he said they could work it out?” I asked, shaking my head in disbelief.

“Yeah, wait. There’s a bunch more. So…a few weeks or maybe a week or whatever passes, and she don’t come home from work. Sends Train a text. Says she’s working late – which she does often. But it’s a Friday, so Train wonders. He says he gets to wondering why work Friday night and not Saturday or Sunday morning. You know how he’s always thinking, he’s slick…”

I interrupted, “Hold on, did you hear this from A-Train, or from someone else?”

“The Train himself told me,” he responded, lifting his beer mug to his mouth with both hands.

“Okay, sorry Crash, go ahead.”

“Ok, let’s see…anyway, he’s uhm…he’s got a text from her. Says she’s working late. He wonders, because it’s Friday; why ain’t she coming home and going in to the office in the morning. He waits till about 8:00, and he calls her. She answers. He says she says some shit like, hey baby. Now, he said as soon as he heard that, he knew what was up. She never answers the phone like that. You know The Train; he’s all into patterns of behavior and shit. Anyway, he said he asks her a question. He says, so, what are you doing? She says driving, and she sits there, music playing in the background,” Teddy paused for effect, raised one eyebrow, took a slow drink, and put his mug on the table.

“Now, here’s where it gets good. Train says, Okay, here’s the deal, that’s ‘The Weeks’ on the radio. Ain’t no station in town play ‘The Weeks’, and you ain’t got ‘The Weeks’ CD. So, you’re either with Steve, because he’s got the CD, or he’s in your car, and you’re listening to his CD, ” he placed his forearms flat onto the table, leaned forward, and looked me in the eyes as he raised both eyebrows.

“Well, what fucking happened, Teddy?” I asked.

“She starts screaming. Oh my fucking God, he knows were together, and goes apeshit. She tells The Train, Oh, I’m so sorry, and then starts screaming at Steve that she’s sorry, and back at The Train, and the Train says, Do not come home, and she starts screaming, Oh my God, he’s gonna kill us,. And the Train hangs up. Said she called back a few times, and he didn’t answer.” Teddy stood up, wiped his forehead, and looked into the parking lot.

I was afraid of what was next. People get into relationships with another man’s wife, and don’t always consider the repercussions associated with doing so. To them it’s about sex and fun. The woman wants a relationship. The man lies, and tells her what she wants to hear. Sooner or later, people always get hurt. The maintenance of love. If people put the energy into the relationship that they are already in, most could be saved. Teddy turned, and walked back to the table slowly.

“So, Train loads his fucking assault rifle, drives to Steve’s fucking house, and stakes it out. He’s in full fucking gear, flipped the fuck out. Going around the house, setting trip wires and shit. Her car is in the driveway. Sends a message to Steve. Says, ‘If you call the cops, I will at least kill the first two on the scene, we both know that. And you will have the blood of those cops on your hands,’ cause he knows Steve’s a tree hugging Buddhist. Sends both of ‘em a text message. Says, ‘if I see your head pop up in a window, I’m gonna kill ya’. And he goes back to the street, gets in his truck and sits and waits - with night vision goggles on,” Teddy pushed his palms down on the table, and straightened his arms, pressing his massive chest outward.

“Well, what happened? Jesus, Teddy.”

“He sat there three fucking days. From Friday night till Monday night. Nobody came out, nobody moved. Doubt if anybody slept. Steve says he sure didn’t. Said the adrenaline and such, plus no sleep and no shower had him smelling like a wet monkey. Said he smoked six packs of cigarettes. Took six packs. Said when he smoked the last one, he started the truck, and sent a text, and said, ‘It’s over. I don’t care what you do, I’m done,’ Teddy stopped, and exhausted the breath from his lungs in an exaggerated fashion.

“Well, what’s happened since?” I asked, wondering what became of Steve, A-Train’s wife, and A-Train himself.

“Well, you know The Train. Strange fucker right there. He just lets go. He says, fine, fuck it. No big deal. He files divorce paperwork the next day. Say, Tuesday. And then calls Steve, and says he wants to meet. Steve says fuck no, calling the Train crazy. And Train says, dude, you fucked my wife, you owe me this. Steve is scared it’s a trap, and don’t wanna meet. Train convinces him it ain’t a trap, tells him he will meet in a pair of shorts, and flip-flops, with no shirt – to prove he ain’t packing. Crazy bastard. And he said Steve agreed. So, he meets him at that coffee shop up the street here. Rides his fucking chopper. In God damned shorts, no shirt, and fucking flip-flops. He gets off, stands out front, and waits for Steve. Steve pulls up, walks up to Train, and asks what he wants. Train shakes his hand. Tells him, sorry for the grief I put you through at the house, it was uncalled for. And then tells him good luck….and he gets on his bike and leaves. In flip-flops and fucking shorts,” Teddy slapped the table with his hands as he finished the sentence.

“So, is that it?” I asked.

“Well, ain’t that enough?” Teddy responded, raising his eyebrows and grabbing the handle on his beer mug.

“Yeah, just wasn’t sure if you were done. Damn. Yeah, A-Trains a piece of work, that’s for sure.

“Well, that’s all I got. That’s all that’s happened. That and fucking Heather,” Teddy said.

“Well, you know, it’s a damn shame about Train. Kelli and I were talking about this just the other day. People don’t ever put into a relationship what they need to maintain it. Trains wife could have been happy with him forever; he’s a damn good dude. But, she decided to stray, and get some cock somewhere else. Probably thought it would never amount to anything but getting some stray cock. And, once they start screwing around, they never stop. And, it never ends well, no matter what,” I shook my head and took a drink of water.

“So what are you and Kelli gonna do? I mean, you two gonna be in it for the long haul?” Teddy asked as he looked into his empty beer mug as if it really wasn’t empty.

“Well, I don’t know for sure. She is so much different, to me, than anyone I have ever been around. I don’t know how much of it is her, how much is me, and how much is just because of the timing or whatever. I guess it doesn’t really matter. She does for me what I always have thought a girl never could. She makes me want her. She makes me want to be with no one else, ever. She actually makes me stop even thinking about other women,” I realized as I spoke about her how much she meant to me.

“Yeah but you’re a fucking weirdo about that house. Your mom’s house. You don’t really let people in it, do you? You still like that, Doc?” Teddy asked.

“Well, I haven’t, no. You know, I grew up in that house. Then, off to college for what, twelve years? And then came home, and mom was killed. She and I are the only two that have ever lived there. It’s tough to think about someone else in that house.” I responded, feeling almost offended that he had asked.

“Doc, maybe it’s time you let go. You know we all have talked about it. Your mom and all. You always been a tough fucker. In school, now. Hell, you grew up as a kid and was the man of the house. Damn, I always admired you for that. Never really knew you real well till after high school, but, knew of you. But, after your mom passed, you just let go of making any kind of progress in life. You just stopped,” Teddy stood as he finished talking, and began to pace back and forth.

“Keep talking, if you have something to say,” I said, realizing he was uneasy.

“Well, you don’t let people in that house. You run around fucking girls and not ever getting close to them. When they like ya, you ditch ‘em. Hell you tie ‘em up, slap ‘em, beat ‘em, and all that crazy shit you’re in to. And they agree. You really think they are agreeing to do all of that because they just like it? Hell no, they ain’t. They’re agreeing to it because they wanna make you like ‘em, Doc. Fuck, I ain’t even a shrink, and I know that. You know it too, you just tell yourself otherwise. You’re a fucking doctor, for Christ’s sake. And you’re a doctor for the brain and all that shit. Knowing how a person’s mind works. If anyone knows what people are thinking or ought to be thinking, it should be you. We all just want you back, Doc. We want you happy,” Teddy stopped pacing as he finished speaking, and looked me in the eyes.

I stood, put my hands in my pockets, and thought. Kelli was, to me, different. I actually not only enjoyed my time with her, but looked forward to it. She was a person that I felt as if I could spend time with and never reach a point that I didn’t want her around. Having her live in the house with me was a totally separate issue.

“Brother, I am making progress. I think this girl is a good thing for me. Let’s see what happens with her. These things, these changes…they take time,” I said, actually believing what I told him.

“Well, let’s do this. Let’s take the girls on Saturday’s poker run. Heather and baby girl. Let’s take ‘em with us,” Teddy said as he stopped pacing and looked me in the eyes again.

“Are you fucking serious?” I asked, offended that he even suggested it.

“Yeah, dead serious. If you’re serious about her, bring her around the fella’s. Introduce her to the club. I’m taking Heather anyway, we already discussed it. If you won’t bring her and show her off to the fella’s, you ain’t serious. So, you gonna bring her,” he asked, both eyebrows raised, his hands raised in the air.

“You’re talking Heather?”

“Yup.”

“On the poker run?”

“Yup.”

I pulled my hands from my pockets, and picked up my glass of water. Holding it, I stood and thought. Bringing a girl around the bike club was a huge step. An introduction of her to the fella’s was an acceptance of sorts. Acceptance of the girl by her male counterpart, and acceptance, immediately, by the club. Bringing random women around the club - the entire club, was not something that was done, allowed, or accepted. I stood and thought about Kelli, and the discussion we had at the coffee shop about love.

“The answer ain’t in that water cup, Doc,” Teddy said, chuckling.

“Fuck it. Fine, I’ll talk to her,” I responded.

“Bring her, god damn it,” Teddy said.

“I’ll talk to her about it,” I responded, taking a drink.

“Tell her, don’t ask her.”

“Alright.”

“So, you bringing her?”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“Shake on it. Shake on it, Doc.”

I walked around the corner of the table, and met Teddy half way around the table, arm extended. As we shook hands, he pulled me into him and gave me a hug, patting me on the back.

“Love ya, brother,” he said as he hugged me.

“Thanks brother, for everything,” I responded.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ERIK. I finished my workout, and sat at the end of the weight bench. I stood, and walked into the living room of the house. This house, for the last thirty-five years, remained unchanged. I thought of my discussion with Kelli about Freud and Jung. Psychosexual development. I stood, looking around the house, and thought.

As a boy, I struggled for acceptance from my mother, and in the absence of a father, became my own father. I accepted myself as being able, always being considerate and sensitive of my mother and her needs.

I communicated my feelings to my mother, and although she accepted my feelings, she never accepted me as that fatherly figure. She loved my father, and never accepted his untimely death. She never remarried or dated. She was unable to accept me as that fatherly figure, and unable to accept me as a child, her child. I was raised by my mother and never accepted as her child, and never accepted as the fatherly figure I tried so hard to develop.

I struggled for possession of my mother, and she struggled for acceptance of me becoming the fatherly figure. And neither came. We are a product of our exposure in life. Our parents are the largest part of life, as children, that we become exposed to. Their involvement or lack of involvement, in our upbringing, alters who we become. Who we are for the rest of our lives.

I stood at the door of her room. Looking in at the room, it appeared the way it had for my entire childhood. The bed was still made with her favorite comforter. The photograph of my father remained on the dresser.

I stood in realization, as I looked at the photograph, that although my mother never accepted me as that fatherly figure, she accepted me as her partner. Her partner in life. Her soul mate. Her significant other.

I stood and stared. And thought. The reality hit me. Although I never accepted my mother as being enough, for not being a mother and a father, she accepted me as being her child and her husband.

And I cried.

 

 

 

 

 

ERIK. I couldn’t change who I had become, or who I was. I could, however, accept it and embrace it. Honesty, realization, and acceptance are the three steps that are required to allow us to work through our character defects.

If we exhibit certain traits, characteristics, or behaviors that are inherent to who we are, we must be honest, admit it, realize that it is so, and accept it as being part of who we are. This honesty, realization, and acceptance allow us to make adjustments in our life. Having this understanding to be who we truly are allows us to embrace it, accept it, and live a healthy life. Denial leads to an otherwise miserable existence.

In taking my own personal inventory, and being truly honest - I realized, and now was trying to accept, that I had developed through my psychosexual developmental stages, into a person that wanted to take out my frustrations, unresolved issues, and lack of acceptance of my mother, as a whole, in my sexual partners. This was part of who I was, and was not going to change.

I can be in a healthy relationship, I am certain of that. I am not a violent person. No one, in a relationship with me, would be subject to harm. But, it is important for me to know what it is that I would require of a partner. It is of further importance that I bring it to the attention of my potential partner, and get her acceptance of my desires as being part of what she wants, desires, or requires of me.

I looked up at the disco ball, took a drink of my coffee, and realized; I am not broken, I am an individual.

I grabbed my phone and sent Kelli a text:

Baby Girl: What are you going to do when I tell you to do something?

I placed my phone on the table, and took a drink of coffee. The phone beeped. I picked it up, and looked at the screen.

Baby Girl: Do it, and smile.

I read the text and smiled. I typed another text, and pressed send.

Baby Girl: What are you willing to do for me? To make me happy?

I held the phone in my hand, and turned toward Warren. He looked up from the espresso machine. Warren knew who he was. No different than Kelli or I, he enjoyed pleasing others. By serving them the best coffee in town. He embraced his inner being, and loved who he was. He returned the smile.

The phone beeped.

Baby Girl: Whatever you tell me to, Big Daddy. I will do anything for you to make you happy. ANYTHING.

I typed one last message, and pressed send.

Baby Girl: I own you, Baby Girl. I own you, and I am proud. Know that.

The phone immediately beeped. I looked at the screen.

Baby Girl:  :)

I read the message and smiled. Warren looked at me and smiled.

“What are you smiling about, Erik?” Warren asked.

“Oh, this girl I’ve been seeing,” I responded.

“Baby girl?”

“Yes, baby girl,” I responded, smiling.

“What about her?”

“Well, just trying to decide what to do with her, Warren,” I responded, looking at my phone.

“Do with her what you do with all the girls, Erik.”

“I’m thinking not, Warren…not with this one…” I responded.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

KELLI. My lease agreement was up in two weeks. As always, I had procrastinated as long as I could to consider moving out, making arrangements to move, and getting ready for grad school. I needed to make a decision about grad school, and I needed to do it now. I know my father would just die if I didn’t go to school and take over the family dealership. I didn’t want to disappoint him, and I didn’t want him to be upset with a decision I had made.

I feel like Erik and I can be in a relationship and make it work if he would consider it. I know we won’t ever be in a relationship if I go to grad school at Columbia. He wouldn’t be able to, nor would I expect him to wait.

So much has changed this summer. I have spent my entire life, sexually, needing no one. I have always felt like I could just roam from one man to another, using them for what I wanted from them, and that want was sex.

I have always said, being single is smarter than being in the wrong relationship.

Being with Erik wasn’t wrong. What I want a man to provide me isn’t typical of a woman. I know now, after talking to Erik in the coffee shop, that I am not broken. I am not weird, or strange. There is nothing wrong with me. I am just me, and I need to accept myself for who I am. I need a man to sexually treat me the way I like to be treated without exposing myself to the dangers of abuse. When I find that man, I need to hold onto him like he is my means of survival, because he will be.

Erik Ead is that man.

When I was a little girl, my dad would sleep with me. I held his finger in my hand. I didn’t hold it because he was my dad, I held it because it gave me an assurance that he was there, and that he loved me. I told myself that as long as I had his finger in my hand, we were connected, and that he loved me. I never told him why I held it. I kept it a secret.

When I would wake up in the middle of the night, sometimes it would be gone. I would reach around in the dark and find it, and grip it in my hand. Squeezing his finger was my way of telling him I loved him, and knowing that he loved me.

I thought about it, and I wanted to talk to my dad, and I wanted to talk to Erik. I owed it to my father to talk to him about this, and to Erik. I opened my text screen and scrolled to Erik’s name, and typed him a text.

ERIK EAD: Part of me has been missing my entire life. I have lived with a void in my soul. You fill that void, and you fill it perfectly. I love you, and I don’t want to lose you. Life without you in it is not living. I need you in my life to survive.

I read what I had typed. Love. We had not discussed love. Erik was a very deep person, and although he had a very sensitive side, and could be very caring, he was not one to be pressured into anything. In fact, he had proven many times through what he had done, and stories that he had told, that he would walk away before he would allow anyone tell him or try to convince him to do anything.

If I was going to consider losing the support of my father, and staying here to build a relationship with Erik, I needed to know that he was at least going to be receptive to me loving him. I reread the message.

If he is not willing to love me, or try to develop a love for me, I cannot do this. I have to be a woman, and not a girl, and go to grad school. If he will love me, my life will be complete. He will fill my void, make me whole.

I remembered the day he came into the dealership.

It’s Erik with a “K”, Kelli.

Enunciate.

Follow me to my motorcycle.

I pressed send.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

GENE. I had spent three years in Vietnam, and seventeen more years after that god forsaken mess of a war was over in the US Navy. Twenty fucking years. I lived on base, saving every penny I possibly could to try to spend my life succeeding at something.

I never intended to do any of this, or to build any of this for myself. I had always intended on doing it for my family. My wife and my daughter - the two loves of my life.

Women, to me, have always been like literature, and not like arithmetic. They aren’t something you can just calculate or figure out. They are un-fucking predictable, and always lead you in a direction that you have no way of knowing where or how it may end.

My wife, after my daughter was born, began using heroin again. She had promised right after the war that she was done with it, and that she would never use it again. From what I saw in the war, people aren’t able to stop using heroin and stay off of it for any period of time. That fucking drug kills people and kills their soul if it doesn’t kill them first.

I bottle fed Kelli, and tried to get Margaret some help to get off the drug. She couldn’t breast feed because she had that damned drug in her system. That damned woman. Why she ever tried to start using the drug again – after being off of it for two years, is beyond me.

When Margaret overdosed, I left Kelli with my parents, and took her body back to San Diego to be buried. I never recovered from losing her. She was the one woman I loved, and the only woman I loved. I am a firm believer that there is one person on this earth that we are meant to love, and that person, if we are able to find them, makes life worth living. Without that person, we live an incomplete life.

After Margaret passed, my love for Kelli became so much different. Kelli was the love of my life. When I bottle fed her, I thought of Margaret. I spent many nights with Kelli while she was young, guessing at what to do to make her be as comfortable as she could be. She slept in my bed for three years, beside me.

She got where she would hold my finger in her little hand while we slept. Sometimes, when I woke up in the night, I realized it was Kelli, reaching over me and trying to find my finger to hold so she could go back to sleep. When I finally decided that she was getting too old for me to have in bed with me, she cried like she was a baby again.

I remember going into her room, and sitting beside the bed talking to her, and trying to explain everything about why she couldn’t sleep with me anymore. It’s time for you to grow up and be a big girl, Muffin. Be a big girl for daddy and sleep in your room. Make daddy proud of you and sleep here like a big girl. I would hold my hand on the bed, and she would squeeze my finger until she fell asleep.

After she fell asleep, I’d walk into the other room and cry. I’d cry for Margaret. I’d cry for Kelli, and I would cry knowing that the rest of my fucking life would be spent alone, except for Kelli. I could never have another woman in my life. There was one love in my life, and she was gone. No one on earth could ever replace Margaret.

The military taught me plenty about life, and I have kept those thoughts with me throughout my life after the military. Discipline. Planning. Implementation. These things have me a dealership that is recognized by BMW of North America as one of the greatest dealership’s in the nation. These types of things aren’t handed to anyone, you earn them. I earned everything I have in life, and I earned this, fair and square, through hard work.

When Kelli was in grade school, she stood out. Kelli always stood out from the rest of the kids in school. Really, truth be known, Kelli has stood out in anywhere she has ever gone. The most beautiful girl in the entire world, and smart, too. She was in third grade when they wanted to move her up grade in school. I told them I would not consider it, because there was no telling what problems might become of it later. They could not provide me with any form of statistical data to support that there would be no problems in the future – from her being the youngest one in the class – so no remained the answer.

Kelli never really dated anyone, and that has always made me happy. She has had boys that were friends, but she has never been one to go out and date boys. She was in high school when boys started coming around, but she never had any interest to speak of in them. When she was twelve, I told her for the first time about my wanting her to run the dealership when she was older. We have talked about it every year since then, around her birthday. It was always something I looked forward to, letting Kelli know that she was the most important thing in my life, and that I wanted to give to her what my life’s accomplishment had been.

A woman in a dealership has always, right or wrong, been looked down upon. There still aren’t too many women sales persons in a dealership - they come and go, but it is more of a man’s world. I never quite understood that, and I have had several woman sales staff, but the men always throw a fucking fit about it, and sooner or later, they women leave.

Kelli being the owner of this dealership has been my goal since she was one year old. I thought, when Kelli was born, that I would sell it by the time I was fifty-five. Eventually, we would all move to another state, and live through Kelli’s high school years in a place like California. Margaret and I retired, and Kelli going to school. Kelli would meet a good man, and live across town from us in a house with her husband. That dream was shattered by Margaret’s love for that fucking dope. God damned woman.

My parents were the only ones that ever knew what happened to Margaret. When Margaret was on that damned dope, I told everyone she was a drunk. Everyone in town thought she was a drinker, and that she couldn’t get off the bottle. I could never tell anyone that my Margaret was a heroin junkie. I loved her too much to embarrass her like that.

When she passed, I was in a trance. It was like I was in the war again. I have seen plenty of death, and may have a different view than most, but I never looked at what I did as being wrong. My parents, until their death, never quite agreed with me about what I did. I told them all along that I did it for Kelli, and for my respect of Margaret.

I found her in the bathroom, and held her in my arms, there at the tub. She was in her white robe, the one I bought her for Christmas. God damned slippers were on the floor beside her, her body all twisted in a mess there by the tub. I brushed her hair back, and forgave her for leaving us, and prayed to God almighty.

I went in and woke up Kelli, and took her to my folks. My folks and I talked, and I told them my plan. Although they never agreed then, or even later for that matter, they never said a word about it. Everybody knew Margaret as a drinker, and would never question it.

I dropped off Kelli, and went to the dealership and got a used pickup truck. I went in the garage and got a body bag from my foot locker, and put Margaret in it, and put her in the bed of the truck. Winter of 1991.

I packed some bags with clothes for both of us, put them in the truck, got Margaret’s dope and needles found, and packed them into the glove box. I drove straight to San Diego in that truck with Margaret in the back. 1200 miles. Twenty hours is what it took. I spent most of the time that I drove cussing and crying.

I started smoking again on that trip. The thought of living a life without Margaret was more than I could fathom, and it didn’t sit well with me. When I got to Chula Vista, I got a hotel room off the highway and waited till morning. I called the police in the morning, and told them that I woke up to her, cold and stiff.

I explained that we had been driving all night, and that I carried her in the room from the truck thinking she was asleep. They never questioned me, and said that she was dead when I carried her into the room. I explained that she must have took a shot at the stop in Arizona at the truck stop.

They searched the truck and found her bad with the needles, dope, and such, and confiscated it. After the autopsy was done, and they called, I buried her there in San Diego, and never said a word to anyone but my folks.

I told everyone that she left and never came back. For years, most thought one day she’d sober up and return, we’d been together for a few decades after all. Some, after a few years, started a rumor that I had paid her to leave, so as to keep from embarrassing Kelli. I let them say what they had to say, all the while knowing the fucking truth.

I loved that woman and still love her today. I always told myself one day I would tell Kelli, but I am afraid that secret will go with me to my grave. There is not one single shred of benefit that will come from Kelli knowing that her mother died as a heroin addict. Not one.

Kelli went on to have perfect grades throughout school. She never got involved in anything but track, and she loved to run. She would spend all of her evenings after school running and doing homework. Nothing ever made me happier than to see her succeeding at what she set as a goal.

She got scholarship offers from all over the country, and chose going to school in the state, at KU, so she could be closer to me. She agreed to go to Columbia for her Graduate School to get the business masters. We agreed all along that a woman in this industry would need that to be a success, and to be perceived by others as being a success. She had my respect, but she would have to have that sheepskin to have the respect of everyone else.

Being without her, and knowing that she would be so far away was something that was going to be tough for me. Losing Margaret took a good chunk of me when it happened. Losing Kelli was going to be tough, even if I knew she was in another state going to school.

There were times when I wish that we could go back to the days when she held my finger in bed. Those days are long gone. Gone from ever happening again, but not gone from my mind.

Kelli is and will always remain the only thing in my life that I love.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

KELLI. Wondering what Erik was thinking drives me crazy sometimes. He doesn’t talk too much when he is away from me, and thinking about what he might be thinking about is sometimes more than I want to think about. My mind gets all jumbled with the possibilities of what he may be thinking, and whether or not I have done something to make him upset with me. He always tells me when I ask him if he’s upset that he isn’t. I don’t ever want him to be upset with me, not ever.

We needed to talk about my grad school, and about us, and he never responded to that text I sent him. I knew, knew, knew when I typed it that it was a bad idea. Even if I love Erik with all of my heart, it was a really bad idea to send that text. It was so childish of me, and so irresponsible of me. Erik was the best thing to ever happen to me, and I didn’t want to lose him over a ridiculous selfish text message.

Erik could spend the rest of his life with me and never tell me he loved me, and I would be happy – as long as I had him. Sometimes I wish I could turn back the clock and make changes to some of the stupid things that I have done. This was one of those things.

No matter how many times I looked in the mirror, I looked retarded. My butt is too skinny, and my thighs are huge. I stood in front of the mirror in my new dress trying to decide if I looked like a fool. As always, I did. Erik always told me that I looked great, but I wonder how sincere he is. I can’t look great all of the time. Not to anyone. Erik looked great, always.

I want his arms around me.

When Erik holds me, nothing else matters. When I put my head on his shoulder, there is nothing else that matters. Feeling his chest against mine, and his heart beating – I love it. He touches my face, and tells me I am beautiful, and he always runs his hands through my hair. I love it when he runs his hands through my hair. I wish he never stops running his hands through my hair.

And I love the way he makes me cum. Nobody has ever made me cum so much. Over, and over, and over. Erik has reinvented the orgasm for me. He said he was going to ruin me, and own me. He did both.

Sometimes I tried to think what I would be like if Erik was to leave me, and never see me again. I would lie in my bed and think. Erik no more. No more hugging. No more smiles. No more hand holding. No more tying me up and fucking me good. And no more I don’t even know what’s next because he said this is nothing more than a slice of a side of a diamond and oh my fucking God he is going to fuck me so many different ways and there are always going to be surprises because I never know what he is going to do next.

No more baby girl.

I always stop thinking about it and tell myself to live in today, and make Erik happy. Do what he wants, because what he wants is what I want. I want him to be happy, and when he wants something, I want to do it. Because he wants it.

I am so fat. Fat legs. I wish they could suck fat out of my legs and shove it in my butt. Someone needs to figure that one out. I would be a happy girl if my leg fat became my butt fat. If my butt was a little bit fatter, I wonder what it would feel like when Erik slapped it. I love it when I don’t know he’s going to spank me and he spanks me anyway. That first slap is so good. After he slaps it the first time, I know he is going to slap it again, and I wait for it. And then whenever he moves his arm, I know it’s coming. I still love it, but that first one is always the best.

Thinking about it is making me wet.

And I am not wearing panties.

Time, time, time. What time…6:50. Erik is supposed to be here to get me at 7:00.

Where do all my bobby pins go? I buy them by the hundreds, and I never have any. There should be 500 bobby pins on the floor or in my bed, and there are none. Three, I have three bobby pins in the bathroom.

Three. 

I hope when Erik gets here, he doesn’t get mad about the grad school talk. I will do whatever he wants me to do. Anything. But I do not want him to get mad because I spent all summer not telling him. I just want him to hug me. Hug me and tell me everything is alright. I want that.

I want him to hug me with his cock.

I can’t ever get enough of him. I know Erik said I am not broken and that I am normal, but all I ever think about is fucking him. That’s all I can think about. Who would have him and not spend every moment of every day wanting to fuck him? Who would not be fucking him every moment that he is around? I want to fuck him a lot more than he wants to fuck me. I wish he fucked me all the time. In the house, in the elevator, in the car, in the parking garage, in the parking lot, at the store. I love fucking him.

Bobby pins or no bobby pins?

Fat. I am so fat. Erik’s a doctor, he will know if they can put my thigh fat into my butt. I bet they can.

Time. 6:55.

No bobby pins, he can’t run his fingers through my hair when I have in bobby pins.

As soon as my phone beeped, I knew it was Erik. He’s always on time. He never procrastinates, not that I know of anyway. I can’t wait to smell him, touch him, and have him touch me. I am going to suck his cock on the way to dinner. That will make him happy. He will not be so mad about this discussion if I suck his cock on the way to dinner. I can’t believe that I didn’t think about that before now. I’m fat and stupid. He loves it when I suck his cock. He moans. And when he moans, I melt.

I grabbed my phone and swiped it.

Heather Whore: Sup, bitch?

Are you kidding me? What is she doing texting me? Grrrrrr. I typed a message and pressed send.

Heather Whore: Go away!!! Erik is on his way and we’re going out. TTYL.  :)

My phone beeped again.

Heather Whore: Did he talk to you about poker run?

I read and reread the message. Poker run? I typed a response.

Heather Whore: No.

Immediately, it beeped again.

ERIK EADS: Baby girl, I am outside the door.

I turned my phone off, tossed it in my purse, and ran for the door.

Opening the door to Erik’s car, and seeing him sitting there, his head turned and looking at me – made me feel better about what I was planning to do. He made me feel a new kind of happy when I saw him sitting there. Dark blue jeans, a dark blue V-neck tee, and his tattooed forearm pulsing as he gripped the steering wheel.

Something was different, maybe because I wanted it to be, but it was different.

“Baby girl,” he said as he looked at me.

His bicep flexed as he twisted his hand on the steering wheel.

“Big Daddy,” I said back, smiling.

He started to drive forward. I buckled my seatbelt, because he always yelled at me when I forgot to. I thought about it, and unbuckled it. I slid over the center console of the car, and laid my head in his lap, facing his stomach.

“You alright, baby?” he asked.

I turned and smiled at him as I slid my hand to his thigh. I could feel him beneath his jeans. I started stroking him as he shifted the gears, driving up the street away from Old Town. He began to swell with each stroke. I hoped he wanted this as bad as I did. I wanted to taste him. I wanted to make him happy. I wanted him to be pleased with me. He always says I suck his cock so good, and he always moans for me. I want him to like this.

I unbuckled his belt, and unbuttoned his pants. I turned my head slightly toward him, looking for rejection or acceptance from him. He was looking straight ahead, both hands on the wheel. As I unzipped his pants, his cock popped up. Immediately, I licked my lips and began to slide my mouth onto the soft head.

I licked the head in a circular motion, getting it wet. I looked up at him, and he was watching. I slid my mouth down slowly, taking as much of it in my mouth as I could. I purposely didn’t try to take it all, I wanted to tease him. He felt different in my mouth at this angle, and I wondered if I could fit all of him into my throat.

I slid my mouth up and down his hard, swollen shaft. With my right hand, I began to massage his balls, trying to get him to cum. As I massaged them lightly, I buried my face into his lap, taking him into my throat. My throat began to pulse. I loved the feeling of his cock being there. It made me feel like he was mine.  

I slid my mouth up and off of his cock completely. As my mouth slid off of the head, the saliva from my throat collected in my mouth. I spit a little onto his cock, and put my lips back onto it, making a string of saliva connect his cock to my lips. Slowly lifting my lips, I made sure we were still connected by the saliva. Proudly, I turned and looked up at Erik.

He watched as he drove. I did it again, stringing the saliva from my lips to his cock.

“Suck that cock, baby girl. Suck it like a good girl,” he said as he turned the corner.

I immediately engulfed his entire cock, and began to suck it as deeply and as quickly as I could. The harder I sucked it, the more saliva came from my throat. I went faster and faster, taking it all into my mouth, and then into the back of my throat. I repositioned on the console, and moved my left arm behind me, giving me more room. As my mouth slid up the shaft, I began to press against the bottom of his shaft with my tongue, forcing his cock into the roof of my mouth as it slid past.

I reached back and grabbed my dress, pulling it over my butt. I felt the air conditioning blowing on my butt. I could feel that I was wet. I began to moan as I continued to take him in my mouth. I started humming and growling as I started to suck it more aggressively. I raised my head, and looked at Erik.

“Cum in my mouth, please. I want it so bad,” I begged him, batting my eyelashes.

“If you keep doing that, I will,” he responded.

I licked the tip as I looked him in the eye. I kept eye contact, and took all of him into my mouth. He watched as I slid my mouth up and down, alternating his gaze from the road to my eyes. He turned another corner.

He removed his right hand from the steering wheel, and slid it down my back. I felt his palm in between my cheeks. He began to slide his two middle fingers along my wetness. I stretched, trying to force his fingers inside of me. I wanted to feel him inside of me.

Using his left hand, he turned the wheel. His right hand slid inside of me, and pulled upward, almost lifting my knees from the seat. He slid his two fingers in deep again, and pulled upward, stretching me. I stopped sucking and tried to feel what he was doing.

In again and up. In and up. Oh, God, what was he doing?

His fingers slid in, and he curved them, tickling me. In and curled. As they were deep inside of me, he lifted up, stretching me again. I can’t take this. I am going to cum all over his car.

Focus, Kelli, focus.

I swallowed his cock, and began growling as he fingered me deeply. I kept my head buried onto him until I could no longer breathe. I lifted my head, gasped a quick breath, and back down, taking his entire length into my throat. I growled as I kept it in my throat.

We drove in circles. I could feel it.

His fingers slid in deep and stayed still.

I growled and shook my head.

Cum, please cum, I can’t take this. Please cum for me.

His fingers started slamming in and out as fast as he could. My focus shifted from sucking his cock to the feeling inside of me. I lifted my mouth from his cock, and laid my head onto it, pressing my cheek against it.

In and out. In and out.

And the car stopped.

“Where are we?” I asked, turning to look out the window.

“On top of the parking garage. On the roof,” he responded.

“You have to move, I need to get to the console, so I can shut off the car,” he said.

I sat up in the car, and he moved the selector on the console, and turned the key off.

“Get your little ass out of the car,” he demanded.

Oh no. He was mad. What did I do? Crap, I did something wrong. Fucking Heather. Heather told him about grad school. Fuck.

I got out of the car, and looked over the top at him.

“Are you mad at me?” I asked.

“Fuck no I’m not mad. Get your little ass over to the edge of the roof. Now.”

I took a couple of steps to the edge of the roof, and looked down. He had parked at the parking garage at the theatre, a block from my house. I was looking down at all of the traffic and the people walking in and out of the restaurants. The concrete roof was raised up at the edge, like a wall, and came up to my stomach.

“Put your hands on the top of that wall, and look down, do not turn around, do you hear me?” he asked harshly.

“Yes. I mean yes sir,” I quickly put my hands where he said.

I turned and looked as he walked around the car, his jeans at his thighs, his still stiff cock sticking out in front of him.

He came behind me and lifted my dress. His right hand grabbed my hip and pulled me back toward him. I bend my knees. I felt the head of his cock pressing against my lips, and then slide in.

Holy fuck, this isn’t going to take long for me….Oh. My. God.

I looked down at the people, and he started to slide out slowly. He pressed it back in, and held his hips against my butt. I felt his chest against my back, and his hand grabbed my hair. I felt his breath on my right ear.

“See that car down there? You have about two minutes until they’re up here. That’s if there’s no one else already coming up ahead of them. Now, Kelli, I want you to cum on my cock. Do you hear me?” he said harshly.

I nodded my head.

“Do you hear me?”

“Yes. Yes sir,” I responded. Oh God. Get to fucking me, already.

He slid out and began to fuck me hard - harder than he ever has before. He was jackhammering me. Slap, slap, slap, slap…I heard his hips against my butt. This isn’t going to take long, not long at all.

“What do you do when I tell you to do something?” he asked as he fucked me harder and harder.

I closed my eyes and began to cum.

“What do you fucking do when I tell you to do something?” He screamed.

Oh shit, I was supposed to answer that.

“Do it, baby. I do it” I responded.

“Cum, you sexy little bitch. Cum.” He screamed.

He reached under me and pinched my right nipple in his finger and held it.

“Cum.”

In and out he forced himself. A sensation rang from my nipple to my groin. His cock felt so good sliding in and out. Focus Kelli, focus.

Ouch!! Holy fuck.

His left hand slapped my ass hard.

And I exploded. I screamed.

“I’m cumming….I am cumming…Oh God.”

“Yes…yes…yes,”

“Eriiiiikkkkkkk,”

“Oh – my – God,”

I heard a car come over the bump and onto our level of the roof. I could hear it accelerating. He slid out, and backed against the car, facing me. My dress fell to my thighs. I stood, looking over the edge of the roof, my legs shaking. I heard the car park. People started talking. As the voices got farther away, I turned toward Erik.

“I want you to fuck my mouth, I want your cum. You didn’t cum.” I said, as I got onto my knees.

The concrete felt harsh against my knees. I moved, but it didn’t feel better. I moved backward, and pressed my back against the concrete wall where I stood a few minutes before.

“You come look over the edge, and shove your cock in my mouth,” I demanded.

“You have about three minutes before someone’s up here. Hurry the fuck up,” I said, laughing.

He slowly walked toward me and unbuttoned his pants. He reached down and pulled his half-hard cock from his pants. He straddled my face with his thighs on either side and put his hands on his hips.

“Put your fucking hands on the ledge, you better make this quick,” I said in as harsh of a tone as I could without laughing.

“On the ledge God damn it,” I said again.

He chuckled and put his hands on the ledge. I grabbed his butt in my hands. As I did, he flexed his butt muscles. The felt like rocks in my hands. I pulled him toward me. As he bent his knees, I took him into my mouth.

I took him into my throat, and growled, holding his cock deep in my throat. Sliding out, I made slurping sounds, and spit saliva on the tip, and then back into my throat. I continued over and over, getting lost in the feeling of having him inside of my mouth.

I closed my eyes, and the man that I love moaned - on the roof of the parking garage, until he erupted into my throat.

I felt his warmth inside of me, the warmth of his flesh, and the warmth of his cum. I opened my eyes. He pulled from my mouth, and stood in front of me.

“You make me so fucking happy,” he said, looking down at me.

I smiled and looked at his face. He was so gorgeous. I’m sure, to most women, he looked stern. Mean. To me, he looked gorgeous. He may be harsh, and an asshole to most, but to me he was sensitive, and compassionate.

He provided me with all that I needed and wanted. I didn’t deserve him, and I didn’t deserve this, but I was going to take it as long as he would give it to me. Whatever Erik gave me, whatever he thought I needed, I would take. He knows what’s best for me, he knows – even when I do not – what it is that’s best for me.

I don’t deserve him, but he deserves everything I can offer him. And I am going to offer him my life.

Entirely.

I am his.

He owns me…

“Get up, baby girl, we need to go,” he said as he zipped his pants.

I stood up, and as I did, my knees burned. I looked down, and they were bloody.

“Baby girl, your knees. Damn,” he said, pointing at my knees.

“They’re fine, let’s go,” I said acting like it was no big deal. They burned when I stood. I could feel the blood trickling down my shin.

“Let’s go back to your house and clean those up,” he said.

“Okay.”

In the elevator, going up to the house, I looked down at my knees. They looked awful. I laughed, thinking of what people would think. The part of them that was scraped and bleeding was about the size of a baseball, or my entire knee cap. There were lines scratched into the skin from the concrete. I laughed as I looked at them.

“It’s not funny, they look like shit,” Erik said, shaking his head.

“It felt good to feel you cum in my mouth, it was worth it,” I said, and I meant it when I said it.

“You sure are a good girl,” he said as he leaned over and kissed me.

The elevator beeped and we got off, turned, and walked to my loft.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ERIK. “Do you want some help with the bandages?” I asked.

“No, I will fix them up. I have to pee too,” she responded as she went into the bathroom.

I walked through the open loft and looked out the windows at Old Town. This place had a fabulous view, and I felt peaceful looking out over the city. I wondered about my ability to live in a place like this in lieu of living in my home, or any home for that matter. There was a certain solemn feeling standing here looking out at the buildings.

I looked around the house. The floor plan was open, and the entire house was like a huge flat. It was decorated in a contemporary fashion, and looked very modern. I looked into the kitchen. The countertops were free of clutter. A toaster was the only sign of an appliance on the countertop. On top of the refrigerator was a jar.

I looked at the jar. It seemed out of place on top of the refrigerator. I walked closer, and as I did, I could see that it was a Mason jar, an old Mason jar with a brass lid. I walked closer. As I got closer to it, I could see that it was full of paper.

I walked up to the jar and picked it up from the top of the refrigerator. I looked inside, turning the jar. Different colored paper, receipts, tickets.

I squinted and tried to read what was on them. I turned the jar in my hand and looked, amazed at the contents. White House Down. Two tickets from the movie theatre. Receipts: Espresso A Go-Go $8.19. Espresso a Go-Go $13.12. Il Vicino $21.19. I shook my head, turning the jar. The Buckle $ 88.30.

She had kept every receipt she could get her hands on from where we had been. U turned the jar, looking in amazement. On the bottom was a dried flower. From the farm house we broke into, I was sure. I had picked a flower on our way off the porch and handed it to her. I had imagined she would have thrown it away. I wondered how she even got it here, riding on the back of the motorcycle? She must have put it in her pocket. The “Air Bag” sticker off of her side of the car, she had peeled it off of the dash after I bought the car.

Souvenirs.

I felt a rush of feelings I had not felt in years.

When my mother passed, I frantically looked through the house for answers, some form of answer to my life, to my father, to what happened. An answer for why I had to live my adult life without a mother. An answer to my father’s wealth. In my search, I found a box. In the box was a copy of every newspaper article that had my name in it. Every report card, every crayon drawing, everything that was ever placed on the refrigerator with a magnet.

Everything.

In my mother’s closet, a box of souvenirs. A box containing my life, proof of my existence and my accomplishments. Proof, to me, that she cared, that she loved me.

She loved me.

I placed the jar back on the top of the refrigerator, and smiled. I smiled inside and outside, both.

I walked to the sofa, and as I did, the bathroom door opened, and Kelli walked out, smiling. Wearing gauze bandages the size of dollar bills on each knee, naked as the day she was born, she walked out into the living room. Her body was that of a model. Her looks as naturally beautiful as could be formed. She gracefully walked her walk of purpose into the living room.

And collapsed into my arms.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

KELLI. “Grad school?” he asked.

“Yes, at Columbia, in New York,” I said, crying.

“Baby girl, don’t cry. Is that what you want?”

I shook my head from side to side. I opened my mouth, and cried harder. I couldn’t do this anymore. I couldn’t speak. My knees hurt, I was tired, and I was deeply, madly, for the first time in my life, in love.

My world, my future, my only reason to continue to exist and have some form of meaning, some form of true accomplishment…sat across the sofa from me, looking into my eyes.

“What do you want, baby girl. Tell me. Just tell me what you want. For a minute here, clear your mind. Don’t think of what your father wants. Don’t think of what you think I want. Don’t think of anything. Think for a minute, a long minute, what do you want? Instead of being selfless, be selfish for a moment. If you could make the decision here, if your decision was what happened, no repercussions, no one gets angry, no consequences, what do you want?” he asked, speaking quietly and softly.

“Think with your head, baby girl, not your heart.”

I extended my arm toward him, my fist clenched. My arm was shaking, I was crying, and trying to catch my breath. I held my arm out as flat as I could, and opened my index finger and pointed at Erik.

“Me?” he asked.

I nodded.

“You want me?”

I nodded again, sobbing. Over and over I nodded, my finger pointing to Erik.

“Your future, your life, your acceptance to Columbia, your father, his wishes, the dealership,” he paused, and looked into my eyes.

“And you want me?”

I leaned toward him, touched my finger to his chest and pressed hard, sobbing and nodding my head.

He moved my hair behind my ears, and softly put his hand under my chin and lifted it until our eyes met. I looked into his eyes, and tried to stop crying. His left hand clasped my right hand lightly. He lifted my chin a little higher and leaned toward me, his mouth open slightly. I closed my eyes.

His lips met mine and we kissed. Softly, he kissed my lips as his hand slid to my face. He held my face in his hand, and turned my head to make the kiss perfect. I felt my warm tears dripping down my face, onto my lips, and then onto his face. Our lips parted. He sat back on the couch, and looked into my eyes, his hand still on my chin.

His mouth opened slowly. He swallowed. He took a deep breath, exhaled, looked down at the couch, and then looked up. He inhaled again, and he spoke.

“I will go with you to talk to your father if you wish,” he said.

I tried to scream, but my mouth just opened, and nothing came out. I lurched forward, and wrapped my arms around him, holding him tight. I laid my head on his shoulder, and cried. Tears of fear, of uncertainty turned to tears of joy, and I cried.

His arms wrapped around me and he leaned his head into mine. He patted me on the back and stood with me in his arms. I was exhausted. He carried me into the bedroom, and held me in one arm. My legs were wrapped around his waist. I didn’t want to let go.

With his other arm, he peeled the comforter back, and laid me onto the cold sheet. Leaning down to release me, his head beside mine, I feared him leaving me for the night. We have never slept together, and I wanted it so bad. As he released me, I tried to whisper, but again, nothing came.

My head on the pillow, I still cried softly. He walked away from the bed, and I heard his steps behind me. I heard his belt, and his zipper. I exhaled and tried to stop crying. He removed his shirt. I felt the bed shift, and the comforter move. He crawled into bed, and started to nestle beside me, his chest on my back.

I exhaled and closed my eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ERIK. Kelli was exhausted. We had talked for over an hour and a half, her naked on the couch, about the poker run, grad school, and her father. She cried the entire time. I was not prepared for a conversation with such depth and emotion. I was not prepared to make a mental decision about my desire to have her stay here; hell…I didn’t even know she was scheduled to go anywhere.

Everything happens for a reason, and this was no exception.

I lay in bed, trying to make us both comfortable and I thought of the jar on the refrigerator. The receipts. The souvenirs. She had, from the beginning, kept everything that reminded her of us.

Everything that was some form of proof that we existed as a couple.

I thought of the text that she sent me the other day. I remembered it word for word.

Part of me has been missing my entire life. I have lived with a void in my soul. You fill that void, and you fill it perfectly. I love you, and I don’t want to lose you. Life without you in it is not living. I need you in my life to survive.

To survive.

This poor girl had no idea what she was signing on for. Although I was a man’s worst nightmare if crossed, I was, to women, kind, considerate, articulate, caring, and even romantic. Sexually, I was a demanding prick. She had only seen a portion of what I expected or wanted from her sexually. She is eager if she’s nothing else.

I wondered about her ability to be sexually compatible with me. She had no idea what was in store for her.

She lay beside me, her breathing becoming shallow. Poor girl. She had a rough day. Her knees bandaged from the concrete parking lot. Her hair wet from crying. Her muscles were certainly sore from crying and being tense for an hour and a half on the couch.

I thought of my mother, and the box I found in the closet, and her love for me. Love that I never really knew existed until I found that box. I thought again of the jar, and the similarities of the two.

I moved closer to Kelli. My hips against her ass, my chest tight to her back. Her left leg was straight, and her right bent at the knee. I bent my right leg, and pressed it lightly against hers. I pressed my left leg to hers. I reached over her with my right arm, and cupped her left breast in my hand lightly. I slid my left hand between her head and the pillow, allowing her to rest her head on my extended forearm.

I laid my hand flat on the pillow. It felt cool on my hand. I flattened out my hand, feeling the cool fabric of the pillow.

Her breathing became shallow, and she twitched. Good, she was going to sleep. I held her a little closer. She twitched again, and moved her right arm toward the pillow. Her hand rested beside mine on the pillow. I held her close.

As her breathing became shallow again, she twitched.

Her hand slid to mine, and she slowly formed the palm of her hand around my index finger. She closed her hand and softly squeezed my finger in the palm of her hand.

And she fell asleep.