Chapter 8
Eric
“Oh, yes!” I hear her moan. “That’s it, right there?” And her tongue comes out to lick her ruby red lips.
I close my eyes, pushing her image out of my mind, wishing she would shut up as I grasp her hips and thrust myself harder into her body, only wanting my orgasm to come quickly.
To satisfyingly cum in the condom, satisfying this desire that Emma is still refusing to satisfy.
I feel myself explode and I thrust deep, holding myself even deeper inside as I finally attain my orgasm.
Suzanne, at least I think that’s her name, is now panting in my ear, her moans still sounding like a cheap porn film.
Opening my eyes, I stare at myself in the mirror over the sink where I’d just fucked my latest conquest, and I wonder when this feeling of emptiness started happening.
Unable to meet my own eyes, I hastily grasp my cock as it slides out of whatever her name is and quickly slide the used condom off before throwing it in the garbage. Pulling my pants up from where they had slid down to around my knees, I don’t say anything as I rebutton my jeans and slide my zipper up, hating this feeling that is now slipping through me.
It’s occurring more and more lately.
This feeling of emptiness…
Of the building of self-hatred for myself.
Turning abruptly away from the woman still perched on the edge of the sink with her dress still up around her waist, her underwear hanging off one leg, I open the washroom door and head back into the restaurant.
I see her husband looking for her.
Striding over to him, I say, “I believe I seen her in the washroom.”
Cockily, I walk away from him.
It’s like I’m on this self-destructive path lately. I fuck as many women as I want, after all, they are readily available.
Everywhere I look, they want it but afterwards - lately - I have started to feel guilt and shame.
Only more lost…
And it’s all because of Emma.
Since she moved here, her presence has seemed to bring along the guilt with it.
Sitting, I place my napkin across my lap, ignoring his question as I take a sip of my wine.
For a fucking rock star, I’m sure he’s had his share of women before his current girlfriend, but yet he always seems to be critical of me and my actions.
“You’re so miserable and you don’t even know it,” Borden continues, shaking his head in sarcastic sympathy as he digs into his dessert.
“This coming from a guy who has had more than his fair share of women?” I snidely reply in return.
Borden lifts his glass, giving me a mock smile as he says, “Touché,” before taking a large swallow.
Being a big rock star, Borden had women throwing themselves at him wherever he went, and up until a few years ago, he had taken advantage of their willingness. He’d even thrown some my way as he made his way up the success ladder but then something in him had changed. He never spoke about it, we didn’t have that kind of a relationship despite being friends since we were five years old. I just wasn’t a person who ever had close relationships with anyone where you spilled your guts, your entire inner thoughts, because I really didn’t see the point. It only opened you up to someone being able to use your deepest and darkest secrets against you. Besides, there was nothing anyone could do to change your shitty life so telling someone about it seemed pointless to me. But it didn’t make me clueless from noticing the change in Borden when he’d just reached the pinnacle of international fame with his band because he no longer went through women like candy.
No, instead he had saddled himself with a girlfriend.
A girlfriend who seemed like a comfortable and safe choice rather than someone he truly cared about.
She seemed nice enough, and cute, but I always got the feeling that Borden had settled somehow with her.
Plus, I also couldn’t understand why he had thrown away all of his options for one woman.
“So, you really think sleeping with every woman who looks your way is going to smooth the path to Emma’s bed?” he asks, his eyes watching my face.
I avoid answering again and instead dig into my dessert.
“I’ve met Emma, Eric. She isn’t the type to be interested in a player,” he continues.
He pauses, and I continue eating.
“If you even want a remote chance of being with someone like her, you have to change how you treat women,” he continues.
Suddenly angry, I respond, “Says the man that has chosen to settle with one woman.”
Borden leans back in his chair, his eyes assessing me calmly, but also very cool and I know I crossed the line.
“Sorry man,” I say and drop my fork. Despite having just satisfied myself between the legs of a woman that had been trying to catch my eye all evening as she sat only three tables away, I still feel agitated.
Angry.
“It’s just…fuck…” I try to explain. “I did a lot to get Emma here and she still won’t give me the time of day.”
“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe Emma is not your usual type? That she can’t be bought?” Borden asks.
Sighing, I reply, “I know she isn’t like the rest and that’s why I want her.” I think of the radiant smile that had first drawn me in. That smile had not once shown itself since she moved to LA.
And I missed it.
I have watched her walk around every day, looking like some piece of her had been lost.
I’d offered several times to fill in that piece for her, but she never even glanced my way when it comes to sex. I was sure one night with me and she would even forget how to spell his god damn name.
But she showed absolutely no interest.
My eyes connect with the lady I’d just fucked in the washroom as her husband angrily follows her back to their table where she grabs her wrap, her eyes angry that I’d sent her husband in to find her. Smirking at her, I lift my glass in a toast.
Serves her right for cheating.
Her husband spots me, and he heads straight over, his strides and clenching fists showing clearly his intent. I prepare myself, standing to meet him face to face. I haven’t had a good fist fight since I was a teenage boy, haunting the hallways of my private school, threatening anyone that I thought was weaker.
And tonight, I was spoiling for a good fight.
“You’re a god damn cocksucker,” he says, his saliva spraying my face as he speaks.
Smirking, I reply easily, as if anger is not humming just beneath the surface, “No, I believe your wife is since she had hers stuffed with mine only a few minutes ago.”
I hear her gasp, see Borden come to a standing position just before I allow the husband to land a punch to my jawline.
My head jolts to the side from the force of the connection, and I welcome the immediate throb that follows.
“I allowed you that one just because I’m a prick but that’s the only one,” and with that I land a blow to his stomach, making him crumple before I land an upper cut to his jaw.
The landing crack resounds through me, encouraging me further and I grasp his shirt, ripping the buttons off as I raise my arm to land another blow.
Borden grasps my raised arm, as the restaurant around us comes to complete silence upon the guests realizing there is a full-on fight in front of them.
“Eric,” Borden warns, “Think about what you are doing. Just walk away and cool down.”
I look at Borden’s face.
I see the pity there and I suddenly realize he can see the real reason for my anger.
He is the only one in this world that knows me, understands me, even though I’ve always kept myself distanced from him.
And it causes all anger to leave me.
Releasing the bleeding husband, I turn and leave.
Outside, I gasp for air.
Borden is quick on my heels coming to stand next to me, saying nothing more than, “I tossed a few hundred bucks at the waiter on the way out to keep them from calling the police.”
I don’t bother to say thanks as I turn and walk towards my hotel.
“Eric!” I hear him call after me.
But I continue as if he hasn’t spoken, not pausing or breaking stride as I continue to my hotel.
“You’re an asshole, you know that, don’t you?” I hear him call out to me.
Smirking snidely, I couldn’t agree with him more.
Despite everything that I’d done to try to get Emma to see me, it hasn’t worked, and I find myself getting more and more frustrated.
Impatient.
Jesus, no woman had been as hard to crack as Emma.
Reaching the hotel, I stride past the doorman and continue to the elevator. Pressing the button impatiently several times, I quickly wave away the bellhop whose job it is to escort me to my suite, as my iPhone rings.
Great. Just what I fucking need, - I think to myself as my mother’s face lights up my screen.
I debate answering for a moment, but I know she’ll keep pestering me until I answer.
She never calls without wanting something.
Lifting my phone to my ear, I don’t greet her. Instead, I just wait for her to speak.
“Eric, darling. I heard you were in New York,” she drawls out, her tone, as always, fake.
Just like most of her body parts these days.
Unsurprised that she knows of my whereabouts since she has been trying to get into Borden’s pants since the day he became famous, I just continue to wait for her to tell me what she wants.
“Janet said she seen on Facebook that you were tagged in one of those paparazzi photos with that handsome rock star friend of yours, Borden,” she continues, uncaring that I haven’t responded. She’ll get to exactly what she wants soon.
Of that, I have no doubt. My mother was the most self-centered woman I knew.
Her and my father were the perfect match despite the fact that they barely tolerated each other.
They were both self-centered socialites and had married each other initially because after a few dates, they had climbed a few rungs higher on the social ladder. Back before the social media craze, the rich socialite dating the next richest socialite was what had made the LA social scene buzz outside the celebrity circle. People had apparently loved the idea of my parent’s together and because they would do anything to continue to keep the spotlight on them, they had married and pretended happiness.
Then my mother had accidently ended up pregnant with me, but because the social scene had somehow found out about her pregnancy and had been all abuzz, my parents had decided to keep me, using me to push themselves further up the social ladder.
But what my parents hadn’t planned on was aging.
As they started to reach their 40’s, the years of partying had caught up to both of them which then prompted my mother, who always raged at me that I’d been the one to change her body through childbirth, had started in on replacing parts of her body that she could no longer tolerate looking at.
So now she was half plastic…
Half fake…
Now matching her heart.
“Janet and I are both here in New York as well, looking for a little fun. How about you and your friend Borden swing by?” she finally gets to her point.
Gritting my teeth, I silently wonder when my mother will stop trying to pimp me out to her so-called friends.
“Borden is not with me any longer,” I reply, stepping onto the elevator and insert my card to take me to my penthouse suite.
“Oh pooh,” my mother continues. “We were hoping you two would meet us for drinks. Why don’t you call him? Or better yet, give me his number?”
“Mother, he’s involved with someone and has no interest in someone like you,” I state, my anger rising even more.
I hear her soft chuckle and I grit my teeth again.
“Oh Eric, I think I could change his mind…” she murmurs suggestively.
My stomach, even though I should be used to my mother’s sexual innuendos, recoils.
“Despite what you think Mother, not everyone wants to bang you. And just to be clear, I’ve no interest in banging your friend Janet,” abruptly, I cut the call and quickly turn on the airplane mode before stepping off the elevator and into my suite.
Selecting a playlist, I link my phone to the in-ceiling Bluetooth speaker before pouring myself a large glass of scotch.
Striding over to the sliding glass door, I unlock it and step out onto the balcony.
Grasping my glass tightly, even more irritated – no, angrier – after my mother’s call, I look out over the New York city lights. I’m so sick of my mother and her constant ploys to try to get Borden into her bed.
Her constant ploys to try to get me into her friend Janet’s bed.
I squeeze my eyes shut as my mind flashes back to the day I turned sixteen.
I’d been upstairs in my bedroom, wearing headphones as I tried to block out the adult party downstairs. The party hadn’t been for me, my birthday was never celebrated as insignificant to my parents as I was, and I really wasn’t welcome. No, this was the usual weekly party where my parents invited anyone they thought would enhance their social status. I’d never enjoyed the thick smoke that permeated through the house as cigarette smoke mingled with the smoke from whatever drugs were being used that night, so I always made a point to stay away, hiding away in my bedroom.
Until the night of my sixteenth birthday…
Girls my age had just started to gain my notice about a year prior, but other than a few kisses that I’m sure I didn’t do quite right, along with my propensity to fight, I’d had no first-hand knowledge of girls and sex. Even back then, no one had wanted me nor had wanted to deal with my teenage angst.
An unloved - unwanted - and angry boy who had learned at an early age that he would do best to learn to survive on his own was not something a teenage girl would ever want to take on.
Even now, I can still remember her eyes on me, driven by a hunger I never quite understood up to that point, as I maneuvered my way through the crowded kitchen where cocaine was being cut and divided on the countertop.
My parents hadn’t bothered with dinner that night, and lately, I’d found myself with more and more of an appetite and I knew it was because of the recent growth spurt I’d just had. So, I’d braved the party crowd and as I closed the fridge door, my eyes had met the hungry eyes of a dark-haired woman dressed in a figure hugging black dress with the tops of her breasts displayed to the perfect advantage.
Her breasts were like a teenage fantasy to me at that time and I’d only stared, my mind trying to catch up to the instant response in my body.
“Hey, handsome,” she greeted me with a gravelly voice from smoking too much.
I can still remember, as if she was standing in front of me at this moment, as her eyes raked me over from head to toe, reeking of stale cigarette smoke. I hadn’t realized at that point what she was looking for, so when she held a glass out to me with a dark liquid in the bottom, telling me that she had poured me a Pepsi, I had taken it.
I hadn’t questioned what was in it.
After I’d taken my first sip, her eyes had watched me even more closely as she asked my name.
Her name was Mary…
She encouraged me to take another sip, of which I did, never suspecting…
Just stupidly and lustfully gazing at the tops of her breasts.
“So…you’re Elizabeth’s son?” she’d purred, moving a little closer to me, watching my eyes as she lightly raked her nails over my arm.
Nodding, I’d taken another sip, unsure of what to do, other than to force my eyes away from her breasts.
I’d instantly felt uncomfortable with her closeness as soon as she moved closer, even as my cock had twitched, springing to attention.
But I was also feeling something else.
At first, it had felt like lightheadedness but then my whole body felt warm - flushed even – and it was pleasant.
“Where has she been hiding you?” Mary had murmured, moving even closer as her hand came out to cup me through my jeans.
I hadn’t recoiled or moved away.
Instead, I’d stared into her eyes, strangely torn between feeling as if it wasn’t right while also wanting for her to touch me more.
To continue.
The satisfied smile that crossed her face will forever be ingrained in my memory as she took my hand.
I hadn’t thought to protest as she lead me from the kitchen, through the double sliding patio doors and out to the pool area, into a darkened corner.
I hadn’t had the will to protest as she pushed me down onto a lounger nor as she unbuttoned my jeans and slid my zipper down. The pleased smile on her face still haunts me as my cock had popped free, eager for her hands to keep doing what they were doing.
When her mouth had soon followed, I continued to lie there, unprotesting, with my body on fire.
Even as somewhere in my mind, it continued to not feel quite right.
I never knew that night would forever change me.
I can still remember her moans, her pants thick in my ear as she used me…
While I laid there, knowing it was wrong but unable to stop her.
It had floated through my mind, much too late, that I had no use of my extremities due to the drug she had given me.
She’d deliberately made me ineffectual in fighting her off.
Looking across the backyard to see my mother watching us, had caused my gut to recoil even as I ejaculated uncontrollably into Mary’s body.
But what hurt the most was that my mother had done nothing, had made no attempt to stop her friend from using me.
She’d only turned and walked back into the house, as if her son being used by her friend was normal.
After that, I’d allowed myself to slip away into blackness.
The next morning, I woke up still on the lounger, my jeans somehow zipped up and buttoned properly as if nothing had happened.
But I knew it had.
The feeling of violation was permeating through my body.
Not knowing how to process it, I’d crept shamefully back to the house, hoping to get to my bedroom before anyone seen me.
But my mother was in the kitchen, looking like she usually does after a party, her skin dry and wrinkling more and more each day as she partied harder and harder.
She never said anything other than to hand me a few condoms, saying in a dismissal tone, “I don’t want anyone calling me grandma. I know Mary. Next time, wrap it.”
That was it.
That was all.
She then left me there with so many emotions swirling through me.
I didn’t realize at that point that my mother had started to see a new use for me after that night.
And as I continued to grow, my muscles developing in all the right places, her so-called friends would ask for me.
My mother, only ever concerned about her social image and maintaining her drunken and drug induced social circle, had made sure to make me available.
She made me attend every party since that night.
At first, I’d thought I was finally accepted, - if not loved – by my mother. Along with the sexual attention I received from her friends, I easily forgot with the help of drugs, alcohol and sex for those few years, who my true mother was.
As for my father, he never did pay any attention to me from the day I was born and continued to ignore me. It was as if I was insignificant to him, just as I witnessed my mother become slowly insignificant to him as she lost her beauty to age, sex and drugs.
He blatantly went about his own social circle which included many other younger women who had hopes of him someday leaving his equally as rich wife for them.
They stupidly didn’t realize that my father would never leave my mother, that a divorce would be too messy and cause too many headlines. Besides he had what he wanted. My mother, who didn’t care who my father slept with as long as they stayed out of her way and her liaisons, was the perfect wife for my father.
Their marriage was perfection for them.
Completely fake.
But to me, and in my mind at that time, I was satisfied that I finally had my mother’s attention.
It was only when I turned eighteen that I realized what she was doing.
That she had been using me to keep her social status as she continued to show her age from all of the partying and drinking.
I was the lure for the women of her social circle.
It had taken Borden to make me realize one day that what was going on around me wasn’t right.
Once my eyes had been opened, finally realized what she was doing, I left what I’d thought of as my home and moved into my own apartment, threatening my parents with a lawsuit if they didn’t help me out financially.
I’d struggled that first year after leaving their home because, surprisingly, I’d felt even more lost and alone.
But I knew I could never go back and allow myself to be used again.
Then one day, as I felt a need to run away from all the dysfunction of my life, to just get away and forget who I was, I got in my car and drove with no real direction in mind. As I’d driven, hour after hour, I’d thought back over my life.
Questioning everything…
Why my mother never loved me.
Why my father pretended I never even existed.
Why had I even been put on this earth to live the life I’d been handed.
My mind had been so fucking messy…
And I had needed to escape.
But as the scenery changed, looking more and more serene, my attention was drawn from within myself – from driving myself crazy – as I started to silently find an inner appreciation for the land around me.
Pulling the car over on the side of the quiet road, it was like something invisible was calling to me to walk to the end of a row of vines.
As soon as I touched my first vine, it was if I’d found peace for the first time.
I’d stayed there for a moment allowing the warm sun to beat down on me as I inhaled deeply.
Just absorbing and breathing.
I had, in that moment, known what I wanted to do.
Afterwards, I immediately went back LA, gave my notice to my landlord and then rented a villa for a year in the Napa Valley region, getting to know vineyard owners as I attended tour after tour, immersing myself in whatever I could about wine. I then travelled to France and Italy over the next two years, taking course after course about wine.
Just living and breathing wine.
It had helped me find a direction in my life, and I’d finally been able to think about going back to California because I knew what I wanted.
And I felt stronger.
As soon as my feet touched California turf, I’d immediately set out to acquire a vineyard. When I’d arrived at Valley Vineyards with my realtor in tow, I immediately knew it was the place for me.
This was where I was to start a new life.
Another threatening demand was sent from me to my parents to provide me with the money, and then I’d immediately moved in. As I immersed myself in the day to day operations, I slowly came to know my employees and developed a respect for each of them.
Along with a deep love for my vineyard.
Each employee had stood by me as the wildfires threatened to take everything that I’d worked for a few short years later.
And they became the only people in the world that I respected.
But as the winery grew, becoming even more successful under my attention, I’d paid back my parents, never really wanting any of their money. But then a few years later, I’d started feeling restless again and decided opening a restaurant in LA would be my next step in growing my business empire.
Meeting Emma had seemed like fate was finally smiling down on me by sending her my way.
Plus Emma, with that warmth behind her smile, had drawn me to her.
So, I’d pursued her. Dangling the carrot that I knew she would find irresistible in front of her.
What I hadn’t anticipated was the seemingly strong connection she had to Lucas.
Nothing I did, nothing I said, turned her attention towards me.
She, like everyone else, didn’t really care.
Even though I was beginning to care, and care deeply, for her.
I couldn’t help myself as I watched her daily, her strong business mind seemingly able to balance a productive and caring relationship with all of the employees.
I slowly had come to admire and appreciate her.
Emma had so much goodness in her that I found myself wanting to be more like her so that I could perhaps measure up to be a good enough person for her.
And I now wanted so much more than a casual fling with her.
I wanted someone like Emma to care for me, to have that invisible connection with me.
I wanted someone to want me the way she wanted – yearned – for Lucas.
I only – even if I only experienced it once - craved to know what it felt like to have someone feel that way for me.
Grasping my glass even tighter, I look down at the sidewalk forty floors beneath me.
Feeling lost…
Caught in an undertow…
The memories from my childhood coming back, sweeping in and sucking away what little happiness I’d managed to find for myself.
And I silently wonder not for the first time in my life about what if…
If I climbed up on that ledge…
Simply closed my eyes and allowed myself to fall…
Would anyone miss me?
Despite everything that I have achieved, all I’ve worked so hard for, would anyone truly miss me?
The answer to that question reverberates clearly in my head.
I have no one…
I never have.
Sweet Emma, - I silently sigh her name in my head.
Despite everything that I’ve done for her, to try to capture some of that vibrancy for myself that she’d unknowingly shown me, she remains aloof.
Again, I can’t help but wonder silently - What must it be like to have someone like her in your life?
If I ever had anyone look at me the way she’d looked at him, I never would have let her get away.
Finding someone like her, I can’t help but feel that Lucas is a fuck head for letting me slip in so easily and steal her away.
She’s so real…
So unfake…
And rare.
So rare that I never realized that it even existed until her.
At first, knowing Lucas as I do, I hadn’t expected him to fight for her as I thought of Emma as just another woman. But as I came to know Emma, watching as she worked tirelessly every day to make sure the restaurant succeeded, I began to wonder why he didn’t at least make an attempt to keep her.
Because to me, Emma seemed like she was worth it.
She was the exact opposite to any other female I’ve ever encountered.
She embodied and radiated genuine goodness.
She was also sexy as hell with those beautiful breasts that I longed to explore.
Yes, Lucas was an idiot for letting her go so easily.
But I’m an idiot for even thinking I could have someone like her.
Taking a long drink, I once again look down at the street below me.
Silently contemplating…
Why not jump?