by Jayce, Aven
I can’t keep quiet any longer. I’ve got to say something about all of this.
Please don’t.
“You okay?” Dan asks.
Oh God, I hope I didn’t say that out loud. “This is wonderful,” I whisper. “Keep going.”
We kiss and he pulls my legs upward to wrap around his waist. I feel so close to him at this moment.
Divine, this is basic missionary sex and he’s got complete control over you. It’s like you’re trapped in some boring marriage back in the ‘50s. The only reason you think it’s any good at all is because you haven’t had dick in years. Think about it.
I’ve grown up, Violet, and if you think about it, I don’t need you anymore. You’re just some lost and angry teenager who’s been stuck inside of me for years, a part of me I used to hold onto because you were this way when Mom and Dad were around. I see that now. I kept you around in my head because of that, because I didn’t want to lose myself along with the two of them.
And because you’re fucking lonely.
I needed to hold on to some part of my past and you were the only thing I had left. I kept my inner voice from that time period, never allowing it to mature, and I used your young teenage sexual cravings to write those books. Well, I can take responsibility for my life now; it’s time. This is the strongest I’ve been in over a decade and you sure as fuck aren’t going to ruin any of this for me.
I’m leaving.
Yes, that’s exactly right, you’re about to.
“Dan?”
“Yes, stunning woman.” He looks into my eyes and brushes my hair away from my cheeks. “Tell me anything,” he whispers with a moan. “I’ll do anything for you. What do you need?”
I hesitate, looking deep into his lustful eyes. His feelings for me are just as strong as mine for him. He shakes his head and tells me I’m beautiful, then kisses my breasts.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he whispers. “And I know you’re just as afraid to say it as I am. We both feel it and that’s enough for right now. There’re other ways to express it.” He takes a breath and fixes his lips to mine, keeping his thrusting hips at a steady speed. My feet curl and then my muscles tighten throughout my body. I’m close and he knows it.
After over an hour of cuddling, foreplay, and his dick now pleasuring my clit, I’m finally ready. He moves faster, kisses my neck, my chest, and my mouth. I take deep breaths and tilt my head back, exposing my neck for more of his caressing nibbles. He moans, delighted to feel the intense pulsations of my orgasm, to see my hands gripping the bed sheets, to hear my high-pitched whimpering cries, and to feel my warm erotic breathing on his cheeks. I gasp and he stops moving, his dick slowly becoming flaccid inside of me. He holds the condom and pulls out, resting his head on my shoulder.
“Did you cum?” I whisper.
“Yeah. Sorry I was quiet. I didn’t want to distract you,” he pants. “I wanted to make sure... you were so close... I didn’t want to mess anything up for you so I tried not to make a sound.” He turns on his back and takes my hand, bringing it to rest over his racing heart. “Was tonight better than the foot?” he asks.
“Not better, different.” I kiss his cheek and snuggle next to him. “But don’t hold out for me. I want to know when you cum. Let me enjoy it with you.”
“Tomorrow,” he says. “Tomorrow I’m going to fuck you with my morning wood like the men in those western erotica books you love, and I’ll make sure the feeling of my dick being inside of you lasts all day. I want us both to be sore and in love as we shop at IKEA.”
I can’t help but laugh and Dan joins me. I doubt that line has ever been used in the history of lovemaking. Sore and in love as we shop at IKEA.
And he wasn’t joking.
I awake to his dick nudging between my ass and before I can even open my eyes, Dan has me on my stomach and is bobbing on top of me, as promised, like a cowboy riding his horse out on the western plains. Fuck, it feels incredible. Long, hard, lunging insertions and dirty talk. Now this is what I call a fuck.
He calls my vag his tight honey hole and spits on my ass, inserting the tip of his finger inside. I scream and laugh and then tell him to stop, that I’m not ready for that type of pleasure just yet; and he does. He stops.
Good man.
“You said I shouldn’t hold out, so you’re going to hear me and feel me cum this time.”
His balls slap against my flesh while he holds my hands tightly above my head. Two minutes, three minutes, four... it’s a miracle that I think I’m going to... yes, I might be able to... I’m so close to...
“My God in all of Mary-Mother-and-Joseph-Dear-Fucking-Lord, I’m going to cum,” he says.
He pulls out and tugs the condom off so I can feel the warm shots of fluid on my back. “Oh, Jesus,” he says. “In darkness of Hell I release my evil onto this woman.” And with a laugh he falls on top of me.
I’m glad that was a joke because it sure as fuck was starting to sound creepy. I’m religious, but that’s taking fornicatin’ to a whole other level.
His chest pounds and our bodies are glued together with his cum. “I can’t always be sweet,” he pants. “Damn, that was good.”
“Like night and day.”
“Like Hayden Night,” he exhales. “I have an erotic side that’s begging to play with you and I may have to unleash its full range of savagery soon, but I hope to God when I do that you don’t take a butcher knife to my dick.”
I can’t even imagine what he means by that. It’s actually kind of exciting to fantasize about. “Are you going to gag me? Handcuff me to the bed? I’m curious.”
I roll over and he repositions himself on top so we’re eye-to-eye. We engage in conquering one another’s mouths with swirling tongues. Our morning breath doesn’t bother me; it’s too early in the relationship to let such bullshit stand in the way of a beautiful and loving morning kiss.
He grins and his fingers do a march down to my clit. It seems a shame that I’ve deprived myself of this for so many years and I’m happy being a hedonist while he takes control. I was a moment away from an orgasm when he pulled out and now it should only take a few minutes to get back... nope, a few seconds. Wow.
His fingers writhe inside while his thumb rubs my clit, causing my body to twist underneath him.
“That’s delightful,” I whisper. “I’m so close.”
“I know.”
He pulls the sheet over our heads and we speak softly and sensually to one another until I’m seconds away.
“Please don’t slow down,” I say. “Please, I’m almost there.”
“Mmm, losing control? Maybe you should beg me.” He stops and taps a finger lightly over my clit like a ticking watch. Each contact on my flesh shoots quickly inside, causing short shocks of electricity to fill my lower body. It’s starting... I’m going to...
“Dan!” I plead.
“You need something?” he asks. Our lips touch and I’m denied the opportunity to speak. I mumble against his mouth then bite his lip and call out ‘finger me’ when I can finally talk.
“Okay, beautiful queen of raspberry-scented squish mittens, your request will be fulfilled. Playtime’s over.”
My laughter stops the moment his fingers bore between my legs. Oh fuck that firm and curved middle one is merciless. I grip his hair while he attacks my tits. He’s a licker, a biter, a sucker, and has the swiftest two-finger moves out of all the men at the Comfort Inn; fingers that lead me to my final point of eruption. A jolt, babbling noises tumbling from my mouth, and shaky legs ending with one fiery wave through my body. Ahh.
“My two-finger vagina king,” I exhale, wheezing for air.
“Hell, that’s a good name.”
I’m dusted with delicate kisses in the morning sun and as I lie next to him, I try to think of the last time I felt so happy and content with a man. I believe the answer is never. I’ve never experienced such emotions.
This is the first relationship I’ve pursued for reasons oth
er than for fear of being alone, and I’ll admit I didn’t realize I was living my life that way until I met him.
And I wouldn’t expect anything more than to have our first time be in a value-priced hotel next to IKEA.
I listen to the birds chirp in the bushes below our window, singing a Sesame Street style high-pitched and buoyant tune; or maybe it sounds that way because I just got laid. They could be chirping the theme from the movie Jaws and I’d still perceive it as some pretty love song. “Dun-dun... dun-dun... dun-dun...”
“Is that Jaws?” Dan asks. “Are you planning an attack on me or something?”
A blaring car alarm, one that also reminds me of a cheerful song, startles the birds away as I stretch my arms above my head and yawn. Yep, must be the fucking that’s making everything sound superb.
Dan darts to the window after hearing the alarm. “How the fuck did you just predict something was about to happen?” he asks. I continue dun-dunning, lost in my own little world of sunshine and birds. “Div, stop,” he says and then I hear him mutter ‘shit this’ and ‘fuck that’ as he dresses in a fury, putting on a t-shirt to conceal his semen encrusted stomach before rushing out the door.
“Some fucker hit my Cherokee,” he fumes and vanishes from our room.
I make a mental note that birds have become significant in our relationship, those devious little things. Wait... someone hit the Cherokee?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I didn’t predict anything was going to happen and I can’t explain why I started to sing the theme for Jaws the moment before Dan’s Cherokee was backed into by some moron driving a Chevy Suburban; a beast of a truck. It was just a coincidence. My life is full of them.
The guy in the Suburban is a fuck muppet. He insists he barely tapped the Cherokee with his car and the dent and scratches on the front passenger side had already been there. He also says there’s no way he could’ve done that much damage. Then he tries to play us like we’re as dumb as dog shit and says he’s unsure he even hit it, yet somehow, it was rocked hard enough to set off the alarm. Yeah buddy, that makes a lot of sense.
I call the police for Dan and after a report is filed and insurance information is exchanged, the guy drives off in huff. What an asshole.
Luckily, the event is a small distraction to our morning. We shower and drive to IKEA which is a wacky-fantastical place. I’ve flipped through the catalogs, but have never been to an actual, physical, store. Cool gadgets, trendy furniture, good food, and the best part, it’s affordable for a single woman who survives on a college professor’s salary.
Dan says he’s never been here either. It was just a random suggestion in order to spend some time with me outside his hometown, a place where it’s nearly impossible to go out without running into someone he knows.
So we spend hours shopping our asses off and pick up a bunch of unnecessary, but ‘why not’ items, like cookie cutters, towels, candles, and lingonberry preserves. We share a plate of Swedish meatballs and mashed potatoes for lunch then buy matching floor lamps for each of our bedrooms. I know, gag, right? I don’t care if it’s the ultimate twosome thing to do, I’m having a good time and anyone who tries to bring me down can just fuck off.
We drive home in the early afternoon and I realize I can’t take forever to tell him some of my bigger secrets. He said he wanted to know, so here we go.
I wait until he drops my bags next to my door, my heart racing and my legs like Jell-O.
“Thanks for agreeing to all of that,” he says. “It’s not very often I try to disguise the desire to fuck a woman in a hotel with a shopping excursion.”
“Oh, is that what it was?” I laugh anxiously.
“Yeah, I used you,” he grins. “Sorry about that.”
“Well I had fun using you, too. What are you going to do now?”
He looks back at the Cherokee and shakes his head. “Take my car somewhere for an estimate on repairs. I still can’t believe that guy was such a dipshit. What about you?” He clasps his hands behind my back and pulls me to his waist.
“Set up some new lectures for classes, basic catch-up stuff for school.”
“My professors were all in their fifties or older, like Margaret. It’s hard for me to picture you as one of them, especially considering I know that you shave. If I had someone as hot as you standing in front of me each day all I’d be able to think about is burying the bishop.”
“What?” I laugh.
“You heard me. I think you’re beautiful and I can’t wait to see you again.” He slides my hand over his growing erection and we kiss. “You tired of me yet, Div?”
“Attracted and fascinated, but no, not tired. I’ll be ready for more vagina king action soon, but right now I’m pretty sore.”
He nods. “We don’t have to fuck on our next date, I just enjoy spending time with you.”
Okay, here I go. I’m going to tell him.
“Dan, how would you feel about dating a woman who... who writes... I know I mentioned my books to you before.”
He nods. “Women’s studies. I remember.”
“They’re not the kind of women’s studies you’d find in academia. They’re erotic novels.”
“No shit?” He nods again.
“They’re dark stories about my parents, my life as a teen, and how my mom and dad were torn from each other through death.”
He nods. He’s doing that a lot.
“What’s your pen name?” he asks dryly.
“I’d rather not say. I don’t want you to read them until you hear about my father. You’re too close to me now to learn about his death in a book, I’d rather tell you in person.”
“I promise, I just want to know your name. I won’t read it if you don’t want me to.”
I nod. The nodding’s contagious.
“Violet Cuddlecock.”
“Haven’t heard of her,” he grins. “You want me to read them and write a review? I can market your books and get you a boost in sales.”
What the hell? That’s not the reaction I was expecting. How did this big secret of mine turn into nothing to him? I don’t get it.
“No, I just wanted to be open about it. You don’t care, or find it odd, or anything?”
He stares into my eyes and shrugs. That’s a strange response coming from him.
“Let me tell you a story my aunt told me a few years ago that relates to all of this. You remember those paint-by-number kits that came out in the ‘50s?” he asks.
“Yeah, they still sell ‘em in the hobby stores. I painted a few as a kid.”
“They were marketed as something anyone could create. Aunt Emma, Grandpa Marty, Mom, Dad, and little sister Susie could all become artists by following the simple steps. Once completed, placed in a frame, and hung on the wall, a person could say he or she was an artist. Everyone was an artist. But it wasn’t just the kits. In high school or college if someone took an art class and made a pretty painting or took a photograph, all of a sudden they were artists too. No background or formal training, just by creating one piece they could claim the term. This is how my aunt explains what it’s like being an artist to me. It’s the only way she could get me to understand that when I made my parents a wire sculpture of a dog in high school, I wasn’t even close to being a part of her world. She says on every street corner, of every town, in each neighborhood, and in every family, there’s someone who claims to be or to know an artist. It’s offensive to her.”
“What are you getting at? That I’m fake or something? That I’m not really a writer?” I’m starting to get a little aggravated. He’s putting me down, isn’t he?
“No. I’m saying the erotic book bug is similar. A lot of people started writing them after reading the bestsellers, thinking they could come up with something of higher quality, but most of it is pretty basic, unoriginal, and cliché crap, just like a painting kit you’d buy in the store. I enjoy the sex in the books, but the plots fucking suck.”
“I understand and I often say t
hat myself, but my books are different.”
“That’s a very common and defensive response.”
“You’re being an ass.”
“I’m not trying to be, but the reality is it’s not in-depth philosophical writing or anything. I’m not saying it’s bad, it’s just not a rarity, like claiming to be an artist. I bet fifty erotic writers live in this area. Look at how oversaturated the market is these days. Everyone and their great grandmother writes a book about fucking.”
“My books aren’t about fucking!”
“Div, don’t get so upset. I just....”
“My books have classy erotic scenes that are based on actual events and no one else has a story about two parents ripped from her life in such horrific events and at such a young age.”
“Actually, I’ve read a lot...”
“Shut up, James Daniel!” I yell. “I should’ve never told you.”
“My full name? You are pissed off. Okay, I’m sorry, you’re right. I’m being a dick and I apologize.”
“Too late, you made it clear how you feel and now I know the truth. You think I’m trash.”
“Far from it. Let me explain something to you.”
“You already did. I don’t want to hear anymore.”
“God Div, don’t be so touchy, give me a chance, alright?”
I sigh. I’m being a total bitch to him and all he’s doing is offering his take on the genre, and it’s not a jab toward me, indirectly maybe it is, but not my books specifically. The fact of the matter is I get defensive because of my parents and not the books.
“I’m sorry, go ahead,” I say.
I’m surprised he’s still in front of me after all that. He should’ve called me an asshole and walked away.
