Yet again, her body tells a different story. I ignore her begging words as I take my finger out of her tight hole. She pushes her hips backwards to nothingness and I have the desire to laugh at her absolute need to have me while her pleas beg for something else. But, that is what I want. I want her to thrash beneath me, beg me to stop, then take her.
I take the base of my hard cock in my hand and steady her moving hips with my other hand. The sensation that I feel when the head of my throbbing dick is pushed to her tight asshole is nearly implausible. I am weightless, on a cloud of nothingness as I urge myself hard inside of her without a care, for the first time I am allowing myself to feel the goodness of sex again.
Since her.
My heart is breaking all over again as the sheer bliss caves in my head, recollections of Gwendolyn’s first time flooding my mind like the worst kind of pain imaginable. I see her tiny hands gripping the bed sheets and how her body responded to mine. Yes, that’s it. I am there, just me and my girl against the world. Nothing can stop us. I have found her again. The craziness that I thought I let go has come around full force as I see the face of my angel, my girl, my life.
But the grace that I had is slowly fading away as the anxiety creeps up my spine while being replaced with my friend.
Anger.
Reality flashes in like a broken record and I have the need to hurt. Isabel’s moans make me sick. I move my hips harder, faster, hoping with every cell in my being that I make her ache just as bad as I do. I hope that she tears, bleeds, and reverts into nothing just as I did for years.
I scream out as my unexpected orgasm turns me into a feral being that is capable of anything…
Including changing lives again.
I’ve been at Black Lotus Ink since shortly after I arrived in Portland. It’s a small first floor tattoo studio that was part of a former warehouse off Roosevelt Street in the Northwest District of Portland. It’s adorned with exposed brick walls and has Sailor Jerry themed screen prints and mirrors on the walls. There is a small sitting space near the entrance with red leather chairs and a yellow tiled table that holds our portfolios. Of course, mine is the thinnest, but I am proud of every picture in it.
I came into the shop years ago, shortly after moving to Portland with not much except a backpack full of memories, my paper, pencil, and sketches, not clear on what I was looking for. I was a lost 23-year-old stuck in the past (though some things never change) with my sketches and pencil, hoping for something better. Noah, the owner, fell in love with my work and offered me a job as the house bitch. Again, some things never change. I started working as his apprentice and have been on my own the past year, taking on clients by myself since then. Money has been better since then as well.
Kenji started here on his own two years ago. We instantly connected, though I can’t begin to tell you why. I don’t particularly care for people and try to shy away from most. I engage in light conversation with my clients when needed, but besides that I try to dismiss people at all costs. When I decide that I need to bed a woman or man, I go to a bar and get drunk. It is always easier when I have alcohol in my system. That is where I met Isabel, at a bar here in Portland called The Lab.
Kenji is the kind of person that radiates kindness. He is the type of person you like to be around when you feel like shit. He is the only person since moving to Portland that I can talk to and I do not feel like my conversations are forced. Being around him is as easy as breathing. I know he has had the urge to ask me questions before when he dotes on his mom, sister, and dad, but when I remain mute when the talk of family arises, he has never brought it up again.
He knows I am not completely there, and like Gwendolyn, he doesn’t push me. I suppose I am drawn to him because a small part of him reminds me of her. Maybe it’s the genuine part of Kenji or his smile, I can’t be sure. I only know that I feel okay when I am around him and sometimes if I let my guard down without him knowing, I feel safe.
That doesn’t happen too often. Our boss, Noah, is a jackass. He is a typical tattoo shop owner with an egotistical attitude. He is not too much older than us, but his face screams that he has bared the tough elements of the world. Maybe it has been too many cigarettes and beer or maybe he has stories up his sleeve. I don’t know nor do I care. He hasn’t been nice to me since working here, other than making sure I have a job. Other than that, I am not grateful for him. I do what I have to do to earn my keep, otherwise I steer clear of him. Noah and I don’t see eye to eye and luckily he has me and Kenji working the afternoon and late night shifts, the opposite of him so I don’t have to see him that much. His too-good-for-you-tough-guy-persona is annoying as fuck and I have the compulsion every time he pulls up on that stupid fucking motorcycle, to whip out my big dick and piss all over it.
He is an asshole. But I am here, working and more successful than I ever thought I would be. It’s hard to believe that I have people coming in to request me; a friend of a friend told them about my work. Another constant in my life has been my art. It keeps me sane and grounded and I cannot imagine doing anything else with my life. Being able to instill pain and art permanently onto someone’s body beautifully is a gift that I cannot put into words.
I try to immerse myself in another day at Black Lotus Ink, grateful Noah isn’t present. Thoughts of Isabel still swirl about in my brain and I try to dismiss them, but like usual, I am constantly overthinking things.
“What the fuck is your problem, bro?” Kenji calls over to me as he preps his work station, cleaning it with gloved hands.
I shrug in response, thinking back to how I left Isabel in my apartment. The simple fact that I couldn’t help myself makes my stomach sick while I wonder if everyone is as fucked up mentally as I am.
“Dude, you are acting weird today. Get some bad pussy last night?” Kenji laughs, berating me as he removes his gloves and throws them in the trash.
I furrow my dark brows in response, allowing the stench of alcohol to calm my nerves. I suppose my profession holds me over, giving people pain while etching art on their body. Two things that make me content. Ha, what exactly is contentment? If I ever discover such a place, maybe I won’t be crazy anymore. The ride there should be interesting.
I shoot him a warning glare, not proffering him an answer because talking isn’t my thing. Kenji knows that. He’s a friend, if I should have any here in Portland. I never offered him any part of me, my past, or what I am capable of, but we connect on certain levels talking of ink, beer, and the occasional hot, desperate woman that walks in and straddles the leather chair to get the cliché tramp stamp on her lower back.
“What time is Mr. Asshole coming in?” Kenji calls over to his shoulder.
He’s referring to the shop owner, Noah. His ego takes up the entire room when he enters it and thank fuck, he has lessened his hours lately. We are not certain why, we are only glad for it. I walk up to the computer screen that holds our schedules, making a few clicks as I bite the inside of my cheek. Noah’s schedule is blocked out with only me and Kenji working until close. Go figure.
“He isn’t in today, man. Just you and me till close, K.”
“Fun, fun,” he says, stretching out in his black leather chair.
He’s a decent looking man if I had to notice with black, shaggy hair and almond-shaped eyes. If I had to guess, he has some sort of Asian descent in his blood. I’ve never met his family, though he talks of them often. He’s tall, around the same height as me standing over six feet, but much slimmer with a leaner build. He has tattoos, but not nearly as many as I do. I take a moment to study him further as he chews on the eraser at the end of his pencil, then runs his hands through his hair, exasperated at the emptiness of the shop.
Kenji is nice, but his attention span is one of a gold fish. I swear if he isn’t busy, he should be running in an adult sized hamster wheel to burn off all the energy he has. My mind wanders again to the dilapidated place that it usually wallows in as I study his hands, wondering what they would f
eel like gripped around my cock. I feel a rush of blood to my dick as I mentally try to talk myself out of becoming attracted to my friend.
I am a sexual man, one that is the epitome of atypical. I see beauty and I appreciate it. Man or woman, I admire it. I visualize the ability to be taken, disciplined, and of course, fantasizing about being adored is always faintly present, though I will never allow myself to feel in such a silly manner.
Why?
Because I am ruined to the point of no return and there is only one out there that can fix me. She is the tape to my torn edges, the remedy to my poisonous ways; however, she isn’t here. We fought our battles alone with the only reminders being the times we shared, the good, the bad, the ugly, and the lives that we ridded this terrible world of.
I will never let any of that go. Maybe that is why I am the way that I am, not from the abuse that I sustained as a little boy, but because I refuse to part with what happened with Gwendolyn. I can’t stand to let those memories go. Who knows? I am no psychologist, nor do I care to have an answer. I only know that I won’t let myself part ways with any of it. It’s like letting marvel fall through your hands only to be consumed by darkness while having the remote fraction of happiness siphoned from you.
That isn’t going to happen.
“Welch, man, what is your deal today?” Kenji smiles at me, setting his pencil down on his work station as he begins walking over to me, to the front desk area.
Everything else goes blank. I hate that he understands me in the smallest of ways. That he knows when I am in a rut without words just by my look. I guess that is what friends do, but right now I am not looking at him like friends. I blame that on my recent transgressions with Isabel and pray that she never returns for more so that I can yield to my own normal.
I count his steps while admiring his long legs covered by loose, torn jeans. My eyes stop at his belt buckle and my brain buzzes as my palms sweat while thinking what the leather would feel like under my grasp as I bend him over like I wish.
My look travels up his stomach while I count the buttons on his plain, red polo shirt.
Red.
My girl.
My sweet, sweet little beast.
My heart rate has increased to a rapid rate. I am feeling unsure of my next movements and the past twenty-four hours have proven that I cannot trust myself or the actions that may occur.
Red.
Belt.
Pain.
Hot Kenji.
Want. To. Fuck. Him.
I truly am all sorts of jacked up in the brain, to the point of no return. His steps turn into slow motion as I wonder how his taut stomach would feel, the gentleness of his skin as he begs me to take his cock into my mouth, crying for me to lick his asshole before I push my dick into him until I am balls deep. Yes, he would take it like a good boy.
I shift my weight back and forth as I breathe a long sigh out. He continues to stride towards me and I pray to the heavens above that I have the strength not to bend him over the front lobby desk, pull his pants down, and show him how distorted I really am. My eyes glimmer more as the edges of his plump, pink lips turn up into a smile. Oh, help me. Make me understand that this is all in my head. A dream, a lovely little dream that will never happen. I bite the flesh, letting my fangs tear into the inside of my cheek to make me understand that I am existing in reality.
I see his lips moving, but I hear no words. His eyes sparkle as he scrunches his eyebrows. I hold my breath while his long arm extends out to me. His hand rests itself on my shoulder and a jolt of need rushes through every cell as I am consumed by him. His lips move, but I hear nothing but the chaotic thoughts that constantly exist in my head. It is only getting worse as the sands of time pass. Perhaps I should have never been let out of the institution. Maybe that is where I belong because I am all sorts of fucking insane.
Only without her.
He squeezes my shoulder. That is enough. I flare my nostrils as I decide at that moment that I am thirsty and famished and he is the only thing that will rectify that. I turn my head to the side and smile, offering him a nonverbal indication of my wicked ways. Kenji seems confused, but I see the craving in his eyes too.
The bell from the front door dings, sending a bombshell of familiarity to my heart. I am stationary in time.
“Welch!” I hear Kenji say to me, shaking my shoulder, making me remember where I am, what I was about to do, and what I inflicted upon Isabel. Recollections of her waking me from sleep to shaking my shoulder send me back to the veracity that I am always running from. I am in a constant tug of war between who people expect me to be, who I want, and who I am running from. It is tiring. So exhausting.
“Welch. We have a customer, man. You want to take this one? Looks like you could use the distraction,” Kenji says, withdrawing his hand from my shoulder.
I clench my jaw in anger. I know I am an expert at hiding my emotions, so I am positive that he didn’t see the way I looked at him. Fuck if I care if he did. I hate the world. I nod my head yes as I hear a woman clear her throat in the background. I sag into myself, relaxing more as the awareness of what I was about to do to Kenji leaves me.
I turn around and the anxiety consumes me once more. The turmoil that I am always in pulls me so hard that the wind escapes my lungs, leaving me fighting for breath. I make eye contact with the red haired beauty and her green eyes make my heart stop. Is it true? Has my angel found me? Is salvation an option? I have the urge to cry, be sick, and run over to her, but my feet are stuck and I cannot move.
Ten years. I have waited ten years for this moment. I have dreamt of seeing her face, touching her soft, silky skin and running my hands through her crimson hair that reminds me of all things brazen and bloody. Yet, here I remain silent as her green eyes grow wide. My heart is beating out of my chest as sweat collects over my brow. I feel my chest moving up and down and I can’t bring myself to speak. I am regressing back to the six-year-old little boy who is begging for security while he sees civility within reach, however I know I don’t justify that. Admonishment is what I warrant. The old part of me will never change. I have reached an epiphany at this moment and I want to find a corner like I used to and scuttle into a ball, cry, and yell for mercy.
Time stops as our eyes play scenes of love, hate, and ugly between one another. Memories bounce amongst the fucked up reunion and the bliss I crave is far from my reach. Her look is not what I fantasized about. She looks perplexed and unhappy. Perhaps she has changed and found her happy. I hope that she did. I want nothing more than for her to find her own Heaven as I stagger in my Hell.
Bad boys like me never change. Angels like Gwen are worthy of redemption. I can see something is different with her. Words don’t need to be spoken for me to understand that. I see it in her eyes. They always sparkled before and they are more so now. Maybe that is all in my head. The demons that I fight everyday are telling me what I don’t want to hear, chanting bad lines over and over to make me think that my red haired princess doesn’t want me.
This is too much. Seeing her again is breaking me. I can’t breathe. It is glorious torture and if I were to find death in a second, it would be fine by me. My gravity is exhausted while gloom is all-encompassing. I feel the fire I hate overwhelming me, scorching me with foolishness. Tears well in her eyes as her mouth moves, but I don’t hear her words. I am truly going insane. Maybe I should check myself in somewhere. Fuck if anyone cares, I am beyond repair.
Her brows crease as I turn my head to the side, feeling a hard grasp on my shoulder.
Kenji?
Gwen’s mouth continues to move while tears stream down her face, marking her with clear evidence of despondency. Again, I am nothing more than a failure as I stay still, not offering her condolences. What a fucked up reunion this is. I have sabotaged another thing in my life.
She takes a step towards me, but then halts her movements. I want to open my arms to her and scream, “Come here, my love! If only you knew how long I have wanted
this!” but the old part of me has the upper hand as I relent, understanding that this is the single most important thing in my life and I am not allowing myself to have it.
Why?
Because I am a pro at self-punishment and pain. This is the ultimate and I am sure to shatter beyond repair after this moment.
She turns on her heels, her long, curly locks sweeping across her shoulders while she steps towards the exit. I should run. I should scream for her to come back to me, that life brought us back together again, but I can’t.
I have reverted back to Worthless William again and I fear that this time when I fall asleep tonight, I will not wake back up.
I feel a tighter grasp on my shoulder as Kenji’s faint voice echoes in the in the distance, making me understand that I am still alive. I hate him for that. Who am I kidding, I hate everything. The masochistic tendencies are running high through my veins and I have no control over what is about to take place. Kenji is about to be see who the real me is whether he likes it or not.
God help me.
It’s useless to plead, I am destined for Hell anyway.
I open my eyes to see the sun shining through the two windows in the front lobby. There are no customers present, as the reconciliation that I just blasted left me and Kenji alone. I smile to myself as I feel my cock strain in my jeans, shrugging my shoulder to make Kenji’s hand get off of me. I don’t need any comfort or friendship right now.
Now, I need pain.
“Dude, what the fuck was that about? That was some weird shit,” Kenji says, standing behind me.
“None of your concern,” I state coolly, wondering how his dick would taste in my mouth as I think to how I will woo him with my wicked ways.
“That was definitely something, Welch.”
I turn around to face him, tightening my stubbled jaw as I eye him prudently with anger written all over my face.
“I said that it isn’t your concern.”
The Emancipation of Love Page 4
