Love in Troubled Times

by Gayle Riley

  I chalked it up to the fact that he was extremely driven and ambitious. He was desperate to make his name in the art world. While I admired his drive, it did bother me that he seemed so into his work that at times he forgot about me. I was also worried about him working with other young artists. I wasn’t the first pretty, young girl that he had taken under his wing. From what I had heard around town, and I swear I wasn’t going around digging up info on him, but from what I had heard he had carried on a brief but torrid love affair with the artist who had been killed a few weeks ago in her West Village apartment. There were even whispers, mostly by people who were jealous of his success, that he may have been involved. I knew that could not have been true. Not my Thomas, there was no way that he could be involved in something like that.

  Thomas came out of the shower, sauntered across the room. He knew my eyes were on him. He let the towel drop to the floor. His large cock dangled between his legs. I got off the bed, got down on my knees and grabbed the thick slab of meat. It was fucking huge. I swirled my tongue around the head, jerked it with two hands. His god-like body rippled with muscles. I took one hand off his cock and started fingering my wet pussy.

  I loved the taste of his mouth. It was different from what I was used to: the burnt out cigarette smoking, beer drinking mouths of the hipster man-children I often dated. And his full lips were unlike anything I had ever experienced. I was used to skinny lips, but his were so succulent, so full of life and passion. They were the lips of a man capable of kissing a woman to orgasm, and I’m not even talking about kissing my pussy lips. His lips on my mouth and his tongue jabbing in and out of my mouth and swirling around my tongue would make my pussy drip with excitement. The first time I took him inside, guided his huge cock into the hungry, wet pussy I felt as if his massive girth would kill me. It felt like I was being impaled on his rod. He had been so gentle though, rubbing its huge head against my clit, then slowly sliding that huge anaconda cock into my slick cunt.

  Oh that first time! I grasped and screamed and kicked and cried for more and dug my nails into his back and begged for him to fuck me and fuck harder and harder. He squeezed both of my small pale butt cheeks in his muscular hands and hammered into pussy, kissing me, staring into my eyes, fucking me deeper than any man had ever gone. Before that night, I would not have thought that I was capable of taking so much cock. I would not have known that so much cum could shoot out of one man’s dick. His load, thick and creamy, was like that of three, four, maybe five guys. His body would shake just before he was about to bust his massive nut and I would be ravenous as it splashed on my face and lips and eyes and hair. I would lick it clean as it softened between my fingers, sneaking a glance up at his face. His eyes were usually closed at this point, head lolled back and he would grunt and sigh, until that beautiful cock had been drained of its seed, and flopped like a big piece of kielbasa between his legs.

  His thick pulpy lips would swallow my cunt lips, while his machine like tongue whipped and stroked my pussy into a frenzy. I felt my juices overflowing and flooding his mouth. He wouldn’t stop there. No, his mouth was ravenous, his desire for me unlimited. I had never experienced the pleasure of a man so enamored with me, so driven by lust that he would feast on my asshole, licking it, slurping, driving his tongue deep into it, until I felt myself on he verge of coming, all of my nerve endings on edge, body shaking uncontrollably from the ecstasy and my hips flying up and the air and his powerful, forceful hands holding in place while his tongue buried deeper and deeper into my ass. It was so primal, so animalistic, so much different than anything I had ever experienced.

  I felt my whole entire body quivering with desire, quaking, melting under his touch. So firm, so powerful. I felt moistness, dampness, a wetness in my panties. I squirmed. I blushed, my breathing got heavier. He told me that he admired me and that I was just the type of artist he was looking for. He didn’t want me to ever have to prostitute myself in order to promote my art. He wouldn’t allow me to do that to myself. He said he had a plan. A plan that would allow me to make money, become famous and travel the world.

  “What is it?” I asked completely intrigued, hungry for change, hungry for fame and fortune and naïve enough to believe that this mysterious man could bring both to me.

  I pulled my hands away from his, crossed my arms across my chest. I had to resist. I had to. I couldn’t allow another man to put me under his spell. I had to figure my life out on my own. But still how I could turn down his offer, how could I refuse his guidance, his love, his money. How? He was offering to whisk me around the globe to all the world’s art capitals: Rome, Paris, Barcelona, Berlin. There was no way I could possibly turn down such an opportunity. And he was offering me something even more precious than the bright lights; he was offering me his love and compassion and support. I felt the walls within me breaking down, felt his spirit, his energy, his strength invading my body, destroying any last resistances.

  He was offering to take me out of the city, away from the smog and high rents and petty art world squabbles.

  His eyes were so dark and penetrating. They were the eyes of man accustomed to seducing women, who knew how to melt a woman’s defenses with the heat of his passion. I wondered how many more women he had seduced before me. I knew then and there that I would not let him go, he would be mine for as long as I could possibly keep him, nothing would stand between our love.

  The perfect man. My perfect boyfriend. But maybe I should have known that something was wrong, should have suspected that it all sounded too good to be true.

  Chapter 4

  It had been a week since I’d seen him, a week of wandering the streets in a daze, yearning for his touch, unable to paint, unable to think about anything except him, his touch, his taste, his smell. I pictured him lifting me in the air, pressing me against the wall, pumping me with his huge cock. One day during that week while walking through the Lower East Side I passed a playground, a playground with a basketball court one that I had probably passed hundred of times without giving it a second glance. But this time instead of walking past, I pressed myself up against the metal fence surrounding the park and watched. Sweaty men in their twenties and thirties ran up and down court, wrestled for the ball, pushed, grunted, jumped. Their muscles glistened with summer sweat.

  I imagined these men returning to my apartment, stripping off their clothes, stepping into the shower one after the other, their bodies fatigued, muscles sore, cocks dangling between their legs. I smiled, licked my lips. I noticed a few of them staring at me. “What’s that girl doing over there,” I imagined them saying. I placed one hand over my pussy. Wet. I began rubbing my clit through the thin fabric of my summer dress. Within in a few minutes my panties were completely soaked. I licked my lips again, closed my eyes, parted my lips, lolled my head back. When I opened my eyes I noticed several men staring at me lustily. I teased them for another ten minutes or so, and then quickly moved on as if nothing had happened. I would have to go looking for Thomas at his office. I couldn’t wait any longer to see him. I needed him inside of me, or else I was liable to fuck the next stranger who even remotely resembled him.

  ***

  I felt my whole body calling out for him. I wanted to surprise him at his office; I had never been there before. I wondered if he had any young, hot women working for him. But when I turned the corner of Lexington and James Street, I was the one who got the surprise. There he was about to hop into a cab, when two men in long coats called out to him. He waved for the cab to go on then he looked at the men. Both of them pulled out what had to be badges and flashed them in his face.

  Oh shit, I thought, what had I gotten myself into. Who was this man? Why in the world would the police be questioning him? Then my mind shot back to that day in the gallery, when Simon said that I should watch out for Thomas. But for what? I was too far away to hear what they were saying, but Thomas seemed flustered and scared. I had never seen him like that. He was always so calm and in control. What the hell was
going on? I wanted to scream. I wanted to run into his arms and hold him. I wanted to tell those men that there must have been some mistake. There was no way he could have done anything wrong. No, it wasn’t possible. He was too perfect. One of the cops opened the back door of an unmarked car. He motioned for Thomas to get in. Thomas hesitated, looked around. I ducked my head to make sure he didn’t see me. He finally got in and the car zoomed off.

  ***

  That night at dinner he seemed really withdrawn. He kept looking around the restaurant, like he expected someone to barge in at any moment, maybe those two cops, and take him away. I had never seen him like this before. But I didn’t want to ask what was wrong. I didn’t want to tell him that I had seen him earlier that day. I wanted him to tell me. I was sure there was logical explanation for what happened. But instead of him mentioning it, we just made small talk. After I got tired of watching him fidget, avert his eyes, and hide his hands under the table, I finally asked what was wrong.

  “Nothing, babe. Hard day at work.”

  “Anything interesting?”

  “No, not really. But I was trying to get things in order for our trip.” There’s just a lot of” his eyes darted in one direction then the other. He seemed like he was about to get up. He took the napkin from his lap, wiped his mouth and stood halfway up before he scanned the room quickly and sat back down.

  “What is it? Please tell me. I can’t stand to see you like this.”

  “Like I said. It’s nothing, babe. Let’s just finish our meal.”

  “I saw you today. Outside your office.”

  He glared at me. I had never seen that anger in his eyes.

  “What did you say?”

  “I wanted to surprise you at your office today. I saw you talking to those two men. They were detectives, weren’t they?”

  “Who the fuck do you think you are? You spoiled fucking brat. This is how you repay me for what I’ve done.”

  “I wasn’t following you, I swear. I missed you. I hadn’t seen you in three days.”

  “Three days? Three days? Are you serious? Do you think I’m just sitting around in my own fantasy land like you and all your artist friends?”

  “Please, don’t be mad at me.”

  “How do you think that I can afford to take you to these restaurants? How do you think that I can afford to fly you to Spain and put you up in a villa for nine months so you can do you work?”

  I felt terrible. This is not how I envisioned this happening. I wanted him to know that I would be there for him if he needed me. The last thing I wanted was to upset him. I could see people in the restaurant turning in our direction and whispering under their breath.

  We needed to get out of there before something bad happened. Unfortunately, Thomas was in no mood to calm down.

  “So you’re following me around during the day. I wonder how else you’re keeping tabs on me. I bet you love gossiping with your girlfriends about how well I take care of you.”

  Now he was clearly trying to embarrass me. He had raised his voice, so everyone in the vicinity could hear exactly what he was saying. I felt my face flush red. I don’t know what stopped me from getting up and running out of the restaurant, but for some reason all I could do was sit there and take his abuse.

  “I thought we were more than that. I thought you loved me.”

  “Like we could be anymore than what we are. I don’t even know what that is. But take a good look around this restaurant. Take a good look. Do you see any couples that look like us? Do you?”

  I felt myself breaking inside. I grabbed my napkin and dabbed at my eyes. I couldn’t believe how cruel he was being. But what I didn’t know at the time was that he had much brutality in store for me later that night.

  “Tell me why those policemen came to your office today. Tell me!” I screamed.

  Every head in the restaurant turned towards us. I saw some of the restaurant staff looking and pointing in our direction.

  “All you fucking art girls are the same. I bet your girlfriends told you about my reputation. And just wanted to come down to the office see who I was fucking, that’s it isn’t?”

  “So that’s all I am to you a good fuck? That’s it. I can’t believe I actually fell for your tired act. So stupid.” I made a move to stand up. He grabbed my wrist and jerked me back into the seat.

  “Maybe you should just go back to the Midwest. Go back there and make your stupid collage paintings. You’re never going to make it in this city, or any other city for that matter. What a joke.”

  “Fuck you!”

  He seemed startled, but quickly regained his composure.

  “Just like my fucking wife,” he snarled. “That goddamn bitch.”

  I felt like he had just knocked me upside the head. Wife? He had told me that he had been divorced for three years.

  “Your wife?”

  “What are you going to cry about that to? Yes, my wife. That’s why those cops came by my office today. It’s not enough that she trying to take all of money, she’s also accusing me of trying to kill her.”

  All this was too much for me. I felt my head get light, breathing becoming harder. I took a long sip on a glass of water and tried to catch my breath.

  “You told me you were—”

  “I told you what you needed to know. I knew you wouldn’t want anything to do with me if I told you I was still married.”

  “You want to have her killed?”

  “Why don’t you say it louder so everyone in the restaurant hears you?”

  He shook his head, attempted to calm himself down and then told me that according to his ex-wife someone had been waiting outside their suburban Westchester home for the past two weeks, staking the place out or something like that. The cops stopped the guy on a routine traffic violation and had uncovered a whole slew of warrants. And now the police were going around questioning anyone who might have a reason to harm her. Thomas was the first name on that list. He had been living in separate residences for the last few months, that’s what he said, and they were going through a divorce.

  “You should have told me. I would have understood,” I said. I stretched my hands across the table. He didn’t take them in his like he usually did. I stared into his eyes, pleading, hoping for some signal that we still had a chance of making it.

  “It’s not enough that she’s going to take all of my money. Now she’s got me involved in some sort of criminal investigation.”

  “But it’s not true, right? It’s all some big mistake, no?” I wanted him to tell me that the police had made a mistake. I wanted him to tell me that there was no way he could possibly be involved in something evil. But that’s not what I got from.

  “You probably suspected all along. I mean, you never wondered why we only see each other once a week. Even after all these months of dating. You really thought I was that busy?”

  Maybe he had a point. There were signs that I should have seen, but I choose to ignore them because everything felt so good, so right between us. But now when I looked across the table, when I looked into his eyes I feared that this man could actually be capable of what he was being accused of. Murder. He paid the check and barked at me to get up.

  Outside the restaurant I figured we would go our separate ways. I thought that he would be glad to be alone, or at least not with me. Maybe another one of his art girls, someone as young and dumb as I was, would welcome him into her arms. Maybe there was another tight pussy, with swollen pink lips waiting for his huge, raging cock. Whoever it was, she would probably get the fuck of her life.

  ***

  If only we had gone our separate ways, everything might have turned out differently. But instead of letting me go off and cry on my own, he yanked me by the arm and hailed a cab. Before we slid into the backseat, he glared at me, gritted his teeth, and said, “You say one fucking word. One word. And I’ll fucking kill you.” I wanted to scream, but my vocal chords wouldn’t produce any sound. Nothing seemed to work. My whole body
tensed up. I wanted to drop down right there on the concrete in the middle of Manhattan and wait for someone to come and rescue me, to save me from this man whom I could hardly recognize. He was going to kill me. I was sure of it.

  I must have passed out in the backseat because I had no idea how I ended up back in his apartment tied to the bed with a blindfold over my eyes. For the next three hours, or however long it took, he ravaged my body, slapped me around, jammed his huge dick in and out of me. All I could do was surrender.

  In the morning, it must have been morning because the sunlight filtered through the blinds; he untied me, laid his head on my chest and wept. We wept together, held each other in our arms. He begged for forgiveness, begged for me not to call the cops. They were already watching him, waiting for him to slip up and this would only add to the heat they would put on him. It was only game, he assured me, a very rough game that he wanted to play with me. Then he admitted that yes, he did have someone tailing his wife, but it wasn’t to have her killed he insisted, he just wanted to scare her out of going after so much of his money in the divorce.

  “I did it for you,” he said. “For us. She’s trying to take everything I have. Everything I’ve worked for.”

  He told me that I was his only hope. Despite the fancy suits, lunches and dinners at five star restaurants, and this apartment on the Upper West Side, he was really struggling financially. He had lost a lot of money in the recent financial crash and his artistic investments hadn’t panned out either. Paying the rent on the swanky 4k a month apartment had become a real struggle. He begged for me to stay with him.

  “We can leave tomorrow,” he said, full of desperation.

  “Tomorrow? Where?”

  “Spain. The villa still needs some work but we’ll do that ourselves. Just you and me,” he said.

  He cupped my face in his large hands. I pulled away. I thought he was going to hurt me, but the look in his eyes was so desperate and pleading. He kissed me gently on the lips.