Inside, it’s dark and he leaves it dark. He shuts the door then turns to me, shoves me on the bed. “I have a confession to make,” he says, scrambling on the bed, ripping off his shirt and wagging it in my face, “I lied.” Sticking a finger in my pussy, he smiles. “But you don’t seem to mind, now do you?”
I can only groan in response as his finger starts jackhammering my pussy, while his other hand runs over my curves. He pauses to look down on me – to get a good look. “Fuck, are you hot.”
He flips me around. His hands are massaging my ass slowly, making a sort of meditation of moving around my ass fat, going from bottom to top, side to side, while moans gurgle out of my mouth. It feels better than great. It feels fan-fucking-tastic. When he stops, I almost splutter out a protest, except he’s flipped me back around again, fingering me once more.
Then, he’s mashing his lips over mine. There was something I was supposed to remember. Something I had been thinking about, worrying about. But it’s too late now. All I want is for Luke to bring this to its conclusion – to give me sweet release.
When he slides out his finger, I know it’s time.
When he tells me, “Take off my pants”, I know I have no choice.
Once his pants are off, he says, “Now the briefs,” and I remove them as well. Now, I’m face to face with his dick, which is pink, long, and veiny. I’m momentarily speechless, stunned by the new sight.
“You like it, don’t you?” he says, patting my head. He jerks my face forward. “So suck it.”
Next thing I know, his dick is between my lips and I’m gulping it down, up and down, opening my mouth as wide as it’ll go, up and down and again. He pats my head.
“A bit slower. Suck harder. Good girl.”
As I suck, I feel him getting even harder.
“Swirl your tongue around it as you go,” he adds, and I do.
He’s groaning now, pulling my head at the pace he wants, forward and back, then again. I swirl my tongue around as I’m shoved forward and then back. I let my head be used as his personal cocksucker.
When he pulls me off him, I’m even more wet. He turns around. There’s the sound of ripping then of plastic – probably a condom. Luke turns back to me. Positioning himself on top of me, staring into my eyes, he says “You ready?” Before I can respond, shoves himself into me.
At first, there’s pain: a horrible, ripping pain. He’s groaning and I’m murmuring protests. But then it’s over and he’s still moving, sliding, thrusting, in and out and in again. And it doesn’t hurt at all. No, it’s pleasurable. It’s pleasurable as all hell. Soon, my moans are mingling with his groans.
“Jesus, you are tight,” he says.
I’m writhing in pleasure. I couldn’t have imagined that I’d be doing it like this. That it would feel so crazy good. When I open my eyes, he’s looking down at me, his mouth gaping in enjoyment. Our eyes meet and he smirks, slows his pace. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you?”
“Uhh . . . yeah . . .” is all I can manage, but then he slows his pace.
“I don’t know, didn’t sound very convincing, Emma.”
My pussy clasps at his now almost motionless rod. I groan.
“Ask me to continue – beg me.”
I glare at him, shake my head, then his dick stops moving altogether.
Sliding all the way out then sliding forward so that just the tip of his dick is in, he says, “Do it. Beg me.”
It’s not me but my body that responds – that begs, “Please, Luke. Oh, damn. Please, fuck me.”
And fuck me he does. His cock suddenly comes back to life, ramming into me the hardest and fastest yet. Soon, my moans are howls and then shrieks. Then, he’s groaning, and our two bodies are locked in one shaking thrust. One building cry and then one howled-out explosion of shakes, Luke’s spilling into me. My whole body is shaking uncontrollably, no longer mine – claimed by pleasure. And then everything is still and quiet and we are still one, him in me and me on him. This time, we’re only breathing together.
We lie there entwined until I’m half-asleep – until I think I’m dreaming when I feel his lips on me.
“I just can’t get enough of you.” His hot breath tickles my ear for a second before his tongue mashes in. And then I know. This is a dream, but I’m awake.
I lie there and he devours me. His flicks his tongue in and out of my ear, sucks on my neck until I’m groaning. His lips press every part of me and still he’s got more, kissing and nibbling my thighs, slowly but surely making his way to my pussy. He burrows his face in it.
“The pussy’s been so good to me,” he’s murmuring, “I just want to be good to her too.”
And then his tongue is probing me and I’m half-delirious with pleasure and nervousness, almost wanting to tell him to stop, yet unable to. No. This, him, now, his lips on me – it feels too good.
So, I let him go on. I let him nibble and suck on my outer lips, bat my inner lips with his tongue. I let him stick his finger in me while his lips make their way to my clit. Now he’s swirling his tongue around it, around and around and around, the same way I used to masturbate when I was alone and sad. Except now, with this man here and this pleasure, I’m anything but alone and scared. No, this is pleasure like I’ve never felt before. Arousal that I can hardly stand. In and out, around and around his finger and tongue go. I start to shake and he starts to pick up the pace. It’s in and out – and fuck, damn, does it feel good – and it’s around and around – and I’m almost at the edge already. I can hardly take it and that’s just when he slips himself out and away, squeezes my tits at the same time, then shoves his finger back in and swirls his tongue.
I come in a series of exploded-out shrieks and full-body shakes, losing control of my body as it celebrates without me, every nerve in my body tingling deliciously, wonderfully.
When it’s over, Luke flops away, crawls up beside me and takes me in his arms.
I close my eyes, so out of it that I almost don’t recognize that I’ve never been happier in my life – or more afraid.
Chapter Thirteen - Luke
When my alarm explodes into its ear-shrilling sound, she’s gone.
Everything smells like her. Emma, her tasty cinnamon apple scent. I slam my hand on the clock, then roll over to the other side of the bed. But there’s no escaping the piercing rays of sunlight flickering in through my shitty blinds.
Besides, it’s another day of my lavatory duty and this probably isn’t the time to piss off the commander. As I get dressed in my uniform, I survey the torn-off state of my clothes from the night before with a smile. Last night was . . . incredible. All that pent-up passion in both of us, how easily Emma had submitted . . . No, I couldn’t have imagined the whole thing going better. And the sex itself . . . I can’t remember having sex that good since . . . I don’t know when. I take another look at my floor. Emma’s clothes are nowhere to be seen.
While in the kitchen, filling a bowl with Cheerios and some milk to swoosh it down, I listen for signs of Emma. But the attic, hell – the whole house – is quiet. She’s probably still asleep.
I smile just thinking of her. I won’t wake her up. I’ll just let her sleep a little longer. I’m already a bit late for work (since I’m on weekend lavatory duty thanks to the commander). As I walk through the living room to the door, I hear it.
“For a SEAL, you’re not very observant, boy.”
I jump. Sitting in the dark, uniform and all, is none other than the commander.
“I . . .” I stutter.
“I know,” he says quietly.
“Listen, Sir,”
“I know, colonel. Do you hear me?!” He roars, leaping up.
Standing face to face, his red face quivering, he begins. “I was tired of my daughter’s vague answers to your living situation, so I came here to check things out for myself.”
His dark eyes are boring into mine. I wonder if he has a gun. “And you want to know what I found?”
I shake my h
ead dumbly, and he continues. “I found her . . . My daughter, my Emma – half-naked, stumbling out of your room.” The commander’s eyebrows have lowered so much, it almost looks like he doesn’t have any eyes. I open my mouth to speak, but he gives a quick shake of his head.
“I warned you – I told you. Hell, colonel, I ordered you. And then you go and do this?”
I keep my gaze on the ground as I ask him, “Where is she?”
He shoves me. “You’re really going to ask me that?”
I say nothing, and he continues. “Here’s how this is going to go: Emma’s leaving. I will come for the rest of her stuff tonight. You, however, are never going to see her again. You’re not going to contact her, look for her, and you know what? You’re never even going to talk about her ever, ever again.”
I nod weakly. The next thing I know, the commander’s back in my face. “And you know what else? If I hear so much as a hint that you’re breaking any of these rules, you know where you’ll end up? Afghanistan, just like I first threatened you. And this time, colonel, your chances are up. I’ll send you there for good. Court-marshal you if I have to.” He gives me one more look of disgust before striding to the door. Opening it, he says, “Oh, and one more thing, colonel. You’re on lavatory duty for the next month.”
The slam of the door is the period to his sentence.
***
That day passes slowly, as if the commander himself is fiddling with the minute hand, pulling it back every time it advances. Lavatory duty is as bad as ever. Somehow, over one night, the gunk built up to rancid levels. When I finally pick up Parker and get back home, all Emma’s things are gone from the attic, bathroom, and fridge. I rifle through every drawer in that old rickety place, ransack the bathroom cupboards, comb through the fridge, but there’s nothing. No, Emma has been completely and tidily packed away, removed from my house. It’s as if she’d never existed.
My phone has no messages, but Emma and I had barely communicated through text anyway. There’d been no need.
Meanwhile, as soon as Parker marches through the door, he takes one look around and asks me “Where’s Emma?”
I can only say “I don’t know.” When he asks when she’ll be back, I repeat the answer. Because it’s the truth. I don’t know where she’s gone or if I’ll even see her again.
The worst, however, comes as I’m cleaning my room. Clothes, papers, and sheets all get shoved to the corner of the room for my hasty clean-up. As I shove over my sheets, however, something flops out. It’s gooey and clear. The condom wrapper from last night. It’s when I pick it up to throw it out that I notice. It’s ripped.
Chapter Fourteen - Luke
Days become weeks until it’s been a month. I’m on the phone with Yvonne again. “It’s been weeks, baby,” I insist, but she’s playing hard to get. She can smell it on me. The desperation.
“I don’t know, Luke. Every time I come over to your place, I feel like a pizza delivery. I come, we do it, I leave.”
“Yeah, but a very good pizza. You can’t deny that, right? And you said it yourself, babe, you come.”
She giggles.
“I’ve got some pizza, actually, now that you mention it,” I say, which is a lie. “And maybe we could watch that new Star Wars movie.”
A sigh, though we both know Yvonne’s excitedly dancing around in her panties as we speak.
“Ok, I’ll be there in 10.”
When she hangs up, I sigh to myself. A glance at the calendar reveals that, yes, a month has somehow, impossibly, passed. A month since I threw out that ripped condom, feeling a strange twist of foreboding in my gut. A month of nonstop activity, of going through new girls at a turnover rate faster than McDonald’s. Of more drinking, more fast food, more jerking off, more clubbing, more more. Now, sitting here, just sick enough to feel like shit and still make it to work, the why is obvious. It’s Emma. I’ve been trying to fuck her, drink her, eat her away – and all I’ve got to show for it is this shitty feeling that’s only been worsening with each new week.
No, there’s been no word of her – no sign of her. At least not in the pointless Google searches I’ve tried on the internet. I never knew that much about her, after all. Not any friends or hobbies at least. Nothing really but stupid Planet Earth and that she’s an online tutor for some website. Finding her isn’t working and forgetting her isn’t either.
On autopilot, I call Pizza Pizza and order a large pepperoni. When the door finally rings, I shuffle to it in the same dull haze. Maybe pizza will work or maybe Yvonne will. For now.
At the door is both Yvonne and the pizza.
“You lied,” Yvonne says with a giggle, striding past me through the door as I deal with the pimpley pizza boy. I hand him a 20, tell him to keep the change, then take the box.
Inside, Yvonne’s lounging on the kitchen chair. I plop the pizza down and we get eating.
“No plates?” Yvonne asks.
I say nothing and keep on eating. So, we eat in silence, pizza slice after slice. Each one I don’t enjoy, hardly notice. All I know is that eating is better than not eating. I don’t stop until the last slice is done – until I’ve wiped the sauce off my face and turn to Yvonne.
“You ok?” she asks.
I throw myself on her in response. She tastes like pizza, or maybe it’s me. She’s wearing a sticky sort of lip gloss, a weird tang of chemicals. When I move to her neck, it tastes like chemicals too. Self-tanner, maybe. It doesn’t matter. I rip off her scratchy top, grab her tits. She’s moaning already and it’s good, because I was ready the moment she walked in the door. I carry her to my bedroom, toss her on the bed. She says something I don’t hear. I undo her pants and pull them down. Her panties are gray like chemicals. I pull them down, get to the place I need. She’s wet enough to do it, so I do. I shove a finger in.
“Pull it out,” I tell her, and she does. She undoes my pants, pulls down my boxers, grabs my dick.
But I didn’t come here for that, so I shove my dick into her, into her half-wet pussy. And then I close my eyes, let my cock follow the feeling, the feeling, in and out, and I almost forget. I almost feel better, in and out. She’s moaning now and I’m groaning, too. In and out and it feels so good. Fuck, this is just what I needed. What I need – always.
I close my eyes and, for a minute, I forget who I’m fucking. Yvonne makes a strange sound and now it’s Emma who my dick’s inside, her whole juicy body jiggling with my rod. Her once-virginal head laid back in pleasure. And it’s so good. I’m cumming, pounding her, cumming and cumming, groaning with my orgasm, this ecstasy of release.
And then I open my eyes and remember it’s Yvonne. I pull myself out, wipe myself off, then roll to the far side of the bed and stare at the wall. I feel worse than ever. Because now, I don’t even have the hope that a quick fuck will make the pain go away. Now, I have nothing. Not Emma, not anything.
At some point, Yvonne slips out. As I lay there, the realization of what I really need settles over me like an ice-cold shroud. It’s Emma. Emma is the one I need, the one I want. Emma is the only one who will make this – any of this – better. And, conversely, she is the one thing I can’t have – not just because it would ruin me, but because I can’t find her.
I fall asleep and wake up minutes or maybe hours later. In an almost dreamlike haze, I walk into Parker’s room, stepping on a toy. Lifting it up reveals a tiny magnifying glass. I stare at it for a minute before I tuck it in my pocket. Then, I return to my room, to my bed. Now, finally, I can rest easy. Now, finally, I have a plan.
Chapter Fifteen - Emma
Six Months Later
This wasn’t a good idea. As Gillian and I wade through the throngs of happy moms and dads, I feel myself trying to think of an excuse to go back home. “I’m hungry.” “There are too many people here.” “Everything’s too expensive.” Anything but the truth. Seeing all these happy couples reminds me just how I’ll be spending my pregnancy and, likely, the rest of my life: alone.
&nb
sp; Who gets pregnant the first time they have sex? Me, that’s who.
“What about this one?” Gillian asks, lifting a baby blue onesie with a narwhal on the chest.
“Cute,” I say, letting her dump it into the cart with all the other cute, adorable marvels I can’t afford. Although, let’s get real, the biggest expense I can’t afford is sitting in my belly.
“Em?” Gillian’s looking at me with worried eyes. I give her a valiant smile.
“Really, I’m fine, Gil.”
“Em―”
“I mean it. I’m just tired. This is my first day off in weeks.”
Gillian squeezes my arm. “I told you that bookstore job was no job. Seriously Em, you’re going to work yourself to death if you keep this up. Eighty hours a week is too much for a hardy person in good health let alone someone 6-months pregnant.”
I nod dully, shrug, pat my belly fondly. “I have to afford this little guy somehow. I want to give Damien the best life possible.”
Gillian’s the one who nods now, squeezing my hand. “And we will.”
Now we’re at the cash register, where a quick scan of the items reveals that Gillian and I either misunderstood the prices or the items were discarded in the wrong places. Whatever the reason, I can afford basically nothing.
“This one,” I tell the unimpressed cashier, handing her the narwhal onesie, “I’ll take this one.”
“Uh-huh,” she says, chewing her gum for a good half-minute before snatching it out of my hands to re-scan it.
Then, I hand over my credit card that’s $100 away from being maxed out ($80 after the onesie). The cashier flings the fuzzy little thing in a plastic bag and we’re good to go.
Gillian drops me off at the apartment, she’s meeting Karl for dinner at Chico’s. They’re such a perfect couple, I’d resent them if Gillian wasn’t such an angel. Anyway, it’s not her fault my life’s turned out to be such a dud.
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