She followed me into the house, walking silently behind me as I went upstairs and into my room, where I stepped aside and allowed her to enter before closing the door behind us.
My heart raced in my chest, pounding against my ribs like a hammer. Aside from my mother and horrible sister, no other girl had ever been in my room, feasting their eyes upon my things and my personal space. It was exhilarating to think of her touching my stuff, lying on my bed, wallowing on my sheets. I could hardly wait to get started.
“So this is your room?”
“Yeah. This is it.” Unsure of how to proceed, I watched for a minute as she surveyed the room, taking in the shelves of books, the stack of magazines on the desk, the pile of dirty laundry in the corner, and of course the unmade bed.
When she’d visually inspected her surroundings, she stepped over to the bed and changed from regular girl mode to prostitute mode. A juvenile version of a seductive and lustful look appeared on her face and she began to undress. She wasn’t very graceful at undressing in a sexy manner. She fumbled with the strings on her bikini top and the button on her jean shorts. When she reached down to pull off one of her high heels, balancing on one foot, she nearly fell. But it didn’t matter how bad she was at it. It got the job done, arousing me more than I had previously thought possible.
She sat on the bed and scooted herself around so she could lie back, all while maintaining eye contact with me.
“My name is Jessica. You know. In case you want to call it out or anything.”
“Okay. Mine’s Lester.”
“You want me to call it out? Some guys seem to like that.”
“Yeah. I like it.”
She smiled. “You wanna come over here and get in bed with me?”
I nodded like a fool and began to undress.
“I’ve heard red heads are wild in bed. I can’t wait to find out if that’s true.”
I couldn’t determine whether or not she was just saying that to make me feel good, but it didn’t matter. I was going to show her how this red head did it. Good or bad.
And that’s what I did. Twice.
Throughout the night, I made no stupid mistakes, no clumsy moves. I was fantastic, and she wasn’t half bad either. She wasn’t as experienced as the other hookers I’d been with, but she made up for it in other ways. Like being tighter and firmer in all the right places.
After my second orgasm, I collapsed onto the bed beside Jessica. Before my breathing had even returned to normal, I was asleep. She woke me a couple hours later, saying she needed to go.
Reluctantly, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and got dressed. Neither of us said much on the drive across town. Before she got out of the car, I paid her what she asked for, and thanked her. I probably shouldn’t have. The money was her thanks, but she’d given me a good time and it felt like something I should say.
Back at home, I stretched out on my bed, wrapped in the wonderful scent of sex, and slept.
I never saw Jessica again but I thought of her often. Many times, I drove through the neighborhood in which I’d found her and dropped her off, but I never saw her after that night. It wasn’t a big deal though. There were others that took her place. Many, many others.
During the next month, I saw April outside of work three more times. She had taken to calling them dates, though I wasn’t sure I considered them that. Once, we just watched movies at my house until after midnight. Then she drove herself home. Another time we went roller skating, where I spent more time on my ass in the rink than on my feet. And our other night out was spent shooting pool at a bar with another couple, friends of April’s who insisted we go back to their place to smoke some dope. Which we did.
Things were going great at first. We were all laughing and joking and smoking pot and drinking beer, just hanging out and having a good time. Then the other guy, a big, muscular man named Jeff whose black hair fell to his shoulders in thick waves, started making a move on April. At first, I wasn’t sure of what was happening. I figured that since they were friends, this was just how they acted toward one another. Flirty. But when the kissing started, when one tongue began to swirl frantically around the other, I became uneasy. That wasn’t right. In fact, it was weird. Before I could figure out what I should say or do about it, Jeff’s girlfriend, a scrawny blond named Brenda, came over to me and began running her hands up the insides of my thighs and kissing my neck.
It was uncomfortable at first. I’d never been in this situation before. I didn’t necessarily consider April my girlfriend, but I had thought that’s where our relationship was heading. Clearly I was wrong.
A glance in April’s direction confirmed that our relationship would never be a steady one. I could never consider her my girlfriend. She was straddling Jeff’s lap, shirt nowhere in sight. As Jeff leaned forward and began to suck on her tits, she threw her head back and began to grind against him.
My attention was torn from those two as Brenda’s hand reached my crotch and her lips found mine.
Stoned off my ass, I could only sit there and enjoy it as she unzipped my jeans and took me in her mouth. She did her thing and my head rolled back and forth on the back of the couch, allowing me occasional glimpses of April and Jeff, who were now going at it like a couple of sex-crazed parolees fresh out of the hoosegow. The way they moved together, their bodies working in sync despite the drugs and booze, suggested to me that this wasn’t their first time.
Underneath the confusion and the jealousy and the anger, there was something about the sight of the two of them together that turned me on. It could have been the mere act of sex happening so close, just a few feet away from me. Or maybe it was the thought of it being wrong, the fact that it was a girl I’d been dating for a month and working with for even longer. It seemed wrong to let her screw anyone else, and even more wrong to watch, which is probably why I did it.
When my head turned to the left again, the direction in which April and Jeff were doing it, I didn’t look away. My heavy lids drooped but my eyes remained focus on the two of them, their naked bodies writhing against each other like two lustful snakes. As April turned around, sitting on Jeff’s lap backward, I put my hand on the back of Brenda’s head and pushed. Keeping rhythm with April’s up and down bounces, I pushed on Brenda’s head. It allowed me to imagine that instead of getting head from Brenda, I was having sex with April. It was wrong. I knew it was wrong even as I did it. But that’s what made it feel so good.
Minutes later, Jeff and April switched positions again. This time, she sat in the chair, butt scooted down to the edge, and Jeff got on his knees on the floor in front of her.
I pulled Brenda’s head off me and pushed her backward. Getting the hint, she backed away from me and I dropped to my knees. With a little maneuvering, I turned her around so she was facing away from me and I was facing Jeff and April. We screwed doggy-style, my hips bouncing off her bony ass while I watched and kept time with the other couple.
There were a few times that I almost finished, but in those moments, I looked down at Brenda’s back, at her protruding ribs and spine, and that was enough to push aside the urge to explode within her. After the impulse had passed, I looked back to April and continued having imaginary sex with her while having real sex with Brenda.
I managed to keep myself from climaxing until Jeff did. I could tell he was getting ready to finish because his thrusts became frantic. Plus, he announced it.
“I’m gonna cum,” he gasped, just seconds before actually doing it. His body tensed, back stiffening, and he squeezed his eyes closed. It was a horrible thing to see, really. I felt bad for women. This was the face that most guys probably made. This was what they had to see every time. Women had sexy orgasm faces. Men did not.
Only a second was wasted thinking about it. Immediately, I went into an orgasm mode of my own, pounding against Brenda to the point that not only was I surely hurting her, but it was hurting me too. She was just too damn bony.
The party became awkward for m
e after that. The other three seemed fine with everything that had happened. They laughed and talked while putting their clothes back on, acting as if the orgy had been a normal occurrence. I dressed in silence, unsure of how to feel. I’d never seen another couple have sex, especially just feet from me. It was odd and erotic, strange and appealing. More than anything, my feelings for April had changed forever. I didn’t see her in the same way as I had before. I couldn’t. All of her political rants and her intellectual conversations seemed…well, they seemed as if they’d come from someone else. There was no way this beer-drinking, pot-smoking, orgy-having woman was the same one who’d sat beside me on the couch innocently nibbling popcorn while watching scary movies. There was just no way.
Brenda, with her rug-burned knees, laughed and lit another joint. April plopped down on the opposite end of the couch from me and waited for it to be passed to her. Jeff returned to the chair that he and April had made their personal sex arena, and Brenda sat on his lap. She passed the joint to Jeff, who took a couple deep puffs before passing it to April. Once she’d inhaled, she handed it to me. I didn’t say no.
Even stranger than the orgy was the fact that it came out of nowhere and disappeared into nowhere again as soon as it was over. No one mentioned it. The conversation was on music and world events, everything except all the sex that had just taken place.
I felt both out of place and right at home.
Later that night, after the beer was drank and the pot was smoked, I drove April home. We rode in silence. Well, I rode in silence. She passed out in the front seat with her head resting on the window. This only added to my unexplainable anger toward her. I hadn’t started the evening angry with her. It began during the orgy and escalated as the evening progressed.
Parked in front of her house, I opened the passenger door and pulled her out, not taking care to keep from hurting her. She was a lot smaller than me, so it wasn’t much of a job to carry her up the sidewalk. At the front door, I said her name, trying to wake her up. She didn’t come around so I slapped her. That didn’t wake her either, but it felt damn good to do so I did it again.
I was going to just drop her in the doorway and leave but I decided to try the doorknob and found it unlocked.
Pushing the door open with my foot, I carried her across the threshold as if we were a newlywed couple. Using my other foot, I pushed the door closed behind us and looked around, wondering where I should leave her. I considered ripping off her clothes and placing her on the toilet, stuffing her down in the bowl as far as I could so she would wake the next day and perhaps see the connection. Pieces of shit go in the toilet. But I decided against that.
Instead of heading into the bathroom, I carried her through the sparsely decorated house and into her bedroom. Her bed was no more than a mattress on the floor. There was no dresser, no chest of drawers. A laundry basket in the corner held clothes, maybe clean, maybe dirty. Probably both. I couldn’t tell and I didn’t care.
Standing over the bed, I held her out and dropped her. She fell to the mattress in a heap, bouncing a little as she landed but never waking up.
I struggled to understand how any woman could let herself end up this way. How could they fill their bodies with poisonous chemicals that altered their state of consciousness and rendered them unable to take care of themselves? For all she knew, she was being gang-raped in a back alley somewhere or hogtied and driven to Mexico. She had no idea what could happen to her when she was in this condition.
I shook my head and turned to leave, prepared to walk out of the room, out of the house, and never see or speak to her again. I had enough women like her in my life. I didn’t need any more.
At the doorway, I froze. I could’ve kept walking, could’ve left and that would’ve been the end of it. But instead I flicked on the light, turned around, and went back to the bed.
For a few minutes I just stood there watching as her chest rose and fell with each slow breath. Her shirt was pulled up enough to allow me a glimpse of her bare belly, but nothing more. I wanted to see more. I wanted to see as much as I’d seen back at Jeff and Brenda’s house. I wanted to see her entire body, to marvel at the hills and valleys, the smoothness and softness of her naked skin.
Part of me did it to teach her a lesson. Another part of me did it to see what it was like. And yet another part of me did it for the pure fun of it. Just because I wanted to.
It took a lot of restraint on my part to keep from ripping her clothes off. It would’ve added to the thrill of it all, but if she saw her ripped clothes in the morning, she’d know it was me because I’d been the one to drive her home. She’d probably go straight to the police and then I’d be in deep shit. So instead of ripping, I removed her clothes without busting a single stitch.
With her clothes out of the way, I could visually enjoy every inch of her body. When that was no longer enough, I ran my hands over her from head to toe, touching places I’d never touched on a woman before. I poked and prodded, squeezed and caressed until that was no longer enough either. Then I took off my clothes and got on the bed.
Nearly three hours passed from when I’d carried her into the house. The sky was just beginning to lighten outside and I wanted to be gone before sunrise. So even though I wasn’t ready to call it quits yet, I finished my business and left.
I wanted to kill her. Not just because I was angry with her—at her—but because it felt so good to kill women like her. They wanted to be used up, their bodies sold at ridiculously low prices, or in April’s case given away for free, and I was more than eager to oblige. However, when I was done with them, I wanted them gone. For good.
Driving home, I was comforted by the fact that in a few hours, April would wake sore and bruised and feeling like hell with the semen of two different men oozing from between her legs. She would spend the day walking around with a raw cunt, because she was a whore and that’s what whores did.
9
It was weird between us at work after that. April tried to talk to me a few times, but I had very little to say to her so we drifted apart. She no longer sat with me at lunch, no longer smiled and talked to me, and I was okay with that. It left me with a lot of free time on the weekends, time which was spent seeking out women who made no pretense to be anything other than a whore. They didn’t walk around disguised as smart, nice girls, hiding the fact that underneath the intellectual conversations and sweet smiles they were filthy and worthless. With them, I knew exactly what I was getting.
It was just before Christmas of 1969 and my mother had once again gone to spend the weekend with a friend. That was a routine she kept faithfully, still determined to pretend I didn’t exist.
I holed up in my room with a pizza, a case of beer, and a stockpile of dirty magazines. For hours I ate, drank, and flipped through the well-worn pages of the magazines. I memorized every curve and crevice of the women within, fantasizing about the things I wanted to do to them. There were no words to describe how horny I was. Briefly I thought of my mother’s hand lotion. I could go get it off her nightstand and have a little fun with myself. But how much fun would that really be? It paled in comparison to the feel of a real woman. So with an erection that was hard enough to double as a hammer I got in my car and drove through the snow to the seedy part of town, excited and eager to find someone to help me release my frustration.
Since I was able to take the hookers to my house, I no longer needed to have sex in the back seat of my car. I sold it and bought a 1963 Ford Ranchero. Part truck, part car. Most hookers were happy to go home with me and escape the cold weather, if only for a little while. However, I occasionally came across one who was reluctant to go home with me. The Ranchero helped persuade them after I explained that there simply wasn’t enough room to do anything in the car seeing as there was no back seat. It was a deal-sealer.
Huddled together in the dim glow of a flickering streetlight, I found a group of prostitutes trying to stay warm. They looked so out of place standing in the falling snow,
scantily dressed in their miniskirts and heels, their exhaled breath coming out in plumes.
When I pulled to the curb, two of the women broke away from the group and walked to the passenger window.
“Hey, handsome,” they said simultaneously. “You lookin’ for a good time?”
“I am.”
“How about you take us both? You look like the kind of guy that can handle two women at one time.”
For a split second, I considered agreeing to take them both. As horny as I was, I had no doubt that I could do the job. But I turned down their offer because I planned to kill whichever one of them got in the car and I didn’t know how to go about killing both women at the same time.
“No. Sorry. I’m not that kind of guy. I just need one of you.”
The two women exchanged a glance.
“Come on. You know you’ve fantasized about being with two women at the same time. All guys do.”
“Yeah,” the other girl chimed in. “We’ll show you a real good time.” She raised her shirt, put her hands on her bare breasts, and shook them.
Though the sight of her jiggling titties made my crotch throb harder than it already was, I said, “No, thanks.”
“Come on, buddy. It’s freezing out here. Give us a break,” one of them pleaded.
“What if we cut you a deal?” The other woman interjected, desperate to get off the streets and into the warmth of the car.
“What kind of deal?”
“A two-for-one deal. You get us both, but you only pay for one of us.”
I mulled this over for a few seconds before nodding. “Okay. Get in.”
The women smiled at each other and quickly got in the car.
The drive to my house was uncomfortable. Not only were the three of us scrunched together in the small confines of the car, but the overwhelming smell of perfume—two different kinds—mingled with stale cigarette smoke and old cum was enough to make me want to gag. My throat burned and my nose began to run. I rolled down the window to get enough fresh air to survive the drive while trying to figure out if there was a way to successfully kill them both.
Held, Pushed, and 22918 (3 Complete Novels) Page 43
