Our break-up sex was stellar, ferocious, furious, better than any sex we’d had in months. It was so hot it was almost worth the splitting up.
Claudia bit my lips hard and pulled and twisted my nipples until I cried out and tried to pull away. She slapped me across the face and shoved me down on the bed.
She straddled my chest, facing my feet so I couldn’t see anything but her glorious ass. She hawked and spat on my pussy; smeared my juices and her spit all up and down my vulva; and then proceeded to brutally finger-fuck me.
She crammed four fingers up my wet cunt, and fucked me hard, jamming her fingers in and out and grinding her palm against my clit and chanting rhythmically as she fucked me: “Fucking whore! Fucking slut! Spoiled bitch! Stuck-up little cunt!”
Just before I came, she yanked her fingers out of my pussy, leaving me empty and drooling. She flipped me over onto my stomach, shoved my face hard into a pillow, and fucked my ass with multiple fingers, slick with my own juice.
I came hard, my whole body shaking, sobbing into the pillow as I shook and shuddered. Then she left me there, wet with tears and sweat and come, all alone and quivering on the bed like a big lump of jelly.
That was when I left. I needed to be someplace else. I needed to be in a city I’d never been in before, a place where I could walk down the street or go into a bar and not wonder if I was going to run into someone I knew. Fuck it: my royalty checks, such as they were, got direct deposited. Fuck it. Eyes red and teary and blurred, I threw together a quick bag: a change of clothes, a couple spare pairs of panties, my vibrator, my laptop; I left the apartment keys in the lock and walked down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk, and I headed to the A-train to JFK.
On my way to the subway, I threw my cell phone under the wheels of the caravan of taxicabs parading up 8th avenue. Fuck it, I never liked that cell phone anyway.
I hadn’t showered. I reeked of sex, and my cunt was squishy between my legs, and I felt shaky and unreal. I got myself on the redeye to SeaTac, and mercifully got an entire row to myself. I drank airplane vodka with trembling hands, and slept my way across the flat part of the country, and didn’t wake up until the wheels hit the tarmac.
The taxi driver was beautiful, a wispy, ethereal Pakistani guy about my own age with a pleasant, lilting accent and a hook nose that might have looked cruel on another face, but somehow came across as ironic on his. He was friendly and talkative, which normally drives me crazy, but that grey morning I really didn’t mind. It turns out he was a singer/songwriter, when he wasn’t driving a cab; he invited me to his next show. I would have totally done him, right there, blown him in the back of his cab, if he had just hit on me a tiny bit. I was in that kind of a mood.
Hanif dropped me off in downtown Tacoma, a city I’d never been to before. It seemed grey, grimy and grim and industrial. I paid him off, tipped him generously, and he gave me a flyer for his show. Then he drove away, leaving me blinking and disoriented in the overcast Northwestern morning light. It looked like rain.
The bars weren’t open yet, so I found a Starbucks. Over steaming hot, deeply overpriced coffee, I got on craigslist and started looking for someplace to stay.
Marcy was looking for a roommate. The price was right, and the address was within walking distance. I regretted, for a moment, tossing my cell phone. I’d have to get a new one. She responded to my email before I finished my third tall cup of coffee, and I said I’d be over in ten minutes. I took a piss and started walking.
When she answered the door, I knew I’d hit jackpot. Marcy was beautiful, and I wanted her right away. She was a little frumpy, in her mid- or late-thirties, an ex-punk rocker gone domestic. Her light brown hair was bleached blonde; she had tattoos, and a discrete ring in her nose. She was taller than me, and her breasts were bigger, and she wore a bathrobe that I was pretty sure she had nothing on underneath. She looked intelligent and rather jaded, a smart woman who knew better and did it anyway. I was in lust.
Her husband was an Army captain, on his third tour in Afghanistan. She was renting out the spare bedroom, for the extra money, and to keep her and her daughter company. It was a tiny room, with a view of an empty lot across the way, and occasional views of Mt. Rainier looming through the clouds behind. I took it.
She introduced me to her daughter. Blossom was a younger version of Marcy, with darker hair and solemn brown eyes. Her hair was chopped into a shaggy faux-hawk, and she wore a man’s red-checked flannel shirt and too much mascara and eye-liner. She hung back sullenly as Marcy introduced her, giving her mom the ‘I-am-going-to-murder-you’ look. You couldn’t pay me to live through that age again. No way.
I moved in. I got a new cell phone, and a new number. I drank too much and didn’t care. I lurked in my room and tried to write, starting a new story just about every morning, abandoning it by nightfall. I got intimately familiar with the Tacoma Mall, and with all the local bars.
Blossom was infatuated with New York. She was always bugging me for details of life in the city, and the fact that I was a published author seemed to elevate me to rock star status in her world. Which was all very complimentary; but also kind of annoying. I’d never been subjected to hero-worship before.
The house seemed oddly unlived in, more like a full-scale diorama than an actual home. It was too neat and tidy to be real. A photograph of the captain presided over the living room. He was handsome, a clean-cut version of a young Henry Rollins: a square jaw, and big, brown sensitive eyes. He looked kind but taut, a man of discipline. I bet he was a tiger in bed.
Marcy had a bad habit of wandering around the house in nothing but her bathrobe, and I developed a bad habit of following her around the house, perving on her and trying to catch a glimpse. Her boobs were large and bouncy, and looked delicious, and I was always hoping that one of them would slip out of her bathrobe, but it never did.
More than once, I accidentally/on purpose tried the bathroom door when I knew Marcy was in the shower, but she always kept it locked.
I went to see Hanif’s show. It was in a dark little café, no alcohol but very strong dark sweet coffee. The show was poorly attended; I may have been the only person who was there just to see him play. Hanif’s singing was hypnotic and soulful, a weird blend of middle-eastern and folk, whimsically political, like a Persian Arlo Guthrie.
He gave me a ride home in his taxi, and I sat in the front, and he wouldn’t let me pay for the ride. We parked in front of Marcy’s house and made out for a while. He was an amazing kisser. I liked his soft, brown skin. I liked his lips and his tongue. I liked his smell: sweet and spicy. I felt up his cock through his trousers. It was big and hard. I wanted to suck on it right then and there, but he gently pushed me away, saying thank you, but he wasn’t like that. He thanked me for coming out to see him play, squeezed me hand earnestly, and said that we should hang out again soon.
I went up to my room, horny and frustrated. When was the last time I had fooled around with a guy? College. Early college. I suddenly missed it: straightforward sex, penis-in-vagina action. It seemed satisfying and uncomplicated, like beer-and-pizza.
My vibrator wasn’t where I left it, in my underwear/sock drawer. It was lying out on the bed, as if someone had used it and left it there on purpose so I would know. I even imagined that it smelled faintly of pussy, not my pussy. I imagined Marcy lying on my bed, masturbating with my toy, fingers sliding in and out of her juicy pussy, vibrator pressed against her fat clitoris, her big boobs jiggling with every movement. I imagined licking Marcy’s pussy, teasing her and tasting her with my tongue, while Hanif took me from behind, agonizingly slowly inserting his long hard dick into my hungry pussy.
I came hard, flat on my stomach with the humming tip of the vibe pressed against my clit, and one finger halfway up my asshole, imagining licking Marcy’s wet pussy while Harif fucked me, thinking about the noises they would make. I pictured Harif sliding his thumb up my ass just before he came, shooting off inside me with a tortured howl, and that is what set me off. I shuddered and gasped through a long, drawn-out orgasm, and fell asleep, naked on the sheets.
I woke up early the next morning, fuzzy-headed and uncharacteristically non-hung over. I took my towel and went to the bathroom, but someone was already in the shower. I tried the door anyway and it swung open.
Marcy wasn’t in the shower, but her daughter Blossom was. She looked surprised to see me, but she didn’t say anything. Her skin was pale, and she had a fluffy black bush of pubic hair and dark little nipples on her small, tender breasts, and I could go to jail for even thinking what I was thinking. Tall and skinny, she didn’t have a lot of curves; her body was much more girl than woman. I excused myself and sat down on the toilet and peed. She didn’t close the shower curtain, and when she turned around, I had a fine view of her shapely little butt. I am definitely going to hell for the things I thought about that butt.
I made a serious pass at Marcy that night. I came home a little drunk after abandoning a frustrating day of ineffective writing, and found Marcy home alone drinking red wine. Blossom was off hanging out with friends, and I helped Marcy finish the bottle.
We were talking and flirting and she was wearing these faded old jeans with the knees blown out, and I kept catching glimpses of her pink panties down the gap of the back whenever she leaned forward to refill her glass, and she was wearing a tight Dead Kennedys t-shirt that showed off every detail of her magnificent big round breasts, and I kept imagining peeling that shirt off over her head and squeezing her beautiful ass in both hands and sucking those prominent nipples into my mouth, and I kept getting hornier and hornier and wetter and more frustrated, and finally, near the bottom of the bottle, I broke down and told her that I was really attracted to her.
She told me she knew, and that she was really attracted to me too, and she put her hand on my knee, and I realized that my panties were soaked all the way through and moistening my pants.
I clumsily put my arm around her shoulders and leaned in to kiss her, and she gently pushed me away. She said she was married. She said her husband would kill her. She said he’d divorce her if he ever found out.
Maybe we could do a threesome when he comes back. I was grasping at straws. She smiled ruefully and shook her head ‘No’.
I couldn’t sleep that night. I lay in the dark in my bed, the afternoon drunk gradually wearing off, the room slowly revolving on two axes. I masturbated until my pussy was sore and my clit was too tender to touch, and eventually passed out and dreamed frustrating and confusing sexual dreams.
The next morning, Blossom hovered over me as I ingested my first cup of coffee of the day, bugging me for details of life in the East Village. I wasn’t really in the mood for it, and answered her questions with grunts and monosyllables. I was hung-over, achingly horny and unsatisfied, and stung from being spurned by her hot but moral mother. It was a school day, and Blossom was wearing a lumberjack’s flannel shirt and a black studded leather choker around her neck that looked disturbingly sexy on her pale, slender throat.
I felt kind of bad, blowing her off, but Blossom eventually got the hint that I didn’t feel like chatting, and left me alone, and I made more coffee and locked myself in the bedroom and tried to write, but the words just wouldn’t come. I kept picturing Blossom on my bedroom floor, naked except for that black leather collar, tied and bound and helpless, with me towering gloating above her. I am going to burn in hell.
Two nights later, a little drunk and horny, but mostly just horny, I let myself into Marcy’s room after we had all gone to bed. The lights were off. Marcy always slept in the nude, she’d told me that before in a flirtatious sort of way; and when I slipped under the covers next to her, she was in fact bare-ass naked.
She was not asleep. She made a little Mmm-Mmm noise and snuggled up against me as I spooned her, pressing her wide, ample rump against my crotch.
I reached around and cupped one large, soft, warm breast in my hand, craning my neck around her neck to kiss her lips. She responded eagerly. I felt her nipple stiffen against my palm. Our tongues danced in the darkness, our mouths open and our lips pressed together.
Squeezing her breast tight, I slid one hand down between her thick thighs. There was a soft pelt of fur down there, and when my fingers parted her slit, she was very wet. I ran my index finger up and down her vulva, delighting in her folds, navigating my way up and across the slippery nubbin of her clitoris. Marcy sighed eloquently, arching her back and pressing back hard against me. My eyes were adjusting to the dim light of the bedroom, and I could just make out the tattoo across her shoulder blades: a busty blonde cowgirl on horseback herding cattle.
I slid down her body, pulling the sheets back with me, opening her ass-cheeks like a book. I could smell her excitement. Her butt was firm, wide, and hot. She had a tiny, tightly crinkled little anus; I was almost certain she was a virgin back there. I longed to sodomize her, jam my slick fingers up her anus until she whined and whimpered for mercy; butt fuck her so hard and deep that she wouldn’t know what had hit her. Restraint. I licked up and down the inside of those soft pale cheeks, avoiding her drooling pussy, avoiding her musky little asshole for the moment. She sighed and wiggled in response, straining back against my probing tongue.
She jumped when the tip of my tongue made contact with her anus. I drilled at that little hole, burrowing my tongue up inside her ass, working my way deeper and deeper. The taste was intoxicating. I let my hand find her pussy again. She was drenched, slippery wetness oozing out and running down her thighs. I slid two fingers up her hot, wet cunt, and pressed my thumb up against the swollen knob of her clitoris and furiously tongued her anus, shoving my face deeply between her butt cheeks, licking her asshole with everything I had, craning my tongue until it ached.
Marcy came, sobbing and shaking, and I stayed with her all the way through it though I couldn’t breathe. Her orgasm seemed to go on forever, the aftershocks pulsing through her body, making her shiver and quake again and again. Finally I extracted myself. I was covered in her come: my fingers were coated in it, my face was all wet. I got out of bed, retrieved my night clothes from where they had landed on the floor, and slipped quietly out of the room.
I was woken up early the next morning, far earlier than I was accustomed to waking, by the sensation of someone licking my pussy. At first I thought it was a dream, and it may have started out as one, but as I slowly gained consciousness, the sensation became more and more real. Whatever was going on down there felt nice, really nice, but it was frustrating. It felt like I was being licked by a puppy dog: eager and enthusiastic, but totally indiscriminate.
I blinked my eyes lazily open, and saw Blossom, naked but for a pair of baby-blue panties, sprawled out across my bed, her faux-hawk a shaggy mess, her pretty young face buried between my thighs. She was licking my pussy the way a cat might lap at a bowl of melting ice cream.
I spread my legs wide to accommodate her efforts, and she paused, looking up and grinning shyly at me, her big brown eyes sparkling with mischief. I couldn’t believe how young she looked from that perspective, but I certainly wasn’t about to stop her. Multiple gold earrings flashed in the early morning light as she dove back in, and I parted my labia for her, guiding her eagerly searching tongue toward my aching, swollen, horny clit.
When she found the spot, she knew exactly what to do, increasing her tempo and flicking her tongue up, down, around and around, bringing me rapidly toward the brink. I found myself raising my hips up to meet her, gasping for breath, straining up toward her. I took her small hand in mine and pressed it clumsily between my ass cheeks, willing her to take a hint and fuck my asshole. She took the hint, a little tentatively, inserting the tip of one finger into my hungry anus as her thumb slipped up my gasping pussy and her tongue continued its erotic dance on my clit. I came, the orgasm washing over me like a tsunami, groaning out loud, reveling in the sensations. It went on and on and seemed like it was never going to stop.
At last she extracted her various digits, and came up smiling, asking me if she’d done ok. I assured her that she had. Her young breasts were pink and excited. I asked her if she’d mind taking off her panties, and she did, almost shyly, sliding them off and exposing the soft, sparse bush of black hair that covered her little pussy.
I licked her pussy. She was sweet and wet and super sensitive down there. The lips were petite, her clitoris was tiny and shy, and she flinched away every time my tongue came close to it. I tried inserting a finger gently up her vagina, but it was too small and tight, and she whimpered like a scared kitten when I pressed, so I withdrew and concentrated on dragging my tongue lightly up and down the moist, pouting seam of her pussy, which she seemed to appreciate greatly.
We ended up with her bent over the bed, her face buried in the pillows, me licking her pussy from behind. I was deeply tempted to go for her cute little winking asshole, but somehow I restrained myself, limiting my debauchery to squeezing her sassy boyish ass-cheeks hard as I dragged the flat of my tongue up and down her vulva. While I did that, she masturbated, grinding herself against her own fist, and she came silently, her body tensing suddenly and shaking as if she were caught in a bout of violent hiccups.
Blossom left me then, grinning naughtily with her panties in one hand as she pranced out of the bedroom. She had to get ready for school. I could already hear her mother stirring downstairs.
I felt a little guilty, but not very. I knew I was a hopeless pervert, but I couldn’t bring myself to feel bad about it. Instead I rolled over, groped for my vibrator, and masturbated to what had just happened, coming deep and softly, and slipping back asleep and sleeping late.
When I got home that evening, half-loaded from an unusually productive afternoon of drinking and writing, Marcy met me at the front door.
Her husband was getting rotated home, she told me. It would be best if I found somewhere else to live. Her voice was strange and her mouth flapped open and closed like a ventriloquist’s dummy.
I gathered up my things, packed my bag, and called Hanif for a ride. He said he’d pick me up in twenty minutes. I sat in the shadow of a decrepit Dairy Queen on Pearl Street and waited. I thought about Marcy and her straight-as-a-ruler husband, I wondered if the sex they had was good. I thought about Blossom, imagined spanking her petite little ass till my hand stung and the welts rose red on her tender cheeks. I imagined her kneeling in front of me, wrists cuffed behind her back. I pictured myself fucking her with a buzzing toy while I choked her with my hand, my fingers wrapped around her delicate throat as she gazed up into my eyes, pulling my vibrator out of her cunt every time I let her breathe. I wondered when she’d lose her virginity and to who; I wondered if she’d ever think of me when she was grown-up and married. I thought about Claudia; wondered if she ever thought about me, wondered if she ever worried about me or wondered where I’d gone. I wondered if she was sorry for any of the things she’d said.
Hanif showed up in his cab, and I climbed in front next to him. He asked me where to, and I told him the airport. He told me that his boyfriend wasn’t home, and if I wanted to I could come over to his apartment and hang out for a while. I told him no, just SeaTac please, and he smiled at me in a sheepish and understanding way and pressed his hand warmly on my thigh.
We pulled out onto heavy traffic on I-5 north under a troubled sky heavy with low, dark clouds.