Posted by Rache on July 22, 2001 at 19:00:14:
(m/f,non-snuff,spank,romance)
Friday
By Rachael
Friday, July 20th. I'm on my way north, watching the rolling hills and forests and distant mountains pass slowly by. Exit 192 goes by, Everett. I wonder if I'm doing the right thing, Paul was very nice, sometimes, and sometimes he was a bastard. He called me, remember? I haven't been with anyone since March, since Paul dropped me off and left leaving angry words hanging in cold Seattle air. Is this the right thing?
Exit 234, Mount Vernon. It's getting dark now, I'm fidgeting in my seat. I hate long drives, I hate being the passenger. Why don't I want to drive? Everybody drives. Buses are so slow, stopping 4 times already. The guy behind me keeps trying to talk to me, he's going to Bellingham too. He wants me to move my big canvas bag so he can sit next to me. So he can put his hand on my knee and tell me how pretty girls shouldn't be traveling alone.
But I've been traveling alone. Occasionally sticking out my thumb and getting picked up by men like Paul. Still alone though, still wondering what it would feel like to be a person instead of a thing. I know why he called, he wants to put his hand on my knee and tell me I'm sorry. Not him, what does he have to be sorry about? Fucking Jackie? That was my fault wasn't it? That's what he told me in March, if I wasn't so messed up. If I wasn't a case. If If If ... There were so many that night. If is the middle word in life, someone said. What a joke. If is the middle word in knife.
In the mountains now, twisting turning pushing everyone one way and then the other. Little shoves to remind us we're out of control, depending always on someone else. Our fathers, our boyfriends, strangers who bring us into the arms of love. No illusions there, I don't love Paul. He doesn't love me. I know why I'm going and it's killing me inside. I hate myself. I want to see him, I want to feel him like before, inside me. Loving me, hurting me, hating me for the things I ask him to do. Hate and love, black and white. There is no in between. Grey is when we do what we hate because we love it. And the other way too.
Exit 256, Bellingham. The guy behind starts talking again. Where am I going, what am I doing, do I want to have some fun, do I like to party, do I need a ride somewhere...On and on. Maybe I should have just given him a blowjob so he'd leave me alone. Fuck. My heart is pounding, for Paul, of all people. I look out the windows as the bus pulls into the parking lot but I don't see him. A little panic, what if he's not here? I don't know anyone, do I? Another long slow bus ride back? But I know he'll be there, he broke up with Jackie, he's got nobody else and I'm the lucky one who gets to pick up his bruised ego. What am I doing here?
Paul's here, smiling, smoking, waving, watching as I walk over to him. he takes my bag off my shoulder, "Hi" says he. leaning down to give me a kiss. I turn my face and give him a cheek, he takes it but his eyes say "Is it like this now?" We get in the car and driving again, watching the town go by. He tells me he's missed me, he never should have let me go, he made a mistake and he's so so so very happy I've come up to give him another chance. I don't say very much, but he looks good. Tall, dark, he shaved off his beard and mustache, he looks better. He tells me I'm too thin, been hanging around those anarchists too long, he says. Eating grass and saving the planet. Little does he know, it can't be saved. He's asking me about Greg, a little jealous, but not too much. It's enough to make me ask about Jackie though, he knows that's a fight so he smiles and says Jackie who? It's like I never left.
His apartment is clean, cleaner than I remember. I flop on his couch and he gets us beer. I hate beer but I'm thirsty. I get a pill out of my purse, I wait until he's there I want him to see it. What's that, he asks. I swallow it down and tell him its birth control. Oh, well, okay...Yada yada ya...He lights a cigarette and turns on his radio, I look at his desk, a little thing from Ikea. The Power of Myth? Kind of deep for him, I think. Paul is 26, grad student at WWU working in the Sociology Department. Trying to understand people. Good luck I think, he can't even figure me out. How's he gonna deal with some cult in ancient Peru?
He's sitting on the couch and I can't help it. I walk over and sit down next to him, just like I used to do and he puts his arm around, just like before. I forget what time it is, what day it is. What month and year all I can remember is that I've been here before. His hand is on my breast, rubbing my bra through my blouse while my hand is on his thigh. How did I get so horny? What am I doing here? I feel his penis growing hard and I unzip his jean while he lifts his hips, I pull them down. I know what he likes, the way it always starts. His fingers in my hair, pushing me, urging my mouth down to his cock. I close my eyes and feel him inside my mouth again, hard and hot and so delicious.
Later, how long? Maybe 15 minutes, maybe more. I am swallowing his semen, sucking him as it slides down my throat. I haven't tasted him for so long, it's a surprise how much I've missed it. His hand is inside my blouse, inside my bra, squeezing my small breast, pinching my nipples while he cums. It must have been awhile for Paul, just like it's been for me. I'm already wet and wishing his hands would go lower. Fuck I missed this, half an hour after getting to his place and I start sucking him like he owns me. Where's my collar?
Paul gets up and puts away his cock, he's just looking at me. My face is a mess and I have my hand between my legs. He just laughs. Just like old times he says, but he's got plans for tonight, dinner and a party. My pussy can wait, yeah just like old times. He likes to keep me hungry, that's his thing, keep a girl hungry he says and she'll do anything you want. My cunt is on fire and he won't do anything now except get ready, he tells me I can have the bathroom first. What a gentleman. I shower and wonder why the hell he doesn't have a tub. I dry off and get dressed in the living room while he washes his face and changes. I decide to call my Dad, just to say I'm okay but he's not home. Must have been waiting a month to get me out of the house. He won't be back until Sunday, probably 15 minutes before me. Fuck.
I'm already feeling down. It's happening and I know it and I can't do anything about it. Paul's the same, different face but still the same. I dig a pin out of my purse, it's stuck through the side and I pull it out, pressing it through my nipple. It feels good like that, it takes my mind off things. Off wanting to fuck so badly I can taste it. I put my blouse on, leaving the pin where it is. It'll be messed up, blood spots my blouse a little but it's dark blue it'll be okay. It catches on the material too and that's gonna suck all night but I don't want to take it out. my nipple is hard, and the soft rayon sliding over it is like a little torture. I decide to do the other one just as Paul comes out buttoning his shirt.
"Jesus." that's all he says and he watches me push the needle through my other nipple, through about an inch of my tit where the areole starts and ends. I gasp and frown and stare at it I love it and I can see Paul watching. He knows I do this, he's done it, but maybe he forgot. I don't say anything and he doesn't either. I put my blouse on and button it. My clit is hard.
Watching the night go by. It's late but I'm hungry. We talk about people we both used to know. Now only one of us knows them, my friends and his friends. Some people will be happy to see us together again and I'm looking forward to the party. Paul is being nice, but he keeps looking at my breasts, the little drops of black on dark blue. I can feel him with my toes, he's hard and I push against his penis with my foot under the table. I am hungry but not for food. We're having steak, Black Angus, it's good and bloody and I play with the knife. I feel like stabbing it between my legs. Screaming at him to do it and take me and make me pay for coming all the way up here just for this. It doesn't make sense, nothing in my head is clear. I need a new drug. But all I have is the knife and my knuckles are turning white. I stare at the blood on my plate. I feel like a cannibal.
We leave and we still talk. He's all about changing his life and how much it means to him that I've come back. I never left, doesn't he know that? I sit in my room night after night and I think about him. I've talked to him, slept with him, died for him over and over. His small talk makes me want to bash my head against the window. You can't change your life, I tell him. You can only watch as it unfolds. It's defeatist and he tells me. I know it too, I just want to argue with him. It's all preordained, all of it written and rehearsed a thousand times before this night. He asks me how I know and I tell him. I'm sitting here, aren't I?
What does that mean?
I look at him and watch him light a cigarette. I wished I smoked. I wished I had something like that to keep me company. but all I have are pins in my breasts and I touch one with my fingers. It doesn't hurt anymore, That's what people don't know. It only hurts for a little bit and then you need more. Like morphine it takes more and more and it has to be bigger and better or it doesn't matter.
Is that supposed to mean if you had a choice you wouldn't be here?
I turn away. I don't know what it means. But I won't give him the satisfaction. I remember an email I sent someone this morning, it had some poems in it. It had my Elvis poem. I ask Paul if he ever read my poetry, he hasn't. I wouldn't show it to someone I knew personally up close and in the biblical sense. It's not safe showing that much to someone, is it? Paul has seen every part of me outside. He's seen me bleed and he's seen me cry. He's left me stone cold dead inside while he fucks a friend I used to have. But he never read my poems. The thought comforts me.
Nothing to say about the party. It was the same as it used to be. Some people asked me how I was, like a cancer patient on leave from the hospital. I told them "fucking great" and some people just ignored me. So what. Professor Linski was there, he accepted my application once a long time ago and then I rejected him and his department. That was in March. He didn't talk to me. I should be flattered I'm sure, what an arrogant ass. March was such a good month, Jackie wasn't there. No surprise, she wouldn't be. No sense in it she couldn't gloat anymore, she was cold too. I kept Paul close all night. His arm around me, it was the deal. If I was alone for 3 minutes I told him, I was leaving.
Finally back at his place. I didn't wait, I took of my blouse and pushed to more needles in, little silver X's in my breasts. I sat there on his couch, looking at Paul while I pushed the sharp pleasure through me. There was a little more blood and I rubbed it around my stiff nipples. I spread my legs for him. He's hungry too, he hasn't hit anyone since me, Jackie would cut his balls off. That's why he left me, remember? Because I'm so used up. He told me he was down in the fire too long with me. Making him insane. But now he wants it, as bad as me even. He wants to remember the little things like feeling strong. Like being in control.
He takes off his shirt and his pants, slipping his belt out of the loops. Turn over he says and I do, I get on my knees on the cushions and put my hands on the wall. I look at my fingers, red from blood and pressed against the cool white paint. I wish he would nail my hands to the wall, just like they are. My pussy is soaked and I want to be held where I am, unable to move. I turn my head to tell him, to ask him if he has a hammer, some nails. But he's not looking at me, he's ignoring me. He's ripping my panties off, digging his fingers in a little hole he made and shredding them. It feels good.
he's going to whip me, just like before. Just like always he's going to do it and make me ask him to do it harder and faster and more always more. I'll beg him to do it until I can't feel anything except the burning inside. He's swinging the belt and it hurts, oh God it hurts so much. My eyes are squeezed shut and water is being squeezed out my nose is runny, snot running in my panting mouth. I push against the wall as hard as I can because if I don't I'll let go and try to stop him and I don't want him to stop. I concentrate on that cold wall and the fire on my skin, welts rising, blisters, blood bruises black and yellow and beautiful. He whips the back of my thighs and up, across my cheeks and up to my back, over and over. I'm quiet at first, then little grunts and then moans and then high pitched squeals and then finally screaming as I feel myself needing it. I'm going to cum, my pussy is sucking at the emptiness inside. I need it a touch, a kiss, a penetration to complete the journey.
When Paul stops I have already collapsed, crying, holding myself. Hugging my arms around me while I shake. It is a moment of clarity of knowing, pain has driven away everything else but the want to be taken. The fire licking my skin grows more intense, the whipping was nothing, it's the afterwards. The time when my body tries to heal, when nerves become awake and the flesh is alive. I'm on my side when Paul enters me, he pushes his hardness inside me fast and hard, but I am so wet and ready I feel nothing but pleasure. It's what I need, he slaps my ass, and rubs it, tracing his fingers along the welts. he's slamming into me, making me cum for him, trying to drown his cock in my need. He lifts my leg, holding it up against his chest, my foot beside his face so he can look down at me and see himself moving in and out.
I'm shaking, biting my lip and moaning loudly. His fingers on my wounds, teasing me, burning me. he's driving inside and I feel my cunt stretching around him. I've wanted this for so long, dreamt of it. Paul reaches down, digging for clit so he can pinch it. Pull it. Make me scream again because it's so sensitive. And then finally, at last, I am cumming. Paul fills me with his sperm and holds himself inside me, driving his warmth to meet my own. I just lay there, letting it happen. I feel so tired, so exhausted. I haven't the strength to move and he picks me up. Bringing me to bed.