Abuse

  Years ago, I saw a striptease at a friend’s birthday party in the VIP section of a club. Not that I blame the stripper, but the woman’s sexual interest wasn’t even remotely authentic. Quite frankly, it seemed so forced, fabricated and sleazy that it seriously turned me off.

  Fake sex.

  False love.

  These things disturb the still, dark waters of my mind. They muddy my thoughts, stirring up monstrous and humiliating images of betrayal. When I fall into this kind of mental quagmire, I usually run away in a fruitless attempt to escape my past and clear my mind.

  Unfortunately, no one can escape their past. How can a person run from themselves? Wherever you go… there you are.

  What Renata is doing is nothing at all like what the stripper did. Sure, she’s play-acting for fun, but she genuinely cares. Her interest in me is real.

  She’s real.

  Turning around to show me her shapely back, she bends over. With her butt up in the air, pointed toward me, she slowly pulls her undies down. My blood boils when I see her sweet naked ass. Those creamy white globes are firm, round and fucking gorgeous. She flashes her tempting backside, swinging her hips suggestively side to side.

  I groan in loud protest when the tiny slip of cloth covers her up again.

  Renata laughs and swings her head, tossing her blonde hair over to one side. Her eyes sparkle with mischief when she looks at me over her shoulder. That sassy grin of hers is captivating. So is her teasing, wanton enjoyment.

  “You’re making me feel things I’ve never felt before,” I say, in an unexpectedly harsh voice.

  “Reeeally?” I can tell this idea pleases her. “Like what?”

  “Like, for the first time in my life, I honestly want to give a spanking.”

  “No! Seriously?” The look she gives me is a strange combination of distaste, mild interest and curiosity. I don’t think she’s ever had a spanking before. That’s fine by me because I’ve certainly never given one.

  Her eyes narrow as she studies me. “Do you want to punish the naughty girl?”

  I give her a one-shouldered shrug. “I’d much rather fuck her.”

  Nodding her head in what appears to be approval and relief, she laughs. “Good to know.”

  Her stimulating erotic dance continues with both of us grinning and laughing. When she finally lowers her panties, taking them off entirely, I stare at her crotch. My eyes widen and my mouth falls open. I’m unable to hide my shock.

  “What?” she asks.

  “You shave,” I say hoarsely and then swallow hard.

  “Laser, baby. I got rid of my pubic hair years ago. I have the perfect skin for laser treatments. Do you like it?” she asks, spreading her legs slightly to more completely display her hairless sex.

  My cock pulses violently—I barely prevent climax.

  Unable to speak, I clear my throat. “It’s… ” I pause, mentally grasping for an adjective to describe her pussy. “It’s… very pretty,” I manage to choke out.

  Renata giggles outrageously. “Thank you,” she says. “The skin of my mound is really soft and smooth. When you’re ready, maybe tomorrow—you can touch it and find out for yourself.”

  I mutter a soft oath and she laughs.

  Renata continues doing her naughty striptease, using her panties to hide her private parts, such as her nipples. She swings and drapes the thin strip of cloth over herself and then trails them over me while continuing her sexy dance.

  I can almost hear music accompanying her erotic display.

  One hand holding them in front, one hand in back, Renata moves them back and forth between her legs, rubbing them against her pussy in a seductive, hip-swinging motion. It looks as though she’s riding that damned underwear.

  “Giddy-up cowboy,” she says with a saucy grin while ‘riding’ her panties.

  My jaw clenches.

  I hunger for her with ferocious need. An intense urge to capture her, hold her down over my knee and spank her returns with a vengeance. Would she fight me? Would I be forced to overpower her? I wouldn’t want to do it if she didn’t like it. Why does the mere thought of it excite me?

  Is it that perhaps because a spanking would stop her mischievous teasing? Or because her tight, round ass looks so alluring.

  I long to possess her, own her, and spank her silly. After reddening her backside she’d collapse, limp with exhaustion and wet with desire. Then Renata would give in fully and completely—but only to me.

  My cock twitches and I shake my head. Where the hell do these thoughts come from?

  Yet, the ideas remain and they are… compelling.

  Parting her legs while bending over, she moves her ass and hips in a manner that mimics the in and out action of fucking. My heart hammers against my chest while the blood in my veins begins to boil. Renata is taunting me to madness. Every inch of me is as tight as a coiled spring. My sexual tension has built to an impossible level.

  I think I’m going to explode.

  Her eyes sparkle with lust. The naughty mischief maker enjoys teasing me. When she comes closer, without any warning, I snatch her panties from her in a quick-fingered grab.

  Renata blinks and her lips part—she didn’t expect that.

  I love that I surprised her.

  I look her straight in the eye as I put that tantalizing blue strip of fabric against my nose and inhale deeply. Oh my God. The damned thing is drenched. The woman smells fantastic.

  Her eyes widen and her legs begin to tremble. For once, she’s speechless. She sure as hell didn’t expect that, either.

  I think she liked it. I’ve turned her on.

  This satisfies me on a deep, primitive level.

  “Wow,” she says, “You’re fast.”

  “I can be slow, too,” I murmur suggestively, keeping a completely straight face.

  Renata gets my joke instantly. The sound of her uninhibited laughter makes a smile curl my lips.

  Everything inside me vibrates in a primal need to take her. Mouth dry, pulse pounding, my breath fast and shallow—my body reacts to her heady scent and sexual responses. Wet and willing, this beautiful, intelligent woman wants me.

  I still can’t believe it.

  When I see her laughing and smiling, the polar ice I have inside of me melts. I want my body to fill hers. I need to fuck her, and fuck her, and fuck her some more. Renata drives me wild and tests my self-control.

  With her in my life, I’m more alive than I’ve ever been before.

  I’m not a normal guy, especially when it comes to sex. A lifetime of self-doubt and self-loathing made me see myself as a monster.

  Intimacy makes me nervous.

  I don’t kiss. I’m uncomfortable cuddling. I don’t want hugs and I doubt if I could ever sleep with a woman. How do people do that? How do they deal with another person in their bed, right there intimate and up close while they sleep?

  I can’t imagine a future with Renata in it.

  Yet, I can’t imagine a future without her.

  I’m only sure of one thing—I care about her more than I care about myself. There isn’t anything on this earth I wouldn’t do for her.

  Despite the solid evidence of my arousal—in the form of my throbbing cock—I calmly tuck her panties behind me on the chair and lean forward. I force myself to be composed and businesslike, reach for my half of the deck, pick it up and flip another card.

  “Ace of clubs,” I announce. My heart skips a beat because the ace is a winning card. I can’t lose.

  My body burns at the thought of what I want from her.

  Renata slouches down gracefully on my bed and picks up her half of the deck. Her lips twitch with humor as she stares at my card and then at me. Her blue eyes are full of erotic promise.

  “Hmm,” she muses. “Unless I throw down an ace, you win.”

  My throat tightens and my aching cock throbs. “Yes,” I murmur.

  My mind reels with all the things I want to see, not to mention the things I want to do if
I get up the nerve to risk it. I don’t want to sink back into usual mental shit, so staying touch-free is still a good plan… at least for tonight.

  And tomorrow? Well, if I don’t go to jail, who knows what I might be capable of?

  Renata flips over the ace of spades, and I curse under my breath.

  “What happens now?” I ask.

  Her expression softens at my obvious frustration.

  “Can’t you tell?” She grins. “This is a win-win, hon, because now we both get what we want.”

  Chapter 16.

  “Vice, virtue—it's best not to be too moral. You cheat yourself out of too much. Aim above morality. If you apply that to life, then you're bound to live life fully.”

  — Movie, Harold and Maude

  ~~~

  Grant Wilkinson

  “You first,” she says. “Truth or dare?”

  “Dare.”

  Renata takes a long swallow of her Coke. “OK,” she says. “Hmm, looks like we’re both going for a dare. What do you dare me to do?”

  I hesitate a moment before I answer, mainly to regain my self-control. I’m desperate and my balls ache. How does she do this to me? I only just came, yet I’m hard as a rock and downright uncomfortable.

  Words fall from me with breathless urgency, “I want you to masturbate in front of me,” I say, in a low, harsh voice. “I need to see you play with yourself again, only this time without those damned panties blocking my view. I need to see everything. I want your legs spread wide so I can examine every bit of you. I dare you to play with yourself until you come.”

  Eyes shining, she laughs. “You haven’t had enough of that yet?”

  “I’ve barely gotten started.”

  “Is that right?” Renata arches a brow, while her smile takes my breath away. “Funny thing. What a coincidence. I was going to play with myself again, but I was going to dare you to watch, while telling me your fantasies. I want to know what gets that big, gorgeous cock of yours so fucking hard.”

  “I can do that,” I answer. Her nasty bedroom talk gets me hotter. I didn't think that was even possible.

  “But that isn’t all,” she adds. “While I’m doing what you want, you have to play with yourself, too.”

  I smile, put my hand on my dick, and lightly stroke it. “No problem.”

  “And I dare you to come, but this time, I really want to suck you off.”

  Sharp pain stabs me in the chest and suddenly I’m short of breath. Shit! I can't let her do that! I want to please her but I can’t. I can't.

  All at once those shitty associations from my past are back. Sick to my stomach, I break out in a cold sweat.

  Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

  André told me there is nothing wrong with me. The canvas is fine, I just need to repaint the picture, change the players and adjust the scenery. Yeah, right. That’s on my friggin’ 'To-do' list.

  As soon as I figure out how, I will.

  Renata frowns. “Grant? Are you OK? That was a trigger for you, right? You look totally freaked out.”

  I sigh. “Yes. I want my cock in your mouth and I don’t want my cock in your mouth. I know it’s commonly done, but it’s one of those stupid things that make me feel dirty. On the other hand, a big part of me really, really fantasizes about it.”

  “Wait, Grant, are you saying that you’ve never had a woman suck your dick?”

  My face heats and my body stiffens in an instant, involuntary response. Am I aroused, embarrassed or ashamed? It’s probably a combination of those things and more, all battling for supremacy within me. I'm uncomfortable. I don't like discussing or even thinking about this.

  “No,” I respond in a wooden voice.

  Her eyes widen with surprise but I see nothing that seems negative or judgmental.

  Now I’m torn. I could simply keep my mouth shut, but I promised Renata that I wouldn’t lie. Is not telling the same thing as lying? If I keep quiet, she’ll believe an imperfect truth. Curiously, I find the idea of silence abhorrent.

  I don’t want to be false.

  Renata’s open decency inspires me to face my fears. I’m honored by her trust and I long to be as open and honest with her, as she is with me. She deserves the truth.

  I take a deep breath and then blow it out. “I’ve never had my cock sucked—not by a woman… or as… an adult,” I carefully add.

  “Ah,” she says, “of course.” She nods as understanding flashes in her blue eyes, but there’s no sign of discomfort will.

  My caustic, shameful secret, which has been the source of endless self-loathing, doesn’t appear to bother her in the least. I was worried that she would see me differently, maybe more as I see myself—with revulsion, or even worse—with disgust and pity. I should know better than that by now. I’m safe with her. Renata’s open acceptance and understanding reminds me so much of André.

  Her expression softens. “You just keep surprising me, Grant,” she says, with awe and wonder in her gaze. “These details of your abuse are no revelation to me, of course, but the fact that you’re not trying to avoid or hide this tough crap…” She shakes her head. “Thank you so much for telling me. I admire the hell out of you.”

  My chest tightens. My heart is so full, yet I still say nothing. What can I say?

  My past is filthy—my thoughts are filthy—I’m filthy. Yet, despite these cold, hard facts, Renata’s warm approval cleanses my filthiness away. Her acknowledgement of my struggles, her awareness of my candor and her utter acceptance brings me peace.

  Renata has quickly become so important to me. The crushing weight that's been constricting my heart and compressing my lungs has loosened. Now, I can breathe that much easier.

  Relief washes over me.

  It’s liberating.

  It was excruciating to speak about all of this shit with André. That was the first time I ever shared my shameful secrets. It was the first time I ever uttered the words out loud. Until then, I kept everything locked within me, eating me alive from the inside out.

  Abuse is a parasite that feeds off hate and shame, growing in size and strength with silence.

  Before André, I chose silent isolation as my armor. I was trapped—suffering the burden of my past alone.

  Against every instinct I had, I shared my story and I let André inside of my self-imposed prison. André absolved me of guilt, putting the fault squarely on the back of the predator that stole my innocence.

  As part of my therapy, he recommended that I tell others too. He assured me it would be easier the next time I spoke about my childhood.

  Thankfully, with Renata, I’m finding this to be true.

  Renata grins at me. Somehow, it’s difficult to be serious with her grinning and flashing those beautiful white teeth at me.

  How does she do that? How does she snap me out of my mind-funk so quickly?

  There were a few moments tonight when I felt as though I was climbing an impossibly high mountain, constantly stumbling and falling. Each time, Renata picked me up and got me back on my feet again.

  “Wow.” Shaking her head, she puts on an overly sad face. “You’ve never had a woman go down on you? Aww, you poor thing! You’ve been missing out. I’m crying real tears over here!”

  I sit back and burst into laughter.

  Renata cracks me up. I love her playful approach. It immediately lightens my mood and clears the air.

  “Anyway,” she says with a wide smile. “No big deal, hon, seriously. I’m going to make myself come while you watch and tell me your sexy fantasies. Be brave with those, by the way—no holding back. For all I know, you’re into some sort of kink. If you are, that’s fine with me.”

  Renata’s eyes flash with naughty excitement when she says the last part. She studies me, to see how I’m taking her frank speech. I’m fine, in fact, I’m wearing a small but genuine smile—but I say nothing.

  “Anyway,” she continues. “I may not go for everything you want… I regret to inform you that I have triggers of my own! B
ut hey, even if I can't do certain things, I promise, I'm extremely open-minded. However, if you’re into anything oral or anal, cross-dressing, role-play or feather ticklers, count me in.”

  I avert my gaze and try to hide my shock with a somewhat forced chuckle. How can she be so blasé about perversion? Is this her indirect way of letting me know she won’t judge me or be offended by anything I come up with?

  If that’s the case, I’ll tell her the light stuff first and see how she reacts.

  In addition to what I’d call normal, and maybe even healthy desires, such as being comfortable with sex and the intimacy of kissing, hugging and cuddling, I also have a ton of unspeakable fantasies.

  These shameful urges have haunted me most of my life. Stalking this stuff by searching through internet porn when I was a teenager only made it worse. It fed the darkness within me.

  I really felt like a sick fuck after doing that.

  Monster! Pervert!

  Like my once compulsive urge to look at other men’s dicks, I can’t seem to stop these images from flitting through my mind. I can’t get rid of them. They confirm my worst fears, that I am still a monster. It's an ongoing struggle, but it’s one I can usually more or less ignore—except after having sex.

  I've never acted out any of my twisted, fevered fantasies and I doubt that I ever will. I simply can’t accept my abnormal thoughts and desires. It’s no wonder.

  I can’t even accept myself.

  And yet, Renata makes sex carefree and fun. Did she purposely mention sodomy to try to put me at ease enough to mention my own dark fantasies? Is this her version of André’s murder technique?

  For a long moment, my mind returns to the past. I flash back to that time with André, when we took a long, quiet walk in the Nevada desert.

  Chapter 17.

  “Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light.”

  ― Brené Brown

  ~~~

  Grant Wilkinson

  André shrugs his shoulders, in that uniquely French way of his. “Mon ami, when I have a client who is unwilling to speak to me of his or her transgressions, I use what I have christened, “The Murder Technique.” It is when I ask them if they have killed someone.”