Accuse

  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! But 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.”

  “OK.”

  “And always, when I ask this, my client will reply, ‘But no! I only stole from them!’ Or they will speak of some lesser crime, like destroying another’s valuable possessions for revenge, or sleeping with another man’s wife, comprenez-vous?”

  Despite the excruciatingly awkward circumstance, an amusement begins to twitch my lips.

  Grinning, André nods. “Just so. For the first time, I ask this question and you HAVE murdered someone. But… it is during war, in the service of your country, I think?”

  My jaw tightens. It wasn’t during war, but I keep my mouth shut.

  I have committed murder. When I did, it brought forth an avalanche of confusion, guilt and doubt. I’ll never tell anyone what I’ve done.

  I wonder now, is mentioning sodomy Renata’s personal take, her sexual version of André’s murder technique? Could this be her way of trying to normalize any forbidden fantasies I might have? She suggested the most perverse act possible, so anything I say must seem acceptable in comparison, right?

  It must be.

  “I know what you’re doing and I appreciate it,” I finally say to her.

  “Do you?” she asks. Something about the way she asks me makes me wonder.

  Anal sex is a shameful longing of mine. It’s an illicit desire I’d ordinarily never discuss, much less consider forcing on anyone. The words of Leviticus come to me. They were drummed into my head when I was young: ‘And if a man also lies with mankind, as with womankind, both of them have committed abomination; they shall surely be put to death.’”

  Sodomy is not only immoral, it was also illegal in Alabama, Florida, Idaho, Kansas, Louisiana, Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, North Carolina, Oklahoma, South Carolina, Texa
s, Utah and Virginia—right until the Supreme Court invalidated those laws in 2003.

  My heart skips a beat with a combined thrill of both lust and dread. Surely she can’t be serious about being willing to take it in the ass? Would Renata really let me fuck her there?

  My blood boils—my whole body surges with an inferno of need.

  The thought of committing such a forbidden act flips every perverted switch I have. These are crazy thoughts filling my mind. I want to ask her if she was serious when she mentioned anal sex, but I don’t have the nerve.

  I can’t excuse myself for having these unnatural desires.

  I struggle for composure. It must be an intentional exaggeration—or is it? André taught her. No doubt she’s simply being as subtle and open-minded as he is.

  Renata tilts her head. I see her assessing me, sizing me up. I swear she knows I’m hiding something. If she asks, I’ll tell her I thought of something I’m not yet comfortable talking about. As she told me on the airplane earlier today, we all have our secrets.

  “I may not consent to some of your fantasies, Grant, but you would be hard-pressed to shock me,” Renata says. “Hey, I’ve lived with André!”

  We both laugh and I relax, knowing I'm safe for now. She isn't going to question me. She’s dropped the subject.

  “Anyway,” she adds. “Anything that gets you going will probably get me off, too.”

  “Honestly?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well… good.”

  “I try never to mix morality with sexual curiosity or kinks,” she says. “As long as sex is between consenting adults and no one gets physically or emotionally hurt, anything goes. Think about it. Do you think there is a right or wrong when it comes to safe, consensual sex?”

  I shrug.

  “Well, I think it's what each person is into and whether or not a couple is sexually compatible.”

  I frown, mainly because I still can’t tell why she mentioned anal sex. I can't stop thinking about it, either. I really want her that way, and I hate myself for wanting it. “I won’t tell you everything—not yet,” I warn her.

  “That’s fine, Grant. We don’t need to rush into anything.”

  I frown at her statement because we may need to rush everything. I still have the threat of jail hanging over my head.

  “Anyway, what people think they want and what people really want are often very different in practice. Some fantasies involve things that people never intend to do or even want to do. For example, rape fantasies are extremely common among women. In reality, women who fantasize about it would never actually want that to happen to them.”

  “I see,” I murmur.

  “And, as for your climax and whether you jerk off in my mouth or not? Well, do it or don’t do it as the mood takes you. If you’re not up to it, that’s fine. We do have a no-touch rule in effect tonight.”

  I shake my head. “I’m worried that if I let your mouth get too close to my dick, it might trigger my… issues. It would end our session rather quickly.”

  She shrugs. “So what? We’ve done plenty already. You’re in a good place now, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “OK, then,” she says, with a mischievous glint in her eye. “It doesn’t matter if I get the pleasure of sucking your cock tonight or not. I do want you to know that I’ve got blowjobs on my list of things we’ll do together at some point. I have to warn you, it’s a very, very long list.” Her eyes shine and her eyebrows arch playfully. “And it’s growing longer all the time.”

  I chuckle. “Always thinking of me.”

  “Um, as sweet as that sounds, I’m not going to lie to you.” Her lips curve up in a sassy smile. “I was actually thinking of myself with many items on that list, especially BJ's. There’s nothing hotter than going down on a guy. I love doing that.”

  I stare at her with suspicious, narrow eyes. “Honestly? Using your mouth to make a man climax turns you on?”

  “Oh, yeah, it’s hot for so many reasons. As I said before, seeing you aroused gets me off. Also, giving pleasure to someone I care about is a huge turn-on for me," she says with enthusiasm.

  I grin but say nothing.

  Her face takes on an almost dreamy quality. "Mmm,” she sighs. “The responses I'd arouse in you… that's heady stuff. I’d love to touch you, and to watch your swollen shaft tense and relax. The sounds you’d make, the moans, grunts, groans and sighs. Not to mention the smell and taste of your cock and your cum. It’s all powerful turn-on material. Yum!”

  My jaw tightens as my thoughts begin to turn inward. Discomfort with this subject begins to snowball. At this point, the idea of Renata’s mouth on me is creating more emotional pain than anticipation of pleasure.

  She smirks. “Oh, I guess I should mention that you could go down on me sometime, if you’re up for it.”

  “Yes,” I say and I swallow hard. “I’ve never done that before, but I’d really like to try it.” Anxiety creeps up inside of me, making me increasingly tense. “Going down on you is much more attractive to me than getting a blowjob.”

  Black shadows begin to loom over me. My chest tightens as childhood memories begin to resurface. “It’s just that with a blowjob—”

  Renata cuts me off. “Don’t tell me just now unless you truly want to or need to, Grant,” she says abruptly.

  I blink, surprised by both the interruption and her vehemence.

  She runs a hand through her hair, pushing it back, over her shoulder. “Listen, I can see you’re getting worked up and we don’t want to change the playful, sexy mood we’ve got going on here. I can more or less guess large parts of your story—I know what predators do. I want us to discuss everything—your shit and mine, but not tonight.”

  Dark memories haunting my present, ease and dissolve, returning to the past where they belong.

  “OK,” I say with relief.

  “Tonight's all about getting off and having fun,” she says. “We’re working through the body. You should focus on your dick.” Her eyebrows move up and down suggestively.

  Amused, I exhale audibly. “That works for me.”

  Renata moistens her lips. She sweeps her hungry, heated gaze over me slowly, starting with my face, lowering over my chest, and lingering on my eager cock. She's looking at me the way a caffeine addict would look at her morning coffee.

  With her, I forget about my scars. She’s at ease with my appearance as if I were normal, or even handsome. It's liberating and exhilarating to have the freedom to be myself.

  “You really are the hottest guy ever,” she says in a breathy voice.

  I smile and raising a doubtful eyebrow at that.

  “No joke, Grant. I mean it,” she says with a grin. “You do it for me like no one else.”

  Chapter 18.

  “Good sex requires further exposure than simply removing one’s clothes. And as for a good relationship? Ah! For this one must be prepared to reveal even more.”

  — André Chevalier

  ~~~

  Grant Wilkinson

  We both take a break to use the bathroom before we get started on our dares.

  When Renata returns I see that she’s combed her shoulder-length, silky blonde locks—which is a shame. I enjoyed her tangled, mussed-up hair. It gave her a sensual, ‘just been laid,’ look.

  “You’re so beautiful,” I say, with awe and appreciation. I still can't get over the fact that Renata wants me.

  “Mmm, thanks. I’m glad you think so,” she says with her knock-out smile.

  There’s a flirty tone in her voice and her blue eyes smolder. My pulse quickens as my fevered imagination works overtime. I’m back to having constant visions of fucking her right here, in the kitchen, in my bathroom—or up against any wall or surface.

  How am I going to possibly function with her living in my house? For a start, I’ll have to get used to being hard all the time. That and having so little blood left in my brain that I might be reduced to a virtual idiot.

&nb
sp; Renata sits down on my bed and lies crosswise, halfway across my light grey sheets. She places her feet on the floor with her knees together, a few inches from mine. She reclines across two pillows placed behind her head and upper back. This way we can watch each other.

  She looks magnificent.

  I love the shape of her long, sleek body with its soft feminine curves. I adore her pale skin, her large breasts with their luscious, erect nipples. The woman is insatiable and is clearly all set to go again—the horny little thing.

  As if I’m one to talk!

  I'm uncomfortably erect. What is this relentless, aching yearning I have for her? It’s a new experience for me. Usually I’m in control of my urges. I’ve never had trouble with unmanageable hard-ons around women, mainly because I’ve never given my dick the idea that it had any chance of getting lucky.

  My aching cock knows exactly what my weakness is—she’s sprawled across my bed right now.

  “You ready, handsome?” Renata asks with an arched eyebrow. “You certainly look as though you are,” she adds with a happy smirk, staring at my jutting erection.

  “Yes,” I say in a husky voice I can barely recognize as my own. The excitement of the moment has my body straining with lust.

  “Get comfortable,” she advises. “You’re going to get a really good view of a very intimate one-woman show. Ready? I’m going to masturbate just for you.”

  I nod and our gazes meet and hold for a long, timeless moment. Heat and lust fill the space between us, electrically charging the air.

  Eyes half-lidded, Renata slowly raises her right hand and places two fingers inside her mouth. With slow and deliberate intent, she begins to sensually lick and suck them as if she’s sucking me. Logically, this could be a trigger, yet the only thing it triggers is an urgent need to bury myself inside of her.

  My buttocks tighten, my thighs flex, and my aching cock twitches.

  I groan loudly at the sight.

  Renata laughs. Her other hand moves to her breast where she slowly begins to circle and tease one luscious nipple. Hard already, it responds by puckering further. Her tongue glides over her lips, while her eyes remain fixed on me. I’m pretty sure that she finds my concentrated attention exciting.