Desire

          Desire drove her into a frenzy finally. It had been too long with nothing but her own hands and she was going to find someone to punish for it, his willingness secondary to the need for his body on top of her, inside of her, behind her. It was her second twelve hour shift in as many days, and there were just too many boys coming into the store this weekend to ignore her needs anymore. She was burning inside. Three trips to the bathroom today to help satisfy her thirsting and it only made her body ache. Her nipples were constantly erect and she found herself lifting the merchandise or turning to reach the shelf sideways just to brush against them, to keep them awake and alive. It was a direct link to the heat between her legs and she loved the excitement it brought her, but god damn it she was done with all this and she was going to get fucked tonight and whoever her partner ended up being, he was going to feel it as much as she would tomorrow.

          It must have been the boys, she thought to herself. She has a thing for the boys. The girls, too, but something about those younger boys made her instantly wet tonight. It was their baby-faces, their tender skin; it was the way they stared at her cleavage like it was a new discovery to them; mostly it was their innocence that made her excited. She knew she held control over them and knew as well she would rob them of that innocence, leave them craving the way she was craving now, and satisfy them like no other woman had before. No strings attached, she was thinking, isn’t that what every guy wants?

          She spent the day working in automatic mode, lost in her thoughts, eyeing the boys as they wandered the store, as they waited outside the dressing rooms for their girlfriends and boyfriends to try on different outfits. She smiled at them, she flirted. Two of the boys she even pressed up against, their arms found caught within her cleavage, wanting, waiting, for them to reach up and find her nipples, see how hard they were. They stared down at her, and even as she sensed them getting hard beneath their jeans, it didn’t get any further. It was driving her crazy. She wanted to lead them into the dressing room, to pull them out of their pants and let her mouth take them in, to feel the hardness grow as she brushed their manhood with her teeth. Her job be damned, it was just a job. Yet she still found herself holding back, holding onto control. She liked the teasing, honestly. She found that roller coaster rush of excitement, up and down until you could no longer take it intoxicating. But not anymore. She was passed that point, about ten o’clock this morning, she was done with the guessing game, and she needed it. And none of these boys were following her lead.

          Finally the customers were gone, and the store was locked up, and as she lit her Marlboro outside waiting on her ride home she resigned herself to one more day. One more fucking day, as she verbally stated between puffs, of my fingers and my plastic toy. And as he pulled up, and she got into the truck, she told him to please stop at the store. No I am fine with smokes, I need batteries, she told him, slumping into her seat and staring at the raindrops beginning to collect on the windshield. You only need fast forward about three minutes and see the anger on her face, coming out of the store with no purchase in her hands, to realize they were out of batteries. For his part, he sensed something wrong. They had been friends a good number of months now, but his inquiries didn’t get real answers, and he didn’t push it too far. As he pulled onto her street she told him to pull over early, a few houses down, in front of an empty house that had been for sale now at least three months. He did so, turning off the engine and turning down the music expecting her to open up about her day finally. Before his hand came off the radio knob her hand became wrapped around his arm, above the elbow and she pulled herself toward him. His look was still one of shock as she used her other hand against the back of his neck to draw his face into hers and began to kiss him, two of them quickly, perhaps to test the waters, but almost immediately her need to devour him took over and she was kissing him hard, her tongue probing into his mouth, her self control giving way to her carnal needs. She took his hand and brought it under her shirt, forced it up to her breasts, over her bra, imploring him to please touch them, squeeze her nipple, pinch it hard. His hand roamed over her breasts, first one then the other. Her hands traced down his back then around to the stomach and searching for the button on his jeans.

          It took her still about ten minutes to fully comprehend that he wasn’t a willing partner. By then her back was against the passenger window, her face staring into his as the words came out, about being friends, about wanting more, about dating (what kind of guy actually wants to date, she was pondering), before she realized the situation. So she said goodnight and walked out into the rain to go home, while he sat in the truck a full two minutes more, wondering if he could have handled that differently.

          That’s when I found her; as she was walking the last few hundred yards to her house. Mine was one house before hers, and I knew her by name, even golfed with her dad sometimes. I happened to be out front, smoking one more cigarette and decided to call out hello. She returned the greeting, and paused just long enough for me to smile an invitation to sit with me. She understood the non-verbal exchange as much as I understood what she really needed that night. She sat down on the swing beside me, her legs up on the cushion so that her knees became exposed as the skirt rode up just enough to get my thoughts going. Words were few between us for a while, and I took a chance on touching her toes, knocking her sandals onto the porch as I squeezed on the arch of her foot. A few moments on the second foot I could see her finally relaxing, finally once again feeling the warmth build up inside of her body. My hand found its way onto her thigh, stayed there even as I got off the swing and onto my knees in front of her. My other hand traced her other leg, from the calf up to the line of her panties. My kisses started above the knee, her skirt inching higher as my lips slowly worked closer to where my hand was.

          She found herself shivering. She was still fully clothed but she felt the wetness against her panties and was literally shivering with excitement. She wanted to scream to him “Give me your cock. Now!” but found she was somewhat out of control. Instead her fingers found their way under her shirt, under her bra and her fingers pressed hard against both her nipples and she began moaning, even before she helped him lift her body up to remove the panties. The moaning got harder as his tongue played with her pussy, finally concentrating on her clit, swollen and tender and oh god he better fuck me she managed to think just before her mind gave in and her body began to shudder.

          Ten minutes later found her on his bed, her panties still on the porch and her skirt on the floor. He had removed his belt and now wrapped it around her wrists, over her head on top of the pillows. It wrapped four times and he tucked it inside on the last loop. Just tight enough and only a quick moment of fear crossed her face, gone as soon as he pulled down his pants and boxers, his hard on staring straight at her as he climbed onto the bed, kneeling between her legs. God I want that cock was her only thought then, as she struggled slightly to sit up. He took the opportunity to kiss her neck and then bite it, repeatedly, long enough to leave marks but not drawing blood. She couldn’t stand it yet she loved it. Eight months, maybe nine months of self-inflicted celibacy got the better of her and she rode wave after wave of pure sexual bliss as his fingers dug into her cunt and his mouth found more places to suck on and bite. Her shirt was over her head now then up and caught with the belt around her wrist, in front of her body where her hands were wrapped around his cock, stroking. Her bra clasped from the front and it lay splayed against the bed on both sides of her, her breasts freed and her nipples popped out dying for more attention.

          When she thought she couldn’t stand any more he finally turned her over. She wanted to help but he was quick enough on his own, lifting her ass in the air by the waist, scooting her about a foot back, his hard cock inside of her, deep inside of her immediately. He held her by the waist and thrust hard enough for her to realize it might have been a while for him as well. She had some remaining sense left and slammed herself back into his hips with each thrust and she found herself almost screaming as he groaned loudly. She did start screaming in answer to his questions, his teeth gritted, his voice some primal animal, letting her know this was what she needed, isn’t it slut?

          She came hard. They both did, but she had one, probably two more than he. As he finished, leaning back but drawing her up and toward him, not wanting to draw away from her pussy yet, as she in turn almost sat on his cock that way, and rocked gently up and down, slowly feeling him go softer inside of her, they both knew they were sated. Yet, still in that non-verbal connection they had shared for this evening, they knew the satisfaction was temporary, that they needed this again. She began to wonder what she saw in those boys after all.

Morals and Lent. And the lack thereof

So I had decided to give up my morals for Lent this year. Seriously. Of course a friend told me I had no morals to give up when I told him, but I insist that being Amoral and Immoral are two different things.


Regardless, it did not work out as planned.


Two years ago I had decided to give up a particular girl for lent. That also did not go as planned. She didn't notice at all, actually. I skipped Lent last year, in case you are wondering.

I was allowed to be speaker tonight at the meeting. On Easter Sunday. Me of all people! I used to believe I was the second coming, you know. Well, most of you don't know, hence the need to share it with you. You might think it changed because of my sobriety, and finding god and all that, but that’s not true. It changed when Connor was born.

Now I believe he might be the second coming. At the least I think he has the power to change the world. Better or worse is his decision.

Yes, I am serious. As serious as any of my other writings. Take it as a warped sense of humor or a stretching of the truth or as a manifesto. I don’t mind. As it stands, I got to speak at a meeting on Easter Sunday the year I had decided to give up my morals!.

What I am discovering is I actually live by morals, and I won’t lie to you here. It sucks! There’s the thoughts in my head, and there’s the actions I take. They are two different things. Honestly, they always have been (well, I have to take that back, because I probably wouldn’t have two ex-wives if I had been living with morals), the difference lately is that I recognize them so quickly now. My thoughts show up like these cancerous black spots in my head clouding out who God wants me to be.

It isn’t who I want to be. Not all the time.

I was talking about mirrors and patterns. I might not have been clear, but seeing my past behaviors in somebody else. This actually started a year ago, and I had an argument with a friend. We still haven’t talked to each other since. Then I see it this week again, through somebody else. And it hits me hard and I can’t figure out why, because my past behaviors are just that...past. I haven’t really lived that way in a semi-long while.
And I am now realizing what it is. It’s my thoughts and they haven’t changed, and I tend to be a strong believer that I cannot be condemned for my thoughts, only my actions. And I’ve been fine that way for many years. But now my thoughts appear in my head and they no longer belong there. They are the drunk showing up at the neighbors house not remembering the black eye he dished out the night before. The addict stealing his family’s TV while they’re at work, thinking, really believing that they won’t know it’s him.
This seems to be the essence of the seventh step here doesn’t it?.

So when I gave up my morals for lent, I knew I wouldn’t act on them. I wrote about the married receptionist (oh you didn’t see that one! You ought to give MySpace a look!)... I wrote a bit about the semi-newcomer (and yeah I have exactly what she needs!)... I had the booty call from a few years ago all of a sudden back in my life.

And none of it belongs in my head. It isn’t welcome there. Yeah that sucks! If there’s one thing I don’t want it’s to be sane and well adjusted. What kind of tortured soul writer is that! So when I gave up my morals, it was really just to get to this point. I needed to explore. My god says okay, and shows me mirrors. Good and bad, because not every opportunity was one that would’ve been hurtful. But each an idea that just no longer fit.

I want more! Rather, god wants more for me. He has a plan and I have learned, mostly, to follow along. But let me be honest here, because I sure as hell am going to miss my amorality.

Sigh.