I back my silver 2009 Honda Civic up until it’s about a foot away from the telephone pole, then put it into park. I look out my driver side window, my gaze fixed on my house across the street. A mix of emotions wash through me, the strongest of which is a desire for things to just magically be okay when I walk through that door. For Jackson to smile when I come in, greet me cheerily. For the house to be warm, with lights on, music playing, and signs of life. But I know this will not be the case. I grab my backpack out of my passenger seat. It’s sitting next to a container of fettuccini alfredo and a pizza box with three slices of pizza in it. The food can stay in the car, the temperature will be below freezing tonight.
I open the car door, and the overhead light flicks on as the heat tumbles out and the cold rushes in.
Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!
Damn, I left the keys in the ignition. I pull them out and hook the carabiner key chain onto the loop of my backpack. I step out of the car and drag the backpack out behind me, which weighs a surprising amount for such a small vessel. Two notebooks, a MacBook, chargers, pens, and pencils… and 2 thick inches of paper. Notes, mainly. Material for upcoming exams.
I heft the bag over my shoulder and close the car door behind me. As I carefully make my way up the hill to the road, travel mug in one hand and iPhone in the other, I mentally prepare myself for the scene inside. I click the home button on my phone and the lock screen lights up. I need music. I click the button again and habitually type the number code. 3825446… or FUCKHIM.
Music app. Scroll down to the “Just Music” playlist and click. What do I want? Something upbeat… something heavy… but quick. I flick down through the list at a fast rate four or five times, letting the list slow down on it’s own. Falling in Reverse? Nope, that’s rap, and one of his favorite bands. Slowly now, I scroll down to see what’s next. Five Finger Death Punch! Sure, now… Bad Company. The song starts as I slip my phone into my pocket. I look up and down the street before crossing it, then trudge up the steps to the house and sigh.
Meow!
I look down and there’s the black cat Cat. Cat wasn’t always her name. When I first moved in her name was Dakota, after Jackson’s ex. A few months ago, however, he decided that name was no longer suitable for her. Unable to come up with a satisfactory replacement name, he settled on calling her Cat. So, she’s just Cat.
“Hi, baby girl,” I say. “What did you do that you’re locked out?”
That’s usually what Jackson does when she annoys him, he puts her outside to teach her a lesson. During the summer, she only comes in when it’s dinnertime. If it’s raining she stays out, but prefers to just rest on the steps. During the winter, however, she prefers being inside, hence why I question her recent escapades.
As I walk up to the entrance of the house, she is right at my feet. I enter the lock code and push the door open, watching her dart inside as soon as she can. Oh well. If it pisses Jackson off, good. He may be a criminal, but I didn’t really care. No matter how mad I got him, he would never hurt me… physically. Mentally is a different story. The worst thing he could do is leave. Or simply vow to never interact with me again. And that’s about where we’re at right now anyway, so it didn’t fucking matter, did it?
I follow Cat in and the house is exactly as I thought it would be. The lights were off. The atmosphere was cold. There was no music playing. I take off my shoes, picking them up to carry them to my room, when I notice that even the ferret has been put away. So much for my “Welcome home! I’m so happy you’re back!” greeting.
As I quietly glide past Jackson’s room, I can hear him cough inside. Why is he ignoring me? I didn’t think that what I did was really that bad. Whatever. Fuck him.
I march up the steps to my bedroom. Bostancı Escort Bayan After unlocking the door, I enter and pretty much throw my bag and shoes down. This place used to be so much fun. What happened?
Oh! I need to tell Arlo I made it home. I pull out my phone and open my messenger app.
Home, I text.
Arlo. A 49 year old attorney who has decided to go to medical school and become a doctor. He’s helping me study for our Biochemistry final, and I had just come from a study session. I smirk. I had told my coworker that I’d be meeting with him this evening. Her reaction was priceless.
“I hate you!” She whispered, eyes wild.
This amused me. I knew where she would go with this, but I wanted to see it play out.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because!” She holds her server tray up to the side of her face so that nobody could read her lips, which was useless because she didn’t mouth most of what she said next. “You’re not just studying with him, you’re -” now she mouthed the words fucking him.
I laugh out loud, even though I already knew that’s where her train of thought was going. She knows I like my older men.
“I am not,” I say, still laughing.
She looks at me disappointedly. “You’re a bad liar.”
I nod. “I am a bad liar, but seriously, I’m not. He’s married, Madison!”
She starts to walk away. “Fine, but you want to. I can tell.”
I shrug. “I’ve thought about it. It looks like he has a nice chest under that shirt.”
Her mouth drops open and she stops walking to stare at me. “Xander! Don’t be a homewrecker!”
I giggle. Me. A Homewrecker. Oh what a twist of fate. “Don’t worry, that’s why I’m not sleeping with him, I would never want to break up a marriage.”
“Okay,” she mutters, looking at me disbelievingly as she walks away.
“Bye!” I call after her.
My phone buzzes, snapping me back to present time.
Ok!
Oh, I meant to tell him about my dream. Last night I had had a dream that was a little on the scary side. The only reason it matters is because I had wished him good dreams of sexy beach blowjobs with two girls. It just seemed ironic, I guess, that I wished him good dreams and I received nightmares.
I forgot to tell you! I had a terrible dream last night. Haha I woke up shaking and my heart was pounding. It’s gonna sound stupid, but I was stuck at my parents’ house, but they weren’t really my parents, kinda like the other mother from Coraline, if you’ve ever seen that, and I was drugged and couldn’t walk and me and a group of other kids were trying to escape and they were all in the van about to leave and I was trying to run to them but I couldn’t and my parents were waking up. But there was like a dark ominous shadow which covered everything and swallowed me up. It was weird.
Great grammar, dumbass.
I put the phone down and pull out an incense stick… Evergreen tonight… and light it. Then I grab my towel, my slippers, my iPhone (which is still playing music… Evanescence now) and my travel mug and head back downstairs, through the depressing darkness, to the bathroom.
I actually have to pee really bad. I’m not sure why, I had just peed before leaving Arlo’s office about an hour ago. Must be all the damn coffee.
After I pee, I get in the shower.
Mmmmmmm… the hot water feels good. And of course, the smell of my shea butter shampoo and coconut conditioner are very soothing. I kind of want to annoy Jackson by taking a really long shower. But I don’t want to push it quite that far, so I decide to settle on a decently long shower. So, I’ll shave. Everything.
When I exit the shower, I dry off, wrap myself in my towel, and commence brushing my teeth.
After a while, I feel like my ability to hog the only bathroom in the house has dwindled, again not wanting to push things too far, so I finish brushing my teeth and exit the bathroom, only İstanbul Escort to stand in the kitchen, music still playing, and rinse out my travel mug in the sink… still wearing nothing but my towel around my waist. Part of me hopes he comes out. Of course, he doesn’t.
I finish rinsing my mug and head back up the steps, dirty clothing in tow. As soon as I’m in my room and the door closes behind me, I turn out the light and let my towel drop, throwing the dirty laundry in the corner. I like being naked, but I don’t like my body… hence the darkness. I feel sexier when I’m wrapped in its mystery. I slowly put on my pajamas while I enjoy the darkness and the music. I’ve switched to my YouTube playlist now, which at the moment is dominated by Falling in Reverse and Black Veil Brides. Some of Jackson’s favorites… but some of mine, too.
I notice Arlo has texted me back, so I interrupt the music to go to my messenger app.
That’s scary. He typed. What do you think it means?
“Nothing,” I mutter. “It’s just a dream.” Then I think about it, and pretty quickly I have an idea of how it may relate to reality.
I don’t know… maybe it means I feel stuck in life and I’m desperate to get out of this rut, but my own inability to walk (I’ve had surgery on my foot twice and in my dream this was amplified… my foot was wrapped up and I couldn’t put weight on it) along with the pressure of society and the responsibility of life (the drugs) prevent me from doing so. And so I get sucked back into the same old daily grind that drives me insane (the black shadow of death that penetrated everything… which was also the presence of my parents)… and maybe the fact that it WAS linked to my parents symbolizes that this will never really change, because my parents will always have some sort of impact on my life, even after they’re dead. Or maybe it doesn’t mean anything and it was just another dream where I almost die.
I pull my hairbrush out of my bag and start brushing my hair. Should I stay up and study for my lab final tomorrow? Or go to bed, wake up early, and study in the morning? Or both? Not both. I won’t ever get up that early if I stay up late.
I finish brushing my hair and set up my futon. My futon is in the couch position currently, so in the morning I fold up my blanket and place it at one end, that way I don’t feel weird about using it like a couch. Then I set my pillow on top of the blanket. Now, I throw the pillow at the head end and lay my blanket out all nice and neat.
Hey! I have my bowl in my bag… and there might be a little resin left. Not much… but maybe I can get a hit or two out of it. I pull it out and check. Yeah, there might be enough here. I grab my lighter and light up. It burns a little, and doesn’t taste too bad for being old and burnt. After holding the smoke in my lungs for what felt like 5 minutes, but was probably really thirty seconds, I exhale. Not a great hit, but there’s more in there. After stirring, I take another hit. Much better than the first.
Only then does it register that I haven’t been high in two weeks, and that surprises me. It’s probably the longest I’ve been sober in several months.
My phone buzzes and lights up.
It’s Dean.
We’re having a conversation about politics and the educational system in the U.S.
Slowly, I can feel my buzz coming over me. I lose interest in what Dean has to say to me and, instead, become enveloped in the music. I also begin to lose myself in my hormones. Weed always makes me horny… I just love touching people and having sex when I’m high. It feels great to be close to somebody in so many ways. But I don’t want the feeling to go away, so I don’t act on my urges and, instead, imagine somebody being there with me, just teasing. Lying on my back, I lift my sleeveless shirt up to expose my chest. One with the music, I gently drag my fingertips across my chest Anadolu Yakası Escort and stomach. As I gloss over my nipples, I’m surprised at how soft they are. I don’t play with my breasts very often, and with the weed amplifying everything, my touch sends electricity through my skin, whereas my nipples feel like soft flower petals against my fingertips. The sensations feel amazing. Who would I want to be doing this to me right now?
Craig? He did give me a great hug the other day. I know we’re going to hook up next Friday… but his words when he realized that I’ve explored my sexuality a lot more since the last time we were together echo through my mind.
“Oh, I’m going to have fun with you.” I can hear the words, and I can see his eyes… no, feel his eyes, boring through me. It’s the perfect thing for a Dom to say. The excitement manifest itself in different parts of my body. I notice that my nipples aren’t flower-petal soft anymore.
Craig is a loose fellow who likes to push boundaries. The idea of having sex with him is exciting, but leaves me with an undesirable apprehension.
Ben? He’s annoying as fuck. Good in bed, but clingy and suffocating other times, especially when he’s drunk… which is pretty much always.
Arlo? Am I really entertaining that idea? He has an excellent body for his age. He’s intelligent, I like that. He has a little bit of a bad boy streak, too, which is appetizing. He’s married, but he doesn’t wear a wedding ring…
No, Xander. Stop.
Bad.
I sigh. I’ve changed a lot if I’m really considering anything with a married man.
Your inner voice is right, Xander. Listen to it.
Thank you, other inner voice.
My fingers continue tracing my body while the music provides magic.
Jackson. Well of course I would want this to be Jackson. But that is never going to happen, and every cell in my body knows it, apparently except for my brain cells, which unfortunately have control over every other cell in my body. It’s a confusing mess.
A memory washes over me.
I’m tucked in comfortably next to Jackson, tracing the lines of his chest lightly, just as I was doing to myself now. I can feel his stomach muscles tense up any time I get near his pants line. God, I love making him react like that. I tease around the elastic hem of his sweatpants before I allow my hand to drift back up his chest. Around his neck a little. Over his shoulder. Down his arm to his fingertips. I can feel his muscles ripple below the skin. As I get to his fingertips, his entire body tenses and I can feel him holding his breath. Suddenly, I pull my hand away, and his body relaxes next to mine… and I start it all over again. After a short while, I add in kisses. Each kiss I place, whether seconds or minutes apart, is lower down his chest. As I kiss his stomach, I find I have a hard time stopping myself. My kisses get quicker, and I’m excited to feel his body react to me.
Next thing I know, my finger is hooked around the waist of his pants and I’m pulling down slightly, exposing skin that has not yet been touched, and I press my lips against it. The solidity of Jackson’s muscles drives me crazy. I pull his pants down lower still and kiss again.
His hands go to my hair. Finally! I love when he touches my hair.
They grab handfuls of the shoulder length, dirty blonde strands. He doesn’t pull me away from his crotch, but he doesn’t push me down further, either. But he wants me to go down further. I can feel the tension in him. I hoist myself up onto my knees so I’m leaning over him, and I use both hands to pull his pants down low enough to expose him.
I bend down, gently kissing the tip before tracing my lips around the edge of the head, slowly, lingering so my warm breath washes over him. This is my submissive way of torturing him.
That’s when I lick the tip. He pulls my hair, nice and hard, making my blood pump fast. Oh God, how that gets me going. Unable to resist, I plunge the head of his penis into my mouth and begin his blowjob…
I love his reactions. It makes me so incredibly happy just to please him, and he always seems to enjoy our playtime…
Jackson’s cough snaps me back to reality, and I notice my phone’s battery is almost dead.