“All a man can betray is his conscience.” Joseph Conrad
This is one of those stories I keep coming back to as a warning to myself. This is the man I never want to become. It is not in the least autobiographical but I am left wondering if it is possible to conceive of such a man without having at least some small similarity to him. I’d love to know what you think of this one.
I surface from sleep, gulping air like I’m in danger of drowning. Not home, a hotel, not yet dawn. Woken by a mouth sucking gently on my cock. Cassie?
Not Cassie, her younger sister, Jody. Shit how do I let these things happen to me?
“Aw, are we feeling guilty? This,” she says, rolling my cock against her cheek, “doesn’t feel guilty does it? It’s a fine upstanding citizen.”
Even in the pre-dawn light I can see the glint in her eyes as she takes all of me into her mouth, swallowing me with a glee born of conquest.
The throb of my cock competes with the dull pulse of pain in my head, what Jody calls my Post-Tequila-Sex-Disorder. Memory spreads like ink in water across my liquefied brain and the more I remember, the darker my mood becomes.
“Where’s the girl?” My voice is rough and low, reflecting how I feel.
“We were paying her by the hour, Baby. Once Daddy passed out, I sent her home. She was good wasn’t she? Did you like the stud on her tongue? Did it feel good when she rimmed you?”
Of course it felt good. It always feels good. That’s the problem.
I don’t know where Jody found the girl. She looked so young, I insisted on seeing her driver’s license before I’d even let her take her jacket off. Whores as young and pretty as her usually just fuck and then count the money. They don’t play games of “Mommy and Daddy punish their little girl when they find her playing with Mommy’s sex toys”, and they don’t let themselves get bound and spanked like that.
“I had to give her a little bonus for letting me fist her. She looked so cute bending over your cock with her ass in the air and her wrists cuffed behind her back, I just couldn’t help myself,” Jody says.
I groan, partly because my head aches, partly from the shame of remembering that my cock literally twitched in the girl’s mouth when Jody’s fist rammed home and partly because I know whose wallet the bonus must have come from.
I’m thirty-five years old, married for ten years today and I’ve just spent the night in a motel room with my wife’s younger sister and a whore. If I believed in God, I’d repent. If I believed in myself I’d be at home with my wife.
Jody laps at my balls, juggling them with her tongue while keeping a firm grip on the base of my cock. I know from experience that she will suck them both into her mouth and then pull her head back until I feel them stretch. I also know that I will enjoy it.
I try to remember the last time that Cassie and I fucked. It occurs to me that it may have been over six months ago.
It’s not that I don’t love Cassie. I’ve always loved her. But I can hardly bear to fuck her any more. It’s not that she’s ugly or frigid or anything, far from it. She keeps herself in shape and often drops small hints that now might be “the time” for something close up and personal. I’ve learnt to ignore her hints gracefully. I’ve even let her believe that I’m under such stress at work that I might need chemical help before I can play my part. But the truth is that Cassie doesn’t excite me. She’s my wife for fucks sake. You don’t do the kind of things that excite me to your wife; you do them to sluts, like her sister.
I turn my head to check the time on the bedside alarm, and groan in pain. My brain is sloshing around inside my skull like a mercury yolk in a soft-shelled egg. I’m going to be hung-over all day.
“Come in my ass, Baby,” Jody says, her mouth so close to my cock I can feel her breath. “Why don’t you lube me up with those long fingers of yours? You may as well do something worth all that guilt I see on your face.”
Jody’s going through a phase where she won’t let me use her cunt, so she offers me her ass instead. She tells me she’s saving her cunt for her husband, Michael-the-dependable, who, as Jody says, “may only be able to get it half way up but was at least willing to marry me when I needed it. Unlike some people.”
Unlike me, she means. But I don’t want to think about that now; it makes my head ache. I focus on Jody’s asshole instead.
I think the real reason she offers it to me is because I made the mistake of telling her that Cassie won’t do anal. Jody will do anything. Anything covers a lot of territory. Just when I think we’ve covered all of it, she takes me on a journey somewhere new. Of course new isn’t always good, but I’ve never been able to resist it.
Jody scoots up the bed and straddles my face. God, she looks good; a little heavy for some men’s tastes but I love the fullness of her: rounded thighs, meaty breasts that I can close my fists around and a wide firm butt to grind into. So different from elegant, gym-club-slim, Cassie.
I think one of the reasons that I’ve never been caught in my infidelity is that Cassie can’t see her sister’s appeal. Last week, when Jody celebrated her twenty-eighth birthday by dancing on the bar in the dive she’d taken us all to, Cassie wrinkled her perfect little nose and said, “You’d never guess she’s four years younger than me. It’s a shame that she’s let herself go like that.”
Cassie would never let herself go.
Jody looks down at me, grins and waggles her sex above my face. I lift my head slowly and lick. Her labia are longer than Cassie’s; plump flesh-petals, folded closed, like a rose at dawn. I work my tongue, making her blossom, releasing her scent onto my nose. She grinds herself against my lips. This is the only kind of kissing she allows.
I want to throw her off me, bend her over and spank her until she begs me to stop, but she knows my hangover won’t allow it. Without slackening the pressure against my mouth, she coats the fingers of my right hand in lube, cool and exciting.
She’s expecting the slap that lands across her butt when she releases my hand, but not the two fingers that slide into her asshole. She gasps. I do my best to push in a third but only succeed in getting the tip into her before she twists off me.
“Bad boy,” she says, kneeling beside me, “You know it’s not your fingers that I need. I want this.”
Jody handles my cock like it belongs to her rather than me. I expect her to lower herself on to it but instead she bends her head close to mine, cups my balls and says, “You can have my cunt if you do me like you did the first time.” She bites my ear. “You do remember the first time, don’t you?”
It’s a memory that haunts me. Something so vital and real and yet so damning.
“Show me that you remember.”
She means it to sound glib and cocky but there’s an edge to her voice, a pleading tone that only someone who knows her well would notice. The smile is gone from her face now and her eyes refuse to leave mine. She’s waiting to see if I will let her down, again.
I stand up, my head protesting the movement. She stays on the bed waiting.
“Say the words.”
Her eyes widen a little at that command, but she doesn’t hesitate.
“I’ll let you call me Cassie while we fuck”, she says.
It seems she remembers too.
There are things you do that tell you who you are. You know them when they happen, they have a kind of deja vu feeling to them, except they’re not something you’ve already seen; they’re something you already are. Fucking Jody was one of those things.
I was twenty-five and my life was on track. People knew that I’d been a little wild, in a small town kind of way, in my late teens but they could see that I’d returned from the Army a reformed character. I didn’t drink and brawl any more, I didn’t screw around, I had a good job and I was engaged to that nice Cassie Rawlins girl. Everyone could see that I was growing up into a fine young man.
I wanted to be a good man. I hoped that if I kept doing the right things, then I would become the good man that everyone else saw. Marrying Cassie was one of those things. You only had to look at Cassie to know that she was good. She was my hope, my redemption. She was going to help me be the man I wanted to be.
It might even have worked out that way, except that two people knew deep down that it wasn’t true: me and Jody.
I felt like an alcoholic that everyone thinks is sober; the fact that he isn’t drinking doesn’t mean he’s sober, it just means that he’s managed not to be drunk today. Every day that I refused to listen to the wilder side of my nature was a victory but I didn’t expect to keep on winning forever.
Jody always seemed to know the truth about me. It was like we shared a secret. She would look at me when I had my arm around Cassie. Most people saw a loving couple. Jody saw a drowning man holding on to the one thing that would keep him afloat.
I tried not to look at Jody at all. Jody wasn’t a good girl. It wasn’t that she slept around, hell, she was still only seventeen the year I met her, but she had an effect on men. Years later she said to me, “When I walked into my eighteenth birthday party I knew I could have every man in the room and at least a third of the women.”
So I stayed away from Jody when I could and I made certain that we were never alone together. Problem was, that just pissed Jody off and she decided to teach me a lesson.
It was the night before the wedding and I was staying at the Rawlins’ house. I wasn’t in touch with my folks any more and it had gotten so I spent most of my time at the Rawlins’ house. Mrs. Rawlins gave me my own room. She wanted people to know that I was welcome but that I wasn’t sleeping with her daughter.
It was true that I wasn’t sleeping with her. Cassie wanted to wait until we were married and I kept telling myself that that’s what I wanted too.
When the bedroom door opened in the middle of the night before my wedding, I wondered (hoped) that it was Cassie, deciding at the last minute that NOT waiting might be fun.
I didn’t switch on the light, but I knew at once that it was Jody and not Cassie.
“So, is it true that you’re not a bad boy any more?” her voice was soft and coated with sex.
I sat up in bed, watching her walk across the room, lit only by the moonlight from the window.
“What do you want?” I hissed.
“Guess,” she said. She pulled her nightdress up over her head, a gesture my cock felt compelled to salute.
“She doesn’t fuck you, does she? The blessed virgin Cassie is making you wait. Well you don’t have to wait for me. You don’t have to be good with me. With me, you can be yourself.”
She was on the bed now, crawling towards me.
“I’ve been legal for a whole week now. So what are you waiting for? I’ll let you do anything that you want. I bet you want a lot, don’tcha?.”
When she touched my erection, I scrambled out of bed, like a man escaping a snake. Where the hell was I supposed to go, naked and with my cock waving like a flagpole in a strong wind?
“I know you want to. I’ve seen it in your eyes. Come back to bed. You’re not a married man yet y’know.”
I had my back to her. I was going to leave. As soon as my erection went down I was going to leave. Except, I was picturing it already, what it would be like, to take her. God, I wanted it. Wanted to just let rip. Just this once. Get it out of my system before I got married. I was tempted but I was going to be strong. Going to be good.
“I’ll you do anything you want. Anything.”
Shit. Her voice was like a fingernail across the tip of my cock.
“I’ll let you call me Cassie while we fuck.”
That’s what nailed me. The idea of it was just too delicious to refuse.
Ten years later, Jody is still too delicious to refuse. She is my cocaine.
I grab her by the hair and haul her off the bed, dragging her until she is sprawled at my feet.
There are tears in her eyes from the pain in her scalp but her nipples are up and she’s looking hungrily at my cock, as if she’s never seen it before, but she’s always wanted to.
That’s all it takes. I’m not playing any more. It’s real now. I think it was always so real that I had to pretend we were playing or everything would have become impossible.
I fuck her mouth first: forcing it open, holding her head against my belly, rejoicing in taking her breath away. Then I throw her on her back. I am in two places at once: then and now. Fucking in double vision. Doomed to repeat myself in a porno version of “Groundhog Day”. I fold her legs back until her ankles are above her head, then I ream her cunt, fucking her like my cock is a knife and I’m stabbing her to death. And with every stroke of my cock/knife, I spit the name “Cassie” like a curse.
Only after I come, deep in the cunt she told me I couldn’t use, do I see that Jody is crying.
I climb off her and she curls into a ball, sobbing.
I should comfort her. Ask her why she is crying. Beg her to stop. Except that I know exactly why she is crying.
I can’t be with her now. I stagger into the bathroom. I want to do something dramatic like puke in the sink. Something that will show me that, deep down, I’m not a shit.
I lean on the sink and stare into my drunken eyes in the mirror.
Jody didn’t come to the wedding. She said she was sick. I didn’t see her for a couple of months. I was a respectable married man by then, having a drink with my sister-in-law.
“I’m pregnant,” she said. “It’s yours.”
That’s when I did the next thing that told me who I really am.
“How do I know that?” I said.
Maybe it’s the memory or maybe it’s the tequila, but this time I do puke.
When I come out of the bathroom, Jody is gone.
She’s left me a message, in lipstick, on the mirror.
© Mike Kimera 2003 All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without written permission from email@example.com
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