Writing Naked – Part 2 – Innocence And Experience

I’m in one of those airport hotels that they use to warehouse businessmen who aren’t free to fly home yet. This one is in Brussels, last night’s was in Frankfurt, not that it matters, they all have the same stink: testosterone, boredom, loneliness and money.

I could go into town to one of the moules and frites cafes by the Grande Place, but I hate the way the buskers call out to you to eat at their restaurant and I hate being part of the besuited shoals of men who push through the narrow streets, looking for something to make being away from home worthwhile.

So instead, I take a shower, phone Kathy so that she can tell me about her day, eat my room service meal while watching CNN and then wait to fall asleep. Two hours later I give up waiting.

I can’t face the novel that I’ve brought and I hate buying pay-per-view porn – it makes me feel inadequate –  so I let my fingers form a practised O around my cock, roll the foreskin gently backwards and forwards, close my eyes and allow my subconscious choose the object of my desire.

The hair comes first, long thick auburn hair, that made a tent around my head when she bent forward to kiss me. Then a wide mouth, given to smiling, but most remembered for the softness of its touch. Finally the breasts: large, smooth, heavy, topped with stubby nipples that darkened visibly when I bit them. She would sit astride me, sucking at my tongue until I was breathless and then she would force her breasts into my mouth almost fucking me with them. At the time, my darkest secret was that I wanted to suck milk out of those breasts, wanted to feel it squirt, warm and wet, into my mouth, wanted to suckle and nuzzle and bite and gobble and never stop.

Her name was Eileen Clark.

I lick my lips, push my cock up though my fist and let myself remember her.

In my last year at school, Eileen Clark looked beyond my glasses and my awkwardness and decided that I was worth exploring for a while. She was my first girlfriend, my first kiss, my first fuck, my first realisation that, after awhile, sex with someone you don’t like very much leaves you feeling angry and needy at the same time.

Eileen was a wet dream experience. She always wanted sex, even on her period, and she always wanted to go further. I was her sexual protege, someone she could initiate, someone her parents would mistakenly trust not to fuck her. Eilleen was turned on by risk and power. I was turned on by the whole idea that someone wanted to fuck me. We used each other with a thoughtless ease that only the young and the very jaded can achieve.

The first time I came in her mouth, before she’d let me fuck her, we were in the back of her dad’s car. He’d picked us up at the end of a hike in the Peak District and was driving us the hour or so home. It was dark. Eileen pretended to go to sleep with her head on my lap. I put a coat over her so that I could play with her breasts. Eileen’s parents were tolerant of a little petting and beside I was a good Catholic boy they could trust.

Eileen’s dad was talking to me as he drove. Radio 4 was playing in the background.  Eileen was biting me through my jeans, getting me hard as I twisted her nipples and talked to her dad.  She often bit me to get me hard. Afterwards she would usually wank me off, using her hand or her breasts. She was proud of her breasts and had told me that rubbing my sperm into them always made her feel wicked. It always made me feel unreal and exhausted.  This time I assumed she was just teasing me, testing my control. I was almost right.

Eileen undid my zip slowly, to hide the noise. I wanted to look down, to stop her, to watch her, but her dad had just asked me a question about the route of our hike. I answered him as Eileen pulled out my cock, rolled back the foreskin, and rested it against her smooth cheek. I could smell my arousal and worried that the scent would fill the car in seconds.

Eileen solved the problem by sucking me into her mouth. She’d never done that before. I was surprised by the dark wet warmth that engulfed me, so much more immediate than my virgin fantasies had suggested.

For a second I was paralysed by my own incredulity. Eileen had my smelly, sticky cock in her mouth. Any moment now her dad would catch us. My mother would be told. I had to act.

I don’t believe that our decisions shape us. I think they help us to discover our shape. The important ones run deep, bypassing conscious thought and connecting directly to who we are and who we are capable of becoming.

I decided to let what would happen happen and do what I could to deal with the consequences. I’ve been doing that ever since.

“Are you all right back there?”

Eileen’s teeth clamped in warning around my shaft.

I twisted her nipple in retaliation and said, quietly, “Eileen’s sleeping. I don’t want to wake her.”

Eileen unclamped her teeth and pushed my cock sideways into her cheek, making the sensitive tip quiver with pleasure.

“Looks like you tired her out up in the hills.”

Her dad made eye contact with me in the mirror as he made this casual sounding statement that I knew was a question. He wanted to know if I had fucked his daughter up there in the heather. I smiled at him. “Eileen tired herself out.”

Her dad looked back at the road.

“We went a long way.” Eileen’s tongue moved out along my shaft. “Now she just wants to get her head down.”

Catholics are taught that it is possible to sin in thought, word and deed. I was relishing my hatrick.

There was silence in the car. I listened to the calming litany of the shipping forecast on the radio, magic names like Dogggerbank, and Finnestair, while Eileen worked on me. She kept her head almost still, apart from the occasional car-induced roll, and used her tongue and her teeth to tease and please. Once she moved a little so that she could slide her hand inside her jeans.

I was going to come soon. I had no idea what  Eileen would do then. I decided that she would think of something.

“We’re almost home.” Her father’s words could have been encouragement, a warning or just chatter. I couldn’t tell from the tone.

Eileen started to suck. She brought her cunt-slick fingers up to my cock and stroked. Her father kept his eyes on the road. I struggled for silence as the orgasm hit.

I was young and the come was substantial. I kept my eyes on her father, even when my hips rose and my cock drove further into Eileen’s mouth.  She pulled her head back until only the tip of my cock was in her mouth and calmly milked me. Eileen swallowed everything. It was obviously something that she’d done before.

At the lat moment I risked looking down. She popped me out of her mouth like a used straw and grinned at me. Then she yawned, stretched, leant towards her father and said, “Are we home yet, Daddy?” while I struggled to cover myself.

I was dropped off first. Eilleen got out of the car to kiss me good-bye. I could taste myself on her lips. That was why she’d wanted to kiss me of course.

“Come to the house tomorrow and I’ll fuck you,” she whispered just before she turned back to the car.

The cold hit me as soon as she moved away. I caught her father looking at me for a fraction of a second before he drove off. He was trying not to know and it was killing him.

Twenty eight years later I still remember that look as clearly as I remember the lava flow of that first mouth-come. In a twisted way they both excite me.

I’ve been working my cock while remembering Eileen, reaching the point in the wank where I am no longer gentle with myself in thought or deed. My hand grips my cock so hard that the tip bulges above my fist. The movement is not yet rapid but it makes the headboard bang.

The images in my head flash by. Eileen giving me a titfuck, crouched behind an air vent on the last ferry home from Liverpool, the smell of diesel heavy in the air. Eileen fucking me for the first time in her parent’s study, pinning me to the floor and riding me, not even locking the door first. Me, at the point when we were both bored with each other, insisting on one last fuck and taking her against the wall of that same study, holding one of her legs in the air and pushing desperately into her, while her mother made us tea in the kitchen.

I’d finally called Eileen’s bluff. I wasn’t the innocent anymore. I’d pushed her into something she didn’t want to do but was too proud to refuse. She didn’t look at me as I pumped away. She struggled a little when her mother called to us but I pressed her against the wall one more time and squeezed out a small amount of triumphant sperm.

“Coming Mum”, she said as I slid out of her.

She left the room without looking at me. I never went back to her house after that cup of tea.

Sweating on the bed, head thrown back, I struggle to come. It’s no longer something I want, just something that has to happen before I move on. A grunt. A dribble of thin sperm. A twitch or two between palm and tip, and I am lying in my own sweat and semen once more, feeling soiled by my thoughts.

My head is full of ghosts that only honesty can exorcise. These are not things I can share with my wife or my friends, but I know what to do. I open my iBook and write to myself, recording my thoughts and deeds, examining my conscience in the time-honoured way. These letters are my confessor. Peace of mind is the sacrament I seek.

I used to believe that the Church made masturbation a sin because it was fun, now I wonder whether it was because they knew its power to sap the spirit and stain the soul. It is not the act of course but the focus that creates the sin. My subconscious knew what it was doing when it threw Eileen into my head tonight.

Eileen Clark introduced me to my wife in the first summer after school. Kathy was newly arrived in town. I had been watching her helplessly, having no idea how to get to know her. Eileen always noticed these things. She introduced us and immediately I found I could talk to Kathy. There wasn’t the electric shock of sexual desire, more a recognition of someone who would understand.

Before Eileen left she said “Kathy is an innocent Kieran, treat her well. I’ve told her all about you.”

I knew what she was offering and what she was threatening. Mentally, I rose from my chair, pulled  Eileen’s head back by that thick auburn hair and bit out her throat. Actually, I said to Kathy, “There is nothing wrong with innocence or experience.” Words have always served me well. I hooked Kathy with them that day and I made Eileen watch.

I would like to blame Eileen for who I am. It would be convenient but not credible. She saw something in me and literally sucked it to the surface. I am someone who can smile and talk and shake hands in the most civilised way and yet always feel the tug of the undertow of my own lust. I think I was never innocent, just ignorant of some of the possibilities. Kathy, in her way, is still innocent. It is what keeps us together and holds us apart.

I am becoming philosophical, always a sign that I should sleep and not talk.

Goodnight Kieran O’Connor.

 


© Mike Kimera 2000 All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without written permission from mikekimera@yahoo.co.uk


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