FRESHER'S TALES! Using sex to rid myself of sadness


Is it impolite to fuck someone because I’m sad and tired of being sad? I don’t know. Perhaps it is. But the rain had started and it’s a long way home. His hotel is closer. He’s middle-aged. He smokes his cheap cigarettes and fondles his weeping glass of beer like an old lover.
He kisses me in the cramped elevator. I suspect he feels he ought to which is odd, because whores don’t expect to be kissed. His thumb finds my clothed nipple, hard in the chill of air con. He takes this for arousal and a prompt to kiss me again with extra passion. I’m not aroused. I don’t like this man or the taste of stale beer and cigarettes on his tongue. It makes my stomach churn. So, you might ask what I’m doing watching him turn the key to the door of his hotel room.

I eye the gaudy bedspreads and ignore his murmurs of unfelt but apparently obligatory emotion, while he pulls off my tank top and pushes down the cups of my bra.
I don’t want all this preamble. I’m simply hoping that he’ll fuck me hard enough to jolt something loose inside me. That this raw act will uncouple me from the heart wrenching sadness.
He stands there for a moment, his erection distorting the front of his rain speckled beige chinos. If he thinks I’m going to undress him, he’s wrong. I may be a fucking whore, but I’m not *that* kind of whore. If he’s getting laid for free, he can take off his own pants.

`Got a condom?’ I ask.
`Sure. Of course. But, I’m clean.’
I manage to stop myself from rolling my eyes.
`Yeah? Me too. Put the bloody condom on.’ Because he’s not going to have anything to complain about friction wise.
As he tugs me down onto the bed and attempts to enter me, he gets it. I haven’t had a cock in for quite a while and I’m not wet. The tightness makes him hesitate. He wrestles an ugly hand between us and tries to change my frame of mind via my clit. It’s not going to make a difference.

`Just fuck me.’
`But you don’t seem,’ he searches his brain for the word and comes up with something. `Interested.
`Listen, asshole. Just fuck me.’
I don’t scream at that first inward thrust. He’s big but not that big. Instead, I lie there with my teeth clenched and wait for my body to remember what to do. He paws my breast and groans. His cock is only halfway in and the stretch hurts like a son of a bitch. But in that moment, when he thrusts again to hilt himself inside me, the world turns. He changes into something cruel, just as I become something acquiescent.

`Is this what you want?’ His voice is a croak. The hand on my breast tightens painfully.
The thrusts are punctuated with questions that at first I don’t feel the need to answer.
`And this…and this…and this…?’
Until the fury of it makes me gasp. `Yes.’
Because this is what I want. Because I feel the hinges of my heart creak under the strain. Boards rattle, tear rusted threads strip and shriek.
`Harder. Can’t you fuck me any harder?’
He makes a noise like a wounded dog and closes a hand around my neck. `Shut up, you bitch,’ he hisses.
I smile and close my eyes. Good to know we are on the same page. Even to know this new paradigm has done nothing to quell his ardour.

My body inches across the bed under the pounding. As it produces enough lubrication to protect itself, my cunt stings. What traitorous things our bodies are. I still don’t feel the least bit aroused, but I’m wet anyway. And I don’t much care if I never get up off this bed, but still I gasp and claw for air as his grip tightens around my throat.
Poor him, I muse. I hope he doesn’t kill me. It would be a bitch to get rid of my corpse.
Not that I’m too worried about it. All I know is that the wood inside me is splintering. He’s going to come any second now.

He collapses onto me like a beached whale. His flesh twitches in the after storm of his orgasm.
He gives a small embarrassed chuckle and rolls off.
`You,’ he says, wagging a fat finger at me, `you’re quite the puzzle. But I have figured you out. You’re like another woman I used to date.’
`Really?’ I sit up and begin to dress up, adjusting my bra, pulling on my shirt.
`Yes. Very beautiful. Some kind of writer.’
`Funny,’ I say, standing up and stepping back into my skirt. `So am I.’

Till next time…

Obsessed with words...loves reading, writing. I'm your source for stories that make you come alive...stories to make your dull days better. I've mastered the art of erotica. Follow me for these and more...