Dirty Little Freaks (20 page)

“It’s the door over there,” I tell him and wave my hand, giggling at the sensation of being in his arms, so far off the floor.

“I still remember the way,” he says as he pads across my living room.

“I guess it hasn’t been that long,” I reply as he kicks the door open with his foot. “My hero,” I smile as he plops me down on the bed.

“It feels like a long time,” he says and wiggles out of his tight pants. He’s wearing boxer briefs and his hardness is sharply outlined under the fabric. He pulls his shirt over his head and I drink in the sight of his ripped muscles. He’s really mighty fine, his appeal is growing on me as my pussy warms up again. I could get used to this, his body, his cock, his fucking. Maybe if I can convince him to get a real mohawk and a few more tats, he’ll fit the bill. He’s no Hush though, a little voice inside nags me, fuck, like I need to be reminded.

“You knew I’d call eventually,” I smile, “I’m always looking for a good fuck.” I squirm out of my own clothing and lay naked on the bed. He climbs onto the bed and crawls towards me. He dips his head at my hips and nuzzles the smooth skin where my leg joins my body. I gasp at the sensation. It sends little jolts up and down my spine and directly to my pussy. He drags his tongue up my stomach to my breasts, licks each nipple carefully and slides it along the hollow above my collarbone. I squirm and wiggle, try to get him to touch me but he holds my hands down. “Ok, now I need a good fuck,” I gasp as he nibbles my neck. “Ok, you can get on top now,” I say, and laugh.

“I don’t want to just give you a good fuck, Jade. I want you to beg me, to need me, to love me. I want to fuck Hush from your system; he never deserved you. I want you to understand how beautiful and precious you are, like a sunset, like stars in the sky,” he says, his eyes fierce and so sincere I try not to laugh. I cannot handle this intensity, and I want to make an awful joke so fucking badly, but I don’t. I don’t want to be a total piece of shit to this guy, I just don’t want to fall in love with him and squirt out hundreds of his babies.

“It’s just dead light,” I say, a smile threatening to tug at the edges of my mouth. Fuck, this is like the time I started giggling in church at some distant cousin’s wedding. The pastor’s robe kept brushing up against the mic during their vows and I swear it sounded like a gigantic ripping fart. I ended up hunched over with tears coming from my eyes and my body shaking with the laughter I couldn’t let go. We never did get invited back to anything from that side of the family. Could have been that, or my mother getting drunk and puking in an umbrella stand. Who knows.

He looks at me. “What do you mean?”

“Stars, they’re just dead light. I mean the star has been dead for billions of years by the time we see the light. It’s just a floating rock in space by then, cold and black.”

“Oh,” he replies, his eyebrows furrowed. Shit, I think I’ve killed the mood. I glance down and notice his cock is going a little limp. Yup, good old Jade, open the mouth too much and frustration is the result. “I thought you wanted to hear things like that. Most women do.”

“I’m not most women, my dear,” I tell him. “I want to hear things like fuck and let’s do it.” I grin and reach down, give his dick a little tug and continue. “This is poetry to me, the sounds you make when you cum inside of me, the sound I make when you hit my cervix with your fat cock. Now that’s what I want to hear. Fuck the roses, give me the thorns as they say.”

Slow realization crosses his face and reaches his eyes. He grins back and tells me, “Fucking right, I think I can handle that.” He grows serious, takes my hand from his cock and pins both of them over my head. Now we’re talking!

I struggle a little, always enjoying the feeling of being captured. As much as most men like to rut and feel they’ve won the prize pussy, I like to feel like I’m being held down and fucked like an animal. It’s very primal and exactly what I need.

He puts his knee in between my legs and pries them open. I wiggle a little more and his grip tightens, it hurts. I mumble ‘fencepost’ under my breath and think of Hush. I hate that I think of him every time I get a cock near me, like some kind of Pavlov’s dog, only every time a bell rings my pussy starts to...fuck, weird metaphor. I concentrate on the pain in my wrists to drive Hush from my brain and it starts to work. I push against his hands and he pins me tighter. His knee comes up and forces my thighs apart. He leans down and takes one hand off my wrists. I try to pull free, enjoying the game. He twists my nipple painfully and growls, “Fucking stay still, bitch,” and finds my pussy with his fingers. He’s so tall he can manage to stretch somehow, my hands remain pinned just over my head and he angles himself to insert a couple of fingers.

I gasp as he starts to finger fuck me slowly, I pant as he gets faster and I start to moan as he adds a couple more. Hush keeps flashing into my head at the worst moments though. For half a second it’s his fingers inside of me, pumping into my cunt, and my moan hitches in my throat. Rev mistakes it for pleasure and keeps thrusting. I need more pain to keep Hush from my mind, so I push against his hand and groan like a nasty whore. He gets the hint and adds his thumb, the pressure of five digits inside my pussy is insane, intense, overwhelming. I can feel something building up under his hand, deep in the core of me, a pleasure so strong that it borders on pain. He releases my wrists and sits up to watch.

“This is fucking awesome,” he says, his eyes light up at his front row seat. “I’ve jerked off to this online, but in front of me, my hand, fuck.” He presses his now free hand onto my clit; he’s pretty masterful, I’ll give him that. His one hand inside of me, the other one working my clit, the boy’s got talent. I try to stop my hips from bucking, the finger on my clit is sending sharp stabs of pleasure into my core, this mixes with the intense pressure. I am going to orgasm, and do it fucking hard. I feel like I’m going to pee, this always signals a squirt, something I do every so often when the stars align, Venus in the house of Gemini or some such mysterious shit.

I squeeze my eyes shut and throw my head back, arching my back and pushing myself against his hands in the process. I am so close to cumming, I can almost taste it, but I can’t quite bump up to where I need to be. I remain like this for a few seconds too long, but I’m not tipping over to the other side, the fireworks, shooting stars, brain exploding side of the orgasm.

A tiny voice inside of me whispers ‘Hush’, and I gush like a fire hydrant with the top off. I picture Hush between my legs, Hush fisting my cunt, Hush prodding my clit, and juice bursts out of my slit, washing down Rev’s forearm and soaking my sheets. I should have put down a sheet of fucking plastic. Next time I’m at Dollarama, I’d better check out the painting section for fucking drop cloths.

“Holy shit,” Rev breathes as I come down, my pussy clenching like crazy and my body limp with the effort. “I’ve heard about squirters, but never seen it. You are so fucking amazing,” he says, his voice full of wonderment. I feel like his new bike under the tree on Christmas morning. He pulls his hand out slowly. I can feel my cunt tighten behind it. I don’t know why men are endlessly fascinated with fisting, it’s designed to slide a baby out for fucks sake, a hand is easily accommodated. As long as I do my keigels, my pussy stays nice and tight. I’ll bet I could shoot ping-pong balls outta there...in fact, I might have to try one of these days.

I open my eyes and feel guilty. He’s hot, fuckable, dateable…loveable even...but I need Hush in my head to reach my orgasm. I hope Rev never finds out. “Yeah, I’m a girl of many talents,” I say, and laugh.

“That you are, I have to see what your pussy feels like now, after my hand has been in there,” he says and rolls between my legs, thrusting himself in with one smooth motion. I wrap my legs around the back of his and drag him inside of me. “You can’t get enough, can you? I could get used to this,” he says as he starts to pump against me.

I close my eyes again and let my head fall back against my bed. I love being fucked hard like this, but once again I need to envision Hush to really feel anything beyond the physical. He finishes quickly and I manage to dodge any cuddling by jumping up and going to the washroom. I sit on the toilet and hide out for a bit, in here with the fan going, I try and take stock of my emotions but they are so tangled up I don’t even know where to start.

I splash cold water on my face to counteract the effects of the alcohol and to prevent myself from crying.

Back in the bedroom I feel guilty again, Rev got the hint and is getting dressed by the time I get there.

“Hey stranger,” I say with a small smile. “Going so soon?”

“Hey you, yeah, I don’t want to overstay my welcome.” He says and smiles back. “I’m not the kind of guy who spends the night, so you don’t have to worry about me getting too clingy.”

“I wasn’t worried,” I say but, relief washes over my body. I do like him though, and feel like we’d have a lot in common so I add, “You wanna go get something to eat? You’re buying.” I shoot him my cutest flirty grin and bat my eyes dramatically.

“Sure, let’s head over to Subie’s, they’re always hopping this late at night,” he says and waits while I get dressed. We spend the next few hours eating and laughing, and with Rev, I almost feel like a real human girl again. Maybe I could get used to this, maybe this could be enough for me after all.

A month passes and I’m walking to my sociology class when it hits me. I am kinda happy. Rev and I are hooking up fairly steady, but he’s learned to keep his distance and not come on too strong. I’ve even gone out to a few of his shows as his sorta girlfriend, I mean, I guess. His band is pretty hard-core punk, but most of the guys in it are light on the drugs part of the rock-n-roll lifestyle. Rev and I actually have a lot in common with our shitty upbringing and addict parents. School is going fucking fabulous, I am thriving in an environment where people don’t hate me for knowing shit, although I think some of my classmates are getting tired of me using punk rock as an analogy for fucking everything. Hey, it works, I swear.

I slip into Sociology right on time. There’s an overhead projector set up at the front, thank God. Rev was over until three this morning and I can barely keep my eyes open. A slide show or grad student presentation will be infinitely easier to handle than a long lecture.

Rev was sweet last night; he brought me a 45 B side of The Cramps, I haven’t listened to it yet, but it earned him a little cock sucking action. I almost wanted him to stay, almost, but not quite. I don’t know if I’ll ever be there with Rev, but every time he gets out of bed and puts his clothes on, I do feel guilty for not wanting him to stay. God, I’m such a piece of shit for being so difficult. I want so fiercely to break my mother’s relationship curse that I’m terrified of getting too deep with anyone else. I tell myself that’s what it is, but I think we all know it’s disgustingly obvious I’m still pining for that fucker with the green mohawk, Hush.

Our professor walks in so I open my little netbook in order to type. It was a gift from Eva’s parents, they really are proud of me but their expectations make me nervous. I guess anybody’s expectations make me nervous. I smile at the image of myself as a snorting horse, shying away from its handler. Unless there’s a fat cock nearby, then I’m all over it like a naughty circus pony.

Shit fuck. I have to get off these weird metaphors. Or at least make sure I never say them out loud.

“Good morning ladies and gentlemen,” Professor Reed greets us. He’s always so cheerful in the morning, and makes such crappy puns that it’s hard not to like him. “We have a special treat today, we have a guest speaker. This young man has wowed the department; he is currently working on a PhD project in Anthropology over at the University of British Columbia. I believe you will all enjoy it,” he continues, looking directly at me with a grin. “Please put your hands together for Nicholas Harrington and his presentation on punk rock subculture and its revival in the local club scene.”

I perk up. This is going to be interesting. Finally something I can relate to, I hope he isn’t sporting a faux hawk, I might have to boo him off the stage.

At the front, Nicholas stands up. He’s pretty built, I can tell from here. It looks like he’s got a ponytail, but I realize he must have his hair swept back. I wonder if he ever spikes it into a mohawk.

He takes three long strides to the podium and my stomach drops. I’d recognize that walk anywhere. That amazing, ripped body, those intense beautiful eyes, that mouth as it explores my body, sucking and nibbling until I’m left gasping and calling his name, begging him.

Hush. Nicholas Harrington is my Hush.

The hair on my arms stands on end and I fight the urge to stand up and scream, or ball up and cry. I slump farther into my seat, praying he doesn’t notice me. He clears his throat and begins to talk and instantly I’m a puddle of urgent need, I would fuck him right now, in front of everyone. I would crawl on my hands and knees to the front if he asked it of me, and I kinda fucking hate myself for it.