“I’m in love with you.”
Her eyes are so earnest and her voice so sweet when she utters those words, I don’t have the heart to shoot her down. Besides, her confession is important to her. Females have been my specialty since I was fifteen years old. That fact assists me in identifying what about her that’s really captured me. Vulnerability. Her disarming unguardedness has nothing to do with the drugs she’s used. It’s in her tone. Her look. Her body language.
I want to plunder her mouth and pussy, so she knows that I’ve heard her, even if no one else bothers to listen or make her feel as if she matters. Identifying a kindred spirit takes as much skill as knowing what girls want to hear. The latter ability was earned after nightmares and dreams merged into an ugly parody and became my life.
My career choice is fitting. What good is a celebrity without an angsty background? I could be an example and an inspiration. With full disclosure, of course.
Not fucking happening and that’s so fucking sad. It’s as if I’ve escaped hell, but still don’t have a story to tell. The story of Moses parting the Red Sea would have done no one any good if it hadn’t been recorded. David slaying Goliath. Delilah fucking up Samson.
Snickering, I pick up the half-empty glass and down it while the girl thrusts her fingers through her hair, lowers her lashes and scoffs. “You hear girls proclaiming their love for you all the time, I’ll bet.”
“From every fucking girl who gives me pussy.”
She purses her lips and her face falls, then she smiles. It’s sadder, not as bright. “You must fuck really good.”
“I’ve had no complaints.”
We stand in silence, both of us waiting for a move from the other. I’ve had eighteen-year-olds before, therefore, her age doesn’t bother me. She stands still, though, awaiting me. The thought solidifies my half-hardened cock, so I clutch her elbow and lead her to a pink and green sofa.
The moment she sits, she sniffs and rubs her nose and sniffs again, folding her arms and pressing them against her belly. “I’m sooo stoked for the band’s new album,” she gushes, her creamy skin flushing. “When’s it coming out? It’s months late and I’m just dying.”
I offer her a noncommittal shrug. My reasons are my own. Nothing a little groupie has to know.
Pointing her index finger at me, she wiggles it. “Stay out of trouble. It cuts me in two when I read about your arrests and—“ She wrinkles her nose in distaste—“Your affairs.” Giggles erupt from her again. “One blow stands.”
She smirks at her play on words and I laugh, amused. “I live to have my cock sucked.”
Her gaze flickers to the body part in question and she licks her lips. Immediately interested at her wordless invitation, my dick jumps.
“I love to suck cock,” she shoots back.
Desire courses along my spine at her words, all the incentive I need to reach for her. God, I’m sure she gives her parents nightmares. She’s a fast, little bitch with a hot pussy. I haven’t felt it yet, but girls like her are a dime a dozen. It doesn’t mean I won’t fuck her. I should send a personal thank-you to every mother and father who are unable to control their daughters. More pussy for me.
My mouth takes hers and we both groan. She tastes like alcohol and peppermint, and smells like vanilla, the combination arousing me as much as her soft warmth. Grunting in approval, I guide her back and cover her with my body. Panic flares in her eyes, but, before I question her, she sighs, opens her legs for me and cradles me between her thighs. Her tongue tangles with mine. She sinks further into the cushions, her completely pliant body ceding all control to me.
My hand slides beneath her halter and I tweak her hardened nipples, little points that my mouth waters to taste.
“You can fuck me,” she says as if this isn’t the direction we’re going already.
Do girls have to fucking irritate me with inane bullshit?
I glance into her still-dilated eyes. The defenseless tenderness in them clings to me like a caress.
“I’m a virgin,” she says, destroying my soporific interest. I freeze, her announcement tingeing my world. Red. White. Black. Colors that mean something in my life. Pain. Purity. Passage.
Her previous statement makes more sense now. If I take her, I’ll be her first, so I’ll always own a piece of her. Maybe, I’ll care again? About something. Anything. Anyone.
She wiggles beneath me. Again, I try to pinpoint the exact shade of purple that her eyes are. It’s no use at the moment. Her hair pools around her, gleaming like black silk.
The faces of the women who have passed through my life parade through my brain. I shy away from two in particular. One dead and one alive. Both gutted me.
How many times did I awaken after I’d sobered up and regretted the shit I did to them?