If I told you a love story, would you listen? I know, another boring, cliché love story, but appease me? Just this once?
I met a man once that would change my life forever. He wasn’t much of a looker, just an average man with scruffy patches of hair on his face, desperately trying to connect to each other. His hands were rough from the calluses and his natural scent was always a little musky. That manly fragrance that’s so hard to define. It’s a little sour and sweaty, yet sweet and warm at the same time. But I liked him that way, all rough around the edges and perfectly imperfect. And whenever I could, I loved to bury my face in his bare chest and just breathe him in. He was my aromatherapy, my happy place, my safe space.
We started off as friends, as most of us do. We would be on the phone at all hours of the day and night just talking about any and everything. As the minutes continued to pass it would always feel like we just started talking. Our friendship continued to build, and I began to dive deeper into him. I had never clicked with someone so well and so quickly before. More times than not, I didn't have even the smallest ideas in common with the men I dated. I was convinced that maybe it was me, maybe my mind just worked differently than everybody else’s. We were on the phone one night talking about the weird thoughts we have sometimes. I remember telling him that every time I walked into a room, I always studied the person or people along with the objects around the room just in case I needed to use them to protect myself. I’ve shared the same thought with people in the past and they all would look at me like I was a psychopath, but not him. I'll never forget how quickly he said, “me too”. I had finally been understood and it felt so good. We connected and traded random thoughts back and forth for the rest of the night. I know it might not seem that significant, but I was relieved that he didn't judge me and excited to have someone who was on the same page as me. It felt as if I had found myself in him, I finally found someone that I felt completely comfortable, confident even, to be myself around. The effortlessness was scary, I should’ve known then that it was too good for me. I reached a point where I would call him at every high and low point of my day to keep him updated, and if anything crazy ever happened, he was the first to know. But he always reciprocated my energy, I would get random calls from him, even when he knew I was at work. I’d answer anyway just to hear him tell me about another extravagant event that unfolded in his day-to-day. I would ask him questions so I could feel like I was there, and I was genuinely just that interested. He loved giving me the details though, he would paint a full picture for me. Lord knows I was feeling that man in every way possible. We were in a groove and it felt so good. It was a funky, beautifully soulful song, with a little bit of the blues that had an upbeat to it. We had a full band, each instrument in sync with the other, playing the right note before it was even anticipated. Indescribable, but we knew it was the right song.
It’s a dangerous thing…to be so close, consumed even, with another person.
I remember there was a night when I was so low. My spirit was gone, and my soul had no fight left. Have you ever been that low? I had nights like that far too often. It was scary because I could literally feel the nothingness creeping up on me. Starting from my toes, I could feel it rising. In shock, I was gasping at the feeling. A fight I knew I had just lost, accepting my defeat, I was gasping at the feeling. The nothingness was up to my stomach. I knew I was gone because the me I thought I knew would never give up. Up to my chest now. I was frantic and dizzy, desperately trying to feel something, I ran to my bathroom looking for a razor. I found one and held it for a moment. It had reached my heart. Then I instantly started to smash the razor against the toilet seat. I needed the blade by itself. I finally had the blade in my hand and held it against my wrist. Then slowly, I pressed it into my skin and slid it across my wrist until there was a thick straight line of blood. It didn’t work. I didn’t feel anything. So…I kept trying. There were several neat bloody lines pulsating on my wrist. I was scratching frantically by the time he called. I didn’t even know why I answered, but I’m glad I did. Just hearing his voice calmed my raging anxiety. Even though I couldn’t find the words to tell him what was happening, I think he knew. He just kept talking because he knew it would help distract me while the storm passed. Listening to his voice dulled the voices in my own head. That’s the first time I realized he mattered more to me than I wanted to admit. I trusted him with my pain, I was leaning into him, actually I was all in. He trusted me too. He told me things he had never told anyone else. Deep, dark secrets locked in a treasure box at the bottom of his soul. I will never tell anyone else, no matter the circumstances.
Our vibe was untouchable before we ever touched. But when we finally touched…there was so much tension and anticipation because that was the only thing on this Earth that we had yet to conquer. I guess you could imagine how that went for us, but just in case you can’t, I’ll tell you.
I went to his place one early afternoon; I remember it was early because I had gotten off work early that day. We were just sitting on the couch, watching tv. High as hell, he put his head on my lap like normal. But this time was different, his hands were wondering, gripping, and caressing my thighs. So slow, so subtle, so fucking sexy. He knew. His hands kept wondering, getting closer and closer, with his head still on my lap. I felt kisses next. Just soft little kisses and nibbles on my thighs, then my inner thighs. My heart was starting to beat so fast and so hard that it was becoming the bass in our new song. I was so nervous, it almost felt like I was standing in front of a large audience struggling to get through a speech. He looked up at me and I thought he was coming in for a kiss and I was leaning in for it. So close, I could feel his warm lips grazing against mine, then they were gone. He moved himself in front of me and got down on his knees, never losing eye contact with me. It was hot. Then, it felt like he instantly grabbed my leggings and pulled them off in one swift motion. I was in shock and squeezed my legs together as if to say, ‘hold on, slow down’, but he parted them quickly and firmly, he knew what I wanted. He rested his head back on my lap, my thighs…well in between them. He didn’t waste anymore time, before I could even process what was happening, his tongue was on my lips. Licking them slowly up and down, my body was starting to squirm and I couldn’t control the sounds coming from a place deep down within me. Up and down…up and down. Slowly and methodically. Up and down. He forced his tongue inside me, he pushed it in and pulled it out over and over again. I was embarrassed at the mess I was making on his couch, but he didn’t care. He drank me up and took me all in. I was looking down to watch and he was looking back up at me. His tongue moved to my favorite spot and I thought I would be able to handle the pressure. I could feel his scruffy little beard vigorously brushing against me. I could feel those callused hands, first on my gooey thighs, holding them open, then on my wrists holding them down. It had been a really long time for me and he was giving me too much already. I was moaning loudly at this point; I had lost all self-control. My legs couldn’t stop shaking, but he didn’t stop until I exploded. I was literally pushing him away when he reached and grabbed my throat aggressively and pulled my face in close to his. He looked me straight in my eyes as he gripped my throat tighter and tighter until I couldn’t breathe. Knowing that I might just pass out was more of a turn on than I expected. As soon as I started feeling fuzzy and seeing blurry white dots in the air, he let go, and as I gasped for air, he kissed me. I was struggling to catch my breath, but I didn’t care. It wasn’t just any type of kiss though, it was real slow, real sloppy, real nasty; it was worth it. He was very cocky, but his foreplay and attention to detail had me ready to submit completely. Every touch was intense, every move had a purpose. I was traumatized in the best way. I could taste myself on his lips and tongue, so I wrapped my lips around his tongue until I got enough while also unfastening his pants and inching them down. I moved my lips to his neck, kissing him from his shoulder up to his ear. His shirt had to go. I lifted his shirt up and he raised his arms so I could get it off. As soon as I did, he stood up from his knees and was now bending over to kiss me again while I was still sitting in my mess on the couch. He put his hand back around my throat to push me back against the couch. Looking down at me, I was looking up at him very anxious about what was coming next. I looked down and could see how large he was. He saw how distracted I was and grabbed my face and made me look him in his eyes again. He could see how nervous I was, but he continued to move slowly as he carefully pushed himself inside of me. Why did he do it so slow!?! I think he knew it was a lot to handle. He just watched my face as I gasped with pain and pleasure. That first hit lasted forever, I wanted to look away so many times, but he never let me. It turned him on to see me like that and he wanted to watch every second of it. He gradually increased the pace as he could feel my body getting used to his. So deep and so strong. He was turning me on to a new frequency and I was riding the wave. Never losing eye contact, never losing that passion for me. He wanted me and he took a piece of my soul before the day was done. But that would just be the beginning.
I began to learn him sexually and eventually I knew how to get exactly what I wanted from him. Sometimes, after a long and stressful day, I would go to him. And maybe we would argue and maybe I was the one that started it. I knew which buttons to press and I’d press and press until he’d had enough. I could always tell when he had lost his patience with me. It's at that point that I would get in his face. He’d be yelling and cursing at me and I’d be yelling and cursing back. He would cross the line and I would push him or maybe hit him. Or at least try to, because as soon as I lifted my arm to swing, he would already have his hands up to stop me. One day, as I tried to slap him, he lifted his hands quickly and grabbed my wrists to force my arms behind my back. Still yelling, still cursing, and now starting to talk shit. He squeezed my wrists tighter and closer together until he could hold them with just one hand, freeing up the other to go around my throat. It was hot. I couldn’t move or even breathe for that matter, so I smiled in his face, my own little act of defiance even though I was being defeated. Sometimes Daddy’s princess wanted to be a bad girl. That little smile pissed him off and suddenly the hand holding my wrists together was now gripping my hair. He was violently dragging me by my hair to the bedroom to fuck me into submission. I’m not easy to break, so he had to work for it. Choking, slapping, biting, threatening…I know I’m fucked up, but we were fucked up together. Having someone match your level of crazy is a dangerously beautiful thing. He threw me on the bed and flipped me over to my stomach, holding my arms behind my back again and putting his forearm across the back of my head pushing my face into the bed. He worked feverishly between holding me down and taking my clothes off, but as soon as he got them off, he shoved himself inside of me. He didn’t care if I was ready or not, I just had to take it. He was fucking me so hard and I loved it. I was letting out a combination of screams and moans, but I was also telling him not to stop and that’s exactly what he did. He stopped and told me I didn’t deserve to finish; I was a bad girl. He literally made me beg for it. I hated him for it, I couldn’t stand him. But I did it…I had to, I needed it and the humiliation was a turn on. He satisfied me beyond compare, but he wasn’t done with me yet. How is it that I was just begging for more and now I was begging him to stop because it was too much? I couldn’t take it. “Shut the fuck up, this is what you wanted right?” “Yes, Daddy.” That was always my answer, I knew he liked it. Either that or ‘It's yours, Daddy’, he liked that one too. I always did what he told me to after he made me, I had to be stubborn first though, always had to put up a fight. Well, not always. Everyday we would get closer and more attached. We could talk about anything and there was nothing I could confess to him that he wouldn’t understand and vice versa. We could sit in a comfortable silence, we could make each other laugh so hard that we both would be on the floor out of breath, and we could hold each other and have vulnerable moments together. Feelings were growing stronger and there were some days where I just wanted to adore him. I remember a specific Saturday morning that we spent together. I made pancakes for breakfast. I made him a plate because I wasn’t hungry, I was never hungry. I was sitting in a chair in the middle of the living room and he was squatting on his knees next to me because I didn’t have any living room furniture yet. He took a couple bites, then the next thing I saw was a forkful of pancake coming towards my face. He held it in front of my mouth until I opened it. We didn’t say a word to each other, yet the pattern continued until the food was gone. It just felt right…it was easy, and I felt nostalgic with him. Later on that day, he had done favors and ran errands for me in efforts to help get my apartment together. He was so tired by the time we got back to my place that he was basically sleep walking. I walked him to the bed and sat him down. I was kneeling in front of him when I began to untie his shoes. I put so much effort and attention into what I was doing because I wanted him to know how much I cared. I was never good at expressing my feelings, so this was all I had to get him to understand. Gently, I took off each shoe, taking my time, subtly massaging each foot. Then I rubbed his calves through his jeans until I got to his thighs and higher until I found his belt. I unbuckled it and started working on his pants. Even though he was tired, I could tell he was picking up what I was putting down. I got his pants undone, but before I took them off, I glided my hands underneath his shirt and began to lift higher on my knees so my hands could reach higher. My hands were on his hairy chest until I grabbed his shirt and lifted it up. My little baby. He lifted his arms and I stretched to pull it off. After seeing nothing except the inside of his shirt as it was coming off, he saw me. My face close to his, our noses and lips practically touching, I threw his shirt to the side. “Let me take these off”, I said into his mouth as my hands were back on his pants. He lifted himself up, just a little bit, but enough for me to get his pants off. I pulled them slowly down his legs and took my time taking each pant leg off separately. I had him undressed, but I left his boxers on. I pushed him back gently onto the bed and made sure he had the fluffiest pillow to rest his head on. By the time I reached for a blanket to cover him with, he was biting his bottom lip, gripping his dick through his boxers, and giving me that look. I noticed everything, but I pretended not to. I tucked him in with a blanket, then went to take a shower. By the time I got out, he was asleep. I climbed into bed next to him and dozed off. I was awakened by his arm wrapping around me and pulling me into him. I literally woke up with him inside me. He was behind me, kissing my neck and licking my ear while thrusting himself inside of me over and over. He switched up the pace until he found our spot, then kept it right there. There was no hair pulling, no choking, no yelling. It was gentle and soft and more passionate instead. His breath on the back of my neck made me feel warm and his arm around me made me feel safe. He buried his face into the back of my neck when it felt too good and he wanted to last just a little bit longer. I loved it so much. He moaned my name right into my ear, then kept whispering sweet little nothings, and then my name would come again. Chills were shooting down my spine while my body was twitching with pleasure. I tried to catch the rhythm and grind back on him while he was thrusting into me, but that was too much for both of us after a couple strokes and, as soon as he put his face back in my neck, I lost control of my body and began to shiver again. I wish that moment could have lasted forever; I wish we could have lasted forever. But nothing good ever lasts forever, at least that’s what they say.
I don’t know what happened, I really didn’t see it coming. Out of nowhere, he started to change. We used to call each other constantly throughout the day, soon though his calls were coming less and less, and my calls were being answered even less often. We used to go through our schedules to find as much time to see each other as possible, but suddenly he was always busy and never had time for me. I’m normally fine when I feel someone pulling away from me, but this time was different. We had gotten so close and I had gotten so comfortable. I had never gotten in this deep before, so I really didn’t understand. I thought the feelings were mutual because they were, so what the hell was going on? I asked him bluntly about his behavior lately and of course he said nothing had changed, that he was just busy. But my birthday and other special events in my life came and went and I didn’t get a single message from him. He had forgotten about everything because he didn’t care about me. Not anymore. What did I do wrong? On one of the rare occasions that I was able to get him on the phone, I told him how much his absence was hurting me and again he said nothing had changed. Weeks went by with no communication from him until he called one night, obviously horny and in need of my help. That wasn’t what I wanted to talk about though, I asked him a plethora of questions of which no real answer was given. He just wanted to talk nasty to me. A repetitious cycle of this continued, weeks without speaking until he needed to fuck. He was trying to play me, but I’m not stupid. I thought if anyone would have known that I was not to be played with, it would have been him. It got to a point where I was just hurt, in real pain, it was all I could think about. I obsessed over it, and I knew I wasn’t going to be okay. He meant so much to me, I couldn’t just let him go. I’d never even thought about him leaving me, or leaving him, or us not being us anymore. I was feeling low one night again and I wanted the person that had soothed my anxiety before. So, I called. No answer. The air was leaving the room and it was becoming harder to breathe. Called again. No answer. The room was starting to spin around me, and I was getting dizzy. I couldn’t take another rejection, so I texted him instead. I was asking him, actually more like begging him, to tell me what I was doing wrong. Why don’t you want me anymore? Are you just tired of me? Is there someone else? I realized how pathetic I sounded, but obviously he didn’t care. His text message back read, ‘Brooo Chilllllll’. I still don’t know what it was exactly, but something switched in me after reading that message. I was no longer just depressed, I was furious. How could he do this to me? Why would he make me open up and become vulnerable with him if he just wanted to fuck? I couldn’t believe it was that simple, there had to be more. I slipped back and forth between anger and depression for weeks, sometimes both, but from his posts on social media I could tell he was doing fine, great even. It became such a mystery to me that sometimes all I could do was laugh. Laying in bed at night and just burst into laughter because of course something like this would happen to me. I had found my person, the one person that completed me and the one person that let me be me. How could I just let that go? I couldn’t. And he was out gallivanting around potentially giving my love away to another woman. I should just kill him. It was a quick thought, the kind that enters and exits your mind without much deliberation. And soon that idea had gone. But wait…why not? He had mended my heart and made me love him just to shatter it and leave me stranded. A couple more minutes of thought were put into it until hypothetical plans were being organized in my head. I let it go again and focused on something else.
I was at work one morning struggling to keep myself motivated. I should just kill him. A couple of days later I was sitting on my bathroom floor with the blade from my broken razor, digging it into my skin. I should just kill him. One night, I was dangerously horny and had only my memory of us to arouse myself enough to climax. I should just kill him. The thought was being ingrained in my brain and soon I had more reasons to make that idea a reality.
Shawn Ivory has been writing for as long as she can remember, but this is her first time pursuing her passion seriously by sharing it with the world. Please enjoy and feel free to tell her what you think.