Sunday, June 06, 2004

Disastrous weekend, chapter 4 (the conclusion)

I set a wake-up call for 6:00. That would be enough time to fuck, shower, have a nice long breakfast, and still get Lila back home by 9.

It turns out I didn't need the wakeup call; at 5:45, I woke up to my dick being sucked. I'm horny when I wake up anyway; this kind of thing just drives me right over the edge. It was going to feel good to actually have sex in the morning, as opposed to jerking off.

She licked and kissed my member as if it were a lollipop. She pulled it slowly out of her mouth, and I almost ached with the desire to fuck her. She turned around and rubbed her asshole against my cock, looking back at me with her big brown eyes.

I probably should have lubed first, but I could not wait. I shoved my dick into her ass, and it was surprisingly easy to penetrate her. She pulled her hair away from her face with her right hand, and placed her left hand on my thighs. I could see her in the mirror; she was biting her lip.

The phone rang for our wake-up call. I picked up the receiver and hung it up again.

I pushed myself up with my hands and kissed her neck. She turned her head and kissed me gently, pushing her warm, wet tongue in my mouth. "Say it," she said.

"SAY it," she said again, opening her eyes and staring at me. "Tell me you love me."

Oh, fuck. Not now. Not fucking now.

"Baby, don't."

"I mean it," she said, almost shouting. "Tell me now!"

"Lila, don't. Not now, baby, please?!"

She lifted her hips, and as I watched my cock slide out of her ass, I knew it was over.

I am a reasonable guy. Very even-tempered, usually. But there are a few things you don't do to me. One of them is try to blackmail me into saying shit I don't mean when we are in mid-fuck.

I was a mindless blob. I was an addict without a crack pipe. A fish pulled out of the water, suffocating. Dom DeLouise without a fork and knife.

I ran to the bathroom, grabbed my cock and masurbated to orgasm. There was no pleasure, no joy in it. It was strictly mechanical. I had come; now, I could think. Somewhat.

I left the bathroom. Lila was on the bed, crying. She knew what she had done.

"That is IT," I said. "It's over. I told you. I TOLD you! And you had to fucking push it, didn't you?!"

"I'm, I'm sorry. I'm fucking SORRY, ok?" she said, sobbing. "I'm sorry I'm in love with you! I'm sorry you are such a fucking commitment-phobic ASSHOLE! I'm sorry you're such a BABY!"

"Get dressed. We're leaving," I said.

I went and showered, and calmed down a bit. Whacked off again in the shower. I took a deep breath and felt better.

I came out of the shower. She was still crying.

"Do you want to go eat," I said.


"It's ok, we can go if you want."

"I said NO!"

"Ok, fine. Let's go."

It was the most awkward hour of my life. Being in a two-seater with someone you are pissed at is really tough. You don't know what to say. So I said nothing, and she said nothing, and we went the whole 60 miles in utter silence.

We arrived at her house. "Looks like your mom is gone," I said.


"Goodbye, Lila," I said.

"Bye, Steve," she said, her voice breaking. She picked up her dress and got out of the car.

As she strode up the walkway, it looked just like the final scene of a movie or TV show. I was supposed to feel a sense of loss, or anger, or bitterness. But I felt basically nothing, except for a little resentment at how she had tried to trap me, and a vague sense of happiness that I was totally unencumbered again. There were more Lila's out there; I knew it. And now, I was free to pursue them.

I wonder if she will show up for work on Monday.