Fear
Anatomy is Destiny
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This is the sixth story I have posted. Since it is my 400th post, and 4 is the best number, this is a special one.
As always, and you can post that fat "Tales from the Basement" nigger clasping his hands like a goofy ass monk all you want, everything described herein is true.
My other stories, along with a FAQ, are linked at the end of this post. Let me know if you want to be tagged in future stories.
Last winter, I was invited as a +1 to a New Year's party in Malibu. I didn't know the hosts or any of the guests besides my date, but I looked up the estate where it was being held and it was beautiful, so I figured someone involved with this thing had some money. And morally onerous opportunist that I am, I'd never pass up a chance to sidle up to anyone with a shit-ton of money.
The party ended up being nothing to write home about. There were a lot of types I figured were in the entertainment business, shallow and remarkably true to caricature, so I mostly spent my time ignoring my date and ingratiating myself with the hosts. They were women, both around 25, both average-looking, and though they were friendly, they were quite circumspect about what they did for a living. Based on that and their very deliberate efforts to exude an air of refinement, I guessed that they came from rough stock, but had worked their way up into their current social circle through involvement in some probably sketchy shit. In any event, I didn't pry, and ultimately, I didn't really care.
As the evening wore on, the more attractive of the two flirted with me a little bit. It never translated into more than a quick kiss, but she did genuinely seem to enjoy talking to me. She felt she could "relax" around me, she said. As an aside, the frequency with which I'm told that, combined with how it couldn't be further from what's advisable in my company, never fails to make me laugh. Anyway, she was mildly interesting, or maybe just mentally ill like me, and we ended up talking until around 4 in the morning when I was the last to leave.
We exchanged numbers and texted occasionally after that, but I didn't see her for another few months. Then, just weeks before the global lockdown, I went on a business trip to London. She happened to be there as well. She showed me around and invited me back to her apartment a couple of times, just to hang out as a friend, and I was fine with that. I was busy with work and it was nice just to know someone in the area. Then, a week before my trip was over, she told me about a party her friend was hosting and asked if I would come.
The plan was to meet my friend and her group at the party. The host, she told me, worked in music, and as for how they knew each other, I never found out. I showed up around 10 PM and initially thought I was in the wrong place. It was a large and well-appointed house, gated, with a long roundabout driveway and some acreage. I guess I expected some kind of townhouse affair, but I wasn't complaining. Anyway, I waited outside a while for my friend. The front door to the house was open, so I could've gone in, but the music was booming inside and it seemed like it was packed with people.
My texts to my friend went unanswered, so with some reluctance, I went inside to just get the night over with. The music was skull-poundingly loud, and between that and the accents, I was finding it impossible to actually talk to anyone. Still, I hung around. I suppose I could've left, but I had nothing else to do that weekend and had told my friend I wouldn't flake.
It was only minutes before I needed some fresh air. I'd seen a balcony on the third floor when I came in, so I worked my way up the stairs and through the crowd of guests to get there. As a bonus, I figured, perhaps by standing there alone, I might look cool and introspective, and draw someone like-minded to break off and join me. Once there, I withdrew a cigarette I'd taken from my friend's apartment and stuck it in my mouth to complete the persona. I don't smoke so I didn't light it, I just kind of chewed on it and pretended to.
I leaned over the railing and watched the comings and goings for a while. A couple of times, when I thought someone might have been approaching, it was just a couple come outside to kiss in private. After 15 or 20 minutes, the music inside had been turned up even louder, and my friend and our group still hadn't shown up. I was now sufficiently bored and contemplated leaving altogether.
I stood up as tall as I could to survey the crowd for one last sign of my friend when I instead saw two girls heading toward me. Once they were in front of me, I noticed two things. First, they looked young enough to be in high school — nearly half my age. I have absolutely no problem with that, just saying. Second, one of them was downright stunning. They both had a done-up UK party girl look, but the one was really a head-turner.
For starters, she was tan as fuck. I mean, it was a good tan, but even one shade darker and it would've been tacky. She was also cute, very cute. Feminine, neotenous, decent bone structure — besides an overly contoured nose (goddamn MUA generation), there was really nothing to complain about. Finally, her figure. What can I say? You can see the pictures. If she had a boyfriend, I would've killed him to get with a body like that. Actually, that probably doesn't mean much coming from me, but you know what I mean. Petite, a little meat on her arms and thighs, phenomenal tits and ass. There was even something in the flow of her curves that made me suspect she was silicone-free. Either way, I was quite impressed indeed.
I nodded once at them as they approached. I figured that using actual words would be at odds with my mysterious-cigarette-balcony image, then I reconsidered.
"Hi," I said, eloquent orator that I am. @Ritalincel would've been proud.
"Can I take a drag?" the hot girl asked.
"Oh, uh," I removed the cigarette from my mouth. I hadn't prepared for anyone wanting to actually smoke it.
She and her friend laughed at me. "Looks like you had it backwards anyway." I examined the cigarette and frowned. Apparently the end I was chewing on was the filter and was meant to face outward.
"Fuck you," I said, laughing. Normally I was quick to set a standard for sophisticated sexual banter, but between the noise and the late hour, I was being lazy.
"What're you doing out here by yourself? You're missing all the fun," the friend said.
I explained that I was waiting until everyone was drunk enough for me to get away with stealing stuff. It was a stupid joke, but they both giggled. And despite my disinterest in the evening so far, I found myself smiling, too. I guess there's just something irresistible about girls when they're young. That short window of time when they're still girly but sexual, playful and pure and not yet jaded. The net effect is very disarming, perhaps more than anything else there is in life.
They introduced themselves to me. The girl was from somewhere I didn't catch in Essex, and had come to visit the friend in London. From what I've gathered since, people (or at least girls) from Essex are not exactly held in high regard throughout the UK, but as an egocentric American, there was nothing I could have cared less about than the cultural geography of England. Also, I happened to be totally absorbed by features more, ah, salient than the reputation of her hometown. Namely, the enormously squeezable globes of tit and ass flesh standing a foot and a half away from me.
They were were both obviously young, but had neglected to mention their ages. "You guys are like what, 15? Should you even be here?" I teased. The friend was 19, but the girl was 18 and not yet out of high school even a year. Fucking hell, I thought, and had to stop myself from biting my fist like Leo in Wolf in Wall Street. We kept talking for 10 or 15 minutes, and then I addressed the girl directly: "That's quite a tan, I have to ask, is that from melanotan? Or do you even know what that is?"
As a matter of fact, it was. Her sister was an aesthetician and had shown her how to inject it. Given that so many of my personal interests had given way to an exclusive focus on looksmaxxing, I actually felt some interest in the topic of discussion for the first time. This brightened my mood considerably. Apparently melanotan use is much more common there than in the States, so we began talking about other peptides and things. At some point, her friend left us alone and went back inside.
We sat down eventually on a small stone bench on the balcony, facing the party with our backs to the street. As the conversation meandered, I tried not to reveal the full extent of my looks-related knowledge or efforts, for all the obvious reasons. Unfortunately, I have a way of speaking that defies any attempt to obscure my overwhelming brainpower, and in short order I was running my mouth about all kinds of anti-aging chemicals and what-not.
"Wow, so, you really take care of yourself. Well, you look good, how old are you, then?"
"Take a guess."
"Have you had any work done? Have you got fillers?"
"Hah, that's funny," I dodged, "just guess."
She looked me over. "Mmmmmmmmmmmmm... you're...... 24. 24? 25, max."
"Wow," I evaded again, "great guess." While I'm awful at shutting my mouth, I am a rather good actor, and succeeded, I think, in concealing my pleasure at her tremendous underestimation.
"Well, I've been wanting to get botox right here," she said, pointing a bit drunkenly to her forehead and glabella, "but my dad won't let me."
Moron, I thought to myself. "You should do whatever makes you feel comfortable," I said aloud.
"And, I think I need a nose job, too." I asked if I could see. I told her my cousin was a renowned rhinoplasty surgeon, so I'd learned a thing or two myself. It was obvious that it was bullshit, but really, who the hell cares.
She turned toward me and closed her eyes. I cradled her face in my hands, very slowly stroking her cheeks with my fingers. I did examine her nose — a small part of the middle third was collapsed on each side — but the exercise was mostly an excuse to flirt.
"Yes, there is a bit of collapse here," I said, "It's probably an easy fix."
"Oh, that's good... You have really soft hands," she murmured.
This was true. "It's from a lifetime of avoiding manual labor."
I let go. She scooted closer to me and rested her head on my shoulder. After a few seconds, I put an arm around her waist as naturally as I could. I waited for resistance, but none came.
I held her there in silence for a bit. Then she grunted and kind of massaged her bra cups. "My boobs get so big this time of the month. Do you know anything that could help?"
This is the one time I don't remember what I said exactly, as the sudden digression to the topic of her massive milkers must've short-circuited my brain. I think, however, that I managed some sort of casual response.
She kept talking louder and louder. "They get bigger and swollen and it's really sensitive. It's a girl thing. Can't you tell? They're really juicy." She emphasized "juicy" and adjusted her dress so they jiggled up and down to prove her point.
"Sort of... why don't we head out so I can examine them the old-fashioned way?"
She laughed so hard she snorted. I got the impression that this was closer to her real self. When she stopped laughing, she closed her eyes and leaned in to kiss me.
"Ahh..." I let go of her waist and drew back a bit.
I wasn't shy about making out in public — hell, I would've done a lot more to her on the spot — but didn't for a very simple reason: I was recovering (6 weeks post-op) from a lip lift, and I was paranoid about protecting the result. So though I didn't mean to leave her hanging, my first priority in my life, ALWAYS, was myself and my appearance.
She naturally looked a little embarrassed, and turned away to watch the party. I knew if I didn't say something immediately, it was over.
"I actually just had some surgery on my lip... so I'm a little wary of making out right now."
She turned back and studied the area, but didn't say anything. I quickly added, "I cut my lip boxing and they had to reattach part of it. MMA. It was pretty crazy." Besides making no sense, if you knew me in person, you'd know this would easily rank among the least believable lies ever told by man.
At that moment, her friend returned. She was clearly on her way to shitfaced. "Aw," she slurred, "look at the two lovebirds."
For an instant, I burned to run down this insolent little shit of a friend and rip her fucking throat out. But the feeling passed as quickly as it came, and the girl said something vague to signal politely that we didn't feel like talking to her.
"She's so fucking annoying," the girl said, when the friend had wandered back inside.
"Eh, she's all right. She's just drunk."
"No, she's fucking annoying, I always pay for everything when we go out, or when we take trips... I don't even know her that well. I honestly want to get rid of her as a friend but don't know how."
I wanted to get down on my knees and ask the friend's forgiveness for ever doubting her.
"Well, I know a way to start." I stood up and offered my hand.
We took a Lyft back to my friend's apartment. I could've taken her back to my hotel, but with an 18-year-old, doing that would've struck me as... clinical. I also didn't want her to know where I was really staying, just in case. When we got there, there was some dude, shirtless, passed out on the couch downstairs with the TV on. He had a stupid haircut, but he was maybe 20 and skinny and looked like he could be one of my friend's friends, so I ignored it. My friend was nowhere to be found, so we went upstairs to a guest bedroom and shut the door.
I'm not going to delve into the sexual particulars of this specific experience. I will relate the foreplay, however, since it had a ripple effect on my life in a very significant way.
We climbed on the bed and she tried to initiate kissing again. I held her for a moment by her shoulders. "Just be careful," I warned. "Remember that I'm healing."
"I can be gentle," she teased. I decided I would trust her.
We had been kissing for about 20 seconds when I felt her gradually getting rougher, mashing her face into mine with more pressure. I tried to deescalate by meeting her movements with softer ones, but she wasn't having it. Anxiety started to creep in. I tried to say something to get her to back off, but it just came out muffled. I finally stopped feeling her up in case I needed to pry myself from her, while she was just rubbing my dick through my pants harder and harder. Finally, I put my hands on her shoulders again and started to push her away. She seemed to get the message at last, but before she was finished, she took my upper lip between hers and sucked it with a "pop."
Now, before I continue, let me clarify something. Despite what I've shared about the... darker caverns of my mind, it really does take a lot to stir me to physical acts of anger. I mean that. When it does hit, though, I have a temper that jumps from 0 to 100. And in this case, I was NOT going to let some fucking slag shit all over the time and money and suffering I had sunk into extricating myself from the lot in life of the ugly.
In a flash I pinned her down with my forearm and grabbed her jaw with my other hand. Her lips pouted out from having her face squeezed. "Never fucking do that again," I seethed, my face just inches from hers. She stared at me, and after a few seconds of silence, laughed. I stared back, and eventually climbed off of her. She lay there and just kept laughing. Listening to her, I could feel some of my horniness turning to bloodlust. She thought life was just one big fucking game.
However... we soon made out again like nothing had happened. I was extremely attracted to her, but I knew it wasn't a good idea. She'd proven quite quickly that she couldn't be trusted and, worse, I wasn't in control. This time around, at least, she wasn't yet sucking on my lip, so I started to believe that she'd gotten the message. As it grew more passionate, she started whimpering and grinding her tits and her pelvis into me, arching and weaving in a rhythm like a snake. She got louder, faster, her breathing more ragged, and with her mouth still attached to my face, and I reached under her dress and squeezed her butt. I was intoxicated, losing myself in the moment, and had just submitted to it when—
"FUCK!" I yelled.
I pushed her off me into the headboard and caught my breath for a few seconds. A taste metallic was pooling under my tongue. I felt around in my mouth and withdrew my thumb to find it covered in blood. She had bit my lower lip. She'd bit it so hard that I'd bled.
"What the fuck are you doing, you psycho?" I screamed.
She had been smiling, but now she looked hurt. "I'm not a psycho," she murmured. She crawled off the headboard and lay down on her stomach, wiggling her butt at me. "I just need to be disciplined." She had her face in a pillow, but I could see the corner of her smiling to herself. Forget every word of that shit I said about girls being pure and sweet and all that.
As I continued to catch my breath and gauge the damage to my lip, I considered my options. I tried to think rationally, but I was seeing red. This little tart didn't respect me at all. She had no idea what I'd had to endure to get where I was and would probably never come close to having an idea in her whole life. Like I said, life was just a fucking game to her. It wasn't right, and made my head spin. It wasn't right. How was it fair that she could go through life without suffering? It was absurd! No matter what she did or how little she tried, she would have opportunities showered on her, carpets rolled out for her, gifts lavished upon her... all because of what? A few millimeters of bone and a few pounds of fat?... Yes, I thought. Yes, that's right. All because of her genetics.
My mind began racing.
"Are you on birth control?"
She groaned and look back at me. "No, that stuff makes my period worse. I told you my boobs are already sore and everything."
"That's fine," I said automatically. "I have a condom."
Though my dick was still working, I wasn't even horny anymore. I unceremoniously threw my clothes in a heap and opened a condom wrapper. I stretched the condom until I made it snap aloud like a rubber band, then I hid it in my pants pocket. I kept my eyes on her to make sure she wasn't watching. Finally, without warning, I climbed back on the bed behind her and entered her raw.
She yelped. She was wet, but tight, and I gave her no chance to adjust to my entire size. "Slow, babe," she moaned quietly, reaching back with her hand. "Please go slower..."
"No," I breathed. "No."
Two days layer, my work recalled me early from my trip due to concerns about the pandemic. I flew home after saying good-bye to my friend from Malibu, and never saw the girl from the party again.
The weeks dragged by after I got home. I thought a little about what I'd done the night of the party, but mostly put it out of mind. It wasn't the consequences that bothered me so much as the uncertainty, for once, over what I was doing with my romantic life.
A couple of extraordinary things happened after that. First, I met a girl and fell totally in love with her. I can't disclose the exact conditions surrounding how we met — they're so unusual they could be used to identify me, and I've discussed them with too many people I know offline — but it was so uncanny that I took it as a kind of sign from fate. From the first words she said to me, she's captivated me in every way a woman and a person can, and I am at last comfortable — encouraged, even — to be my true and entire self around her.
Second, I heard from the girl from the party. I was actually moderately impressed because I hadn't given her my phone number, but, that's neither here nor there. She texted me to tell me she was pregnant, and she was livid.
I was calm, all things considered, because it was in fact my intent to get her pregnant that night. I had weighed making her suffer against taking a more selfless route, and found a way to kill both birds with one stone: I would give my offspring the gift of genes far better than my own, and she would bear the burden of judgment — either from others or herself — for once in her privileged, easy life.
While I got what I wanted in the end, the drama of it all caused me to reassess my life, especially the value of having a rare person you can fully, fully trust. I had finally found that person in the girl I met when I got back home, and I decided I wouldn't let her go. After 8 weeks of knowing each other, I asked her to marry me, and she agreed.
This doesn't mean my exploits are over. Monogamy only works if you cheat, after all. But at least I can say now that the next time I bring a child into the world, it will be born of love, not hate. And the best part of all of this? Both of my lips ended up healing and looking great.
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As always, and you can post that fat "Tales from the Basement" nigger clasping his hands like a goofy ass monk all you want, everything described herein is true.
My other stories, along with a FAQ, are linked at the end of this post. Let me know if you want to be tagged in future stories.
Last winter, I was invited as a +1 to a New Year's party in Malibu. I didn't know the hosts or any of the guests besides my date, but I looked up the estate where it was being held and it was beautiful, so I figured someone involved with this thing had some money. And morally onerous opportunist that I am, I'd never pass up a chance to sidle up to anyone with a shit-ton of money.
The party ended up being nothing to write home about. There were a lot of types I figured were in the entertainment business, shallow and remarkably true to caricature, so I mostly spent my time ignoring my date and ingratiating myself with the hosts. They were women, both around 25, both average-looking, and though they were friendly, they were quite circumspect about what they did for a living. Based on that and their very deliberate efforts to exude an air of refinement, I guessed that they came from rough stock, but had worked their way up into their current social circle through involvement in some probably sketchy shit. In any event, I didn't pry, and ultimately, I didn't really care.
As the evening wore on, the more attractive of the two flirted with me a little bit. It never translated into more than a quick kiss, but she did genuinely seem to enjoy talking to me. She felt she could "relax" around me, she said. As an aside, the frequency with which I'm told that, combined with how it couldn't be further from what's advisable in my company, never fails to make me laugh. Anyway, she was mildly interesting, or maybe just mentally ill like me, and we ended up talking until around 4 in the morning when I was the last to leave.
We exchanged numbers and texted occasionally after that, but I didn't see her for another few months. Then, just weeks before the global lockdown, I went on a business trip to London. She happened to be there as well. She showed me around and invited me back to her apartment a couple of times, just to hang out as a friend, and I was fine with that. I was busy with work and it was nice just to know someone in the area. Then, a week before my trip was over, she told me about a party her friend was hosting and asked if I would come.
The plan was to meet my friend and her group at the party. The host, she told me, worked in music, and as for how they knew each other, I never found out. I showed up around 10 PM and initially thought I was in the wrong place. It was a large and well-appointed house, gated, with a long roundabout driveway and some acreage. I guess I expected some kind of townhouse affair, but I wasn't complaining. Anyway, I waited outside a while for my friend. The front door to the house was open, so I could've gone in, but the music was booming inside and it seemed like it was packed with people.
My texts to my friend went unanswered, so with some reluctance, I went inside to just get the night over with. The music was skull-poundingly loud, and between that and the accents, I was finding it impossible to actually talk to anyone. Still, I hung around. I suppose I could've left, but I had nothing else to do that weekend and had told my friend I wouldn't flake.
It was only minutes before I needed some fresh air. I'd seen a balcony on the third floor when I came in, so I worked my way up the stairs and through the crowd of guests to get there. As a bonus, I figured, perhaps by standing there alone, I might look cool and introspective, and draw someone like-minded to break off and join me. Once there, I withdrew a cigarette I'd taken from my friend's apartment and stuck it in my mouth to complete the persona. I don't smoke so I didn't light it, I just kind of chewed on it and pretended to.
I leaned over the railing and watched the comings and goings for a while. A couple of times, when I thought someone might have been approaching, it was just a couple come outside to kiss in private. After 15 or 20 minutes, the music inside had been turned up even louder, and my friend and our group still hadn't shown up. I was now sufficiently bored and contemplated leaving altogether.
I stood up as tall as I could to survey the crowd for one last sign of my friend when I instead saw two girls heading toward me. Once they were in front of me, I noticed two things. First, they looked young enough to be in high school — nearly half my age. I have absolutely no problem with that, just saying. Second, one of them was downright stunning. They both had a done-up UK party girl look, but the one was really a head-turner.
For starters, she was tan as fuck. I mean, it was a good tan, but even one shade darker and it would've been tacky. She was also cute, very cute. Feminine, neotenous, decent bone structure — besides an overly contoured nose (goddamn MUA generation), there was really nothing to complain about. Finally, her figure. What can I say? You can see the pictures. If she had a boyfriend, I would've killed him to get with a body like that. Actually, that probably doesn't mean much coming from me, but you know what I mean. Petite, a little meat on her arms and thighs, phenomenal tits and ass. There was even something in the flow of her curves that made me suspect she was silicone-free. Either way, I was quite impressed indeed.
I nodded once at them as they approached. I figured that using actual words would be at odds with my mysterious-cigarette-balcony image, then I reconsidered.
"Hi," I said, eloquent orator that I am. @Ritalincel would've been proud.
"Can I take a drag?" the hot girl asked.
"Oh, uh," I removed the cigarette from my mouth. I hadn't prepared for anyone wanting to actually smoke it.
She and her friend laughed at me. "Looks like you had it backwards anyway." I examined the cigarette and frowned. Apparently the end I was chewing on was the filter and was meant to face outward.
"Fuck you," I said, laughing. Normally I was quick to set a standard for sophisticated sexual banter, but between the noise and the late hour, I was being lazy.
"What're you doing out here by yourself? You're missing all the fun," the friend said.
I explained that I was waiting until everyone was drunk enough for me to get away with stealing stuff. It was a stupid joke, but they both giggled. And despite my disinterest in the evening so far, I found myself smiling, too. I guess there's just something irresistible about girls when they're young. That short window of time when they're still girly but sexual, playful and pure and not yet jaded. The net effect is very disarming, perhaps more than anything else there is in life.
They introduced themselves to me. The girl was from somewhere I didn't catch in Essex, and had come to visit the friend in London. From what I've gathered since, people (or at least girls) from Essex are not exactly held in high regard throughout the UK, but as an egocentric American, there was nothing I could have cared less about than the cultural geography of England. Also, I happened to be totally absorbed by features more, ah, salient than the reputation of her hometown. Namely, the enormously squeezable globes of tit and ass flesh standing a foot and a half away from me.
They were were both obviously young, but had neglected to mention their ages. "You guys are like what, 15? Should you even be here?" I teased. The friend was 19, but the girl was 18 and not yet out of high school even a year. Fucking hell, I thought, and had to stop myself from biting my fist like Leo in Wolf in Wall Street. We kept talking for 10 or 15 minutes, and then I addressed the girl directly: "That's quite a tan, I have to ask, is that from melanotan? Or do you even know what that is?"
As a matter of fact, it was. Her sister was an aesthetician and had shown her how to inject it. Given that so many of my personal interests had given way to an exclusive focus on looksmaxxing, I actually felt some interest in the topic of discussion for the first time. This brightened my mood considerably. Apparently melanotan use is much more common there than in the States, so we began talking about other peptides and things. At some point, her friend left us alone and went back inside.
We sat down eventually on a small stone bench on the balcony, facing the party with our backs to the street. As the conversation meandered, I tried not to reveal the full extent of my looks-related knowledge or efforts, for all the obvious reasons. Unfortunately, I have a way of speaking that defies any attempt to obscure my overwhelming brainpower, and in short order I was running my mouth about all kinds of anti-aging chemicals and what-not.
"Wow, so, you really take care of yourself. Well, you look good, how old are you, then?"
"Take a guess."
"Have you had any work done? Have you got fillers?"
"Hah, that's funny," I dodged, "just guess."
She looked me over. "Mmmmmmmmmmmmm... you're...... 24. 24? 25, max."
"Wow," I evaded again, "great guess." While I'm awful at shutting my mouth, I am a rather good actor, and succeeded, I think, in concealing my pleasure at her tremendous underestimation.
"Well, I've been wanting to get botox right here," she said, pointing a bit drunkenly to her forehead and glabella, "but my dad won't let me."
Moron, I thought to myself. "You should do whatever makes you feel comfortable," I said aloud.
"And, I think I need a nose job, too." I asked if I could see. I told her my cousin was a renowned rhinoplasty surgeon, so I'd learned a thing or two myself. It was obvious that it was bullshit, but really, who the hell cares.
She turned toward me and closed her eyes. I cradled her face in my hands, very slowly stroking her cheeks with my fingers. I did examine her nose — a small part of the middle third was collapsed on each side — but the exercise was mostly an excuse to flirt.
"Yes, there is a bit of collapse here," I said, "It's probably an easy fix."
"Oh, that's good... You have really soft hands," she murmured.
This was true. "It's from a lifetime of avoiding manual labor."
I let go. She scooted closer to me and rested her head on my shoulder. After a few seconds, I put an arm around her waist as naturally as I could. I waited for resistance, but none came.
I held her there in silence for a bit. Then she grunted and kind of massaged her bra cups. "My boobs get so big this time of the month. Do you know anything that could help?"
This is the one time I don't remember what I said exactly, as the sudden digression to the topic of her massive milkers must've short-circuited my brain. I think, however, that I managed some sort of casual response.
She kept talking louder and louder. "They get bigger and swollen and it's really sensitive. It's a girl thing. Can't you tell? They're really juicy." She emphasized "juicy" and adjusted her dress so they jiggled up and down to prove her point.
"Sort of... why don't we head out so I can examine them the old-fashioned way?"
She laughed so hard she snorted. I got the impression that this was closer to her real self. When she stopped laughing, she closed her eyes and leaned in to kiss me.
"Ahh..." I let go of her waist and drew back a bit.
I wasn't shy about making out in public — hell, I would've done a lot more to her on the spot — but didn't for a very simple reason: I was recovering (6 weeks post-op) from a lip lift, and I was paranoid about protecting the result. So though I didn't mean to leave her hanging, my first priority in my life, ALWAYS, was myself and my appearance.
She naturally looked a little embarrassed, and turned away to watch the party. I knew if I didn't say something immediately, it was over.
"I actually just had some surgery on my lip... so I'm a little wary of making out right now."
She turned back and studied the area, but didn't say anything. I quickly added, "I cut my lip boxing and they had to reattach part of it. MMA. It was pretty crazy." Besides making no sense, if you knew me in person, you'd know this would easily rank among the least believable lies ever told by man.
At that moment, her friend returned. She was clearly on her way to shitfaced. "Aw," she slurred, "look at the two lovebirds."
For an instant, I burned to run down this insolent little shit of a friend and rip her fucking throat out. But the feeling passed as quickly as it came, and the girl said something vague to signal politely that we didn't feel like talking to her.
"She's so fucking annoying," the girl said, when the friend had wandered back inside.
"Eh, she's all right. She's just drunk."
"No, she's fucking annoying, I always pay for everything when we go out, or when we take trips... I don't even know her that well. I honestly want to get rid of her as a friend but don't know how."
I wanted to get down on my knees and ask the friend's forgiveness for ever doubting her.
"Well, I know a way to start." I stood up and offered my hand.
We took a Lyft back to my friend's apartment. I could've taken her back to my hotel, but with an 18-year-old, doing that would've struck me as... clinical. I also didn't want her to know where I was really staying, just in case. When we got there, there was some dude, shirtless, passed out on the couch downstairs with the TV on. He had a stupid haircut, but he was maybe 20 and skinny and looked like he could be one of my friend's friends, so I ignored it. My friend was nowhere to be found, so we went upstairs to a guest bedroom and shut the door.
I'm not going to delve into the sexual particulars of this specific experience. I will relate the foreplay, however, since it had a ripple effect on my life in a very significant way.
We climbed on the bed and she tried to initiate kissing again. I held her for a moment by her shoulders. "Just be careful," I warned. "Remember that I'm healing."
"I can be gentle," she teased. I decided I would trust her.
We had been kissing for about 20 seconds when I felt her gradually getting rougher, mashing her face into mine with more pressure. I tried to deescalate by meeting her movements with softer ones, but she wasn't having it. Anxiety started to creep in. I tried to say something to get her to back off, but it just came out muffled. I finally stopped feeling her up in case I needed to pry myself from her, while she was just rubbing my dick through my pants harder and harder. Finally, I put my hands on her shoulders again and started to push her away. She seemed to get the message at last, but before she was finished, she took my upper lip between hers and sucked it with a "pop."
Now, before I continue, let me clarify something. Despite what I've shared about the... darker caverns of my mind, it really does take a lot to stir me to physical acts of anger. I mean that. When it does hit, though, I have a temper that jumps from 0 to 100. And in this case, I was NOT going to let some fucking slag shit all over the time and money and suffering I had sunk into extricating myself from the lot in life of the ugly.
In a flash I pinned her down with my forearm and grabbed her jaw with my other hand. Her lips pouted out from having her face squeezed. "Never fucking do that again," I seethed, my face just inches from hers. She stared at me, and after a few seconds of silence, laughed. I stared back, and eventually climbed off of her. She lay there and just kept laughing. Listening to her, I could feel some of my horniness turning to bloodlust. She thought life was just one big fucking game.
However... we soon made out again like nothing had happened. I was extremely attracted to her, but I knew it wasn't a good idea. She'd proven quite quickly that she couldn't be trusted and, worse, I wasn't in control. This time around, at least, she wasn't yet sucking on my lip, so I started to believe that she'd gotten the message. As it grew more passionate, she started whimpering and grinding her tits and her pelvis into me, arching and weaving in a rhythm like a snake. She got louder, faster, her breathing more ragged, and with her mouth still attached to my face, and I reached under her dress and squeezed her butt. I was intoxicated, losing myself in the moment, and had just submitted to it when—
"FUCK!" I yelled.
I pushed her off me into the headboard and caught my breath for a few seconds. A taste metallic was pooling under my tongue. I felt around in my mouth and withdrew my thumb to find it covered in blood. She had bit my lower lip. She'd bit it so hard that I'd bled.
"What the fuck are you doing, you psycho?" I screamed.
She had been smiling, but now she looked hurt. "I'm not a psycho," she murmured. She crawled off the headboard and lay down on her stomach, wiggling her butt at me. "I just need to be disciplined." She had her face in a pillow, but I could see the corner of her smiling to herself. Forget every word of that shit I said about girls being pure and sweet and all that.
As I continued to catch my breath and gauge the damage to my lip, I considered my options. I tried to think rationally, but I was seeing red. This little tart didn't respect me at all. She had no idea what I'd had to endure to get where I was and would probably never come close to having an idea in her whole life. Like I said, life was just a fucking game to her. It wasn't right, and made my head spin. It wasn't right. How was it fair that she could go through life without suffering? It was absurd! No matter what she did or how little she tried, she would have opportunities showered on her, carpets rolled out for her, gifts lavished upon her... all because of what? A few millimeters of bone and a few pounds of fat?... Yes, I thought. Yes, that's right. All because of her genetics.
My mind began racing.
"Are you on birth control?"
She groaned and look back at me. "No, that stuff makes my period worse. I told you my boobs are already sore and everything."
"That's fine," I said automatically. "I have a condom."
Though my dick was still working, I wasn't even horny anymore. I unceremoniously threw my clothes in a heap and opened a condom wrapper. I stretched the condom until I made it snap aloud like a rubber band, then I hid it in my pants pocket. I kept my eyes on her to make sure she wasn't watching. Finally, without warning, I climbed back on the bed behind her and entered her raw.
She yelped. She was wet, but tight, and I gave her no chance to adjust to my entire size. "Slow, babe," she moaned quietly, reaching back with her hand. "Please go slower..."
"No," I breathed. "No."
Two days layer, my work recalled me early from my trip due to concerns about the pandemic. I flew home after saying good-bye to my friend from Malibu, and never saw the girl from the party again.
The weeks dragged by after I got home. I thought a little about what I'd done the night of the party, but mostly put it out of mind. It wasn't the consequences that bothered me so much as the uncertainty, for once, over what I was doing with my romantic life.
A couple of extraordinary things happened after that. First, I met a girl and fell totally in love with her. I can't disclose the exact conditions surrounding how we met — they're so unusual they could be used to identify me, and I've discussed them with too many people I know offline — but it was so uncanny that I took it as a kind of sign from fate. From the first words she said to me, she's captivated me in every way a woman and a person can, and I am at last comfortable — encouraged, even — to be my true and entire self around her.
Second, I heard from the girl from the party. I was actually moderately impressed because I hadn't given her my phone number, but, that's neither here nor there. She texted me to tell me she was pregnant, and she was livid.
I was calm, all things considered, because it was in fact my intent to get her pregnant that night. I had weighed making her suffer against taking a more selfless route, and found a way to kill both birds with one stone: I would give my offspring the gift of genes far better than my own, and she would bear the burden of judgment — either from others or herself — for once in her privileged, easy life.
While I got what I wanted in the end, the drama of it all caused me to reassess my life, especially the value of having a rare person you can fully, fully trust. I had finally found that person in the girl I met when I got back home, and I decided I wouldn't let her go. After 8 weeks of knowing each other, I asked her to marry me, and she agreed.
This doesn't mean my exploits are over. Monogamy only works if you cheat, after all. But at least I can say now that the next time I bring a child into the world, it will be born of love, not hate. And the best part of all of this? Both of my lips ended up healing and looking great.
My stories:
Darkness Rises Arc:
- The brutal rejection that led me to get surgeries
- The first date I had after 5 years of surgeries
- The revenge I exacted on a girl who snubbed me
- The story of a girl I blackmailed and loved
- The discovery of the last and darkest blackpill
FAQ:
You really categorized your own posts into "arcs?" Are you fucking retarded?
- Yeah that's right, u mirin? tbh tbh
- 3 PSL pre-surgeries; 6, max 6.25 post-surgeries; 5'10", older than most people here, look very young. Closer to pretty boy than anything.
- I've admitted to multiple felonies here, including rape, three murders, mail fraud, and probably others I now forget. So, no.
- Kitchen sink-plasty, seriously, go look it up, I answer this like every 10 posts
- Yes, but I'm not bothered if you don't believe them or want to waste your own posts saying you don't believe them. My only goal is to entertain.
- I'm just a disillusioned idealist. That's all.
Tags:
@Blackout.xl @SubhumanCurrycel @Dylan2 @Warlow @JizzFarmer @PYT @Robert California @sytyl @benchortable @Slayerino @thecel @baruch @kilgrave @Britishlooksmaxxer @alex569 @Vidyacoper @laske.7 @alexjones @Native @Spartacus1- @stuckneworleans @Beetlejuice @Gargantuan @NewParasite @Got the hunter eyes @DharkDC @Thongmaster
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