Fiction - NiN

We're both surprised that the room isn't very large. Like a small theatre, kinda.

It's an odd-shaped room, with numerous black fixtures jutting out from the the dirty white walls; An number of round floor-to-ceiling pillars, and a small black bar, help create an awkward atmosphere. This isn't our scene. We're the "sit at the bar, and chat with friends" kinda people. Not this. It doesn't help that we think people are staring at us. And jesus, do the people look strange.

You're all decked out in black, small hints of goth-like makeup (because you know it turns me on) applied under your eyes and to your lips. I'm having a hard time keeping my eyes off your leather-clad ass. I don't know if it's the way you intenionally sway your hips, the two shots we've knocked back, or just the way your perfume smelled on the way here, but I can't seem to keep my hands off you.

You don't mind.

The opening act thankfully finishes, and the set-up for NiN is done quickly. We plow through another set of drinks, just as Trent and the boys get on stage to thunderous applause. From underneath the balcony, we can see them fairly well. Through the mess of drugged-out, goth-looking men and women and the fog machine, we catch occasional glimpses of the band. The first song is something off their new album, nothing special.

The second song, though... Ah, that sounds like something we know, doesn't it? As the familiar music takes off, I close my eyes, and just let the bass ride over me. The words pour out of his mouth like the best kind-of sins; It's all about the things people want to do to themselves, and to each other. I open my eyes and turn to you.

I need to touch you.

I grab you by the arm, and pull you backwards against the wall. The room is full of crevices and holes where two people can hide if they want. Add in the drugged-out concertgoers, and heavy fog, noone can see us.

And I wouldn't care if they could.

As my hand slides over your stomach, I lean down to kiss your neck. Your body shifts backwards, ass pressing into my crotch. Between the alcohol, the music, and the setting, it's as if noone else is there. My fingers move under your shirt, rubbing your stomach slowly. Your body stiffens, as you decide whether or not to let me continue with my molestation of your body. When you feel my fingers gently graze your bra, you attempt to put the brakes on.

"Stop." You hiss.

"They're all drunk, high, or both. Noone can see us in the shadows." I argue convincingly. I think, under normal circumstances, you wouldn't let me get away with it, but the alcohol is already having it's effect on you. Not to mention the way the band plays. It as if they use their instruments just to encourage decadence. They stand up there, soaking in the admiration, and reciprocate by pouring lust into the crowds like it was water. Through the rhythms and sounds and words, you and I grind against each other wantingly.

So when my hand grabs your breast and squeezes, you give in. Intoxicated by the alcohol, lost in the music, or just caught up in the moment... it doesn't really matter. Our bodies begin a slow, rhythmic dance, as my fingers press into your bra-covered tit. You press backwards, ass rubbing into me, as your head tilts back onto my shoulder. Your fingers grab my forearm and stroke it gently, while my hand squeezes and twists your breast. My head tilts downward so my mouth can press against your neck. I nibble slightly, as you let out a small sigh.

The music pauses, then continues into another familiar song. Your body tenses, as people wander by. They either can't see us, or are too fucked-up to care. Excellent. My other hand slides under your shirt and unclasps your bra. I chuckle into your neck, as my fingers find your semi-naked breasts. I drag my nails over them slowly, while your back arches. Your bra hangs off your frame as I tug it off you, and stuff it into my back pocket.

My fingers return to your shirt-covered breasts, where I find hard nipples. My mouth sucks on your ear, as my fingers firmly twist those hard points; I raise my hand and pull on your breasts, lifting away from your chest. Even with the roaring music, I hear you gasp as a slight twinge of pain meets abject pleasure. My fingers twist the other way, and your body favorably responds by running your nails over my forearm.

My right hand glides down over your stomach and waist where they find your shiny slick pants. My fingers press downwards, rubbing the fabric against you. My fingers move up and down, while my mouth leaves a trail of small bite-marks on you rneck.

Your hand reaches up and grazes my cheek, as you feel the button and zipper on your pants release. I grab your underwear, and pull upwards sharply. You gasp again, body clenching. I push the fabric down slightly, leather pants still clinging to your body. I pull up again quickly, letting the fabric rub against your flesh.

I release the fabric, then push your pants down past your hips. My fingers slide underneath your underwear, and find a surprise.

You're wet.

Mmmm.

My fingers move up and down slowly, teasing your flesh. Under your shirt, my hands alternates between your breasts, teasing flesh, and playing with nipples. My mouth slides up and down your neck, as I find your small spot in-between your legs, and press my finger against it.

It's like flipping a switch, the way your body responds. Once I begin touching you "right there" your body shifts into over drive. Your ass, already grinding against me, pushes back almost violently, as the blood races through your body. I look up briefly, and see nothing but shadows and fog, as the music increases in tempo and intensity. My finger moves up and down, matching the speed of the music; Your body begins to writhe, slight moans escaping from your mouth.

I push down harder, as my lust begins to drive me crazy.

I whisper things in your ear. Things that I want to do to you. Places where I want to touch you. And not just with my fingers. Your body continues it's assault on mine, as you push back hard against me, small moans piercing through the din of crazy fuck-music.

Your hips start to buck, which they do when you get excited. I wrap my arms across your torso, fingers still rubbing up and down, as I feel your body begin to heat it's way towards explosion. We're both lost, as our bodies take over. Wanton need meets craven lust.

You're so close, I can feel you trembling. My hand digs deep into your breasts now. You love it rough, just like me. It's that deep-down, dirty need for release that drives us at times like this.

My finger moves faster, as your body nears eruption. You can feel my poking out of my pants from behind.

"I can't wait to fuck you," My voice whispers hoarsely into your ear. Your jaw drops, and your body sinfully explodes. I can feel the waves riding over you, as you twist in my arms. You ride the high, as you fight the need to curl your toes. You continue twisting back and forth, as you start to come down. I slow my fingers on both your breasts, and in-between your legs, and pull your underwaer back up; your pants follow suit, as I start to put you back together.

You turn around, and attach your mouth to mine. Tongues and lips mash together, as we enjoy a brief respite from the lust. We break away from the kiss and I look down, smiling as I see the heat in your eyes.

"I can't.. believe..." You pant, "We just did that."

I chuckle.

"Want more?" I grin.

Your eyes light up.

"Mm hmm." You reply.

Fiction - Race

Her lithe body shifts under a beam of moonlight. I run a finger along her naked back, while her pale cheeks and waist peek out from under the silk sheets. Dark, straight hair highlights the side of her sleeping face, hiding a pair of ice-cold blue eyes.

I can still taste her on my lips.

A noise from outside the bedroom catches my attention. I pause, hear nothing, and continue running my fingers over her nude form. I think it's time to wake her up and...

Then I hear it again. And then something else.

Ah.

Jesus, are they still going?

I slide out from under the sheets, and tiptoe quietly, trying not to wake her up. Her arm sprawls across the bed, looking for me; She murmurs incomprehensibly, and then resumes her quiet breathing.

She's still asleep. Good.

I walk over to the door, and press my ear against the wood. I close my eyes, concentrating on the noises emanating from the living room. The moaning brings a smirk to my lips.

My right hand reaches in-between my legs, as reach for the door, and crack it open slowly. Through the small gap, I see them on the couch. He's got her hands pinned over her head, sweaty hair tangled in their fingers. Small screeches erupt as he drills into her from above.

Another screech comes from the small Filipino woman, while my friend continues pounding away at her pussy. Christ, and they call me relentless?

I chuckle at the sight of my friends, stiffening when I fell a hand close around my wrist. A soft sensation hits my shoulders, as her hair rests against my skin.

"They going at it again?" She whispered softly, as her fingers move mine out of the way, and begin gently stroking me. Her nipples press against my back, as she watches over my shoulder. Her soft hips grace my flesh, taunting me.

Her lips press against my neck, and I resist the urge to moan. The sensation of her mouth, coupled with the heavy fucking, mere feet away, sends blood roaring through my body.

I reach around behind me and grab her ass, pulling her against my back. She grunts in surprise, and turns sideways, her chest rubbing against my arm and shoulder. My finger slide in-between her legs, rubbing slowly.

She moans audibly, and re-positions herself in front of me. I looked down to see her beautiful ass shimmering towards my hips. She turns her head and smiles.

"Step back," She whispers. I hesitantly take a step backwards, as she reaches down with her right arm, and pulls her right leg up behind her. She wavers slightly on one foot and then opened her mouth.

"Make me cum before she does," She begged, blue eyes lusting at me.

I grabbed my cock, throbbing in response to her plea, and stepped forward. She was tall enough that I didn't need to bend my knees. I looked down in the shadows, presenting my cock to her pussy, and pushed forward slowly.

Her wet and slick hole sucked me in, as she gasped. I could feel her pussy throbbing as I withdrew slightly, then pushed in again.

I look over her shoulder at the other couple, still bucking wild, and started thrusting into her. She grunted and pressed her free hand against the door frame. My body meshed into hers, determined to match the pace of the other couple.

I stepped closer and thrusted deeper. Her head fell forward and she moaned, catching the attention of the couple out in the living room. My buddy looked over, and grinned. He pinned his girl down, and started fucking her quicker.

The gauntlet was thrown. Which one of us would get her there first?

I had to win.

I pushed her leg down, and pulled her ass back. She bent over willingly and murmured to grab her hair. I reached up and grabbed her dark hair.

And then I fucked her. I reveled in the sound of my hips smacking against her ass. My cock throbbed as it pulsed inside her. I watched through the open door, as my buddy attempted to do the same. The two girls were caught between us.

Which one of us would make her cum first?

I smacked her ass, repeatedly. She moaned louder. With each thrust, I could feel her pussy become more and more drenched. Her fingers tried to dig into the wall, as I kept up the steady pace.

I heard the shrieks in the other room hit a fever pitch, and I cursed. I yanked her head back and growled at her.

"Cum for me, you whore."

Her body snapped, as her hips closed around my shaft. Her entire body rippled in front of me, as she shook and cried out.

Her body twisted slightly, as she gasped for air.

I looked over and saw a similar sight. The Filipino girl had her arms and legs wrapped around my friend. He looked over and me and laughed.

"I think we tied." He said.

I laughed back.

--

The Chuckling Bastard.

Fiction - Alone Pt. 2 - Alone Inside

Alone Pt. 1

--

Pinned against the wall, her legs had no choice but to wrap around his waist. His fingers, digging into her ass, certainly made it easier.

Her arms were looped around his neck, digging into his shoulder blades.

"We shouldn't be doing this... we should'nt be... ugh...," she panted, as he pounded away at her.

"Shut up, and fuck me," He snarled in response.

--

5 years later

--

He felt the arrogance blossom inside him, as he watched the 20-something's try to pick up the women. No class, no style, and Gap jeans? Who were they kidding?

The women seemed amused by their antics. Their patience surprised him. Were he in the mood...

A familiar sneer crossed his face. Yes, he could walk up to the bar, and show those boys up. But he wasn't here for that tonight.

It had been a month since he had broken up with the blue-eyed girl, and at first, everything was okay. He went out, found some girls, fucked them, then tossed some cab money to get home.

Progressively, each girl made him feel worse. With each conquest he felt the emptiness inside him grow; there was less connection, not that there was ever much for him.

For the women, though, it was the same: He'd look down into their eyes, and he could see their thoughts; they were looking at him as Mr. Right, or Mr. Dad or The Man Of Their Dreams.

Not a chance.

He had found a red-head the other night, who he had gotten home with little effort. A few drinks, a couple compliments, a hand rubbing her back; it was so easy, it was laughable. 45 minutes after they were at her place, he was already fucking her ass, and he realized he couldn't wait for it to be over.

It's not addiction or misplaced lust anymore.

He's searching for something.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the door open, and two figures enter.

He smiles. They're here.

Heads turn, as two voluptuous women enter the bar. Tight tank-tops, low-cut pants, and high heels only accentuate the tremendous tits they wear proudly. Inside his chest, his heart perks up for the first time in a month.

His friends are here, thank god.

He stands up, and hugs them both. Breasts mesh against silk, as he feels a warmth swell in his body. Not arousal, but the feeling of friendship.

And of hope.

Laughs and smart-ass comments are shared, drinks are had, and he is reminded what it's like to have friends and people in his life who he generally cares for.

Just like the blue-eyed girl.

Underneath the laughter, there's a hint of tension from Tasha. He can feel it ebbing in his direction. He knows why it's there, although he knows Anne isn't seeing it.

Her curly locks are styled differently, and her voice is more sultry, but she's still the same girl.
He's just not the same boy.

He still remembers that night.

--

It was an unspoken struggle, their mutual lust and attraction. It was forbidden, which made it all the more tantalizing.

It was after the dinner, and the speeches and the jokes, that he ran into Tasha at the hotel. The bar had closed down, and all his attentions and lines had gotten him nothing. But when he saw her walking down the hall in a t-shirt and boxer shorts, he couldn't help himself.

He invited her up to his room. Warily, she complied.

And then he fucked the hell out of her.

--

Anne got up to use the facilities, and they were alone for the first time that night. He saw a look in Tasha's eyes he thought he remembered.

The emptiness inside evaporated at the thought of having her one more time. He knew it was wrong, but since when did that stop him?

He had to have her.

He drifted towards her as the predator within leapt to the fore. He made with the small talk over the din of drunk co-eds. She responded nervously, as they inched closer to each other.

"Anne told me about what happened." She commented, concerned brown eyes staring up at him.

Caught off-guard, he straightened his shirt reflexively.

"It didn't work out." He replied non-committaly.

Her head tilted slightly.

"You liked her, didn't you?" She asked.

He didn't like where this was going. He inhaled slowly and randomly decided to make his move.

"You must be getting tired." He said with a sly smile, hand reaching over for her arm. "I can take you back to my-"

"Don't." She snapped, eyes flashing. Her arms pulled away.

He was stunned and surprised. Had he read her wrong?

"How could you..." She seethed, grabbing her purse.

"Wait, I'm sor-" He started.

She cut him off.

"No. No, you're not. God, look at you. What could you possibly be thinking?" She snarled.

"What about..." His voice died, as her eyes turned to steel.

Her left hand flew in front of his face; on the fourth finger, was the ring.

"Remember this?" Her voice wrenched. "You were there when he put it on me."

"You were the best man."

--

He turned over, watching her nubile body slide out bed. She quietly put on her clothes, and walked towards the door.

"Wait." He said.

Tasha's head flipped around.

"I'll see you at the ceremony tomorrow." She whispered.

Her hand rested on the door knob.

"This never happened." She murmured wearily, opened the door and left.

Left him alone.

--

Anne came into sight, jaw dropping as she watched Tasha rant.

"Do you even remember that you're his friend? And that what we did was wrong? Is that why you met us out here tonight, to get in my pants?"

She hovered over the table, eyes bright red and angry.

"Sleeping with the best man on the night before my wedding." She said miserably. "And I've never forgiven myself. It was the biggest mistake of my life. And you thought..."

She half-laughed, half-coughed.

"I remember when you were someone, instead of an empty shell looking for a good time. You aren't half the man you used to be. What happened to you?"

She stared at him, waiting for a response. Stunned, he had nothing. His thoughts whirled, as he grasped for any response, anything. Nothing. The two girls quietly grabbed their belongings and left.

His body shook as they left him there; the emptiness inside soured, bitterness and rage filling the void. He was angry. At the blue-eyed girl, at his friends, and at himself.

The glass landed on the floor, shattering by his feet.

He was alone.

Again.

-- The Soulless Bastard.

Nonfiction - Life Continues

Blew through a wonderful account of the rise and (soon-to-be) fall of Michael Eisner at Disney. DisneyWar is a lengthy, detailed account of his time as head of the prestigious company. It details his successes, failures, and complete inability to have any faith in anyone, whatsoever.

He's the worst example of a control freak. He has no trust in anyone. Which is funny, because trust has been a topic between me and the Ex-, lately. She tells me I need to trust people more. She's probably right.

I don't want to end up like Eisner.

--

I'm thinking of getting these. (not work safe)

Moo hoo haha.

--

The thought always bordered around my sub-conscious mind, but it wasn't until today that I realized that I've always sympathized with the anti-hero personality. I've always wanted to BE the bastard; I have no idea why, although I'm willing to take a guess:

It's because I don't believe in happy endings. More to the point, I don't believe I'm going to get any for myself. And what anti-hero ever "gets the girl, and gets to live happily ever after"?

Not this bastard.

--

Several stories almost finished, kinky all, will be posted within the next couple days.

-- The Contemplative Bastard.

Notes on "Pretty or Beautiful?"

I wrote this the other day. And because it's only appropriate to do so, I need to credit the source and inspiration.

See, PoB? is actually a small piece of fan-fiction.

Yes, you don't have to remind me. Most online fan-fic revolves around Harry Potter, The Hobbits, Star Wars, etc, etc. This fan-fiction, however was based on Nip/Tuck.

I guess I'd say it's one of my favorite shows. I describe it to my friends as "debauchery at it's finest". There's lots of sex.

Lots of Sex.

And as strange as this is going to sound, it's not the large amounts of fucking that keep me tuned in (although it certainly adds to it), but the moral dramas. It's hard not to feel for some of these characters, and the positions they end up in. Don't get me wrong, there's issues with the writings. You get the feeling that they come up with Great Ideas, but halfway through a season, they don't know where they're going, and forget where they were. It feels like you're in the middle of a train-wreck, that may Just Not Be That Bad.

It's strange.

And one episode in particular haunted me. I even sent an e-mail to my ex- about it, last fall. She replied wryly that it was one of her favorite shows too. Sigh.

Story for another time.

Anyways, you've got one of the main characters, Julian McMahon, being hit on by a blind woman, terrificly played by Rebecca Gayheart. The beginning of the episode was Emmy-worthy, but it was the smoky passion between the two, that led to a wondrous sex scene at the end that had my jaw drop.

She appeared in another episode or two, and he forced a fight with her, and it ended.

But I was always struck by the episode. So, when I caught the re-play the other night, I knew I had to do something with it.

Hence, Pretty or Beautiful?.

For the record, the quote in italics at the beginning of the story is from the show itself, so I need to give proper credit where it's due.

I actually really like how that story came out, it's just too bad I swiped the idea from a tv show. Ah, well.

Anyways. Go watch the show. If you like anything I write here, you'll like that.

After all, it was really easy for me to slide into McMahon's character for the story.

We have altogether far too much in common.

-- The Pensive Bastard

Fiction - Yes...

I look around, and smile. They're here, with me and for me. My friends.

One is pissed. A secret, known to but a few, has just been dropped on his lap. I should've told him when sobriety was his preoccupation, but alas, drunkenness has befallen him.

He always knew, but he's angry that it took this long for me to tell him.

He thinks, deep down, that the easiest way to get back at me, is to tell the world. But other issues interfere.

He and I need to talk.

--

Yes, I don't know if I should've told him. Yes, she'll be pissed if she ever finds out that he didn't figure it out by himself.

Yes, this isn't fiction.

Yes, I don't care.

--

When you let your family go, and pray for peace of mind, your friends are all you have left.

My friends.

I am bereft of friends. Yes, they are here "for me", but the one I need.. the One I Need...

She's gone.

She's my angel.

--

Meanwhile, he huffs and he puffs, and he threatens. This is why he never found out.

In one moment, he was given the freedom to be judged. He was given the choice to be viewed, with neither apology nor restraint. And he failed his test, miserably.

Because the first words out of his mouth were, "I knew it!'. And the second were, "I'm going to make sure she knows that I know".

... Yes.

He has failed me.

--

And then there is the blue-eyed girl.

I'm trying to be good. And trying to be bad. But someone, somewhere... they're telling me to grab her, and not let her go.

Too many women.Too many choices.

Not enough friends.

Yes.

I miss her. The one I could trust. Her voice echoes in my head, when I need it most.

...

Tonight, I want nothing more than trust. Nothing more than somene to tell me "it's going to be alright".

And tonight, it's the one thing I won't get.

-The Tired, Tired, Tired Bastard.

Fiction - Lack of Time Standing Still

"You see the ending, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"But, you won't tell me."

"... No."

"Why not?" She asks angrily.

I pause, and wait for the appropriate response. Do I tell her that unhappiness is her future, or do I lie?

No, I can't lie.

"Because this is how it's supposed to be." Yeah, that was shit. She's not going to buy it.

Olive skin flashes against brown-and-blonde hair.

"You won't tell me about him."

In one moment, truth surges through me. All I have to do is speak it.

But, it's not my place to say.

"I can't... you need to talk to him."

"Once, just once," she snaps, tossing her fork down in fury, "I'd like for you to help ME. To tell ME what you know."

She continues:

"Why won't you do that?"

I freeze, and watch time swirl around me. I have no answer. This is my fate.

To know the truth, but to be unable to speak it.

I look to my right, and see a pair of blue eyes reaching out for me. She wants me to tell her friend the truth, and in that moment... in that one glance... I know.

I know that if I don't share, that I've lost the blue-eyed girl.

This is the price of time. This is the price of my friendship.

Another woman lost.

And only lonliness gained.

Father Time...

... Go fuck yourself, for the weight you lay upon my shoulders.

I never wanted to be alone.

-- The Angry Bastard.

Nonfiction - Intimacy & Me

I've gotten a number of comments and e-mails asking the following question:

"How much of what you write is about you?"

Good question.

While this blog exists as an outlet for my fiction, I've been dropping little bits and snippets of my life, here and there. Unlike many of the bloggers I read (listed on the right), I'm not here to vent about everything that goes on in my life, let alone my sex life. For example, many of them will post with something that sounds like this:

"Christ, today was a big pile of shit. Let me tell you all about it."

Um, yeah. You probably won't be seeing that from me anytime soon. That's not how I do things. A great many people have posted a great many times, on the issue of "identity". I'd wager it is the number-one topic amongst bloggers, because so many of us hide our identity.

There are some like Matisse, who as a sex worker, is open about it, and writes about it. She has nothing to hide, because everyone knows what she does.

Then there are people like me, scratching their (ever-expanding) erotic itch. The only problem with that, is that I don't work in an industry where this type of.. ahem... kinkiness, would be tolerated. Even in NY, a "blue state" (and boy, do I hate the red/blue connotation foisted upon us, after the election) what I do during the day (and summer) does Not Mesh with what you see here.

So, I have to be careful.

But, at the same time, I realize that you need to know a little bit about me, so that you can relate to the fiction better. Understanding me, will help you enjoy the fiction. And, um, "enjoy" the fiction.

Heh.

So, I drop little Nuggets of Me into the mix. As of late, I admit they've been a bit darker; Well, my mood has been darker. And I'm a bit of a sadist, so what can I say? :)

A fellow blogger e-mailed me that the little posts I drop here and there are actually the "intimate" side of me. I think there's some truth to that. I'm going out of my way not to talk about the "outside" of me.

If you walk past me on the street, you won't have any idea who I am. Yes, I'm actually 6 foot 4, have short, brown hair, a slight goatee, blue eyes, live in upstate NY, and have serious "dom" tendencies.

But, that's all you'll ever get from me. Yes, it takes some work, but I set boundaries (oh look, a dom tendency) and I stick to them.

As for the fiction, well, yeah. Most of that is me, too. Either based on life, or imagination. Sometimes I see something on tv or two people walking, and I think, "There's a story there". For the most part, I put myself into the role of the male. I have, however, tried to get away from that as much as possible, for variety's sake.

There are times I deviate from that method. (And those are some of the stories I like the most.)
But, at the same time, I know many people enjoy reading that type of fiction. It's all about balance.

Inside the fiction, you'll find things I like and dislike. And while I do use the stories to vent... *bows graciously*...

I'm here to entertain.

Enjoy.

-- The Open-But-Still-Coy Bastard.

Fiction - Alone Pt. I - Pretty or Beautiful?

"Everyone's idea of beauty varies. It's in the 'eye of the beholder'."

"Wrong. Pretty is in the 'eye of the beholder'. Beauty is in the soul. You can't see it, but you know it when you feel it..."

--

In the shadows, he sits alone. The drink, slowly sipped, is moist and wet.

If he were to raise his head, and smile at the blonde across the bar, she would come talk to him. So would the brunette sitting next to her.

But he doesn't smile. He barely has the energy to drown his sorrow.

Because an unusual thing happened three weeks ago.

He met a girl.

--

His broad smile, stylish looks and boyish charm always got him whatever he wanted. And all he's ever wanted was pussy. Most women were shocked to find out that he's in his mid-30's. He could easily pass for mid-20's. He knows how he looks, and he uses it.

It's how he gets laid.

He knows the bars where the single, lonely women go. He knows the bartenders who make the good drinks. And he knows what he needs to say, to get even the most prudish of women to spread their legs for him.

He used to twinge, in the morning, when they stuck around. When they wanted to "talk". Often, he'd have to explain that it was a one-night stand. They didn't get it until they realized he didn't know or remember their name.

And that he didn't care.

Three weeks ago, he was walking along Broadway, when he saw her, shopping in one of his favorite stores. Long, thick curly brown hair caressed her supple body.

He was intrigued. He walked inside, and came up with a line to gauge her interest. Her snappy reply indicated both curiousity and contempt.

He was immediately intoxicated with her. He didn't know why, but didn't give it much thought at first. The blue eyes? The swaying hips? The swelling breasts?

It wasn't until 3 or 4 days later, while sitting in his office, that he realized it was none of that. Oh, she was stunning, but he wasn't just attracted to her looks. It was her personality. It was the way she made him laugh. The way her comebacks were sassy, sexy and mystifying. She was a mystery; brilliant and wise, but down-to-earth in a way that he had never seen.

She wasn't pretty, she was beautiful.

She was a "10".

The very notion floored him. When was the last time he had a relationship that was based on something other than sex? Med school or undergrad, maybe?

How long had it been, since he actually cared about someone besides himself?

Realizing the happiness of just being with someone, his heart beat furiously. And for the first time in a long while, he smiled.

--

It didn't take long, for the joy to be confronted by shadow. A little over two weeks passed as the darkness grew. His heart, awakened for the first time in almost-forever, screamed for him to set aside his petty reasons and selfish behavior; to let go of his need for purely physical contact with multiple females, and to embrace this woman who had reminded him what it was like to be selfless, instead of selfish.

How very contrary to his nature; how very much unlike him.

The crisis grew. A decision had to be made. Should he cast aside the long-embraced shallowness of his youth, and let this woman into his life?

The answer came easily and readily.

Which made him feel even worse.

--

She wept, and begged. She knew a manufactured fight when she saw it. She knew he was trying to push her away, she knew, she KNEW he was better than this.

He knew he was better than this. The conflict between his lust and his emotions pushed him over the edge. It enraged him to the point where he said horrible things to her. Screamed at her to "get out" of his life.

His heart, furious beyond belief, turned away from him in disgust. His soul shattered into a million pieces, never to be put back together again.

She ran from him, swearing off men forever.

And he sat down dumbly, his mind in a state of shock.

He had done what was right.

Hadn't he?

--

He looked over at the two girls in the bar. They were pretty; very, very pretty. Women like that only came here to drink, or find a cute guy for the night. They brunette and the blonde glanced his way again. He knew that look. Combined with their heavy make-up, over-done hair, and fake tits, he didn't need any other signals.

He could have them both, if he wanted.

He looked inside himself, hoping his heart would advise, but emptiness was the response. He turned to his soul, begging for help, but the piece lay like shards; broken and fractured.

He opened his eyes, and looked back at them. The blonde curled her hair in her fingers. They wouldn't wait for long.

And so he made his choice.

-- Accompanying Music : Rickie Jones, "I'll Be Seeing You"

-- The Unhappy Bastard

Nonfiction - Sated

I had a wonderful orgasm late last night. My balls had been boiling for hours, and when I finally spewed, it kepy going and going and going.

It was gusher of lust.

Glorious.

-- The Sated Bastard.