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.
--
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.
posted by The Bastard at 10:03 PM
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