Damned Fiction

by David Kempf

She took her time in the bedroom changing into the bathrobe. First it was sort of charming and then it was annoying because I was after all, paying her for this little experience.

  “There are no cameras in here, right?”

  “No,” I said, trying not to laugh.

  The young lady of the evening walked up to the man of the hour, wearing his old blue bathrobe.

  “I want to see what’s under there,” I said.

  Riley flashed me briefly. Her breasts were voluptuous and even though she was almost completely shaven down there, somehow she made it work. That’s what the young people did these days. If she was an undercover cop, she was a very accommodating one. She was naked under that old robe. Riley seemed like she was going through the motions, showing her youthful twenties in her attitude. It wasn’t frustrating or annoying, it was kind of charming.

  “What do you like to do?” she asked again as she sat down next to me on the sofa.

  “Well, we’ve established that you’re not law enforcement. Please come into the bedroom with me.”

  “Okay,” she answered.

  I pulled the covers off of the bed to make room for me and my new friend.

  “Please take the robe off, I want to touch your body.”

  “Sure.”

  She climbed into bed next to me. She had nice long black hair and smooth skin which I immediately began to touch. I gestured to her to lie on her stomach so I could look at her ass. It was spectacular. I hadn’t seen a real one in a while and this was a young girl’s and it wasn’t an internet video. It was the real deal. I aggressively grouped her breasts which were very pleasing.

  “Help me out down there, touch me,” I said. New Rich pulled down his sweat pants and underwear half way down. The humiliation of the ankle bracelet was triumphantly well hidden.

  She began to jerk me off like a pro. Riley was wearing glasses like she was in a porn movie and it added to the evening’s excitement for me, the dirty old man.

  Time went by and there was no instant gratification because old Rich had performed self-service a few hours earlier in the day. This was so I wouldn’t ejaculate all over the poor young thing after two minutes.

  “Oh my God,” he whispered. She seemed to almost smile when she heard my little whimpers of arousal. I touched those amazing breasts again. They were a firm handful. Then I took my hands and went back to her backside. The tiny slutty lower back tattoo really helped. I wasn’t going to last much longer. I had the beautiful tits and ass of a twenty-five-year-old girl at my disposal. She seemed to almost stare at my modest sized penis, working hard to make sure I got off. Then in perhaps what was an accidental moment of intimacy or just humoring the old man she stuck her rear right over my lap. She did all of this while giving me the hand job of a lifetime.

  It all felt so good, worth the money and even the risk of going to jail. The flow of excitement overcame me and I shot an enormous load on myself and the young lady.

  It felt like a cum shot in a porno although hand jobs are pretty mild compared to most internet views. Riley gave a glorious orgasm I would not forget for some time.

  “Can I use your bathroom?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  She went inside his bathroom and I was looking at the huge load I had on myself and some of the sheets.

  “Can I use these baby wipes?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I answered, almost forgetting that I saw my son Christopher every other weekend.

  “Thanks.”

  “Can you bring in some toilet paper when you’re done?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  She handed it to me and I wiped the rest of the ocean of cum off of myself. Then I quickly got dressed and joined her in the living room.

  “This is a cute duplex you’ve got here,” she said.

  “Thanks,” I answered. I decided that I wouldn’t be condescending and tell her that it was an apartment.

  She smiled.

  “You can stay for the rest of the time and relax or you can go.”

  She reflected for a moment.

  “It’s up to you,” I said.

  “If it’s okay with you, I think I better go,” she said.

  “I understand.”

  “Have a good one,” she said as she left.

  Have a good one? I just had a wonderful time. The night was not going to get any better than this. I felt great but then wondered if the body guard or pimp or manager or whatever who was driving her home was discussing their encounter. Yes, of course, he I a creepy old man now and she was a beautiful woman in her twenties. God, I never thought I would have any sexual contact with someone in their twenties again.

  I also couldn’t help but notice she was frightened a little. That’s okay, so was I. New Rich hoped that at least she figured out he was a harmless guy who wasn’t going to hurt her. She knew it or I would have gotten my ass kicked by whoever was waiting outside in that car.

  Since I am an amateur magician, I actually thought of showing her some card tricks but that would be silly. I was her trick. She had many and I’m sure she turned them quite well. The real magic happened in the bedroom— well, for me at least.

  It was the hand job that was heard around the world. I was glad that I didn’t film the poor young woman and myself. That would have been sleazy or at least dishonest. I would always remember the glasses she wore as she watched my cock like a true professional. I would long remember the way she stared at the organ and made me feel like he was in a porno. What a glorious feeling. It was so much fun to get back at my wife and to not get caught.

  You know, something really dawned on me on this enchanted evening. Most of my friends in A.A. had been with prostitutes before and now I knew why. There was a reason that this was indeed the world’s oldest profession. There was also an unspoken reason women hated escorts and was because these carnal professionals are cheating women out of all the bullshit a regular man has to go through to get sex in a relationship or marriage. Prostitutes took women’s greatest power of manipulation away from them. Even the highest priced escorts with many rules would still be getting the man off in some extremely pleasurable way. Unlike wives and girlfriends, paid sex would never be withheld.

  I thought about this stuff for a solid four days after the grand event.

  My thoughts drifted to how far I had come since I was a teenager in the eighties, desperately trying to watch scrambled porn on cable TV. Then these fantasies were interrupted when I heard a knock at the door.

  I had a pretty damn good idea who it was.

  “Yes, coming,” I said on my way to the door.

  Then I opened the door and low and behold, it was his house arrest officer Kyle Brightman.

  “Hi Kyle, come right in.”

  “Hi Rich,” Kyle said. “Are you staying sober?”

  I nodded yes.

  Kyle motioned at me and I knew exactly what to do. I went to the kitchen to get the tip of the breathalyzer. All of the house arrest victims needed this in order to save the department of corrections money. The good old reliable breathalyzer, God bless it. It was registered as a trademark on May 13, 1954 by Robert Frank Borkenstein.

  I breathed into the thing for what seemed like the thousandth time and it was fine. I passed because I was sober.

  “Good,” Kyle said. He answered his police walkie talkie. “Everything is fine here, no problems.”

  “Well, Kyle, you know everything is fine because I’m sober, I charge my ankle bracelet, I do what I’m supposed to do.”

  “Yes, you’re a model prisoner,” he said, obviously trying to make a joke. I thought it was in bad taste. Am I a model prisoner, Kyle? I beg to differ. I had a prostitute in my apartment over the weekend and she gave me the hand job of a lifetime.

  “Glad to know everything’s okay,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  There was a pause.

  “Everything is okay, right?” he sort of repeated.

  “No problems.” I felt like the lunatic in
the Poe’s The Tell-Tale Heart but I didn’t murder anyone. There was no body hidden behind the walls of my apartment. I actually didn’t hurt anyone; I just paid three hundred bucks to make myself feel really good. I got my money’s worth and Riley got an easy job so to speak.

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Kyle said. “You know you’re someone who can be trusted to go shopping, to go to treatment and to have visitors.”

  “Sure.” I thought for a moment. I had been looking forward to seeing Kyle and wondering if he would be clever enough to read my face to see if he could still trust me. I wanted to know if he could sense shenanigans.

  “Rich, please remember you can have any visitors you want as long as they aren’t convicted felons.”

  ‘Well, of course,” I said. You know, Kyle, funny thing I never asked Riley if she even had a record. The next time I hire a prostitute I will not make that silly mistake. Well, maybe I would, the time it would take to read her police report would really run up my escort tab. I was hoping my thoughts would not betray me and come out of my mouth for my house arrest officer to here.

  Yes, this means you Kyle, I thought.

  “You know I always appreciate talking to you about your writing and how we both love horror movies.”

  “I enjoy our talks about such things as well, Kyle.”

  He smiled. Kyle was a big guy with no hair and a well maintained beard. He would be intimidating if he wasn’t so pleasant to be around.

  “Speaking of horror, have you heard about that one girl, she’s on TV a lot and she’s all over the internet. The one that’s castrating guys…”

  “Jesus, no,” I said.

  “The ironic thing is she used to be on my caseload.”

  “My God, why hasn’t she been caught?” I asked.

  “I don’t know; I guess she flies under the radar like you.”

  “She sounds like a real menace,” I said.

  “She’s a menace to you, that’s for sure.”

  “What?” I had a real moment of pure terror and panic.

  “I mean she’s a menace to me as well. She’s a menace to any guy with a cock.” He sighed.

  I took a deep breath.

  “Well, I have to go, Rich. Not everyone I have to supervise on house arrest is as easy as you.”

  I feigned a smile.

  “I love women, Rich, but my God; some of them are really crazy”

  I nodded.

  “I’ll see you next week. Call me if you need anything.”

  I nodded at him as he left. I dare not invite another escort into my apartment after this. What was I going to do? I guess I would have to just keep laying low. I started to have nightmares about one of this woman’s victims. I mean despite trying not to absorb any of this terrible story, I still caught wind of it here and there. I knew there were two victims and the girl was a prostitute. Was this fiend named Riley? I hoped not but escorts never used their real names.

  I would never ask Kyle about her because this might make him suspicious that I was sober but still finding ways to get into trouble. In my nightmares, this man, the second victim was worse than Jack the Ripper was. He was a bigger guy than Kyle and unlike the first victim who lost his mind; he sought out cold calculating vengeance. He was a vindictive fuck and really who could blame him?

  “Speaking of horror, have you heard about that one girl, she’s on TV a lot and she’s all over the internet. The one that’s castrating guys…”

  Kyle’s words stuck in my head. In dreams, this man cut off the penis of a well hung statue from some place in Europe. It wouldn’t be like Michelangelo’s David. He had a modest cock. This mystery killer was under the emasculating monster’s spell at one time but those days were over.

  Now he took the cock that he cut off of a famous statue and used it to perform unspeakable tortures.

  The fear haunted me for days. It was like the imaginary friend in the sky was going to strike me down for getting off.

  So he would stalk women until he finally got his hands on the one who did it to him, the dark lady of the night who extinguished his manhood forever….

  Perhaps he would wait and punish her in his own time. No. He would get his hands on her before she got to him first and cut them off. The fiend would torture her for weeks in some dark basement.

  The creature who used to be a man would destroy her internal organs with his cock of stone.

  He might even fashion it into a strap on and fuck her to death in some terrible gruesome fashion.

  She would die by his phallus.

  Until then she could come after me. It was most likely the years of psychological abuse by my wife that made me feel so threatened. Well, that and the crazy lady cutting dicks off. All I wanted was to get off. I just wanted to have a good cum. It isn’t so much to ask, is it?

  The phone rang and I answered it. Since I never knew who it was and I could be called in for a random piss test as a condition of my house arrest, it was a sound that made me anxious.

  “Hello.”

  “Yeah, who is this?” I asked nervously.

  “Me.”

  It was my estranged wife. And here I was afraid of getting castrated and perhaps bleeding to death. Not to worry. Dealing with her is much worse.

  “You need to call Christopher, he misses you.”

  “Okay.”

  “You’re a terrible father.”

  And you are a terrible wife, I thought to myself. My mind’s eye was drifting now. I was after all the hero of my own story. I just didn’t want to die in the end by some crazy escort.

  I also didn’t like talking to my wife. I couldn’t wait to divorce her but I would have to wait until house arrest was over.

  “Thanks.”

  “Sure.”

  She was blessedly speechless for a moment.

  “Well, you are.”

  “Put Christopher on the phone.”

  “He’s not here now.”

  “Then why the hell did you call?”

  “So what are you doing?”

  She was so crazy. The only reason that I didn’t divorce her yet was that I would have to be handcuffed and put in jail before I could go to court. This was something a lawyer friend in A.A. told me last week. You have to turn yourself in when you’re on house arrest in order to go to court.

  “I’m charging my ankle bracelet,” I said flatly.

  A part of me wanted to laugh, just a little. Ha. I just got a magnificent hand job. I would love to tell you about it, to hurt you but I won’t. I suppose Kyle could figure it out if he had the time and put me in jail with new charges. I had to be quiet even though not being able to tell anyone spoiled all the fun.

  A.A. friends tell me that I conceal my ankle bracelet very well. I hope that was the case when I got that wonderful relief and just a little bit of my endless lust satisfied. I wasn’t exactly proud of my behavior but I was far from sorry.

  “Let me go see if Christopher wants to talk.”

  “That would be nice,” I said.

  Did this woman really expect me to remain celibate? I mean for how long? A year? Two years? The rest of my life? God, she was so fucking crazy and inconsiderate it was truly unbelievable.

  I took a dark leap of faith and treated myself.

  “Daddy.”

  “Chris?”

  “Yeah, Daddy.”

  “How are you?”

  “Good.”

  It was always great to talk to my son. He was a good boy. Chris was smart and funny and didn’t inherit his mother’s madness. New Rich hoped that he also didn’t inherit his father’s alcoholism.

  “So what are you up to?”

  “I’m drawing pictures you can write stories about, dad.”

  “I see.”

  “Are you the best writer in the world yet?”

  Rich laughed. “No, not yet but I’m trying.”

  “You write scary stuff, dad. People get scared sometimes.”

  “Well, son, there is a lot of things in the wo
rld to be scared of.”

  I almost immediately regretted saying that out loud. Why frighten a child like that? There was truth in what he said though. The world was a frightening place. Then I started to think about the castrating woman, well, the one who literally did the job, not my terrible wife. Then the fantasy about the statue strap on murderer.

  “Like what, Dad?” my son said.

  “Oh, you need to cross the street carefully, not get into cars with strangers and stay away from junk food.”

  “Oh.”

  There was a pause.

  “Dad, I have to go now. I need to use the bathroom.”

  “Well, it’s been great talking with you. Bye.”

  I hung up the phone before my “wife” would get on the line to scream and nag. The days of love and delight we may have once had were over forever.

  Now I was happy to just get back at her for being abusive and essentially crazy. I could never forget the guys giving me a negative self-image by insisting that she wore the pants in the family.

  Then I thought my fair escort Riley and how adorable it was when her foot fell asleep while jerking me off. I probably should have mentioned that earlier.

  The old lady wore the pants, huh?

  That’s why I made sure I wasn’t wearing any pants for a stranger. Well, I did pull my pants down anyway.

  The thing was I knew that I had reached the point of no return. I was an adulterer but the odd feelings of guilt never lingered for very long.

  Darkness came.

  I was in a nightmare that I could not wake up from.

  One would think the penis slicing predator would be the star of my midnight movie of the subconscious.

  But one would be wrong.

  It was so weird. I thought about the women that I did have sex without pay with, all my old girlfriends and one-night stands. I wondered if I could make them do things they were too prudish or proud to do in bed if only I had offered them money for the job. It was dreadful and terrifying, not to realize what a pervert I was, that was already a given. I mean I firmly believe the way women seem to love money, many if not most women actually had their price. It was kind of like how my old college roommate thought that most women would have lesbian sex at least once if society and religion had not interfered with their hidden desire. Most women want to, he would often say. Well, I think many or perhaps most of my girlfriends would have gone the extra mile for cold cash. Riley must have really changed my outlook on life and my views on women and not for the better I’m afraid.