by Van Barrett
Break Away
By Van Barrett
Copyright 2016 Van Barrett
All Rights Reserved.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All characters are above 18 years old. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Epilogue
A Word From Van Barrett
Prologue:
A Year Prior
Excerpt taken from last year's final edition of the Bitch and Moan!, a sex, dating and relationship advice column published in the Dakota Student – The University of North Dakota's student newspaper.
***
Dear Bitch and Moan,
Help! I can't take it anymore!
I've been with my boyfriend for just shy of two years now. Our relationship would be pretty great if not for one major problem: he wants something I can't give. And that's oral sex.
See, ever since the very first time I got on my knees for a guy, I've hated giving blowjobs. And with what my boyfriend is packing? Forget it. No way. He's just too big, guys. I've tried to go down on him once or twice, believe me! But I had to call it quits after a minute or two, because my jaw was just too achy and sore. And then I was way too pissed at him and the mood was ruined.
Lately, he's been hinting that he wants me to try again. With summer break just days away, we'll have more time together – and that means I need to come up with more excuses to dodge the BJs he'll want. What do I do? I'm running out of ideas.
Sometimes he says, 'but babe, practice makes perfect!' But I'm certain I'll never get that thing down. I have to make him realize he has to live without oral sex. Shouldn't guys just be happy with vaginal sex??? I mean c'mon! He's already getting that!
Normally I'd just dump the guy. But besides the big problem between his legs, this guy is otherwise a total keeper. I hope you see my dilemma. Help me convince him to see the light, Bitch and Moan!
Sincerely,
Throbbing Miserable Jaw, in Gallery Apartments.
***
Dear TMJ (love the acronym, by the way),
Hi! It's me, your boy Moan. The first solution to your morbid mandibular problem that pops into my mind is: give your boyfriend my phone number! Because I'd be more than happy to show him exactly what one man can do for another! Haha, don't get mad, I'm only kidding.
Seriously though, TMJ, there's two major things that stand out to me in this letter of yours. First, let's start with Part 1: sucking cock.
Brace yourself, because you're probably not going to like hearing this. I have to agree with Big Dick BF on at least one point: practice does indeed make perfect. There's a plethora of cock-sucking techniques that can enhance his pleasure while relieving your pain and suffering. Have you already added these mutually-beneficial weapons to your arsenal?
For example: a long, drawn out tease can get his desperate pecker absolutely pulsing with lusty excitement before you've even opened your mouth. Here's a question for you: when you start to get sore and achy, do you switch to your hands? Trust me, from a guy's perspective: a blowjob is an amazing sexual pleasure. But a handjob can be a very welcome interruption that coaxes us dangerously close to the edge. And your jaw will thank you for the reprieve, too! (Plus, as visual creatures, we like seeing our cocks. Especially when we're diamond-hard, our veins are throbbing, and we're dripping with our lover's saliva. The sight alone can push us over the edge!)
Here's an idea: have you tried looking up any oral sex workshops here in Grand Forks? They do exist, and they absolutely do help. And you can take my word on that, because I personally graduated from a blowjob bootcamp my freshman year. I went just for shits and giggles, thinking I already knew all there was to know about slobbin' the knob. But you know what? They broke me down and built me back up, and I'm a better dick sucker because of it, yes sir! My boyfriends sure think so, anyway.
But maybe that kind of setting is just too risque for you, TMJ. I am, after all, picking up on something of a, ahem, puritan vibe from you. No offense, I'm just callin' it like it is. Anyhow, if that's the case, you might opt for a blowjob practice regimen that's a little more private and can be done behind closed doors.
You could start a nightly popsicle routine. That's fun and flavorful, and while you're sliding your lips up and down that icy pole, you might even find yourself suddenly in the mood to give the real thing a try. And believe me, you'll turn BDBF on in the process. So, err, maybe you'll want to do this alone, so you won't give the poor boy another bout of blue balls?
Okay, TMJ, this is my last recommendation. It might be a long shot, but if he's truly so effing big that no popsicle comes close to matching his stature? Check out this product called Clone-A-Cock. Basically, you'll get him hard, and then you'll make him ram his rod into a mix of putty for sixty seconds – and you'll do your best to make sure he stays hard for those sixty seconds. Yes, this process is totally awkward, sweet, fun, sexy, and completely horrifying all at once – wee! The joys of being in a committed and loving relationship!
After he pulls out, you'll pour silicone into the penis mold he just fucke-- I mean, created. Let it cure for a day, and voila, you'll have yourself your very own, life-like model of his cock. That's right, your very own replica of Stud McHung's member, for you to practice on! Or stick it on the living room mantel for one hell of a conversation starter. Note: Don't actually do that. It'd be super creepy.
Who knows? In time, you might even learn to enjoy his hot and huge manhood, swelling as it passes between your lips … (Ugh, sorry. I get carried away when I think about big dicks. And your boyfriend sounds like a 'total keeper' indeed.)
If you're really, truly giving this an honest go, and he's still being impatient about the severe lack of dome? You could try making him suck his own likeness – but only if you're feeling vengeful, because trust me, many straight guys are crazy squea
mish about that kind of thing. The point is, he'll witness firsthand just what you're dealing with here. Because it's true, some guys seem to think that deep-throating a cock is something all women can easily do. And those that can't just aren't trying hard enough. They'll change their minds when they try it themselves.
Okay, TMJ, as I said earlier, there were two issues with your letter. And now it's time to deal with Part 2: the issue of sucking cock. See, I just wrote all those words up there about how to suck cock like a pro. But a funny thing occurred to me – you didn't write that letter asking me how to improve your head game. You wrote to me asking how to convince your boyfriend to forego head forever. And yet you say this guy is a keeper?!
Tsk, tsk, tsk! Give your head a shake, TMJ! You also say you've tried to go down on him 'once or twice.' Once or twice? So it's probably safe to assume it was actually just once, right? Do you really mean to tell me that you can't remember if you sucked your boyfriend's dick one time or two times in the two years you've dated? I could be wrong – although let's face it, I never am, wink wink – but I'm seeing red flags here, TMJ.
I don't wanna throw you into the fire just yet. Tone and meaning can get lost in text. I know that. If your guy's being an asshole about how much he wants oral, or trying to force you, that is a serious turn off and I wouldn't blame you one bit for not wanting to service him. So, ask yourself, is he impatient? Is he not understanding your struggles? If so, let him know! Relationships thrive when issues are approached with open and honest communication, and this is especially true with sexuality.
We all have our likes, and dislikes, and we all have our own limits. And if you've truly discussed this heart-to-heart with your beau, and you've given it your best effort, and you found that you still can't stomach that cock – then your personal limit just might be that you can't give head. You wouldn't be the first person in history to say no.
And if that's the case, you have to accept the possibility that your limit might be a deal breaker for him. Honestly – if you were my significant other – it would be for me. Sorry love, them's the breaks. But that's because I adore giving and receiving. Especially giving. And receiving. Shoot, who am I kidding?, I love it all. But a partner who takes, yet doesn't give in return? And never made an honest effort to compromise? Nope. Deal breaker. Sorry.
Point is, TMJ, if you truly love this man, you'll give it your best effort before you dump his ass. If you already gave it your best, and you still can't do it? Hey, at least you tried. But please, TMJ, please at least try if you're serious about this guy!
… Or just give him my phone number, like I said. Kidding, kidding! (But seriously, I'm not kidding.)
Good luck in life and love, TMJ, and I sincerely wish you all the best with snake charming that anaconda this summer! Thanks for writing!
Love,
Moan
P.S. And with that, we've wrapped up the first year of Bitch and Moan! I hope everyone enjoyed this column – Bitch and I have enjoyed all your feedback, comments and praise! Seriously, thank you all so much. We're excited to announce that we'll be back next year. Hope you guys have a great and safe summer vacation!
Stay loyal, UND!
1
Frustrated Rubber
– Lane Matthews –
Friday afternoon, in the journalism department computer lab.
My eyes darted left to right across the glow of the monitor as I sped-read another letter from a fellow student. It started off innocently enough, and then … well … that train went flying off the rails. I broke into a fit of outraged laughter.
“Oh, puh-lease!” I shoved off my desk, and my office chair went sliding into the middle of the room. I spun my chair around in circles, my limbs going limp at my side.
“What? What is it?” Devon, my best friend and partner-in-crime, was already sneering. Reading the ridiculous questions people sent us was one of our greatest, and sickest, joys in life.
“Did you read this question? From the back massage guy? What'd he call himself? The – the …” I quickly scooted my chair back to my computer desk. “Ah yes. The 'Frustrated Rubber in Fulton Hall.'”
Devon giggled. “The what?”
“Yup. Here. Lemme read it to you.” I cleared my throat.
“Dear Bitch and Moan. Help. I live in Fulton Hall. There are lots of cute girls that live here too and I'd like to talk to them. I think I am attractive enough for a guy, but I have a hard time talking to girls. Anyway, one thing I'm really, really good at is giving back massages. Girls love my back massages, and it's truly a fun and interesting way to break the ice!”
“Uh oh,” Devon interjected. “I already know where this is going. This is every creepy, unwanted back massage guy that's ever existed.”
“Right? But wait. It gets better.”
I continued. “Last week, I was prowling the computer labs for sore shoulders, as I'm sometimes wont to do, when I saw her. A beautiful Goddess. A blonde damsel in distress. Hours of typing had taken their toll on her lovely, nubile body. Her Trapezius muscle, the poor thing!, was as bright and red as molten iron. Her Rhomboideus minor pulsated with a sad longing.”
“Oh. Lord.” Devon slapped her forehead.
“I'll spare you most of this. It reads like an anatomy lesson.” I turned my mouse wheel, scrolling ahead to the last paragraph of his e-mail. “Trust me though, he goes into scary, Dexter-like detail about her muscles. And everything he sees is inflamed, swollen, and in urgent need of his talented touch.”
I read aloud once more.
“She ached for the pleasures that only a skilled back-rubber like me could give – that much I knew. Yet this girl, like all the others, rejected my patented back massage. In fact, she literally shrieked when I laid my hands upon her shoulders. I shall let you know she even slapped me! So my question is this: how does one deal with mates who continually display mixed messages? Your advice, please. Signed, Frustrated Rubber in Fulton Hall.”
I turned away from my monitor and met Devon's astonished stare. “So, it's gotta be a question written by a troll, right?”
“Has to. Has to. It's just too ridiculous to be real,” Devon said firmly. But then doubt set in and made her brow wrinkle. “But …”
“Right. But. There's always that creepy back massage guy, like you said. In every dorm and every office – we've all seen him! And who really knows what goes through that guy's head? Maybe this is the truest letter we've ever gotten! We could be doing this guy a valuable service if we, uh, …”
“If we tell him to stop seeing women as throbbing, pulsating muscles, desperately in need of his skilled finger-tips?”
“Well, yeah!” I snorted. “If nothing else, we can use his question to kinda jump on our soapbox, and say, hey people, surprise back rubs aren't cool! They're actually kinda creepy, so don't do 'em. Unless you're already dating.”
“In which case, yes please! And I'd like a foot rub, too!” Devon giggled. “Okay. So you wanna write the response, or should I?”
“Hmm.” I tapped my chin.
See, she's the Bitch, and I'm the Moan. She tears into people when they need a good, ol' fashioned whack upside the head with a heavy helping of common sense. Like our friend the Frustrated Rubber over here. As Moan, I write about more sensitive things that need a lighter touch: life, love, and all things sex.
“I think you're better for this one.” I chuckled. “Give it to him. Hard.”
“Okay,” Devon sighed playfully. “But we're only giving him what he wants, you know.”
“Oh well. Trust me, it'll be worth it. I can't wait to see that letter actually published in ink!”
We both cracked up at the thought.
“So, hey, speaking of throbbing and pulsating things …” Devon trailed off. I peeked up and noticed right away the devilish twinkle in her eye.
I gave her a look as I waited for the punchline.
“Got any weekend plans with the new guy? Pablo, right? Pablo with the pretty penis?”
; I sighed. “Well, first, his name is Paulo.”
“Right! Paulo. Paulo. Paulo.” She pronounced his name over and over, exaggerating it so that it sounded more foreign and exotic each time his name left her lips. “Is he from Brazil or something?”
“Yeah, I dunno, his family came from somewhere in South America. But he's like, third generation or something. So yeah, uh, you don't have to say his name like that. He's anything but foreign. Hell, the way he says it sounds more like 'Paul' with an 'O' after it. Pahl-o.”
“Ew. Pahl-o.” Devon giggled, this time affecting a Midwest American drawl. “So when do I get to meet Pahl-o?”
I sucked my cheeks in and made a noise. “Well … I only met him last week … it's nothing serious.”
“Whaaa'?” Devon leaned back in her chair, her voice going high. “That's not how it sounded earlier this week. What's up, Lane?”
“Nothing!” I lied.
“Liar.”
Argh. Devon knows me so well.
“Damn it! Look. I dunno. He just uh … Paulo isn't very good at answering texts. I guess.”
Devon gave me a look. She knew there was more.
“And um, getting sloppy drunk the other night and firing off a salvo of texts at him, begging him to answer me, probably didn't help my case.”
Devon gestured with her hands for more info, as if she could pull the important stuff right out of me. Damn. She really knows me too well.
“Aaaand, so … when he finally decided to answer me, he said something like, you know, – 'hey, last weekend was fun, but I'm really not looking for anything serious, dude.'”
I rolled my eyes at myself after I came clean. God. Yes, I know I'm pathetic.