by Alex Grayson
My eyes drift down Blue’s body as he meticulously cleans me. The man has got one hell of a body. Thick muscular arms, deep-rippled abs, hard, drool worthy pecs, and an ass you want to sink your teeth into. He has several tattoos adorning his body. His upper left arm is covered in black rope that wraps around his bicep. Throughout the rope are multiple, different style knots. The leftover rope travels down his arm and starts to unravel. Between the pieces of unraveled rope are words, but I can’t make them out. He has a couple on his back, but I haven’t had a chance to really look at them. On his right side, over his ribs, there’s another set of words.
You exist in time, but you belong to eternity.
Blue throws the washcloth in the sink beside me, then scoops me up in his arms. My legs go back around his waist, and his still semihard cock slides along my center. The wetness he wiped away only seconds ago is replaced by my own body’s natural reaction to having him touch me intimately.
When he sets us both down on the bed, I try to scoot from his lap. His hands on my hips stop me.
“Stay here,” he says, rubbing his thumbs over my skin.
It feels good, but I can’t let him distract me. And I can’t be in his arms when I tell him my truths. As soon as the words leave my mouth, he’ll want nothing to do with me. I won’t be able to handle the look he’ll give me, and the disgusted way he’ll shove me aside.
Steeling my resolve, I push his hands away, crawl from his lap, and put some much-needed distance between us. “I can’t. I need my space to tell you what I need to.”
His brow dips down into a frown, but he nods and doesn’t try to pull me back to him. Stalling for time, because I’m a coward, I gather a couple pillows and carefully arrange them against the headboard, before settling back against them. Outwardly, I may appear comfortable, but on the inside, I’m quaking so much it’s making me queasy. Luckily, after our fuck session, the shakes are gone and the cramps have disappeared. Remembering the pain I just went through, reinforces my need to tell him the truth, because once I do, he’ll never want anything to do with me again. Maybe with his distaste, I can get over whatever it is that is between us, and I can go back to my normal life of sleeping with nameless men.
Even as I think that, a sour taste forms in my mouth.
“Abby,” Blue calls, drawing my attention back to him. I look at him and swallow through a thick throat. He reaches out and tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my cheek. “Everything is going to be okay. Just tell me what’s wrong, and we’ll get through it.”
He makes it sound so easy, like no matter what I say, he’ll be by my side. He makes us sound like a team, even though we just met a few days ago.
I nod and blow out a deep breath. Keeping my eyes locked on his, because I refuse to miss the abhorrent look I know is coming, I say bluntly, “I have a hypersexual disorder.”
A look of confusion crosses his face. “Wait. What is that?”
“Sexual addiction,” I say, wincing. “I’m addicted to sex. If I don’t have it at least once a day… well, you saw the condition I was in in the shower.”
I don’t say anything more, giving him the opportunity to take stock of what I said. He just looks at me blankly. No emotions appear on his face. No disgust, no dislike, no revulsion. Nothing. I wait and wait and wait, but they don’t appear. He keeps quiet for several long seconds, and the silence is killing me. He may not be showing distaste, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it. He may just be good at hiding the emotions he doesn’t want me to see.
I’m startled when Blue shifts so he’s facing me. His knee brushes my upper thigh, and I fight with myself not to move it away. His eyes look contemplative as he looks at me.
“Okay,” he says. “That wasn’t what I was expecting. Explain this to me. If you don’t have sex once a day, you writhe in pain and become incompetent?”
I flinch at the word ‘incompetent,’ although it’s true. In reality, I depend on the men around me to take care of something I can’t do myself. I hate that I’m vulnerable in that way, when I’m so independent in every other way. It makes me sound weak, and I don’t view myself as weak at all. In fact, I think I push myself extra hard because of my apparent weakness.
Blue sees this and scoots closer to me. “I didn’t mean—”
I hold up my hand, cutting off his words.
“No, you’re right. When the cramps and shakes take hold, I do become incapable of caring for myself. That’s why I never let it get that far.”
“How long have you… had this addiction?”
“Eight years,” I answer unashamedly. He wants the truth; he’s going to get it. I haven’t felt shame for my addiction in years, and I won’t start now. I may regret how I used him tonight, but the pain had me delirious. All I wanted was to make it go away.
He looks forward for a moment, and roughly rubs the back of his head. When he turns back to me, there’s a little pinch line between his brow, but I still can’t tell what he’s thinking.
“Have you seen anyone about this?”
I nod and laugh humorlessly. “I used to go to a support group, but stopped seven years ago when it wasn’t helping. I’ve also tried several different kinds of antidepressants, with no success. Me and few friends decided we didn’t need the group, or wanted to unsuccessfully suppress our addictions anymore. It was pointless for each of us.” I lean closer to him and glare. “Why aren’t you jumping from the bed to get away from me? Why aren’t you looking at me with aversion?”
I can’t understand why he’s still calmly sitting there. It’s not every day that you come across someone with a sexual addiction, especially one that forces the person to have sex every day. In the last eight years, I’ve never missed a day. Even during my period, I come up with nifty ways to have sex. Men are harder to find during that time, but I still manage it. For Blue to not freak out or spew vile words, or at the very least look at me weird, is certainly not something I expected.
I tense up when he reaches over and grabs my hand. I look down with perplexity as he twines our fingers together.
“Is that what people normally do?” His question brings my gaze back to him. Not because of the question itself, but the tone of his voice when he asks it. The move he made with our hands was sweet, but the look on his face is not. His jaw is ticking, and there’s a barely controlled fire in his eyes. Once again, this man confuses me.
“Most of the time, yes.”
He yanks me forward by our connected fingers, and my chest falls against his. I make no move to stop him when he lifts me by my hips and plants me firmly in his lap, my legs straddling him. I’m still shocked at how well he’s taking this.
“Well, those people are idiots, and don’t deserve to know you anyway,” he says harshly. His gaze softens fractionally before he leans forward. I tense when his lips get a hairsbreadth away from mine, still unsure how I feel about breaking my no kiss rule. He stops only for a second, waiting for my reaction, before he closes the distance and settles his lips over mine.
The kiss is soft and lazy, and stops as soon as it starts. I pull in a shaky breath and relax my body against his. He leans back against the headboard and locks his fingers around my lower back. My hands rest on his pecs.
“Now, tell me more. Do you know why you have this addiction?”
Instead of answering his question, I ask one of my own. “You’re not repulsed by this? How can you sit there and act like this isn’t a big deal?”
His hands move up my sides, and I briefly close my eyes, loving the feeling. He gathers my hair in one of his hands and tips my head back.
“You’re right. This is a big deal, a very big deal,” he says. “But can you control it?” I shake my head. “That’s why I’m not repulsed. That’s why you’re sitting on my lap right now instead of me walking out the door and never looking back.”
I look deep into his eyes and see nothing but curiosity, and some other emotion I can’t name. I have no idea how
to react to his reaction.
“Answer my question. Do you know why you have this addiction?”
I don’t like this question. It brings up painful memories I’d rather forget. I look down at my hands lying on his stomach and start pushing back the cuticles with my nails. His hands take mine and place them on his chest, forcing me to stop.
I’m stronger than this. I need to pull my shit together and face him. I need to yank up my big girl panties and put my hard interior back in place. I’m never this insecure. The feeling is foreign to me, and I don’t like it.
Straightening my spine, I look back at him.
“There’s still a lot of unknown factors about sexual addictions. Some doctors say it’s all in our heads, some say it’s an imbalance of the brain chemicals dopamine and serotonin, while others say it stems from some form of sexual abuse.”
I stop talking and look over Blue’s shoulder at the headboard. My body is back to being tense. I hate talking about this. It always puts me in a shitty mood. I’ve seen so many doctors, had so many tell me it’s just something in my head, and I need to learn how to get over it. If they only knew how hard I’ve struggled, how hard I’ve tried to push past it, how much pain I’ve been put through, how ugly I used to see myself, they would know that this isn’t something I can simply get over.
“And what do you think it is?” My eyes go back to him with his question. “Out of those three, which one do you think it is?”
Reaching over, I grab the sheet and tuck it under my arms and around my chest. My bottom half is still naked against him, but having the sheet around me makes me feel better. I can’t do this so exposed.
I don’t answer his question, but instead, tell him a story. “When I was thirteen years old, there was a boy in my neighborhood that I liked. He was two years older than me. He was a very good looking boy, and I loved looking at him. I don’t know why I liked him, because he was always mean to me, saying nasty things. Calling me names, saying I was ugly and fat, laughing at me. When he caught me looking at him, he’d sneer and call me a freak.”
Blue’s body tenses beneath mine, but I ignore it.
“One day, I was in the woods behind my house. I can’t remember what I was doing, but I heard a noise behind me. When I turned to look, I saw Darren, the boy I liked. He was leaning against a tree, smoking a cigarette. He smiled at me, and my stupid heart melted because he’d never done that before. He threw the cigarette on the ground and put it out with his shoe. I stood completely still as he moved toward me, not knowing what to do or how to act. When he was in front of me, he started running his fingers through my hair. I was thirteen and new to the feelings his hands touching my hair made me feel.”
I stare off into space, going back to the moment, and the fear I felt only moments later.
“He called me beautiful, and said he was going to kiss me. I was still stunned he was actually talking to me and not being mean, so I let him. It was my first kiss. I didn’t like it. It was sloppy and he tasted nasty, like cigarettes. His mouth was pressing so hard against mine that he busted my lip. I tried pushing him away, but he grabbed my hands and held them behind my back. I kicked him in the shin and it pissed him off. He screamed at me.”
“You little bitch! You’re going to pay for that!” He screams at me.
Darren shoves me to the ground, and I try to kick out again, but he falls on top of me. I scream, but only a small squeak comes out before his hand clamps over my mouth. I freeze in fear when his other hand starts hiking up my dress. No boy has ever touched me before. I don’t even understand what he is trying to do, but I know I don’t like it.
He puts his face in mine while his hand reaches my panties. He spits in my face and says, “You want this, you slut. You’ve been wanting my hands on you for a long time now. I don’t see why you’re fighting it.”’
My whole body shakes with fear at the nasty look in his eyes. How could I have ever thought he was good looking? I whimper beneath his hand, and tears start leaking out of my eyes when his filthy hand pushes my panties to the side and touches my private parts. It hurts. He isn’t being gentle at all. His hand moves away from me, and then I hear the zipper of his pants. His hand comes back and his fingers probe and try to force their way in, but he’s having trouble. I can see the frustration on his face. I start swinging my arms, trying to push him off me, but he just removes his hand from my dress and grabs both with one of his and puts them over my head. I can’t breathe, because with both of his hands occupied, all his weight is on me.
He grunts as he grounds his pelvis against mine. There is something hard against my private area, trying to poke inside me, but my panties have fallen back in the way, blocking him. I know what it is. I know it’s his penis. We’d started sex education that week in class.
“It’s going to feel so good once I get my dick in you,” he pants.
My whole body shakes. I cry out for help, but it only seems to make him go faster. He pushes himself against me, over and over again, and I know I’ll be bruised later because of it.
Several minutes’ pass, then he moans, and the pressure of his hips lessen. I feel a warmth against my privates, and bile rises in my throat. His forehead rests against my cheek, and the heat of his heavy breathing blows against my ear. I wish he’d get off me and leave me alone. I feel nasty, and want to go home to take a shower and scrub him off my body.
I lay there, stiff, as he slowly gets up. I see a glimpse of his soft penis, and I barely have time to turn to the side to vomit. He laughs, and when I turn back to him, he’s zipping up his pants. I pull my dress down and hug my legs to my chest, sobbing uncontrollably. I scramble back until my back hits a tree, when he starts walking toward me. He squats down, a look of intense satisfaction covering his face before he wipes it clean, and his features turn hard.
“You say a word about this to anyone, and I’ll go after your sister next. You keep your lips sealed and do what I want, when I want, and she’ll be safe.”
The growl that comes from Blue’s throat is what brings me back to the present. I look down and notice my nails are biting into the skin on his stomach. I loosen my grip and look back at his face. The hatred and rage I see there frightens me after being in my scared state from reliving my past. He looks dangerous in this moment. I haven’t felt the fear Darren invoked in me in years. I became hard as an adult once I realized my addiction wouldn’t go away. I had to in order to protect myself after all the insulting comments I’d gotten over the past eight years.
Pushing the fear aside, I lift one hand and place it on his rough cheek.
“He didn’t rape me,” I tell him, wanting that look gone from his face. “He continued with his nasty rutting, doing it once a day for months and months. I don’t know why, but he never put it in me.”
“He raped you,” Blue says harshly. My eyes widen in shock with the vehemence in his tone. “He may not have put his dick in you, but he still raped you over and over again, Abby.”
“It could have been a lot worse, Blue,” I whisper.
His eyes flare, and his hands tighten on my hips. “It could have, but what he did was bad enough. Did you ever go to your parents or the police?”
“No.”
“Why the fuck not!”
Not appreciating his tone, I scowl and move to get up from his lap.
He grabs my hips and forces me back down. “Stay the fuck right there.” His features soften when he sees the heat in my eyes. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, relaxing his tense body. Sucking in a lungful of air and letting it back out slowly, he asks more calmly. “Why didn’t you ever go to your parents or the police?”
Letting his behavior go, I answer. “Because I was thirteen, and scared out of my mind. My sister was eight years old, Blue. His parents were rich and influential, mine were the average working class that had both parents working forty hours a week. I couldn’t take the chance that he could get off on what he did and come after my sister.”
“How long?�
�
“Seven months.”
The pulse at his temple ticks with my answer. I can see he’s trying to rein in his temper, and after several moments, he manages to.
“And he just stopped, all of a sudden?”
“He and his parents moved away. Several states over, I was told.”
He nods. “That’s why you think you have this addiction? Because of what that sick fuck did to you?”
I scoot back in his lap until I fall between his legs, and surprisingly, he lets me. I don’t know if he senses I need distance, or he needs distance himself. Either way, I’m grateful.
“I don’t know,” I tell him truthfully. “I think that it could have something to do with it. I had nightmares for three years after he moved away. Bad ones. Ones that woke me up in a cold sweat and had me rushing to the bathroom to throw up.” I frown when I think back to when my nightmares stopped. “My nightmares lessened when I started having sex. The more sex I had, the less the dreams came.” I shrug. “It could have been a coincidence, though.”
“But you don’t believe that?” He doesn’t wait for my answer, before he asks another one. “What about your parents? They didn’t question these nightmares? They didn’t do anything about them?”
I look down and run the edge of the sheet beneath my fingernail. “They didn’t know. I kept them a secret. Besides my close friends, you’re the only person that knows I had them.”
I squeak when he suddenly reaches forward and flips us around so I’m lying on my back with him partially on top of me, the sheet still tucked around me. I watch as his eyes run all over my face; my forehead, my eyes, my nose, my mouth and cheeks, before they settle back on my eyes.
“Do you know what happened to him?” he asks gruffly.
I shake my head slowly. “No. I just wanted to forget about him and what he did. After he left, I never heard from him again.”