by Amy Faye
I was blushing when his cock twitched in me again, and something in both of us switched gears. Wrapping his arms around me, he pushed my hips forward then pulled them back again. We moved rhythmically, his cock buried deep within me. I got goosebumps when he hit that one super sensitive spot within me, crying out a moan. I shuddered, tension inside of me building up.
His fingernails scraped my hip's skin as he frantically pushed me back and forth, grinding me on top of him. He felt so big within me, his cock so deep that it was nestled against my cervix and hit it with each wiggle. It was just the right kind of pain.
Brant forced my legs open wider, pushing my hips up, somehow getting even more of his huge cock inside of me. I gasped, my nipples stiffening. He sucked one into his mouth.
Grabbing his shirt, I used it to help me move. I rode him hard and fast, pushing myself closer to orgasm with each stroke of my hips.
As I felt my own passion growing and suddenly swell, his cock twitched within me and suddenly shots of his hot cum coated my insides. That feeling, that one sensation was what finally sent me over the edge. I screamed as all of my muscles shoot violently.
I let go of Brant's shirt and almost fell before he caught me. He held me, his cock still inside of me, and carried me to the stairs. “We're going to your bedroom, and I'm going to make you orgasm,” he said. “Over and over again, until we both fall asleep together.”
“Sounds absolutely perfect,” I said, taking him by the hand and leading him up the stairs.
Chapter One
Drunk and pissed off. That was about the only way someone could describe me most days, but especially as I stood from my stool at the bar and yanked another man off of his. He fell to the ground with a satisfying thud. His friends hadn't even noticed. They kept their eyes forward.
“Don't fucking talk to a lady like that,” I said, pointing down at him. “It's rude.”
He had been bothering the bartender, a woman I was fond of if for no other reason than because she talked to me while I drank. She was nice enough though I had never managed to get her into my bed. Not for a lack of trying.
“What the fuck!” He yelled, rubbing the back of his head where it had hit the floor. “I'm gonna kick your ass!” His friends turned around then, but they only watched. No doubt they were used to him acting like an ass.
I didn't know his name. I think he was new, probably there to spend the spring with family. He looked like a snot-nosed college kid, ready to party it up for spring break. Though why someone would choose Bell Bend for their destination was beyond me.
Well, no matter his reasons, he was about to go home with a black eye.
My fist struck out as he stood, but he dodged at just the right moment, holding up his hands. “Whoa, calm down, man!”
“Get the fuck out of the bar right now, or I'll make your regret every choice you made that led up to this point.” I grinned and thumbed my nose at him before dropping down. Using my leg, I tripped him to the ground and mounted him.
My words had been slurred. I was more drunk than I remembered, but who the fuck cared? My fists felt damn good as they met his face, over and over and over again.
“Brant, enough!” The bartender had come out from behind the bar, her slim body grabbing onto mine and trying to hold me back. She wasn't much use against me, she was too small, but she did her damnedest. I would have been impressed if I hadn't been too focused on making that asshole pay for calling her a twat after she refused to give him a blowjob.
This was becoming a nightly ritual, and I had to say, it was one I was starting to enjoy. Kicking a stranger's ass was nice and satisfying.
--
I left home and never looked back.
It was a small town, especially back then when there wasn't even a Wal-Mart to speak of within 30 miles. It's grown since then, a lot in 4 years, but it was still tiny.
Stifling, actually, after having spent so long in Ann Arbor. Ann Arbor was exactly my pace: a college town, but with small town aesthetics and liberal politics. It was so different from my hometown, Bell Bend, that I actually had culture shock when I first moved in.
There was only one face I missed when I left. Not even my own mother's face, since we had fought bitterly about me leaving.
It's funny. The only face I missed then was the one I desperately hoped I wouldn't see as I came back.
When I stepped out of the cab that drove me 4 hours north to Bell Bend, I was hit with that old smell. That smell of nostalgia and bad memories and a lot of books, since my mom's house was near to a library.
It was well past dark, and the sidewalk was damn from a recent shower. After paying the cab, I took my luggage from the trunk and rolled it up the damp cement to the front steps that I had helped my mom build out of wood when I was 12.
She did the best she could, for a single mother. She raised me to know right from wrong, to spend a lot of time in that library next door, and to not be afraid to do my own work.
Mom died when I was in my junior year of college. I came back for the funeral, but I hadn't had time to really come and deal with her belongings until after graduation. Alright, maybe I also made excuses not to come back home.
Could anyone really blame me? The house was huge and still full of her things, and dust. When I unlocked it, I expected to be met with some awful smell, but it was clean if a bit musty from being locked up for so long.
The staircase leading up to my old room greeted me first. The upstairs was essentially just one large bedroom, though as a teenager I had arranged it in a way to turn it into 3 rooms: the bedroom, a living area with my tiny TV, and a study area with my bookshelves and desk.
Leaving my luggage at the bottom of the stairs, I shut the front door and took a look around. Everything was still arranged perfectly. The painting Mom had a friend do of me when I was 5 was hanging over the fireplace, which had of course been gated and locked when I was born.
Mom hadn't been sure of who my father was. I guess there was more than one possibility. It never bothered me, not knowing. Not until she was dead and it was impossible for me to ever find out. Things might have been easier if I hadn't felt so alone.
I never wanted to come back to Bell Bend. It was a town that held nothing for me, and if I had my way, I would be back in Ann Arbor in only a month or two. I had a few applications in place for museums in Ann Arbor, and with my past work experience at the library next door as well as two separate internships, there were few applicants that could have bested me.
My goal was to take 2 months, pack everything up, sell what I could, get rid of most everything else, and keep only the most precious items. After that, I'd get the house sold and I'd be out of there for good.
–
Only a few hits after I had pinned him down, a large man grabbed me by the shoulders and hoisted me up and away from my target. I struggled out of his grasp, but he held me tight.
“You betta stop wiggling or you'll be the one with the black eye, Brant.” It was Jerry, an old friend from high school that got in with the local motorcycle club at a young age, following in the footsteps of his dad. He put on a lot of weight, much of it muscle.
I was not thin, but he easily lifted me up and carried me out of the bar. “Let me the fuck go,” I slurred, turning to try and take a swing at him. If I couldn't fight that nameless asshole, Jerry would do. Anyone I could fight, I would, gladly.
“No I fucken won't,” he answered, his accent pissing me off. “Yer causen trouble and I just wanted a drink. Yer gonna go home and get some sleep. Don't you have a real fight tomorrow anyway?”
He was right. I spat on the cement, which was already wet from the torrential rains earlier. “That was a real fight in there, too.”
Jerry laughed. “Yeah, but that one can getcha in some real trouble.” He looked back into the bar through the small window on the door. His huge beard stuck out from his wide face. “Looks like he's callen the cops. You should probably go.”
With that, he lef
t me on the road. I crossed my arms and leaned against the bar's fake brick wall. He wouldn't fucking call the cops on me, he wouldn't dare. I'm a local. Who the hell calls the cops?
No, he would come out there for a smoke at some point, and then I would jump him again.
Sirens started from a long ways away, and still I thought nothing of them. I was so damn sure that some fucking tourist wouldn't dare to call the cops on a local that just beat his ass. I just stood there, arms crossed, leaning against that wall and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Eventually, I was proven very wrong. A black cop car pulled up. It had Bell Bend written in a hideous font in red on the side of the car. A man I recognized stepped out, but I didn't know his name. I knew the names of most cops, but not that one.
“Brant Taggart?” He asked, stepping up from the street and onto the sidewalk near me. His face with thin, his nose long and crooked. Crooked like mine. Like someone that got in a lot of fist fights, despite his thin body.
“Yep, that's me.” I was still perfectly calm as I watched him.
“You're under arrest for assault and disturbing the peace.” He grabbed my hand and twisted my arm, forcing me forward against his car. I was surprised for a moment too long, which let him get the cuffs on me before I started fighting back.
“Hey! You can't do this, he was being a prick!”
The officer sighed as he tugged me up and opened the back door of his car. “You don't deal with pricks by beating the shit out of them. I've seen you fight before. I know you could kill a normal person with those fists of yours if you tried. Now get in and shut up.”
I did what I was told, but there was a stupid grin on my face. He thought I was strong enough to kill a man? Now ain't that special.
–
So determined to be done with the house as soon as possible, I spent an hour as soon as I stepped in packing up trinkets from the TV room. Mom had a whole cabinet full of fragile glass and ceramic decorations, shaped like angels or dolphins or flowers.
Inside the same cabinet was all of my school yearbooks, all the way back to Kindergarten. “No, don't look at that,” I told myself, but of course I couldn't listen. I was always a sucker for reliving bad memories.
Pulling out the yearbook for my senior year, I flipped it open and found my photo easily. It said Vivian Sable, “Most Likely To Become A Librarian” underneath it. My hair had been done up in a tight bun, to hide the blue streak I had put in it. My mom hated that little rebellion, done while at a friend's birthday party.
Yes, I was a nerd in high school. Horribly so, in fact, but I wasn't bullied. I was too invisible to really be worth torturing.
On the same page was that face that I didn't want to see. His blond hair was long that year, though when we had started dating he had been forced to shave it all off by his father. Gray eyes looked back at me from that photo.
Brant Taggart, “Most Likely To Join A Band”. He didn't even know how to play an instrument, and he was definitely tone deaf, I remembered with a laugh. He just had that look. The same look that made my mom very unhappy when he first came over for dinner.
In the end, she loved him almost as much as I did, though.
My finger slipped over the glossy paper, touching his face and trying to fight back those memories. The memories of our last kiss. The last time I said goodbye to him. The last time I said anything at all to him. They were sad memories, undoubtedly.
He was why I hadn't wanted to come back home. He was too painful for me. If I happened to run into Brant Taggart, I didn't know what I would do at all. Would I fall into his arms again, or would it be easy enough to move on, ignore him?
When we last kissed, he had tasted of beer that he stole from his dad to share with me before I left. I could taste it, then.
Laughing bitterly, I wiped away a tear and threw the yearbook into the box labeled trash. The rest went in the same box, and once it was filled, I put it outside at the curb. Trash day wasn't for another two days, but that box would stay out there. Those memories would go with it.
I was done with men. Brant was the last good man I had ever dated. My two serious boyfriends in college had both cheated on me, which told me a lot more about myself than it did about them. I was undesirable. Easy enough to comprehend, though painful.
So men were not a part of my life anymore, and I was happier that way.
Chapter Two
Ten o'clock had chimed on Mom's old clock before I realized just how hungry I was. I hadn't asked the taxi driver to stop for food at any point, and I was too nervous about coming back home to leave before I got in the car.
I had packed up a fair number of things by that point, and so I decided I deserved a late night bite from one of the few things I was excited to visit: Kallisti's Diner. Open all night and always ready to fix you up with some eggs and bacon.
I decided to walk, so that I could experience my home town like I used to. Also, because I didn't have a car. Everything was close enough anyway.
Down my street two blocks, you would find yourself on what we called a busy street, though even during the day barely anyone used it. We were just too small a town, useful only as a place to stop between Mackinaw City and anywhere else in Michigan.
The cherry trees were going to blossom soon, and so the streets would be littered with pink petals. It was the most beautiful time of the year, actually. A good time to come back.
On the busy street, it took only 10 minutes to walk to the local fire station, which signaled the beginning of the business side of Bell Bend. That was where most of the shops, restaurants and meeting spots were.
After the fire station was a big park, where I had my first kiss and lost my virginity. I didn't even look at it as I passed by.
Eventually, I passed the police station. A car pulled up as I walked towards Kallisti's Diner, and I felt nosy enough to see who was being brought in. It would probably be someone I didn't know, but I was curious anyway.
As I turned to look and saw blond hair, my heart began to sink. His sharp jaw, stubborn and clenched with frustration. Bare arms, showing a new tattoo he received after I left. Brant Taggart, my first real love. Considering the others had cheated on me, he was my only real love.
Something in my chest twisted when I saw that he was in handcuffs. There were dark circles under his eyes and something wild was struggling inside of him, I could tell. Something was making him angry. Against my better judgment, I wished that I could soothe those wounds.
His hair was shorter than the last time I saw him. He had put on a lot of muscle, too, and was no longer some scrawny kid, but it was undoubtedly him. It was undoubtedly Brant.
“Brant!” I cried out, but regretted it immediately.
–
Turning to whoever had called my name, time stopped and I was met with a face I never thought I would see again. I didn't even see her at her mother's funeral, though I went late.
Vivian was as beautiful as I had remembered her. More beautiful than the dreams I still had of her. Her hair was longer, and while she didn't look older, she did look more mature. More sure of herself. That confidence made her curves much sexier than before.
I could tell that seeing her was sobering me up. That numbness was gone, and pain was flooding in. Years without her, and I could still imagine the smell of her favorite perfume.
“Hey, Viv,” I said, forcing a glib smile onto my face. The copper that had taken me by the arms pushed me forward into the police station. I kept my eyes on hers for as long as I could, focusing on those dark eyelashes and that slender face.
When she left, she had promised to keep in touch with me, but I didn't blame her for not calling even once. She had places to go, things to do. She was going to be someone, but me? I was stuck in this tiny hellhole of a town, barely able to find work. Until I took up fighting, I was homeless. Now that I could beat people to shit for a living, I had plenty of money, but still not a lot of worth to a woman. Not
to a woman as perfect as Vivian.
There had hardly been a night where I didn't dream about her, about running my hands through her raven hair and feeling their soft waves tickle my cheeks as we kissed. Even when I was with other women, she was the only one I thought about.
I thought she had been the one that got away. There was no doubt that she was the best woman I would ever meet, and the only one I ever wanted to settle down with.
But she was back. She was back, and that meant he might have another chance. I had to grab that chance and run with it, because if I couldn't have her, I didn't want anyone else.
As the barred door was shut behind me and the cop left me in the cold cell with 3 other drunks, there was a grin on my face. I might have a second chance!
–
My eyes remained on the spot Brant had just been in long after he was pushed into the police station as I tried to regain control of my own thoughts. My mind had gone blank when I saw him, and then it started to race.
Turning back towards the diner, I tried to push the memory of his face out of my mind and, of course, failed miserably. “Come on,” I groaned, gritting my teeth. I didn't want to be one of those women that got caught up with an old fling.
The fact remained that I didn't want to see him, and I just wanted to finish up with Mom's house so I could leave Bell Bend and get back to my normal life. I didn't even want to stay in Michigan for very long, and would much rather move down to Arizona or California if I could find a job in either place.
That was how I was trying to convince myself to let Brant go, don't let him consume me again the way he had before I left. Instead of being able to forget him, though, I was glad that I got to see him again.