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Why is she with me? I'm rude, crude and treat her like shit. She doesn't care. I cheat on her all the time. She knows, but doesn't mind. I'm a cold-hearted, ruthless and selfish bitch. I just can't figure out what she even sees in me. All I know is that whatever's good in me is all Jus. Without her I'd be a god-awful, fucking mess.
I forgot to mention one thing about Jus. Her pussy. I told you I have a thing for them. Well hers is exquisite. No, it's fucking divine. She's almost perfectly symmetrical and so delicate. Like some master artisan has carved every little fold and feature with intricate and loving precision. I've seen quite a few, but hers is simply art and it's breathtaking. She has a book in her library -- James's Varieties of Religious Experience. Don't have a fucking clue what it's about and couldn't give a shit either but, I tell you, looking at her pussy; I have a religious experience every time. And I bloody worship it too. I make every offering to that shrine as wonderful for her as I can. Hey, and I figure offering regularly can't hurt either.
We've turned it into a game. Well, to be fucking honest, it's my game and she's agreed to play along. We wind each other up and then whoever caves first and begs for sex loses and a point goes to the other. It's usually me, but I let her win occasionally to keep it fun. To the victor go the spoils.
Shit, my coffee's cold.
"Jus, how do I work this fucking machine!?"
"Babe, just grab a can of something from the fridge, OK? You'll just break it or burn yourself or something."
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JUSTINE
You know, I don't mind that she's rude. It actually doesn't bother me at all. Except it's rubbing off on me too and I have to consciously stop including profanities in every sentence.
For all her aggression, she doesn't really intimidate me either. It's a front and I know she doesn't mean it. She's only ever been really angry with me once. A few months after we met, I thought I'd surprise her by shaving my pussy. She walked in to the bathroom just as I was about to start.
'Don't you fucking dare!!' she screamed.
She was furious. I was stunned. She must have seen my look, because her rage was gone in an instant.
'Don't', she said. 'Please, don't. Not you, Jus. You don't need to change anything for me. You're absolutely beautiful. I love you just as you are.'
And she turned and walked out. That's the only time she's actually said the L-word to me. And only the second time I've seen her cry.
Not really a crying gal, our Lena. The first time was when I asked her to move in. She'd slept over my place a few times, but usually left before I was up. The only sign she'd been would be a cigarette butt on a saucer in the kitchen. Half-eaten toast on a plate. One morning after a pretty rough night she slept late and I woke first. I remember just lying there watching her sleep. She looks so soft when she's asleep, all calm and at peace. Her eyes blinked open and she looked at me.
'Stay,' I'd said.
'Can't babe, got a job to shoot today. Some fucking marketing campaign.'
'No, I mean I'm asking you to stay. Here. Move in with me?'
Tears rolled down her cheeks and she threw her arms around me. She smothered me with kisses. Which soon turned into other things. She never made the shoot. She's still here too.
She's never hurt me either. Don't mistake me, we play rough. Sometimes very rough! But for all that Lena doesn't read, I'm like an open book to her. She knows exactly what I need, what I can take and what I want. How much, where and when. It's uncanny. And God she's wonderful. She must have had me a hundred different ways. Every hole. Mouth, tongue, fingers, fist, toys, and tools -- some pretty creative too.
Oh, there was this one time we'd gone to dinner at Angelica's. She and Paul had just got engaged and it was kind of a celebration for all their friends. She'd arranged this beautiful al fresco setting out in the garden with tablecloths, decorations, candles; the whole show. Paul had done ribs and steak and stuff. It was almost dark by the time we were eating and we were all chatting and having a pretty good time. Lena picked up one of the sauce bottles from the table and scratched at the label with her fingernail.
'What do you make of that Jus?' she said as she passed it me.
'Prime steak sauce?'
'No fuck-wit, the brand.'
'Shit!' I smothered a laugh. With Lena's minor modification, it now read 'Fulkoff'.
'But does it work?' she smirked.
Before I knew it, she'd whisked it under the table, and shoved it between my legs. So here's me clutching the table for dear life with one hand and the other up to my face to hide as much of my expression as I can while Lena's screwing me with a sauce bottle. It's so dirty and so unbelievable. Getting fucked under the table at a dinner party! I'm getting wetter as she slowly rotates it within me, moving it in and out. Letting the contours and ridges scrape over my clit, around me, in me. It's hard; real hard and big. Thank God for the dim lighting! Thank God it also wasn't the chilli! Meanwhile, she's having a casual conversation with Angelica about wedding plans.
Someone yells from the other end of the table.
'Hey, where's that steak sauce?'
'Oh, right here', says Lena.
