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Brown hair so long, I wound it twice around my fist as I fucked her from behind. Woman had a beautiful, sexy body, a perfect ass, and legs longer than a mile.
Sin incarnate.
Everything that came out or went into her mouth drove me wild.
The night we hooked up, I had a purpose. I wanted to have sex like those people who, after having a go in the missionary position, roll away from each other and fall asleep. I wanted one night as a person and not a rutting beast.
Genesis didn’t let me fulfill my purpose.
From the beginning, she wanted it rough… and things grew rougher as the night progressed.
In the morning, while I lay dead to the world, she left without so much as a goodbye. I didn’t even know her last name.
With some diligence, I could have found her. I didn’t want to.
A sequel is hardly ever better than the original, so why mess with a memory so awesome I’ll take it to the grave?
I can pose that question to myself every day for the rest of my life, but I know it is a lie.
Somehow, during those hours after midnight and before dawn, Genesis and I forged a connection… one I still can’t explain. Yet it was strong enough to where I begged her to stay.
Why?
I don’t know. And I don’tneedto know.
With Tiffany by my side, a woman with class, style, and enough wit not to bore the fuck out of me, there will be no other changes to my life except a ring on my finger.
And I can finally forget about the one who got away.
Better Out Than In
Genesis
Waterpourslikehugetears from the dark gray skies. Puddles form on the grass, and rivers run along the curbs. Austin hasn’t seen rain in a while, and we needed it.
I love biking in this weather. The freshness of the rain is a reminder that life continues to renew itself.
Most people I know hate when it rains. I guess I’m the exception. Then again, I’m always the exception. Only Child Syndrome I suppose. I’ve never had to share… never had to fight. That is until I reached the third grade.
Manfred Schmidt had called me a bitch because I wouldn’t let him hold my Build-A-Bear. What he didn’t know, and I was too young to explain, was that I didn’t let anyone touch it, not even my parents. My granny had given me the toy two weeks before she died, and Blue Buddy, as I had named him, was special. I couldn’t bear to see him in anyone’s arms but mine.
Not knowing this, and probably not caring if he had, Manfred snatched Blue Buddy from my arms. When I made a move to get my toy back, Manfred grabbed a fist full of my hair and pulled me to the dirt. As he tried to drag me across the dusty playground, I dug my nails into his hand, removing grooves of his skin. He let go with a shriek that I still hear to this day.
In the meantime, Ms. Carmichael, our homeroom teacher, ran from across the playground, screaming at Manfred to “let her loose.”
She didn’t make it in time to stop Manfred from lifting me up and punching me in the mouth. She also wasn’t in time to save Manfred from a well-aimed kick to his balls that had him curling into a fetal position and panting like a dog in the scorching summer sun.
Because of the school’s zero tolerance for fighting, we both received a three-day vay-cay. But hey, at least no one fucked with me after that.
I turn the corner on the slick street, water splashing under my wheels. A car zooms from the underground parking garage, and I have to make a wide arc to avoid being hit. At the near miss, the breakfast bagel I’d shoved down my throat this morning threatened to appear before I forced it back down with a few gulps of air.
The driver toots the car’s horn like it was my fault, sticking up his middle finger. Steering the bike with my thighs, I double flip him the bird behind my back and keep pedaling.
At the 10x10 wire cage, which I’d christened the Bike Shack, I step off and secure the front tire, my helmet, and the frame to the chain-link fence. With my hands shaking slightly, it takes two attempts to snap the lock into place.
That wasn’t my first near miss. I wear a helmet, have on a reflective vest or poncho at all times, and I don’t go through traffic lights unless they are green, yet there are few days when Idon’thave to swerve to avoid a driver.
I walk on shaky legs to the elevator and press the button. The doors open with ading.
