Erica, the girl who once spoke endlessly of how one day she would live on the banks of the Nile or in the very centre of Hyderabad or in an apartment with a clear view of the Golden Gate bridge (if she could ever break free of these chains), she now inhabits the dark space in my mind only visited in sweaty bouts of unconsciousness. Trapped inside my subconscious, she keeps her stranglehold on my thoughts, my actions, my entire being, despite that she has had no real contact since that one night.
That one night that plays in my dreams, on repeat.
I sit there on the edge of the bed in my grotty flat, my head wading in a shallow pool of Glenfiddich, desperate not to give in to lusty temptation this time, but to talk her out of her decision and persuade her to faithfully surrender herself to the future I have planned for the pair of us. ‘Erica,’ I whine, ‘give it some thought, please. You don’t have to do this your whole life. It could be so different. We could move anywhere. We could be in love. I know you want that, even if you won’t admit it.’
My dingy bedside lamp reluctantly half-illuminates the room, trying its hardest to hide the blemishes that litter my walls and the drink stains that crazy-pave my carpet in a shroud of shadow.
‘Aaron,’ she replies as she leans against the door that links my bedroom to the stained old bathroom from whence she came, her voice a rich sauce of years of cigarette smoke and an immitigable childlike femininity, ‘you don’t even know for sure that my name is Erica. It could be Rebecca or Jessica or… Roxanne, for all you know.’ She slinks across the room toward me.
‘I know you like to pretend that you’re keeping me at arm’s length like you do all the others,’ I rest my head against her bare stomach and close my eyes, as she stands in front of me in frenchies, a push-up and fishnet stockings, and I try to block out that stunning view that always seems to make the best arguments in my favour crumble around me, ‘but you’re translucent to me. I see through the act. You care about me, and that’s why you told me your name on that first night we met, that first time.’
‘You think you have it all figured out, don’t you, Boy Genius.’
‘I do.’
She kneels between my legs, which she has pushed open with her petite, manicured hands. Her sharp nails draw lines up my thighs and her large brown eyes meet mine, her plump, dark red lips creeping into a cheeky smile as my heart stumbles over itself to get to a dancefloor inside of my ribcage.
‘Well, Freud,’ she whispers as her slender fingers walk their way up to the zip on my trousers, ‘if we’re going to elope, can we do it later? I have other plans just now.’
‘But – wait –’ I grab her hand, pull it away from my crotch.
‘Aaron, I love our chats. I really do,’ her fingers do their signature strut once more, up my stomach to my chest, as her other hand continues freeing me from my trouserous prison, ‘but I do find it tiresome. Can’t we save it? Hold the thought and drag it back out, say, post-coitus?’ With that, she pushes me back onto the bed by the sternum, and my resolve dissolves in an instant.
Like it does every single time with Erica, the air around my newly freed thighs and pelvis feels strangely magical, making my heart flutter like the first time all over again. The loss of innocence is a recurring theme in the feelings mustered up by thoughts of Erica, and no matter how many times one spends the night with her, it never fails to feel new.
Her kisses creep up the inside of my thigh, those soft, moist lips planting promises of something altogether more pleasurable slowly in a pathway to my throbbing penis, which she reaches in seconds that feel like hours, and slides into her warm, wet mouth. Her black glossy fingernails dig grooves in my thigh as her tongue slips softly up the length of my erection, the softness and warmth of her mouth enveloping me until my arm hairs stand on end.
I run my fingers through her jet black bob, clenching a handful as she begins to nod with more enthusiasm, swallowing me deep into her mouth before sliding out far enough that I think she’ll let go. She begins to build speed, lapping me up until the tip of me reaches the hot, dark back of her whisky-stained throat and then withdrawing to tongue my throbbing end as if licking a flesh popsicle. Faster and faster, deeper and deeper, she sucks and kisses and licks until my back arches and my skin quivers and my brain swims in an electrical storm that takes my breath away. I grab the hand she has rested on my chest and squeeze her tiny fingers and the pressure builds in my head and the blood rushes to my crotch and my penis throbs in her warm wet mouth and she laughs and I gasp and every muscle in my body clenches to prepare for an explosion and then… she stops. She takes me out of her mouth, and those round brown eyes blink innocently at me as he finger wipes saliva from her bottom lip, which creases into a sly grin.
‘Where next?’ she asks, as she stands and places her knees on the side of my bed, straddling my hips as my legs dangle over the side of the bed. I struggle to gain my breath back, my head spinning and my heart drumming in my chest, as I lift my upper body from the hard mattress and pull her to me, kissing her stomach and breasts and neck with the vigour of a shark on a blood high. She cackles and grabs my hair for balance, as I go temporarily insane with desire and throw her onto her back on the bed.
She kicks her legs in playful resistance, as I wrestle the panties off of her pins and throw them to the floor. Her tiny feet, with matching black nail varnish and tattoos of song lyrics that mean nothing to no one, slap my shoulders and hands, keeping me away from the prize I desire, until I grab one and tongue it, shoving her big toe into my mouth as I stroke a finger up her shin to her thigh. My tongue follows closely, drawing a line from the sole of that perfect foot to her knee, that knobbly dimpled lump that she hates and I love, where I plant a kiss that brings forth another beautiful giggle, before proceeding to kiss my way up her inner thigh.
Sigh, she sighs, as I breathe my frantic breath against her smooth leg skin and lock my fingers in hers. I kiss her clitoris softly, a peck that is over as soon as it began, and she sighs again, her legs hinting at closing before I delve my head between them once more. I kiss her again, longer this time, and harder, and she gasps. I repeat this twice more, taking my time, building the anticipation until her head lifts from my pillow and she growls with frustration, grabbing my head and pushing my face into her crotch.
I begin to lap slowly at her clitoris, licking her up and down, as I slip a finger into her hot, wet hole and massage slowly inside of her. I draw circles with my tongue and my hand simultaneously, one way and then the other, clockwise and then anticlockwise, until her breathing reaches a pace that tells me that she’s ready for the speed to be built up. My left hand creeps up the smooth skin of her thigh and tummy until it meets her hand that rests there, which I grab and hold tightly; and my right hand works another finger into her, pushing in and out gently to the rhythm of her fast-beating heart. My tongue does its own dance, drawing the letters of the alphabet and the numbers from one to nine and ancient hieroglyphics and whatever the fuck else I can manage on the tiny pink face of her clit. Faster and faster I lap, suck and gently gnaw at her until she writhes on her back like one electrocuted and her fingers squeeze the blood out of my left hand. As her other hand pushes my face closer and closer to her, not allowing me a moment’s air, I slip another finger in and push into her hard and fast, sucking her clitoris into my mouth and running my tongue along it in slow, long laps. Her back arches, and as I pound my aching hand into her the final few times, I feel her quiver all over, her muscles convulsing involuntarily, as her grip on my hair relaxes and her vagina pulses intensely around my three fingers, still knuckle deep inside of her. FUCK, she screams, and her legs clamp shut, narrowly missing my grinning head.
She lies motionless for a while, still holding my left hand, eyes still closed, breast heaving. When she does open her eyes, they meet mine immediately, and she sits up to kiss me on the mouth, with both of her dainty hands wrapped around my neck. ‘I want you inside of me,’ she says, ‘and I want it now.’ She lies back, dragging me with her by my bottom lip, which is clamped between her teeth.
We’re like scavengers that have found fresh meat. We’re insatiable as we collapse together onto the bed, she scratching lines into my back that almost draw blood and I biting her neck, her shoulders, her ear lobe, so that she gasps from the ecstasy. We fuck like sixth formers in an empty house, carefree and youthful and so full of love and lust that no amount of orgasms could ever satisfy us. I pump myself into her from on top as her left leg sits on my shoulder and her right sits at my side. She smokes a cigarette which she puts out on my chest as she sits on top of me, massaging her breasts and crying out for God to help her. I lick beads of sweat from between her soft round breasts while I push myself into her as far as I can and kneed her buttocks in my hands. From behind, I pound her so hard that she clutches onto the headboard for stability and can’t utter a sentence from her clumsy cumming tongue. She lies down flat on her front, and I straddle her, entering her from behind and pushing as far into her as I can while pulling her hair just as much as she likes. Then, we do it all over again.
Finally, after all of the breathlessness and the sweating and the cigarettes and the fucking and the pouring whiskey onto each others’ searing skin and the fuck me harder, fuck me harder, I want to feel you fuck me harder, I reach a blissful, serene orgasm that silences the entire world. Troubles, issues, debt, duty, sin and evil crumble away to leave me in a heaven of my own creation, as Erica lies there underneath my exhausted body, panting and giggling and asking me what has happened to me tonight. We kiss, we embrace, and everything that was ever bad about life disappears as I lie there with my one true love.
And then I wake up.
I wake up in a new town, in a new city, in a new country, with only the cigarette burn scar on my chest to prove that that dream was ever a reality.
I know how the dream would end if it played on. It would end with me begging her to reconsider her life choices to accommodate a life spent by my side. I’d tell her we could find a way to pay off whoever was running her. I’d tell her we could run away, start a new life, and she’d never have to do any of this to anyone else again. I’d say all these things, and she’d just smile at me as she redressed and took money from my wallet, before purring, ‘I’m leaving the country tomorrow. If you can find me again, I’ll marry you, Boy Genius,’ and walking out of my life forever.
That’s why I wake alone. That’s why I’m constantly on the move. That’s why no one else will ever do.
Because I am forever searching for Erica.
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