Phoebe discovers that the man she is lusting for is her cousin.
Monday, September 7 2015
5.13 AM Pacific Time
Attraction has got laws too—like a ‘bitch’ dog wants certain principles followed before she goes on hit and starts having intercourse anyhow. From my perspective, these are the major Laws of Attraction I picked up from experimenting with both love and sex.
1. Never ask a man for sex. Yes, you got me right. Men don't like it when women ask them for sex. They will pretend they have not heard what you said correctly, or switch the topic immediately, or tell you they aren’t in the mood for that type of thing.
This is so unfair! When he wants to sneak his hand into your pants, he will expect you to furnish him with what he craves for at that particular moment. He will be like, "Baby, I really miss the last time we made love. You were incredibly great, you know? If you don't mind, honey, we can give it a second shot."
When you say, "Pie, I don't think tonight is the perfect time for that," he will growl at how so bad you are treating him, that he gives you everything you want, and yet you are conning him of his entitlement. Just imagine? In general, most guys get so annoyed, to the point where you even get tempted to believe that he will kill you for mouthing an unalterable, "No."
Tell him you want to make love, and he will ignore you like he has not heard what you said. "Baby, this is not the appropriate moment for that; I mean I am so tired that I need to rest without any slight disturbance." Is this a fair rule, ladies? He asks for sex and he gets it, but you are forbidden to ask for anything sexual, granted that he will not give it to you if you dare follow your guts?
2. Follow Whatever Stuff Your Man Brings Up—anything, so long it is him who has proposed it. Honestly, even we ladies wish our men did certain sexy stuff for us. Sadly, few women out there have the guts to tell their men what they exactly want.
Sex and love must never lead to slavery! Both man and woman should be free, communicating liberally without fear of how either party is going to react. If you want him to be doing A, B, C, D—tell him. It will increase your sex drive each time you see him doing that thing and make you orgasm twice faster and longer. That way, you both get to enjoy love and sex to the full.
You're not a robot, one that always has to be looked after and governed. Have creative fun and don't let anything curb you from living your fantasies.
If his ideas are not thrilling enough every time you have sex, why not bring into life your own methods and grind your teeth till you have made the best fruit of them? If you have anything breathtaking, don't be afraid to tear away its wrappings. Don't be, baby. The sky is limitless; they all the time say. Why then must he dictate limits on you?
I’m in trouble, uncertainty, and remorse at the same time. I fell in love with the wrong guy. What do I symbolize by describing him as ‘the wrong guy’? I am going to make that clear—plain simple as natural, fresh water without filth or mud when it is running in a long, raw stream. I wish all of this didn’t come about in the first place. If permitted solely one wish by God, I would turn down riches undreamed of; just to begin a neat and orderly page in my life.
Three days into college, I crashed into this handsome young man. He looked brave and shrewd; he was in flawless shape. From his uncluttered brown hair, down to his active feet, he was a marvel to stare at. Wherever he passed, girls would wheel their heads around to gaze at him, awed and filled with unutterable delight.
I didn’t know he was watching me that particular night. I was taking my ease quietly on the library chair, when I rapidly checked around on random impulse, and noticed the fine-looking guy goggling in my direction. He was all smiles in self-assurance. I didn’t have the stomach to do what he did. I just smiled back at him, shamefaced, and hurriedly stared away. Frankly, I was embarrassed with everything that had happened.
“Tyrone Emerson is my name. May I be acquainted with yours please?” He petitioned the second time we ran into each other inside the coffee bar overlooking my classroom. I was with my room mate, Julie Evans, or Mrs. De La Vega. She is thinner than me, with long, curly dark red hair.
“I’m Phoebe Jones, a first year undergraduate doing Criminology. What are you pursuing here at Wotton?” I am aware. Most men detest it when a woman asks them what they do for a living, or contemplate to do in the future. I had fine reasons for propounding this to him.
“I’m doing Economics, as in aspiring to become an economist. Like you, this is my first time being here.” Julie had this searching look on her face. I’m not saying she had also been struck by the spell of infatuation over this nice-looking guy. We were seated just the two of us when he surfaced out of nowhere and sat down on the stool closest to me.
Tyrone and I became friendly with each other. To my flush of excitement, I realized he lodged in the structure facing mine. Mine was a girls’ only hostel. His was a men’s exclusively dwelling. Our compartments, or rooms, overlooked each other to make matters breathtaking. This was starting to appall me, truthfully. It was like circumstances were setting us together, like destiny knew that we were meant for each other. Possibly we were—that was the impression I was starting to get.
One premature evening, while I sat down not far away from my glassed wall, doing an Identity Theft assignment on my laptop, the telephone chimed, and I rushed to answer it, thinking it was mom who was calling. “Mom, how nice it is to hear back from you. I have been ringing your line more than the millionth time now. Up till this moment, you were not responding. What did I do to deserve this harsh treatment from you?”
“Phoebe, this is Tyrone. I’m not your mom, which you believe me to be. I have been watching you do your assignment on your apparatus—your Dell, I mean—from my flat here. I just wanted to alert you that you have attempted Questions 2 and 6 the incorrect way. Would you be bothered if I come over and lend you a helping hand?”
Honestly, that left me looted of any word. One: How had Tyrone come to have knowledge of my telephone number? In my eyes, he was a stranger. And I don’t give contact details to foreigners I don’t know inside out. How did he know it? He could be a spy, or he could be a thief. I have my faith pinned on Julie. She could never betray me on this, not even when presented with a big check interchangeable with piles and mountains of dollars.
Two, how did he know I was working on an assignment? Does he have Superman eyes—eyes that allow him to look fixedly at my window from far there and still be able to keep track of every small act I am undertaking? I could be downloading porn or sex-ting some alien guy I don’t personally know on Twitter. I could be playing one of those erotic games where you have to peel off a woman her clothing, bit by bit. How come he is so positive that I am sweating on a goddamn assignment, and not browsing through an infinite list of YouTube videos?
Three, he sounds definitely convinced that my laptop is a Dell brand name. Ever since I arrived at this university, I have never carried it with me anywhere public. It stays inside my room throughout—day in and day out. I swear that Tyrone has never set a foot inside my flat. Is he attempting to show me that he is a magician?
Four, my assignment’s problems could be numbered in any peculiar, funny order. Say from capital letters A to F or Roman numerals I to VI. In any sequence and a normal human being is not supposed to know, save for when he is working on a duplicate, or let me say twin, of my god-cursed assignment. In rage, I questioned him, “What does all of this signify? That you are a sorcerer—is that it? Are you making use of magic to snoop on me, Tyrone?”
He laughed helplessly. “I am not a necromancer. I am going to make everything clear once I get there. Am I welcome into your flat, Phoebe?” His tone—it had an otherworldly-like feel to it. I couldn’t accurately pinpoint it. It was just there, solid but obvious.
“I receive you with open arms. Come here, please. I shall be marking time, loafing around until you finally show up. You better make it swift, I beg you.” This was all I could say, for the moment.
Tuesday, September 8 2015
One cute guy recently posted this: It only costs $0 to tell your woman that she looks good. Why is it so hard for some men to make their women feel special? He is right; very correct. Let me call him Hardin. His posts get liked by women and girls so often, because he has cute things to say about them. When he got into a relationship with this particular lady, other girls came out clean and admitted that they would sell their souls to the devil just to go out with him. As spooky as that might sound, that’s the truth—I mean that’s what happened.
I typed this in response to him:
That is a point worth your address, dear.
Since you are already a man, and you know your sex better than us ladies do, I thought you were not only going to pose this question, but also speak your mind on what you think are practicable reasons some men don't do this. It will be an absolute lie to say that all men don't tell their women that they look beautiful. Some men do, nearly on a daily basis, and women with these kind of men must learn to appreciate them, because once they lose them, they might never find their nearly extinct diamond kind.
Here are a few reasons I think (some and not all) men never make it a habit to tell their ladies that they look gorgeous:
1. The dude is terribly ugly and he knows and fears it. In fact, he is so afraid that if he makes his woman aware about how so beautiful she is, she will think twice when a better looking dude approaches her and go as far as abandoning him for the nice-looking guy. To the dude's imagination, it will be like, "I can't tell her that she is beautiful, which is the undeniable truth here. She every time tells me that I am handsome, and yet I feel like it is all a lie. Who knows? She laughs at me with her friends behind my back. I better make her feel uglier too so that she can stick with me and not ditch me for one of those handsome guys who restlessly look for newer ladies to spoil and have fun with. Besides, like goes with like, right? Like attracts like in other words. Ugliness keeps ugliness, and beauty wants fellow beauty. Birds of the same ugly feathers flock together. Roses of identical stunning colors twinkle in harmony."
2. No one tells the dude that he is handsome, and thus, he doesn't want to make life easy for his girl, whom he fears might start to take advantage of this fact. Indisputably, ladies get more compliments than guys do. "Hey there, that dress looks divine on you. Where did you buy it? I would like to try your fancy hairstyle also. Who styled it for you—where and when and how and what is its common name?"
"Sis, you have the most beautiful eyes ever. They sparkle like emeralds flashing in the sunlight. You are simply beautiful."
"Girlfriend, borrow me a slice of your hips. You must lend me that sexy body of yours. I want shapely legs like those, without any hair. I want my breasts to look like yours whenever I put on any variety of bras. Your body looks flawless in nearly every kind of clothing."
I am not so sure, but the majority of men rarely get compliments about how great they look. Lots of women get complimented and admired by both fellow women, and men. This might resolve the mystery. I'm only thinking.
I was in doubt; the reason? If it was normal to feel this way over a boy; I am not making reference to one of those underage ‘small boys’ who police the streets out there. I don’t date small boys. It is illegal and a punishable taboo in every country present on planet Earth. I want bigger boys, matured men with flavor and intellect, and not their unripe counterparts! I hardly took a nap since my first encounter with Tyrone. For hours unbroken in the comfort of my bed, I sprawled lazily, sucked up into limitless thoughts touching him. What had he done to me? I felt like I had been cast a spell on or something.
To make matters worse—or was it the best idea?—I turned to my mom for dating counsel. She oversees a well-liked dating site on the web, with millions of visitors leafing through each slipping month. This alone was reason enough to clear up my cause of approaching her.
“You are dating, Phoebe?” Amber sounded excited on the phone. In fact, she was itching to know more about this boy I was talking about.
“We are not yet dating, mom. I just wanted to let you know that there is chemistry between the two of us. He is evermore warm and tender with me. I am convinced that I like him. The only trouble is that I am putting in hours and more hours into contemplating about him. Do you think this is normal behavior on my part?”
“You are clearly infatuated with the boy, Phoebe. Are you sure he feels the same way about you? If he does not, I am afraid that things are about to take a bitter turn for you, darling. Never let yourself fall for a man you are not convinced treasures the same emotions for you. You might just end up like on of those heartbroken women I console every day on the web.”
Truthfully, that was starting to frighten me. It made me reason twice about where I was headed with all of this. Was I genuinely falling in love, or merely tricking myself? The thought of Tyrone leading me into some nature of a trap made me shudder in horror. Mom had a point, a good one as a matter of fact. I shrugged these thoughts away in any case.
Tuesday, September 8 2015
Julie and I talk about almost anything; food, fashion, love, religion, life, sex. She is my confidant, someone I can consistently lean on. Yes, I trust her more than I have faith in myself. I feel lucky to have a sweetheart like her. With her, I am evermore free. She is four years older than me, although at times she tends to act weirdo, or let me say babyish.
It was night. I didn’t have much to do. I was bored and intentionally lonely. My Blackberry internet was down, so I had to grab my modem and access the internet using my laptop instead. The truth is I like doing stuff on my phone. It is easy, and I get done lots of chores lazy-style. Using my Dell, I have to seat in a precise pose and make sure I heartily concentrate on whatever thing I am doing. Otherwise, to slice a slow, mind-numbing narrative brief: Julie and I texted. It should have been on What’s App or some other well-known app. I cannot one hundred per cent remember what it exactly was, unless I mine back into the past and confirm it—which I am not keen on accomplishing, mind you.
In case you don’t know, girls have a weakness of discussing forbidden, X-rated stuff. We don’t give a damn about doing this. It’s merely natural dialogue—our thing, our passion, our secret. What we can’t stand is having someone, chiefly a man, eavesdrop on our conversation. That always sucks. Yuck!
It seems men cannot do without sex, Julie. I am not madly curious into screwing Miguel, as much as he craves fucking the libido out of me. I don't get it. Why is it that men always want sex more than anything else? If they were that less interested in it, I swear—I would be a virgin to this day!
Don't you shake hands with me on this subject? I mean when you compare my case with yours? Doesn't your man bug you to constantly get undressed so you can have intimate fun in his, or your own, bed?
Whenever I am in love, I lose my sanity to the extent where I am willing to engage in just about any kind of sex to please him. That's why I learn more and more regarding it. I every time set my sights on discovering more ways to thrill him, stilling his appetites in so doing.
You are right, Phoebe. My hubby loves sex more than he is addicted to his Play Station. Sometimes, I fail to grasp it. I just want to be in a normal and yet sweet relationship with him. I want him to buy me romantic novels and birthday cards and spend lots of time in my company, it be day or night. I want more than just sex.
Yes, like every commonplace woman, I also do feel this strong itch to have it. I know how to control myself brilliantly, regardless. If I want sex badly, I let Denzel know. If he wants it too, he tells me. A relationship without sex is like....tea without sugar. You must put in sugar in order to effect that sweetness.
Don't mistake me for a sex addict, girl. I am no die-hard lover of sexual intercourse. I as well don't understand why men cannot do without it. Tell me: Does he buy you underwear?
I wish he did. To be honest with you, he doesn’t. I buy my own panties, Julie. After all, I am big enough to manage that; I am a grown up, am I not?
What do you love about having sex with Miguel? I myself: I can't resist caressing Denzel’s large hairy chest or sloping myself down on a naked him. His hair all the time tickles my breasts. I mean the sensation that comes from lying on top of him is wonderful, galvanizing what’s more. I am insanely addicted to it, I swear.
Denzel is hairy all over, mind you. Even his ass has got hair, girl, can you picture that?
Don't make me burst from laughter. Seriously, lady! Don't you know it is normal for the majority of men out there to have hair all over their bodies, even on their buttocks? Well, yes, even some women are hairy too. It just depends.
Hey girl, I can't resist to stare Miguel in the eyes every time he enters me. I don't know. I always like to see his expressions throughout the act. This alone is enough to make me orgasm.
Give me a couple reasons you would sleep with him, without a second thought?
1. He Smells Like Heaven, I give my word. I have sniffed his clothes before: His slack boxers and tight underwear—his everything; that glorious scent of his....I have never encountered anything like it at any point in my life. I would rather sleep with a man who smells nice, than one who stinks like waste.
Thank goodness: Miguel smells fantastic, and you are granted, naturally. No! He does not spray bottles of day-to-day cologne throughout his body. That would instantaneously put me off. He smells himself, simple but artless, sugar-like and honey-like.
Damn! I miss his scent already. I wish he was closer to me, standing within sniffing distance, so I can breathe him in and then contemplate on him. Just by smelling a delicious him, I get hungry. I swear that this is the truth!
2. He is the Only Person Who Treats Me with Nobleness. What am I saying here? With me, he is ever soft and ever gentle, ever caring and ever sympathetic. That's why I am not going to leave him. I did that the last time and things got disastrous. Five minutes into his absence and I felt like I had suddenly run out of oxygen. Why? Because he handles me like no one else is able to, in a uniquely impressive way.
I can still call to mind those vanished paradise-like nights with him; him playing the guitar for me; singing novel, sweet lyrics I had never heard anywhere else; dancing frantically before my eyes in such a manner that I couldn't help but giggle at. He knows perfectly how to make my day.
That is why I treat him like a King. In fact, he is my King. Whatever thing he requests of me, I fulfill it. I love him; I love him; I love him!
3. He Loves Me. Honestly, why would I bother to sleep with someone who has no interest in me, much less my heart? When I say he loves me, I mean it. Every night, he sends me an embracing text, dying to know how I am doing. Whenever I learn that I have got a text waiting to be read from him, I smile to myself contentedly, in restless angst. I even do squirm out loud; though not loud enough for everyone to hear. My happiness is my own thing, isn't it? And yet it can still be shared with my closest buddies, like you, for instance.
"I love you, Phoebe," these are the words he unfailingly murmurs from his lips—every time and every day. Not just this, but his actions also prove what he states out. "Girlie, you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. What would be your reaction if I told you that I want to marry you?"
I love him too, because he loves me. We love each other. Why then must I not give him sex? He is not going to tear my heart apart and leave me destitute. He loves me strong enough—he is to a degree prepared to settle down with me, he consistently adds. Sadly, I don't think I am ready for marriage yet.
If given the chance to die in my place, he says he would happily do it, though with great suffering on our part, as he will be leaving me on my own behind. No! I don't want anything of this nature to happen to us. It certainly won't!
Hey girl! In case you are not aware, men will always cheat on their partners, no matter how great and satisfying they are. That is the chief reason most women start screwing other dudes behind their men's backs. The funny thing is that while the majority of men get caught in the act, with overwhelming and puzzling evidence on the woman's part, the mass of unfaithful women never get caught. How come?
I won't lie to you, girl. I have cheated before. Not because I wanted to. He cheated on me first, and that really hurt to discover. I was like, "I am not good enough for him? Okay, we are going to see about that." I went on to play his game, smarter than he did, making the exact moves he performed on me, but not daring to repeat his mistakes.
How do you handle a man's unfaithfulness? Do you think faithful men still exist? Tell me, please, dear!
That is the worst thing that can happen in any relationship. Cheating! Unfortunately, this shit happens in all places, from the most lavish home, down to the poorest one. Men cheat, and they will always cheat on you. Women have learned to cheat also. They do it ruthlessly and intelligently than men do this stuff.
Well, you seem to forget that you are the one who taught me how to shuffle the cheating cards once he throws them down on my table, scaring and stirring the hell out of me. I just have to be extremely careful; otherwise I will be caught unaware and left hanging dry inside a creepy damn lurch. If he doesn't give me everything I want, I have to make a plan B. I am not willing to play dummy here—are you, babe?
When dating my first man, I discovered he was cheating on me, well, just to make me a bit jealous and pull up my socks in holding him tight to myself. That is when the unfaithfulness horror began for me—on my first man, and not on my ninth or eleventh one!
Regardless, that first guy seems to like me to this day. He didn't make it to the fucking session with me. Maybe that explains why his eyes light up abruptly whenever I marvel at him. He just wants to fuck me, and then call it a done conquest.
Men, men, men. One can never sympathize with them. When they crave sex, they will treat you like a Queen. Once they are through and satisfied, they walk out on you like you don't matter anymore. I know. Not all men are like this. Why do we keep meeting the bad guys for the most part, Angel face?
Well, it seems like we both have the same technique of dealing with ‘cheating’ men. We stab them in the back, like they knife us in the first place. Like you, I got cheated on by my first man. In his case, he was pursuing the four of us at the same time, and we all said, 'Yes,' at once, not knowing what he was determinedly doing behind our backs. Having messed up the other girls, he settled on getting serious with me. I hadn't learnt to easily forgive at that time. Thus I left him in un-drying tears.
Julie, tell me about your stepson, Lucas, whom you said seems to be lusting after you these days. You are almost as young as my age, 25, and wed to a 41 year old man, who has a 22-year-old son; one that is born out of wedlock—outside his second marriage which is.
Is this Lucas hot and sexy? I mean, isn't he supposed to fear you as his mom? You are in fact his genuine mother. If you are given the choice to pick between him and his dad, who would you go for? Just be honest with me, darling. I beg you.
I remember the story you were telling me the other day; that you were out for dinner as a family—you, your hubby, Lucas, and his two young sisters. Out of the blue, you sat facing him, your legs constantly and accidentally brushing his. In the end, he had a massive erection, rock hard, which you discovered upon bending down to pick up your fallen ring.
You also said that Lucas confessed to his best friend, Cody—you were eavesdropping on their conversation behind his shut bedroom door—about how he was experiencing wet dreams starring you nowadays at a frequently growing pace. What do you think about all this stuff, cutie? It seems your stepson is craving to have an affair with you. Aren't you in agreement with me concerning this? Or maybe you think this Angel-light is merely getting crazy and making weird stuff up?
You wanna know 'bout my stepson, Lucas, Phoebe? I have no problem explaining that. Yes, stuff has been happening—I mean attraction between the two of us. I don't know how to help it. Lucas is stunningly handsome, and I am fiercely attractive too on the other hand. We can't resist each other. When my husband is around, we fight like a cat and a dog forced into the same kennel, but behind this, we just want to fuck and fight each other in the bed. If you see him, I swear your vagina is going to flood with sugar. He makes me wet just by gazing at me intensely.
At first I loathed the idea of entering into an affair with him, him being my stepson, almost my own child. Now I adore it! The other day we were alone inside the house, we kissed and licked each other's throat and whispered the sweetest things. I think I love him. That is what I am starting to feel now.
I will be honest to you as a friend, cute babe. My stepson and I are starting to get on each other's nerves and privates at the same time. There is no way I will say, 'No,' to having sex with a boy that exceedingly handsome; there is no way he is going to refuse caressing the breasts and pecking the skin of a beauty queen like me. I don't care what happens next.
I married Denzel for revenge solely. Not because I loved him. At first, I was so helplessly in love with this certain guy. He left me for a nobody—I mean a girl with nothing amazing and extraordinary about her. His pals told me he married her just to hurt me. I was not willing to do everything he ordered me to accomplish in our relationship. In his eyes, she was very submissive in almost everything. Thus she became his legitimate wife. To sting him back, I dated a guy as filthy rich as myself and wedded him in the end. It wasn't genuine love that drove me into this marriage on my part. Now I want to genuinely fall in love again, with Denzel's son, which is.
I can’t forget that first moment when I ran into him, even if I was pound in the head a countless times with a sledge hammer. It was not something I was looking forward to. It just happened—a stroke of bad luck or misfortune. Yeah, it was an accident. I was hurrying down the stairs, recklessly. I can’t call to mind what had precisely gotten over me. The next thing I know is I hit into these strong arms, the very arms that are holding me tight in this single bed. I swear: I have forgotten what loneliness virtually means. His room looks simple, but tastefully modern. I would move in here at any slight opportunity to do so.
Slowly, his eyes dart up to my face. I am not embarrassed being naked around him anymore. I am now used to it. The truth is I can peel away all my clothing in public, and I wouldn’t give a damn about accomplishing this. The only thing restraining me from doing that is making a horror show before everyone in motion, and then getting my hands cuffed up, my face thrust high against the wall, and finally towed into a police van. Many people have different names for that thing—I mean that vehicle.
“You don’t seem happy being here with me,” he notices, the reason he decides to pass comment. I stare at him quietly. Inside my head, there are millions of thoughts pressing their way. I am thinking and thinking and overdoing it. I can’t get myself to make a final decision. My head is on the verge of bursting. He has a point. I should call it quits and put my concentration on him solely.
“That is not what I said, or hinted. What makes you say that, Miguel?” I fake a cheery smile. He doesn’t buy it. I have become so bothered I cannot get myself to put on a false act, which I always triumph in doing. Gosh. This has become way too serious then!
“What is it, concerning me, that makes you terribly worried, cutie? Perhaps I have done something that you find offensive? Tell me, baby, and I will be quick to apologize.” I hold his cheek with my hand. It feels baby smooth like, delightful. I caress it smoothly. He suddenly falls quiet and gets wound out of his breath, like a babe when it is struck dumb. I am not going to leave him for anything in this world, I swear.
“You haven’t done anything to upset me. The truth is I am only thinking about us—our future together, where we are headed to.” He is still out of breath and alarmingly quiet, taking into consideration every word that I am giving utterance to. “What do you think about us, my sweet pie?”
“We don’t just need to fuck. We should marry, dear……..one day I mean.” Between these two words, ‘dear’ and ‘one’, he notices how bitterly my facial expression has changed. Yes, I love him; deeply what’s more. I am not ready to wed him this soon. I beg.
I am willing to do anything to satisfy his sexual needs, even if it means selling my soul to the devil. Why am I saying this? He is holding my butt nicely with his wooly hands. I smile at him slightly. He grins back in self-confidence. He precisely knows what he is doing to me. He has located my anus, promptly jabbing a firm finger inside it. “Don’t you dare tamper with my butt queen,” I warn him, serious-faced. “My cunt is dripping wet with your cum already. It is swollen red what’s more. Don’t you think this is enough for me to put up with?”
“You wouldn’t like it if I tried anal with you, lily? I have been dying to fuck your ass, baby, ever since the first time you got naked before my eyes. Please, just let me do it. It will be quick and painless, I promise. I have a butt plug. I can warm you up if you wish me to.”
“No,” I kindly turn him down. “I am not ready for that kind of thing tonight. Just give me a bit of time to think about it.” He seems angry and disappointed with me. I am not willing to change my mind about it, sorry. I am the one possessing that ass he wants to rump so cruelly. He just has to wait, or fuck around some place.
“Okay. I am not going to twist your arm into it. We shall give it a try once you are ready. I want you to know one thing always: I love you—you, you, and you alone.”
I smile in response shyly. “That is what I also want you to know. My love for you is deeper than the bottomless floor of the Pacific, limitless like the starry heavens overhead.” He tweaks my breast sharply, kissing it teasingly. I giggle lightly, pulling back from him. He goes for my lips instead.
“Now, split up your legs one last time, baby, will you please?” He begs me, his voice wounded seeming. This is surprising, taking into account that I have not done anything to stir his pain, or should I say agony? Anyway, I do what he is asking me to. My legs are entirely his tonight—and my whole body too. He eases into me. I hang wide open my mouth, gripping both sides of the bed. I just can’t control it. Tears gush their way out rapidly. “Did I hurt you?” He kindly asks.
“You didn’t. Just fuck me one last time and get us ended with this ordeal.”
“It is now an ordeal, baby?” Yes. I have astonished him by saying that. Whatever!
“Don’t mind me, Miguel. Do it quickly. I am so tired. I must rest for hours undisturbed after this.” Late that night, I can barely sleep. I am by myself, seated on the lounge and silently thinking about what happened hours past. Just after I had sex with him, my stomach began experiencing weird-like sensations. I feel like I am being electrocuted deep inside or something. I have to call Julie, my bestie. She might be able to explain what the hell is exactly going on to me.
"Phoebe, are you okay? You sound nervous to me. I am wondering: How did fucking go with that jerk? Was he rough with you, even this time around?" Whenever I am about to have sex, Julie is the first person I let know about my furtive plans. She counsels me on how to go about it and also how to respond to the heavenly-like sensations that surface in the process. She lets me know whenever she wishes to pull her legs apart for her man. We are not ashamed to discuss our sex lives.
"I don't think I am okay, Julie. Is it common to have funny feelings in the stomach after having sexual intercourse? I swear: I feel like electricity is moving inside my belly. This is starting to scare me for sure." She is quiet for a while, definitely thinking stuff—I guess.
"I don't know what to say, Angel. Maybe you are allergic to some sex toy he put into you. Tell me: Did you guys experiment with strange gadgets?"
I shake my head, even if she can't see this motion on her phone. "No, he didn't fuck me using any sex toy. Neither did I masturbate with the help of any. I don't know where this alien feeling is coming from, I swear."
"Just keep calm, dear. It could be that you are not used to his semen. I mean some ladies with weaker wombs react to strong semen. Girl, you have to be careful with that guy. He can get you filled with child that easily. He seems to have an impressively high sperm count, and his sperm might have a very powerful impact on your...inside." I put my hand on my belly, and then slide it into my pants. I am still wet. I didn't wash his cum out once we were through. It drips down my legs, bit by bit and awkwardly. I had to wear three varied-style panties, just so to stay off from making a noticeable scene.
"Thanks honey, for the recommendation. Nothing is paining thus far, really. I solely feel uncomfortable with these tickles that my stomach is undergoing. Since they are itching skin deep, I can't scratch them, otherwise I would have done that by now."
She sighs out in relief. "Your guy seems reproductively blessed. You will definitely get used to sleeping with him in time, I promise you. Did sex with him hurt, even slightly, if I may kindly ask?"
"It didn't. At first I was ecstatic, before he entered me. But then I suddenly lost interest and focus after he had began ploughing deeper into my womb. Thereafter, he took me into an orgasm by surprise."
Julie coughs unexpectedly. I think she is mocking me. Is she really? "Sorry, that is me and my flu. I still have not fully recovered. Would you mind if I call you back minutes from now? I have a guest to attend to straight away."
I sigh calmly. "No problem, pal."
Miguel sounds over the moon with his latest accomplishment. First, he beeps my line, and then he forwards the proceeding text:
I am happy that I have at last fucked a beautiful creature like you, Phoebe. You played hard before I was finally able to sneak my dick into your pants. Now I have made my conquest.
I laugh quietly to myself, and then respond:
You are mad, dude. Yes, you have finally succeeded in sneaking—or is it sticking?—your handsome dick into my pants. I didn't know your dick tasted sweeter than sugar. What must I call it: Sugar Miguel?
He snorts back at me, rudely.
Sugar Miguel: That is your moniker for my penis? Girl, you are so dumb and low at the same time. Why don't you call him Sweet John or Sweet Jake instead? That sounds a lot better.
Damn! I can't help getting aroused. My legs feel like they are being caressed by those strong hands and pecked by those seductive lips that I am now lusting after. My vagina is noisily weeping. She is hungry for more sex already!
Miguel, would you mind if we do it again? I want more...and more of Sweet Jake. Please don't say no to me. You are the one who has aroused me. Now you must face the consequences of doing that. I can't keep back the fires of lust from consuming me. What have you done to me, you asshole?
He sounds eager to have more sex with me as well.
I will fuck you again....my beautiful angel. I am dying to fuck you the millionth time. Those juicy thighs of yours, when undressed for me to lay my eyes on, are as tempting as ever in my mind. Your purple-like tear or vagina—I want to see it and finger it what's more.
I bury my head into the pillow, spreading my legs apart. It is gloomy inside my room, with dim multi-colored lights blazing sickly. I can see Miguel posing naked before me. He bends down towards me. I quickly pull my legs further apart, feeling sugar stream out of my cunt as I sight his nicely penis; the handsome penis that is going to pleasure me! I would kill just to have sex with him once more.
At last, he calls. I answer following three repeated rings. "Miguel, aren't you scared of writing dirty stuff to me? My vagina passes greetings to your cock regardless."
He laughs momentarily. "My cock is okay. He is lonely tonight. Tell sweet vagina she needs to visit him another time. Right now, I have put him to sleep. Be careful with what you say. At any loud and careless and sexually stimulating word, he will not delay to stir awake."
"Don't worry. I am not going to disturb his rest. He worked hard this evening; which explains why he is tired now and needs to enjoy his rest. Sweet vagina shall visit him, I guarantee you. I don't know when exactly."
I am meeting him this afternoon. I heave a deep sigh out, and then think about how the event will be like. I am still deciding what it is that I must precisely wear. Well, this is just a basic event. I don't have to look showy or flashy. I will merely be my plain self.
When I see him, my heart nearly skips out of my chest. I smile at him charily. He gazes at me coolly. I make my way towards him, battling the feelings of shyness that are aggressively threatening to overcome me. "Miguel, good afternoon!" I stand before him. He places his hand on my waist, boldly looking into my eyes. I feel sugar moving inside my blood, sweet and electrifying.
"My angel, I miss you. So much, you don't even know how lonely and miserable I was last night without you sleeping next to me." My lips curl into an unwilling smile. I had no intentions to smile. I forced myself into it.
"Miguel, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me," I tell him kindly. My eyes shimmer in the intense sunlight. When I look at him, I start to believe that he is sparkling. Perhaps he is. I am not sure. I love him; I love him; I am solely his. "With me by your side, you won't ever be lonely again, I swear."
"I miss last night," he tells me more boldly than he was in the first place. The same is equally true with me. Last night was wonderful, I give my word.
The place is quiet, not the kind of location where tumults erupt aimlessly, all out of nowhere. Here, I settle down with him, seating on his lap. He wants me to seat here. So I do it! The only thing I don't want to work out is to awaken his sleeping Sweet John or Jake. It is not like we are going to fuck here, right where people pass until they reach their respective destinations. First, he looks up at me, mildly, and then he caresses my chin.
"Stop shaking, girl; my legs are not a twig that easily snaps once anyone heavy settles down on them." Did he say 'heavy'? I am wondering if I am that overweight actually. I know that I am not. Duh!
"Stop scolding me. You say you love me, don't you? I was just worried that....I could brush your...and land ourselves in big trouble."
"I am your man; yours and yours alone. I beg you; don't look down on me like I am one of those commonplace, worthless jerks parading the streets out there." At this, I lean my head playfully on his shoulder. I don't see anything wrong with doing this. After all, he is my man, isn't he?
"You know one thing, my beautiful? I am going to fuck you again, and I will keep on doing it until I yield my last breath. Don't you like the idea of me fucking you?" I almost giggle uncontrollably at these words. I am going to fuck and fuck him too, until I breathe my last. I have my fingers crossed on that!
I can’t conceal what I am feeling anymore. I am falling in love with two men: Miguel and Tyrone. Let me make this simple for you to follow. I am in love with Miguel, and yet I am starting to have feelings for another man, who is Tyrone. Both two are handsome, likeable and affectionate. No one else besides me knows this. I can’t tell Julie. It is pretty early to make confessions of this kind.
I think I’m in trouble. In fact, I am trapped in this bowl of mess, deliberately. I told mom I have a crush on Tyrone. Now she wants to meet him. Sir Richard Wotton’s Day is tomorrow. He is the one who instituted the university back in 1926. Every year, the college throws a jubilee in commemoration of him. Students, parents, guardians, politicians, professors, and neighborhood celebrities, are called forth to paint the town red. Mom swore to me she would come, warranted she was going to meet Tyrone.
Miguel and I begun dating a year past. Amber still believes he and I are finished. Well, we are not over with each other truthfully. We reconciled two weeks ago and rushed into thoughtless sex, steered by our savage passions, I fathom.
I don’t know how I will tackle this. The two must not meet—Miguel and his yet-to-be rival. Tyrone is a scholar here. Miguel works for Wells Fargo, a provincial bank. I did not notify him about the coming event. I don’t think I have to. Mom will have sneaking suspicions should she spot him with me. She will stop having confidence in me furthermore. I don’t want this to happen. No!
Nighttime generally fascinates me. I love the night life: Slipping on my sexiest lingerie and tightest dress and nosiest heels and then heading out to have fun with my girl or guy buddies. I love watching musicians dance vigorously on some giant stage. My deepest passion is touring a dusky-lit Las Vegas in plush, flying cars. Throughout, there booms beautiful, bewitching-like music—it pierces into my ears: Making me lurch this way and that other. If I am swaying my bum and Julie happens to be around, she habitually drums it with her hands and then vaguely notifies me, “You are mad, girl. You better teach me how you do this crazy bum dance thing of yours. I like it.”
Sad to say, tonight, I am not going anywhere. Julie will be sleeping at her matrimonial home, with her stepson. Her husband is away on some business trip. I can’t picture his face the day he will learn that his wife has been cheating on him with his own blood son; incest! That’s what they call it.
To sidetrack myself from boredom, I seized my phone and logged in to Facebook. Having snapped the ‘Chat’ button, to know the 14 humans that were online, Denzel hit my inbox unexpectedly, from far there in Thailand. Must I tell him what his wife and Lucas are doing right this moment in his own bed back home?
Denzel de la Vega
Wednesday at 13:07 • Sent from Mobile
Good morning, Denzel.
Wednesday at 13:11
Denzel de la Vega
Morning dear; how was your night?
Wednesday at 13:13 • Sent from Mobile
(Point of correction: We are both mistaken here. It is now afternoon, don’t you agree? Perchance it is morning there in Thailand?)
It was okay. I was just relaxing at home…….tired, I guess.
Wednesday at 13:16
(It is still Wednesday, 9th of September 2015.)
Denzel de la Vega
It’s nice to hear that. I have a question for you: Is he your boyfriend? The guy who commented in that picture of yours—that you’re beautiful for only him.
9 September at 13:17 • Sent from Mobile
He is, Denzel: Miguel—that's him!
9 September at 13:20
Denzel de la Vega
Wow! I’m happy for him. He is really lucky to have you.
9 September at 13:21 • Sent from Mobile
Thanks. I want to ask a few questions about you, guys, and I want honest answers please. Will you be kind enough to answer them for me?
9 September at 13:26
Denzel de la Vega
Yes, please! Go ahead. Feel free to ask anything about us—guys or men—whichever word you prefer, Phoebe.
19 September at 13:27 • Sent from Mobile
1. Why do guys tirelessly pursue a girl in the beginning, and then quickly pull back once she flashes back interest? What does that mean? That a guy has all of a sudden lost interest in her or what?
9 September at 13:30
Denzel de la Vega
Nope! What that means is some guys follow girls for a purpose. Some: It’s not that he loves you. He may be attracted by how pretty you are and your body. In short, these guys lose interest in a girl once they get what attracted them to her in the first place. It may be that he craves solely sex from you, or your money or fame.
9 September at 13:39 • Sent from Mobile
Okay, that’s pretty sad, although you have explained it very well.
2. Why is it that when a girl gets in a relationship with a certain guy, other guys will begin showing interest in her, all out of nowhere? Do such guys merely seek to disturb her thing with the present guy? All along, they were quiet; not bothering to do anything about her until another man showed up and won the girl to himself. I’m sorry if I am bothering you with all this. I just needed to know.
9 September at 13:43
Denzel de la Vega
No problem, dear. We are friends and what are friends for? Some guys come to disturb your relationship and yet it is not true with the rest. There are many guys out there whom you don’t realize have a crush on you. Some dudes simply fail to propose. They are just too shy and they weigh their background with yours. If you come from a rich family and the guy is impoverished, it becomes hard for him to approach you. It will usually take him lots of time to finally overcome his fear if he is that much interested in you. That said, not all men conceal wicked intentions towards women.
9 September at 13:56 • Sent from Mobile
Denzel, this is really helpful to me. But how can one know the good guy with good intentions. It's almost impossible to tell.
Your words are like bullets—with sound, direct points. Some guys fail to propose to a girl? I didn't know that. Guys always look confident and fearless of anything. I didn't know they can act shy also.
Anyway, how can you tell when a guy has got good intentions towards a girl? If he has a crush on her, why can't he do something about it, rather than keep on admiring her in silence?
I appreciate all this information, buddy.
9 September at 14:04
Denzel de la Vega
When a girl is high class and the guy is needy, many thoughts come into his mind. He will be like, for the most part: “Maybe she will ask me to do something I can't afford to.” Of course, some dudes are not timid and easily intimidated. Yet they still worry about this! If it’s the first time to propose love to a girl on the man’s part, the situation becomes very difficult for him to handle. Facts will differ from men to men, conforming with their characters, beliefs, and role models that influence their actions. You just have to be careful because guys are very smart in the way that they do things. You have been warned, Phoebe.
9 September at 14:47 • Sent from Mobile
Chilly—that’s what I am feeling right now, curled up in my bed lazy-style. Today is that big day, eventually. Mom must be on her way already. I don’t know who is coming with her. It could be one of my uncles, or her attractive twenty-something young man. She broke up with dad when I was fifteen years old, nearly eight years back. Dad has since wed another woman, his one-time secretary, whom he cheated on Amber with from the time I was nine. To this day, they brag two children, two sons to be precise—twins who look much the exact same.
Three years following her marriage break down, Amber metamorphosed into a mournful drunkard and a druggie. If it were not for Tommy, the guy she is now involved with, her healing would have been impossible, even with uninterrupted prayers. No consolation I gave her seemed to relieve her suffering; until Tommy suddenly showed up in her life. He shone on her like the sun glows on a flower chilled in appalling darkness, warming her heart up, and giving her one further reason to press ahead with this wounding life. I thank him for breathing life anew into my near-death sweet mom. Without him, Amber would be as good as perished.
Those three years after the divorce were utter hellfire for us. Amber all of a sudden quit work and then carried burdensome credits on her back, emptying her account on unceasing rehabs and smoking and excessive drinking and partying. To secure my education, I had to be a waitress and a receptionist. Hit with misery, I well-nigh became a human trafficker, held back by my neighbors after they found out my hidden plans.
Scowling in dissatisfaction, I snatch the mirror lodged on my dresser, the dresser that is perched close to where I am having my butt placed down—on my pillow, I mean. My goodness! I look so ugly, uglier than a demon, ugliest like the Devil. My hair is cluttered from one side to the other. My eyes are a listless scarlet, puffed up and blinking awkwardly. I think I can spot a little rash on my ever smooth skin. How come? Have I become hypersensitive to something………eating what I shouldn’t have tampered with in the first place?
In terror, I straighten up apprehensively and make a rush for my beauty products. I better look like Halle Berry today: Rosy, hard-hitting, and beautifully flawless. She is always this both on-screen and off-screen.
“Mom wants to talk to you. Will you take her call or not?” That is my phone speaking to me. I programmed it to notify me of any forthcoming call in this manner. In a furious voice, like I am talking to an emotional human being, I respond, “Put the cow on.” What….did I just call Amber? The good thing is she didn’t hear me, otherwise she would have passed out the instant she overheard my insulting word: Cow!
“Beautiful, mom is on her way there.” Amber sounds delighted, like she has won a $100 million jackpot. I see $$$ shoot rapidly before my eyes. I must be imagining eerie things, am I not? I cannot exactly tell.
Sweet mama is coming? I must know how close to Wotton she has by now advanced. In delight, I squirm noiselessly, and then interrogate, “That’s good news to hear, mom. So where are you?” Before she answers anything, the door inside the living room slams open. I suspect that to be Julie, surfacing back from her house—from committing incestuous adultery with her stepson! Putting my phone down, I cry out, “Julie, welcome back.” I quickly place the cell back on my ear to finish my talk with mom. “Mom, are you still there?”
“I am inside your living room, Phoebe,” she screams sharply, and then I overhear the door get shut with a short-lived bang. I can’t believe it. She is already here? I instantly shoot out of the bathroom and there I spot her….striking a sensational pose. I nearly lose my consciousness. This is such an unlooked-for moment! I honestly don’t know what to say, or do either.
Face to face we stand, gazing at each other mutely. I have run out of any words, and so has she. Without thinking twice, I dash after her, taking flight into the air, and launching myself on her. I wrap my hands on her back and smirk in satisfaction. “Mother, you have no idea how much I missed you.” She pats my back nicely, taking deep, long breaths.
“I miss you too, darling.”
I pull back from her and inspect her from head to toe. She is still lovely, skeletal-like, and in good shape. Not a bit feature about her has altered. She is up until now the same old, lovable Amber I used to know and admire. Ask me how long it was when I last met her face to face? Three weeks ago. And yet these three weeks feel like three slow, painful years. Alas!
“Where he is: Your crush? I am not going to sit down or drink or eat anything until you show him to me. He is the only reason I came here moving fast like the wind. Familiarize me with this lucky gentleman, please.”
I wheel my eyes, slapped with unforeseen shock. I gaze outside the window, straight at Tyrone’s flat, and glimpse him standing next to an elderly, blond-haired woman. She looks a bit older than Amber. It is at this point that he gives me a smug smile. I smirk back at him, shyly. Amber notices and registers terror.
“Is he the man you were gushing about, Phoebe?” She trades horrified glances with the blond, small woman. I am starting to get the impression that they know each other, and are bitterest rivals what’s more.
“Yes, mom, he is Tyrone.”
Her look of horror gets worse. “Goodness, that guy is your cousin, Phoebe. You have fallen in love with your cousin; your goddamn first cousin as a matter of fact. The woman standing there with him is Kati, my mother’s young and only sister. She is the one who brought him into this world.” Then she eyes me in bitter rebuke. “I want you to undo every affection you have developed for that man. In our clan, we don’t take incest, or embrace children born out of incestuous affairs. If you want what is best for you, you better walk out of his life. Do you hear me?”