*Check Heart Rate*
I put my hands on the bar and it thinks. It’s low.
I start to move faster and the thoughts start to flood. The music is low but the thoughts are blaring and drowning the music out. I turn the music up and they both fight it out. The music is just accenting the thoughts. Every song and word is about him and that one night.
The bay window was wide open and the city lights down below cast shadows on our bodies: black, flesh and white. We were hidden in the dark corner of the room on a king size bed. He pulled my legs on to him and he started to massage my feet and I am conflicted. This is not the same man that was spitting damaging words at me moments earlier. He started to tickle the arch and I laugh and tell him to stop. He told me he liked my laugh and I told him he might not like the kick in the groin from my heel if he continued. His hands ran along my legs and he kept pulling me closer to him. I felt the farther apart we were the better.
“Talk to me, I like your voice.” He demanded.
I told him about my photography and it’s all filler. He doesn’t care about my photography or me. He just wanted to hear my voice fill the air. He is aural too.
I am pounding the machine now and the thoughts won’t leave. The song “Hold on” plays in the background to my memories. They just keep taunting me, I see myself in the mirror and I see everything written in plain sight on my face. I almost pummel from the machine on to the floor in a heap. I up the levels and pound even harder. I want my lungs to burn and my injuries to stab me. I want some physical pain to not deal with this now.
My mind flashed back to the moment when he was on top of me fucking me. Talking to me. Crushing me with words and I am broken beneath him. I don’t tell him “no” or “stop”. I can’t and as this memory seeps “Everlong” plays and I am crumbling.
*Check Heart Rate*
I put my hands back on the bar and maybe I’m holding on for dear life because I don’t want to fall off. My heart rate jumped up 20 points but I don’t feel it. The only pain I feel is between my legs. It’s dull and throbbing and I want him to fill me.
“Do you want me to come in your ass?” He asked as his body fucked in a controlled rhythm.
“Yes,” I answered because it’s too late. The untouched condoms sat in my bag on the floor and I was a fool. He had no intention of doing what I had asked prior to me walking through his door. In fact, he even asked about that long after they would have been needed.
He doesn’t come in my ass or in my mouth or on my flesh. He only came in my cunt the whole time we are together.
My body still doesn’t hurt and I pound harder. My stomach starts to ache and I want to vomit. I don’t want to give him that so I force myself to slow down a little and drink some water. I can’t stop. I won’t stop because I am going to get through this. ”Walking with a ghost” plays and I think I subconsciously sabotaged my own self with picking all these songs to play in my ear. The sweat pours from my head and mixes with the tears. I don’t wipe anything away and let my thoughts baptize me. Anything to make this all stop.
“Tell me, thank you [redacted],” he calmly whispered to my face as his cock punctuated every word. My pride is long gone and as much as I tried to fight him, I whispered, “Thank you [redacted].” His cock swelled and he buried deeper inside me.
When we slept he kept covering me up and I would kick off the covers. Every so often his hand would find my body and keep it there to make sure I was still there.
One of our last conversations before I left was him wanting to see me again and me telling him I was unavailable. Then he tells me he’s annoyed that he likes me as a person.
He sends the following email several days after I leave:
“I’m annoyed that I not only want to fuck you but that I actually like you as a person. Very frustrating that I can’t see you.”
The machine beeps that the hour is up and I step off. I find my usual spot and bend over to stretch and I hold back the dam. “Entombed” plays and I choke up but fight it off. I make it through my stretching. I make it through my walk home. I make it through the door. I make it through this post. That is all I can guarantee.
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