Abuse: The Complete Trilogy (35 page)

“Vice,
virtue—it's best not to be too moral. You cheat yourself out of too much. Aim
above morality. If you apply that to life, then you're bound to live life
fully.”

— Movie,
Harold
and Maude

~~~

Grant
Wilkinson

“You first,” she
says. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

Renata takes a
long swallow of her Coke. “OK,” she says. “Hmm, looks like we’re both going for
a dare. What do you dare me to do?”

I hesitate a
moment before I answer, mainly to regain my self-control. I’m desperate and my
balls ache. How does she do this to me? I only just came, yet I’m hard as a
rock and downright uncomfortable.

Words fall from
me with breathless urgency, “I want you to masturbate in front of me,” I say,
in a low, harsh voice. “I need to see you play with yourself again, only
this
time
without those damned panties blocking my view. I need to see
everything.
I want your legs spread wide so I can examine every bit of you. I dare you to
play with yourself until you come.”

Eyes shining,
she laughs. “You haven’t had enough of that yet?”

“I’ve barely
gotten started.”

“Is that right?”
Renata arches a brow, while her smile takes my breath away. “Funny thing. What
a coincidence. I was going to play with myself again, but I was going to dare
you
to watch, while telling me your fantasies. I want to know what gets that big,
gorgeous cock of yours so fucking hard.”

“I can do that,”
I answer. Her nasty bedroom talk gets me hotter. I didn't think that was even
possible.

“But that isn’t
all,” she adds. “While I’m doing what you want,
you
have to play with
yourself, too.”

I smile, put my
hand on my dick, and lightly stroke it. “No problem.”

“And I dare you
to come, but
this
time, I really want to suck you off.”

Sharp pain stabs
me in the chest and suddenly I’m short of breath.
Shit! I can't let her do
that! I want to please her but I can’t. I can't.

All at once
those shitty associations from my past are back. Sick to my stomach, I break
out in a cold sweat.

Fuck! Fuck!
Fuck!

André told me
there is nothing wrong with me. The canvas is fine, I just need to repaint the
picture, change the players and adjust the scenery.
Yeah, right.
That’s
on my friggin’ 'To-do' list.

As soon as I
figure out how, I will.

Renata frowns.
“Grant? Are you OK? That was a trigger for you, right? You look totally freaked
out.”

I sigh. “Yes. I
want my cock in your mouth and I
don’t
want my cock in your mouth. I
know it’s commonly done, but it’s one of those stupid things that make me feel
dirty. On the other hand, a big part of me really, really fantasizes about it.”

“Wait, Grant,
are you saying that you’ve never had a woman suck your dick?”

My face heats
and my body stiffens in an instant, involuntary response. Am I aroused,
embarrassed or ashamed? It’s probably a combination of those things and more,
all battling for supremacy within me. I'm uncomfortable. I don't like
discussing or even thinking about this.

“No,” I respond
in a wooden voice.

Her eyes widen
with surprise but I see nothing that seems negative or judgmental.

Now I’m torn. I
could
simply keep my mouth shut, but I promised Renata that I wouldn’t lie. Is
not
telling the same thing as lying? If I keep quiet, she’ll believe an imperfect
truth. Curiously, I find the idea of silence abhorrent.

I don’t want to
be false.

Renata’s open
decency inspires me to face my fears. I’m honored by her trust and I long to be
as open and honest with her, as she is with me. She deserves the truth.

I take a deep
breath and then blow it out. “I’ve never had my cock sucked—not by a woman… or
as… an adult,” I carefully add.

“Ah,” she says,
“of course.” She nods as understanding flashes in her blue eyes, but there’s no
sign of discomfort will.

My caustic,
shameful secret, which has been the source of endless self-loathing, doesn’t
appear to bother her in the least. I was worried that she would see me
differently, maybe more as I see myself—with revulsion, or even worse—with
disgust and pity. I should know better than that by now. I’m safe with her.
Renata’s open acceptance and understanding reminds me so much of André.

Her expression
softens. “You just keep surprising me, Grant,” she says, with awe and wonder in
her gaze. “These details of your abuse are no revelation to me, of course, but
the fact that you’re
not
trying to avoid or hide this tough crap…” She
shakes her head. “Thank you so much for telling me. I admire the hell out of
you.”

My chest
tightens. My heart is so full, yet I still say nothing. What
can
I say?

My past is
filthy—my thoughts are filthy—
I’m
filthy. Yet, despite these cold, hard
facts, Renata’s warm approval cleanses my filthiness away. Her acknowledgement
of my struggles, her awareness of my candor and her utter acceptance brings me
peace.

Renata has
quickly become so important to me. The crushing weight that's been constricting
my heart and compressing my lungs has loosened. Now, I can breathe that much
easier.

Relief washes
over me.

It’s liberating.

It was
excruciating to speak about all of this shit with André. That was the first
time I ever shared my shameful secrets. It was the first time I ever uttered
the words out loud. Until then, I kept everything locked within me, eating me
alive from the inside out.

Abuse is a
parasite that feeds off hate and shame, growing in size and strength with
silence.

Before André, I
chose silent isolation as my armor. I was trapped—suffering the burden of my
past alone.

Against every
instinct I had, I shared my story and I let André inside of my self-imposed
prison. André absolved me of guilt, putting the fault squarely on the back of
the predator that stole my innocence.

As part of my
therapy, he recommended that I tell others too. He assured me it would be
easier the next time I spoke about my childhood.

Thankfully, with
Renata, I’m finding this to be true.

Renata grins at
me. Somehow, it’s difficult to be serious with her grinning and flashing those
beautiful white teeth at me.

How does she do
that? How does she snap me out of my mind-funk so quickly?

There were a few
moments tonight when I felt as though I was climbing an impossibly high
mountain, constantly stumbling and falling. Each time, Renata picked me up and
got me back on my feet again.

“Wow.” Shaking
her head, she puts on an overly sad face. “You’ve
never
had a woman go
down on you?
Aww,
you poor thing! You’ve been missing out. I’m crying
real tears over here!”

I sit back and
burst into laughter.

Renata cracks me
up. I love her playful approach. It immediately lightens my mood and clears the
air.

“Anyway,” she
says with a wide smile. “No big deal, hon, seriously. I’m going to make myself
come while you watch and tell me your sexy fantasies. Be brave with those, by
the way—no holding back. For all I know, you’re into some sort of kink. If you
are, that’s fine with me.”

Renata’s eyes
flash with naughty excitement when she says the last part. She studies me, to
see how I’m taking her frank speech. I’m fine, in fact, I’m wearing a small but
genuine smile—but I say nothing.

“Anyway,” she
continues. “I may not go for everything you want… I regret to inform you that I
have triggers of my own! But hey, even if I can't do certain things, I promise,
I'm extremely open-minded. However, if you’re into anything oral or anal,
cross-dressing, role-play or feather ticklers, count me in.”

I avert my gaze
and try to hide my shock with a somewhat forced chuckle. How can she be so
blasé about perversion? Is this her indirect way of letting me know she won’t
judge me or be offended by anything I come up with?

If that’s the
case, I’ll tell her the light stuff first and see how she reacts.

In addition to
what I’d call
normal,
and maybe even healthy desires, such as being
comfortable with sex and the intimacy of kissing, hugging and cuddling, I also
have a ton of unspeakable fantasies.

These shameful
urges have haunted me most of my life. Stalking this stuff by searching through
internet porn when I was a teenager only made it worse. It fed the darkness
within me.

I
really
felt
like a sick fuck after doing that.

Monster!
Pervert!

Like my once
compulsive urge to look at other men’s dicks, I can’t seem to stop these images
from flitting through my mind. I can’t get rid of them. They confirm my worst
fears, that I am still a monster. It's an ongoing struggle, but it’s one I can
usually more or less ignore—except after having sex.

I've never acted
out any of my twisted, fevered fantasies and I doubt that I ever will. I simply
can’t accept my abnormal thoughts and desires. It’s no wonder.

I can’t even
accept myself.

And yet, Renata
makes sex carefree and fun. Did she purposely mention sodomy to try to put me
at ease enough to mention my own dark fantasies? Is this her version of André’s
murder technique?

For a long
moment, my mind returns to the past. I flash back to that time with André, when
we took a long, quiet walk in the Nevada desert.

“Only when we are brave
enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our
light.”

― Brené Brown

~~~

Grant
Wilkinson

André shrugs
his shoulders, in that uniquely French way of his. “Mon ami, when I have a
client who is unwilling to speak to me of his or her transgressions, I use what
I have christened, “The Murder Technique.” It is when I ask them if they have
killed someone.”

“OK.”

“And always,
when I ask this, my client will reply, ‘But no! I only stole from them!’ Or
they will speak of some lesser crime, like destroying another’s valuable
possessions for revenge, or sleeping with another man’s wife, comprenez-vous?”

Despite the
excruciatingly awkward circumstance, an amusement begins to twitch my lips.

Grinning,
André nods. “Just so. For the first time, I ask this question and you HAVE
murdered someone. But… it is during war, in the service of your country, I
think?”

My jaw
tightens. It wasn’t during war, but I keep my mouth shut.

I have committed
murder. When I did, it brought forth an avalanche of confusion, guilt and
doubt. I’ll never tell anyone what I’ve done.

I wonder now, is
mentioning sodomy Renata’s personal take, her sexual version of André’s murder
technique? Could this be her way of trying to normalize any forbidden fantasies
I might have? She suggested the most perverse act possible, so anything I say
must
seem acceptable in comparison,
right?

It
must
be.

“I know what
you’re doing and I appreciate it,” I finally say to her.

“Do you?” she
asks. Something about the way she asks me makes me wonder.

Anal sex
is
a shameful longing of mine. It’s an illicit desire I’d ordinarily never
discuss, much less consider forcing on anyone. The words of Leviticus come to
me. They were drummed into my head when I was young:
‘And if a man also lies
with mankind, as with womankind, both of them have committed abomination; they
shall surely be put to death.’”

Sodomy is not
only immoral, it was also illegal in Alabama, Florida, Idaho, Kansas, Louisiana,
Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, North Carolina, Oklahoma, South Carolina,
Texas, Utah and Virginia—right until the Supreme Court invalidated those laws
in 2003.

My heart skips a
beat with a combined thrill of both lust and dread. Surely she can’t be serious
about being willing to take it in the ass? Would Renata really let me fuck her
there?

My blood
boils—my whole body surges with an inferno of need.

The thought of
committing such a forbidden act flips every perverted switch I have. These are
crazy thoughts filling my mind. I want to ask her if she was serious when she
mentioned anal sex, but I don’t have the nerve.

I can’t excuse
myself for having these unnatural desires.

I struggle for
composure. It must be an intentional exaggeration—
or is it?
André taught
her. No doubt she’s simply being as subtle and open-minded as he is.

Renata tilts her
head. I see her assessing me, sizing me up. I swear she knows I’m hiding
something. If she asks, I’ll tell her I thought of something I’m not yet
comfortable talking about. As she told me on the airplane earlier today, we all
have our secrets.

“I may not
consent to some of your fantasies, Grant, but you would be hard-pressed to
shock me,” Renata says. “Hey, I’ve lived with André!”

We both laugh
and I relax, knowing I'm safe for now. She isn't going to question me. She’s
dropped the subject.

“Anyway,” she
adds. “Anything that gets you going will probably get me off, too.”

“Honestly?”

“Sure.”

“Well… good.”

“I try never to
mix morality with sexual curiosity or kinks,” she says. “As long as sex is
between consenting adults and no one gets physically or emotionally hurt,
anything goes. Think about it. Do you think there is a right or wrong when it
comes to safe, consensual sex?”

I shrug.

“Well, I think
it's what each person is into and whether or not a couple is sexually
compatible.”

I frown, mainly
because I still can’t tell why she mentioned anal sex. I can't stop thinking
about it, either. I
really
want her that way, and I hate myself for
wanting it. “I won’t tell you everything—not yet,” I warn her.

“That’s fine,
Grant. We don’t need to rush into anything.”

I frown at her
statement because we may need to rush
everything.
I still have the
threat of jail hanging over my head.

“Anyway, what
people
think
they want and what people
really want
are often very
different in practice. Some fantasies involve things that people never intend
to do or even
want
to do. For example, rape fantasies are
extremely
common among women. In reality, women who fantasize about it would never
actually want that to happen to them.”

“I see,” I
murmur.

“And, as for
your climax and whether you jerk off in my mouth or not? Well, do it or don’t
do it as the mood takes you. If you’re not up to it, that’s fine. We
do
have a no-touch rule in effect tonight.”

I shake my head.
“I’m worried that if I let your mouth get too close to my dick, it might
trigger my… issues. It would end our session rather quickly.”

She shrugs. “So
what? We’ve done plenty already. You’re in a good place now, right?”

 “Yes.”

“OK, then,” she
says, with a mischievous glint in her eye. “It doesn’t matter if I get the
pleasure of sucking your cock tonight or not. I do want you to know that I’ve
got blowjobs on my list of things we’ll do together at some point. I have to
warn you, it’s a very, very long list.” Her eyes shine and her eyebrows arch
playfully. “And it’s growing longer all the time.”

I chuckle.
“Always thinking of me.”

“Um, as sweet as
that sounds, I’m not going to lie to you.” Her lips curve up in a sassy smile.
“I was actually thinking of
myself
with many items on that list,
especially
BJ's. There’s nothing hotter than going down on a guy. I
love
doing
that.”

I stare at her
with suspicious, narrow eyes. “Honestly
?
Using your mouth to make a man
climax turns you on?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s
hot for so many reasons. As I said before, seeing you aroused gets me off.
Also, giving pleasure to someone I care about is a huge turn-on for me,"
she says with enthusiasm.

I grin but say
nothing.

Her face takes
on an almost dreamy quality. "Mmm,” she sighs. “The responses I'd arouse
in you… that's heady stuff. I’d love to touch you, and to watch your swollen
shaft tense and relax. The sounds you’d make, the moans, grunts, groans and
sighs. Not to mention the smell and taste of your cock and your cum. It’s all
powerful turn-on material. Yum!”

My jaw tightens
as my thoughts begin to turn inward. Discomfort with this subject begins to
snowball. At this point, the idea of Renata’s mouth on me is creating more
emotional pain than anticipation of pleasure.

She smirks. “Oh,
I guess I should mention that you could go down on
me
sometime, if
you’re up for it.”

“Yes,” I say and
I swallow hard. “I’ve never done that before, but I’d really
like
to try
it.” Anxiety creeps up inside of me, making me increasingly tense. “Going down
on you is much more attractive to me than getting a blowjob.”

Black shadows
begin to loom over me. My chest tightens as childhood memories begin to
resurface. “It’s just that with a blowjob—”

Renata cuts me
off. “Don’t tell me just now unless you
truly
want to or need to,
Grant,” she says abruptly.

I blink,
surprised by both the interruption and her vehemence.

She runs a hand
through her hair, pushing it back, over her shoulder. “Listen, I can see you’re
getting worked up and we don’t want to change the playful, sexy mood we’ve got
going on here. I can more or less guess large parts of your story—I know what
predators do. I want us to discuss everything—your shit and mine, but not
tonight.”

Dark memories
haunting my present, ease and dissolve, returning to the past where they
belong.

“OK,” I say with
relief.

“Tonight's all
about getting off and having fun,” she says. “We’re working through the body.
You should focus on your dick.” Her eyebrows move up and down suggestively.

Amused, I exhale
audibly. “That works for me.”

Renata moistens
her lips. She sweeps her hungry, heated gaze over me slowly, starting with my
face, lowering over my chest, and lingering on my eager cock. She's looking at
me the way a caffeine addict would look at her morning coffee.

With her, I
forget about my scars. She’s at ease with my appearance as if I were normal, or
even handsome. It's liberating and exhilarating to have the freedom to be
myself.

“You really are
the hottest guy
ever,
” she says in a breathy voice.

I smile and
raising a doubtful eyebrow at that.

“No joke, Grant.
I mean it,” she says with a grin. “You do it for me like no one else.”