another gentle choke exceprt

Life became a whirlwind of intoxicated longing…I had to palpate my way through the foggy notions and haze of a distended existence…Tanya groaned that it wasn’t right, she shouldn’t be doing this, her husband after all, her small hands on my chest, her tortured eyes looking up into mine as I moved into her, pushing her back against her car and sucking on her lips. I didn’t give a f**k about her husband, she belonged to me, my desire was stronger than a Tsunami, I would wash over anything in my path to marital destruction. I pictured his frowning mug. What a depressing life! What a drag! Why should nature’s greatest beauty with softest embrace be stagnated by such drowning pointlessness? I am not a destroyer! I thought zealously. I am a f*****g savior! A god damned life jacket! Yes! She belonged to me, they all did, the world was mine, my ego reined, my perception ruled. Whenever Tanya would drive away, her gray junker illuminated over and over by a thread of sparse streetlights, my stomach would flip and contract, tightening, my throat closed, I vomited bile onto the guilty street, the filthy road of theft! I was robbed by a cold, prudish handler grumbling at a television screen! Why didn’t I kick down their door, lay a swift jab at his stinking gob, laying him flat and take what’s rightfully mine? Why? For the same reason I never did when we were young and we played the same game, her boyfriend at the time being my friend…because I am a coward. I despise conflict, confrontation, anger and dramatics. It’s all so tiring and pointless.

            “We have to be patient…” she told me over and over again on the phone from her hair salon in Toronto. “I want to leave him for you but it’s going to take time. We are married after all.”

            These things were put-offs to me, technicalities that could be dropped to the wayside like money on a side table in the company of a prostitute. If it were me I would waste no time in diving recklessly into the technicolour beauty of newness. Why did people waste so much time caring about the fragility of others? The self! That’s all that matters! That’s all that’s left when the shoes click away in desperate echoing of lonely hallways. I wanted what I wanted straight away like a hungered child, so why should she make me wait?

            Not that I truly waited…Tanya showed up every weekend she could, rolling up in her sad car, smiling gorgeously with that snaggle tooth of hers in an eternal bite of her lower lip. Her hand would find it’s way to my thigh; my hand would slide into her jeans. We fell into bars where she paid the tab and let me f**k her on the floor of her parents empty cottage, on the hood of her car, in motel rooms where her throes and screeching seemed so appropriate. I pounded her then and couldn’t cum again, for hours, I wanted to shatter her and despise her and shoot my cum all over her tits, her face, jam it in her mouth and make her gag but there sometimes came those youthful memories of a teenage crush in all it’s stupid romanticism…totally ruined the mood for me sometimes. I knew she was no angel, that she was a young woman with a dirty mind, filthier than mine at the time a hundred fold but that image I had created when we were young of her as some angelic innocence was hard to wipe away.

            There was also something very engrossing about finally being able to shove my c**k inside her. “I always regretted not doing you.” She told me one night, and that pretty much summed it up for me too. The seed had begun to writhe and claw its way through the earth, searching for that light-bulb enlightenment, to finally reveal the realization that was there but was not. It couldn’t last. It was a vivid dream is all. A loss, a regret, a yearning never held as reality. I can see the desperation in it now. We used each other as stepping-stones into new thought processes. As we squirmed and battered each other we were also shedding our old lives.                                   Thoughts of leaving were never far from my mind. The soft summers and poetic rains of the west coast sang in my mind and senses stronger than a lost love. The little things began to irritate me. Why did she have to sit so close? Why was she always kissing my neck? Why was she always searching for the laughter and seeing things with such positivity when I wanted to be so miserable? It was only a matter of time before I started to want to hurt her, to make her hate me, to make leaving that much easier. My conscience existed with convenient blinders that allowed me to move on with little to no regret. It was all a game…

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Berserker[Diktator Von ..]

Wow! there is a lot of violence in this one...but thats what makes then one so great..I really liked this one..Quite the imagery...some of it if you imagine it is very hilarious but if you try not to then it becomes serious..To be honest I really liked this one..I do not know about the other writers and readers ...but i liked it it was very ENGAGING cathc my drift...lol...I like how you just grab the reader and "force them" to watch the depravity..Great Job on this piece...=)