A Story About the Body Ch. 02

"Ugh, this—ugh" I grunted. I could feel the tip of his cock entering into my body while I tried to argue with him, tried to remind him that I was the one in control of the situation, but instead of an argument all I got from him was the tip of his hard, thick cock.

I pushed my hands against his chest, trying to break his hold of me, but he was too strong and my body was starting to give up. Inch by inch he slipped into me, deeper and deeper. His shaft slid in an inch and then out, and then returned a little deeper, and out again.

I could feel his dick stretching my body. But as good as it felt, and as necessary, it wasn't what I needed.

"No, that's not—mm—what I—oh—want," I grunted, as he lowered me deeper and deeper onto his cock.

"Oh, really?" he asked. He thrust his hips up as he lowered me down. I felt the entirety of his cock enter into my body. My mouth opened wide in a big O, though I didn't moan. "Is that better?" he asked.

He raised me up off of his cock, so it was barely inside of me anymore. "Oh fuck," I swore out loud. He thrust his hips up again, and dropped my body. I grabbed tightly onto the back of the couch behind him. My closed my eyes hard and I bit down on my bottom lip.

"Now," she said, with another deep thrust into my body. I whimpered with pleasure. "You're going to pay me back for being a total bitch." He pressed on my hips and kept me pinned as low as I could go. Another deep thrust into my body.

I whimpered again. It felt very good, feeling him inside of me again. It had been so very long since anyone had filled me, and he fit so perfectly inside of me. His body felt amazing. But I really wanted, was his tongue. He started a rhythm, not going as deep as he could, but rough and deep enough that it made my body swell.

"Aw, shit," he grunted. He was going faster now, though I still wasn't doing anything. I had given up trying to fight him. I could feel the pressure in my body returning, the tension in my legs building. I felt the heat radiating out of my chest. The tips of his fingers dug deeply into my hips as he held me there on top of him. "You always had the tightest fucking body, Serena."

He went harder.

"I fucking missed this," he grunted. I was moaning uncontrollably now; moaning at his body; his words; the way he held me on top of him. "Fucking perfect." He grunted, pounding me, filling me, breaking me.

Without warning he flipped me to the side on the couch, and climbed on top of me. I cried out in surprise as he did it, landing roughly on the couch. For a few brief seconds his cock left me and it left me aching to feel it again. I could feel the wave of an orgasm building inside of me. It was just dying to be released and wash over me.

"So wet," he told me, reaching down between my legs, briefly teasing my clit with his fingers. My back arched at his touch. My hips thrust out towards his fingers.

"Yes," I murmured. "Right there ... just keep touching ... " I pleaded with him as his fingers moved away from me. His touch felt so good to me. But instead he once again brought his cock towards my slit and pushed it in to my body.

"No ... " I whined. "This isn't—ugh—what I—ugh—need." I reached down to stroke my clit when he stopped in mid-thrust and grabbed my hand. Pushing it down to the couch he then grabbed my other hand, restraining me on the couch, my legs spread wide by his body.

He continued now, his rhythm unabated; my hands, trapped under his. As he continued I felt the orgasm welling up inside of me. The release that I needed was so close. I clenched my fists and grabbed at the fabric of the couch, as he thrust into me over and over again. I moaned and swore, and panted under the weight of his body.

"Oh yeah," he told me. "Fuck that dick. I love it when you moan, babe." I was practically yelling now, each thrust felt so amazing, like he was hitting all the right places.

"Oh, don't stop," I begged.

I could feel the wave just starting to break.

"Please," I begged. "Just ... a little—"

He grunted and groaned. His body tensed.

"No, not—" I tried to beg. He pulled his cock outside of me and exploded; his cum splashing across my stomach, even hitting my bare breasts.

I let out a primal grunt. I was so angry with him.

Jeremy's body was still poised overtop of mine, temporarily paralyzed as he coaxed the last few ounces of fluid from his body. When, finally, he was done he bent in to kiss me. I turned my head away with a clenched jaw.

He chuckled to himself. "Thanks for the fuck, babe," he said standing up and reaching down, pulling his pants up.

"Anytime you 'want some company'," he told me smirking as he re-zipped his fly. "Just call."

I sat up after him and threw a pillow from the couch at him. "You're a fucking asshole!" I yelled.

He let out a howling laugh and absorbed the pillow throw. "Whatever, whore," he laughed.

"Ugh!" I screamed in frustration standing up. I started to hit him. "Get out! Get the fuck out!"

He started backing up as I kept swinging. Hitting him felt better than the sex. Finally he grabbed my hands and stopped me. I pressed myself into him and started to cry.

"Ah, you bitch!" He yelled pushing me away and moving again towards the wall. He looked down at his shirt. Half of the fluid he had just sprayed over my body was on his shirt and pants now. "How am I going to explain that to Stacy?"

I stopped where I was. "Who!?"

He looked at me as though he had just realized some great universal truth. And it was hilarious. "Oh my God, you don't know ... Aw poor baby" he mocked me. "Stacy was the first one on this after we broke up. I don't even think it was a day later and she was sucking my dick."

I crossed my arms, mouth wide open with disgust. Stacey had been a very good friend to me in college and had even helped me through the breakup I had with Jeremy. She had been the one, when all of my other friends were telling me to try to fix things with him, that I shouldn't go back to him; that I was right to break up in the first place and I should stick by it.

It didn't occur to me until that very minute why she had been so insistent and why I hadn't seen her very much in the last six months.

"Oh yeah," he went on. "And it wasn't even the first time. A month before that, at your birthday party, she took me in the bathroom and gave me the absolute best fuck of my life."

My face was contorted in absolute rage. The nearest thing I could feel was the bottle of wine he'd brought, so I picked it up in my one hand. It was unopened, and I advanced on him with it. He took small steps backwards into the hallway that lead towards the door. His hands were outstretched, a sick smile on his face as he watched me coming at him, like a lion tamer daring the beast to attack.

"She's the best sex I've ever had. Tightest—" He wouldn't stop.

I shrieked wildly and came towards him swinging the wine bottle. He turned and ran towards the door, me swearing unintelligible invectives behind him as he opened it and slammed it on me. I pulled on the door knob, wailing like a banshee, but through my blood curdling rage I could manage to turn the knob. When I finally did, he was gone.

Turning inside I slammed my own apartment door and screamed as loud as I possibly could. I leaned against the door and slid down it until I was sitting, naked, on the cold tile of the floor and I started to cry.

I don't know how long I was there on the floor, crying, but it felt like a long time. It always feels like a long time when you cry, but this felt longer. Maybe it was because I was naked on the cold floor, or because I had a billion thoughts all screaming in my head, and still nothing to show for anything.

Even though I was lucky enough to live in a basement that had sound proofing between me and my upstairs neighbour, it wasn't long before I heard the patter of feet on the stairs and then a knock on my door.

"Serena?" spoke the gentle voice of my upstairs neighbour. Her name was Martha. She was a widow in her late sixties who lived mostly on the income of the basement apartment and her pension. "Is everything okay, sweetheart?"

From the floor I wiped my cheeks as best as I could, as though it would make my voice seem like I wasn't crying. "Everything's ... fine," I tried my best to speak through sobs.

"Do you need me to call the police?" she asked.

I tilted my head back and stupidly banged it on the door. For some reason the idea of the police at this point made me laugh. "No," I told her, half-crying, half-laughing.

"Alright, dear; I'm going to make you some tea though. Back in a wink," and before I could refuse I heard the patter of her feet on the stairs again.

When I was convinced she was gone, I let myself start crying again and for a few minutes that's all there was to do.

I cleaned myself, put on a bathrobe and waited for Martha to come back. I could hear her clinking her way down the stairs before she even got to my door. I had it open and ready for her by the time she made it down the stairs. Flashing a big toothy smile at me she clinked her way into my apartment. She was carrying a big silver tray with two porcelain cups and spoons, a sugar pot and a creamer all of which was organized around a steaming ceramic teapot. I let her in and she went into the kitchen setting it down at the table. We sat at the table and she poured us both a cup.

Martha was a big woman, with the most incredible way of looking at the world and curliest grey hair I had ever seen. It always sat on top of her head like a big grey afro. The very first time I met her I hadn't even been sure if it was real.

Martha brought a hand to my chin and raised my face. "Oh, my dear," she said, masking a tsk-tsk sound with her tongue. "What happened, love?"

I told her everything about tonight in as little detail as I could. I didn't mention why I had called him, or that I had even met a new friend today. She listened intently to the story as I told her, not interrupting me, patiently, and quietly, she drank her tea across the table from me while I spoke.

"I'm sorry, Martha," I wiped my face again when I had finished telling her everything I felt she needed to know. "I don't know why it even bothers me. We broke up months ago."

She reached across the table and patted my hand. "Don't you fret it, sweetheart. There's nothing worse than letting a man in and getting hurt by it, no matter how old the newspaper is that he comes with."

I laughed and traced the rim of my cup with my nail. I felt silly sitting there in my bathrobe in front of her, but I felt too spent to dress. Martha didn't seem to mind anyways, she was enjoying the tea too much to notice much. Steam was still rising up from the cup and it was still too hot for me to drink, but Martha drank it down like it was water. "What's your experience with cheating?" I asked.

She put her tea down and looked down hard at the table. "There's always one," she said.

"Yeah," I breathed. "I don't know anyone who hasn't been cheating on by a guy at some point." Martha picked her tea back up and took another quick sip of it.

"It hurts everyone, dear." She told me, filling her cup with more tea.

"What happened to you?" I asked finally taking a sip of my tea. It was the strongest tea I had ever had. I could feel the flavour tingling in my teeth as I took a deep breath of air. Martha took another gulp of tea.

"Oh, my dear," she shook her head. "It was so long ago. I'm sure you don't need to hear all about the woes of yesteryear."

"I'd like to know," I said sitting up in my chair. "Please, Martha." I reached across the table and touched her hand.

"Oh very well ... honey?"

I waited patiently for her to start. She held a dead gaze at me and made no motion.

"Well?" I asked.

"Well, do you have honey, dear?" she asked again. "Tea's a bit nippy. A dozen bags may have been too many tonight."

"Oh—oh,honey!No I'm sorry Martha, I don't," I made an uneven face and tried my best to seem sympathetic. I had hardly touched my tea, though hearing the recipe I now realized why it seemed quite a bit stronger than I had remembered tea being.

"Two shakes of a lamb's tail!" she said getting out of her seat. I stood up too, confused. "Be right back, dear—just going upstairs to get the honey and then I'll tell you all about my trials and tribulations."

I sat back down. For an older, bigger woman, I noticed she was fairly spry as I watched her literally dash out of the kitchen to search for the honey and she was back far sooner than I ever would have expected, honey in hand.

"Now, my dear, a story—like I promised." She drained a huge drooping line of honey into the tea cup in front of her stirred it around with one of the spoons she'd brought down and started to speak. "When I was young, probably your age, as the stories always go, I was in love with a man; he was a strong, handsome man who lived down the street from my parents who, actually lived just down the street from where we are now. He was a steel mill worker, back when there was a steel mill outside the town and I was a college student home on summer break. Every morning for a month I watched him walk by my house to work. At first I stood inside, hidden behind the blinds and then I waited with the blinds open, and then at the door, and finally, on the porch; and, after a whole month I said my first words to him."

"What were they?" I asked intrigued.

"'What's in your lunchbox?'"

I laughed and tried to quickly cover my mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry," I said recovering. "I didn't mean to laugh."

She just shook her head. "He laughed too. Thought it was quite the hoot, pretty young girl asking him what's in his lunchbox."

She finished the cup of tea she had and cleared her throat. "We hit it off and were quite the pair to see. I left college and stayed here. He left the steel mill and moved more into the city—at the time, my dear, our neighbourhood was on the outside of the city—found work in construction and an apartment. I visited him regularly and ... well; it was something, those days of yesteryear."

"So what happened?" I asked.

"Susan Sullivan," Martha said with a deep breath adding more tea to her empty cup. "Susan Sullivan was a friend of ours—a friend of mine, from college—who moved to the city the next year. We often saw each other, socially; parties and the ilk. Until, one day, I called on Edward unexpectedly, to surprise him, and found the two of them tied together in a lover's knot."

Martha took another sip of her tea. She seemed to have slowed down now. "It broke my heart, to find them."

"Guys are sick," I tried to sound understanding.

"Oh, no, my dear—no, no," she reached out with her hand and squeezed my hand tightly. "You will love and be loved many times in your life. Don't you let them tell you it wasn't real; it always matters, my dear, the first as much as the last, and everyone in between. As much as it hurt to see, and as much as it hurt to feel, they loved each very much."

I looked at Martha surprised. I didn't understand how she could be so forgiving even so many years later. She tried to explain. "You're not meant to be with one person, my dear; sometimes it just happens that way."

I thought about it. "What happened to them?"

Martha smiled and finished her tea. "I married him."

I didn't even know how to hide my shock.

"For thirty-seven years," she continued. "It was the happiest time of my life, and he was never unfaithful again."

"What happened to her?" I asked.

"She moved somewhere else, I suppose. I never heard from her again, which hurt me too. I loved her dearly as a friend, but I think that she was too embarrassed and I, in ill-tempered youth, too angry to mend our fences."

I sipped my tea. It was lukewarm and still too bitter.

"So, you're saying I should forgive Jeremy and try to make things work?"

Martha squeezed my hand again. "I'm saying, chin up, my dear. Love has many faces, and I do suspect a pretty thing like you can't be too far from the next one."

I blushed.

Just then my front door opened. "Nana?" It was the Martha's niece Danielle. "Are you down here?"

"Oh yes, hello love!" Martha replied standing up and speaking again to me. "I'll get out of your hair, dear. Hope you feel better and if you want any more tea, don't hesitate to ask." She flashed me another wide grin and gently touched my shoulder.

I sat at the table while Martha gathered up her tea cup onto the tray and headed towards the door leaving me with the still mostly full tea-cup I had been, for lack of a better word, using. And before I knew it, they were both gone and my front door once again closed.

It's hard to say how long I sat at that table for examining the tea in my cup, but by the time I decided to take another sip it had gone cold. Not wanting to worsen my day any further with cold tea I dumped it down the sink, which left me feeling bad for Martha's best intentions. I couldn't help but feel as though Martha's best intentions were more than just tea and sympathy.

I knew I wasn't in love with Jeremy and I hadn't been for a long time. I felt ashamed that I had brought him back into my life as I had, trying to rekindle something that had died a long time ago. It had been a mistake.

But what I needed now was to stop thinking and sleep. I went back into the bathroom to grab my phone where I had left it from before Jeremy had even arrived. It seemed like so long ago now that, even though I was still frustrated, the anger I had towards him had subsided. My frustration and guilt and anger had been replaced by the numbness of unfeeling.

To my delight though, there were two new text messages on my phone from Cassandra. The first asked for me to come shopping for groceries with her tomorrow afternoon and the second, sent less than two minutes after the first, told me that I was definitely going to go shopping for groceries with her tomorrow. I quickly sent her a message to say that yes, I would help and gave her my address.

I smiled to myself. I had already found the next face.