Trinity Ch. 04

Trinity - Ch. 4: Ela Again

Ela

"And at the coming of dawn All prisms are touched by that bright finger That laces together the spheres of Being, That fathers the green forces, The withering, And the plasmic grief."

Heraclitean Fires (Anon.).

So you've pulled me back onto Literotica asking for more? I've told you the broad outlines of what happened after the Big 3 - I've spilled a few beans. So you want to zoom in there and take a really good look at the rest of the can, right? OK then - but only a few. I guess I kinda promised I'd tell you more, sooner or later.

I keep a journal now anyway. That helps a lot with some of the details - life's getting a bit complicated, see? I wasn't sure whether to get a Black Book or a Red Book. Nope, too many of those knocking about. Then I saw what I wanted - a Crimson Book. Yeah, that would do nicely. I'm not strict about daily entries - I haven't the time. I just use it for 'major' events (major to me at any rate). No dates either. I never quite remember, they're not important, and anyway, I want this account to read like a story, not a diary.

As it turned out, this whole idea wasn't the wisest of moves, but I didn't know that then.

After Rob had gone, the next couple of weeks were sheer fucking hell. Paul would lie beside the bed, night after night, sodden with booze and weeping away. He couldn't bring himself to lie on the bed. We got about two hours of sleep a night - out of pure exhaustion. The he moved in to the spare room, but still lay there crying all night. It was too much - I was beginning to look like shit. All right, I was also beginning to see I'd really hurt him, but what could I do about it? I had to do something about it though. This just couldn't go on. But then I went and did something really stupid.

"Look," I told him, "if you can't stand the sight of me at the moment, why don't you go ring up that dark chick you've always fancied - you know, Maria. Go give her a decent bang if you think it'll make us even." I must have been out of my fucking mind as I said it, but you see, I'd had enough.

And so he did - right there, from our apartment. I tried to keep busy in the kitchen while he was on the phone, trying not to listen. He came back smirking.

"Hey, guess what? I've a date with Maria tonight."

There was a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"So what are you guys gonna do?"

"Don't know," he replied, matter-of-fact. Then: "We'll just 'play it by ear' - 'see how it goes', just 'let things take their course' - as you damn well know," he added with deadly emphasis, stressing each phrase coldly and carefully.

He went out about 7 - and didn't come back at all that night. I was burning up inside from sheer misery. And d'you know what I did?

I knew where she lived. She rented a room in this great big, old-style Colonial house. Yep, I went out there about 2 in the morning and stood outside the house, looking up at the windows. I wasn't sure which window was hers. One of them still glowed inside, dark orange, behind the curtains. There then, I decided. Yup, he was up there all right, his cock buried up to the hilt in that treacherous cunt of hers. I tried not to think of what his body looked like, lying between those long, pale thighs. But I couldn't put the image out of my mind. What were her tits like? Was her terrific black hair spread out over the pillow at this moment as he lay on top of her? What did she sound like as she came to orgasm? Was she as noisy as I was? Try as I could, I couldn't hear anything. People passed by, looking at me curiously. I must've looked like a fucking idiot, pacing back and forth out there on the street at that time like a robot. After another hour or so of self-torture, I gave up and went home. Watch it, I thought. You're getting as bad as he is. The hell with her tits. I touched mine. Tit for tit all right.

He came home about 9 that morning, radiant. I looked at him, head lowered, my voice almost breaking.

"So what was she like?"

"Fucking terrific!" he said, stretching his arms out, like he'd just had a real heavy workout.

"What are her tits like?" I couldn't help myself.

"Small - but they don't half stick out."

"How old's she?"

"Nineteen."

"You bastard."

I pressed him for details about the room where they'd fucked. He was only too happy to oblige - the boot was on the other foot now. Apparently she had this great satanic-style bedchamber, pentacles, candles, incense and all that crap. She had this weird tattoo thing as well, just above her ass, some kind of pentacle thing and another on the inside of her thigh, a snake crawling up towards her cunt. An amateur suburban witch then, or some third-rate Buffy wannabe. All this crap seemed to turn him on. He called her his 'dark angel'.

"God! Fucking on that bed was really something," he said, stretching his arms again and grinning.

"Oh really?" I said, smiling sweetly. "Bet it's not half so much fun as fucking on a waterbed, believe me!"

I watched him wither before my eyes. Touché!

I'd hoped, stupidly, that he'd give her one good balling and get her out of his system. Then we could start rebuilding our lives. But no. A couple of days later he went off again and didn't come back all night.

"Look," I said. "All right, I shouldn't have gone out that night and let Rob fuck me. I'm sorry, I really am - I can't undo it - there's nothing else I can say. But it's all over between me and him. Meantime you've got your own back all right. Why did you have to go back to her for more?"

"You keep needling me about that fucking waterbed."

I sighed. Oh God! Why did I ever have to open my big mouth about that fucking thing? What the hell did it matter, anyway?

"Look, I don't give a shit where you shove your cock at the moment. Just don't fall in love with anyone else, that's all."

So then he went off for a month to UCLA on some research project and I was left alone. Damn! We'd have been out there together if none of this had happened.

But to be honest, I was glad to have him out of my hair for a while. Maybe he'd get decently laid out there, forget about the witch-bitch, and we could start over again when he got back. I kept as busy as I could. I'd try not to mope about in the apartment or lie about on our thoroughly polluted marriage bed. I'd plenty of friends if I needed company. A number of girls, a guy called Jeff who was into computers and who fancied me one hell of a lot - we had this sort of flirtatious thing going on - just playing around though, nothing serious. Then there was this philosopher-type called Dave, a bit of a nerd, really, and this couple, Alan and Marie, who lived on the first floor of a house further up the street. Marie was one hell of a looker - my mirror image - if you know what I mean - but dark. I kinda fancied her. I hadn't had any lesbian experiences, but looking at her, I often thought there could be a first time for everything. Yep, she looked a lot like that witch-bitch Paul was fucking, and with her name and all, you may be wondering.

There were also a number of people from 'ze old country'. I'd hang around with them from time to time talking the old lingo, but I didn't want to keep too close to them - I didn't want to be branded as some kind of 'immigrant'. There'd been that Welsh guy - you know, the poet - Dylan something or other. I don't know any of his stuff, but apparently he'd said something like' land of my fathers? My fathers can keep it!' I sort of felt that way too.

But try as I did, I still couldn't fight off the depression I felt taking hold of me.

I went down at the shop one morning, just buying stuff for myself. I was so fucking miserable. Dave was there. He lived in a bachelor-type apartment a couple of floors below us in the building. He lived alone, and as far as I knew, didn't have a girlfriend. He was a well-built, blond, blue-eyed guy who did a lot of working out, good-looking in a vapid sort of way. I liked him OK. He was really quite 'fit' all right - in every sense of the word - but like I said, he was a bit of a jerk, that is, not really my type of jerk at all. It had never even crossed my mind to get it on with him. He was doing philosophy like I said, and classics. We'd have these real heavy sessions with Paul from time to time over coffee. You know - Kant, Spinoza, classical stuff and all that.

I hadn't seen him for some time - at least since before the Great You-Know-What. He came up to me along one of the aisles as I stood there stupidly in the middle of it, mouth open, brain washed out by thirty-six different brands of washing powder.

"Hey, Ela, how's it going?" he asked.

"OK," I replied indifferently, trying to smile and failing miserably.

"You don't sound so good - not the Ela I know. You sure you're OK?"

"Well...no..." I faltered, "but it's nothing, really..."

"Want to pop round to my place for some coffee this afternoon and talk about it?"

No, I didn't want to talk about it, but I agreed to pay him a visit. What else was I to do - I didn't feel up to working on the paper I was doing at the moment. I didn't really want to talk about Socrates either, but I could use some company, I thought. God knows what Paul was doing out there on the West Coast anyway.

I went down there late that afternoon. His apartment was one floor below us, at the far end of one of the corridors.

"Want a 'real drink'?" he asked. "You look as if you could use one."

"Got any vodka?" I asked. I was totally fucking incorrigible. I should have known better by now.

We sat on the couch together and got talking. Then bit by bit I spilled the beans - well, you know, a few off the top of the can - that Paul and I were going through a 'rough patch' together. I held back on the gory details. He seemed really sympathetic, looking at me with concern. He put his hand on mine.

"God, I'm sorry Ela, I'd never have thought it. You two always seemed the perfect couple."

"Oh yeah sure - like, twinkle-twinkle, right? Gimme a break." Tears were welling up.

He put his arm round me and I leaned into him slightly. There was a pause, then I burst out and clung to him, sobbing like a kid, helpless. He tilted my chin and lifted my head up. Our eyes met for a moment, then we kissed - powerfully, hungrily, clawing at each other. I gave him the full tongueworks. What the hell, I thought. I'm the neglected wife and I'm horny.

We didn't waste any time. We stripped - promptly, efficiently, very businesslike, then moved over to the bed. He was a big one all right - I mean his body, not just his cock, which looked like a fire hydrant anyway. Great pectorals, no body hair. Give it to me, I thought sadly. Give it to me good and hard.

We lay down and he eased himself on top of me. God, he was a heavy one. He delicately massaged my tits, then kissed and licked me all the way down, starting with my ears and neck, then my eyes, then the sides of my nose, my lips - with a quick inner flick of his tongue, then my breastbone. He spent just the right amount of time on my tits, sucking at the nipples, then moved down between my tits and gave me a good jab in the belly button. He'd a great kisser, I had to admit, and knew how to use it. Well, he was a philosopher, wasn't he? He must have read Ovid. Yep, I knew about that one all right - I like erotic classics. And I love getting licked this way. He went down to my clit and sucked on it steadily, then flicked his tongue in and out between the lips of my cunt. It promptly burst into flame and I gasped. I felt I was going to come any moment. Then - you just aren't going to fucking believe this - his head suddenly popped up between my thighs, mouth and chin dripping with my juices:

"I say, do you know the 'Ars Amatoria'?" he said, lecture mode, "this is classic Roman foreplay, you know."

I've never in my life had to fight so furiously to stifle a fit of the giggles. And believe it or not - I was so hot I managed it.

"Oh really? How utterly fascinating, Dave," I panted, "now will you kindly ram that fucking cock of yours into me right now, for CHRISSAKES!"

This one hadn't ever heard me talk like this before either. Remember, we'd only ever philosophized. But he seemed as hot as I was, thank God, and just went on ahead with it, no comment.

He moved back on top of me, face to face, and I felt the full violent force of his penetration - right up to the hilt.

"Ow! Ah!" I gasped. "Christ! You're skewering me!"

"You OK?"

"Sure, I'm fine," I said softly, running my fingers through his hair.

He began thrusting slowly at first, then faster and faster, grunting heavily and pumping up and down like a steam engine.

"Ow-ah! Ow-ah! Ow-ahh!" I gasped in time with his thrusts. It hurt like hell this time, I've no idea why. I've always been a bit tight. I felt myself coming anyway. He lifted my legs up round his neck.

Then he gave a sudden groan and rammed right into me. His cock must have buried itself somewhere in my bowels. I yelled and came, gripping his head between my thighs and digging my fingers into his back. I felt the heavy throb of his ejaculation. Wow! An injection of fresh new cum, I thought. Oh God! What have I done this time? I'd better start notching that bed at home. No - pubic scalps. That's what Rob told me we collect - pubic scalps.

I eased my legs down and we lay together for some moments, rocking gently in mish mode with me caressing his legs with my feet. Then we finally disengaged and I got up. I looked down at his well-muscled, hairless, sweating body sprawled out there on the bed, legs apart, big bare feet sticking out, his chest rising and falling, a set of heavy, hairy balls hanging like twin sacks of potatoes above his asshole and that long, thick fire hydrant of his draped over one thigh, still moist with my juices. Cum dribbled down the inside of my thighs. Oh God! Him, of all people!

He suddenly got up. He was clearly nervous and embarrassed.

"Sorry babe," he said, trying not to look me in the eyes. "You OK?"

"Course I'm OK, and I'm not your fucking babe!"

Now he really seemed shocked. So much for Ovid.

"And for fuck's sake, not a word to Paul about this," I warned him.

"Our secret," he replied. "Look, gotta go. See you around."

I wasn't upset. After all, we'd just scratched a mutual itch.

I dressed, went back home and showered. I didn't want to smell of fucking even if Paul was thousands of miles off. The bastard deserved it, of course, but while this shit was going on with us, my life was my own. As I stood in the shower my cunt ached and more cum trickled down my legs - I'd gotten a full load all right. A bit of a rough balling too, I thought. The phone rang. I got out, still dripping wet, and skipped over to the phone.

Guess who? Paul from California - Hollywood to be precise. He seemed really upset. He was at this big studio party thing and felt lost and alone.

"God! It's such an alien world out here. They can't distinguish illusion from reality. I miss you so much. I can't wait to see you again."

So there I was, standing there buck naked, my cunt aching, this other guy's fresh cum dribbling down my thighs, listening to Paul whining on about illusion and reality, about how much he loved me and missed me. I desperately tried to fight back tears.

"Get your ass back here then."

Dave and I carried on our acquaintance exactly as before, doing the cappuccino thing with Jeff and Paul (when he came back), hugs and kisses on the cheek, politely philosophizing away happily together as if absolutely nothing whatsoever had happened. I never even mentioned the 'Ars Amatoria' in our conversations - and yeah, was I tempted, believe me - but no, no way. Not even the slightest hint about that afternoon, and you bet Paul never found out about it - until it was too late anyway.

Paul eventually came back, drunk, doped to the eyeballs and sullen. I kissed him and told him I hoped everything was behind us now. But it wasn't. He hung around moping for a couple of days, then dashed off to see the witch-bitch. He was supposed to be telling her they were through. But he didn't come back that night, nor the next.

Then he suddenly turned up and proposed we invite Maria and Rob round to our apartment for a drink - to 'sort things out', he said.

I guessed what he had in mind. He wanted a threesome with me and her, or even the four of us getting it on like those two couples we'd watched that first night with Rob.

I don't know if many of you know Edgar Allan Poe's stories. I'd read them in translation at school, then later on in English. I think they're utterly fucking brilliant. There's this one called 'The Imp of the Perverse'. It's all about standing on the edge of this godawful precipice and - just jumping off for the hell of it. It's about carrying this terrible dark secret inside you and like, just blurting it out you know, just to see what happens. You know it's the worst possible thing you could do. You somehow just don't give a shit, that's all. I think you all know me well enough now if I say in Poe's own words (and I hope you won't mind me quoting lit):

"You will easily perceive that I am one of the many uncounted victims of the Imp of the Perverse."

My imp was a biggie. So I said sure, let's ring 'em up, let's have 'em round, let's invite the whole fucking city in for an orgy if it'll make you happy.

They came - in the 'arriving' sense, that is. Both together too. At the same time.

Interesting.

But if Paul had been hoping for another fucking great 'long hot night', it didn't pan out, not this time. These things happen or they don't. He's so anxious and pushy over these things, and when he is - they always fall through. It was my fault too, I suppose. I froze up when I got another look at the witch-bitch. Lovely piece of ass, no question. Stringy, raven-haired goth-type chick, but classy - black leather and boots, pale skin, penetrating brown eyes, very, very red lips. Earrings of course, and one nose ring - left nostril - but tasteful somehow. It suited her. She'd pulled her short leather skirt right far back up as she'd sat down, and I just couldn't take my eyes off those long, slender white thighs - you know, the ones she was squeezing my husband with at the moment. She'd crossed her legs. When she re-crossed them at one point I thought I caught a Sharon Stone-type flash - you know, a glimpse of dark bush. No panties then. I could smell her from where I sat. Pungent and creamy, with a trace of incense.

And there they were, sitting together on the sofa, her and Paul, whispering away. Rob kept trying to catch my eye, to pull me into the kitchen, but I wasn't playing ball - I was so fucking jealous of those two on the sofa. I saw Rob was wearing the same kit as that first night.

But eventually I just had to go to the kitchen and get some more food. He seized his chance and slipped in after me. As I reached into the icebox and pulled out another bottle he spun me round and pinned me to the wall. I just managed to get the bottle on the table. Oof! My tits were pressing into his chest.

"Hey babe, I've missed you like all hell." He was doing the 'piercing hypnotic look' thing - like 'peering into the very depths of my soul' and so on.

"Well I haven't. And you can cut out the 'babe' shit." I looked him straight back in the eyes. No way was I giving in this time. We were talking in quick, highly charged whispers.

"But hey b... Ela, I love you, you know that. You're the greatest thing ever happened to me."

"Oh! Rob! Oh! Rob!" I twanged, rolling my eyes and playing the starlet, passing my hand over my forehead and trying to fight the giggles. "Why, no REAL man's ever said that to me before - I think I'm gonna faint."

"Really?" He did the 'stone giant' thing even more, dead serious.