Whispers and Brush Strokes Ch. 01

There is no way it was rape. I knew exactly what I was doing. I wanted it to happen.

To my knowledge, I had done nothing to make these guys think I was a slut. My friend Sarah and I had had a few drinks with them, yes, but I never so much as uttered a dirty word. I wore jeans and open-toe shoes. Under my blouse, my bra contained my breasts. I had barely dabbed Obsession on my wrists.

I am thirty-two now. I was twenty-four then. I have done nothing like that since, and I have tried like hell to regret that night.

It started in the club with a young man named Michael. To this day, I cannot quite figure what constituted my initial attraction to him. He was cute, but not my type. He was a smooth talker, yet I could see through his attempt to pick me up. As the evening wore on however, he seemed interested in listening to me talk of graduate school. I was interested in the fact that he owned a small business marketing tanning products in the Caribbean. He had even expanded to Costa Rica. He told me that he loved the place- a place I had always wanted to visit.

It was later in the evening, nearing midnight I believe, as I took a sip of my fourth margarita. Michael and his friends told me repeatedly how beautiful I was from the semicircle of bar stools. I appreciated the compliment, though I began to feel a bit for Sarah. Through the eyes of friendship, I found her attractive. I think the boys did too, but I unwittingly stole the show.

"We need to go", Sarah said after returning from the restroom.

"Where are you going?" Michael protested. "The night's just getting started."

"Some of us have to work in the morning", Sarah shot back. She grabbed her purse. "Let's go, Alex."

I smiled at Michael. "I have to go", I said. "It was great talking to you."

He leaned close to whisper in my ear. "Do you always do what Sarah tells you?"

I moved his hand from my inner thigh then, not because I was offended, not because I didn't like it, but because it turned me on. I was wet from a touch and a whisper.

Sarah was irritated. "Let's go, Alexandra", she repeated sternly.

"I will give you a ride", Michael said with a less-than-pure smile.

Sarah left in a huff after the "you don't even know this guy" speech.

I was alone now, with a bartender, Michael, and four of his friends. The sense of danger was slight, but real nonetheless. The boys had been having a good time all night, but they seemed happier now that Sarah was gone. They talked of partying all night as they exchanged high-fives like middle-aged adolescents at a ball game.

Whatever turns them on, I thought. These guys probably have a stripper coming in or something.

I excused myself and went to the ladies room. I stayed in there for what seemed like a short eternity. I don't even remember what I did- all alone in the restroom- I only recall that I was still turned on from Michael's touch. In the solitude of the dim light, partially out of sincerity and partially due to the margaritas, I recalled their compliments. I had to agree. My breasts were shapely, my waist small, my round ass well pronounced and hugged by tight denim.

"Did you fall in?" asked Ryan, one of Michael's friends, upon my return.

My self-adoration assisted me in ignoring the sophomoric question as I stared with a smile into Michael's eyes.

"Last call was ten minutes ago", Michael said. "Are you ready to go?"

"I am ready."

I studied him some more as he confidently entered my number into his cell phone. Yes, I thought, you can see me again. He had not even asked. I contemplated a real date with a guy I had met hours ago. I contemplated a date with a guy whose most endearing quality was his ability to turn me on with a touch and a whisper. I contemplated sleeping with him, just before the words "not in this lifetime" echoed across my mind.

"What?" he said. "Got the number. What are you laughing about?"

"Nothing."

"Ready to go?"

He stood. He could not have been more than five-nine. I like tall men. I like my blonde hair, I thought; but I prefer men with darker hair. His eyes were brown. I like blue eyes, like mine.

"Where are you going?" I asked some ten minutes later.

He turned the music down. "What did you say?"

"You were supposed to turn left at the last light."

"You can party with us for a while."

"No. I have class in the morning. You have to take me home."

He said nothing as the car stopped at the next light. The warm smell of the coastal breeze enveloped us as he let down the convertible top. My protests ceased and my legs spread slightly as his hand moved again to my thigh. For the first time, I began to fear what might happen. The fear was real- as real as my wet anticipation. In that moment I knew that, at least for tonight, he owned me; but my incoherent thoughts quickly turned to rationalization. If I had to sleep in the next morning and miss one class, fine. He is a fun guy, I thought. Let your hair down, I said to myself. You've been working hard. Tonight, have some fun.

The house was huge and secluded, with a romantic looking gazebo at some distance on the stately lawn. The beach was not far, and the distinctive aroma of the inner-coastal waterway stimulated me as a stiff breeze came once more. I heard the music coming from inside as the car came to a stop on the circular drive.

All of his friends were there. Once inside, I was a bit surprised to learn that I was the only girl. More than an hour and nearly a whole beer later, I began to feel comfortable. This was just like the bar. I was just hanging out with the guys.

I was light-headed then, making my way to the bathroom and telling myself what a bitch Sarah had been. She needs to lighten up, I thought. She could have had fun too if she were here.

Michael gave me a start as I came out of the bathroom. "You know what I want", he said, his eye going through me in the hallway.

"Well, you can't have it. I need to go home now."

I waited for a seductive movie scene. I was waiting for Michael to approach me slowly, seductively. Instead, he forced my back to the wall, kissing me with a vulgar passion. I breathed heavily as he groped me. I fought hard for the words... "Michael, stop it. Stop this! I am not a whore". The words would not come.

From the party room, the music came down the long hallway, flowing in like the breeze from the waterway. It was an old song, from the 80's. It might have been from the 60's. I struggled to focus on that damned song as Michael ripped my shirt.

I felt faint as he unfastened my jeans. "What song is that?" I stupidly asked.

He threw my shirt to the floor before peeling my bra straps from my shoulders.

"Who sings that song? Oh my god, who sings that song", I babbled.

My breasts were exposed then to the warm chill of the hallway as he peeled the bra away. It hurt a bit as he moved the obstacle to my waist. He then began to alternately suck and bite my erect nipples. I moaned and groaned against the onslaught of glorious pain, unable to form lucid words. He was being too rough, and I loved it.

I was just beginning to perspire a bit. I gasped loudly and my head turned to the right, taking in the sight as his friends watched. They shouted vulgarities, the specifics of which I recall no better than the song. Their applause echoed in the hallway as Michael released my breasts. He kissed me again. The song continued. The applause continued. The vulgarities reverberated in my ears.

I was in a surreal world then. I had no idea whether I had been told to remove my jeans; I only knew that they had to come off. Michael's thumbnails lightly scraped my skin as he removed my panties. Until then, I had been oblivious to the fact that we were moving towards a bedroom. His friends followed. They shouted, whistled, and clapped as Michael took my right hand. He twirled me like a dancer as I looked at my clothing on the floor. It was tattered and snaked- a reminder of my surrender to animal lust. Briefly, the realization set in that I liked his friends looking at me; but I was Michael's prize, and he had shown me off with an arrogance that made me want him even more.

I don't remember entering the bedroom. I don't remember Michael taking his clothes off. I remember a song playing, a different song with the passionate female voice romancing the Spanish language as I stood trembling in the middle of the room.

"Nube de agua", he said, regaining my attention.

My eyes moved from his eyes, to his torso, to his erect penis as he sat on the edge of the bed. I was no virgin, but there was no way I could take that. He was thick, with what I guessed to be at least nine inches. As big as it was, the head seemed too big even for the rest.

"I can't", I whispered, finally able to speak.

"Come here" was his only reply.

I moved to him pensively. I was on my knees in front of him now. He held my hair back as, without a word, I tasted pre-cum and did his bidding. I wanted him to cum now, in my mouth. I wanted to be spared the pain of intercourse.

He whispered vulgar things as I continued what would amount to foreplay, before letting my hair fall and placing his hands on my shoulders.

Unable to form words, I moaned in protest; but it was no use. He moved me with a force that nearly caused me to go over backwards.

"I can't", I said again.

"Come here."

"I can't."

He took my hand. The experience became more surreal then as I moved to his lap. I swallowed hard as he ate at my breasts. My eyes closed. I was filled with longing and terror as I felt the tip of his rock-hard hard penis touch the lips of my vagina. I felt myself stretch then as his tongue entered my mouth. He squeezed my breasts before moving his hands to my hips. His grip was forceful and determined. He was guiding me.

"Do you have a condom?" I asked. Safe sex had always been a priority, and I needed an excuse to alleviate my fears. Why had I not thought of this earlier?

He raised me slightly before lowering me a bit more. It was uncomfortable, but I was taking him.

"I can't", I repeated.

He ignored me, his hands gripping my hips.

"You need a condom", I said.

He ignored me, his hands gripping my hips.

"What was the name of the song?"

"Nube de agua", he said.

"And this one?" I asked breathlessly. "I like this one even more."

"Love can sing", he answered.

He raised me again, and then lowered me. I was taking him deeper now. I began to moan with pleasure and pain. Never had I felt anything like this. This time, I moved myself up, then down until he was about halfway inside me. I thought of his patience as my orgasm began. Instinctively I knew that his friends were listening through the door. I wondered if they would come in and film me. He was so huge. I was so wet. I was wet all over it seemed.

Michael had been gentle until my first orgasm. Now it was his turn. I felt his swelling and throbbing.

"No Michael, don't!" I screamed.

I then screamed in agony, wondering if my uterus was crushed along with my hipbones as he thrust himself into me like an animal. Another of my orgasms followed.

I felt faint until he lay on his back. On top of him, I was thankful now, sensing a bit more control. I moved myself, as I knew he wanted me to. He commanded me without words as the erotic music flowed over us and pheromones filled the air.

I screamed as his massive presence stabbed then, as his hot cum flooded me. I had yet another orgasm as I felt his ribbed throbbing and he grabbed my hair.

Our little corner of the world was wet. Contented with what I had, I still wanted more. Our breathing was nearly as loud as our screams had been when I spoke his name. I kissed his fingers as he gently placed his hand over my mouth. After several minutes, lying there quietly, I was overcome with the "now". This was my world, my existence. How I would love to have that again, to feel that again, to be there again- in that void where exists no apprehension, no dread, and no judgment.

Happiness comes in measures, in shades, in moments.

I moved myself slightly with the realization that he was still hard. I giggled slightly as he moved me from the bed, across the room. My back was against the wall. He too, wanted more.

He held my ass tightly, spreading it as he thrust himself into me over and over. I was on the verge of another orgasm then when he moved me again. As though moving in a single motion, he laid me on the floor, removed himself from me, and rolled me over. He then placed his hands on my hips again, pulling me up, so that I was on all fours. I waited for him to take me again, but he walked around me in a circle, holding himself like a proud beast. I remained still, aware that now was not the time for words, dreading more pain.

This was different. It was, oh so different. I was wet. I had already accommodated him; yet this provided a distinct pain, a distinct pleasure, as though the base of my spine might move from its proper place in my body. My arms collapsed. My face hit the floor. I had never dreamed that this many orgasms were possible. I wanted so for him to be pleased again. I hoped that his pleasure could at least compare to mine.

He stopped then, suddenly. I knew that he was studying me. With my eyes closed, I knew that his vision was moving about me. I could feel it burning my legs, my raised ass, my back and the outline of my spine, the damp hair caressing my shoulders. I was nothing more than his cheap slut, a place for him to deposit pleasure; yet, in that brief moment, he wondered if he might love me.

It was a matter of seconds after Michael started again that I felt his cum once more. Mortal men cannot cum like this, I thought. It was as though his first orgasm had only been a prelude.

Minutes passed, then more minutes passed, before I suffered the unwelcome, cold feeling of Michael leaving me once again. I did not love him, and I knew that he did not love me; yet I wanted him to hold me. I wanted to snuggle with him, pretending that things were different, as that cold feeling melted away.

In the shower, I quickly found the warmth I had desired. The erotic music CD was on shuffle. Steam filled the bathroom. The water was a bit too hot, burning my back as I went to my knees in front of him, wondering if I could ever let go of the beauty that had frightened me so earlier. Again, with my eyes closed, I could feel his eyes burning through me. Again, I read his thoughts. I was a fuck- a cheap whore he had picked up in a bar. I was on my knees in the shower with his impressive manhood in my mouth like a porn actress; yet, he wondered again if I might love him. I felt it in his touch as he gently pulled wet hair from my face.

We dried each other off without a word, only smiles and an occasional laugh to break the silence. I loved him, I realized, but now and only now. When we said goodbye, there would be no more Michael. I stood naked, smiling at him in the mirror as he brushed and blow-dried my hair.

"Do you know how beautiful you are?" he said as the drier was switched off.

In the mirror, I studied my body for a moment. Yes, I was beautiful. I then looked at my face. Even with no makeup, yes, I was enough.

"You", I said with a note of humor, "Turned me into a whore. Can whores be beautiful?"

"If you are a whore, then yes."

He turned me around then. The kiss was nice, it was passionate, and it was real. Through the kiss and the gentle touch of his hand on my left breast, I once again read his thoughts.

This time, he read mine.

"Hey", he said before laughing. "All I said is that you're hot."

"Will you please go and get my clothes?"

"No."

"Michael..."

"You want this to be what it is and nothing more, right?"

"What do you want?"

He kissed me quickly, then stroked my hair twice more with the brush. "I want you to be the party whore that you said I turned you into."

I stared at him silently.

"You know what I mean", he said.

In that moment, I felt certain Michael wanted me to fuck his friends. There was no way that was going to happen; but then, prior to this night, there was no way any of this was going to happen. I began to doubt myself.

He would not let me dress. My shyness was gone. These guys had already seen me naked. So it was that the night passed with me nude, having a few more drinks, and partying with his friends. I was accommodating, like the "party whore" Michael wanted me to be. I was kissed. I was fondled and touched. I was the belle of the ball. These boys in the bodies of young men loved seeing me naked. They envied Michael and, despite the unspoken rule that said that for tonight I was his girl, they all wanted to fuck me. If they could not fuck me, they at least wanted a blowjob.

None of Michael's friends got any of their wishes. Never had I felt such power. Never had I admired so the power of an ordinary man- if one could call Michael ordinary.

He gave me one of his sport coats for the ride home, as my blouse was torn. Before leaving his house, I stuffed my blouse and bra into my purse. The coat was a big on me, and nicely covered my naked breasts.

The miles passed silently and dawn's sun peeked through artful clouds, as I wondered why I had no regret. It saddened me that I had no regret. I was proud of myself, proud of this realization.

This is it, I thought, as Michael stopped his car at the walk of the small house Sarah and I rented. This is goodbye. I detected the sadness in his being as we sat silently. None of the bullshit lines were forthcoming; though we both waited for "I had fun", "call me", etcetera.

At once, I removed my jeans. My panties soon followed them to the floorboard.

Michael smiled.

I needed to be caught. I needed to let the world know what I had done without saying a word. As he entered my vagina again, I realized how sore I was from the night before. I fucked him in his car as the city stirred to life. We kissed like lovers in a cheap novel, those who experience fictional, once in a lifetime love. I was the woman whose being was not complete without Michael. Michael was the man who felt like a whole man because he knew that I loved him and needed him with all my heart. We both absorbed the fiction as we fucked.

There would be no orgasm for me this time. This time, I was in control. This time, I just needed his love in me.

My vagina hugged him tightly as I moved. I opened my eyes to see Sarah, her Tupperware-contained lunch in one hand and her book bag over her shoulder, staring at me. She shook her head with disgust before making her way to the bus stop.

This was perfect.

The cars of early passers-by slowed. I was on his lap facing him, kissing him, with only his coat to hide my bare, hard, erect breasts from the curious.

I smiled at Michael as I got out of the car. Now my panties were in my purse with my blouse and my bra. I took part of him with me, still feeling his wet warmth. Once inside, I was struck by the silence. It was broken then by the ticking clicking of the antique clock Sarah's mother had given her. I then heard a thumping noise. It was a sound made by my dog, Jack. He was laying on the rug in the living room. He had not moved, and the sound was that of his tail thumping the floor. He smiled, and I knew that he smelled the sex.

Sarah quit speaking to me for quite a while. When we talked again, she wanted to know nothing of that night. This was fine, as I wanted to tell her nothing. Seeing me on top of Michael in his car, told her all she needed to know.

The next day I received flowers. I put them in water and enjoyed their beauty until they wilted and withered. When they did, I threw them away.

I had no regrets for the dead flowers then, as I have no regret for the night with Michael now. I love having a secret. I love knowing that there is a passion within me- something no one can ever take away- that none of the men passing through my life will ever understand. I love the fact that, in the midst of work, responsibility, deadlines, and headaches, that for one night, I was the "party whore".