A Farewell to Alms

“So, you’ve had your fun. Now you’re leaving?”

The girl who had just threatened to ask me to leave was now ticked-off that I was doing just that.

“Well, its 3:00AM. What else are we going to do? Play scrabble and try to spell out some act we haven’t committed yet?”

The cigarette hung from the side of her mouth. She was thinking. Very dangerous. Whenever her mind grew active the angels wept.

“You need to read the Bible.”

Her mind was jumping from idea to idea now, like a smooth rock skipping along the surface of a pond in which it would never rest, sink, nor attain any kind of depth.

“I thought we covered this already at the bar. I have read the Bible. My problem is I find myself rooting for the underdogs like the Sodomites and the Philistines.”

“Sodomites?” she repeated, questioningly. “Get out! That’s not in the Bible!”

I stared blankly into the mirror I was combing my hair in, as it dawned on me that she had never read a word of the Bible. She just thought it was terribly important that everyone else did.

“Yes, the Sodomites. You don’t know that story? Lot, the angels, Sodom and Gomorrah?”

“I might...remind me of it, again.”

Yeah sure, I thought. It was the lamest attempt to bullshit someone I’d ever heard, other than Nixon’s, ‘I am not a crook’ speech. (Then again, this was all pre-Clinton.)

I sat down on the chair across from the bed Natalie was reclining on, with her cigarette in hand, staring across at me in the dark, like a little girl waiting for a bedtime story.

“Well, the angels came to Lot, a good shepherd type-of-guy, and told him that all the people in Sodom would have to be wiped out for their wickedness. I guess they were doing all kinds of things, but as the name implies, probably a lot of the wickedness was...you know...ass fucking. Anyway...”

“Get out! That’s not in the Bible!”

“Yes, it is. Trust me. Well, anyway, after all the warnings, they keep doing it and ultimately God wipes ‘em out. Lot’s wife looks back, turns into a pillar of salt—story over!”

“Why did she turn into a pillar of salt?”

“Hell, if I know. These stories don’t all have great plots. Some are sort of like, “The Big Sleep.” Great characters and stuff, but plots that are all over the lot—no pun intended.”

“But why didn’t the people stop?”

“Well, that part’s easy—felt great!”

“Getting fucked in the assfelt great?”

“Hey, I guess so...they kept doing it, right?”

“That is an act I find incredibly vile,” she said, with finality and resolution.

“Hey, I agree with you...I guess there’s just a lot a sicko’s out there, ya know?”

I was in all-out, bullshit mode now. This was an act I had performed with some girl friends before, and loved it. I knew I’d love having Natalie just this way...kind of a parting gesture, a ‘so long it’s been good to know ya’ kind of thing.

I continued:

“Believe me it’s not something anyone’d ever catch me doing, I’ll tell ya’ that.”

Like a good football coach, I figured, if a play is working, keep running it till the other side stops it. This faux disinterest had worked before, so I figured, I’ll try it again, at least until she parries it.

I went into the bathroom and rinsed my mouth out with water. The after taste of the whiskey was burning a hole in my tongue.

When I re-entered the bedroom, Natalie was casually lying prone now, leaning up on her elbows, cigarette still in hand, casually pretending to flip through the pages of a magazine lying before her on the bed, but obviously displaying her ass—welts and all.

I sat along side her on the bed and let my hand rub along her upper thigh. Soon I let it slide up the crest of her fleshy ass cheek. I squeezed it gently.

“Oooohhh...I’m sore there. You did it too hard, I think.”

I didn’t answer her.

I licked a finger and then replaced my hand on her ass. But this time I let my fingers sink into the valley of her ass. I found her sphincter and let my middle finger nuzzle it.

She froze. But didn’t ask me to stop. I burrowed the tip of my finger in to her ass. She winced and turned her head away from me, laying it onto the bed.

I knew she was signaling her tacit consent.

I began to fuck my finger into her ass, while Natalie lifted her hips, ever so slightly, to afford my probing digit greater access.

I took advantage of all she afforded me.

I began to pump my finger into her and was soon up to the knuckle.

Natalie was whispering and hissing her, “Oooohh’s” and “Owww’s,” but at no time did she ask me to stop.

Finally she lifted her head, “It hurts...”

“Yes, but what did we learn earlier tonight? You seem to like some pain mixed with your pleasure, don’t you?”

It was as condescending as I’d ever been with a woman. It was said with complete sarcasm on my part. I expected her to pull away and slap my face, ending the evening on a note of finality.

But, lo and behold, she took my comment in stride, lowered her head back to the bed, and let me continue penetrating her.

I was sorry I’d begun to get dressed again. My pants bulged with a renewed hard-on that Natalie’s acquiescence had engendered.

I pulled my finger from her ass.

“Owww...!”

I thought she might stop me now. Without doubt she knew I was undressing again. And undoubtedly, she knew what for.

I climbed naked back onto the bed. I grabbed the pillows and positioned them beneath her hips, which she lifted to allow me access. Once having positioned her waiting ass, I maneuvered between her thighs, nudging them wider apart with my knees.

I positioned the head of my dick to her asshole and began to work it into her.

After several seconds of working it in, she raised her head and whined:

“Can’t we use some Vaseline?”

“No, unh-unh. The friction is what makes it work. Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.”

As I continued to work it into her again, I could see her features in the faint morning light pervading the room. Her brow was wrinkled with concentration, trying to relax her sphincter to allow entry to the invading organ below.

Suddenly her body relented and I was in her. She cried out. It hurt. I held still to allow her to adjust to my size. Then, after a minute or so, I began to slowly pump my dick in and out of her, with each thrust delving a bit deeper into her ass than the one previous.

Natalie grunted and occasionally lifted herself under me, as if struggling for release, but never asking me to stop. In a few minutes, I was driving it into her much harder. As earlier, the slapping of my hips to her ass began to ring out in the room.

I was getting hotter and hornier as the pace of our lovemaking increased. I may have entered her bedroom that night as your average, 40-plus businessman, but this girl was definitely bringing out the Caligula in me.

I grabbed her hair as I would a horse’s reins and pulled her head back. I began to call her a slut, as I rammed myself into her—repeatedly. She moaned under the onslaught, but never called for a halt to it.

I knew from the first that this wealthy, self-absorbed, young beauty would love this treatment. Everything in her condescending manner and attitude seemed to be begging for a man to treat her just this way. Now she was getting the treatment her coded mannerisms had requested all along. She should have hated it, fought it. But she didn’t; she was loving it.

Natalie’s hand slipped down between her legs. She began working at her clit feverishly to bring herself off. Within minutes she came, loudly, grunting under me and sweating profusely.

The excitement of her orgasm got me off. I came in her ass violently, feeling my prostate spasming over and over till I thought I would cramp. When it was over, I fell onto her back and lay there for a while catching my breath.

My organ was caught in a vise. We lay together for a long while, like dogs that needed water thrown on them to separate. Only after five minutes or so, did I begin to soften and ooze from her ass. It reminded me of toothpaste being squeezed from a tube.

It was a while before we spoke:

“God, that hurt!” she said, angrily.

Then she lifted her head and looked over at me:

“I thought you said it would ‘feel great’!”

“Yeah, but I didn’t say it would for all the participants, did I?”

****

Chapter 8: Philosophy in the Bedroom

I got up to take a shower. My body felt sore all over. There were positions I had been in that night that I hadn’t explored for a while. Even my eyes burned from lack of sleep.

But it was a good kind or soreness. I wasn’t complaining. I turned on the shower and stepped inside. Within minutes, the shower’s glass door slid open and Natalie joined me.

We soaped each other and enjoyed our bodies under the hot, cascading flow of water. Natalie’s breasts were large and felt like water balloons filled near bursting. I loved the feel of her. My cock was slowly coming to life again.

As she knelt before me, lathering my thigh, Natalie took a long look at my semi-hard dick and admired it. I’m not sure what possessed me, but I let go a stream of pee that splashed against her thigh and washed down the drain along with the shower water.

She fell back stunned and just stared up at me. She was trying to decide what emotion coursed most strongly through her psyche.

“You’re an animal,” she finally laughed, loudly. “And one that needs to be housebroken immediately.”

“Just don’t go crying to your girl friends that I don’t treat you right,” I complained, with mock concern.

After we’d dried ourselves, I held her and we kissed deeply, letting the towel between us fall to the floor. She reached down and tugged on my cock a few times. It grew under her encouragement.

I followed her into the bedroom, but not back into bed. Instead, I decided to continue getting dressed and sat myself in the chair along side the bed, slipping my socks on.

“Time to go, huh?”

“Yeah, ‘fraid so.”

“So, why do you like to whip girls?”

“I don’t, especially...”

“You did tonight, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess so...”

“Why? And, why do you like that other stuff, too?”

“I don’t know...I guess I prefer not to talk about it. If you talk about it you ruin it.”

It occurred to me that I was starting to sound like Hemingway. That scared me. Pretty soon I might feel like putting a gun barrel in my mouth, too.

Natalie lit up again. I could tell she was lost in thought:

“You don’t like women, do you?”

The question didn’t shock me. After all, joke or not, I had just urinated on her. She had certainly earned the right to an honest answer.

“No. You’re way wrong with that one. You just came along at the wrong time. Had you been a few years earlier you might’ve found a different guy to dance with...you know, like the song says, you were ‘Born to Late,’ that’s all.”

I thought about it some more. There had definitely been a different me a few years earlier. Time had wrought itself down on me. Some of it was good, some of it wasn’t.

“You know Nat, we get older and fatter on the outside. But some of us just get a lot thinner on the inside. Like Christ said...the ‘poor in spirit.’ But I don’t see it as blessed, that’s for sure. No, the way I see it, the ‘poor in spirit’ can take freely, but they have nothing to give. When it comes time to give, they find that it was all given away a long time ago.”

“Well, they couldn’t have had much to begin with if they’re left that impoverished from a few bad endings.”

“Maybe...”

I thought, she might be right. But I felt no need or desire to defend myself.

I finished dressing. I told her I’d be leaving. She was still sitting up against the backboard of the bed, arms crossed, and cigarette in hand. But she seemed emotionally drained and very somber.

“I don’t suppose I’ll hear from you again?” she asked. Her voice was soft and wavered slightly.

It occurred to me that she’d taken the evening much more seriously than I had. Crazy as she was, I felt badly for her. It pained me to hurt her feelings. She had given so freely of herself. All I had done was take.

I would be leaving her a bit thinner, a bit poorer, too.

“No, probably not. You’re engaged. It wouldn’t be such a great idea, don’t you think?”

It was a statement, not a question. And she knew it.

“Yes. You’re right. And he’s a gentleman...and he loves me.”

She started crying quietly, and I felt very depressed. I have never been good with a lot of emotion, so I thought I would just leave. Nothing I could say at this point would take back the evening or change the way I felt—or didn’t feel. And nothing I could say would change the way she felt—or didn’t. And I knew that.

****

Chapter 9: Exodus

When I went out to my car, it was raining. What a cliché, I thought. Is God condemning me or trying to wash away my sins?

Maybe He was peeing on me, I surmised.

As I opened the car door, Natalie came out onto the landing outside her door. She had wrapped herself in the bed sheets, covering her nakedness.

“I have to feel sorry for you—you’re too weak for me,” she shouted, bitterly.

Then in an attempt to correct herself, she added, ironically:

“I’ll pray for you.”

“Save it,” I said. “Try praying for some common sense, instead.”

As soon as it was out of my mouth, I regretted it. The remark cut a deeper wound in her, and turned her attempt at pity, back into anger.

“By the way,” she shouted, fighting to smile through her tears, “I lied. You were awful!”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

We both knew I wasn’t referring to the sex.

As I drove off, I could see Natalie in my rear view, standing in the rain, crying. My eyes were still burning from the sleepless night. But the pain behind my eyes was worse.

I had had many nights like the one with Natalie, where I’d spent the evening taking all I could, but left the next morning all the emptier.

Although I knew I could come back to Natalie, I knew I wouldn’t. I was getting too old for this stuff.

It would be better left well enough alone. I never knew a poor man that grew rich on the alms of others.

I stopped at a light and noticed some ashes from Natalie’s cigarette on my pants. How appropriate, I thought. I fingered the ashes and dabbed my forehead, leaving a sooty, black mark.

The rain showered down upon the windshield, pooling itself across my view. I turned the wipers up a notch. They parted the waters, as I found my way home.

The End