Guilt is a Useless Emotion

The following story contains mentions of drug use and is sexual in nature, featuring explicit terms that some may find objectionable. While some members of the LGBTQ+ community accept and use these descriptions, I am aware that some choose not to and may find them distasteful. No offence is intended. In my defence I prefer to treat every character in my story as different, with a unique personality, lifestyle, and language that I feel reflects all aspects of the community. I hope you will continue to read and come to love the characters who live in my head as much as I do. ~ Gosunkugi

GUILT IS A USELESS EMOTION

The party was over. Jen sat on the cold step rubbing at her nose, she'd done way too much coke and her sinuses felt like they were clogged with cotton wool. Her head was too hot, perspiration flowing down her neck and forehead from under her mane of magenta hair. It stung her eyes, making a mess of her mascara and causing it to run down her cheeks in spider webs of black tears.

The man she had been flirting with for most of the night had hung around when the crowd had scattered, and was making an effort to look inconspicuous, pecking at his phone like a bird at the kerbside. He was a perfect specimen, dark skinned under a tight sweater and black jeans, soft curly hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He'd said he was from Tunisia, and he smelled of exotic body lotions. Yummy.

If he still fancied Jen in the state she was in though it would be a minor miracle.

He kept stealing glances at her and she decided to chance her luck, smiling at him the next time their eyes met. He held her gaze and smiled in return. That settled it. When he walked over she got to her feet to meet him, smoothing the creases out of her silver dress.

"I have ordered the taxi, can I take you home?" His voice was like warm honey on toast, and her tummy did a cartwheel.

She was hoping that he'd have a place of his own, despairing at the future horror show that was her overdraft. Fuck it, she could always do an extra cam show during the week to make up for the expense. "I have a place we can go, if you're interested?" She said.

He seemed to think about it for a moment, and she hoped for the sake of her unrelenting libido he wouldn't change his mind.

He sat away from her in the back of the taxi, and she understood the unspoken signals, keeping to her side of the seat. She texted her mum that she wouldn't be home that night, so she was free to lock up and turn the lights off. There was no response and Jen sighed at the prospect of another awkward conversation-cum-lecture tomorrow. She popped a Viagra with some water from her handbag, just in case clitasaurus-rex decided to be a little shy.

At the hotel, Jen approached the desk to pay for a room, greeting the nightshift receptionist warmly: "Hello, Clive sweetie."

The elderly man burst into a smile at the sight of her: "Jennifer, it's been an age."

"Sure has. Busy night?" She was very fond of Clive. Their first few interactions were tense and awkward, but soon they'd warmed to each other. Clive eventually confessing his previously secret love of cross-dressing, something he'd turned to for comfort after his wife had died. It was all very touching, and Jen was always willing to lend a friendly ear, as well as suggestions for flattering clothes.

They chatted for a few minutes while the Tunisian; his name she'd learned was Karim; stood examining the pictures on the wall. Clichéd sepia prints of the city with early 20th Century time wasters in cloth caps standing outside pubs. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.

The room sorted, she gestured to get Karim's attention: "Shall we?"

In the lift to their floor she was able to get closer to him, pressing into his shoulder, and he held her hand, stroking her fingers and giving her hope that tonight wasn't going to be a total washout after all.

While he explored the bedroom, she ran the shower, stripping off her dress and crown of purple curls. Her groin had begun to ache, helpfully alerting her to the fact that it was time to untuck. She took off her underwear and gaff, sighing in relief. Being naturally well-endowed, Jen tended to rely on a little extra coverage for modesty's sake. After all it wouldn't do to have every poor sod uncontrollably drooling over her whenever she left the house.

Under the powerful jet of water she felt energised, the detritus of the evening disappearing down the drain.

The glass door of the shower opened and Karim joined her. At first holding her from behind under the spray, and then as his hands wandered over her hips and stomach, she turned around to face him and melted into his embrace.

"I was beginning to think I'd lost you," she said.

She pressed her now rigid strapless against his own erection, trailing a hand through his luxurious chest hair and down, down his body until she found his need for her.

He gently bit and sucked at her nipples and they stiffened under his tongue. The pain as his teeth grazed against them was exquisite. He lifted his mouth to hers, still kneading her breasts.

Jen was barely able to wrap her hand around them both, but the slick water let her slide her fingers up and down, masturbating them as one.

"I want you," he said, and it was all she could do to not fall to her knees right there.

Somehow they made it out of the bathroom, and still wet they collapsed onto the bed, him on top of her. He kissed a line down her navel, his breath cooling the moisture on her skin, making her shiver and break out in gooseflesh. She was hairless down there, as smooth as silk and he marvelled over her. She reflexively twitched her kegel muscles as he kissed her tiny purse, making her girl-dick jump, and he nuzzled up her whole length before taking all of her into his mouth.

She just about died there and then, feeling his beard rubbing against her as his tongue traced the contours of her glans, and she was weak, all but helpless under his sweet domination.

She took one of his hands, separating the fingers and directing them between her legs, he let her guide him into the hidden areas there, pressing up and into her pelvis, gently probing her inguinal tunnels.

That particular trick was looking like it was all new to him. Shame, she really enjoyed muffing, but so many of her lovers thought it a little strange at first. Taking one of his hands again she brought it to her lips instead, sucking on his thumb greedily. He was more than understanding of this and she lifted her hips off the bed, both to get deeper inside his mouth and letting him explore between the soft cheeks of her fanny.

He pressed his thumb along her perineum hard, massaging her prostate; oh he was good at this; probing at her very core. Her legs on his shoulders he slipped the digit inside her, cupping her and making her grip the bedsheets. Reeeeally good.

He pulled his mouth off her, leaving a long, deliciously messy strand of saliva and pre-cum connecting them, and she used the moment to tear open a condom. If there was going to be an objection she overruled it by untangling her legs and rolling the lubricated sheath over his manhood.

With her body relaxed and spread like the petals on a flower, Karim entered her easily. Her yielding warmth; her cunt; moistened by her own saliva and stretched by his thumb accepted his penis almost to the hilt and she died again, growling in uncontrollable pleasure.

His strong hands on her hips held her down as he pulled out almost all the way, leaving just the smallest part of himself inside her. She desperately wanted to be filled again, almost whimpering with need.

He thrust into her, and suddenly her hands wanted to be everywhere at once, they fluttered down his back, closing around the base of his spine, gripping his muscled buns and pressing her fingers into his yielding flesh, trying to push all of him inside herself.

Arching her back with every drive forward he made, she wondered how long it would take her to cum. Sometimes it was a struggle, and while sex that lasted hours could be heavenly in the right circumstances, it could also be frustrating and sore. She needn't have worried though, soon feeling the lovely, familiar waves radiating throughout her abdomen. As if reading her mind, he picked up the pace, fucking her harder, hitting all the right spots and making her cry out in pleasure.

She wanted the moment to last, squeezing her muscles to delay her orgasm desperately, but it only furthered his own point of no return, and with a final press of his cock so deep inside her she failed to hold on and surrendered, gushing her cum onto her belly in thick rivulets.

She rubbed it into her skin, licking her fingers, and he shuddered as he came too, making her turn to so much jelly as he pulled achingly slowly out of her.

The two of them lay side by side, breathing heavily. She ran her hands over his beautiful caramel skin lovingly and he hers, making her heart flutter.

While he was in the bathroom, she was able to slip out onto the balcony and light a cigarette. The night wind felt delicious over her naturally short hair, still wet from the shower, and over her trembling naked body, damp from their exertions.

She blew smoke into the air and stretched, her clit still hard from the Viagra, and she stroked it in relief, hearing Karim leave the bathroom. He joined her outside and wrapped her in his arms.

"Will you stay with me? Tonight?" he purred.

Well when he said it like that how could she possibly refuse?

o - o - o - o - o

Free of make-up and with her wig in the handbag, Jen walked through the front door in as neutral a guise as she could manage. She still wore last night's dress, but there was nothing to be done except take off her heels.

"I'm home," she called and the yappy dog ran to meet her, bouncing at her legs. She picked him up into her arms, "heya mucky," she cooed affectionately, plastering kisses over the dog's smelly fur and getting licked enthusiastically in return.

"I'm in the kitchen, dear," answered her mother, and Jen steeled herself for the inevitable.

The smell of Sunday morning cooking surrounded her, the smells of home, so familiar. She hugged her mum and kissed the top of her head. There was no comment about the outfit thankfully. As the dog circled her feet excitedly Jen made some sweet, milky tea and sat at the kitchen table.

"I waited up for you. For a while anyway," her mother said.

"Oh, mum, I sent you a text, you really need to check that phone more often."

Asking a parent to understand modern technology, something about teaching fish to ride bicycles came to mind. Jen and her generation practically lived their whole lives online, while their mums and dads still thought it a passing fad akin to Space Invaders.

"Sorry if I worried you," Jen offered halfheartedly.

They chatted for a while about the typical, boring, goings-on of everyday suburbia. Who was seeing who, who had died, or gone to prison, blah, blah, blah.

"Have you been to see your dad?" Her mum said, out of nowhere.

Jen rotated the mug back and forth in between her hands, and shook her head.

"Not had the time, work has been running me ragged."

A plate of toast was placed in front of her and she nibbled at a piece anxiously.

"You had the time to use the caravan and disappear for days at a time," her mum jabbed.

Well, she had her there. "Mum it was just for the weekend."

"And you're out all night. I worry so much. You can't keep burning the candle at both ends." The verbal sparring continued, exhausting Jen.

"I know, mama, but I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself." She regretted it almost as soon as she said it.

She couldn't see her mother's face to read the expression, but she knew the look off by heart, she'd seen it a hundred times. A spectrum of emotion running from disappointment to denial, with a stop along the way to squeeze in a few shades of self-righteousness. There was a lot she kept from her mum, and with good reason, but it was impossible to hide herself while living under the same roof. And she wouldn't hide, not anymore, that's not who she was.

She also never failed to notice how her mother couldn't bring herself to call her Jen or Jennifer. She didn't deadname, substituting instead tender, effete epithets, like dear and sweetie. A habit Jen herself had picked up.

"I'll pop over to see dad later today, I promise," Jen said.

That seemed to satisfy her for the time being, and her mother busied herself at the sink.

"I heard something on Dr. Phil-"

"Oh, mum please don't."

She continued without seeming to even hear the protest, "he said that breaking other people is a lot easier than just fixing yourself."

Jen silently wished for death to take her.

"I think it would be a good idea if you saw someone." Her mother was full of surprises today.

Jen wasn't buying it. "I see people all the time."

"You know what I mean, smarty pants."

"Mam. I don't need counselling. Alright?" She stood to end the conversation abruptly. At six-feet-tall she towered over her mother, she didn't mean to appear intimidating so lowered her voice: "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to shout at you."

Her mother clutched a tea towel, squeezing it tightly between her fists. "I-I just don't want to lose you too. I can see it happening and I feel so helpless."

Jen knew in her heart this wasn't about drugs. The real meaning was clear and it struck deep. She hugged her mother tightly and left the kitchen, shaking in anger.

With the drama over (for now), she entered the inner sanctuary of her bedroom and put on the CD of Tona Brown to try and relax. The only sign that her mother had been in here were the Progynova bottles out of alignment and a woollen comforter over her red bedsheets. Her make-up hadn't been touched at all.

She opened the make-up box and lifted out the tray to get at the powder compact amongst the other odds and ends. She flipped the lid of the plastic clamshell, taking out the small baggie.

As usual the morning after sex, she felt so used and strung out. She craved a constant endorphin high because this comedown was a dreadful bore. Jen slipped out of her dress and bought it to her nose, seeking the comforting scent of Karim. She wondered if she would ever see him again. She hoped so.

She did a line off the back of a CD case, then another, feeling better.

Collapsing on the bed she wrapped herself in the comforter and tried to lose herself in the combination of music and Twitter, eventually giving up and tossing the phone aside in frustration. The world was shit and shit and more shit, and she was so tired.

"Well sweetie, what do you want to do today?" she asked the picture on the wall.

The smiling image of Miss Piggy stared back at her. No answer.

The icon to the Muppet was just part of a larger shrine. On the back of the door was a poster of Madam Deal, the Dragon Lady, by the artist Milton Caniff. She wasn't normally into comic books, but accompanying her friend Ade to Forbidden Planet, the shop catering to geeks who subsisted solely on diets of Funko Pops and Superman monthlies one afternoon she'd seen the poster and was completely floored, she'd had to have it.

Ade once jokingly called her Desire of the Endless, and Jen didn't get the reference until she was lent a copy of one of The Sandman comic collections. For a moment she'd thought that the artist had drawn her, captured Jen's likeness without her knowing. At the back of the book was a pin-up of Desire and Jen would find herself staring at it for hours. How was it possible to know her so well? The sex‐shifting being with perfect cheekbones and an acid tongue would stare back, making her want to crawl into the page itself to be closer to her.

Silk nets hung from the ceiling in pale blue and pink. A large collage dominated one of the walls, featuring her muses: Elvira, Hedy Lamarr, Elizabeth Taylor, Talulah Bankhead, Louise Brooks, Natalie Wynn, and a dozen others, goddesses every one.

Her phone pinged, a message from her friend Adrienne. She was venting about something. Jen thought about ignoring it, not feeling able to deal with other people's problems right now. She wanted to be selfish, surely she was allowed.

Giving in she read the message. Ade's housemate had done a runner. She thought about Steve and her heart sank, chastising herself for not reacting sooner. Thankfully though it was the other one. Jen had never met him, but heard some bullshit from her friend, subtle digs and jibes. She was glad to hear he was gone, but it left Ade in a difficult situation rent-wise.

She offered as much emotional support as she was able, and it gave her the impetus to push herself out of bed and get on with the rest of the day.

o - o - o - o - o

The sound of Bob Dylan drifted from the shop front and out onto the street, causing Jen to roll her eyes. How they ever thought to attract customers with a guy who gargled marbles for a living was beyond her. She entered the store to the jingling of a bell and saw Simone working the counter. As she finished serving some random hipster, Jen greeted her warmly.

"Darling, I can't believe they got you to come in on a Sunday. You must be mental."

"Hey Jen! Some of us haven't got sugar daddies to rely on you know, we have to actually work for a living. Besides, time and a half."

Simone was a no-nonsense butch Bristolian, with beautiful dark skin and dreadlocks that fell to her shoulders. Today she wore a delightful septum piercing that together with her eyebrow and labret jewellery made her look positively fearsome, but nothing could be further from the truth, she was a teddy bear. The two of them didn't always see eye to eye, but there was no one Jen trusted more.

"Who's responsible for this crime against music?" Jen waved at the air.

"Oh, don't ask. Prick's got a new album out, higher ups insisted we play it to encourage interest."

"Encourage defenestration more like."

When the song mercifully finished, Simone changed the CD. "I've got something you might like though."

She put on an album by an artist Jen hadn't heard of called Perfume Genius.

"Oh how wonderfully depressing, I love it."

Simone passed a copy across the counter with a wink, and Jen slipped it into her handbag.

"What are you up to later?" She asked Simone.

"Treating you to lunch? You look like you need it."

"You have no idea." Jen didn't want to sour the mood by sobbing about her mother in the middle of the shop.

"Rough night?"

"Mm, no, the night was delectable." She thought about Karim again and almost swooned. "It's the morning after that's the sasquatch's arsehole."

"Cute. Have you tried not getting annihilated every time?"

She'd met Simone many years ago at a warehouse rave. Some meathead with more tattoos than brain cells was giving her a hard time until Jen had stepped in, forcing him to focus his attention on her instead. She ended up kicking him so hard in the testicles she broke a shoe. She hoped he still felt it when he thought of her.

In the nearby pub that had succumbed to the inevitable chain takeover and become a Wetherspoons, they sat in a booth. Jen was wearing her sunglasses still, her brain felt like the floor of a mosh pit at a death metal concert.

Simone shook her head: "You need to get your shit together, girl."

"Oh don't you start."

"This is what I'm talking about right here." She swirled her finger at the glass in front of Jen.

"It's just gin, don't get your knickers in a bunch."

"Jen. It's a quarter past eleven."

"Hair of the dog? Besides, it's Sunday."

Simone was right of course, but Jen was not about to give her the satisfaction.

"Okay, so what else have you got planned today?" Simone badgered.

Jen thought about it. "Nothing. Vegetate in front of the TV. Sunday lunch, Wine, blog, wank, cry, sleep?"