The Rise of 5 Ch. 01

This is just the first installment. All details of this story, aside from names, are completely true and personal so please be kind. This is kind of a way for me to work through my thoughts. The title will be explained further in later installments.

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I wasn't always this way; broken and demented, torturing myself emotionally to distract from a deeper ache. I use to be wholesome. I was the girl with ambition and drive, searching for clarity in the ambiguity of the life I was living and the world I was merely a grain of sand in. I was confident, and still am in ways that don't seem to matter anymore. Where I lost it was in my ability to achieve... and to make good decisions. Don't mistake me; this is not a story of a girl's fall from grace. This is the recap upon realization that I did not fall, I pranced joyously, despite the bittersweet nature of the journey, into the fire and reveled in my own burns. I basked in the smells singeing skin and found pleasure in the gut wrenching pain.

I suppose I have him to thank for this epiphany, but if you knew our relationship you would understand the difficulty of my saying he has done anything right, even if unintentional. He is, most simply put, an asshole. I'll expand on that in a moment. By the end, you will know all that I have discovered about this man child that has actually been significant in my life, unbeknownst to me until now.

I like sex. I like the pleasure of feeling a man's body against my own, hearing him gasp when he slides inside of me. I like strong hands gripping my hips, pulling my hair, and even squeezing my neck as I reach oblivion. In those moments, every orgasm, I am empty of all hurt and taunting thoughts. For that finite amount of time, my brain stops and I feel light in every nerve ending. I become a spirit, floating outside of my quaking human form, and hearing my moans and breath in the distance as if they were coming from somewhere else. I am released from bondage of anxiety and brokenness, until the moment passes, the shaking subsides and my spirit form is forced to return to its hollow shell. Then the longing begins again. The more times in one night I can fulfill my hunger for release, the smaller the ravenous monster of desire comes back, taking longer to grow until it devours me in another partner, but he always comes back. Is this not the definition of addiction?

Enter the man child, stage left. For storytelling purposes, let's call him Guy, though I am certain he will be able to identify himself, should he ever stumble upon this. Guy is a tattoo artist. This is only significant because this is how we met. Inflicting pain on myself in the form of body art is another coping mechanism, though it has not become a full blown addiction like intercourse, but it does the trick at times.

Guy is not attractive. There is nothing particularly spectacular about him except that he's a great lay, but I am getting ahead of myself. From the beginning, Guy didn't like me. His distain was slightly comical and though it was spoken by a mutual friend that he had a crush on me, evident only by his extraneous rudeness, directed only toward me, I had never considered there may have been some truth to it until about 2 years into our acquaintance-ship. Every unnoticed side look, snide remark, and all the time he spent waiting culminated on December 18, 2015. Three days after I began orientation for a new job, I was staying at a friend's house, who happened to be related to Guy by marriage, taking in less than my normal copious amounts of alcohol, yet still achieving the numbness I was seeking.

In the months prior, I had been put through the ringer, dealing with the death of my first love and ended up allowing someone to break through my intricately constructed barriers, only to find myself unknowingly falling in love for someone who was quickly becoming distant, thus another source of emotional turmoil. We'll call this one Michael (the devil still in angel form). I wanted to feel nothing, so my solution was a drink, as it had been many times before. Then there was Guy. Once the other occupants of the apartment retired for the evening, Guy and I were left alone. We ended up opting for a movie to give some neutral ground and cutting the need for an actual conversation; remember, we were not friends, by any means.

Guy complained about his back hurting and, with my mind still on Michael, not considering the implications due to my inebriation, I offered a massage. He declined, but apparently interpreted my indifference as protest until he conceded. He removed his shirt and sat on the floor in front of the couch I was sitting on. My hands always seem to be cold so he cringed away when I touched his heated, dark skin. I didn't notice the chilling temperature of the living room until I went to warm my hands. I pressed into his back, gently at first, letting his heat warm my palms. Once comfortable with the landscape, I pressed harder, working pressure points I had studied in an acupuncture book when I was a child. I am unsure if he enjoyed the massage but eventually I told him I was done and he thanked me. When he stood, I curled up on the couch under the blanket I had there, assuming he would resume his original position on the loveseat. Instead he sat on the other end of the small sofa, next to me.

Eventually my buzz began to dwindle just enough to feel the icy atmosphere enveloping us and my body started a series of involuntary shivers. My drunken mind, now only able to focus on the cold, remembered the warmth of Guys back and chose to change positions until I was leaning on him. Though he did not object, I clarified the action by revealing to him that I was cold. We situated into a comfortable position, him sitting and me lying with his arm around me, hand placed on top of my blanketed hip. I watched the movie until he spoke.

"You like me." He said exposing his confident, large-toothed grin.

"No." I said simply, as if he had asked a question instead of making a statement. The remainder of the specific phrasing of the conversation escapes the grasps of my memory (an unfortunate side effect of the alcohol); however, the actions and thoughts are perfectly intact. After a brief discussion of whether we had considered sleeping with each other, his hand moved under the blanket and returned to my hip. In that position, my shirt had slid up slightly, giving just enough exposed skin for his fingertips to touch. I closed my eyes, letting Michael slip from my thoughts where he had been firmly planted for months. I knew what Guy wanted, and I could have chosen to stop it. Fully aware of the regret that would ensue after the act, I allowed his hand to caress my hip and roam to my ass, above my pants, then under my pants for a second until I moved his hand back to its original position on my exposed hip.

When he raked his stubby nails lightly across my skin, Michael returned with memories of our last encounter. The mixture of Guy's touch and pleasure-filled memories tossed my stomach. I grew saddened by Michael's distance after the experiences we'd shared but refused to bathe in the pools of misery when I had someone present, willing to cause me to forget, no matter how briefly. My head turned to look up at Guy's face and he leaned down and kissed me gently. The first was short, as if asking for permission. When my hand rose up and grabbed the nape of his neck, he continued. The next was deeper, hungrier and I returned it. Michael had said my kisses were powerful back when things were good and all we did was kiss. Back when he was still in his pursuit of me. I kissed Guy in spite of these thoughts and focused on my well-honed skill. I took his bottom lip between my teeth and pulled back slightly then dove back in, deeper each time. When he sucked my bottom lip into his mouth, my tongue traced the inner lining of his upper lip. Eventually, my strapless shirt was pulled down freeing my breasts. His fingertips grazed and pinched at my already hardened nipples. I pulled back a few times in this endeavor, hearing what I believed were sounds of movement in other parts of the residence, but we quickly resumed after Guy's little convincing that it was nothing.

After awhile I was on my back, in my original seat and he lay on top of me. His hands moved gracefully yet hurriedly as his mouth attacked my neck. The pain of his bite on the skin covering my clavicle excited me into pushing out all thoughts of stopping so by the time our pants and his shirt lay on the floor, I could not fathom discontinuing this event without the release I was longing for. He got up and grabbed a condom out of his pants pocket, opened it, and slipped it onto his erection. My legs opened automatically at his return. One of his hands gripped his cock while the other slid over my pussy lips. After taking mental note of my body's reaction to the touch he pushed himself inside of me. My eyes fluttered closed as a silent moan escaped me. My opened mouth invited his and he kissed me again while pressing into me. He began, slow and shallow but his thrusts moved deeper and faster, matching the pace my hips beckoned. My legs opened wider, placing one foot on the floor and the other atop the back of the couch, as my pelvis moved closer, harder, faster toward him, pleading for release. He continued fucking me as he sucked one of my nipples into his mouth. My nails on his back we only more incentive for him to push forward. I could feel the involuntary shaking building in my right leg and each nerve ending begin to ignite. I bit my lip, letting the sensation overtake me. I exited my body for a short time, taking in the soft high. I came down quickly when I felt him cum into the plastic barrier between us but my hips were still rocking against him.

"Don't move." I whispered, savoring the feeling of him softening inside me while my body attempted to reach for another high. "Okay" I said, tapping his shoulder. He obeyed and pulled out, holding the condom in place as he went. I instantly felt the emptiness as he walked to the bathroom and my monster of desire cursed me as I replaced my clothing and returned to my spot on the couch.

When he returned to the room I instantly remembered the awkward moment after my first encounter with Michael. He had a look of concern on his face, like he knew the full weight of the mistake we had made, as he asked me if I wanted a glass of water. There was none of that in this moment. Guy held the same softened expression as he did when before he kissed me. He sat and we chatted about nothing in particular, passing time. I could feel the monster stirring inside me, growling to be satisfied, begging me to forget my memories and feed. It was my turn to move. I scooted closer to Guy and he asked something that jokingly questioned what I was doing. I kissed him, igniting the second phase. We removed our clothing once again but this time, his member hang limp. I motioned him over to me and he kneeled on the cushions in front of me. Even in the awkward position I could feel the positive effect I had on him. Sucking him into my mouth, I felt him begin to harden instantly.

I wet him as much as I could with my salivary glands being impeded by the dehydration caused by the alcohol that had soaked into my system. Normally, I enjoy giving head because I am quite talented at it but I was disappointed in this instance. With the position and having put no thought to technique I was certain that it was terrible. It did, however, accomplish the goal of enlisting another erection. I was momentarily caught off guard when Guy pulled me into another kiss after I had finished. Then I was turned around, and bent over on all fours on the couch. He grabbed another condom, fixed it, and was poised at my entrance. He started out slowly again but my monster was impatient. I shoved my hips backwards, taking him into me all at once. I let out a soft moan, feeling an orgasm already beginning to build again, as my mind went again to Michael. I pushed back onto Guy's dick even harder and he returned the thrusts with even more force. His hands on my hips pulling me back had me so close to removing Michael until the sound of our skin meeting cause us to slow down.

"Pull my hair." I gasped as he pushed deeper inside. He obeyed and the roughness finally shot Michael from my thoughts as I focused on my release that was coming. He pressed into me and kept his strokes short and fast to give the sensation of rough sex, without the noise. I moaned into the couch arm that I was draped over as I came, harder than the last time. When we had finished, we replayed the same scene only when he returned from the bathroom this time we lay on our respective ends of the couch and slept.