Stormy Night

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
A tale of a masochist

Submitted: March 01, 2015

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Submitted: March 01, 2015

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We had been out drinking for a few hours that night. It was a holiday weekend and  his sister asked us to housesit for her. We had been aggressive towards each other more and more as time went on within our relationship. I mistook it for passion and so the aggression is what I began to like. I guess it made me feel alive. The anger between us felt like the sadistic pleasure a pyromaniac felt when lighting a room on fire. There had been some incidents before. Usually involving alcohol and crazy good make-up sex. I knew it was wrong but to me it was my newest way of feeling alive.
It started at the drive-through window of Filiberto’s Taqueria. It was often where we ended up after a heavy night of drinking. As much as I tried to resist eating junk food so often, he lured me in without much choice but to watch and salivate or give in and eat. I had gained 15 pounds from the unhealthy habit in the last 6 months. We had such a good time that night. The food screamed order me. So I did. The cashier rang it up, $13.05. I reached in my pocket, no cash. But I did have a few coins.
“I have a nickel!”
He took out his large wad of $20 bills. He had recently sold a few ounces of fine crystallized marijuana. That smell: marijuana smoke, his scent, mixed with a large stack of bills made my heart flutter, although I’d never want to admit it.
He handed her a $20.
“Give her the nickel. Here! Give it.”
He put the nickel down in the cup holder.
“Why didn’t you use it? Why do you want to carry around the change?” I asked, slurring my speech.
I sat next to him on the ride home wondering why these miscommunications between us so often happened. I imagined his head as a large brick wall and myself in a car. Revving my engine and violently crashing in attempt to destroy his brick head.
I brought up the nickel once more and our energies grew nasty and dark.
We got home and I threw the hot sack of greasy treats on the counter. His eyes were glazed over. I tried to make eye contact and noticed his pupils slipping to the side. I was familiar with that face. It was his black-out face. This face strangely excited me. The side of him that was unpredictable, Mr. Hyde was lurking close-by.Perhaps a part of me wanted to play with his demons, to dance with the devil.
I took a handful of the grease ridden french fries and stuffed them into my mouth. They were soggy and saltless. Reasoning in my mind once more about the extra ass I had recently grown, I spit the fries out on to the floor. Angry and feeling stuck in a cycle of unhealthy choices, my drunk brain instantaneously thought now was the time to revolt. As I spit the fries out on to the floor, I peered up with slight hesitation as I knew I needed to be ready to Tango with a wild beast. The yelling began.
“What the fuck!? How dare you spit your food on my sister’s floor! You come in here and disrespect my sister’s house. Pick it up! Pick it the fuck up!” He roared.
“No”
“Now!”
“No”
I watched him step toward me and I didn’t move. I was frozen with curiosity. What was he going to do? I sensed the anger within our relationship as a swell. Here it came, the largest wave yet.  He grabbed me by the arm and pushed me to the ground. Like a member of the audience in a horror movie, I sat there with my heart racing and watched what would happen next. My eyes grew large and my pupils opened up as if hypnotized by a swarm of bats flying toward me. He reached for the box of french fries and placed the bottom in his palm. He pushed it into my face so hard I fell over to the side.
“How you like your french fries now, bitch!?”
I blinked. And blinked again. I forgot to breathe, so I then gasped for air. There it was, the destruction of our relationship, in all it’s blazing glory.
I cried out “That was so fucked up.” I gasped again. And so the show continued. My eyes began to tear, leaking black streams of water down my cheeks. I went and looked in the mirror. I watched myself as I cried. I looked at my young face juxtaposed with early signs of sorrow. What was I doing with this guy? Why was I here? Out of all the places I could be. Why would I choose to be here, doing this?
Jekyll begged.
“Please baby forgive me. I’m sorry”
Some more time passed. He grabbed me and held me while he hushed me.
Finally he let go and I stepped back.
My tears began to stop as I scanned this creature I called my boyfriend. How strange he was. Black and white, night and day. A switch he would turn on and off. How did he do it? I was reminded of the twisted games we played. To give in, to allow myself to be a masochist. Desire surged through my body.
We sat on the couch.
He reached for my nipple. He began to touch my chest. I let him.
He lead me up the stairs into the bedroom.
He fucked my brains out as I moaned with pleasure, asking for more, begging for more.
He burst with cum.

It almost felt special. That we created this secret together. This dark secret we couldn’t tell anyone. That we would never tell anyone.


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