Post Love

I left my wife three years ago.
I write about the women that fill up the void.

Post Love Forty Nine

Jill had drunk texted it to me once before. I want to fuck. I had gotten out of it then. But this time around, she played it smart. She sent it to me late on a friday night, knowing the increased chances of me being drunk would help her cause. She practically begged me. I had smoked joints all night long, taken shot after shot, text after text, knowing she didn’t live too far from the bar. I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to fuck her. But I wanted to cum. And I wanted to fuck her tits. I had to do it. I’d been trying to find someone else to fuck and I’d failed miserably. I couldn’t hold it off any longer. I had to fuck Jill. 

I started to carry myself to her place in a crooked line deep in the night with a head full of subdued worry buried under piles of lust. The marihuana pushed me into a paranoid frenzy, made me feel like I was doing something inherently wrong, something so disgusting and terrible I would never recover from the guilt. I felt frozen in a dream, unable to turn from the well-known path to her bed. My nerves began to manifest themselves physically, my insides whirling with fear, disgust, and violent lust. I continued to make my way to her place because I’d done it so many times before. I followed familiar routine to a hazy sense of safety, and there I was taking off my shoes in the hallway again, walking down to the room behind her, the both of us drunk and lonely, high and horny, filling eachothers gaps the best we could. It was all the usual things, yet somewhere in the back of my head I remembered that things would be different tonight.

We put on music, kissed, did all of the things she needed to do to feel comfortable, and all of the things she knew I wanted. All of the usual teasing with the tits, the blowjob at the end of the bed, the tits around my cock, it lasted until it could last no longer. Jill reached over into a drawer, handed me a condom, and took off her clothes. That was the first time I saw her naked. I was surprised to see she didn’t look so bad. She was a pudgy, pale jew, but she made it work. She looked more thin now in the drunken freedom of her careless nudity, and even in the full picture, her tits hung so big on her body it drove me crazy staring at her. She sat down on the bed. I stood close and pinned her down on her back. I put her legs up on my shoulders, going for my favorite position right away, and she slipped right into it. I put my dick in her and started pumping. I leaned into the position and all I could see beneath me was her big plump tits, spreading out even wider with gravity, knocking up and down and to the sides with each violent trust, a sight completely ridiculous, a vision beyond reality. I swung her on her side and rammed into her, making her moan, taking it all in like the deeply horny girl she was. She got up on her knees and I stuck it in her again, banging her from behind, holding on to her tits. Jill was moaning louder and louder, finally getting what she wanted from me. She was getting fucked. And in my deranged drunken mind, I felt a sense of losing. I had always won with her, and it had always been unfair victories. But I was giving it to her now, giving myself to her, and I knew she was enjoying it more than I was. Just like my ex. It was always better for her than it was for me, and I didn’t want to do that anymore. It ruined us. But here I was, doing it again. I needed to gain control. I needed to balance things out. I looked up at Jill’s clammy pale back, her unappealing ass, her thick jewish curls, and somewhere in my mind, some drunken spark brought forth a simple gesture that would level things, would bring her down, would bring me my rotten pleasures. I let go of her tits and pounded her from behind with my right arm raised, right hand stretched out firm, I saluted Hitler as I fucked her wet jewish pussy. Now she wasn’t winning anymore. I was the bastard again, secretly, and I liked it that way. Jill was down here with me again, a horny joke like me, and now that she’d been getting a good pounding, now that I felt powerful again, I stood up onto my feet with my knees bent and really gave it to her. I wanted her to lose control, and that’s the one that gets them all. I slammed into her at just the right angle, her moans now extended and almost desperate, I pounded her into orgasm, kept going as she kept moaning into her pillow. She wanted to get fucked and I was letting her have it. I thrusted into her one last time and kept myself deep inside of her, slowly pushing in further and further until I finally pulled out.

I laid her down on her back again, knees up again, this time she held on to her legs, her arms pushing her tits together, the sheer mass of them bulging up into the air, a sight so obscene I couldn’t believe it was real. In total bliss I pounded into her watching them move and felt fantastic, as there was nothing beautiful, nothing pretty about it. There was hard sex with someone I didn’t care about, there was giving in to vices and loving every second of it, there was getting lost in hedonism, pounding into pussy, staring at tits until it all came together in the center, feeling so good in the moment I didn’t bother pulling out, I abandoned everything I knew and let go inside of her. My orgasm, my desperation, my worries, my cum, all shot out into a hole in the world, into a dark corner where I could let go of it all, fucked in every way, the rush of release leaving me lightheaded and satisfied, my muscles relaxing, slinking down face first into her tits, comforting and warm, I knew now that Jill could make me cum, I could make myself cum with Jill. I felt good. I rolled off and rested by her side for a while, holding on to those few moments of post orgasm bliss until they’d worn off, slipping away quietly until it was just me laying there again, loveless and tired, melting away in a feeling of content that’s more like a smirk than a smile. 

She said I could stay over if I wanted. I told her I didn’t like sleeping in other people’s beds. It was a lie. I didn’t want to sleep by her side and let a closeness form. There was no place for confusion of that nature. I liked what we had, secret sex, and that’s all I wanted it to be. I rose from the bed, slow and groggy, started to collect my clothes from the floor while she waited silently. Soft music hummed in the background as it started to sink in that I fucked Jill. And that I liked it. I didn’t know what was going through her head. I got dressed before she could form any feelings for me, any new hints at a bond that girls tend to imagine after sex. She got up to hug me goodbye. I gave her a long hug, no kiss, no look in the eye, and headed for the door. 

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