GIRL 76
CYST GIRL
Spring had turned to summer. Seventy-five girls had come and gone. Seventy-one since the woman I considered the love of my life, Girl 6, Alayna. It was coming up on a year since things had gone bad for us. I kept expecting it to hurt less. It never did.
Girl 75, General Liability Girl, had given me nightmares, and they kept coming. In them I successfully killed myself. Brains on the wall, gore dripping down, a hole in my head, the .357 Magnum skidding across the floor as my heart beat one last time, a small geyser coming from the hole in the top of my skull. In another, I opened my wrists in the bathtub. But the one that was making me wake up screaming was the swan dive off the skyscraper dream. In that one, the last milliseconds I experienced as if they took an hour, feeling my head explode as I hit the pavement at over a hundred miles an hour.
Ten nights of waking up screaming, and I needed to do something different. I interrupted my girlfriend search and decided to connect to a female in a way I know would make the nightmares stop.
When Cyst Girl hit on me I knew it would be no good. Her appearance, age, career, life choices, none of them were for me. But I agreed to meet her, and I did an experiment to see how few words I could say before she met me for a date.
I figured I would just meet her at the bar, have a drink, and call it a day. No one could be more different than General Liability Girl, so Cyst Girl would be sure to chase away the ghosts, and then I could return to my regularly scheduled life. Plus, knowing my pal the supreme being as I do, I knew he would want to speak to me using Cyst Girl's voice. But one beer in, the woman walked in. I had chosen an out of the way bar that I hadn't been to since '96. No one knew me there, no one would recognize my car, and no one would comment about the woman I'd dated that night. She came in, and although I had prepared the bartender, she was still a shock to the system. Just like Girl 2, Finding Eagles Girl, this particular egg-on-legs had decided to wear a miniskirt and high heels.
But we had a good time, downing a few beers and talking about whatever entered our minds. My side of the conversation was about ghost stories, Girl 54, Kendall Jackson Girl and how she had brought on the haunting of my condo, the Snake Ranch. Cyst Girl's speech was about her upcoming surgery for ovarian cysts, perhaps a hysterectomy, and how her husband - now dead after he had divorced her ten years before - had beaten her regularly within an inch of her life.
I was curious about what she would say to my opinion on battered females. It's not a pretty theory I have, but the women who stay in abusive relationships year after year, I believe, are feeding some fundamental deep need they have to be yelled at and beaten. Perhaps it is karma from past life misdeeds they are attempting to clear, perhaps even a past life of being a wife-beating husband, and now they are back to see what it is like on the business end of the fist. Or they are replicating a childhood with an abusive father, the beatings the only way they can connect to a man.
I didn't care what she thought about the opinion - after all, the date wasn't about getting into her panties, it was about exorcising demons that had flown into my life with General Liability Girl. But strangely enough, she agreed with me. Perhaps she was simply being pleasant.
But I was getting tired at the point that she reached for my hand and guided it under her skirt and slowly inserted two of my fingers into her wet, hot snatch. She looked at me with a heat I hadn't seen since Girl 71, Google Girl, and leaned over and whispered, "take me home and fuck me, and if you want, you can fuck me up the ass too."
How did she know I was into that, I wondered, and then recalled that in our instant message session I had asked her straight out if she liked third input sex, and she had been mysterious in her answer, and I hadn't wanted to work hard enough to decode what she had meant.
Perhaps it was the influence of the beer. Or the ghosts of General Liability Girl.
"Follow me," I said, and she followed me in her gigantic Suburban to the new townhouse.
I'd moved out of the third floor condo - the Snake Ranch - that my ex-wife had found for me, into a town house in Plainsboro. My son had asked if he could leave the house of his mother and come to live with me, and my reply had been, "pack your things and get up here." In two weeks he would move in with me permanently. I expected that my dating life style would soon be cramped, but the boy was much more important to me than my dreary sex life.
He needed to be in a good school district, and West Windsor-Plainsboro's is one of the best in the country. So moving there made some sense. And because I shared custody of my four year old daughter with my ex, who lived four miles away, I'd need a three bedroom townhouse. And since there was only one neighborhood that I knew of in Plainsboro that had three bedroom townhouses, I searched for a unit in that neighborhood and unfortunately found one, and I hated it every day I lived there.
I decided the best way to commission the townhouse would be to do sexual things I'd never done before. The first thing I did was tie her up, and I gagged her and blindfolded her. Then I began to finger her, until I had four fingers shoved into her, and when I saw the expression of ecstasy on her face, I added my thumb, then pushed my entire fist into her. Not long after, her first body-rocking orgasm came, shaking the bed. I looked at my other fist. Why not, I thought, and I put one, then two fingers into her asshole, which felt rubbery and flexible and warm and wet. She purred like a kitten, so I got in a third, then a fourth, then my thumb, and then after pushing for a few minutes, I was double-fist-fucking Cyst Girl. She came harder than I think I've witnessed a woman climax up to that point, except perhaps for Girl 6, Girl 29 and Corvette Girl.
I looked down, and my traitorous penis, Tyrannosaurus Rex, was hard and ready for combat.
You don't really want this, do you? I asked.
But he nodded. I want in, he said. I ran to the bathroom and washed the vagina and ass off my hands, came back in and began to fuck Cyst Girl. It was very loose, so I rammed Rex up her ass. I brought her to a second climax that way, but it wasn't much fun for Rex.
Eventually I washed her ass off my cock and untied her. She was crying. I felt a moment of panic - would she call the cops on me or something? But they were tears of joy, thank God.
"Now let me tie YOU up," she said. I smiled and lay back, expecting a garden variety fuck with her on top.
She put the blindfold on, inserted the gag, and tied me up tight. I felt her lips on my quivering cock, and then the sound of her spitting on her hand. Her index finger slid into new territory.
The next fifteen minutes were a bizarre but exquisite cocktail of pleasure and pain. It felt like a truck had driven into me.
I heard water in the sink. I wondered what the hell she would do to top this. The bed sagged as she sat on it, and then her lips on my engorged cock. No fingers, just lips. And then I got a blowjob, the kind a man rarely gets, with mouth only. She went up and down on my cock. It was a face fucking.
As good as it felt, she couldn't make me cum. Eventually she untied one hand and put it on my cock. Finally, as I got close to orgasm, she pulled my hand from my cock and sucked me into her throat, and I came while she swallowed. I filled her mouth three times, then a fourth time, before I stopped pumping cum into her greedy mouth, and then it felt like my chest caved in.
I'd never felt so exhausted after sex. I was careful about opening my eyes on the way to the shower, and in the bedroom I left the candles on. Seeing Cyst Girl in bright lights would not do right then.
I felt like I was sleepwalking as I escorted her to the entryway. I shut the door behind her and threw the bolt, then crawled upstairs to sleep.
For the first time in two weeks I slept, really, truly slept, not from being bombed on scotch or sourmash whiskey, but from complete sexual satiation.
When I woke up, I felt 25 again. I sprang to my feet and went to work, and was an hour in before I saw the instant message from Cyst Girl.
She wanted to know when she would see me again.
I stared at the computer screen for a few moments, then shut the instant message window, then went into the member list directory and blocked her name.
I never heard from her again, nor did I ever want to. But somewhere out there is a woman who, when she sucked in my cum, also managed to get with it my nightmares.
I wonder if they make her wake up screaming, and if they do, does she see General Liability Girl's face?
But if my sleeping nightmares were over, my waking ones were not. The next three women could have walked into my life straight from the Twilight Zone.
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