-
Mont Kiara
can get really quite sometimes. Like it was, last night. It was one of those
rare nights where there were very few cars on the road, very few late night
party goers walking drunkenly along the streets of this upscale residential
area.
So quiet,
that almost any other sound that would normally be drowned, becomes noticeable.
Last
night, I heard the heavy breathing of three girls, and the gentle rustling of
sheets. I heard the big art deco clock I hung in my living room ticking the
seconds away. I heard the subtle rumble of my glass door refridgerator and the
creaks of the hardwood floor that lined my apartment. These are sounds that I
don’t notice.
And there
was a new sound as well; a sound I’ve never heard in my apartment ever since I
moved here. I heard the sound at around half past three in the morning. It was
accompanied by the sound of a chilly wind, blowing into my twelth floor
balcony, and the sound of the designer curtains rustling as they were tousled
about.
But the
wind and the curtains, as I said, were just accompaniments to this one main
sound. It was a foreign sound, yet, at the same time, a sound that is
altogether all too familiar once you accept it.
It was the
sound of tears; of pained sobs and hitching breaths.
For the
first time in four years, there came the sound of tears and sadness.
Who was
crying at this hour?
Whose
tears are echoing off the walls of my luxurious, modern apartment?
Mine. They
were mine. I was crying.
***
Three
hours before those tears started, I was deep in the middle of a sandwich. A
three-girl, one man-meat sandwich. Like a perverted, twisted Big Mac. It had
started the moment we walked through my door. I was hungry. I had gone half a
year in abstinence, because of one girl.
But a
certain revelation fucked up my mind so much, I had reverted back to being
Dhani. ‘Dhani’ of old.
I didn’t
remember the names of those three girls. I remember I just picked them up and
brought them here, to this den of mine, so I could have some fun and games.
They were
young, pretty and very, very willing. Each of them was different; Girl A had
short hair, a cute, almost juvie face, small tits and a fully waxed beaver;
Girl B had long hair, large, heavy breasts that sort of drooped a little
because of their weight and her pubes were coarse and thick; and Girl C had
shoulder length hair, breasts like apples and her pubes were trimmed into a
neat strip. They all tasted different and had differing levels of ‘skills’.
From the
stuff they did, I could tell that Girl B was probably a bit more experienced,
and she’s been around a few cocks in her life; Girl A was overtly excited, like
those annoying girls in porn that exaggerate their oohs and ahs, and Girl B was
quiet, almost shy, even though she readily took me inside her and moved her
hips in unison to mine. Girl B was my favorite that night; she had the nicest
rack, the nicest sex and was the tightest among those three. I started with her
and I finished with her.
The
fucking had gone on for about two hours; our writhing, sweating bodies
intertwined like snakes. The moans and groans were arousing and off-putting at
the same time. Rather proudly, it seemed like six months of abstinence had done
nothing to my prowess. When I came, I was ready to do them again. And again.
I felt
like I was never more energetic. My mind was completely empty… except for the
thought of Damia and her fucking ex fiancee, well, fucking. It made me mad,
angry and upset, and that just made me go harder and harder on the three girls.
When we
were done, and the girls were gasping for air and energy, I had straight away
popped into the shower and washed myself clean, using all my products. When I
got out I saw the girls had fallen asleep, their nude bodies overlapping each
other. I put on a fresh t-shirt and a pair of shorts and of course, went to
make coffee and sit on my psychiatrist’ chair in the balcony.
I forced
myself to replay the scene in my imagination. The one where Damia was being
screwed by her ex-fiancee. I did it because I needed to desensitize myself to
it. I did it because I needed to accept the fact that she wasn’t as squeaky
clean as I thought she was. I needed to accept the fact that she had had sex
before.
This was
strange. Me, of all people, suddenly averse to the idea of a girl that has sex?
Come fucking on! I wasn’t that naïve or egoistic to think that all those girls
I’ve fucked before hadn’t had their cherries already popped. Of course those
girls weren’t virgins or first-timers. Why else would they agree to follow a
guy they just met a bar or club moments earlier home? Those girls wanted to fuck, were ready and willing
and I just played my side of the game.
So why was
the idea of Damia doing it bothering me so much? What made her special?
… Because
she is special. Because I love her. Because, perhaps, at the back of my mind, I
wanted to be the one to first taste her sex.
I wanted
to her first, so that it would have
been special for her. I wanted to be the one to lead her on a journey of
pleasure like she never experienced before. I wanted to be first man she’d ever
allow to touch her and explore her and enter her. And I wanted that because in
my mind it’d mean I was special and I was chosen, privileged to be the one she chose. I wanted to be her first
because she loves me and I love her, and wouldn’t that have been the ultimate
culmination of our love? That she would choose me to be the first to man ever
to un-do her clothes and bra and panties and be inside her? I had thought so,
even if i didn’t realize I was thinking it.
But I
wasn’t; and would never be. Someone else had gotten there before me. And it was
this thought that had sent my brain haywire. Like I couldn’t accept it, but was
now forced to do so.
So I
replayed those fucking scenes in my head until finally I accepted them. I, too,
have secrets of after all. And I know I’d probably never, ever tell her about
Dhani Ibrahim, Flower Heart.
So I accepted
her past. And when I did, all I felt for Damia was love. Nothing else; it was
love. And because I love her, I would accept her in her entirety; physically,
mentally, emotionally. I would love her completely like I have never loved
anyone before. With that acceptance, I finally calmed down and let my mind go
at ease. She was brave enough to let me in on a secret from her past. I should
feel privileged indeed.
***
It was
then that the realization of what had just transpired tonight hit me.
I
realized, with great gravity, what I had just done, all because I was ‘angry’
at her past.
And when I
realized that I had just fucked three girls out of nowhere, when the girl I love
was probably sleeping and feeling relieved that she had the guts to tell me
about her past… when I realized that, I felt this incredible hurt in my heart.
The first
tear came soon after. Then I had begun to cry.
I’m sorry, Damia.
-
No comments:
Post a Comment