Wednesday, May 31, 2006

Fingers and lust


Her seat was tilted back, breasts pushing upwards through a tight bra and a tighter tank top. My fingers roamed over her chest as we talked. God, she has great tits.

"Should we get a hotel?" I asked, my eyes meeting hers.

Green and hazel flared with lust as she paused.

"I don't know," She panted.

The car was quiet, except for the hum of the air conditioner. Two teenagers lay out in the sun only thirty feet away. The nearest vehicle was eight or nine parking spots down the path. A birthday party was winding down on the other side of the lawn.

We were alone, except for the rising sexual tension.

"It's different with you." She said, turning her head to look out the window. "It's so much more..."

"Intense?" I finished.

"Yeah." She sighed.

"With you..." She continued, "It's different. I can just, I don't know, give in. It's hot, and I feel safe, and there's all this power, and..."

Her voice trailed off, as my mind fixated on the comment about power. Through all the years of the on-again, off-again, on-again, off-again and now almost-on-again relationship between myself and my ex-girlffriend, the sex and the lust and have been incredible. Clothes have been ruined, sexy outfits have been purchased. New positions have been tried, old positions have been perfected. Fingers and tongues, lips and lips, they've all been used.

It's never been hotter with anyone else. Not for her, nor for me. And along the way, after four years, the tension has only gotten stronger. We've gone months at a time without talking or seeing each other, only to meet again. There's an awkwardness as we meet "again" for the first time. On each occasion, it only takes a few hours for the awkwardness to transform; Clothes are dangerously close to being ripped off, followed by a fucking frenzy that would put porn stars to shame.

Such was my Memorial Day weekend.

On Tuesday afternoon, after two days of almost-foreplay, of quick and forbidden gropes and kisses, our collective libidos were super-charged. If we'd had the money and the time to get a room, we would've done so. But we were both staying with family (and you know how that goes).

So when I heard her talk about power, she inadvertantly cranked the dial from 11 (on a scale from 1 to 10) to 25.

I almost jumped her right there and then.

BDSM is one of my secret passions and when she dropped that comment (without even knowing what BDSM is), I could've thrusted myself inside her so fast, she would've screamed.

And loved every minute of it.

Given we were in her car and there were people around, I was limited in my potential response. But I'm an imaginative bastard, and God knows I love her breasts. Just watching them heave up and down in the heat and lust... ah.

"Take off your panties," I ordered. Power and lust crackled in the air, while an inner debate raged in her mind: caught between need and propriety, want and decorum, she needed to make a decision.

But she didn't HAVE a choice. It was my decision, my choice... mine.

"Take off your panties," I repeated, more firmly.

The staring contest continued; she stood strong for a few seconds, then wavered, then gave in. She lifted her hips, reached under her skirt and pulled off her underwear. I laughed quietly to myself, as my fingers pushed her skirt up to her waist.

"Spread your legs," I ordered. There was no indecision this time. Her legs parted eagerly.

Moving my hand up her thighs, my fingers easily found her, and found her wet. As I massaged her moist pussy, she sighed and closed her eyes.

My finger slide inside her easily, as I felt her insides for the first time in over six months. I pulled my finger upwards, finding her clit, and pressing down against it.

Turning over my shoulder to make sure noone could see us, I kept moving my finger back and forth; inside her wetness, then pressing against her pleasure spot. Her hips pushed against me, as as her eyelids remained shut.

For ten minutes, I fingered her. For ten minutes, I watched around us. For ten minutes, she enjoyed our little reality break.

For ten minutes, we throbbed.

We've always turned each other on, yet due to the distance between us, have rarely had the time to release what gathered inside. For years, we've been careful to not let other people see what we're doing.

I wonder what it would be like for the two of us to be near each other, so we could spend time working through some of our, heh, tension. I wonder how much longer this will go on.

I don't know.

But in the meantime, I'll keep getting her wet, while she keeps getting me hard. That'll have to do for now.

--The Bastard.
Posted by The Bastard :: 10:34 PM :: 1 comments

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Friday, May 12, 2006

Men are Lying Liars.

No, really. We lie. A trained psychologist will go on and on about why men lie. I'm sure there's good reasons, but at the end of the day, dishonesty comes easily to the male gender.

It makes me laugh, when I listen to guys talk. I mean, do people really believe the shit that comes out of some guys' mouths? That laughter is followed by a melancholic moment, when I realize I'm just as bad as them. From time to time, This Bastard fibs. But the lies I tell to other people are harmless; white lies, really.

Unfortunately, I do more damage lying to myself, than anyone I know. I've spent the last couple days unraveling my former relationship with TheEx, and I've come to the unsurprising conclusion that I internally sabotaged our attempt at "Happily Ever After".

It's long and complicated and not blog-worthy to go into the details. But it had harped on me that there were things about me that she didn't know. Which is sad, because she knows me better than anyone else.

So, I poured a Tall Tall Drink, and told her everything. She was stunned and caught off-guard. I'm good at doing that to people.

But now, after I've spilled my guts, I see the relationship that ended in January from a completely different angle. Underneath my protestations of affection and love, I pushed her away, just like I always do. She even called me out on it.

A couple nights ago, she threw a curveball in my direction:

"Why do you quit so easily?"

I didn't have an easy answer (although I haven't given up trying to figure it out).

Ultimately, I kept things from her and myself; topics and events that, had I shared with her, might've changed the outcome of our relationship.

I'm a lying liar, too. I lied to myself for all the wrong reasons.

But women are all crazy bitches. So, it all evens out.

-- The Bastard

Posted by The Bastard :: 11:25 PM :: 1 comments

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Wednesday, May 10, 2006

Stupidity is a virus, I guess.

I'm not the only one with my head up my ass in this city.

--

TheBadMan (not to be confused with BadMan - right state, wrong city) looked like death. His face was pale, he hadn't shaved in days, and the bags under his eyes were a mix of black and red. I don't know how it's possible, but there he was.

"You look like shit," I drawled, cigar twirling between my fingers.

"I feel like shit," His voice grated.

"So go home," I offered free advice.

"Being alone feels shitty, Bastard." He countered.

I puffed for a moment.

"You're waiting for her, aren't you?" I accused.

He didn't flinch. "Yeah."

"You're an idiot."

-

I suppose that I should be grateful that the relationship with TheEx never included abuse, police reports, ex-boyfriends driving their trucks over my lawn at 4 am in the morning, or massive amounts of cocaine.

TheBadMan isn't so lucky. Although Every Single Person He Knows has told him to get away from CrazyGirl, he sticks around for the abuse. He dated her, they broke up. He dated her, they broke up, again. He dated her, she called the cops. Now, they just fuck and argue. Real healthy, that relationship.

He's confessed to me that the sex is fanfuckingtastic. TheBadMan's a good guy, but the 1-2 hours of great fucking isn't worth the 22-23 hours of aggravation. Why is it so hard for people to realize that great sex can be found, if you just look for it? Idiots.

Anyways.

I found myself one step away from making a confession that would've caused three different shitstorms. CrazyGirl hasn't just been fucking TheBadMan.

She's been fucking my roommate, R. I know this, because R has come home her with several times over the last month. My other roommate, GH, hates CrazyGirl. Why? 'Cause she's fucking crazy. She's nutso, a screwball, a loopdeloop of feministic insanity.

She's poison, pure and simple. And I'm in the uncomfortable situation of knowing where CrazyGirl was last weekend (the House of Sin), and having TheBadMan vent to me about the fact that he didn't know where she was.

I try not to judge, and I'm desperately trying not get involved. I want TheBadMan to know, so maybe he finally realizes how bad CrazyGirl is for him; The cost is too high, though. From the beginning, the deal I had with my roommates was "what happens in the HoS, stays here". Yeah, it's the Vegas rule, but it works.

And it needs to stay that way.

So TheBadMan will continue to live a life of mental anguish. R will fuck the hell out of CrazyGirl once a week, and I will watch it all, keeping my mouth shut. I could say something but I fucking hate drama. And this would be Huge Fucking Drama.

TheBadMan's my friend and I won't help him. Now who's the idiot?

Bastard: 1. Conscience: Dying.

-- The Bastard

Posted by The Bastard :: 1:59 AM :: 1 comments

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Tuesday, May 09, 2006

View from above

Blooming leaves on trees aplenty left the orange streetlights looking like Christmas lights. From five floors up, I watched the partygoers stumble past the "lights". I leaned against the railing, desperately searching for guidance and wisdom. Alas, none was to be found.

I took some time and pondered whether I had made the right decision regarding TG. It wasn't for lack of trying that I hadn't seen and barely talked to her. Numerous overtures were made and promises were given to me in return. But when push came to shove she repeatedly blew me off. I had had enough. So I kicked her to the curb.

The timing, though... the timing irks me. I think if I hadn't been so frustrated by the conversations I had with The Ex last week, I might've given TG another chance. I had attempted to take my frustrations out on my liver, but only succeeded in feeling like shit; So, why not pretend TG is The Ex, and kick her out of my life?

TG was nothing more than a stand-in. I should feel bad about the way I treated her, but she had it coming. Plus, she had her friend call one of MY friends, and find out if I was seeing anyone else. My patience for THAT type of behavior is incredibly low. High school was over for This Bastard a long time ago.

I looked down the street at the NYC-style club that I've been known to frequent. Even from a block away, I could still recognize the bouncer. I briefly considered going down to see if BrownEyes was around.

I exhaled and passed on the idea. Considering my mental state, I'd probably end up calling her by The Ex's real name, and I think I'd caused enough damage after two nights of steady drinking.

Besides, my liver needed a rest. It was time to go home.

I walked down the stairs, and said goodbye to my friends. I looked up, hoping to find some wisdom that had eluded me up on the fifth floor.

Instead, some drunk college girl tripped on my feet and fell to the ground. Her friends laughed hysterically as I rolled my eyes. Out of nowhere a thought popped into my head:

God, I need to get laid.

For once, my subconscious and I are on the same wavelength.

-- The Bastard

Posted by The Bastard :: 1:10 AM :: 0 comments

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Saturday, May 06, 2006

BRICKS!

It's another late night in the House of Sin. Alcohol, sex and honesty have all been topics of conversation between myself and my roommates. Plus, there's been some changes in the HoS Cast of Characters.

- TG has been bounced. After multiple attempts to meet for a drink, ignored phone calls, and broken promises, she was kicked to the curb, via the worst technological advance of the 21st century: The Text Message. That's right, TG was sent a text message saying "Okay, I tried, that's it. I give up."

I have low expectations, but no amount of pussy will allow This Bastard to be treated like crap. Oh look, someone's been sent to the Bricks. NEXT.

- R is on my shitlist. I try desperately not to be judgemental and to accept people for who they are, but I'm getting really fucking annoyed by his inability to be have an open mind on ANY topic at all.

- I have drank and drunk and drank the last two days. And tomorrow night, I will most likely be doing the same. As a general rule, I don't use alcohol as a crutch or an excuse, but the last couple days have been shit. Therefore, I'm making an exception.

The Bastard has been a drunk fucker, and grabbed several wayward female asses. It has been humorous, and glorious.

- My last post dealt with the ongoing drama that is the relationship between myself and My Ex. We spoke late Thursday night and came to the conclusion that space and distance were a good thing. As a result, we have started to utilize those concepts, because if we don't...

I'm going to fuck the shit out of that girl, no matter who's she dating.

And that would be bad.

Very, Very Bad.

The House of Sin carries on.

And I'm still a Bastard.

- Moi.

Posted by The Bastard :: 3:06 AM :: 0 comments

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Thursday, May 04, 2006

iwantitoveriwantitover.. noidontnoidontnoidont.

I've been a bit twitchy the last few days. My head tilts, and I hear an audible snap in my neck. My fingers are jittering as I type this very blog entry.

It's my ex-girlfriend, y'see.

I know, I know. We've all got ex's, right? We've all got the baggage and the memories of former lovers and mates. We all have those moments where we think what "could've been" or "what was I thinking?" or "holy shit, I had sex with her?" or any of of that. But this one girl... fuck.

The Ex and I have known each other for almost four years. The two of us have accumulated some serious emotional baggage in that time, but more importantly we have chemistry. Big, big chemistry. Like one of those huge fucking chemistry sets you got for Christmas as a kid? We're like ten of them, at least. Maybe more.

From the very beginning of TheBastardAndEx story, it's always been the chemistry. And the laughs. And the knowing looks. And the way we think the same thing at the same time. And the way our friends roll their eyes around us.

In a different time and place, the two of us would be "Together Forever". And all that horseshit.

She comes up here every summer, and the sparks fly. You'd have to be blind not to see it. So, we tried dating, and hooking up, and seeing each other, and all the types of relationships you can imagine. But as time went on, I knew in my heart that it would never work. We want different things from life. Our priorities don't mesh well. There's also an age and maturity gap that won't ever close.

Last January, I finally shut the door on our relationship. I DearJohn'd her in an e-mail. Yeah, I know. It's a shitway to end things. Sue me. I didn't have a choice 'cause every other form of communication had failed me.

I'd pushed, I'd begged, I'd pleaded, I'd yelled, I'd screamed, I'd cried, I'd cried OUT, and I'd manipulated everyone around me... JUST to get her away from me, JUST to end this, this... thing between us.

And now it's starting again. We have to talk to each other, as part of the summer job that we work at. And in the last couple days, the conversation has turned to more personal matters. I slammed the walls down tonight and got off the phone as fast as I could. I very much want this over between us.

And I very much miss her in my life.

--

I had this crazy holyfuck thought while driving today: What if it never ends? What if she gets married to some guy and then we run into each other? What if something happens? What if it happens again? And again? And again? And and and...?

What if she becomes a desperate housewife and I become the 'other guy'? I almost pulled over, my stomach turning and twisting, eyeballs rolling into the back of my head. And do you want to know why? Why I felt like shit? It's unbelievable.

I felt like shit because it wouldn't bother me if I did become the other guy. I wouldn't care, not one goddamn bit. I wouldn't feel an ounce of remorse for her husband and family. Not because they're bad people, but because I'd have what I wanted: Her. Meanwhile, she could have her cake and eat it too; Have the good job, have the close family, whatever. But on the outside, phone number hidden on her cell, there's The Bastard. That's the life we could have, if we so chose.

I'm the guy she can't ever have, and she's the girl I will always let get away.

--

I am the ultimate control-freak, the ultimate Dom. But with The Ex, control sifts through my fingers like sand. I grab and reach, but come up short every time. No matter what I tell myself, I wake up in the morning with her naked Italian body next to me, every fucking time. My stomach churns, and my heart swells. And then... and then...

And then I eat her out until she explodes on my face.

As far as I'm concerned, my relationshipwhatever with The Ex will FINALLY be over, when I never have to see her again. When temptation no longer rears it's ugly head, when her spectacular breasts are no longer in sight, when her gorgeous laugh is nowhere to be heard, maybe then I'll find peace.

Maybe then it'll finally be over.

--

Up until today, I thought my attempts to find women who understood the concept of "non-exclusive, not serious" was just The Bastard trying something different.

I was wrong. I'm using other women as a wall, so The Ex doesn't get back in. I'm using other women, so when The Ex comes back this summer, I can sneak away for a couple hours and relieve any sexual tension that comes of my time with The Ex. I'm using other women, to get The Ex jealous. I'm using other women to get The Ex out of my head.

I'm using other women.

I really am a Bastard.

Posted by The Bastard :: 12:06 AM :: -------------------------------------

Monday, May 01, 2006

Guilt Trips R Us

Saturday 9:30 pm - The madness begins.

"Bastarddddd!!", GH screams at the top of his lungs. He grins and then informs me, "You're going out tonight."

Actually, I went out Friday night and got bombed, but thanks for the offer.

"No thanks," I reply cheerfully. "I'm still recovering from last night."

TRANSLATION: Even though I'd stopped drinking around 3am, I was still drunk until 1pm on Saturday.

PROGNOSIS: The Bastard is on his way to embracing his Irish-Scottish heritage as an alcoholic.

REMEDY: I'm giving my liver a night (or three) off.

"No, really," GH said seriously. "MrBitter's coming over, and We. Are. Going. Out!"

"Yeah, dude," R agreed, popping open a beer.

Hmm. This isn't going to go well.

Saturday 9:45 pm - Their numbers grow.

MrBitter arrives.

"You coming out with us?" MrBitter asks.

"No, I have to get up early and-"

"I'll make sure you get up," GH promises.

I'm sure he will, but, um...

"No, thanks," I reply cheerfully.

Saturday 10:00 pm - The guilt trip begins.

"So, let me get this straight," MrBitter attacks. "You and I never go out together, and now-"

Hold on a second there.

"Waitwaitwait..." I laugh. "What about your birthday?"

"That was different."

"How so? 'Cause you don't remember that I went out?"

"I have a memory like a fox. I can remember anything." MrBitter proclaims.

"So, why couldn't you remember that-?"

"I have to be sober to remember." He laughs.

It's pathetic but true.

Saturday 10:15 pm - The team-up begins.

"Seriously, dude," R comments, "Just come out for a couple drinks."

Yeah, except I spent serious cash on scotch last night, and The Bastard is feeling the pinch.

"I spent a little too much money last night," I confess. "So, I really need to-"

"I'll buy the first drink," GH swears.

"I'll get the second," MrBitter proclaims.

Oh, shit.

"AND I'll buy the third!" GH yells triumphantly.

OH, SHIT. Deep breaths, deep breaths. There's a way out of this.

"I have to work in the morning." I grin weakly.

"I know you have to work in the morning, I make your schedule," MrBitter reminds me.

Fuck. They're really not letting go of this.

Saturday 10:30 pm - Offers are made.

VampBoy joins the pile-on.

"I'll work for you in the morning, just the first couple hours if you want," He offers to me. The smirk on his face and hint of greed in his eyes makes me uneasy.

Oh, THERE'S a great idea. Not only do I get to sleep in, but I'll get to give up some of my hard-earned cash. Plus everyone from work will beat the shit out of me, 'cause they can't stand working with VampBoy.

Pass.

"No, thanks. I don't feel like going out." I pick up my book, and attempt to keep reading.

Saturday 10:45 pm - They're still not letting go of this.

"What you're too good for us?" R asks.

No, I just don't want to go out. Thanks for more guilt, fucker.

"There's going to be lots of women out." GH points out.

Hmm. That's a good point.

"You don't have to stay out too late." MrBitter informs me. "Just have a couple, then come home."

In this town, noone ever has 'just a couple'.

VampBoy starts to fall asleep at the table.

Saturday 11:00 pm - I stay strong.

"Dude's the Berlin Wall," GH announces. "He ain't going anywhere."

Oh, thank fucking god. Is it over? Tell me this is over. I could've been watching bad porn.

"I don't know," MrBitter thinks out loud, "Maybe if we hadn't brought it up so much, The Bastard would be like 'oh, hey, I think I'll go out with you'."

That's a possibility, but you screwed the pooch, didn't you? HAHAHA.

Fuckers.

Saturday 11:15 pm - Last chance.

"You're a pussy!" GH hollars.

Wonderful. So we've moved from guilt trips to insults.

"Yeah. Seriously, dude." R agrees.

Uh huh. Isn't it almost time for you guys to leave?

"It's almost time for us to leave," MrBitter reminds GH.

Thankyewthankyewthankyewthankyewthankyew.

Saturday 11:30 pm - Waiting for the fat lady to sing.

"We're leaving now, " GH says pointedly.

Glad to hear it.

"Yeah, Bastard. We're going." R makes an attempt at subtlety.

One can only hope. Say goodbye now, boys.

"Put some shoes on and come with us." MrBitter takes one final shot at recruiting me.

For what seems like the millionth time, I smile and respond.

"No thanks guys."

"PUSSY!" They hollar.

Walk down the stairs. Go out the door.

"We're leaving now."

STAIRS. DOOR.

"BASTARDDDDD!!" They hollar from outside the house.

Saturday 11:45 pm - Peace on Earth, Goodwill towards Me.

They're gone. The House of Sin is now the House of Quiet. They're downtown, working through a beer, and cursing me out. Boo hoo, says The Bastard.

As for me, I stayed in and rearranged my room.

Sometimes, The Bastard just wants a quiet night at home.

That's exactly what I got.

-- The Bastard.

Posted by The Bastard :: 3:05 PM :: 1 comments

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