Hell On Earth

Part 7: The Hidden One.

To say she didn't know of me would be a lie. I was in a long term mutually abusive relationship with her best friend in high school. The kind of love where you lie, cheat and steal. You lie, cheat and steal and you like it.

Jenna and I didn't have a first date. We shared a first hug, first kiss, and first sexual encounter.
"Are you clean?" She asked.
I'd been checked for sexually transmitted infections a few partners ago and I hadn't received any awkward phone calls that would suggest I'm carrying a disease and it certainly doesn't burn when I urinate. I have no sores or lesions.
"Of course I am," I replied with total confidence.
"I don't want to get pregnant." She said nervously.
"I can't get you pregnant. I'm broken." This could have been a lie but it was based on an educated guess and on the high amount of partners I've had, The fact that I've never used protection and I have no spawn that I'm aware of.

I felt no chemistry aside from pure physical stimulation. When I rolled off of her she nuzzled her head into my chest. "I love you." She whispered. I said it back. It would be awkward not to say it and as she closed her eyes prior to drifting to slumber she mumbled: "I haven't been fucked like that since high school."

That was the start of a beautiful relationship. Have you ever told a lie and liked it? Jenna is a beauty. One of the beautiful people. She's thin but has curves. Her skin is tight but she has tiger stripes. Her hair is curly but she straightens it every morning.
She's a punk but it's not a phase.

Jenna feels ugly on the inside.
She's used her mouth as a cum dumpster but would rather it be used as a social ashtray. I, narcissist, I could do better. I just tell myself I don't have the motivation to try. I use her body and she uses my mind. I fill her body with flesh that stimulates and she fills my mind with questions that don't materialize. Fair trade.
"Is the world a vampire or an ashtray?" She asks.
"The world both sucks and burns," I tell her as I stare at an open area of skin on my arm and visualize my next tattoo.

She's wearing red booty shorts. Only red booty shorts. In this institution, this has become her uniform. If I was her employer there would be a mandatory dress code that enforces this policy. Jenna does everything to please me. I still don't love her. It's as if she would have Stockholm syndrome if she wasn't free to leave at her own free will. I don't argue with French Toast and oral sex. I'd let her stay for oatmeal and a hand job. - You will see God when I take my mask off.