My Love, My Drug, My Release

Paul's Perspective

I held up my hands. "Sorry, you're right." How was it possible could she do this? Derail my anger, my thoughts, the whole fucking conversation. She knew how to play me, how to get under my skin and make me do what she wants. But I wasn't going to let her win this time. "Where do you think this thing with Keith is going to go? What future could you two possibly have?"

"You've seriously lost touch, Paul. Not every sexual encounter needs to be in the service of getting married one day. Some things are just fun."

"What about Thelma?"

"Same rules apply."

"That's no way to live your life, Lorraine."

She rolled her eyes, tapping off the ash from her cigarette into a blue, ceramic dish. "That's pretty rich coming from you. I thought fucking was all you did from '63 to '68."

"That's why I know better than anyone how unsatisfying that life is," I said.

Lo took two steps so we were face to face, our shoulders squared up almost perfectly. She looked from one of my eyes to the other, blowing her smoke over my left shoulder. "Are you jealous, Paulie, is that what it is?" She reached between us, touching the edge of my t-shirt before sliding her hand underneath, laying her palm flat against my bare abdomen, making the hairs on my arms stand on end. "You wish that I was wearing this cute little outfit for you, that you could've been the one making me cum all over your cock, right?" She leaned in closer, and I resented how tall she was; it was like being confronted by a man. "I bet you like these knee-highs, and my pigtails, like being reminded that I'm just a little girl-"

"Shut your fucking mouth-"

"Make me!" Her eyes were like tiny flames, the ring of gold around her pupils spreading into the rest of the iris. But then she just chuckled. "Guess you don't have the balls for it."

Pinching her cig between her thumb and forefinger, she stubbed it out on the ashtray. While her back was to me, she got a grip on the belt loops of her short, tugging on them so the seam went right up her ass. 

I felt the erection growing, pushing against my pants; it throbbed so hard I could swear my pulse was audible. When she turned around and spotted it, I felt ashamed, ashamed that she could get such a reaction out of me, even when I was enraged, when I was trying to yell at her. But then I saw her face. Those delicate features were no longer contorted into a smug expression like they'd been since I confronted her, but pulled down with another, much greyer emotion. Not sadness, not disappointment... fear? She wasn't afraid of me, I didn't think (God, don't let her be afraid of me), but there was definitely terror in those doe eyes. 

She visibly shook it off, tugging on one of her pigtails, chewing on her full, lower lip, but I could see through the façade now, and the fact that I'd ever fallen for it repulsed me. "Do you want me to help you with that?"

I shook my head slowly. "Don't do this Lo; you don't have to."

"Turn around," she commanded. "I don't want to look at you."

I wanted to be there for her, to let her know she wasn't alone, that she didn't need to play act at being an adult. She was fifteen for Christ's sake, she could just be a kid. But I wanted her touch even more. So I did as I was told, facing the sink, arms at my side. **She came up behind me and undid my belt, then my fly, pulling my hard cock out of my pants. With her arms around my waist, she jerked me off, her face and chest laying flat against my back. 

When I tried to turn around, she growled in my ear, "Stay where you are. You don't get to see my face. You don't get to kiss me."

Despite how clinical this was, I couldn't deny how good it felt. Being married meant everything was just missionary in the bedroom, all the excitement drained out and replaced by stability. It was sort thrilling to look down and see these strange, disembodied hands working my shaft, a tiny thumb, rubbing the head. Like getting worked on by a hooker in an alleyway, except it wasn't a hooker, it was Lo. 

The orgasm snuck up on me; I couldn't place what finally put me over the edge. Was it the increased pressure, the thoughts rushing through my brain? I had no clue. Once every drop had splattered to the stainless steel sink, she reached past me and turned on the cold water, letting it wash away any evidence of our sin. **

I moved to face her, but she pressed a hand between my shoulder blades. "Don't turn around, or you'll never see me again," she threatened. I heard her take a step back, and my shoulder twitched, giving away my intention. "I swear to God, Paul, don't turn around, or you'll never see me again. I don't mean that as a euphemism, or that you won't see me naked, or some bullshit like that. I mean, if you try to look at me, try to so much as sneak a peek, I will leave and go somewhere and you'll never find me again. You and Linda aren't the only people I have. If you turn around, I'll be gone."

"So it's true then?" I murmured, staring out the window above the sink at the London rain splattering against the pavement. "You know where Brandon is. You kept in touch with him." She didn't respond. "Or maybe not. Maybe it's Jackson. He told you where he was going before he left, and swore you to secrecy. Am I right? Lorraine?"

When I couldn't take it any longer, I spun around, prepared to demand a straight answer. But she was gone. Vanished silently into thin air. Almost like she never existed in the first place.

I'm actually quite happy with how this turned out, especially the ending. Let me know what you think if it tickles your fancy!