The Suicide Of Her- Part III-Raw Writing, Adult Content

I suck at editing? Yeah. I know huh. 😦
Ah well, here is part three.

I hate deadlines.
Having to literally force your creative talent into a small box of time was the only negative thing about being a professional writer. In the night time, I could sit up and pen a story so intense that it even surprised me. But during the daylight hours, I was simply lost in a sea of things I’ve already said before. It was probably because I am at the point where I needed to see something I hadn’t seen before. Things were becoming repetitious. I was hungry, gorging myself on anything around me, taking away from whomever I could just so I could finally feel full. I never do. I think I have always had an addictive personality though, because in my younger years I dabbled in a series of irresponsible sexual acts, trying to find myself and at the same time, screaming out to everyone to pay attention to me, to love me. Throughout that whole process, I learned a lot about the capability of the woman body, and the talents are far beyond what the average man could bring about. I was also pretty distracted because I have been trying to contact Niomie since 9 o’clock last night to no avail, and it was very unlike her to not answer my phone call. I hoped that we weren’t at a point where I would be left hanging on for her attention, me being a Leo made it difficult for me to accept any form of rejection, and one of the things that worked best for me with Niomie was the fact that she was always available to me. Anytime day or night, she would be ready to see what I was about to give her. If she had answered her phone, I would have told her that I made reservations for her and me to go to Gratification Island last night, a Black swingers club hidden away in the dark streets of West Hollywood. With Jay being gone, I knew that I could be out all night watching strangers do anything and everything to obtain just a tiny bit of ecstasy. I remember my first night walking into that club. It was a Friday night. I was 25, finding myself to be interested in more than boys, kids, or partying. I was interested in what made swingers who they were, where fantasies came from, and I heard that Grat Island was where I would find some answers. I walked up to the dark grey unmarked building with nothing but my keys and my premature exposure. Once a sheltered rich kid, I was starving for something, anything, and everything. I just didn’t know what it was at the time and I was determined to find out. I walked up to the tall yet scrawny security guard at the front door and showed him my ID. “You’ve made a reservation, correct?” He studied me, questioned my age, my intent. “Yes.” is all I offered. I was over 21, and my intent was of no one’s concern but my own. He must have gotten the hint by my cantankerous disposition, because as soon as he found my name on his guest list, he handed my card back to me and I walked in. I recall thinking at that moment that the inside looked a lot different then what I would have expected. It had a long and wide hallway with people standing around, all of them with sex in their eyes. There were rooms on each side of the building, probably filled with toys, moans, and zero inhibition. My first thought was that I wasn’t quite that comfortable, not yet. I stood near the doorway for a moment, taking in the smell of perfume and darkness, contemplating my next move. I watched as people were kissing, some slowly and some with aggression. Each one of them rubbing on a different body part, some hands were connecting with the creases of someone’s posterior, sneaking their way up short dresses and down pants. Every other person had their back against the wall with their chosen lover of the evening, working their way down from their lips down to their chests, kissing down to their navels and then back up again. Familiarizing themselves with a strangers’ body. A few people made eye contact with me, all of them smiled. Fresh meat. A new face.  Deep down inside, I was still that sheltered rich kid, and that part of me caused for my eyes to divert to other directions to avoid their gaze. This adiaphorous choice- neither good nor bad at one point, started to feel more and more like a terrible idea, but my feet stayed in place. A woman approached me with a smile and a list of rules. “Hi Honey, Welcome to Gratification Island. Here, we want you to be comfortable in your surroundings, as well as others, so here is a list of rules we’d like you to look over before mingling.” Men naked at all times, women optional. Bring your own alcohol. No exchanging contact information, use protection at all times. Seems like a no brainer to me, but I suppose I could see how someone would be so free that they would lose a bit of their common sense. I felt a breath of hesitation slowly creeping up my body, causing goose bumps to emerge. All it took was one more naked 50 year old man or creepy stare to chase me out, but that thought was quieted, by a young woman sitting on an accent chair at the other end of the large hallway, looked to be in her mid 20’s. She was sitting alone, quiet, and seemed to be thinking about her next move as well. She had a healthy chocolate hue in her skin color, very smooth. Her hair was black and bone straight, like something you would see on a China doll. She also had beautiful full lips and round eyes, both features carrying a look of agitation and nervousness. I watched her as she shot down every last man and woman who walked up to her, giving them a look of disinterest from the moment that they walked up to her to offer a compliment or proposition. I wasn’t sure why I was so absorbed in this person because I never found myself looking at a woman this way, and probably wouldn’t have looked at her if we were in a different setting but I couldn’t stop myself, she was beautiful, and the perfect person for me to start this process with. I wanted to walk up to her but didn’t like the idea of being shot down, so I waited for her to look up at me and give me some type of reaction. Seemingly, she avoided the act all together, because she looked every way besides mine, sometimes even closing her eyes. Probably trying to figure out what she was doing here, the same thing I was wondering as well. She finally decided to look up towards the door, and caught me staring. I expected her to look away, to send me resistant body language. She didn’t. In fact, she smiled at me. That was the welcoming wagon I needed to walk up to her and introduce myself, and I did just that. “Hi. Why are you sitting over here by yourself?” I remember feeling nervous, thinking that my voice was shaky and insecure, something that she didn’t pick up on. “I’m not sure. Just haven’t seen anyone I’d want to talk to, ya know?” She had a Southern drawl, sounded like she was from Georgia or something. Found out she was from Germantown, small city outside of Memphis. I asked her if this was her first time at a swingers club, she says that it was her second, other time was with a boyfriend. Said he liked to have anal sex, wanted to bring her to a swingers club to gauge her reaction. “When we came here I noticed that he was on the prowl for a man to have sex with, and to be honest, I was turned off, but discovered that I had a few of my own curiousities.” She looked into my eyes when she said the last part, guess she sending me a signal, a message. I gave her a smirk that read that her message was received and accepted.

We decided we wanted to speak more privately, since we were constantly being approached by wanting individuals who urged to be in the middle of two young girls who were ready to play. When she stood up I then realized how thick her bottom was, slender waist and a very round bottom, almost too good to be true that she was the one that I met at this swingers party. We walked in on a couple of people, a couple of orgies, same moans coming from each room. We finally come across an empty room with a round bed and dimmed lighting. She laughs. “Wow, can’t believe I am here.” Neither could I. She went on to grab my hand, and only then did I realize that I still had my keys clutched in. We stood face to face, eye contact never breaking. She licked her lips, and then smiled. This woman wanted to kiss me. “You have very beautiful features” she says. I thank her, not with words, but with action; placing my lips on hers. We were the same height, both with full lips and a slow sensuality that allowed us to savor each moment. Never tilting our heads, we French kissed with nothing but the sounds of our interaction around us, letting out occasional moans and breaths. Learning of my naturally dominant nature, I pushed her towards the bed and straddled myself on top of her. I unbuttoned her silk blouse and exposed her breasts. They were full. For my first time with a woman, I was certainly aroused and intrigued by what I’d seen; she was truly a work of art. By this time we were both comfortable with what was about to happen, and became engorged in a sudden rage of animalistic compulsion, ripping each other’s clothes off and fighting for control. She begged to eat my pussy, said she wanted to ravish me. I gave her what she wanted. She went down on me like she’d wanted to do it all her life, like she was completing something that she’d been preparing for. Holding my legs open, she sucked on my clit from the side, and then licked her way down until she was able to stick her tongue into my pleasure hole. For some reason, this action, which was done by men before her, felt 20 times more intense. She moaned while she did it, and that is what turned me on the most. I found myself losing control over my body parts, eventually losing my mind as well. I was once worried about someone walking in and seeing us licking, biting, and pleasure one another, I no longer cared. I wanted her to do this to me forever; it was the best high I had ever felt. Still is. The encounter lasted about 7 minutes, but is probably the most memorable part of my adult life. She pleased me in ways no man had ever been able to do. Even with no name for me to remember, she gave me something that I probably wouldn’t have ever found. Just with her tongue and her fingers, I had found who I was.

My thoughts follow me around like a child; no matter my actions they never abandoned me. The proof was in the fact that even with such an attention selfish memory, I still found myself in my car and on my way to Niomies to check on her. I could handle not hearing from my husband, but not her. I would always notice when I didn’t have her voice to listen to through the receiver of my phone, or her face to light up when she opens the door to see me. Those very things brought me to her house unannounced. I finally drove up and noticed her car was sitting in her car port. She was home. “That’s really odd, she would have a fit if I didn’t answer her calls” I said aloud. I couldn’t imagine her being mad, since our last night together was everything but a fight. I parked my car and headed inside the front entrance of the indoor condominium community. It was about 9 p.m, a Thursday night. I know that if she was home then she’d be there alone. That was always her complaint. She felt like she was unsafe when she wasn’t with me, I’d think that she was safer if she wasn’t with me. If she only knew. She always made sure to lock her doors and windows when she was there by herself, so that is why I was surprised and alarmed when I walked up to her front door and found it ajar. I decided to enter slowly and quietly, staying close to her candy painted walls until I reached the 5 steps leading to her second floor. The room was dimmed, yet very obvious that someone was here. I could and would have assumed it was her. That the breathing that I had heard was hers; the life that was in the home was her. Would assume she was probably looking for a sexy piece of lingerie to put on, or preparing to take a hot bath. But I knew right at that moment that it was not. Niomie was in front of me, lying down naked, unmoved. Stab wounds invading her chest and neck area. Someone had killed my current addiction.

As soon as the discovery hit me, I was instantly bound from behind.
Someone had his right hand over my mouth,
and his knife threatening my abdomen.
The man says “Shhh…Be quiet.”
Externally, I do as told.
But inside, I am whispering to myself…
I am keen to my every sense.
I may not see or feel and I cannot taste,
but the voice I hear and the cologne I smell…

Is my husband.


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