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From: "H. Jekyll" <h_jekyll2000@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} "The Bastard,  Chapter Four: Love"  (MF, rom, slow, oral, anal)
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Date: Thu, 09 Feb 2006 03:10:03 -0500
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The Bastard   

by H. Jekyll


(MF, rom, slow, oral, anal)


Chapter Four of Five: "Love"

*  *  *  *  *

Copyright 2005-2006 by H. Jekyll. All rights are reserved. Do not read
this if you are either under the legal age to read sexually explicit
stories, or you live where it is illegal to read such stories.

An earlier version of "The Bastard" appeared at Ruthie's Club. An
illustrated and formatted version can be found there.

The only reason to stay in on-line life is the ability to meet
interesting people. Please write with criticism, praise, or
conversation: h_jekyll2000@yahoo.com

H. Jekyll story archives:
Alt Sex Stories Text Repository
(/files/Authors/h_jekyll/)
Ruthie's Club (http://www.ruthiesclub.com/)
StoriesonLine (http://storiesonline.net/home.php)

*  *  *  *  *

Chapter Four: "Love"


It's hardest at night, when there's nothing to distract me.

In the night I'll remember sleeping with Elizabeth, or not sleeping.
I'd be on my side and she would push herself up against my back. I'd be
almost asleep and then I'd feel her breathing, first her chest, then
her stomach, moving rhythmically against me. Sometimes her face would
touch me straight on, and her breath would heat a spot in the middle of
my back. Her breath was the warmest thing in the bed.

She wasn't always like that, not nearly so romantic or dreamlike a
sleeper. I found out that first night. I awoke at one point with her
arm across my face. She was sprawled almost diagonally, spread all over
the place. Later I woke up cold. She had pulled the comforter away and
wrapped it around herself. It was nearly morning, but way too early to
get up. Should I wake her? Hellfire. Not for anything. She was so
damned cute, wrapped in my pilfered comforter. I walked around to her
side of the bed and pulled it free. Gently. I spread the comforter out,
then tucked it around her to make sure she stayed warm, but she
corkscrewed back into it before I even got back to my side. Oh well. I
pulled it back over, far enough to cover me, and gripped the edge until
I fell asleep.

The next time I woke up it was morning and I was lying on my back.
Elizabeth's head was pressed against my shoulder and a hand was
squeezing my arm. She was already awake, and grinning at me, looking
about as superior as you can. "You were snoring, sweetie."

"I'm afraid to tell you what you've been doing."

She moved in with me that day. Or we moved back and forth with each
other. Her place. Mine. It didn't matter. We slept together almost
every night. That morning she wanted to show me she could suck me
without crying, and she could. We spent hours in bed, sipping hot
chocolate and reading the Sunday papers and bothering each other.

Once we finally got up, she stood at the living room window, looking
over the mass of alleys and buildings and the occasional tree. You
could see a bridge in the distance.

"This is so beautiful."

"Well, maybe if you're going to stand there all morning you should put
some clothes on."

"Don't you like me like this?"

"Everyone will like you like that."

"Aren't you proud of how your girl looks?"

"Yes, but I don't want to show you off that much."

"Why not?"

"A nice lesbian couple lives across the way. We're friends, so I'd
rather not have to fight them off."

Elizabeth spread her front all the way across the window. Shy girl.

*****

When did I ruin it?

It wasn't the day I passed an antiques shop in Brighton and saw an Art
Nouveau lapel pin in the shape of a cello. Oh, she'll love that! I
bought it, though it was more than I could afford. While the shop owner
wrapped it in tissue and put it in a small, white box of folded
cardboard, I plotted how I'd give it to her. I finally decided to place
it atop her pillow and let her find it. I could hardly wait.

*****

It didn't happen a week later, when we sat for forty-five minutes over
lunch, in the middle of a park on the Charles, in bitterly cold sun,
bundled under the comforter and drinking hot tea from thermoses because
Elizabeth missed the sunlight. I didn't ruin it then.

*****

You want another scene? Imagine this. We're naked, as usual, on my
couch, nuzzling each other, and I'm stroking her puss. One finger quick
down the middle. Caress. Repeat. We're kissing and I like how her
breath goes just so. I'm affectionate, but there's her ass, and I want
it again.

You'd think it was only her ass. You'd think it was only the sex. No,
but God bless, to be in there. Why do I want that? Why do you want to
know? Why does anyone want anything? I play with her crack, with her
rim. I wet her and slip a finger inside, then two.

"Do you want my anus again?" I can't tell from her voice if she's
curious or disapproving.

"You have such a sweet ass, sweeter than any other." And it feels so
fucking good.

She turns toward me. There's a look to her.

"Have there been many others?"

"None as sweet as you."

"Have there been many other asses?"

"None like yours. I love being in you."

"How many have you been in?"

"You're the sweetest, every part of you. Anyone else was just practice,
so I wouldn't fumble too much with you."

She looks away, and I keep petting her. Curly black fuzz pushes back
against my palm.

"Sometimes fumbling can be good." Her breathing has changed. I don't
care if she complains. It's almost time.

"When you fumble with me."

"Isn't that good?"

"Yes. When you fumble. My girl should learn on me." How did the lines
go? "Rapidly backwards and forwards, the early bees are assaulting and
fumbling the flowers."

"I know that one. `The Naming of Parts.'" She puts her face to my
throat and her breath wets me. Now.

"You do the fumbling. I'll name all your parts and assault your
flowers, rapidly, backwards and forwards."

I make her get up and walk to the table. She can use a pillow for her
face and arms, for cushioning. She glances at an empty beer bottle as
she leans forward from the waist. The bottle is sitting on the side of
the table. She's careful not to touch it. Spread your legs. Hold
yourself for me. Two fingers with slippery jelly go in easily. In, out,
and around. Next my penis, nice and fat, just for her. I want to
stretch her completely today. I'd like to go too far. Yes, I would.
Don't ask me why, damn it! If I could shove too far, force more than
she can bear, and still have her take it, I would! I love her, but I
would.

Take it, Elizabeth! Take it! 

When she opens I slide right in and she goes "Ohh!" and it's to the
hilt. Yes, yes. Stay in. Play with her puss again. Fingers in. Pull on
it. Thumb goes around in a circle while she holds herself for me.

Now for the beer bottle. I think Elizabeth knows what I'm going to do
with it. I've been thinking about this ever since I used it in on
Erica. Put it to her flower. Push it in. She grunts wonderfully. What
is it like for her? I push the bottle in hard, and twist it, and hold
everything tightly inside her, together, so she can experience all the
pressure before I use the bottle on her. I'm still holding my dick
motionless so I don't come too soon. I think I can bring her off first,
but she's perfect no matter what. She'll let me do anything.

*****

Then there's what happened after the scene. Once we were cleaned, and
rested. She had put on her undies, in case there was seepage, and a Red
Sox sweatshirt.

"I was thinking of you," she said, "and it came to me. It's just a
little thing."

She took down the cello, dressed in sweatshirt and panties, in front of
the fire, and she started playing. She began with four notes. She
repeated them, as in a round, three or four times, then she played four
higher pitched notes, then introduced variations on the rounds, and
finally she spilled seamlessly to a lilting sequence that took her back
to the original notes, where she began again. She had been thinking of
me. It was something simple, and lovely, and for me.

What can you say? What can you do? She looked down shyly when she was
done. She wasn't sure about showing off. I wanted to pick her up and
whirl her around until I could run off with her someplace. Instead I
told her it was the nicest thing I could remember anyone ever doing for
me. Nothing cool came for me to say.

*****

How did I ruin it?

It wasn't that she found I had set up her audition with Robb.

"What makes you think that?"

"He told me. You got lunch out of it, didn't you?"

"Maybe."

"Edward!"

"Maybe. Maybe I happened to let it slip that you were talented. You
know, wonderful on the cello, far more wonderful than any musicians I'd
heard recently. Wonderful enough to need an audition. Maybe. Or maybe
not. Maybe Robb was lying."

"Edward! He only auditioned me as a favor to you."

"Maybe. But I wasn't the one who passed the audition." I waited a
second. "Are you angry?"

"Maybe. Maybe just a little peeved. But please don't do that anymore."

"Would it help if you punished me?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"Well, I could eat you..." I moved my tongue up and down, slowly, in a
licking motion.

"Is that a punishment?"

"Maybe not."

*****

I'll tell you how I did it. I ruined it by carrying out the fantasy
that first attracted me to her.

I did it twice. No, that's not right. That's partly right, but it's
also true that I didn't do it even once. Even that's not correct. I
experienced it any number of times, over and over, while jacking off or
screwing her. That's the nice thing about fantasy, isn't it? The
downside is that it's not real. It isn't flesh. You need flesh to make
it real. And that's what did it, when the fantasy was made flesh. Yes.
Then it cancelled itself out. But no, that's wrong too. It more than
cancelled itself. It destroyed us. That, at least, is completely true.

I did it with Elizabeth. Or I started to. I'd told her what I wanted.
My pliable girl, do this for me, do it, do it now. Justine's away,
let's play, let's play. I'll sit on the stool, the firelight warming
me, my dick curving upward, while you hold your cello and squat down
toward me. That's right, my dear. Oh Lord, your  bud is tight. Sweet
Jesus, come down. Carry me over. Take me to the Promised Land.

"I can't do it."

I was too big tonight, too excited. It was too much when she sat on me.

"Come down some more."

She was trying to hold the cello and lower herself, and I was guiding
her. Down. She squatted. I lined up the head on her. "Come down a
little more." Her legs were trembling. I found her hole, moved around
until it was pressing into her.

"Oh!"

"Come down some more."

"It hurts."

"Just a little." She lowered herself some more and I was wedged in her.
The sensation was incredible. "Some more."

"It hurts!"

I grabbed her hips and pulled her downward to me, far enough down that
I was halfway up into her, and I was feeling her wonderfully soft flesh
slide along me, when she cried, "Ah! No!" and jerked. She tried to
bring a hand back to her rear, and the bow went flying, and she leaned
first left and then right to get off me, pushing with her legs, and
suddenly she was off me and lost the cello, which banged as it hit the
floor.

She cradled the cello like a sick child.

Oh, we didn't really fight. I apologized and said I'd pay to have the
fiddle fixed. I don't think there was anything really wrong with it.
But after we'd dressed and she'd played with it for awhile, she sent me
home.

*****

What bar is this? Oh. Yeah. I have more of a buzz than I should. I'm
almost folded over the side of the chair. El foldo. You have to know
when to fold `em. I keep seeing her fold. Fold, fold, folderol, what
the hell did you do to your doll?

Someone is talking. Mickey. What's he been saying?

"That musician. I hear yer going with her. The fiddler."

"Elizabeth Peabody."

"Yeah. Her. Billy Boy told me."

"Okay?"

"So I know those two chicks over there. One's a spare. Want to help me
out?"

What fuck's he talking about? The bar is smoky. It's breaking the law,
but who cares? It reminds me of a pub in London, one that Dickens used
to use. It has the same low roof, the same smog. Did Dickens have woman
trouble? Mickey's girls are smoking. Not their looks. Cigarettes. I
think they belong here.

"Sure. Which one do I get?"

"I just thought ya might not wanna."

"Because?"

"On account of yer girl. I shoulda knowed you'd help me out."

Shit. Fucker.

"Why shouldn't I help you out?"

"Well, ya got a girl. But everyone knows ya wouldn't let that stop ya."

Shit. Fucker. Shit fucker. Fuck shitter.

"What's that supposed to mean? I'm no different from any other guy. You
chase tail all the time. Everyone does."

"Well, yeah. I didn't mean to imply nothing, Ed. It's just that ya got
a girl."

"So?"

"Well, I shoulda knowed that wouldn't stop ya. Not you."

"Hell. I'm just diligent. I work at it harder. Anyway, she's not my
girl. Not anymore."

"I was just sayin'..."

Does the ceiling need to be that low? You can't breathe in here. The
smoke is so thick. I can't stay. I need some fresh air. I need to get
out of here.

"Yah. Sure. Well, I have t' go, Mickey. You'll have t' do both girls
yourself."

*****

I don't want to get to the next part. I've been avoiding it. It was
soon. A day. Two. Whatever. Elizabeth had told me anal was out. She
wanted to be fair and tell me during the day so it wouldn't come up in
the middle of something. No pun intended. She was so correct about it
all that she enraged me.

"I get sore, Edward. And it's not... it's not nice for me." She had
looked away, then back, and had hurried on. "We can do everything else,
honey. Really. Just not that."

How do you respond? Are you going to force it? The unstoppable force
meets the immovable object. I don't know. Let's just stroll down the
path that ends where we're doing it like missionaries, Tuesdays and
Saturdays, whether we want to or not. I exploded. I surprised me that
it happened, but I shouted and we had a fight and I left. When I came
back the next day, she was out.

But Justine was there.

"She's gone to visit her mother for a few days. I think that's what she
said."

"Oh. I see."

"Of course the course of true love never did course through someone's
ass." I stared. "The apartment is small," she explained, "and you were
pretty loud."

"`Grandmother, what big ears you have,' said little Red Riding Hood."

"They're not the best part of me." Justine drew me in with a little
smirk. Her eyes were large and round and luminous green. She knew she
had my attention when she raised her arms and brushed her fingertips
over her breasts. She hardly touched them. Women don't really do that.
I'd never seen a woman actually do that to attract a man, and I'd had
seen enough women work to attract me. It was over the top, but Justine
did it, and my penis started swelling before her arms fell.

*****

It happened. Have a drink and I'll tell you. I'm sure you would have
predicted it. I guess I half knew it would happen. I knew it was a
chance. I should be careful, but I wasn't.

Justine was a player, and she was someone new, and I was furious at
Elizabeth. In less than an hour we were naked and I was diddling her.
Oh, I was more than diddling her. I was fucking her ass -- doing it
like I wanted to with Elizabeth. How is this day different from all
other days? The edge is where I like to be, so there I was and I fell
into a crevasse.

I fell because Elizabeth walked in on us. Out of town, Justine? Is that
what you said? Did you plan this, or were you oblivious? I guess it
doesn't matter. The important thing is that one minute I'm fucking
Justine and the next minute Elizabeth is staring at us.

It wasn't as instantaneous as that. Not nearly. I knew what was going
to happen before I actually saw Elizabeth. I heard the key and knew
immediately. I could tell everything that would happen, but I couldn't
do anything about it.

Here's exactly how it went down: I'm in Justine's ass when I hear the
key. Justine is sitting on me, impaled on me. She likes it. She'd grown
excited when I explained it. Her violin, the music, and the pressure as
I'm pushing all the way to the end inside her. "Oh! God! Oh!" It was a
chance, and I took it. I'm pulling hard on her hips. These things can
always be arranged, if you want them badly enough. That's how much I
wanted it. But there is the sound of the key and then there's
Elizabeth. I can't get out of this! I start pushing on Justine, but
it's far too late. I know before Elizabeth does that she will find us,
and what she will find. It's maybe a ten-second head start, but that's
time enough. Time enough for a thousand regrets, but not time to lose
my erection, and certainly not time to hide.

Maybe if Elizabeth hadn't come in that day I'd have got over it. I'm
sure of it. Fantasies go, as well as come. It needed a little time,
that's all. I'd have worked through it. You need to see it from my
side.

No. No. No you don't. There's no `my' side. I have no side at all.
There's just Elizabeth at the door, taking another few seconds to
realize what she's witnessing. She can't seem to grasp it at first.
There's no `my' side. There's no `Let me explain -- I can explain.'
It's not, `Ha-ha, we'll look back on this later one day, and laugh.'
Because I can't, and we won't. There won't be a later. There's only
Elizabeth with wide eyes and mouth open in an `O,' and I can tell the
exact instant it all becomes clear to her, the moment her heart is torn
from her chest.

When is that? It's when she folds like a chair. One hand goes to her
mouth, the other to her stomach, and she leans back against the door
frame and slides to the floor, going down, down, down, until her ass
touches the floor right behind her feet. Justine is off me by then, her
naked, gap-assed housemate, and there's nothing I can do to keep
Elizabeth from seeing my shit-smeared dick. What can I do now? I don't
have a plan. I just stand there until she starts screaming at us to
leave. There isn't much more to know.

Please, Elizabeth. Please. Let me explain. But you know the answer to
that.

It's worse because I can't simply walk out. I have to wash off and get
dressed and then walk right past her. She's crying the whole time. I
can hear her all the way from the bathroom, and she's still there when
I come back out.

Please Elizabeth. Don't cry. Get angry. Please.

I need to step half over her. We almost touch.

There's one more thing. I keep seeing it, seeing her folded against the
door frame, down on the floor. I can't make it go away. I can't stop
seeing her. When I blink she's still there. I can't make it stop. I try
but I can't.

*****

People think it's romantic, losing her, losing him. They're wrong.
There's nothing romantic about it. Nothing at all. There's just my
apartment growing dimmer. I'm sure it isn't my imagination. I'm sure it
was brighter before. There is no end of books and films about the poor,
romantic, bereft loser. Chick lit. Chick flicks. Why do women like them
so much? Whatever was inside you, whatever made you alive, drains away.
All the meaning of the world circles down. Maybe women want to imagine
the happy ending, so much happier when set against misery. Maybe they
hope against hope the true-love ending will come to them. Maybe that
happens sometimes, but not here.

There's the window Elizabeth stood by, the time she told me the view
reminded her of Mary Poppins' London. I stood on that spot for a while
today, straining, looking at what she saw, but I couldn't sense her.
I'm leaning against the couch where she slept nestled against me. She
isn't here either. Come this way. Here is where we slept, on this bed,
where she let me use her even when I knew she didn't want me to, where
she slept pressed against me and stole the covers. Gone. Look! Out
here! She opened that refrigerator door, looking for butter and milk.
Remember how happy we were? Can I feel her hand if I touch it? If I
pull the handle? Not even her ghost is here. In this entire apartment,
though I've walked around and around it through the day and into the
evening, looking and listening, there is no Elizabeth, no anything of
hers, no presence at all. She is as gone from my world as you can be.

*****

I ran into Anne Derindorf the other day. She left Paul and she looks
better, more rested, more content. I tried to have a conversation, but
it didn't work.

"What's wrong, Ed?"

"It's nothing. Girl trouble."

"You?"

"Me? Yah, me. It's okay. The Devil loses too, sometimes, y'know? I'm
fine."

"Is it the cellist?" I just looked at her. Let's not do this
conversation. So she changed the direction. "Why don't we get some
coffee?"

"I'm sorry, Annie. I can't. Not now. I'm sorry." I just wanted to get
away.

"You're not okay at all, Ed. It's not like you. You need to talk with
her."

"I can't do that. It's over. I'm sorry, Annie. I'll call you later." I
hurried up the sidewalk.

My world keeps getting smaller. It'll disappear completely, soon
enough.

*****

This evening was the second time I saw her. I guess I already told you
that. It will be the last time. I can't chance running into her. It's
too hard. I'm sorry Elizabeth. I'll fix it. I'll do what I can.

It was just another reception. I've begun to hate them. If I'd been
able to go out earlier I could have had coffee with the benefactor and
skipped it entirely, but I couldn't make myself do anything. As it was
I was late. The streets were full of slush and it was supposed to snow
some more, heavily, bad driving weather and worse parking weather, so I
took the T and walked the rest of the way. Maybe it would clear my
head.

I should have known better. The moment the door opened I recognized her
playing. No one could mistake that for anyone else's. I stood in the
doorway, thinking I should leave, wondering how to get out of my
appointment, wondering what to do, making a muck of walking through a
door, so that people behind me began pushing. "It's cold out here!"
Somehow I got inside and found myself more or less standing around. A
hostess offered to take my coat. 

You dumb shit. You're not sixteen anymore. Get over it!

I can't think of all of it straight. Different parts of the memory
jostle each other, so the moment I begin playing it through, my mind
goes to a different part. I know there's an order to it. I even know
what it is. I just can't follow it. To my left, in a large corner, they
were playing. Elizabeth was concentrating on her music. She wasn't
interacting with her new guy, and he wasn't talking to her. It was all
music, all professional.

The donor found me. He just wanted to talk. He seemed to be a nice guy,
ill at ease though, wanting to be friends, as though he weren't rich as
Croesus and about to make the day of the Museum of Fine Arts, the
Boston Ballet, and the Huntington Theatre in one swell foop. I would
get the commission. I just had to make it through the next half hour.
We got drinks. I tried to stay on topic, but, from the corner of my
eye, I saw Elizabeth glance around. She saw me! I turned my back so I
wouldn't have to acknowledge it, and I felt chills and burns on my back
where she must be looking. 

Witchy woman, please don't do that. Look away from me. Ignore me. I'm
not here.

I introduced the benefactor to the appropriate people. I'm sorry. I'm
under the weather. I can't stay long.

I remember Anne Derindorf was looking at Elizabeth. That stands out.
When did Anne get there? I hadn't noticed her before. Where did she
come from? You know where this is going. Do I have to walk you through
it? She was considering something. I knew what she was considering. 

Don't do it Anne! Please, dear God, my God, don't do it! 

She walked toward Elizabeth in little, hesitant steps. 

Annie, don't play angel here! You can't fix everything! 

But they were talking. I excused myself and went toward them as Anne
got to the subject and Elizabeth's faced changed. Where was her guy, to
protect her? I yelled, "Anne! What are you doing?" They both turned
toward me, but for Elizabeth it was only for an instant. She stared
directly into my face, then turned and walked away, with that stiff
walk you use to show finality. "What did you do, Anne?"

I half ran to the coat rack. I couldn't wait for the crowd. I couldn't
catch my breath. Hurry! "I'm sorry. I have to hurry. Please, let me
through!" Anne came up from behind and touched me on the shoulder.
"Leave me alone!" And I was out the door.

*****

The snow is sporadic.

I stopped at a bar back down the street. Some people were there --
Mickey and some others -- but, I couldn't stand to be with them. That's
how I ended up here. Now I'm going to walk all the way home through the
snow. The better to think, though thinking isn't going to help now, any
more than it did before. I'll listen to the slush splash. At least I'll
have some time to sober up and to plan.

So that's it. Good-bye to Elizabeth Peabody. Dear Anne wanted to earn
me a second chance with her. There isn't a second chance for Ed Hyde. I
don't even want one. Anne was just trying to help. I know she loves me
and wanted to make it better for me. I'd like to thank her for trying,
but I don't think there's time.

I was happy before I met Elizabeth. Not happy. That isn't exactly it. I
was interested. Aware. Focused. I was focused on the game, and I was
good at it. I played it right until something happened. What happened,
Ed? She became *my* Elizabeth. That ruined it. Elizabeth the music
nerd. The shy one I sexed on our second date. The lonely young woman
with the H. P. Lovecraft apartment. The artist. The one I could listen
to practicing for hours. She became mine. I'm so sorry. She thought I
was sensitive. I sure disabused her of that, didn't I? My Elizabeth.
The one who would do almost anything for me, who liked pleasing me, who
would take on my kinks as acts of love.

My sad little Emily. She really was mine to lose. At least she won't
have to see me anymore.

End of Chapter Four


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