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From: dez187lm@hotmail.com (H.D. Meister)
Subject: Story:  Bitter Cherry - cherry.txt [1/1]
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Greetings from the shadows dear reader!  All standard disclaimers
apply, so please abide by them.  Don't read unles you are 18 or older
or are a consenting adult.  Don't post this without giving the authro
due credit.  And don't make a profit off of my work!!



_______________________________________________________________________




Bitter Cherry By:  H.D. Meister





Sometimes, when I find myself caught in the haze between true sleep
and the nightmare of waking up to another day, I can hear her voice.
It pulls at my mind, daring me to face another winter day in
Virginia.... knowing she is nothing more than a phone call away.  I
feel the thin tendrils of her presence gushing through my veins.  And
I awake, mad as hell and ready to rip apart any soul which dares to
intrude.

Cherry.  Her name is Cherry.  Not really an appropriate name, since
Im sure hers is long lost to some bum with kind words and a stiff
dick.  Shes about as sweet as no- sugar lemonade... laced with
vipers venom.  Her eyes are the clearest blue, but I know the
illusion now.  They cannot fool me, although there was a time when all
I saw were two calm pools of crystalline water.  Her body, wrapped in
the synthetic lies of some suit in an office, is well crafted.  Firm
breasts... pert nipples... slender legs.  Yeah... shes every mans
dream.  Until they get to sleep and find out the truth:  not even
night terrors are as horrifying.

I know the names of some of those who have fucked her.  One is even a
close friend of mine.  I see their faces and chuckle as they thrash
about in her well used cunt, sucking a nipples as if the finest beer
would suddenly fill their mouths.  I watch their hands grab hold to
whatever fabric happens to be unfortunate to get soaked with that
venom spewing from her cunt.  And I laugh.  They have no idea what
lies within her, sleeping with one eye open.  I do.

I compare her to a porn star, fucking whatever the director tells her
in order to put food, and expensive clothes, on her list of
possessions.  They are more fortunate;  they can say its a job.
Cherry?  Its nothing more than a few seconds out of her busy
schedule.  There is never any caring on her part.  Get in... get
yours... get out.  She lives by these words.  Words which I taught
her.  I wonder if she tries to make those same faces as the porn stars
do when shes getting her cunt filled by some schmucks dick.
Probably not;  that would mean she at least cares enough to placate
their ego.  She doesnt care for anyone... not even herself.  Dont
let those clear blue eyes calm the raging beast within you;  I learned
the hard way.  And I didnt even fuck her.

Oh I wanted to.  Still do.  And that is most disturbing.  I like
making love:  giving yourself totally to a womans contentment.  I
have spent all of my sexual life learning the ways to please a woman.
But Cherry is another story.

I can clearly see her ass quake as I fuck her from behind... while
calling my mother to see how shes doing.  I watch her blank stare as
I eat her rancid twat... thinking about the homework due for physics
and the one problem I could not solve.  I can hear the degrading smack
of my hand as I plaster it again and again and again on whatever piece
of exposed flesh happens to be available... while I debate the finer
points of special effects to my roommate.  Even my orgasm feels life a
breath:  necessary but not given much thought.  Yeah... I can see it
all.

Then there is the small matter of why I simply havent fucked her.
Maybe it would ease the pain of waking each morning.  Maybe not.  And
I will never find out.  All because she trusts me.

She has fashioned walls to keep out those such as me.  People who give
a damn about her.  Some of them still batter away helplessly at those
walls.  I dont have to:  I have already cracked that precious
barrier.  She trust me... because she knows I truly care.  I have told
her that were we to have sex, it would not be because of a stiff dick
and/or a wet twat.  I would give everything to her.  My only goal
would be to please her totally.  I would care.  I would give a damn.
When I said these things, I saw the illusion in her eyes shimmer...
witness her control falter.  I was the thing the walls were meant to
keep out.  And I was proof that her carefully planned construct was
useless.

I could smell the sweet scent of lust flow from her, untainted my
passage through those walls.  I saw her mouth open slightly as her
lips begged for the chance to kiss someone who truly cared for her.
She willed her legs to remain closed, not trusting herself to act on
the impulse to know the touch of someone who cared enough to back up
their claim to caring about her.

Do I love her?  I say NO, but others... say differently.  They claim
that I love her more than I care to admit.  They say that if I were to
try to fuck her, I would instead make love to her.  Stuff and
nonsense;  I wouldnt waste the time or effort.  Just to spite them,
I would fuck her from behind, and during one outward stroke pull
free... only to plunge into her asshole with no more caring than a rat
gives to shitting out its last meal.  My only concern would be where
to spray her:  face, tits, ass.  Even though she claims that no man
has ever done that, I will bet that shes know male seed on her face.

Shes nothing more than a cheep slut.  Yet I still care.  If I
didnt, I would not even spend the time it took to write down these
words.  She doesnt care, although she vehemently bellows otherwise.
Words.  I want to see proof.

So I rise again, facing another day of challenges.  Her voice fades to
black, going away as would a vampire at the sight of dawn clawing its
way into the sky.  It has been a while since I have actually seen
her... even longer since hearing her voice.  I dont care.  I watch
someone I car about fuck her way through the craps game called Life,
knowing the dice are loaded and the house hates to lose.  I havent
gotten close enough to her to smell the musky funk of the cock or
cocks she sucked the night before.  I dont want to hear about the
thousands of positions she tried as he flailed about in side of her
well used cunt.  I cringe at the thought that she let them maul her
breasts, thinking they were pleasing her.

My face becomes the mask of fury.  I want no one to know how much I
hurt, so I exaggerate the pain, fire it in the kiln of loathing, and
wear my creation.  I go through the ritual of cleansing the body,
knowing the soul is beyond the powers of soap and water.

And I know what to expect when the day is done and I sleep one more.
I will hear her voice once more.

And another day will begin.

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