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If you’ve ever read my pages “Players on my Stage” or “What the Categories Mean”, you’ll have noticed that I talk a lot about Kelly as being a major contributor to who and what I am today.  The following memory is an example of why I think so.

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My cell phone vibrates beside me, the sound of plastic rattling against my wood desk drawing my attention from my writing.  I pick it up and look at the screen.  My heart skips a beat.  Slowly, almost cautiously, I flip the screen up and hold the thing to my ear.  I try to sound natural.  “Hello?”

“Hey!”  Kelly sounds happy, an uncommon occurrence since our break-up months ago.  “What are you doing?”

“Oh, writing a paper on insulin-like proteins as growth factors in fruit flies,” I respond.  It’s hard to sound nonchalant when you talk about neurobiology, but I think I pull it off nicely.  “What are you up to tonight?”

“Cleaning my house,” she answers.  “I’m trying to move my furniture around too, but my piano is too heavy.  Can you maybe come over and help me out a bit?”

She needs my help.  Figures.  “Oh, well… I’m kind of busy right now.  I have to get this paper finished before Friday so I can work on my capstone reading over the weekend, so I don’t think–”

“I’ll make it worth your while.”  Kelly’s voice takes on that tone.  Husky, almost raspy, but full of promise.  It sets my stomach turning in eager anticipation, and my breath catches.  She knows that got my attention, and I detect a hint of victorious smugness when she says, “The sooner you get here, the better.”

I swallow and find my voice again.  “I’ll be there in twenty.”

Kelly still lives in our old apartment.  I moved out when she broke up with me, but she decided to stay and “make new memories”.  I pause at the door and consider the nature of those memories.  After we parted ways, Kelly gave herself over completely to her baser instincts, not because she wanted to explore them, but, I suspected, because she wanted to hurt me.  And she did.  Often.  Calling me while she was being fucked by a stranger, just so I could hear her moaning.  Sending me pictures of her sucking another guy’s dick.  Bragging about her raunchy encounters with multiple partners when I show up at the bar, then laughing when she sees the pain on my face.  Even her best friends apologize to me for her behavior, assuring me she’s only doing it to make me suffer, and she doesn’t talk about it when I’m not around.  I know Kelly is only concerned about making me as miserable as she’s become over the past year, and I know that doing what I know will inevitably happen tonight will only drive me deeper into the ground.  Yet there I stand at the door, knocking lightly, waiting for her to appear at the door.

And when it finally opens… holy shit.

Kelly swings the door wide.  Her dark hair is pulled back into a working bun, and she has her librarian-styled reading glasses on.  And that’s it.  From head to toe, she is completely nude, and she leans against the door in such a way that every muscle in her dancer’s figure flexes tantalizingly.  She must have just shaved every inch of her body in preparation for my arrival, because her skin looks even more smooth than usual.  I can plainly see how moist and swollen she is, even from here.

“Hey there handsome,” she greets me cheerfully.  “Come on in.”

I just stand there and gawk.

Kelly quirks an eyebrow and smirks at me.  She steps out of the apartment and stands no more than an inch away from me, in clear view of anyone that might happen to walk by.  “You gonna make me stand out here naked?  Because you know I’ll do it.”

Wordlessly, I let her lead me inside.  She walks away from me, swaying her hips more than her stride would dictate.  Her ass is truly heart-shaped, toned from years of dance training, and she continues to smirk as she watches me stare at it.  “When you’re done ogling my ass, I’d appreciate it if you would move the piano so I can vacuum under it.”

I move the piano as instructed.  And the dining room table.  And the entertainment center.  And the couch.  It’s hard work by yourself, but every time I move another piece of furniture, Kelly rewards me by cleaning in the most erotic manner possible.  She pushes the vacuum farther than necessary, stretching her legs and torso, bending at the waist to give me a clear view of her pussy.  She stands almost on point to remove the cobwebs at the corners of the ceiling, her calves flexing, ass tightening, chest jutting forward.  She purposely spills water on her breasts and stomach as she washes the windows, again exposing herself to the outside world.  All the while, I watch, and work.  I feel almost drunk, my mind is so foggy, not thinking, just absorbing her every movement, her every command.

Several hours pass, and the apartment is spotless.  Kelly sighs and stretches languidly as she admires the room.  “Much better.”  Then she looks catlike toward me.  “I guess you want your reward.”

I’m so lightheaded I can’t find any words.  Kelly walks to the piano, pulls the small bench out, and straddles it.  As she spreads her legs open, her lips part, and she’s so aroused that, when she sits on the bench, she leaves behind a faint line of moisture.  She notices the line and smiles wickedly, then leans back against the piano and says, simply, “Clean that up.”

I move toward her and obediently fall to my knees before the bench.  I reach toward the moisture with my hand, but she grabs it and pushes it away.  “I didn’t say you could use your hands.”

I consider this as deeply as my befuddled brain will permit, which is to say, I don’t.  Instead, I lean my face toward the bench, no more than a breath away from her center.  I can smell her wetness, and feel the heat radiating off her.  I run my tongue across the bench, tasting first the sharp, acrid tang of polished wood, then the salty sweetness of her, the residue she left behind when she sat.  I do so slowly, not because I want to be sexy, but because my body will simply not work any faster.

I hear her say, breathlessly, “Very good.  Now clean me up.”

My face lifts, and I run my tongue across her.  I keep my hands on my knees as instructed, using only my mouth to pleasure her.  I trace the shape of her with the tip of my tongue, then lick heavily from anus to clit.  I lap up every drop of moisture she has.  And I keep going.  Heavy strokes of my tongue from bottom to top, slowly, methodically.  No variety, no deviations, I just do precisely as I’m told.  She makes no sound, no movement, nothing to suggest that she enjoys any of it.  So I am caught off guard when I feel her spasm beneath my tongue.  I look up toward her and see her eyes half-lidded, her mouth open in a wordless moan, as she cums harder than I’ve ever seen her before.  So hard she bends at the waist, curling in on herself.  So hard she even squirts a little, filling my mouth and covering my chin and shirt.  And I keep going, swallowing what she gives me as she cums again, licking her deliberately, until she finally gives in and pushes my head away from her.

Kelly breathes heavily, still leaning against the piano.  “Fuck you’re so good at that.”  I smile a little and start to remove my shirt, but she grabs my hand.

“Sorry honey, but no sex for you.  I’ve got Tony coming over in a while.  But thanks for getting me ready.”

Wait… what?

“I’ve got to take a shower.  Run along now, little doggy.”  Kelly climbs off of the bench and walks to the bathroom, leaving me sitting on the floor, covered in her juices.  I hear the shower activate and realize she’s serious.

I was right.  She just wanted to hurt me.  And she knew exactly how to do it.

I should be angry.  Fuck, I am angry.  But instead of confronting her, I simply stand up, put on my jacket, and leave the apartment.  It’s an all too familiar sensation, walking out of that place, knowing what she will be doing in a few hours, and being completely powerless to prevent myself from feeling betrayed, and used, and hurt.

“Serves you right,” I say to myself.  There is no bitterness in the words.  Only objectivity, as if I truly deserve to feel this way.  And on some level, I think I do.

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10 Comments

  1. Beautifully written and cruelly felt. I know how this feels, and I ache for you.

    • Thanks Hy. This was about six and a half years ago, and Kelly is now but a distant memory and an occasional social network comment, but it still stings a bit.

  2. I almost hated to “Like” this, but it is so raw that, regardless of content, I do like it. And, the more you discuss Kelly, the more… Fuck. Can’t verbalize myself at all lately! Anyway. Good post. As always, Bi, it’s real. Touching. Sexy.

    • Thank you LSAM. Kelly was definitely one of the worst things that ever happened to me. But, she was also one of the best in many ways.

      And no worries about “Like”-ing it. I put it out there for people to read, so I should hope you enjoy it!

  3. Well, I was turned on…and then I was pissed – for you…and you’re a damn good writer…

  4. You didn’t deserve it then. You don’t deserve it now. What she did to you was really cruel.

    • Gillian Colbert
    • Posted February 28, 2012 at 10:38 pm
    • Permalink
    • Reply

    First, my abject apologies because your link went into my spam folder for some reason and I just found it, but its up at BDP now.

    Second, my god Bi, I just want to hug you and erase the memory. That was awful. I want to kick her ass and fucking rip her motherfuckin throat out. I am furious that this is a true memory for you. It was cruel and unnecessary and I want to punch something.

    I’m feeling protective of you. This is my mother hen thing coming out. If I were to ever see Hyancinth’s Troy, I rip his fuckin nuts off his body too!

    Well written, almost too well written, I felt it.

  5. I hurt for you reading that. It was great, but really sad. 😦

  6. Evil bitch! Damn you are good though.

  7. At the least you should have dropped a load in her favorite shoes Glad to hear she a distant memory. Not that it makes reteling any less viceral


2 Trackbacks/Pingbacks

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