Post by Jove Belane on Apr 6, 2017 17:10:36 GMT -5
Life.
Life leaves a bad taste in your mouth, no matter what you do. Even when you’re happy, you’re only in between terrible moments. You might get lucky and get born into a happy household and for a solid eighteen years, you might get to live off of your parents. You might get to smile then. That’s if you don’t decide that High School is going to ruin it for you. Perish the thought. Me? I didn’t get that. My folks were gone before I even got out of the gate. I’m not crying though. I’m just telling you--life leaves a bad taste in your mouth.
When you were going to high school and playing grab-ass with your friends, I was face to face with a guy in the mirror that I wanted to tell, ‘fuck off’ but had no choice but to accept. Yeah, that was my upbringing. If you needed to know more, I’d tell you, but for now, that’s all you get.
You really wouldn’t care, admit it.
Life leaves a bad taste in your mouth, no matter what you do. You’ll see some success, but someway, somehow, reality is going to smack you in the mouth and remind you that you’re mortal. Say you’re working that job you spend thousands of dollars and many sleepless nights earning a Degree to get. Now you have a career and you’re working away and you’re not taking care of yourself. Soon you’re sitting in a doctor’s office and that guy’s telling you that you have ‘only so many’ days to live because you’ve got a cancer sucking the life out of you. You’re fucked and you’re going to die. There’s a silver lining, though: You don’t have to keep paying that student loan.
When you were living off the fat of the land with your perfect shit and your legions of fans, I was scraping the bottom of the barrel. I’d sit at the ‘bottom of the barrel’ with my ‘bottom of the barrel’ friends and we’d laugh about the folks who thought they had it so good. Soon all those optimistic fools would join us.
I basked in my existence in the darkness. It didn’t sway me from the goals I had.
They were simple goals.
Life leaves a bad taste in your mouth, no matter what you do. Imagine for a moment that you’ve been married for two years and your wife is about two months pregnant. You’ve been sent to the corner store to pick up some chocolate because she’s having a ‘craving’ and you want to make all of her dreams come true, no matter how simple they are. You want to get yourself a sixer of beer and splurge maybe and grab some whip topping and try something new in the bedroom. You’re happy and you’re hopeful. Then three days later you’re cleaning blood off the bathroom floor because your wife miscarried the baby due to a blood clot which caused her to bleed out. She couldn’t get to the phone and died while you were choosing between Cadbury and Lindt chocolates.
The doctors say it’s rare.
When you were getting ready for your big title match in your spandex and bright colors, I was working a shit job for shittier people and I had to take extra time out of my evening to clean beneath my fingernails. It wasn’t because I was a janitor, it was because I was punching nobodies like I was Rocky Balboa hammering sides of beef.
Life leaves a bad taste in your mouth, no matter what you do.
Love.
I didn’t know her and I didn’t plan on pursuing a longer relationship. I had seen her a couple times at this dive I’d go to when I was bored and wanted to people-watch. She had seen me a few times and she had these eyes. Like, Anime eyes. They stood out and so did her tits. She’d carry those tits like it was the sixties and she had something to prove. I didn’t mind it. She smelled like mangos so that helped me get over the stench of cigarettes she was covering up.
I didn’t smoke.
Like I said, I didn’t know her, but she called herself ‘Mariska’ and I thought she made the name up.
I woke up with Mariska naked in my bed. She followed me home with a stomach full of alcohol. I should have thought better of it, but my cock was doing all of my thinking for me. She didn’t even try to play around when we got into my shitty apartment, either. She didn’t comment on my decoration decisions, she just started unbuckling my belt and swore up and down that she’d suck the skin clean off my cock.
I didn’t mind.
Mariska, as she wanted to be called, ended up being a pretty righteous fuck. Until she passed out, we had the sweaty and raunchy sex. The kind where you’re rigid and experimental and don’t care who might hear. I remember, halfway through, I knew I’d need to have a shower, because regardless of how good the mango smelled, she was using it to cover more than cigarette stink up. Whether it was a smell unique to her or just one she couldn’t own up to, inside, I wasn’t sure.
Still, she had those eyes and those tits and her ass turned out to be ample to grab.
I never claimed to be a gentleman.
She woke up and rolled over to the night table and collected her cigarettes. She pulled one out and stuck it between those lips that, the night prior, had done some amazing things. Come to think of it, those lips also formed some foul language. She liked it, all of it. She asked me if I wanted a cigarette and I shook my head. She lit the cigarette and took a long drag and rolled over on her side and the sheet slipped off of her, revealing her nude form. She had a little tattoo of a devil on her hip.
A devil with a devil tattoo, sucking on a nicotine flavored cock.
She told me I was different. She told me that she liked it. I feigned like I gave a shit. I was still unwilling to turn what we did the night before into a ‘thing’ to be honest. She took another drag off the cigarette and let a lump of ash fall off onto the bed. I just scoffed and laid back in bed with my hands behind my head.
She reached out with her free hand and started jerking me off.
I asked her what she was doing and she just smiled and took another drag off her cigarette. I told her to stop and she didn’t listen. Her abundant tits jiggled as she worked me like a pile driver. I let out a sigh and pushed her hand away and that pissed her off.
She took her cigarette and put it out in the night table and rolled out of bed and stood up. She pulled on her panties and started telling me what kind of ‘fucked up’ person I was. She admitted that she thought I was weird and that it was a ‘sympathy fuck’ and all kinds of other things I really didn’t care about.
I wondered where that sweet pre-jerk off pillow talk went.
‘Women scorned’ was the appropriate cliche.
Hell, she was probably right.
Regardless of whether or not she was a talented soothsayer, she fucked right off and I was able to go get my shower. I washed her and that mango scent off of my person. Then, for the hundredth time, I tried to convince myself that there wasn’t a bullet somewhere with my name on it. I felt like the only time I could stop and think was when I took a shower. I tried to get clean, but I could never be truly clean. I knew my time was coming and it wasn’t that optimistic ‘my time is coming’ thought. It was more of a ‘the sound of nails driven into a casket’ kind of ‘time is coming’ thought.
Fuck it though, you don’t want to hear that.
Laughter.
Mariska had a made up name and sticky fingers. When I got out of the shower, I found that my wallet had been emptied of the few bills it contained and she even took a Barnes & Noble gift card I was never going to use. I laughed and it felt surprisingly good. I figured in the act of stealing money from me, she had turned herself into a prostitute. She had accepted that her pussy was worth about forty bucks.
Cheapest fuck I’d had in a long time.
There was a knock at the door and when I answered it, I found myself looking at a mousy little shit with black horn rimmed glasses making his eyes look like saucers. His suit said he didn’t belong in my neighborhood and his grin made me uncomfortable enough to check my fly. He reached out his right hand and I assumed he wanted a handshake. I peeked at my right hand and honestly wondered if I had managed to clean Marika off of it.
Marika? Or was it Mariska? It was made up, so who cares.
I shook his hand and he introduced himself as ‘Harvey Lohman’ and reminded me that we had discussed my ‘future in fighting’ over the phone ‘some time ago’.
I didn’t remember.
He laughed and gave me a little push in the shoulder that made kind of want to hit him just hard enough to break his glasses. His glasses were, you know the kind, the ones that maybe he didn’t really need. His slacks were narrow enough to tell me he might be a ‘poetry reading’ pretentious little hipster fart.
I didn’t want to admit to myself that suddenly all of my hopes were pinned on him.
I just couldn’t believe him because of the tone of his voice, though. His words came across about as sincere as Mariska did when she swore that ‘Mariska’ was her given name.
Her name was probably, like, fucking Flo or Edith. Something obtuse.
Her pussy was tight though.
Harvey told me he had been ‘working tirelessly’ to find a ‘good fit’ for my style and that he had narrowed the selections down to two different ‘brands’. I really just wanted to ask him if it meant I would get some money for fighting, but I wanted to maintain a stylish reserve. I just nodded and smiled and tried to stay distant. Harvey though, he had ‘plans’ for me. What he lacked in, well, everything, he made up for with his eloquent speaking patterns. I felt like I was being buttered up by the guy who first broached the idea of a game called “Scrabble.”
Harvey had big plans for me and he laughed a lot. He was light hearted and I wanted to vomit on what looked like expensive Italian shoes on his feet.
Then again, I thought that maybe soon I’d have some expensive shoes on my feet.
I didn’t vomit.
End.
Life leaves a bad taste in your mouth, no matter what you do. Even when you’re happy, you’re only in between terrible moments. You might get lucky and get born into a happy household and for a solid eighteen years, you might get to live off of your parents. You might get to smile then. That’s if you don’t decide that High School is going to ruin it for you. Perish the thought. Me? I didn’t get that. My folks were gone before I even got out of the gate. I’m not crying though. I’m just telling you--life leaves a bad taste in your mouth.
When you were going to high school and playing grab-ass with your friends, I was face to face with a guy in the mirror that I wanted to tell, ‘fuck off’ but had no choice but to accept. Yeah, that was my upbringing. If you needed to know more, I’d tell you, but for now, that’s all you get.
You really wouldn’t care, admit it.
Life leaves a bad taste in your mouth, no matter what you do. You’ll see some success, but someway, somehow, reality is going to smack you in the mouth and remind you that you’re mortal. Say you’re working that job you spend thousands of dollars and many sleepless nights earning a Degree to get. Now you have a career and you’re working away and you’re not taking care of yourself. Soon you’re sitting in a doctor’s office and that guy’s telling you that you have ‘only so many’ days to live because you’ve got a cancer sucking the life out of you. You’re fucked and you’re going to die. There’s a silver lining, though: You don’t have to keep paying that student loan.
When you were living off the fat of the land with your perfect shit and your legions of fans, I was scraping the bottom of the barrel. I’d sit at the ‘bottom of the barrel’ with my ‘bottom of the barrel’ friends and we’d laugh about the folks who thought they had it so good. Soon all those optimistic fools would join us.
I basked in my existence in the darkness. It didn’t sway me from the goals I had.
They were simple goals.
Life leaves a bad taste in your mouth, no matter what you do. Imagine for a moment that you’ve been married for two years and your wife is about two months pregnant. You’ve been sent to the corner store to pick up some chocolate because she’s having a ‘craving’ and you want to make all of her dreams come true, no matter how simple they are. You want to get yourself a sixer of beer and splurge maybe and grab some whip topping and try something new in the bedroom. You’re happy and you’re hopeful. Then three days later you’re cleaning blood off the bathroom floor because your wife miscarried the baby due to a blood clot which caused her to bleed out. She couldn’t get to the phone and died while you were choosing between Cadbury and Lindt chocolates.
The doctors say it’s rare.
When you were getting ready for your big title match in your spandex and bright colors, I was working a shit job for shittier people and I had to take extra time out of my evening to clean beneath my fingernails. It wasn’t because I was a janitor, it was because I was punching nobodies like I was Rocky Balboa hammering sides of beef.
Life leaves a bad taste in your mouth, no matter what you do.
Love.
I didn’t know her and I didn’t plan on pursuing a longer relationship. I had seen her a couple times at this dive I’d go to when I was bored and wanted to people-watch. She had seen me a few times and she had these eyes. Like, Anime eyes. They stood out and so did her tits. She’d carry those tits like it was the sixties and she had something to prove. I didn’t mind it. She smelled like mangos so that helped me get over the stench of cigarettes she was covering up.
I didn’t smoke.
Like I said, I didn’t know her, but she called herself ‘Mariska’ and I thought she made the name up.
I woke up with Mariska naked in my bed. She followed me home with a stomach full of alcohol. I should have thought better of it, but my cock was doing all of my thinking for me. She didn’t even try to play around when we got into my shitty apartment, either. She didn’t comment on my decoration decisions, she just started unbuckling my belt and swore up and down that she’d suck the skin clean off my cock.
I didn’t mind.
Mariska, as she wanted to be called, ended up being a pretty righteous fuck. Until she passed out, we had the sweaty and raunchy sex. The kind where you’re rigid and experimental and don’t care who might hear. I remember, halfway through, I knew I’d need to have a shower, because regardless of how good the mango smelled, she was using it to cover more than cigarette stink up. Whether it was a smell unique to her or just one she couldn’t own up to, inside, I wasn’t sure.
Still, she had those eyes and those tits and her ass turned out to be ample to grab.
I never claimed to be a gentleman.
She woke up and rolled over to the night table and collected her cigarettes. She pulled one out and stuck it between those lips that, the night prior, had done some amazing things. Come to think of it, those lips also formed some foul language. She liked it, all of it. She asked me if I wanted a cigarette and I shook my head. She lit the cigarette and took a long drag and rolled over on her side and the sheet slipped off of her, revealing her nude form. She had a little tattoo of a devil on her hip.
A devil with a devil tattoo, sucking on a nicotine flavored cock.
She told me I was different. She told me that she liked it. I feigned like I gave a shit. I was still unwilling to turn what we did the night before into a ‘thing’ to be honest. She took another drag off the cigarette and let a lump of ash fall off onto the bed. I just scoffed and laid back in bed with my hands behind my head.
She reached out with her free hand and started jerking me off.
I asked her what she was doing and she just smiled and took another drag off her cigarette. I told her to stop and she didn’t listen. Her abundant tits jiggled as she worked me like a pile driver. I let out a sigh and pushed her hand away and that pissed her off.
She took her cigarette and put it out in the night table and rolled out of bed and stood up. She pulled on her panties and started telling me what kind of ‘fucked up’ person I was. She admitted that she thought I was weird and that it was a ‘sympathy fuck’ and all kinds of other things I really didn’t care about.
I wondered where that sweet pre-jerk off pillow talk went.
‘Women scorned’ was the appropriate cliche.
Hell, she was probably right.
Regardless of whether or not she was a talented soothsayer, she fucked right off and I was able to go get my shower. I washed her and that mango scent off of my person. Then, for the hundredth time, I tried to convince myself that there wasn’t a bullet somewhere with my name on it. I felt like the only time I could stop and think was when I took a shower. I tried to get clean, but I could never be truly clean. I knew my time was coming and it wasn’t that optimistic ‘my time is coming’ thought. It was more of a ‘the sound of nails driven into a casket’ kind of ‘time is coming’ thought.
Fuck it though, you don’t want to hear that.
Laughter.
Mariska had a made up name and sticky fingers. When I got out of the shower, I found that my wallet had been emptied of the few bills it contained and she even took a Barnes & Noble gift card I was never going to use. I laughed and it felt surprisingly good. I figured in the act of stealing money from me, she had turned herself into a prostitute. She had accepted that her pussy was worth about forty bucks.
Cheapest fuck I’d had in a long time.
There was a knock at the door and when I answered it, I found myself looking at a mousy little shit with black horn rimmed glasses making his eyes look like saucers. His suit said he didn’t belong in my neighborhood and his grin made me uncomfortable enough to check my fly. He reached out his right hand and I assumed he wanted a handshake. I peeked at my right hand and honestly wondered if I had managed to clean Marika off of it.
Marika? Or was it Mariska? It was made up, so who cares.
I shook his hand and he introduced himself as ‘Harvey Lohman’ and reminded me that we had discussed my ‘future in fighting’ over the phone ‘some time ago’.
I didn’t remember.
He laughed and gave me a little push in the shoulder that made kind of want to hit him just hard enough to break his glasses. His glasses were, you know the kind, the ones that maybe he didn’t really need. His slacks were narrow enough to tell me he might be a ‘poetry reading’ pretentious little hipster fart.
I didn’t want to admit to myself that suddenly all of my hopes were pinned on him.
I just couldn’t believe him because of the tone of his voice, though. His words came across about as sincere as Mariska did when she swore that ‘Mariska’ was her given name.
Her name was probably, like, fucking Flo or Edith. Something obtuse.
Her pussy was tight though.
Harvey told me he had been ‘working tirelessly’ to find a ‘good fit’ for my style and that he had narrowed the selections down to two different ‘brands’. I really just wanted to ask him if it meant I would get some money for fighting, but I wanted to maintain a stylish reserve. I just nodded and smiled and tried to stay distant. Harvey though, he had ‘plans’ for me. What he lacked in, well, everything, he made up for with his eloquent speaking patterns. I felt like I was being buttered up by the guy who first broached the idea of a game called “Scrabble.”
Harvey had big plans for me and he laughed a lot. He was light hearted and I wanted to vomit on what looked like expensive Italian shoes on his feet.
Then again, I thought that maybe soon I’d have some expensive shoes on my feet.
I didn’t vomit.
End.