Unmade Again

arnimhugoill21Murky, very, very murky, definitely, decidedly so—how else could I describe my motives for not fucking Margot? Before getting in the car I stared up at the window where I had just left Margot lying unclothed and spread-eagled on the mussed up bed. That thought made me hesitate for a moment but I got in the car anyway and started the ignition.

As I drove at speed through the somnolent streets of her neighbourhood, I was in considerable physical discomfort. Pressing my crotch against the steering wheel afforded some relief, but what I really needed was the release that can only be obtained though the agency of the other, the rapture of bodies mingling and dissolving in unison until the mutual, desired annihilation of orgasm.‘So why the fuck hadn’t I?’ I thought to myself bitterly as the car jolted over a series of speed bumps. Of course, I could try to convince myself that I was being virtuous by remaining faithful to my wife, but it was going to be a hard sell as the taste of her salty, yet curiously-perfumed secretions was on my tongue and coated the inside of my mouth.

Besides, there had been that episode with the plump girl at the chemists, even though that had been something of a disappointment to all concerned. I couldn’t return to work in this state and going home was out of the question, so I merged onto the freeway and headed north towards the suburbs.

Really, the whole situation was ridiculous. Here I was driving pointlessly past the strip malls and industrial parks with semen slowly seeping out of my penis and staining my boxers, when I could be enjoying a post-coital nap in the arms of a pretty girl.

However, it was absurd that I had somehow become entangled with a girl almost half my age in the first place. That’s not to say that Margot wasn’t smart and precocious for her age but at the end of the day, she had just turned eighteen. I pretty much guessed from the start that she was looking for someone to have her first time with before leaving for college. First time with a man that is. From the texture of her kisses and the evasive answers she gave to my leading questions, I knew she wasn’t as innocent as she made out. However, I figured her experience didn’t extend beyond dormitory romances in that fancy all-girls boarding school of hers. Which only increased my attraction to Margot, I’m sorry to say.

Mind you, I liked her looks from the moment I saw her. For a split second, I almost mistook her for a boy, although this was partly due to her having been kitted out in the runner’s uniform of black shirt and trousers. She looked so young and frail that her presence amidst the heat and noise of the kitchen of the Mahogany Rooms seemed completely incongruous. What was she doing there? Obviously working, but a more unlikely candidate for the position of runner could not be imagined.

Intrigued, I sauntered slowly up to the table where she was methodically cutting up a loaf of crusty bread and arranging the slices in metal baskets. Composing my features to look enigmatic, I breathed a deep hello. She looked up briefly and gave me a hard stare before returning to her task without saying a word. ‘So much for elective affinities,’ I thought, and carried on home.

After a couple of rather more circumspect approaches that yielded exactly the same results, I gave up trying to engage her. Yet, on several occasions I caught her intently staring. She would immediately lower her eyes and would pretend to be absorbed in whatever mundane task she had in hand. What was her problem with me?

I tried not to think about her but her image always appeared while I made love to Sarah. Brief fantasies of her slender body, her long fingers clumsily grasping my penis, those staring eyes boring into my soul and reading there my polluted desires, immediately culminated in a climax of hitherto unknown intensity. Afterwards as Sarah tossed and turned, seeking the perfect position in her sleep, I would lie unmoving, staring into the darkness, completely devastated by an aching sense of utter desolation. This wasn’t the first time I’d had an unreciprocated crush of course, but never before had I been so possessed with want.

I had hoped that as this lustful itch was just another diseased product of my overactive imagination, I would tire of it when nothing happened. I knew that given time, this too would pass before fading away even from memory.

Margot had other plans however. She’d been waiting all along.

Is there anything more exhausting than driving without a set destination? I had no place to go but home, yet I had to do something that would delay my arrival for as long as possible without being too late or in too much of a state as to arouse suspicions. I stopped at a strip mall coffee shop. Maybe caffeine would straighten out my endlessly circling thoughts.

Yes, Margot had plans. At some point, she had decided to include me in these plans of hers. Of course, I was totally oblivious of all this when I came across her struggling to fill the ice bin while I was completing my stock take. Being at heart an old fashioned gentleman, I offered and proceeded to shovel the ice for her.

Margot (though at that point I was still unaware of her name) came out with some quote from 1984 and so, me being the argumentative person that I am, countered that I always preferred Brave New World. She asked me why, as she hadn’t read that particular book but would make a point of keeping a look out. Eager, so very eager and so easily impressed. I made a quick mental note to tread carefully, yes sir, very carefully indeed.

But of course I didn’t. I rushed in like I always do and without hesitation agreed to see her outside of work and after that, I suppose you could say that one thing led to another, but that’s not how it seemed during the moments we shared. It felt more like I had found a fellow traveller; an accomplice to guilty pleasure, a partner in grubby crime. Which made ours a gloomy affair, intensely focused on the inevitability of its dissolution and the rapidly diminishing amount of time left available to us. Even on those languid afternoons when I would kiss and caress her neck, breasts, navel, cunt, and the minutes seemed to stretch and expand into a preview of eternity, I was still oppressed by the knowledge that this was going to end sooner rather than later.

I couldn’t postpone my homecoming any longer. Hopefully the coffee and the constant cigarettes would mask the taste of Margot on my breath but to be doubly careful I brought a pack of mints which I rolled around my mouth while I was caught up in the constant snarl ups.

Sarah was busy preparing dinner when I arrived home, enabling me to go upstairs and brush my teeth and change. When I came down, she launched into a long detailed account of her day. At the appropriate moments, I would insert what I guessed where the correct comments, but all the while I was re-staging my latest encounter with Margot, the sensation of satiny smoothness as my fingertips tracing intricate patterns on her inner thigh, the willowy wands of her arms outstretched over her head, the miracle of firm youthful flesh yielding against the weight of my own body, skin on skin, world without end, amen.

After dinner when we were comfortably entwined on the sofa watching TV, Sarah remarked that I seemed rather distant tonight and asked me what was troubling me. I made a feeble excuse about a hard day at work which, thankfully, she didn’t ask me to elaborate on. I made sure to pay attention after that, even though I was developing a dread of the moment when we finally turned in for the night and went to bed.

I knew that Sarah was definitively in the mood by the way she took me by the hand and led me upstairs. I, however, was torn. On one hand my balls had been aching all day long after the frustrations of the afternoon and there was nothing more I longed for than to bury my prick deep inside Sarah. Yet, on the other I felt that such an act would be a betrayal. A double betrayal in fact. I would be betraying Margot by jumping into bed with my wife and by doing so, as a means to assuage to my lust for Margot, I would be betraying Sarah.

Before, admittedly, I had derived a dubious delight in whispering in Margot’s ear full details of my latest couplings with Sarah while I stroked Margot’s slick clitoris. Then to gain further devious pleasure, later on when I would re-imagine the whole scene as Sarah straddled my hips with her eyes averted as I talked non-stop of touching, kissing, licking, fucking another girl while she watched, until she came with a heart-rending sigh and I would shudder at her unwitting complicity. However, now that Margot was leaving and there was no knowing when we would next see each other again, if ever, I felt a bizarre sense of loyalty for the girl as well as the stirrings of a probably long overdue guilt towards Sarah.

In bed, Sarah made her intentions clear by sweeping her hair back and exposing her slim neck. Having her neck kissed was always the prelude to sex. As my tongue and lips travelled downwards towards her shoulders I knew I could put an end to her amorousness by simply sinking my teeth into the delicate skin and biting down hard. Sarah didn’t like me to play too rough except on specially designated occasions. I couldn’t bring myself to do it however, some rogue scruple had taken hold of me and instead I suggested that we try something different.

Sarah was initially coy, but soon relented when I said that it would be like the old days again when the first flush of love had led us to try everything every which way.

Propping herself up with right arm Sarah raised her body over mine, her knees either side of my closed legs, her cunt just centimetres above my erect penis. At my urging, she wetted the middle finger of her left hand and placed it inside herself. Studying her closely, I put my right hand on my cock and gently pulled my foreskin down and then up. Soon we were in a rhythm set by my words. When I could see that Sarah was approaching orgasm I would slow the tempo down, dragging out the climax until the tension became unbearable. Towards the end, I broke my own rule and raised my left hand to her mouth. She grabbed my wrist and brought my fingers into her mouth and proceeded to suck and nibble. I remembered from somewhere that this was a sign of orgiastic tendencies.

Afterwards, as I drifted to asleep with Sarah in my arms, I wondered who hadn’t heard the call of the orgy at some point or another in their lives. Liberation from the self amidst the writhing bodies. Endless replication in a succession of mirrors. Tender, trembling virgins laid out star-wise within sacrificial circles. An abstracted conceptualization of the act in of itself, divorced from any affect. Recently I had become obsessed by the idea that I would never be really be satisfied until every conceivable act of sexual intercourse in the world had occurred; until the very idea of sex itself was spent. When that day did dawn, though, surely it would herald the apocalypse?

Lovesick and haunted by all the disappointments that attend a failed betrayal, I pretended to be sick so that I could stay at home for the rest of the week.

Lying in bed, desperately seeking the oblivion of sleep that managed to elude me, I realized that Margot wasn’t the first girl I had treated in this fashion. In fact, it was a trait of mine not to sleep with women that I truly craved.

I had tried to forget about them but now the memories returned to taunt me, all my lost loves, those unfulfilled romances, the unmade girls.

Susannah, with her depthless blue eyes, delicate ankles, translucent Nordic skin that bruised so easily and so beautifully. Nadine, whispering in the taxi as I fumbled with her bra-strap, that her fantasy was to be raped. Sharon and her heavy breasts, blood coloured knickers and neurotic hesitation. Rebecca, who I shared a flat with for a time and always held my eye as she was being fucked by her Australian boyfriends. Elizabeth and the swish of the riding crop. Georgina, poor little rich girl Georgina, at 5:15am in her massive, empty apartment in Cromwell Gardens after a coke and vodka fueled night, asking me to stroke her hair, but even this contact was almost too much for us in our brittle state. Brooke, but I try not to remember Brooke, in case my heart breaks all over again, even after all this time. However, I cannot escape the knowledge that I have tried to suppress for a while now, that in many ways Margot bears an uncanny resemblance to Brooke; and not just in looks either.

All those girls, where have they gone and do they think of me like I think of them? What could we have been and what have we become? So how I come I still remember them when I had forgotten the girls I did sleep with? Is my nature that perverse?

The only possible answer is —yes. Deep down I always knew it, but it took Margot to bring it to the surface. She has unwittingly led me to a place within that I had no desire to explore, into a dark alley where hell is always around the corner.

No doubt, her leaving has left me feeling aggrieved and bruised. Like a fluffer after she has finished getting the cast ready for the action that is commencing elsewhere, or like a pimp that has studiously groomed his girl in preparation for turning her out, only to find that some bolder, badder pimp had stolen her and beaten him to the punch.

Undoubtedly, I had done my damnedest to subtly corrupt her. Otherwise, what was the point of all the dirty talk, libertine novels and artful erotica if not to seduce her? But what exactly had I achieved? Was her body to be a banquet and I alone denied a taste of her succulent sweetmeats?

Visions of her kept me up at night. Looking in the mirror after going to the toilet, I saw that my brown eyes had gone grey in hue.

In the small hours, I really started to lose it. I pictured Margot as some divine slut, the beloved whore of my heart. I could imagine her eyes closing as her mouth closed around the flaccid member of some aging professor… being spied on in the changing rooms of an upscale department store by a handsome middle aged lady store clerk…in the showers after a morning swim, having been soaped between the legs by a pretty baby dyke with blank doll like features…taking home smooth-faced, incipient queers from the student bar…on her hands and knees being ridden from behind…her fist inside the womb of a sad eyed woman with large breasts…and most compellingly of all Margot, just Margot legs wide open with her fingers moving across the inverted triangle of hair searching for the hollow opening…the mark of rapture on her features…

After a few days, I returned to work to avoid a trip to the doctor. For a while, I thought about visiting Margot, but decided it was a little early at my age to have a full blown mid life crisis. I promised to Sarah that I would help more around the house. Soon, perhaps I will re-read Crebillon fils Les Égarements du cœur Et de l’esprit.

70 thoughts on “Unmade Again

  1. I think this is a great story. It is an adventure in words, a journey without an end …I smiled and laughed all the way through and found it strangely joyous … I shall recommend it to a friend who specializes in erotica … it will be interesting to see what he sees … thank you for drawing my attention to it … it has a great deal of merit … well written and very intriguing … congrats …

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Excellent write! And more than an awesome gift to be pointed to on my birthday. Thanks! His ache was palpable. I wished I could help him. 🙂 I think that means your writing provoked empathy for the character and that’s always a sign that it’s working. I look forward to more! Lovely erotic voice.

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  3. Ha! Is it ever too early to have a full-blown mid-life crisis? In my experience, no! But I can see wanting to avoid one. Very risqué, true, but written very well with great emotion. People are weird, aren’t they? Kind of reiterates my motto that all we ever want is what we can’t have. Weird. Thanks for sending me the link! 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Hey — I didn’t want you to think I was ignoring your work, I’ve just been away from WordPress for a few days, but later on today I’m gonna dig right into the links you sent, as well as any new stuff you’ve got. Cheers, bud 🙂

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  4. I really liked this post, thank you so much for sharing. I have been that girl – sleeping with a married man 15 years my senior. It didn’t get me or him off that he had a wife, but it didn’t stop up in the beginning either. It was the hottest thing in the world to tenderly submit to him and do what he asked at work. Thank you for this

    Liked by 1 person

    1. thank you so much for your comment, though I would like to stress this is only a work of fiction. I have followed you and I will be sure to read you very shortly. I have a couple of stories in this vein, I also post on art, erotic art and literary erotica. I hope you enjoy and I am delighted to hear that you enjoyed this piece so much, it is one of my own personal favourites.


      1. oh wow this is fiction?!?! It read so true. I think I need to get used to this site – a lot of people are writing fiction but because all mine are true I am reading them as such. It’s fantastic anyway thank you so much

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  5. Cake, you’ve got so much talent. That much you already know, but its nice to hear others agree. Your writing is down right impressive. The way your able to describe things is amazing. Your attention getter hooked me like a fish nibbling on a piece of bait right from the get go. The flow of the story was done correctly. Evens it S length was not an issue, because it kept me intrigued the whole way. I liked the way it ended. Your able to capture intimacy like the dolli lama. Keep writing this stuff, could be the genera that gets your foot in the door. I’d also recommend all of your followers to read COTTON, I think it was called that.

    Would love your thoughts buddy on a few of my new shorts. Boobology and Phonestruck are my latest…

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Nothing at all wrong with using your favie phrases as often as you like. I’m a little jealous (not really, but proud of you, if that makes sense) that I’ve not thought of a similar line. Damn, I wish I could meet you for a drink and talk for hours and hours.

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      2. When my daughter graduated high school in 2015, I’d planned a trip to England–a graduation gift. I’ve been, but Nicole hasn’t. But I fell ill, and all of that money I’d saved had to go toward medical bills. Someday, though, I will take my girl abroad and give her a much deserved holiday.

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