Goodbye Roxanne

"You don't listen. You don't understand. You don't try to understand. I'm not important to you. Why do we still talk?"

"Yes I have. I know I listen, because I've heard you say that a half dozen times. You wrote it in that letter you sent me."

She rolled her eyes a bit and looked away. We were sitting in my car by what used to be a Hi Rickey's Thai place. It was still a Thai restaurant, but it now has some dumbass name that slips my mind right now. We went there all the time, before I married and apparently ruined her life.

"We talk because I like to talk. And you like to talk, which is why you keep me on the phone for hours at a time, and why it's possible for us to keep coming up with interesting things to say to each other. Even when I try to hang up, you extend the conversation."

"I know. Yes, I do like to talk. But I end up feeling more hurt in the long run, though."

"Crap. Yeah, it's not a perfect situation, but what's going on in your life that's so great? We have fun together. I have more fun talking to you than going out with most of my friends. Obviously I have no hold on you, so when you find a good guy you like, I'll disappear."

She paused. "You always say that. It's always so simple to you. You chose her. Not me. I didn't care that you fucked other women while we dated. But now you chose someone to marry and be with forever, and it wasn't me."

I sighed. We had gone back and forth like this for a couple of months. For over year, since my engagement, we hadn't talked. She finally called me after an ugly little scene with a guy she almost fucked, whom she felt she had hurt inadvertently. She felt bad and thought I could offer some insight on how one gets past hurting someone else. I had ignored the implication of my cruelty and we talked. And talked. And so on. Often we spoke late into the night, about our lives, our mistakes, the fun we had together, the dirty things we'd like to do to each other. Mostly I was the one to speak about the latter—I would listen with complete fascination to her playing with her pussy and coming. She had multiple orgasms that would build and build. She wasn't the type to have one huge one. I loved hearing each buildup, cry of pleasure, and subsequent exhalation when it was over.

I knew it would have to end; the elephant in the living room (as she phrased it) had to be dealt with. That was the point of this seemingly last face to face discussion. Optimistically, I brought my toy bag and camera, since she has a way of changing her mind. "What was I thinking?" I now mused to myself. We had a pleasant dinner until I joked about how she really should take ownership of my most annoying cat. She suddenly, vehemently said, "NO, it would remind me too much of you." After paying the check, we withdrew to the car to continue this little chat toward its inevitable conclusion.

"Okay, I married someone else," I said. "We've spoken a few times a week for three months for 3 or 4 hours each time. Clearly we still have a lot to say to each other. Let's just talk, minus phone sex if necessary. Let's at least keep in touch, for Christ's sake."

She nodded, looking at me with slightly damp eyes. "You're right. But how do you feel about me. I mean really, do you care about me?"

"Roxanne, I just told you, I want to keep talking, even without the lust part of our 'relationship,' which is something I clearly really, really enjoy. YES, I do care about you."

"But you married someone else. Not me."

I said nothing. I backed out of the spot and drove up Randolph to Halsted and turned right, toward the Bridgetown neighborhood where she lived. Finally I said, "I married someone else who knew, like yourself, that I'd never be monogamous. For that reason, you could never have married me—we wouldn't be happy. We'd be having discussions like this every day. I've also known her much longer than you. I'm almost 40. This is the time."

"I'm getting old too, Viejo. And I'm not letting you use me anymore," she said simply.

We came to the intersection of Halsted and Cermak and I almost drove right through the red light at that intersection. I had to bite at this. "How the hell did I USE you?!"

"You knew I couldn't stop talking to you. You kept calling so you could keep me on the line, so you could phone fuck me the way you used to really fuck me. I wanted more and you knew it. That is using me."

I was angered by that. "You said you're getting older too. That implies maturity, and an ability to act on your own, in defense of your own interests. I don't buy that helpless routine at all."

"That's how I felt. You're pissed because despite everything, you can't change how I feel. You've been trying all these months to convince me to just look at things the way you do and I'll be happy. I won't be. My life is a mess and you're trying to help me. But your help depresses me, because I can't have you. THOSE are the real issues."

Again, I said nothing. This frustration reminded me of all such discussions. I was simultaneously filled with admiration at her resolve, aggravation at her obstinacy, and annoyance from an irrational lust resulting from these compounded frustrations. We pulled up to her apartment building. I said, "Okay. This is it, then. Let me just use your bathroom and I'll be on my way. The hell with it." She said nothing, though she nodded in a vague fashion, apparently agreeing with me. We walked to her little garden level apartment. It had a long front room where she put her daybed (the one that was the site of so much now bittersweet foreplay) and TV. It was connected to her dining area and farther down to the left, her kitchen. The bedroom was to the right. I could see into it, I saw the gorgeous sleigh bed we used fuck our way across when we were lovers. Now it's just another part of her life I can't be in.

I went into the bathroom and sat on top of the toilet seat. I remember trying so hard to control my emotions. Yeah, okay, she's hurt. But she's excluding me, not the other way around. This is it. When I leave, I'll never see her again. Nor will I talk to her. I have hardly any photos of her or souvenirs of our relationship. I looked around the bathroom. I sniffed her perfume and soaps and especially her hair products. Her hair was long, dark, and luxurious, and its smell was delicious. I pulled the shower curtain back. I saw a pretty, lacey camisole on a hanger as it dried. My fetish for lingerie made my heart beat faster and my groin ache in an almost painful way as I looked at it. I could picture how it would look on her, how it would frame her gorgeous, generous breasts. I imagined what the matching panties must look like and how they would look on her fleshy ass. With a distinct feeling of determination I said to myself, "I'm not leaving yet." I reached into the toy bag that I still had around my shoulder, found my handcuffs, and put them in my pocket. I flushed the toilet and walked out into the front room.

She was sitting at her kitchen table with her forehead in her hand, clearly tired from the conversation. She stood up as I approached, seemingly to show me to the door. I kept walking directly to her. She looked up and I stared directly into her eyes. I grasped her by her shoulders and firmly pushed her toward the door to her bedroom until her back was against the wall next to the door. She began to push my hands away, but I continued to fix her with a look until her struggle subsided. She continued the pretense of resistance, but her arms became limp, as if she realized it was a lost cause. Then she stopped struggling altogether. I could see her chest visibly beating with the thump of her heart. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but no words followed. I slowly, firmly placed the handcuffs around her shaking wrists, never breaking my stare into her lovely eyes.

I peeled off a long strip of duct tape and firmly pressed it to her mouth so that it stretched nearly all the way across her face. I ran my index finger along it, feeling her soft lips beneath the material. I tore off two small squares of tape and firmly placed each one over an eye. I grabbed her bra straps through her shirt, pulled her toward me, and kissed her covered mouth. I said to her, "You think I used you? No, Roxanne, NOW I'm going to use you. I'm going to do everything I've ever wanted to you and you won't stop me. You won't stop me for two reasons: you won't be able to do so, and, more importantly, because you want me to use you." She seemed to hang her head as I went on.

"You want to be used and you want to feel sensation of being used, and you don't want to be responsible for these desires, nor for not sticking to your resolution to break off from me. Fine. You're not responsible. I am, you bitch." Her normally argumentative personality seemed to have shut down.

I pushed her into her bedroom, onto her bed, and stretched her across it width- wise. With some rope from my toy bag I secured her wrists to the base of her mattress frame so that they were above her head. I straddled her and began to kiss her neck, face, and especially her mouth, as I rubbed my chest against her breasts. They're large and very sensitive to the touch. When we were lovers, I remember seeing her play with one as she masturbated. Now I would spend a long time teasing them.

She seemed to be shaking everywhere at once. As I laid next to her I stroked her nipples, slowly and consistently. She began to squirm almost immediately. I was right about her, um, little conflict about me. I looked at her, splayed across her bed, slowly thrusting her hips as I kissed her neck and ears and kept doggedly rubbing her nipples. She was beautiful. I went back to my toy bag, took out my video camera, turned it on and shot footage of her. I want to always remember this, every detail. She squirmed more insistently when she heard the little 'beep' of the camera. I even heard her protesting pathetically beneath her taped mouth. I didn't care, and I was glad her struggles were being recorded. I placed the camera on her desk at end of her room, making sure that it could view everything that happened.

I opened the purple blouse she had been wearing. She was wearing a shiny, black, nylon bra. Her nipples stuck out obscenely, demandingly. I stroked them and listened to her suck in her breath violently through her nose. I heard her moan feebly and she squirmed correspondingly. I pinched one, and saw her thrust her hips lewdly. I continued to tease it, and then the other. I whispered to her, "I think I'll just keep doing this for a while. Do you want me to do that?" Both her arms and legs trembled, but she had no other reaction to the question. I pinched one nipple much harder and I heard a muffled squeal. "Answer me, Roxanne." She seemed to grimace, and then looked in my direction and nodded.

I pushed by knee against the crotch of her black capri pants and slowly humped her leg as I continued to stroke her breasts. She pushed back against me, gaining speed, simulating the sweaty fucking we used to do to each other. The friction was almost painful, which made me remember that I was losing control. I got up suddenly and checked the camera. I watched as she slammed her hands down on the bed in apparent frustration. I snickered. The camera shot was still good. I looked through the room.

She was trying to look at me and was saying something that unintelligible. I found what I was looking for, a thick red dildo that I had given her as a house-warming gift (along with a George Foreman grill—very thoughtful of me, yes?). I placed it on the bed next to Roxanne and took out my pocket knife. I straddled her thigh and used it to cut off that pretty bra. She seemed to stiffen as she felt the blade. I ran it along her bare breasts and teased each nipple with the dull side of the blade. She moaned a bit beneath the tape as I trailed the tip of the blade down her belly to the top of her capris.

I unbuttoned her pants and slowly drew the zipper down. I think this is still my favorite sexual act, one that is filled with anticipation. There was no pretense of resistance as I pulled off the pants and looked at her in her purple, cotton panties. The gusset was completely soaked through, making the beautiful trench of her pussy almost visible. I could see dew-like beads of her pussy juice on the fabric. She gave up any kind of resistant charade as I pealed the panties off of her. She opened her legs without hesitation, showing me her beautiful pussy. Its outer lips were thick with arousal, though thick enough to cover up the juicy swelling inside. She was completely and cleanly shaved, her preference since we started dating. I found this particularly interesting because she had told me she's had no lovers over the two years since we last saw each other. I had an overwhelming sense of sexual arousal and power. Tonight I would fuck her into pretty, little pieces.

I took my short riding crop from the bag. Her legs were open and inviting, and her little cunt was completely exposed. She was expecting the obvious, for me to eat her like I always did when we were lovers. Not right now, though. I cropped her smartly on her pussy, causing her to yelp into the tape across her mouth. I did it again, making her hips pop off the bed, and then back away from me. I laughed and cropped her again, emitting a muted, pleading squeal. I rubbed the tip of the crop against the opening of her pussy. She gave a start in expectation of another blow, but instead I rubbed the tip of the crop against her clit and then used it to open her thick pussylips. I did this for a minute of two, and she began to thrust her hips in an attempt to make me rub her clit against the crop. I was so very glad to have that obscene act on video. I pointedly moved the crop so that she couldn't hump it. Instead, I gave her tiny clit a firm, quick slap. She smacked her hands against the mattress again in frustration.

"No," I said. "This is my show, not yours."

I looked at the huge dildo lying on the bed next to her. Just looking at it aroused me because of its indecent thickness. I saw no lube when I found it, so I picked it up and sucked on it (truth be told, sucking a cock is a pretty arousing act to me) so that it was nice and wet. I laid on the bed between her legs, flattened my tongue, and licked her entire pussy from bottom to top. She immediately thrust it deeper into my mouth, and I continued to lick and suck it, feeling her juice run over my lips and to my chin. I sucked on the dildo one more time and then pushed the head into her.

She immediately tried to thrust her hips forward, but I moved it so that only the head could penetrate her. I licked her clit more and suddenly pushed the huge cock all the way into her. She screamed. This time my lust finally won out—I wanted to see her cum. I began to fuck her hard, and at a steady pace, withdrawing the cock nearly all the way and then pushing it in deeply, watching her pussylips spread widely apart as the huge thing penetrated her. Her legs opened even more widely and she moaned surprisingly loudly. It was awkward to tongue her clit while fucking her, but I managed to do so just enough that she soon shrieked her orgasm as she pulled violently against her handcuffs.

I continued to fuck and suck her to orgasm, her hips gradually moving across the bed. At one point I had to stop and lift her hips back to their original place, lest she fall of the bed. She finally screamed for me to stop. By that time her clit was probably too sensitive and it was hurting.

I didn't want her arousal to diminish, though. "Turn over," I ordered. She did so immediately. With obedient expectation, she got onto her hands and knees and obscenely pushed her ass out toward me. "Great," I thought, " NOW she does what I say. I sighed angrily as I gazed at her gorgeous, plump ass. I spanked it hard in frustration, and I heard her moan something. "What?" I asked. I heard her plead, "Fuck me!". I spanked her again and she pleaded once again for me to fuck her. The muffled words roused me of course, but I wanted to hear her scream it. I spanked her again and again, telling her to repeat herself. Her ass became red and marked with my handprints. She pounded the mattress with seeming anger, and I spanked her again, feeding on her fury.

I crawled onto the bed behind her and opened her pussy and ass up. Her cunt gaped with her wet arousal. I put on a condom and without any more delay, I pushed my cock into her. What occurred for the next twenty minutes was the most disturbing, though exciting, sex I had ever experienced. She continued screaming as I fucked her, until the tape finally started to peel from her mouth. She pounded her fists into the mattress and pushed back against me, smacking her thighs against my balls painfully. She screamed angrily, "You fucker! You motherfucker! I fucking hate you!" She pounded her fists even harder and pulled against the rope tethering her to the bed. I grabbed her by her hair, pulled her head back and pressed the tape onto her mouth again, yelling at her, "Shut up, you dirty bitch!" As I did so, I pushed her face back into the mattress and continued to penetrate her violently.

I saw her fists balled up, and grab the sheets. She screamed even more loudly as I felt my cock push even more deeply inside her. She repeatedly told me I was a pig (I didn't understand her until the third time she said it). I told her she was a cunt, and then spanked her even more. I opened her ass and fingered the tiny hole, threatening to fuck her there next. She responded by shouting, "Fuck you! I don't care! FUCK YOU!" I spanked her again and she pushed her pussy even harder against me.

In retrospect, it seemed like neither of us wanted this sordid scene to end. On one level, we both knew that it would be not only the last time we had sex, but also the last time we'd ever speak. On another level, we were both experiencing a part of us that probably neither of us will ever see again. I felt like my soul, my id, the ugliness locked away inside me was out in the open. She saw this as her ultimate shame. She fondly thought of herself as cool and in control. I could now see that was clearly a pathetic façade, and she was furious that I was the one to see this. Despite these revolting self-insights, the vicious, hateful sex we were having was an amazing thrill. It had to end, though. We muttered and then screamed more ugly epithets at each other as I came violently.

There was a morgue-like silence afterwards, the only sound being our attempts to catch our breath. I said nothing as I took off the handcuffs but left on the tape across her eyes and mouth. I left the rope tied to the bed, picked up everything else (including her bra and panties) and placed it all in my bag. She laid on her stomach, saying not a word and not moving.

I walked out of her apartment. We had nothing left to say to each other.