Angel Of Mercy 3

I was sitting in front of some apartment building, down town, in the worst neighborhood. I had a razor on me; I was thinking about turning down an alley and just ending it all. I was hoping someone would come along and make the choice for me, rape me and slit my throat. Hell, I've already gotten comfortable with the rape part; after a few times you hardly notice, you know?

Then this guy comes along, just before dawn, and tries this Good Samaritan crap on me. He was thirty something and smelled like a car engine. He looked tired and dirty, like he hadn't showered in three days. He's eyeing me up like a piece of meat. I'm used to it. I should be fair; he could have been genuinely concerned, but I never take something like that for granted. He asked if I was all right, and I told him, "Does it fucking look like I'm all right?" He said something about being a nice guy and wanting to help. Hell, I don't trust anyone anymore. I ended up following him though, hoping he would put me out of my misery. It was his apartment building I was crying in front of.

"My name's Michael," he told me as he let me into his apartment. I didn't believe him at first. Nobody gives their real names around this town, nobody. I checked his mailbox later on; he was telling the truth.

He tried to get me to talk. I just didn't feel like it at first. He had this beautiful porcelain doll that looked a lot like I did when I was a kid. It had long brown hair, big brown eyes, and a chubby little face. I guess I was getting a little too close to it; he seemed to get really nervous as I admired it. I asked him what a grown man was doing with a doll and he told me it was his daughters. He seemed a little choked up about it, so I tried to say something nice about the situation and let it drop. I hate awkward situations like that.

The man must have been lonely. He was talking about everything, practically telling me his life story. He babbled on for a good half hour about his ex-wife and what a bitch she was after the kid died. I figured he was trying to open me up using reverse psychology. I quickly got tired of the game and offered to tell him.

I asked, "Okay, do you really want to know what happened to me?"

He said, "Yes, I would really like to know what happened to you."

So I told him a little bit about my abusive boyfriend and he became angry, acting like he was going to do something about it. He even fucking offers to have a few of his friends find this guy to beat the shit out of him. I told him not to bother; he isn't worth it.

Then he made me breakfast. I began to notice just how many empty beer cans he has laying around. He had a little bag over flowing with Budweiser, Bush, and Coors Light beer cans. It was disgusting. I should have guessed he was a drunk; the first thing he pulled out of the fridge was a beer.

He made me breakfast; oh, I don't mean just a bowl of cereal and a glass of OJ, he makes me eggs, bacon, hash browns, pancakes, sausage, toast, a bagel with cream cheese, a bowl of cereal, half a grapefruit, a glass of orange juice and a glass of milk. This man goes all out, and I was quite impressed. He didn't burn a single thing, and made all this stuff up at once. He said he used to be a chef; I say he still is. I couldn't finish it all, but he understood and finished it up for me.

I could always tell when a man hadn't had sex for a long time; they always seemed nervous to me, tense and insecure. This man had definitely gone a long time without, I could tell. Now, I don't want you to think I'm slut. I really hate that word, "slut"; it's what my father used to call me when he beat me, usually if I came home five minutes late. I'm not a slut, but it wasn't like it would matter if I was going to kill myself and the guy seemed really lonely and he was being really nice, so, I mercy fucked him.

Funny thing is, he acted like he didn't want it. I asked him if it was because I wasn't attractive enough, and he said to me "No, it isn't that at all. I just don't want you to think I'm using you." No wonder he hasn't had it in a while, he's a fucking boy scout.

At first we just took a shower together. He rubbed my shoulders and massaged my back, insisting that he hand-wash me. It was kind of boring having his hands fumble all over me like that, but the massage was nice. Then I washed him. Just as I was finishing, I knelt down to suck on his cock and he stopped me. I was surprised. All he said was "Not yet." I was thinking, 'For Christ's sake, he won't even let me give him a blowjob!' I didn't feel dejected; it was just the first time anybody had turned down one of my blowjobs, that's all.

He dried me off and then had me crawl in bed with him. He was, uh, sizeable. Not large enough to rip me a new orifice, but large enough to fill me, you know? He did this kissing thing, like they do in some porn movies, where the guy starts at the neck and works his way down. He did that. It had been like five days since I had sex, so what ever he would have done would have felt nice. I usually don't go that long without, you know?

He was pretty good, uh, going down on me. Not really what I would expect from a working slob, you know. He was okay.

It was a good thing he gave decent head because he didn't know shit about fucking. He was being slow, gentle, and I really don't need that type of shit, you know? If you are going to fuck me, fuck me already. I want him to make me scream. The cuddling was nice, though.

I finished first, which was weird for me. I never finish first. Just weird. So I gave him that blowjob I was going to give him in the shower and then we cuddled for a long time, just talking.

He made me feel really relaxed and safe. I don't know what the hell that's supposed to mean, but that's what I felt. It was like I was in one of those damn romance novels all the sudden, but instead of this large-chest hunk of meat, I had this old man with a beer belly. But we snuggled and talked a while about, you know, nice things.

I woke before he did and left. I didn't feel right being there. I wrote him this weird letter about how I felt and what had happened; I've never acted like that before. I don't know what came over me. I even wrote a few things that wish I hadn't; I signed it with my real name. I'm just really confused, which is good, I guess. I'm no longer so sure that I want to die.

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