It's so easy to look back with perfect 20/20 hindsight and say, "If I would've done this; if I could've done that; if I had only known."
But life doesn't work that way, at least it didn't for me.
If I had only realized back then that I possessed all of the information I needed to straighten out my life right away, everything might have turned out great. But I didn't realize it. Not right away. Not for a long time. Not until it was too late.
* * *
For two days I sat at home and did absolutely nothing; nothing but obsess over Missy and the cruel prank she played on me. I couldn't believe her sheer audacity. Did she really hate me that much? Did she really want to push me away that badly? Did watching me stroke my cock inches from her partially opened mouth really make her orgasm?
Everything about Missy was a contradiction. One second she would smile so warmly at me, and the next she'd insult me and walk away. For ten long years I willingly endured her rude tirades because of the way my heart would quicken each time I saw her. I eagerly suffered her merciless cock-teasing for a brief glimpse of her perfect tits, of her amazing ass. I gladly put up with all her abuse just for a glimpse of her sultry smile.
But no more.
After sifting through all of my doubt, blame, anger, betrayal, lust, and love, I came to realize a very important fact; I didn't do anything wrong. Missy asked me to show her my cock. She commanded me to stroke it for her. She begged me to cum on her naked tits. Since the first moment I saw her when I was eight years old and I instantly fell in love with her, I did her bidding, doing everything and anything she wanted. Like a whipped poodle, I jumped through hoops at her command. I did everything but grovel at her feet.
And what did that get me? I became a laughing stock to her and her friends.
The constant hard-on and the continual broken heart were gradually killing me. I wasn't going to do it any more. I couldn't. No matter how badly I yearned for her touch, and no matter how deeply I would always love Missy, I wasn't going to grovel at her feet. I had to keep my dignity. What was love worth if you had to give up your pride to get it?
So I vowed to just walk away from Missy O'Bannon. Quit her cold turkey like a bad habit. I promised myself that no matter how badly my heart ached, I wouldn't go running back to her. But, regardless of the strength of my resolve, I knew the very next time I saw her, my will would crumble like a stale cracker and I'd be doing her bidding again in an instant. I couldn't help it. Missy was everything I wanted in a girl, and she was the only girl I'd ever wanted.
She was gorgeous, smart, and strong willed. I would never forget how passionately she returned my kiss. I would never forget seeing her naked breasts, so round and so full and so starkly white against her tanned flesh. The way the tight, yellow bikini bottoms hugged her shapely ass was forever burned into my memory, and her beautiful face . . .
How do you walk away from your dream? Was it even possible? For the sake of my sanity and my pride, I had to try.
My buddies convinced me to meet them at a party that night. The thought of hanging out with my best friends and knocking back a few seemed like the perfect way to begin to forget. Plus, the people who'd be at that party were not the type of people Missy and her friends normally hung around, so there was no way I would bump into her there.
Famous last words.
I saw Missy the second I walked through the door.
She was standing on the far side of the living room, surrounded by a cluster of drooling, leering guys. Missy looked incredible. Her auburn hair tumbled down her back like a silken waterfall ablaze with the light from a Harvest moon. Her flowing hair framed her gorgeous face and cast most of her features in mysterious shadow. She was wearing all black. Under an opened button-down black shirt she wore a black tube top, which molded to her breasts like a second skin, and she was wearing skin tight black jeans that hugged her hips suggestively. She also wore black pumps with three inch heels. I'd never seen her wear all black before, and the effect was unbelievable. She looked so mysterious, so sensual.
She seemed bored with the knot of horny admirers in front of her. Her eyes were restlessly scanning the crowd, and when my friend Dan yelled my name from across the room, Missy's eyes immediately landed on mine. She gave me her trademark smirk, which meant she was in a foul mood, and that always meant trouble for me. Whenever she wore that condescending sneer, I could do nothing right.
I made my way to where my buddies Dan and Dave where sitting at a table, surrounded by a mob of girls. Those two had girls throwing themselves at them all the time. It was remarkable. To get to their table, I had to pass within arm's reach of Missy and her entourage.
Missy was holding a red plastic cup. As I drew nearer, she quickly drained it. I was close enough now to notice her eyes were glassy and a bit unfocused from the beer she was drinking. Swell, she was drunk and pissed off.
She stared silently at me as I wove through the mass of people. I smiled tentatively at her, but, mindful of the promise I'd made to myself to avoid her, I didn't stop and I didn't say anything. I was kind of proud of myself. I was two steps past her when I heard the snide comment. Hell, even through the tide of noise and music that made the walls vibrate, everybody heard it.
"Hey, jerk off. You better keep your dick in your pants." That was from Larry Watson, who was standing next to Missy. Larry and I had never been friends. We barely tolerated each other, and seeing him standing so close to Missy infuriated me.
I turned around in time to see Missy's smirk turn into a full blown snicker. The guys around her were laughing with her. But it was Missy's obvious pleasure that made me see red. "Thanks so much for telling everybody," I told her.
"I didn't tell anybody anything," Missy said firmly. There was a slight slur in her words. She set her jaw and glared stonily at me. I'd seen that stubborn look of hers a thousand times before. She wore it every time anyone doubted her sincerity.
"Right," I said flatly. "I'm supposed to believe anything you say now, especially after the other day? I don't think so."
"Look," Missy said sternly. Her eyes swiftly flashed green. Missy absolutely hated to be called a liar. She leveled a finger at me and spoke through clenched teeth. "It's not my fault you can't take a joke."
