Every. Fucking. Night.
It's always the same.
No matter how much I drink. No matter how much I fuck. No matter when I go to bed.
At exactly 2:30 a.m., I wake up and can't get back to sleep.
It's her; I know it is.
Rebecca never liked to sleep, usually passing out on any nearby surface. She never went to sleep on purpose; her body just ran out of steam. It was my duty to fetch her, make her come to bed in the wee hours. Now, she's tormenting me.
At first, I tried to will myself back to sleep. Then, I tried to work through it, but that ended in more frustration than it was worth.
I tried running.
Meditating (worst 20 minutes of my life).
Reading.
I tried everything.
And everything led to the same empty place.
Everything landed me right back to where I started—awake and missing her. And, there's no fucking cure for that
I never lose. Ever.
I have a global reputation for winning. I'm a goddamned, golden goose in the financial world. Banks pay me to write ironclad deals. To protect them from nasty, legal issues.
And, I couldn't even protect my own, mother fucking heart.
I lost in the biggest way possible. There's no do-over. No going back.
"Oh, poor Andy Garrison, sad and alone in his multimillion-dollar apartment. It must be so tough lying next to his 29-year-old girlfriend. Poor, poor Andy Garrison."
Nobody knew just how shattered I was. The slightest show of weakness—the odious stench of a loser—and goodbye, money-maker.
On the outside, I looked like the cold-blooded lawyer I'd always been.
I even started dating again.
My girlfriend Allison is the complete opposite of my late wife. She's tall, thin, and ruthless, driven in a way that almost scares me. I nearly checked her for a cock the first time I met her. I've seen her turn hard no's into willing yes's with the flash of a smile. It's intoxicating to be with someone who wins as much as I do, but it's also irritating. She's relentless when she sees something she wants. And, currently, that's me.
Even so, Allison was just what I needed. After five years in a fog, she brought new life—or new distraction, at least—to an otherwise mundane existence. After Rebecca, I put everything I had into work, leaving little room for anything else. (Except maybe a couple of quickies with a willing, intern or two.)
It was Allison who encouraged—or demanded, really—that I dig deeper into my sexual desires, saying I had too many hang-ups when it came to sex. Sex with her was a hair-pulling, ass-smacking, throat-grabbing, all-out fuckfest, and I couldn't get enough of it. The rougher, the better. I always did whatever I wanted with women, but Allison took it to a new level.
And, that's what landed me in my home office at 3 a.m. A hand wrapped around the shaft of my cock, I stroked aimlessly, preparing to record myself jerking off.
I came across erotic audios fairly early in my relationship with Allison during her "mandatory exploration," and I loved them. I've seen my fair share of porn, but this was different. The audios were comforting, creating a heightened, sexual state that regular porn couldn't touch.
One night after a few too many drinks, I decided to try it for myself, and it was fucking amazing. I didn't do anything special, I just stroked my cock and did a little dirty talking—the kind Allison liked-- but after that, everything changed.
On a whim, I submitted a few audios to a free porn site, and women went fucking crazy. Knowing that my words-- my voice—turned them on was endlessly arousing.
Emboldened by the response (and the assurance of anonymity), I recorded an audio every week. I experimented with a little bit everything, but the fan favorites—and mine, too—involved my dominant, alter ego, The Wolf or I called him Rezso. When demand got high, I started a website and tripled the initial subscription goal in the first month. I don't really need the money. Sometimes when I imagine donating the proceeds to charity, the depravity gets me a little hard.
I set aside time to record during the week, but Rebecca's memory lingered so painfully close that I was eager to be rid of it. Cock in hand, I scanned the city's horizon from the comfort of a thick, leather chair.
I took a deep breath and hit record, letting her memory flood across me.
"The smell of your hair woke me up. Silky ropes laying across the pillowcase. Covered in the scent of your favorite shampoo."
The words tumbled out, partly true. Partly made up. I don't ever mention physical attributes in my audios. That's for the listener to create. The whole truth was unbearable anyway. Rebecca's hair—strawberry blonde and smelling like vanilla spice—flashed through my mind, and I winced. Afraid her memory would pull me into a grief spiral, I focused on the scene unfolding in my mind.
"I scoot closer and your body rolls into mine, a synchronized dance we've perfected over countless nights together."
That part was true. Rebecca knew when to melt into me, when to resist, and when to surrender.
"I'm hard. I woke up that way, but your scent and the heat of your body make me crazy. Fuck. Your skin. The curve of your hip, my fingers tracing the line."
Rebecca hated her body; she fought it until it finally fought back.
"A boomerang of punishment for never being enough" that's what she said, crumpled in my arms for the millionth time. I never told her, but Rebecca's body was perfection, sturdy and strong, healthy, and glowing—until it wasn't.
Grief twisted in my chest, and I almost quit recording. But, I needed to get this out, be rid of it, so I pushed through.
"I can't stop myself. Your dreams will wait. I have to touch you. I have to be near you. I will take you, but not before I savor every part of you. It only takes a few kisses, and your eyes blink open, still clinging to sleep.
'Mmmm...Good morning, angel.'
You roll onto your back, arms over your head, ready for me, always ready for me."
Rebecca was always ready, arms open. Heart available. I mean, she didn't fuck like Allison—no one fucks like Allison—but her body, its warmth was a gift she gave entirely.
"I trail my fingers down the centerline of your body, and you shiver, giving me a little giggle and a smile. You're still not fully awake.
'Ticklish this morning, baby girl?'
My fingertips drop down between your legs, grazing your sopping, wet pussy lips. Your helpless whimpers egg me on, and I bury two fingers into you, twisting and pressing until your back arches. I love making you gasp. Love when your mouth falls open. I love how you react to my not-so-subtle persuasion.
I can't wait any longer. I slide on top of you and devour your mouth, letting my cock drop between your soaking thighs—hovering there but not entering you.
I want to see the gleam in your eyes when I take you. I want your breath in my ear for the first full thrust. You raise your hips, legs trembling. Willing me to take you. Begging me to fill you up.
With one smooth motion, I enter you, and you tense, your eyes begging mine for reassurance and misty with submission. At once, frenzied need locks our bodies together, and my cock pulsed inside you."
