The Death Of Tammy Janeway Pt 06

The Death of Tammy Janeway, Pt 6

In the final week of my life, Finnie and I fucked twice a day.

Jasmine once told me that masturbating is a sin. I rationalized that she was speaking about unmarried persons. As a married woman I figured I was scripturally free to have intercourse both my husband and myself with impunity since the two of us were one. I further rationalized that Jesus' words at Matthew 5:28 ("I say unto you, that every one that looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart") only applied to men. I "looketh'd" upon Finnie and lusted after him as if he were Chad. Neither of them were women, so that scripture didn't apply to me.

One night Donnie was scheduled to sit in on an elder's meeting. Finnie and I had the whole house to ourselves. We felt giddy with opportunity.

As always, our first move involved mentally metastasizing little Finnie into big Chad. My penis shaped toy filled out into a muscular 6'5" white man with a winning smile and a twinkle in his eye. Finnie answered to either name.

I closed my eyes and watched as Big Chad framed himself in the doorway to Brother Samuelson's bedroom. He was grimy and sweaty. He'd been working on Harley Davidson's all day...and he smelled like it. Chad leaned jauntily against the doorjamb in his faded blue jeans and his yellowed wife-beater. There was not an ounce of fat on him. Instinctively (but surreptitiously) I looked to his crotch. He was not aroused, but the imprint of his cockhead was obvious through the fabric of his blue jeans.

In my fantasy I'd been lying naked on my side reading a book. Until Chad arrived I'd been absentmindedly twiddling circlets about my nipples, fanning the flames of my own arousal. I don't know how long he'd been standing there watching me. I wasn't embarrassed. He'd seen me in my nakedness before. He'd kissed my lips. He'd penetrated my vagina. We were lovers.

Without a second thought I rolled over onto my stomach and drew my knees up to give Chad a full on look at my cunt from behind. I imagined him back there going through whatever ablutions a man steps through when feeding his arousal at the vision of pussy. I'd seen plenty of pussies--my own, my sister's, my mom's, pretty much all the girls in my high school gym class. They'd never aroused me much. I knew the mere sight of a pussy throws a man into a tizzy, however. I returned to my book, confident that my move would reap rewards. Chad's penis was going to bloom. But I was still going to read my book.

So what happened?

Of course, I expected Chad to rip his clothing away and immediately assail me. Any second now his penis would be ramming its way into my bottom. Maybe he would snatch my book away, demanding my full attention. Maybe he'd smack me on my ass for being deliberately inattentive. Maybe he'd jam his thumb into my ass and his middle finger into my pussy and give me the six-pack treatment. Any of these options would be acceptable. Maybe it was my vanity talking. A man sees a pussy, a man fucks a pussy, right? Why was he malingering?

A casual glance over my shoulder showed him still standing in the doorway, still fully clothed, still cool as a Coca Cola on ice. His dick wasn't even hard. He was the James Dean of malingering malingerers, too cool to fuck. He even took a drag on a cigarette; the wispy curls of smoke malingered even as he.

Finally, he broke his silence.

"...the FUCK are you reading?" he asked in his gravelly, masculine voice.

"Why the FUCK is it any of your business?" I replied impertinently.

He moved toward me. I rolled over onto my ass. It's a natural defensive position. He stepped up to stand over me, but made no aggressive move. I offered the book up to him as a peacekeeping concession.

"'Catcher in the Rye'?" he smirked. "...the FUCK is that?"

I was in no mood to explain my literary choices, so I didn't respond. I sat there with my hands covering my breasts, another natural defensive position. He changed the course of the conversation.

"Do you know why I'm here?" he asked.

I didn't respond. Again. We both knew why he was here.

He ignored my indifference.

"I'm here to fuck you," he said. "I'm here to fuck the SHIT out of you."

I didn't respond.

"I'm not here to pretend like I'm interested in your intellectual or your spiritual pursuits."

I looked at him. He continued.

"I give not one fuck about J.D. fucking Salinger. I give not one single fuck about Freddie Franz or Donnie fucking Samuelson. You put that fucking book down right fucking now and toot that fucking ass up. Do it. NOW."

There's something about a guy that is so confident that he can be rude and it comes off as sexy. Still, I didn't put my book down until he started undressing. When his penises bounded free of their constraints and I could see his virility and smell his desire, that's when Mr. Salinger's tome lost my interest. I lay the book aside and rolled over into the submissive doggy position, head down, ass up, just as before. I felt a trickle of my wetness oozing into my shaven pubic mound.

Chad's larger penis began prying my pussy apart. He'd been rude. I'm not going to say I felt ecstasy from the outset. I just felt a thickness down there. As the thickness moved further inside me, I felt a smaller thickness worrying the entrance to my rectum. Chad's hands gripped my hips as he directed both his appendages northward into my sexual openings.

His larger penis was ten inches in now. I knew he had another three inches of pole unwettened. Chad flipped the switch and now both his penises twirled in tandem, gouging my deeper sexual pudding in joy. The two cockheads were only millimeters apart down there, barely separated by a thin, pink membrane.

My impertinence faded. I sighed with contentment. Chad rocked latex ticklers round and about the crowns of both his penises. It was a sensation unparalleled in my experience with dick. An unbidden guttural groan rose up and escaped me. I was enrapt in bliss.

Soon I'd impaled Chad's thirteenth inch. Chad was kissing my cervix, round and round, in one hole. In the other hole he was caressing my lunch. I let him luxuriate in each chasm before giving him a tug to facilitate the old in/out.

This was the beginning of the sizzle. You know the feeling. It's a tremble that starts in your toes and eases its way northward. I let it linger. I didn't want it to rise up and culminate too soon. It wanted it to marinate. To this end I started caressing my breasts. I wished Chad had a third dick that I might suckle. Perhaps the Adam and Eve store sold such an appendage. I mean, it makes sense, right? Both holes engaged. Both tits. And no one to kiss or suckle? Who came up with THAT idea?

I smiled lazily as Chad fucked me. OH!! It felt SO good.

"I want to suck you so bad," I mumbled.

"TAMMY!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!!"

It was my husband. He'd come home early from his elder's meeting.

Let's draw the curtain of charity over the rest of this scene. It's neither pretty nor interesting. Suffice to say that Brother Samuelson was not pleased to come home and find a double-headed dildo churning in his wife's ass. The conversation started out with "We gotta talk" and degenerated from there. My expensive dildo soon found its way into the trash. Brother Samuelson came this close to slapping the shit out of me.

Now, think about it. If you're a guy and you come home and find your wife masturbating, what are you gonna do? Most guys are gonna snatch the dildo away and replace it with dick, right?

That's not what Brother Samuelson did. Apart from the 'almost slap', he calmed and sat me down for a longwinded scriptural lecture. He said he really ought to report this to the elders, but he thought that I might be salvageable; after all, I didn't have the spiritual advantages he'd gained from growing up in the Truth. I was thankful, in that moment, that I hadn't had that latex dick in my mouth. I'm sure my husband would have killed me. Or perhaps the scriptural lecture might have extended over days instead of hours...in which case I might have killed myself.

"And what's going on down there?" he inquired. "You used to have hair down there. And now you don't. What happened to it?"

This was truly the first time he noticed that I'd shaved my pussy. When we fucked, we fucked in the dark. Can you imagine a man who hasn't seen his wife's pussy in weeks? Not even in the bathroom? There's your Brother Samuelson.

"I...I... had an issue. So I shaved it." I lied.

"An ISSUE?" he prodded. "What issue?"

I could have told him anything. He didn't know a goddam thing about women. I started to say that my period had come early that year and my pubic hair caused me to smell badly, so I shaved it. He would have accepted that. I could have told him that most females don't have pubic hair and that mine was a debilitating genetic flaw that I liked to correct artificially. He would have accepted that, too. I swear, this fucker had never searched for porn online.

The one thing I could not tell him was "I shaved it for the benefit of my white boyfriend, you mindless fucker, the one with the big dick. Now get out of my way. I have a date."

I wanted to say that. But I didn't.

Donnie and I fell into cold war. All married couples do this. You argue about something, there isn't a satisfactory resolution, you don't talk to one another for days. Well, it's not that you don't talk. It's that you limit yourselves to necessary one-sentence questions and one-word answers. There's no give and take.

Donnie was angry with me. He'd found a toy in my vagina. I was angry with Donnie. He'd found a toy in my vagina and thrown it away. I'd wanted to keep my toy.

The following Wednesday I sneaked off to meet with Chad at Starbucks. He was already there when I got there. By then I was feeling pretty randy. If he'd asked me to go to his townhome and fuck, I would have. I looked under the table to see if my entrance had engendered an erection. Sure enough, he had a boner!! Just my presence caused his arousal.

Oh man! That made me feel good.

I hadn't even disguised the move, either. It was part of our unspoken sexual foreplay, the thing I wasn't getting at home. I was going to fuck this man. Both of us knew it.

We talked and laughed the rest of that afternoon. It was Christmas Eve, too. Starbucks was going to close early. But Chad and I sat in there and shared confidences. I told him all about my religion and my periodic diversions from it. I told him very frankly that I wasn't getting fucked properly at home and that I'd appreciated his participation in my little diversions. This, of course, was coded talk that I'd also appreciate a return visit. But I couldn't say it like that. I had to be discreet in my sexual banter.

I told him that I feared getting disfellowshipped from my congregation and I asked him to keep our little trysts just between us. He agreed in that way men will when they think what you're saying is complete bullshit, you know, because you (as a woman) shouldn't give a fuck about what all your friends at church think.

At the end of the afternoon we both walked out into the Starbucks parking lot laughing. It was one of those moments where you're supposed to kiss goodbye and leave a little tongue as a promise of better things to come. I was fully prepared to leave him with a smattering of tongue and let the chips fall where they might. Chad leaned in to kiss me on the cheek. It was innocent. My heart swelled, not just because he'd kissed me, but also because he'd been respectful enough to keep it clean.

I hopped in my car and drove to Adam and Eve's where I bought me another double dildo. I had a big smile on my face. If you'd seen me you would have sworn that I'd fallen in love all over again.

When I got home my husband was in a rage. Someone in another congregation had seen that innocent peck on the cheek and called to tell him I was having an affair. The caller described Chad perfectly and even gave Donnie his car tag.

What had been a small cold war now blew up into WW3. Donnie called me every kind of a known whore. He said he should have known I was no kind of a Christian woman from the sexual predilections he'd observed from Day One. He wanted me out of his house. NOW.

That day the black woman in me emerged. I called HIM every known name in the book. I told him his dick was the best part of him and I said his dick wasn't shit. I told him that he didn't know shit about the Bible or Christianity, and I wasn't going to sit through another one of his idiot lectures, and I said he could kiss my black ass on a meeting night. And I told HIM to get the fuck out of his own house!!

This led to a fistfight. I lost. Apparently my comments about his virility weren't appreciated.

The next thing I know I'm out in the snow. He'd taken my keys, not only my keys to the house but also the keys to my car. I had nowhere to go and no means of getting there.

Frazzled, crying and cold, I stumbled up the street to the local 7-Eleven. I called Chad. I needed him now. I could have called my mom and dad, but I kind of figured my dad might intervene in a manner detrimental to Donnie's health.

Chad told me to "wait right there" before slamming the phone down. I felt gratified. My white knight was coming to my rescue. I could sense the anger and the urgency in his voice. He was about twenty minutes away.

Man! It was cold out. I didn't even have a jacket. I hugged myself and shivered. I hoped Chad hurried.

In my mind this event signaled the end of my short marriage. I was going to spend Christmas Eve and every night going forward with Chad. This vision kept me warm as I awaited his arrival. I probably should have gone back home to get a coat or something. I didn't want to deal with my husband. Tonight's baggage sealed his deal.

A stranger vaulted around the corner of the 7-Eleven without being noticed. Suddenly he was just there. I was so shocked at his presence that I didn't have time to ask where he'd come from. He was a black guy in a blue hoodie and jeans. He asked me for money. I told him quite honestly that I had none to offer. I didn't even have my cell phone. His attitude changed into rage. Now he wasn't asking. He was demanding money. I had none.

The gun came out. He pulled the trigger. I saw the flash of gunpowder. Time slowed.

If you've read the first chapter of this journal, you know what happened next. I saw the bullet inching towards me. In that instant I lived a whole 'nuther lifetime. I was a child again, an infant, toddling about, getting into things, putting things into my mouth. Even so, I knew the bullet was coming. I was a child taking piano lessons. I knew the bullet was coming. My brother and I got into a fight. This time I opted not to pee in his orange juice carton. I knew the bullet was coming. My father left a dollar in change in his overcoat. I could have stolen it, but I didn't. I knew the bullet was coming. I broke a piece of my mother's china and didn't blame Shelby. I knew the bullet was coming.

You can see where this is headed. If you know the bullet is on its way, you're constantly looking over your shoulder as it makes headway towards you. For some reason I was never able to tell my mom or my dad that my days were numbered. This puzzled me.

The changes I made in my prior behavior came for good and ill. For instance, in real life Chad and I had our first sexual encounter at my bachelorette party. We were both in our late twenties. In the instant before my death I gave up the scootie in the summer after high school, and I gave it up WELL. "Why wait?" I figured.

Chad and I fucked like minks for three years before breaking up. Chad's whole destiny changed. He never met his pimp, Gloria. He never muscled up to become a highly paid bachelorette party impresario. Instead, as the bullet with my name on it progressed, Chad worked in a motorcycle shop. He ended up marrying Bella Sicario, an Italian girl we both knew.

Further, I never signed up with the Jehovah's Witnesses. I still met Jasmine and Toni, of course. But this time I didn't wait for them to drop the big "pre-marital celibacy" thing on me. I told them up front about my healthy sexual appetite, and I told them that I didn't think hiding it behind a thinly veiled shroud of piety was gaining me any points towards admittance to the New System. They chose to differ and we parted friends.

You can see where this led. Brother Samuelson and I never got the chance to meet. Instead, I met another guy, Andrew Bennett, and we had two kids before deciding to divorce. I raised the kids by myself. The girl grew up to become a lesbian. The boy became a dental hygienist. I loved them both and--yadda, yadda, yadda--before I knew it, the bullet arrived.

OK, so here's the warp in the time space continuum: If I never met with Brother Samuelson, how in the living fuck did I end up on the wrong end of a gun? If you'll remember, it was Brother Samuelson's objections to Chad's cheek peck that put me out of my house in the first place. In the instant before my death I made a whole series of other decisions that placed me far from Brother Samuelson's "him on top" clutches. You'd think any one of these changes would put me out of the danger zone.

But NO.

It turns out that time is a one-way vector. Even if it were possible to go back in time, you would be proceeding backward along a future vector. The trip backward in time is a future move.

Why?

Consider this: Our sun travels at about a half-million miles per hour relative to the super massive black hole at the center of the Milky Way which, in turn, travels at a whopping 1.3 million miles per hour towards the Great Attractor, which is a massive object gobbling up whole galaxies somewhere off in the celestial distance on the other side of the Milky Way. The Great Attractor is moving quickly towards the Shapley Supercluster, an even more massive object 650 million light years away, like a barrel drifting over a huge waterfall. God knows how fast THAT bastard is moving. For time to move backward, all of these celestial bodies must move backward into the exact space they occupied in that brief instant of time you wish to re-live.

Good luck with that.

You may be able to live a whole 'nuther life in the instant before your death, but your past lives will always catch up with you. What goes around DOES come around.

There is, however, a light at the end of the tunnel. It turns out that the time vector can be sliced into ever smaller increments. And you can live whole lifespans in each of those infinitesimal increments.

I figured this out in the flash of light between when the bullet actually struck and the instant where I actually died. It was a revelation. I was able to slice an infinite number of full lives from that flash. It was briefly painful before easing into ecstasy.

Why?

Because I knew what to expect. I made all the right decisions. As each life waxed and waned, I became richer and happier and more spiritual. I knew which stocks to buy and when to sell. I knew which relationships to pursue and which relationships to avoid. I knew which careers to pursue. I knew which blackjack hands to bet on. I knew which pets to buy, which cars lasted longest, which penises were most likely to generate the fiercest orgasms, which homes were least likely to fall into a sinkhole or get destroyed in a race riot. I knew the answers to every exam I ever took.

I knew EVERYTHING.

And if I got it wrong in one life, I got it right in the next. All I had to do was slice the time vector into ever finer increments. By degrees I lived an infinite number of perfect lives. In several of my lives, I married Chad and bore his children. In one of my lives I even re-married Brother Samuelson and taught him how to fuck.