Past Her Prime

Any and all persons engaging in sexual activities are over the age of 18.

*****

'Hi. My name is Sam and I am an addict'

'Louder,' said a voice from somewhere.

He cleared his throat and enunciated more. 'Hi. My name is Sam and I am an addict.'

'Harder baby harder!'

On hearing these words, Sam was rudely shaken out of his day-dream and it finally dawned on him where he truly was. It was a dimly lit room, just like the one he imagined giving his speech in, with one core difference. Instead of being vertically standing on his feet, he was currently horizontally planted firmly between the legs of his editor.

Anna Fleck was gyrating beneath her favourite journalist. Well, he wasn't her favourite because of the sex but she couldn't deny that that was a big part of it. Though she did not sleep with all of her employees, she just couldn't resist this man. She realised that sometimes when you meet random people and your inner animal just wants to quench its lust, you need to succumb to it.

She had not given into those feelings before but something about broken men just drew her in. 'They try harder because they think they need to fill some superficial void that makes them 'not good enough' as other men,' she thought to herself. Clearly, she thought she knew how to take full advantage of their insecurity.

'Doesn't hurt that this one writes as brilliantly as he fucks,' she thought to herself as her head hit the hotel room bed headboard for the umpteenth time that night. 'God, when is he going to cum. I can't keep doing this all-night. I got spin class in the morning.'

Sam, who was on top of her, had given up counting his strokes somewhere after 50. 'I think when I reach 100, that should be enough,' he had said to himself right before he had plunged his rock hard penis into her velvety folds. But somewhere around stroke number 35, he realised that this counting system won't cut it for the current encounter.

He did want to have sex with Anna just as much as he did not want to have sex with her. Crossing the line was the last thing on his mind when Anna had invited him up to her hotel room after the final day of the conference. But somewhere he just knew he had to do it. Because she did give him a job when nobody was taking his calls after he recovered from his accident. 'So it will be a thank you fuck with ample amount of lust peppered into it,' he told himself just before the elevator dinged at Anna's hotel room floor. It didn't hurt that Anna looked like she had walked right out of the hottest widow catalogue of a kitschy magazine.

But beauty can only mean so much when you are fucking in a dimly lit room, can't it? 'Because once you can't see their face properly, you are fucking the one that got away. That's how you keep it hard,' his old friend Shrek had told him. And he was right.

Because after Sam had helped Anna evade the confines of her undergarments and made her scream his name while he was going down on her, with a finger up her arse, he couldn't reign in his wandering thoughts after the light dimmed. He had tried to convince himself that he had to make it a worthwhile fuck because he wanted to keep his job. And he had even counted the strokes to make it last for a while but he just knew somewhere his heart wasn't into it, even though his dick was.

He had once been in love but hers was the last face he wanted to see as he was pounding this woman. She had gotten away because he had let her. So had the other ones that his warmed his bedside over the years across continents.

'Get your shit together man. It's time to make her cum. Remember what Shrek said: Get in, get out, and say as little as you can,' he thought to himself. That mantra had worked wonders for him earlier but given how Anna's fingernails were digging into his back, he knew the night's antics were nowhere near completion.

'It's time to tear this joint apart. It's time to show her some of that Sam magic that she may have heard of in rumour mills.'

So Sam suddenly thrust hard one last time and exited her vagina just as quickly as he had entered her. The 'ohh' Anna's lips told him that she suddenly missed his throbbing member inside her cunt. But he did not look up into her eyes to give her a hint of what was coming next. Supporting his bodyweight on his elbows that were placed on either side of her legs, he shimmied down so that his mouth to face-to-face her leaking pussy lips.

As he dove in and bit her clitoris, he felt around blindly for her puckering rosebud. He navigated his right hand to push not one but two fingers, upto the knuckles, in her arse. When he felt Anna squirm to his ministrations, he knew that she was right where he wanted her: at the door of the final act of the night. To hasten the curtain-call, he shot his empty left hand to her puffy dark pink nipple that was covered by saliva. Whose, he did not know. It could have been his, given how he had suckled the shit out of her teat when she first lowered her lacy brasserie, but it could also have been hers. She could have sucked at her own nipples when she got turned on. But it did not matter now.

He pinched the nipple of her left breast hard, alternated between sucking and licking her clit and increased the frequency of his finger-fucking two digits in her arse. 'Any minute now,' he told himself as his mind went back to rehearse his dialogue.

Anna, who had never been fucked like this before in her life, couldn't believe that all it took for her to get here was a few Jack and cokes, a few sultry winks and a few cock grazes. That and giving in to her carnal thoughts. She could feel her pussy overflowing and depositing its juices on Sam's mouth. She could also feel the freight train of a massive orgasm leaving its first station from somewhere deep in her mid-riff.

She knew that every inch of her body was on fire and she did not even feel the need of a cock to fill the void in her vagina. She just knew that she had to enjoy the journey of the rolling freight train that was snaking its way to her clitoris. Beyond that, she was numb. Her arse was hurting a bit being stretched out by two of Sam's fingers but right now she just didn't care. 'The hurt is totally worth it,' she kept repeating to herself as she felt her tormented nipple go numb. With some reserve of energy she did not know she possessed any longer, she shifted Sam's hand to her other nipple. Which he squeezed and rotated as brutally as he had done with the other. 'Just the way I want it. How does he even know?'

As the train began navigating its way from her navel to her clit, Anna became oddly serene. Her mind subconsciously played the tape of her being on the beach with waves crashing against her feet. It was at that moment that she realised she could never be happier in her life. And then the sun that was shining from afar seemed to be shining brighter with each passing second and enveloping her. She knew the train had reached its final destination and once she got past the shining sun, she could clearly see them twinkling stars.

Sam, who was under her the whole time, had witnessed Anna's body go rigid after a multitude of squirms and her eyes roll back into her sockets so he could just see the whites. He saw some of her calf muscles involuntarily flex as she was coming down from her high. He knew he had been successful in what he had set out to do. And even though the high was incomparable with that was his own orgasm, he was pretty content with himself.

'At least this ends tonight's proceedings,' he thought smugly as he raised his spasming weak left hand off of her breast to wipe off the beads of sweat that had lined on his forehead.

As Anna was coming down from her trip to the moon, she swore she could hear a hoarse whisper at the back of her head telling her: 'See, I told you Anna. Broken guys try extra hard. And if you are smart you can book this guy for another trip. God knows you need it.'

A tired Sam then just plopped to his side and rolled off Anna to get her to come back without him burdening her. 'She doesn't need me weighing her down,' he thought. And then a smile slowly crept back onto his face. He had finally figured out how to deliver his opening line for his impending assignment. He needed to enunciate. And fake a smile when he said: 'Hi. I am Sam and I am an addict.'

****

For as long as Sam could remember, his life had largely remain unchanged. Yes, people came and left, surroundings and seasons changed but everything else remained the same. People's reactions towards him, his smarts and the way the world worked largely remained just like he liked them: in his favour.

He had had a very normal childhood, albeit boring. His parents were like most middle-class conservative parents who were trying to survive in their claustrophobic two-bedroom apartment. Unimaginative. They, like many others, were oblivious to the changing dynamics of the world outside their safety bubble. When the biggest question for his over-worked father and perpetually busy mother was: what's for dinner, Sam was looking out the window to figure out where the crows on the compound fence nested.

The life that they had planned for Sam had been a neat map that they kept folded in their wallets at all times. They did not even figure that the child had a mind of his own because their own parents never did the same. Have imagination. And their elder son had done the same and stuck to their plan. Their instincts were to train their children for survival and not success. 'And that is just a generational thing,' Sam had said to himself.

And Sam had stuck to their plan till he graduated high school. He had become the affable and popular high school kid who didn't do so badly in class and had a permanent spot in the debate team and was a prefect as well. He didn't do too badly on the field as well. He was never a part of any of the school team's but he could hold his own there.

He didn't do too badly with the ladies either. He always had someone to make out with when he desired and always had a date that would let him suckle her tits in the parking lot of the mall. He was exactly like one of his dates had described him as she was playing with his hair: perfectly average. And he liked that description too.

There had been some guys too. But that came much much later. Under the stars and between ripped tents and the din of mortar shelling. His parched lips had found comfort in the scotch laden breath of a stranger. Strong grips had enveloped both cocks and teeth marks had been left where the dull pain of numerous falls had once resided. Tight holes had been explored and empty promises of a tomorrow had been made. That was not Sam's first time with a man but as he was quite certain as he came in the stranger's mouth that it would be his last. 'This is not something a perfectly average guy does, does he?'

But over the years he had come to one big conclusion. You know what 'perfectly average' folks did not have? Intimacy. Even though they had access to the best of both worlds - the jocks and the nerds, Sam had come to believe that they never truly fit in anywhere. He knew from experience that he could have the hottest, steamiest sex of his life — the one that fogs the glasses in less than two minutes — in the backseat of his car with an unbelievable woman, yet he could feel empty.

What was once a thrilling conquest had now subsided as a game involving adding notches to his bedpost. Because the intimacy he desired could not be found in the short intervals that were reserved for quick slobbery blowjobs in empty classrooms and one way rides to their orgasm in between debate practice. And talking about it was out of the picture because he had been repeatedly told by his overworked and underpaid father: 'Men don't bitch about it. Men get over it. Quickly. Because like the Godfather said - Women and children can be careless. But not men.'

'Great advice, dad. You screwed me there, you know.'

Sam did not even forge any bonds of kinship with his elder brother. Because the six-year age gap between them ensured that they had nothing in common to talk about. What started off as an attempt to bond with the senior by following him and emulating his actions quickly turned into a partially hateful childhood where he was unable to create an identity for himself. And by the time he figured out that following around the big guy wasn't going to be much help, he found his friends drifting away.

Even his homemaker mother was of no help. Even though she loved giving out hugs to her children, there was a certain insulation to them. They were handed out more for necessity than to provide emotional warmth. 'She was just doing what she was told would make her a good mother. So much so for societal bullshit.'

So Sam tried to find intimacy where he could. In books and in romance movies. When he first read Gabriel Garcia Marquez's 'Love in The Time of Cholera,' he knew he had found the kind of love he wanted. It didn't hurt that he watched 'The Apartment' at the same time. So, as twisted as it could be, he had found the form of love he wanted.

And he tried to apply what he had learnt to the first cute woman he found. His childhood crush, the 5'6, auburn haired cheerleader Natalie. Natalie was one of those kind hearted ones who made sure that her presence made you feel like butter. You know the ones who had a non-threatening exterior but just a glimpse at their hazel eyes gave you a glimpse at the terror that they could unleash.

It didn't hurt that she was not drop dead gorgeous but by the looks she got from all the guys, it was all but certain she was almost everyone's 'jerk-off girl'. It also didn't hurt that she and Sam had known the other since grade school. So, she did not hesitate long to agree to date Sam.

He had made up his mind to tell her he loved her when his tongue was deep in her pussy and his warm palms were holding her calves over his shoulders. It was those cute little breathless squeaks she made every-time his tongue lashed against her clit that made the decision for him. He was going to love her forever, he had decided before he had even let her reach the peak of her crescendo. And he had blurted those three words just as she had finally screamed out a name when she came.

When the euphoria subsided and his mind slowly replayed the last minute of his life, he made a troubling discovery. The name she had screamed as she bucked, thrashed and squirmed was not his own. Now he was kneeling naked between her v-shaped lower half as it dangled mid-air next to the love seat in a room of his second floor house and turning red with embarrassment. Even though he wanted to jump out of the nearest window, he realised he couldn't do that. He couldn't die jumping from just two floors. And neither would the earth swallow him if he jumped from there.

What happened next, was something Sam could never really recollect. It was not that it was fuzzy. Somehow he had successfully blocked it out. But it thankfully did not involve bloody and pointy instruments, dead bodies or trips to offices of law enforcement. Whatever did happen, it made Natalie turn several shades of scarlet every time she saw his after that in school corridors.

Sam then became a version of himself that did not just not conform to his middle class parents' plan, it threw it out the window. Channeling the misguided angst of a heartbroken poet, he decided to screw reality and write stories. 'Because at least for those I can dictate the outcome.'

So from the ashes of his broken reality was born Sam Masterson, journalist extraordinaire, who made sure that he always got the story. Even in the most difficult situations. So after ambling through college half drunk and shagging almost the entire freshman floor, Sam found his calling writing about the worst of the human condition because that is what he was most comfortable with. 'Pain is an old friend of mine. I know pain and I am most comfortable around him,' he told himself as he accepted his barely paying first assignment to cover the war in Bosnia. And that too at the age of 21.

'Well, they do say that the smallest coffins are the heaviest. Maybe mine will be heavy too,' he remembered grimly telling his mother after he broke the news to her about his upcoming assignment.

No matter where he went, which rocks he overturned, which streets or rivers he crossed or how much he tried to numb his pain, he couldn't figure out the answer to the most burning question: what's the point of living today?

****

"Well at least an IED did not tear open your nut sack. We can have children," he heard a voice swimming in his subconscious mind.

'Yeah, well, no shit buddy. Still hurts like a bitch,' Sam replied.

"I am not unfreezing my sperm to have your kids. Man's gotta hold on for the best option out there. Clearly, you're not it,' the voice continued.

'Wait, that's a guy. Why the fuck would a guy want to have my kids?' Sam thought as he struggled to open his eyes.

"Your parents couldn't make it. Sorry. But if it makes you feel any better, I got you flowers. I don't know what they smell like. You know I am allergic."

'I know that voice. Shrek. What the fuck are you doing in Iraq?' he said as he struggled to open his eyes.

"Hey, you're up. Nice. I can get back to work now," a smiling Shrek said as Sam saw his overweight friend give a toothy grin, leaning over above him.

'What the fuck are you doing here man,' Sam said as he felt his dry throat burning.

"Well look, I even brought you a card. And I wrote in cursive. You can't read it obviously, but it says that I love you. And you should feel lucky, not everyone gets one of these buddy," Shrek continued without pausing for a breath.

'Yeah, well fat-arse, answer me. What are you doing here,' Sam asked him again.

"Mum and Dad are fine. Mine not yours. Yours are shitting bricks after they heard about you. I spent entire yesterday with them. I even ran into Tina. She was leaving your house as I got there. Seems like news about what happened to you spread like wildfire. How that happened, I don't know. It wasn't in the news or anything. Even your website refused to comment on it when I called them to get an update. My best guess is that your mum called everyone to check if they had heard anything about you. I flew in to check on you as soon as I heard you were here," Shrek said, shuffling the cards and flower vases next to my bed.

'Shrek, why aren't you answering me man. Stop playing with me. Answer me. It's freaking me out a little bit. I can see you and I am sure you can hear me,' Sam said, trying to plead with his eyes.

"The chicks here are hot man. I guess if I place a camera somewhere in your room, I will have an amateur porn video in my hands man. Helpless plus war-torn patient and hot doctors equals the true 'Fifty Shades of Grey'. I would tap to that," Shrek continued, without turning to look at him.

'Wait, hot doctors? Flowers, cards and the faint smell of sterilised floors and bleach. Am I in a hospital man?' Sam asked his friend in a panic as he tried to raise his hand to get his attention.

But he couldn't raise his hand. He couldn't wiggle his toes. He couldn't feel his dick. 'Shrek, buddy, what the fuck is going on? Why can't I move my body,' Sam asked his friend, holding off from letting the wave of panic engulf him.

When Shrek did not respond, Sam gave into the panic. He finally took in his surroundings that had so far remained in the background with his attention remaining with his oldest and only friend. He could hear the faint beeping of monitors from both his left and right side. There were bright lights washing over him from the ceiling, that split his focus and gave him a headache. He could not see anything else because he was unable to move his head.