Exile 2

So, as usual, this is not a stroke story. Don't get me wrong, it's sexy as hell. But the sexy is in the plot, the writing, the story. If you're looking for something to jack off to, find something else. This is for the readers. The people that want to be titillated. Stirred. Moved. That want to read desire and feel passion. This is that story.

So read this.

Rate it!

And know that there is the cutest baby bird... His life depends on you!

--Shaide--

*****

There are some things you just don't do. Some things that you just can't come back from. I consider myself a very forgiving person, but, still, everyone has their limit. And I had just reached mine.

I had finally finished a hard night at the restaurant. The tips made it worth it, but they had definitely gotten their money's worth out of me. David had decided to call off sick tonight, sick of doing Michelle's job probably, and Michelle was just worthless. I ended up working his area, my area, and covering the half of her tables that she couldn't keep up with. I couldn't even get any time behind the bar.

I unbuttoned my shirt as I walked up the stairs thinking to myself that somewhere, in some seedy hotel room, Chef Mina was fucking Michelle senseless. She was probably a really good screw. At least, I hoped she was, because Lord knows she had no business as a waitress.

It was worth it though. I had a pocket full of tip money, got off work early, still got overtime, and got to skip out of clean-up.

As I opened the door to my crappy apartment, the usual smells hit me. Freshly delivered Chinese food, drying paint on the canvas, the trash that I should have taken out before work. Damn, Lisa was going to have something to say about that last one. I walked over to the easel she had sitting in the corner. It was a landscape painting, and, as far as I could tell, it was coming along nicely. Then again, as Lisa had said all too often, my opinion didn't matter. I thought all her works were masterpieces. I, admittedly, had no idea what art was. As far as I was concerned, if Lisa painted it, it was priceless.

That's when I heard it.

As I admired the painting that my tip money was paying for, I heard moaning coming from the bedroom. She must have heard me come in, I thought as I finished unbuttoning my shirt, suddenly refreshed. I'll take that as my invitation. I opened the door to see my beautiful girlfriend. Sexy. Naked. Her long black hair messily falling down her back.

Her ass bouncing up and down on some other guy's cock.

Back during the Salem Witch Trials they had this torture method called "pressing". Its where they piled a bunch of large rocks on top of a person, one at a time, until they either confessed or died. That's how I felt. Like someone had just put one too many rocks on top of me.

I broke.

I'm sure most men would have stormed in , beat the guy's ass, and argued with her throughout the night. I didn't. I was perfectly calm and I saw no reason to interrupt them. She wasn't facing me and he wasn't paying any attention. So I backed away and went and fixed myself a glass of whiskey. I sat on the couch, listened to my girlfriend of the last 3 years fuck some other man in our bed, and sipped my whiskey. Liquid therapy. Cool alcohol burned its way down my throat as some guy fucked my girlfriend in the next room. There was a few moment's pause as I heard them moving around on the mattress, then they started again, apparently after switching positions. I took another sip as I listened to the soundtrack that was my life at this moment. The squish of hard cock sliding into wet pussy. The slap of balls to ass while he slammed himself into her.

As they changed positions again, I decided to have another drink. I glanced at my watch. Ah, that made sense now. I had skipped clean up. I was home early. I was in the middle of pouring another glass when I heard her screaming. Doggy style. Lisa always gets vocal when she's bent over and getting pounded. "Fuck me, Nick! Fuck me harder!" Apparently, he had obliged. "Yes! Fuck yes! Just like that! Oh God! Oh my God!"

Damn, I thought. When she wants to do the betrayal thing, she sure does go all the way. Nick was my best friend. Actually, Nick was my only non-work friend I had left. We had been cool since high school. I had lost contact with my other friends. They were all in college or had moved out of state. I was still stuck here, working to put my girlfriend through college. Her parents had refused to support her as long as she majored in Art, but it was her dream and I loved her. Truth be told, I hadn't felt stuck. Not until tonight. I was future building. This was her time. I'd have mine. I smiled to myself. She and Nick were both art majors. I wonder now at his choice of academia.

I heard him as he grunted out his orgasm. I wondered if he came in her. She never let me do that. Even though she was on the pill, she still made me wear a condom. Nick sounded like he was free-balling that pussy. I lit a cigarette as I heard the rustle of clothing and small, after-sex talk between them.

I was looking at the easel. Do you have any idea how expensive painting can be? Canvas, paint, brushes, trips to locales to inspire her. And she just threw away so much of it! And the brushes! Oh my God the brushes! There were so many different types! I mean, a brush is a brush right? Isn't the point to get the paint onto the canvas? She had one brush that cost me fifty bucks. Because of the wood the handle was made of. One little brush. 50 bucks.

Nick walked through the door. "So I'll see you and Casey Wednesday-" He froze as he saw me.

Do you know what's weird? I wasn't even mad. I mean, I should have been. I should have been absolutely furious. I should have been an enraged mass of man-meat. I should have thrown all 220 lbs. of me at Nick's little 150 lbs. of surprised terror. I had every right to. Hell, I had a tactical advantage. I could have literally killed him and there wouldn't have been a jury in the world that would have convicted me.

I could have, but I didn't. I wasn't mad. I saw the fear and surprise in his eyes, I saw the death of our friendship as the moment settled into him. I saw regret. I don't know what he saw in my eyes. But it wasn't anger. Because I wasn't mad. I wasn't anything. I was just sitting there, drinking my whiskey, smoking my cigarette, and baring witness to the destruction of my life.

I don't know how long we waited there, two men, trapped in a moment, frozen in despair. But it was shattered as Lisa walked into the room. "Yeah, I'll have to make sure he got it off, but I - Casey!"

She had put on a pair of panties, but she raised her hands to cover her bare breasts. Why? It wasn't like I hadn't seen them for myself plenty of times. And Nick clearly had a deep appreciation of them.

"Um, I'm just gonna go," Nick said, backing his way to the door, refusing to take his eyes of me until it he was safely on the other side. I watched him the whole way, never moving except to take my glass to and from my lips. A toast to the magnificent death of my best friend.

"Casey, I can explain," Lisa started.

"Shhh. Just sit down," I said. Surprisingly, she did. She was beautiful. Even now I had to admit it. She was beautiful. I wasn't even surprised that she had cheated on me. If she had been taller, Lisa probably would have been a model. But she was 5' 6" and 139 lbs. of amazing woman. Supportive, friendly, genuinely nice, adored dogs, thinks cats are plotting on her, hated snakes, was scared to death of bees. I could tell you the story behind every scar she had. Bike riding, mountain climbing, Girl Scouts., that fight with Mary Arrant in fourth grade. I had known Lisa since 3rd grade. Years of friendship. 3 years of actual dating. She wanted to wait until she had graduated before we got engaged. Only one more year. I had a secret stash in my toolbox where I had been saving money to buy her a ring. It was the one place I knew she would never look. I wondered what I would spend that on now. I took another sip from my glass. Maybe more whiskey?

I poured myself another glass in absolute silence, amazed at how quickly my life had turned around. Two hours ago, I was dog tired at work, trying to make enough money to support me and my would-be one-day wife. I was happy, tired but happy. I had my own place, I had friends. I would tend bar after work, learning the artistry of mixology while we all bitched about customers. I was successfully supporting my woman. I was even able to sneak a bottle home every once in a while. Life wasn't perfect, but it was pretty good. We were making it.

One hour ago, my biggest concern was how I was going to pay for all the canvas Lisa went through.

Life though.

She sat there, still trying to cover herself. I hadn't thought of that. I wasn't trying to embarrass or humiliate her. I just wanted her to be quiet. To be still. I sighed as I finished off the last of the glass. Strange, that I still cared about how she felt. But we couldn't sit there forever.

She flinched as I sat my drink down. As if. Like I would hit her. I was more concerned that my drink was only half-finished. But we couldn't sit there forever.

I stood up and started walking towards the bedroom. We lived in a small one-bedroom apartment, so it wasn't too far, really just stand, turn, and take a step from the couch, and you were in the bedroom.

"Casey," she said softly, "we need to talk."

I looked at her out of the corner of my eye. We need to talk. Who the hell did she think she was? I laughed a little as I opened the closet door and grabbed a duffel bag. An hour ago, those words would have terrified me. Now, they were just hilariously pathetic.

We need to talk.

I didn't want to talk. Talking would make noise. Noise would make more noise. There would be yelling and screaming and tears. No. I was right where I wanted to be. It was amazingly quiet and peaceful here. I started packing up some of my clothes. Socks, underwear, some jeans and t-shirts.

"Casey." There was a small plea in her voice now. I use to love the sound of her voice. I loved hearing her sing in the shower, catching her talking to herself as she cooked, random concerts as she cleaned around the apartment. Now, it was grating on my nerves. It was intruding on my nice and quiet world.

I didn't answer her. I threw a pair of tennis shoes in my bag instead.

"Casey please! I can explain!" The plea in her voice wasn't so small now, and she was starting to get a little up there in volume.

I decided to give in and say something, just to keep the noise down. "Lisa," I said as I started walking into the bathroom, "talking should have happened before you ever had anything to explain." I packed up my toothbrush and toothpaste. Threw in my hairbrush as an afterthought. Looks like she didn't have anything to say to that. I zipped up my duffel bag ands walked out of the bedroom. I stopped by the pantry and picked the toolbox up off the floor. There was no way I was leaving her that cash.

"Casey, if you'll just listen to me."

I headed to the front door. "Lis, you have until the end of the month to get out. If you want the place, fine, pay the rent. But if I come back here, and you or your stuff are still here, then I won't be."

I grabbed my work shirt off the floor, tossed it over my shoulder and I walked out the door. I heard her running around the apartment as I walked down the stairs. As I made it to my piece of shit car, she ran down the stairs. Panties and t-shirt. Two hours ago, that would have been so sexy. Actually, truth be told, it was still sexy. I was just too far away to give a damn. "Casey wait! Please! I love you! You know I love you!"

As I threw my duffel bag into the backseat, she grabbed my arm trying to turn me around. Interesting how that worked. A few minutes ago, she was scared I was going to hit her, now she's the one grabbing and pulling on people.

Lisa didn't have the strength to stop anything though. I just kept going, dragging her along as I opened the door and sat down. She tried to race around to the passenger side door, but I reached over and locked it before she could get there. That's right. The car is a piece of shit. The only thing "powered" on it was the steering, and I had just paid 500 bucks to get that fixed. I started backing out as she screamed and banged on the car door. Then the back door. Then the trunk. Then she was just a sexy, half-naked girl in my rear view mirror.

As I drove, I realized this was the first time I was glad not to have a working radio. It was finally quiet again. Peaceful. I drove, just drove. I didn't really have a destination in mind. Actually, I was surprised when, around three hours later, I found myself back at home. Well, my family's home. Mom and little sis.

Shit.

My mom was super pissed when I told her I wasn't going to school until I had gotten Lisa taken care of. Super fucking pissed. She loved Lisa, but she always said I was making a mistake by not going to school myself. My little sister Sara thought it was super romantic and my manly duty. Then again, she was biased. She looked up to Lisa like a super hero. She was going to take the breakup pretty hard. She'd want to know why. That was going to be awkward.

Shit.

If I had more gas, I'd have just drove around for a few more hours. If I had more friends, I'd have gone to stay with them. But I didn't have gas. I didn't have friends. And I knew my peaceful, quiet world was absolutely doomed.

Shit.

I sighed as I cut off the engine and grabbed my duffel bag. It was about five in the morning, so I knew everyone would be up. Mom was a senior manager at a local bank, but ever since my father died, she always made sure she saw us off to school in the morning. Sara was an academic cheerleader. I called her the "smart version" of Lisa. Cheerleading, volleyball, track, chess club, honor society, class president, 4.6 gpa. Don't get me wrong, Lisa was far from stupid. She just never cared about her grades. Sara was all about the paperwork and how her resume was going to look coming out of college. She had every expectation of being someone's CEO five years out. And I didn't put it past her.

I stood outside the front door, keys in one hand, duffel bag in the other, still trying to come up with some other place I could go. Then the door opened.

Shit.

"Oh! Honey, you surprised me," my mom said. "What are you doing here?"

"Sorry, I should have called, mind if I crash here for a little while?" I knew what she would say. My mom still treats both of us like we never left the cradle. I swear, when Sara started high school, she looked at her like she was trying to get her back into her womb. She threw a fit the first time she saw my crappy little apartment. Her child was supposed to live there?!

Yeah. I'm a pampered little fuck.

"Of course, baby. Come on in." She stopped me with a hand gently placed on my chest. She looked me straight in my eyes.

Shit.

"Do you want to talk about it," she asked as I walked pass her and into the house.

How did she know there was something to talk about? No real point in asking that. Mom always knew. "Not right now. I'm just gonna get some sleep."

Is it strange that I walked to my room and expected it to be there and clean and unchanged, and it was? I threw my bag down at the foot of my bed and just laid down, shoes and all. Thankfully Sara was in the shower and didn't hear me come in, otherwise she'd have been in here bugging the hell out of me. Mom was sensitive enough to know that whatever was bothering me, I wasn't ready to talk about it yet.

It took me forever to actually go to sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I kept picturing Lisa. Lisa painting. Lisa laughing. Lisa moaning. Lisa fucking Nick. Lisa screaming and beating on my car window as I drove away. Still, eventually I just surrendered to it, falling asleep thinking of better times.

2

Casey

Time does not make things better. Time does not heal all wounds. Doing something is the only way to change anything. But I was committed to not doing anything. Not today. I woke up around 11 in the morning to a quiet and blissfully empty house. I texted Chef Mina that I wasn't going to be in today. That led to him calling me trying to guilt trip me into coming. I was the best waiter at the place so he needed me there, but fuck what he needed. I told him I was having some personal problems and I just needed some time. He countered with taking my mind off my problems by doing something to occupy me, like work. I was on the verge of quitting, which he must have figured out, when he offered to change the schedule around to give me the next three days off. Chef Mina wasn't a total asshole after all, I thought.

Showered. Dressed. Beaten. I deleted 18 voicemails from Lisa. Deleted 5 texts from Nick, plus his number. When I turned off my social media, I was dead to the world. Around three I started dinner.

I work at a super up-scale restaurant. The kind of place you don't go to unless someone else is paying. We weren't a five star restaurant, stars were beneath us. You don't work in those kinds of places without picking up a few things. I made a pena pasta, fresh garlic bread, Italian meatballs, and did some rumballs for dessert. All while listening to Jerry Springer fights and Maury telling people "You are the father." Yeah, I was so the man.

It was about five when I finished, everything was set to a simmer to keep it fresh and warm. I went back to my room to dwell in my thoughts again. Chef Mina might have been right. Maybe I should have gone to work. Every time I wasn't doing anything my mind automatically went to Lisa. A few times today I had logged onto her page. She had status updates asking me to call, asking her friends if they've seen me, posting on my page. I was still getting text messages from her. So I turned my phone back off.

"Casey!" I was startled out of my reverie as my little sister threw herself on top of me.

"Hey sis," I said as I hugged her, mostly to keep her from falling onto the floor, partly because I love her and missed her.

"When did you get here," she asked as she sat up.

"This morning."

"Dinner smells delish! Come on, Mom's getting changed now. You can help me set the table."

My parents believed in their children knowing proper etiquette. Even if we were having pizza, the table was set for a full five course meal, just so we didn't get out of practice. Language, martial art, sport, musical instrument. We were given the choice to pick three of the four. I dropped the language, learned krav maga, played football and trumpet. Sara dropped the martial art, learned French, played volleyball and put off learning to play cello until she got into middle school.

She was an 20-year-old, parental manipulating, teacher adored, little sweetheart. I won't lie. My sister has always had me wrapped around her little finger. I've beaten up her boyfriends, I've taken the blame for her when she's gotten in trouble, I've even helped her ditch school before.

Don't get me wrong. She's a good kid, and it doesn't happen often. Most of the guys at her school knew well enough whose little sister she was, and she had decent taste in men, so boyfriend duty didn't happen often. And the ditching school thing was so she could go to a museum exhibit, lame right. And she rarely gets into any trouble with Mom that she can't talk her own way out of. Trying to drive Mom's car before she had her license though...

So, against my will, Saint Sister dragged me out of my Den of Solitude and into the Forest of Familial Attachment where the Queen Mother would reflect on the decisions of my life and pass judgment over my choices.

Deep sigh as I walked into the dining room to find Mom already seated, plate full, ready to eat. In my family, three bites is the rule. Mom will always take three bites before she goes into any serious conversation. If she starts talking at two or after four, everything is good. But if she sets her fork down at three...