0 comments/ 16345 views/ 1 favorites Curse of the Ex-Girlfriend Motif By: SexyJennaInk The Curse of The Ex-Girlfriend Motif: The Cure For Sinning In Threes (a.k.a. He Smiles and Breaks Hearts) It's strange the way you've shaped your hair into a semblance of a mohawk. I might call it a faux hawk, but really it's just a copy cat version of that singer from The Bravery. You look like him. You look like a young Elvis as you strut your stuff around the room as if you own the place. I think you think you do. Which is simply typical of you: with your far-too-young girlfriend and your just-beyond-ridiculously expensive cars. You paid $500 for that haircut, and I know the suit jacket was easily twice that. Probably five times that. I can watch you from dissociated eyes now: I'm not yours and you're not mine. I'm not the pawn in your game of seductive Chess, and I have the clarity of mind to know that you are simply a player. A beautiful, rich, young Don Juan. You have all of Hollywood in the palm of your hand these days. Except me. I see through the Armani exterior to your black heart. Black as the darkest of days, because she left you. She isn't me. She isn't her. She will never be me. She will never be- "I think it's time for us to take to our seats, Blue," her voice fills the small lobby of the nuvo riche theatre. "They're about to begin." The smallest portion of my petite presence had expected for you to approach us. For you to say hello. To at least make that minimalist effort to bid me well in my future alone. But you remain cold and stolid, at her side; protecting her from no harm with your long, tattooed, sculpted arms. There were times when those arms protected me, but those times appear to be just history at this moment. So I let you walk from my sight as I am guided toward my waiting seat. Center orchestra, fourth row. If you care. In fact, I take in every second of the film premiere with rapt disinterest. I am here because I was forced to be here, in this chair. You're seated three rows ahead, in the front row center. But of course. This is her film. Her big night. And you are her everything. "What did you think of the film, Blue?" Sonia's voice is fluidly soft, curious. We are back in the lobby, covered in gold ornamentation that screams gaudy. Rich. Seductive. Young Hollywood's newest discovery. Not certain what words will formulate on my dry tongue, I pause and partake of my surrounding. Just to our right, the latest "It Girl" is lighting a cigarette, while her latest "It Boy" is eyeing up her ass. Oh the field day "Enquirer" would have with this scene. I can see the headlines now. This film? It's headline? Something to the tune of, "This is not a film." "How so?" Sonia questions with a slight laugh. "It was a movie," I state unwavering. Bitter. "It was a movie just as many others. The acting was on par with the quality of the script, and that was mediocre at best." The shadow over my shoulder introduces his presence before my visual perceptive centers can acknowledge his location. He smirks with amusement. "Is that what you really think?" I nod. "This was mediocre, at best." He nods. He looks even more beautiful at this close proximity. His skin is prickled with five o'clock's shadow, while his eyes glow a distinct honey brown. I had almost forgotten the diminutive dimples that appear when he curves his lips this way. Just as I have forgotten how his touch is electric in the romance-novel sort of way. I lose myself in him as he grins. "I'm sorry, Blue, but I spy jealousy and bitterness. It's unbecoming of you, and it's petty." "Perhaps it is," are the only words I can speak. "Perhaps," he nods in agreement. His lips purse in concentration and I know, instinctually, that he is searching for the words to address what he cares to state. He watches himself around me, eyes darting to and fro. Perhaps it is he who is jealous. Curious. Perhaps even slightly melancholic. "Well," Sonia smiles politely and intervenes on my behalf. "I don't think we've ever met before." He smiles in that manner that says, no we have not; and I hope we never will again. It's covert. No one knows his lips' translation like I do. I know them well. "It's very nice to meet you...?" "Sonia," she bows gracefully. The neckline of her cliché little black dress is nonexistent: the cocktail length garment dips so low her belly-button ring is visible. When she bows, her cleavage is exposed. This reminds me why I am here. He bows slightly as he kisses the top of her hand. He may not be a gentleman, but he plays it well on TV. He smiles and his eyes light. "Sonia, it is so very nice to meet you. I am Joel." Sonia blushes. "Nice to meet you, Joel." And then the cliché, "I've heard so much about you." Joel blushes in that matter that lights his ears. He looks a little startled as he jams his hands into his pockets. Suddenly, the Rico Suave act disappears. "Good, I hope?" I feel forced to interrupt this ridiculous scene with a snort. A loud, annoyed, callous snort that tells him the truth he already knows to be present amongst us. No, what Sonia has heard has not been good; and no, we don't care to discuss that here. Or now. "So I guess I should introduce you to the misses?" he tries to change the subject. I feel the train derailing as he forms the word "misses". I think he's aware that the axels have overturned and the locomotive is crashing down to earth; he looks like a train wreck already. This should make for the most interesting introduction ever to occur in front of the paparazzi. In fact, I am vaguely aware that we have already provided the material for a week's salary for several photographers. And so it begins. She moves like a petite, teenage angel through the throng of Hollywood's elite. How elite they truly are should make for an interesting debate, but we'll save that mental juggernaut for another night. Tonight, he's going to introduce me to her. Tonight, I'm going to "meet the misses" who is ten years younger with perkier breasts. Her teeth are better bleached, her purse is more expensive. Her outfit alone tabulates to the equivalent of my monthly rent. Let's forget her car, which is likely still sitting in her overpriced cobblestone driveway somewhere in Beverly Hills. The limo drove tonight. Yes, Jeeves is waiting somewhere underfoot to whisk Cinderella and Prince Not So Charming back to the Ball anytime now. "Oh my gosh!" she squeals, tossing her bosom onto mine and wrapping her miniscule arms around my frame. "I've heard so much about you, Blue! Oh my gosh!" She sounds like a bad Sweet Valley High rerun. I feel the urge to wretch as she steps back and devours me with her glowing, honey brown eyes. They remind me of someone I used to love. "You're just as beautiful as Joel said. Oh my gosh." "Thank you," I feel obligated to attempt a smile. But I realize my Vampire teeth are showing. She sighs and turns to Sonia, as if realizing for the first time that the other woman exists. My woman. Sonia is mine. I suddenly feel protective of my girlfriend. She is as blonde as the teenager in question, as lean and as tanned. Upon further analysis, I realize the two could be sisters. This thought makes me shudder, just as her touch made me shudder inwardly. "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm being so rude," she smiles. It's a genuine smile. She's a genuine girl. A Tommy Girl, a CK girl, a Prada girl, an Armani girl, a buy-it-if-it's-the-trend girl. "I'm Hilary, by the way." She extends a tiny, perfectly sun-kissed hand bejeweled with diamonds, emeralds and rubies, OH MY! My hand is porcelain in comparison, just as small but not bedecked with the latest bling. I have no seven-figure income to speak of, no six-figure homestead. No film contract. No modeling contract. No Mickey Mouse Club membership, and certainly no teenage followers. I am just a simple woman, with simple possessions. I no longer possess that which she can easily demand. I no longer possess him. "Blue," I nod courteously. "Right, but like, that's a nickname, right?" she questions and I feel my head spin. To give the child credit, she is clearly nervous. This Valley speak is not, I presume, her norm. She is visibly shaking slightly, her beautiful shoulders moving fractions of inches to and fro as she tries to hold this uncomfortable conversation in front of her glowing throng. "Wednesday," he intercedes with a bittersweet smile. "Her name is Wednesday." "Thank you, Joel, I wouldn't have known my own name," I bite back. Vampire teeth barred. I smell blood. His gaze has defocused from her young eyes to my jaded set of Hershey's chocolate irises. I have no honey, no dew of innocence. I am what I am, and he is well aware of my years of being. What I am. I am not her. He glares. "You don't have to be petty, Blue." Sonia coughs. Perfectly timed. Suddenly, she is fretting with her diamond necklace, her diminutive dress, even her updo. She smiles anxiously. "I'm not feeling so well, Blue, maybe we should-" "Oh please!" the youngster coos. Her expression drops down to cinders. She shows genuine sadness. She grabs my arm gently and smiles. "Please don't leave! The production company rented me this beautiful suite for the evening, and I'd like you to come to the party." She smiles and motions toward Sonia. "Sonia is welcome too, Blue. I would love for you both to come with us. Really. I've heard so many wonderful things about you, and," she glances around, lowers her voice, "there are so few of us good girls in L.A., ya know? I don't have many friends and I just...I feel a bond with you already." She feels a bond with me. We've shared ten minutes of our combined forty-three years, one forced hug, and an awkward, photographically documented conversation and she feels a bond. I suddenly feel the urge to reward the naiveté of youth; to barrage her with my years of experience and prove that, no, you cannot bond with another woman in ten minutes. Or ten years. Or twenty, for that matter. Women are petty. Life is petty. "What do you say?" he smiles and it's an uncomforting, forewarning gesture. He does not want us to attend this soiree. He is shivering in his over-priced boxer shorts at the idea of old and new allying together. "Definitely," I smile and grab Sonia's hand. "It'll be fun! Right, Sunny?" Sonia accesses my expression. Without the words spoken, she understands. Clearly, she's trying not to erupt into tears of laughter as she nods. "It sounds wonderful." I realize for the first time that Hilary is representing herself in all white tonight. He has changed his usual attempt at nirvana and is donned in black. Mafioso style. She claps her hands together and her gold jewelry jangles. Her innocent happiness makes me smile. "YES!" she claps excitedly. "I'm so excited." "Where's the party?" Sonia questions, ever the stickler for important details. He frowns and lets out a long sigh as the blonde grabs his hand and squeezes. His lips form the two small words and I feel my blood rush to my feet. "The Bellagio." "That's in Vegas," I state, ever the observant one. "There's a helicopter waiting," he states and his eyes downcast toward his black Creepers. "I can't wait!" she jumps up and kisses his cheek. It's sweet and innocent, just as she is sweet and innocent. Her second jump lands her beside my right cheek and she places a peck there and smiles. "I'm so excited. Yay!" * * * The guests- the few that had made the flight to Sin City- had dissipated to their own suites and rooms. Some to video poker machines that would render their wallets empty, others to high-priced table games that would make or break this month's budget. Hilary's sister, Haylie, whom we had been introduced to early in the night, had retired to her similar- though not quite as swank- suite with a Josh Hartnett lookalike. Sonia had similarly disappeared, conveniently with the room key, with a Joel Madden. Or as former family might like to call him, Josh. The eldest Madden brother seemingly wooed my girlfriend early in the evening when he informed her that her breasts were falling out of her dress. Such the romantic! The bottle of Cristal was empty. More truthfully, I should say, the dozens of bottles of Cristal were empty and laying in buckets of dilapidated ice, or in human terms, water. Our glasses were still full of Lakini's juice but my mind was full of pure, electro-static fuzz. Like a nonexistent channel, I could not form a complete thought. "So your....girlfriend," Joel cleared his throat. He was reclined on the white leather sofa across from me. A coffee table's distance from my legs. Seated beside his newest toy. I was certain that was all this poor child was: a pawn in his favorite dangerous game. "Yes?" I hadn't meant to growl. He pauses. I watched his mind search for the appropriate terminology as he sipped from his diamond-encrusted flute. "So you're bisexual now?" I place my flute down onto the tabletop, arms folding into my lap. I wore black Dickies tonight. I always wear Dickies. For tonight's occasion, thankfully, Sonia had convinced me to don one of her favorite see-through silk blouses. Effeminate and breezy, my lifetime's worth of body ink was showing through. I was certain of this. As were my nipple rings and the firmest portions of my supple womanhood. I wasn't ashamed to show tits at this suave soiree. I was rather proud to be the Freak of the Week for these elitists. "Are you a lesbian?" he repeated, this time changing his categorization. His eyes were wide with intrigue, as though he had already planned the scene in his mind: Sonia lying naked on a luxurious silk comforter, her naked body exposed to my hungry, equally naked eyes. "Sonia's not my girlfriend," I clarify, licking my lips at the salacious thoughts I have implanted in my cortex. "She's just a friend." "With benefits?" he prods. I shrug. "What occurs in my bedroom is no longer of your concern." He guides his body to the edge of the sofa, stands, and fluidly moves to take the seat beside me. She watches with intrigue, no signs of jealousy whatsoever behind her beautifully placid eyes. "Blue," his voice nearly sings. "I'm not looking for a fight tonight." I back up a fraction of an inch. Distance equals safety. Safety is distance. I smile as though my heart is not breaking. "Neither am I." "Then why are you being so cruel?" he pleads, the eyes of a child suddenly behind the face of a man. "I didn't think I was," I play coy. His eyes search me, he stays in place and turns to his new mistress. "Hilary, could you be a doll and get us some more to drink?" She quickly stands to do his bidding. I watch her legs move with the grace of a gazelle, watch his cheetah eyes follow those legs as they disappear from sight. He grins. "Now, Blue, we're alone." I shrug as though I don't care, as though I am smiling like I mean it. Brandon Flowers, I am not. I don't mean it. I am not a killer. "Did I turn you into a lesbian?" he coos into my ear, and his breath ignites the nerve-endings in this area of my body. "Did you long for a woman in your bed when I left you?" My response falls somewhere between rapt amusement and sheer unadulterated shock. The simplest words that can be spoken on the subject matter amount to, "I am not a lesbian." "Then what are you?" his words seem to leak from his lips in lusciously languid strokes. "A woman." "And Sonia?" "She's a woman, Joel," I spit venomously. I am not a vampire, but tonight is all about blood. About the vampire teeth and the stake through the heart. I am staked. He is about to be staked. He purrs and the warmth of his words ignites my cold blood. "She's your woman, Blue. Isn't she?" I allow him to touch my arm, to caress my skin. But I keep my eye on the target and state plainly, "We fuck, yes." "Is she better than me?" he questions and a soft, moist flick of my earlobe with his tongue threatens to break my stone cold stance. His breath is like the fog on a bathroom mirror, clouding what is normally a clear view. Clouding my mind with lust-filled urges that I know will lead me astray. I can't answer. "Does she taste better than me?" he urges, and now a hand finds my left breast. "Does she love these?" he questions, fondling my nipple ring. "Does she love these like I do?" I've suddenly become a mute. "Does she treat you right, Blue?" he whispers and now his hand is discovering the land just South of my Dickies' border. "Does she love you like I do?" I wish I were deaf. I wish I were blind. I wish I were many things right now, and none of them are what I am. Who I am. This situation. This...eternity. "What is taking Hilary so long?" "She'll come when I tell her to," he voices straight to my loins. Emphasis on the word "come" and the way it rolls off his velvety tongue. I'm definitely mute now. He grins. "Just as you always came when I told you to." "You're a cocky bastard," slips from my poisoned vampire fangs. He moves closer yet and now his hand is between my thighs, atop my Bermuda Triangle and begging to be lost at sea. "Emphasis on the word 'cock'," he whispers softly, languidly lavishing each syllable. "You're a bastard," I repeat. "So you said," he smirks. He snaps his fingers as a deliciously deviant grin spreads across those stubbled cheeks. He was about to eat someone for dessert. "Oh Hilary," he called with saccharine sweetness. "We're ready for you." Like a any good Stepford Wife, she appeared in the doorway. Backlit and sensuous, like the sexy teenage pinup that she was. That she is. I realize that I have nothing against this girl, and perhaps a little much for. She is no more than my height, less than my age. But somehow she embodies a woman in a girl's body. She is intelligent, and her sweetness- while seemingly overdone- is genuine. She is not aware she is a pawn, nor is she aware of the evil that she is bedding at night. "Hilary, come sit," he directs the action as any good filmmaker should. She crosses her legs as she finds a place at his right. Agreeable. She is agreeable. "Hilary, we were just discussing something and I would like your opinion." Her fingers tangle in her long blonde hair. It is down now, unhindered by paparazzi hoping for anonymous glamour shots; she is simply herself in this setting. A simple girl with simple desires, who happens to be a known name. Sadly, she has fallen for a simple man with not so simple desires. "What do you think of bisexualism?" he questions, his attention focused on her self-tousled locks. Her lips open to form the perfect "o" necessary for more deviant activities, and then she licks them slowly. Her concentration seems to be focused elsewhere, and my best female guess would be that she is entranced by his clear erection. It tents the front of his Dickies in an obscene manner. Obscene being the operative term. For I know what lies underneath those black slacks. My assumption? So does she. "Bisexualism?" she questions, softly, curiously. "What about it?" "Would you fuck another woman?" he asks, blatantly. His bluntness does not shock anyone in this room. Would not shock anyone who has ever truly known what lies underneath those Dickies. She seemed to fidget in her spot beside him. Uncrossing her legs, re-crossing her legs. She forgot her hair-styling work and seemed to abandon the ship of her mind. She was embarrassed. Clearly. Embarrassed. "I don't-" His voice reverted to slithering snake. He cooed into her ear. "Don't deny it, Hil. You said it earlier. Say it now." "She doesn't have to-" my voice speaks without my permission. The air is sliceable, servable. Like a piece of New York Cheesecake, it is sensual. Pleasing to the pallet in an unhealthy manner. Atkins Diet, be damned. "I think you're really beautiful, Blue," she smiles as though she's a child handing over a Valentine. "I mean, Wednesday." Curse of the Ex-Girlfriend Motif "Blue is fine," he answers for me. "She likes Blue." She nods. I laugh. There's a hypocrisy at work here. "I can speak for myself." "I know what you like," he challenges. I smirk at this. Vampire teeth show and he does not genuflect. "So you think." He prods her. She shifts, uncomfortably. She swallows away confusion. He prods her further and her lips open. No words appear immediately. But slowly, she forms the sentence he chooses not to speak. "Joel said you enjoy...pain." I would feign shock for modesty's sake, but I don't feel the pressures of societal mores here. I don't see the need to appease her embarrassment. He knows. And if he knows, she knows. She has likely heard tell-tale versions of scenes; slices of past debauchery to wet her palate. "You planned this," I turn to him and solely him. "You planned this scene." "Perhaps," he smirks. There's a long pause as the cheesecake air in the room parts like the Red Sea. In comes waves of pheromones. Pheromones that no longer belong to me. She looks lost at sea. Poor Hilary. "I'm confused." Joel tries to shush her, but I feel the need to treat her better. To rise up and avenge his sevenfold sins. I want her to understand that this is a game. Like Cat & Mouse. Dungeons & Dragons. We are the victims. We will not Pass Go and Collect $200. "He orchestrated tonight." She nods once. She still does not understand. "He intended for us to meet, and for the three of us to be alone tonight," I clarify. I don't dislike her, but I do resent having to spell things out for this youngster. I resent her age and her firm body and her solid millions. I resent that he left me for a younger woman who is not even a woman, but yet still a girl. I'd rather he have chosen Britney Spears. "You can't prove that," he argues like a Law & Order defendant. Oh yes, he will play the innocent angle until the death. The innocent twin. The shameless victim. The broken-hearted boy from Maryland. It's all a lie. Don't believe the lies. Hilary seems to devour the information, process it speedily, and return her dividends immediately. She is now on course. Realization dawns across her plain but beautiful features. "That's why you approached Blue." He is suddenly mute. "That's why you asked me to invite her here," she challenged. She was feisty in her accusation, but She-Ra she would never be. Girl Power, Hilary, girl power. "And let me guess," I smirked standing up and peering accusingly down at the defendant. "You're the one that made damn certain that Sonia received an invitation- plus one- for the premiere?" "I'd never met Sonia until tonight," he defends. Pathetic. His expression tells the truth. The cold, hard, honest truth of the matter at hand. Hilary stands up beside me and nods. Girl power. "Joel, you did! You told Jeffrey to send the invitation to her and-" The guilty lines of his sculpted face seem to meld into a curious smirk. Amusement evident, he stands up and forces a wedge between us. He raises his hands to his face, then slowly places a finger over his pursed lips. Silence. He grins. "Maybe I did." "Maybe?" Hilary questions with a mocking laugh. "Maybe I wanted tonight to be special," his voice is suddenly coaxingly soft. Like a charismatic leader, he is. David Koresch on a smaller scale. Hell in a hand basket. The devil on wings of lead and lips of deceit. "Maybe I wanted tonight to be a night you'd never forget." His words are focused on Hilary. Her eyes are focused on his words. She blushes and bows her head. Spice Girls, we need back up! Girl power, goodbye. "I wanted to make tonight something like your dreams," he assuaged. His words were a net, she a butterfly. But I was not about to let her die like this. No, I would not. I would summon up my spice. "The only thing you're making is an ass of yourself," I spat. Somehow, it held no venom. Somehow, it had been intended to crush and had fallen short. I had brought my bullets but instead, fallen victim to love. Lust. The most dangerous game. Joel turned to me then, as an animal might regard its prey. His gaze was knowing, and it held power. He was Master, I was slave. Hilary was slave. We were doomed. He grinned and broke the hearts of millions. "That's what tonight is about, Blue. Tonight is about ass." He was so serious; it was comical in its delivery. Had I not been a deer in headlights, I might have laughed. But I did not laugh- or snort- and Hilary did not flinch. She was now reduced to a gorgeous little blonde statue. The fight was mine and mine alone. I nodded then and tried to smirk fiendishly. I looked like the idiot I felt I was. "Tonight is over, Joel. I am leaving." But my feet didn't move and my heart stayed glued to my sleeve. His lips curled into the knowing smile of a victor. He was the gladiator on the victory chariot. He turned, grasping Hilary's hand and reaching for mine. He devoured my body with a knowing calculation as he led me toward the bedroom. As he led Hilary to slaughter. * * * The bedroom was exquisite beyond words. If I said this was a little girl's dream, I would be under-representing this gorgeous paradise of pillows, satin, silks, and veils. From the veils that sheathed the bed in its own island of sin, to the silks of the sheets and the satins of the comforter. All red. All gorgeously new. Thread counts exceeded your yearly salary, and I'm certain mine, as well. The stuffed animals were missing, the pinks were not represented. But dreams and fantasies could be fulfilled here. Little girls' dreams and not-so modest girl's fantasies. "Welcome to my den of sin," he gestured us inside with a knowing glint in his eyes. Like lambs to slaughter. We are lambs. He placed Hilary softly onto the bed, seated me beside her. We did not speak, did not move. Simply allowed him to pull our puppet strings as he saw fit. This felt like a lurid NSync video. Like he was about to laugh and say bye, bye, bye. "This is her first time," he spoke like the Master of Ceremonies. "That's why tonight has to be special." If my lips had permission to do so, I might have asked why she'd decided on myself as her first woman. Why did this young girl want to share her first bisexual encounter with a stranger? She knew me about as well as she knew the doorman downstairs, or the maid that had brought extra towels to the pool. She did not know me at all. "Blue," Joel cooed. It was then that I realized he was kneeling in front of me. His lips moving slowly, his eyes trained upward into my own lost gaze. "Blue, I wanted it to be you." I nodded. "Hilary wanted it to be you," he adds. Now she is a co-defendant at this trial. "I did," she testifies in her defense. "Blue," her voice cracks with the anxiety of her testimonial. Judge, please get her a tissue. "I wanted my first time to....I wanted....you here." "Why?" I am able to ask. Only this. No more. He grabs my hands in his much larger set. They are calloused and raw. He plays guitar now. Just like he has always played my heart. "Tonight is Hilary's first time. I wanted to make it special. We wanted to make it special." "How?" She spoke now, but her eyes remained transfixed on her feet. They were petite, just as the rest of her, and well cared for. Her pedicures probably numbered in the thousands, probably cost in the thousands. Probably shamed us all. "I've never had sex," she confesses and her eyes do not break from her royal toes. "And I'm afraid." "Of?" "Pain," Joel smiles and squeezes my hands. "She wanted someone to be here for her, to help ensure her pleasure. To guarantee she enjoys every moment and never forgets this night." "Life carries no guarantees." There! I formulated a coherent sentence. That was difficult, but it can be done. Just as Joel can be done. But can I do Hilary? Can I fornicate with a virgin? With a teenager? With a girl that should have reached her curfew hours ago and yet, continues to party into the night behind her parents' backs? She is just a girl. I am a woman. He squeezed my hands again. Somewhere behind his current machismo is the man I once knew. The man I once spooned with, shared sonnets and songs with; a man that filled my life with happiness simply by being. Now he shares that with a child. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wanted to laugh. I wanted to laugh at my ex-fiancé doing his best Michael Jackson impersonation. But with little girls. "Say yes?" he pleads. "Say yes, Blue, and we can show you so much pleasure." "Please?" Hilary questions. Her eyes show no emotion, her words belie no truth. She has reverted to Stepford mode. She is living his fantasy. She is living a lie. This alone makes my decision simple. "I can't do this. This is not what she wants," I tell him. He drops my hands. His eyes glaze with anger. His entire body seems to become enveloped by a black cloud. Baby's black balloon makes her cry. "This is her fantasy," he demands. To the jury, he is appealing. "She asked for this, Blue. She wants this." "No." "Hilary, tell her!" he demands. His robot girlfriend appears to soften, she is attempting to become believable. Perhaps he pushed the remote control in his pocket, and reverted her to human mode. She swallows. Another human action. She crossed her hands in her lap. So ladylike. "Blue, please. This is what I want." Spoken well. Spoken like a Weird Science character. Spoken like a dutiful girlfriend trying to win over another woman for her boyfriend. After all, threesomes always equal love, right? Those that fuck strangers together, stay together, I always say. Or not. Or worse. "I'm sorry, but no." He clutches my hands again and dons a faux smile. A faux demeanor of softness. "Blue, do you remember our first time? Do you remember how scared you were?" "Nervous." "You were so nervous," he plays the game, changes his words to affect the best response. "You didn't take the greatest amount of pleasure from the experience. You could have, if we had planned ourselves correctly." I stare at those convinced brown eyes. He believes his own words. He's bought into his sob story. He's paid enough money to buy her in too. Clearly, he has. She seems convinced. Charismatic? Definitely. "I never wanted to share you with another woman on our first time together." "But Hilary's different," he assuages. Promises he can't keep sway in the air. "She wants this. She wants to have another woman here." I don't buy into the hype. "Blue," Hilary whispers and her voice is soft, angelic; the child she truly is. She pauses to collect her thoughts, but the woman speaks instead. "This is what I want. He hasn't prodded me. He hasn't put thoughts in my head. The photographs I saw of you together, those put the thoughts in my head. Those made the decision easy. I can't tell Tiger Beat that I'm bisexual, Blue. I can't call up Teen People and ask them to set me up with a gorgeous woman. My life- everything about it- has to be lived in secret. I do my best, but I'm still young. I've waited this long. I've denied myself this long, but now it's over. If you don't want to be with us, I understand. But I'm asking you to spend this night with us not for Joel, but for me. I am attracted to you, I want to be with you." Like a sharp slap in the face, the woman inside had spoken. Her needs were clear. She was not a robot, not a toy. She was her own being. I trusted her as best you can trust an honest stranger. My body didn't question the way her words made it feel. It questioned the evil that men do. The evil that a particular man can do. As if an afterthought, he rose and brought me with him. His eyes had hazed back to the man I once knew. He was a ghost of his old self. He smiled and broke hearts. "Blue," he whispered in my ear as he embraced me. "I'll always love you." I didn't embrace him back, instead I allowed my heart to speak. And what it said was simple. "I'll always love you too." "Then be with us?" he smiled, excited at this revelation of spirit. "Please Blue! This is a chance for us to be together again." "With Hilary," I gestured to the woman who stood a few feet away, observing the embrace. "Joel, you belong to her now." "But I'll always love you," he defended. "That may be true," I smiled and, as though his skin were magnetically attracting me, I ran a hand over his cheek. "That may be true, Joel, but you love Hilary now." He guided me toward the door and sighed heavily. I stepped outside as he leaned in the frame, Hilary disappearing from the background. Presumably, heading for her destiny. He frowned, hefted another sigh. He watched me leave, watched as took a great and tumultuous three steps. Three steps away from him before he stated simply, "I don't love her, Bee. I'll never love her the way I love you." * * * The door is made of a heavy wood conglomeration that I can only deduce is expensive. This entire place is expensive. Chandeliers in the hallways, plush carpeting. Their suite had been exquisitely detailed and furnished with only the finest. The suite, that is, that lay on the other side of the door. You know, the opposite side of the universe from where my feet are glued to the floor. I can't move. I am helpless. No doubt a victim of another spell. Mind working overtime, I start to try and translate his last words. I'll never love her the way I love you he said. But what did that mean? What does it mean to love someone when you are dating someone else? What does it mean to love someone you broke up with? What does love mean if you break hearts with your smile? I don't know the answers, I am only human. So my human hand knocks on the door and waits. Waits with a heavy heart and burning blood. Waits for someone to come back and take those words back; or for him to appear and make them feel real. But I've been standing here for twenty minutes, glued to this spot, and I know they are already involved. Involved. That's why I tried to knob. That's why I opened the door. That's why I re-entered the suite that Joel had left unlocked. Unguarded from the cruel interruptions of the outside world. That's why I translated his words at that moment and allowed myself to follow the sounds of his voice to their bedroom for the evening. Simple. That's why I couldn't allow him to give everything to her alone. I had to partake. They were already in bed. She was still wearing her faultless white dress, he was still wearing his strange black ensemble. Her golden high heels were tossed to the floor, along with some matching jewelry. That was the entire undressing before my eyes. She lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling and giggling with delight as he kissed her neck softly. I cleared my throat as I took the step from innocent bystander toward guilty accomplice. I donned a smile and entered the bedroom. "Excuse me, but do you need a third?" I heard myself ask. His attention shot up from her body, and she sat up slowly to watch my intrusion. I tried to embody the tigress inside as I moved toward the bed and wedged myself between them. He repositioned himself to my side, allowing me access to her lips. To her body. To her entirety. I lay her back on the bed, felt the softness of her body meld with the softness of the bed. It was a beautiful thing. She was a beautiful thing. "I've never done this before," she whispered. It was timid, my little lamb. But I would not lead her astray. I nodded and smiled with my best reassurance. "I'll guide you." She smiled, closed her eyes as I sucked her jaw softly at first then with the addition of my teeth. I would not bite her, and I would not allow him to bite. Tonight's pain would solely be my own possession. He seemed to understand this unspoken agreement, as he loomed over my body and bit softly at my neck. When I turned to acknowledge him, breaking my lips from Hilary's addictively soft kiss, he grinned. "I knew you would come back, Blue. You always come back to me." "Tonight," I mouthed. "Tonight," he whispered softly into my ear. "Tonight, you will cum for me, Blue. I will make sure of that." His words made my body respond. His words forced a moistness between my thighs. His words fingered my sex as he continued his seductive onslaught. "Tonight, Blue, I'm going to fuck you so hard. I'll hurt you, Blue, and you will beg for me to do it more. Faster. Rougher. Like you always do." Hilary moaned. It broke my concentration for a moment, and my eyes snapped toward her body. He had a finger up her dress as he spoke into my ear. A multi-tasker. Joel had always been good at multiples. "I will fuck your ass," he continued, grinding himself against my ass. "I will make you scream with delight, Blue. You always do. I'll make you bleed and cry out, but you will love me for every pain you feel in the morning hours." Hilary moaned louder this time. Joel grinned down at her, then grinned at me. "I want you to take her. Make her your own, Blue. Teach her what she has yet to experience." "And then give her to the Master?" I challenged. I was grinning too. I was suddenly hungry for the kill. "You know how it works, Blue," he smirked, taking a step away from the bed and disappearing into the hidden shadows of the large room. Played out just like a porno film, this evening was already promising to be film-worthy. Joel in the shadows, a beautiful blonde on the bed. I felt like I had won Lotto, and sold my soul to do so. "Blue, aren't you going to kiss me?" the blonde pleads. Her does eyes are larger than ever, her jewelry a faded memory. Her dress had found a new home over a bedpost, and the veil on the left side of the bed appears to be held open. I won't over analyze a bedpost when I have a beautiful woman waiting on me. My mouth sealed with her supple lips. Her touch was perfectly inexperienced, yet soft and curious. She searched my body with her hands, the pads of her fingers. She explored my back, my hips. Slowly upward she moved to my stomach and chest. My breasts seemed to require special attention for her work, and she broke the kiss to visually fondle my flesh. "You are so beautiful, Blue," she smiled as though I were a gift she was about to unwrap. I was Christmas Morning. "Your breasts are amazing." His voice filled the air with his presence. "I've always loved her tits." She ignored this and continued her work. I was made to lie back on the bed, to expose my breasts entirely. My blouse, albeit what little of it that there was, was removed. Tossed aside and forgotten. I had worn no bra that night, so as to make a statement. She had understood, and accepted my left nipple into her warm oral cavity. The pleasure she gave was unequaled at that moment. Like a seasoned pro she knew the delicate line between the pleasure of tongue and the pain of teeth, and like a great acrobat she walked that line with ease. My body had responded automatically, finding her breasts and trying to mimic her ministrations from its prone position. She hadn't worn a bra, and her pert breasts offered themselves immediately for my attention. Her lips were brown, already erect. My touch was clumsy. I played the role of the inexperienced virgin as she inserted a steady finger inside my body and stroked me toward climax. "Remove her pants," he directed from the blackness. "Hilary, remove Blue pants." My Dickies disappeared. "Position her over this way." She complied, positioning my spread legs in the direction of his voice. Our audience of one paying customer. Audience, director and actor. All in one beautiful body. "Taste her," he directed, his voice filled with gruff lust. Raw sexuality. "Hilary, taste Blue." She removed her finger from my engorged clitoris and I sighed. I didn't want the loss of contact. Didn't want to feel empty. But the scene she gave all but made up for my loss. She licked and suckled at her moist digit, mimicking fellatio as she cleaned my juices from her finger. "Mmm," she cooed dramatically. "You taste so good, Blue." Curse of the Ex-Girlfriend Motif Somewhere in the distance, I heard Joel growl. My mind raced to memories. Memories of the good times, better times, the best times. He's reclined in a handsome leather chair, naked. His larger, masculine hand works at his ever larger erection. His measurements never mattered. They were far beyond sufficient. His penis was coal hard, pink with the blood flow. He stroked himself and growled, like a great jungle cat he was. I had cum hard that night; my body brought to its greatest limits by his live sex show. "So wet," Hilary cooed. She was atop me now, our breasts pressed together; the warmth of her heat emanating through me. "So delicious and so wet." "I want to taste you now," I returned her affections. My fingers found her wet already, found her tight little virgin body responding to my touch. In that moment, I envied Joel. I envied that he alone would be the conqueror of this new land, and I simply a spectator to the discovery. I wanted to be her first, to break her gently and make her the woman that she already was. So I did what I could do, flipping her over and moving down the line of his lean body. Her ribs were apparent against her glowing skin. Her womanhood unshaven and wild with dark hair. "You're so beautiful," she sobs softly as she nears her orgasm. The spasms, the muscle movements. I have this planned and I am in control. I know she is close. I want her to fall over the edge and taste abandon. "So soft," she cries and her voice vibrates with my caresses. "Blue!" "I think I can play too now," Joel states softly. He's standing above us, staring down at our entangled flesh on display. He's lost a few articles of clothing since we last saw him in the light, namely, his t-shirt. An ugly thing emblazoned with the word "Fashioncore", I won't miss it. I love his chest, his muscles. His body that begs to be worshipped. He's on the bed before she recovers, his hands exploring her body as we kiss. The kiss is deep and passionate, as though a day has not been lost between us. His tongue explores the crevices he already knows, the familiar tongue and bead of my piercing. He devours the known, but continues to search for any signs of the unknown. I lose myself in the search. "Baby," Hilary whispers and I'm faintly aware of her breath at my cheek. "Share her with me, baby." He opens to allow her access. The kiss becomes three. I taste her on him and me on her and him on me and all the combinations possible. This is my first three-way kiss. No doubt her's, as well. But something about his perfectly synchronized moves tells me that Joel knows what he's doing. He's played this game before. Likely, he's won. Our entanglement seems to shift naturally, with Hilary falling back and Joel atop her. She discards his boxers, tosses them off to the dark. He places flutter soft kisses atop her breasts and nipples. His lips mesmerize me as they move, and I long to taste him yet again. But I wait my turn. He works her softly, gently. A Joel I have never seen before. His touches caress her body knowingly, show his years of experience. He takes her close to the brink, then gently lets her down. So close, so far. So close, so far. She begs him to finish, begs him to bring her to finality. But instead, he teases. Teases her for thirty minutes like this. Forty five. An hour. I watch with rapt attention. Watch as her chests moves up and down, down and up. As his hands touch her 2,000 parts. As her legs wrap around his trim waist. As their bodies explore everything but that one pleasure that she has yet to have allowed herself. And when it seems like she can take no more- when I can take no more of this sensual dance- he looks to her questioningly and grins. The dimples appear. "Are you ready?" She nods and takes my offered hand. Like the sacrifice to our love, she lays between us. Her head resting on my thigh, our fingers interlocked for support. She glances up into my voyeuristic eyes, as though for assurance that he will not break her, that she will survive this penetration. I promise her this with my eyes, and reassure her with a firm squeeze of her young breast. Her breaths are labored from his ministrations, but they grow shallow as he parts her legs further and kneels between. She stares up at him with curious longing; she wants him, wants this, but there is that first time jitter in her blood. The anxiety. The fear. The confusion. "Do you want this?" he questions, carefully. Whether he is aware or not that this is, by law, a rape, he doesn't show. The most beautiful rapist in the world, and he's sure of himself. "I want you," she whispers softly. "Joel, I want you so bad." "Inside you?" he whispers in her ear. "I want you inside me," she begs, her voice wavering. I watch as he continues to place soft kisses on her lips, her nose, her eyelids. His erection is dangerously close to bisecting her most secret places. The tip of his manhood is already hidden inside her moist folds. I long to trade places with her right now, I long to be the deflowered virgin on the red silk sheets. But I am not Hilary, and Hilary will never be me. I was deflowered on 200 thread count cotton sheets from the local Walmart. At the tender age of eighteen. By this same man, who was then, an unsure teenager himself. "Is it going to hurt?" she pleads, her eyes wide as she crushes the fragile bones of my right hand. "He's so big." "He is big," I try to calm her fears with a gentle squeeze. "But he'll be gentle, sweetie. It won't hurt too bad. Maybe not at all." "I won't hurt you," he promises her and nibbles softly at her ear. As he works his tongue over the lobe, he gently begins to penetrate her more deeply. To work more of his length inside her tight body. She moans at this, but gasps when he prods too much too fast. I don't have to see the act to know that he's forced too much of himself into her too quickly. Her unspoken words tell the story. She moves, as if to break away from him, and he grabs her shoulders. He smiles into her unsure eyes. "I'm sorry, baby doll. Did that hurt you?" She nods hesitantly. She seems to want my reassurance. A reassurance I cannot rightly give to her. She's at his mercy for the moment. "It feels weird. How much....more?" He tosses his head back at this and laughs. Not his usual ridiculously un-masculine giggle; but a braying, harsh laugh that gives me shivers. "We're not close, hon. Not close at all." Hilary looks like a doe about to meet its final arrow. She nods but she is not the steady, certain woman she was earlier. I feel the need to intervene on her behalf, and offer her a simple out. "Are you in pain?" I question. "Hilary, he can stop at any time." "It just...feels strange," she acknowledges and shuts her eyes. "I'm okay, I'm just nervous." "Relax," he pleads, massaging her shoulders now. "If you're relaxed, it will feel so much better." Her eyes open for a quick glance at his jaw, and then she shuts them again tightly. "I'm alright. Go deeper." Again, like the Stepford of earlier. He exhales and inches his hips forward, meeting the resistance that we both knew was there. She lets out a slight mew at his soft prodding, and grips my hand tighter with each poke. He grins up at me knowingly. "This will hurt a bit," he says, voice distant as he thrusts his hips forward. No grace period. She screams. Her entire body seems to attempt a revolt as she screams for him to stop. To pause. To wait. To go slower. To pull out. He simply pauses with a sly smile as she collects herself and tries to take back the tears forming in the corners of her stunning eyes. My view of the show is unparalleled; the heat inside my body is begging to be unleashed. Soon, Blue, soon. It will be my turn soon. "This really hurts," she holds back a sniffle. "Joel, this really hurts. I don't think that-" "What?" he challenges. To prove his power, he thrusts inside her deeper. Tears well in her beautifully naïve eyes. "It hurts too much, Joel. I can't...it hurts." "It's supposed to hurt," he argues. "I don't want this, please pull out," she directs. He disobeys. She shoves at his chest and remains solidly in place. To stop an actual rape from occurring, I prod him away from her lithe body. "Joel, if she doesn't want to, she doesn't want to." I relocate myself behind him, tugging softly at his hips. He withdraws from her and she cries with the pain. He's hard, painfully hard and covered in her virgin blood. She scoots away from us, allowing me the space that I require for my next move. A calculated move. I push him onto his back where Hilary just was, and envelope him quickly with my lips. Some would mind the blood, I do not. As I said, I am a vampire at heart. I graze my teeth softly across his erection and he roars. He's fisting the comforter and growling like a tiger in heat. She watches from the corner, eyes wide with a mix of horror and envy. She's naked, a slight patch of blood on her inner thighs. Her tears have stopped and we have her attention. So I make a show of slurping loudly, of working him inside my mouth. Of twirling my tongue and making him moan. I make him beg, I make him plead. I watch her beg with her eyes for a finale. She wants an end to this night that, somehow, went so terribly far from what she had planned. "Do you mind, Hilary?" I question as I quickly straddle his lap. He grabs my hips and immediately tugs downward. I do my best to hold him off until she nods slowly, and then I sink all the way down. "Oh god, Joel," I moan louder than necessary. This is about giving a performance. About being lude. "Oh fuck me with your big, hard cock!" It takes no prodding. He flips me quickly and thrusts deep. I scream with pleasure and rake my long nails across his tattooed back. I'm greeted with another growl. And the addition of extra weight on the bed. Hilary lies beside me and watches with awe. "Doesn't that hurt you?" "No." "It feels good?" "So good," I moan to elicit a rougher response from Joel's hips. He delivers with a resounding enthusiasm. "Maybe I need to try again?" she questions timidly. I turn my attention to her and do my best to converse. Being fucked roughly and conversation never went well together in my book. I grin. "Do you want him back?" "Fuck," he groans. "I can't fucking last like this." She considers the offer and nods slowly, nervously. I motion Joel away, push him back into the sheets and lie beside him. His cock points directly at the ceiling. Hilary's gaze is hungry, horny. She crawls toward him and looks to me. "What do I do?" I direct her, holding him firmly in my fist. "Straddle him." She moves into position and I nod. "Like that. Perfect. Now, lower yourself slowly." "Won't it hurt?" "It might, but you're in control now. You don't have to take him all at once." She nods and lowers herself til her pussy is pressed again my fist. I move lower to allow her to take more. She pauses, frustration written on the lines of her beautiful face. I like that she's unsure. It's a turn on for me. "Should I sit down?" "You'll take all of him at once like that," I caution her. If she wants to sit down, she can be my guest. But I'm not advising it. Though her nod signals that she's received the memo and vetoed the action. She sinks slightly lower, until her lips are again pressed against my hand. "I can feel you," she laughs. She's loosening up now, which is good. It's perfect, in fact. She's going to have to be relaxed if she intends to take all of him. "Move your hand down a little," she pleads and I do. She sinks lower until we touch again. "How much more?" "Another handful and you'll be there," I state, licking my lips. If she can do this, I have a delicious plan. Just as my mind begins to write the XXX-rated version, she lowers herself and her perfectly little ass presses against his balls. Perfect. "How does it feel?" I ask. She moves her hips in a semi-circle and giggles. "Better. I like this better." For his part, Joel simply growls. His eyes are shut tight, and she is no doubt partially laughing at him lost in the throws of such pleasure. She must be tight. The way he's responding to her body, she must be milking him close to the edge. And I know just how to send him cascading into the falls. I reposition myself between his legs, and lick his balls softly. He groans and his muscles tense. Hilary giggles. "That tickles!" "Sorry," I laugh, but I continue to lavish oral attention on Joel's jewels. He rewards me with a loud roar, and I know what has just happened before Hilary jumps up and screams. I know he's come for me just as he always does. She looks upset. "I didn't come yet!" Ah, my girl! She learns so quickly. I laugh to myself, yes, she will learn. "Fuck," he hisses. "You're so fucking tight, Hil. So fucking tight." "I'll bet," I grin. He recovers quickly to watch her pleasure herself atop the bed. She's putting on a slow show with her fingers and her flowing pussy. I would partake of her, but the voyeuristic aspect seems the better options. She coos for us, she moans. She milks herself to a screaming orgasm that amounts in an actual fluid release. "Fuck," Joel stares at her through glassy eyes. "She's a squirter." "You did this to me," she giggles at him. She wants him. Again. Inside her. I don't have to hear the words to know. "You made me so fucking wet, Joel." He crawls over her and places soft kisses over her body. "So beautiful, Hilary. So beautiful. But I have to fuck Blue now." "You already fucked Blue," she pleads. She sounds needy. Her legs wrap around his waist and practically force him back inside her. She coos softly. "Joel, please. I need you again." "I need Blue," he argues, pulling away softly. "She can give me what I need." Hilary's expression drops. "So can I." "No," he instructs with a shake of his head. "Hil, you can't. I'll hurt you too bad." And now I know what he wants. He wants what even I don't want to give; what will hurt even me. It does hurt, it hurts immensely. I don't want to give what he is about require of me, and I suddenly feel like the awkward virgin. "Please?" she begs, raking her nails over the fresh wounds across his back. "Joel, please? I'll do anything you want. Just please, fuck me." He shakes his head slowly and gently removes himself from her grasp. They're both still covered in random patches of pale red blood. He has deflowered her, and she is now the woman she longed to be. I almost feel that, as a woman, she should give what he is about to ask of me. "Blue," he pleads softly, his eyes deep and filled with love. "Please?" "No," I whisper, afraid. "Please, Blue?" he questions and his eyes widen. He's kneeling beside me on the bedroom rug. A large, Asian inspired creation that keeps with the expensive theme. No doubt, they won't appreciate cum on their thousand dollar treasure. "Blue, only you," he begs. "Only you." "No, Joel. No." He drops his eyes and brings his hands up to caress my sides. Hilary is watching us closely, wondering what it is that she can't give him. He begs with his eyes. "Please, Blue? You know it brings me such pleasure." "I want to do it for you," Hilary pleads. "Please, Joel. Let me." He turns to her and smiles, but it's a sad, knowing smile. "I can't, Hilary. You're just a child." The words seem to hang in the air for an eternity. Her once adoring brown eyes have gone stone cold as she gawks at Joel as though he were a leper. She storms off somewhere with the sound of a slamming door. It's uncomfortably tense. Joel has lost his erection. He stares at me and frowns. "I didn't mean to break her heart." "You never mean to break hearts," I frown. "You just smile and do." He nods. "I do." I say nothing, mute once again. "Blue?" "Yes, Joel?" "Please?" I stare at him for a long time. I take in the laugh lines of his beautifully chiseled face. His mole. His chapped but gorgeously plush lips. His beautiful tattoos and the scars from his former piercings. These are the nuances about him that I love. That I will always love. But I have to break the cycle.