0 comments/ 6170 views/ 3 favorites The Break Up By: hotwell Things hadn't been going well between them, for quite a while actually. Yes they loved each other, but somehow that love had changed over the years of their turbulent, long distance relationship. The relationship was extremely passionate but scarred with misunderstandings and hurt feelings. The two of them were sharing the last day of a weekend together in Jan's new city. Having moved to the big apple recently, she had invited Walt to visit for the weekend, not unlike many other weekends from their past in Jan's previous city. As they lay on Jan's bed together, hardly talking, just looking into each other's eyes thoughts raced though their heads. How will this relationship work? Why can't we make any progress? Is this the last time we will be together? Walt's hand slowly caressed Jan's body. She felt his touch, reassuring and sensual, just like the first time he touched her, just like every time he touches her. His hand begins to rove her body, following every curve. He can feel her warmth on his finger tips. The fine hairs on the back of her arm stand on top of goose bumps as his tips pass over them. Walt loved Jan's body. She was the most sexual woman he had ever been with. Jan was not the super model type. Instead she was a heavier woman, rubenesque, some might describe in slang as a BBW. Jan carried herself well, with a funky flair. Ample 44 DD breasts exhibited cleavage that no one could miss. But was really got to Walt was Jan's big, stunning green eyes and heart shaped smile, which melted him every time he looked at her. A sharp wit, sometimes too sharp for Walt, and an awesome personality completed Jan's package. Walt had a unique appearance. Salt and pepper hair, brown eyes, and a smile that could kill. Coupling quiet demeanor with a lean athletic body and dark complexion he had a look of mystery that either drew women to him or sparked no interest whatsoever. Walt had no problem attracting women though, having turned down many opportunities during his time with Jan. In fact, his friends were amazed that he would be with someone like Jan when he could have the pick of many 'perfect' women. The warm afternoon light cast rays through the bedroom window and landed upon their bodies. As always, they lay on their sides, facing each other, faces only and inch apart when separating to whisper, otherwise kissing. Each had full lips, a quality they appreciated in each other. Walt's hand circled the small of Jan's back and then under her shirt. God, he loved touching her. He gently rolled Jan onto her stomach and straddled her from behind as he gave her a back and neck massage. Jan loved this. No one had ever touched her like Walt. The rubs always started out relaxing and soothing, easing out the stress of everyday life. And, they always ended with Jan being aroused -- this time being no different. Walt leaned forward, lying onto Jan. She loved his body weight on her. She could feel his warm breath next to her ear, and could feel herself starting to moisten. Walt mimicked her body position, his arms on top of hers, feeling the softness of her form. Gentle kisses on her neck and cheek. He loved her taste. Jan's lips drew up in to a smile of pleasure, parting with small gasps and whimpers. She could feel Walt's growing bulge pressing between her lower cheeks. She knew that she was wet now, probably seeping through her pants. Walt's light touch between her legs confirmed the dampness. He could feel Jan pressing into his fingers as he gently teased her from outside her clothing. Quickly, Jan shifted, lifting her body onto all fours and pushing Walt behind her. His fingers continued to stroke her drenched crotch. He knew this was the signal to pull off Jan's pants, which he did on cue, leaving her panties in place. He could see the darkness of her full bush behind the wet panties, and the overflow hair coming around the edges. Walt had always kept himself neatly, closely trimmed while Jan maintained an all natural appearance. Walt next helped Jan remove her shirt and she immediately returned to her submissive position. Walt stood and removed his shirt as Jan turned her head to look behind her and watch. She adored his ripped body, watching every muscle as it flexed with his movements. Next Walt dropped his jeans. He then moved back up onto the bed pressing his bulging crotch, still contained in his underwear, into the space between her legs. She could feel his warm presence and thrust herself into him. His hands gently clutched her hips and pulled her into him. Jan started to gasp and whisper "oh my god." Walt knew this was a sign that Jan was really turned on. Walt's hands moved over Jan's hips and across her soft hanging belly and grasped each of Jan's breasts. His fingers pinched her nipples through the fabric of her bra. She moaned with pleasure. She loved her nipples, as they were very sensitive and Walt knew exactly how to make her come just by touching them. He continued to gently tug on each nipple and then slipped his fingers under the material to feel the fleshiness of each fat nipple. He then pulled the material down over each breast so the nipples would be exposed. Walt kissed a trail down Jan's back as he started to lift up. Again his hands clutched her hips. Now he pulled down on Jan's panties over her buttocks and down to her knees, Jan lifted on leg to allow Walt to pull the panty over her foot. Walt could smell Jan's pungent pussy. Jan had always had a very strong scent and Walt thoroughly enjoyed the smell as it filled the air. He quickly pulled his underwear off and moved back behind her. This time it was flesh against flesh. Hot bodies, Jan's wetness literally dripping out of her. Walt's own precum was oozing out of his penis and he pressed his hard cock against Jan's wet folds. He reached around her waist and pulled his erection against her pussy and clit. Jan's moans were continuous now. He massaged his cock into her folds and clit. Jan reached up and clutched her breast as she gently bit down on her lower lip. She could feel his circumcised head pressing onto her swollen, large clit. She knew Walt's cock like the back of her hand. She could feel his entire shaft against her pussy. Walt's dick was coated with Jan's slippery juices. He pulled back and then guided the tip of his cock in between Jan's pussy lips. They parted so easily. He knew this drove Jan crazy and he could barely hang on himself whenever he did this. The moved in and out ever so slightly. Then in one sudden stroke plunged his entire cock into Jan's deep pussy. He could felt he familiar fire burning inside her. Withdrawing until just the tip was inserted he could see his glistening, veined cock. This time Jan pushed backward and took Walt's cock in one stroke, taking the entire cock up to the hilt. She loved his cock. Although he was only seven inches, he always felt so big to her. Jan was starting to lose control, beginning to rock her pussy on Walt's cock as he held firmly onto Jan's hips. The wet slapping sounds of their sex mixed in with Walt's grunts and Jan's begs of "fuck me." At this point, Jan's pussy was so slippery and loose that Walt could barely feel anything, but it is obviously that Jan could. They continued their piston action, driving harder each time. Walt is holding off cumming but he can see that Jan is about to by the arch in her back as she drives her breasts into her hands. She thrust into Walt at a spasmodic pace that he could not match and then with a final push back Jan let out a loud moan. Then gently her body starts to collapse onto the bed and Walt follows her keeping his cock inside her. He can feel her juices as gush out around his cock. Jan's clit is hypersensitive after cumming. Walt is always careful to not cause her pain. His favorite part is yet to come though. He can feel the coolness of their sweat as they rest for a few minutes, his cock still inside her, he lying on her back. Slowly he starts to move his cock. She knows this move. She knows she will cum again shortly. Walt props himself up on his arms and in a slow methodical manner lengthens each stroke. He can feel Jan shift to receive maximum pleasure from each movement. Walt looks down at his cock moving in and out of Jan's pussy. He admires the way his own body looks against Jan's. Chest and triceps well defined, with bulging veins as he supports himself. He can feel himself shift into primal instinct. Animal like, he starts to fuck Jan. She starts screaming "yes, yes, oh fuck me Walt." Hearing that drives him further into his aggressive motions. Jan reaches up behind her and touches Walt's pectoral muscle, finding his nipple. Walt's nipples are sensitive and Jan knows it. She pinches the nipple hard. Walt shouts "oh fuck, I'm going to cum. I'm going to fill your pussy." Jan is on the verge and has been holding off cumming so that she can cum with Walt. In the next second she can feel the uncontrolled familiar hard thrust as Walt shoots his cum inside Jan. He can feel his spurts as they coat the inside of her pussy. Likewise, Jan can feel Walt's spurts and responds as she clamps her pussy tight around his cock and the thrusting motion on her clit takes her into her second orgasm. This time, Walt collapses on top of Jan, his face against her cheek. He can feel her smile. His cock starts to shrink, slowly moving out of Jan. He rolls off onto his side. Exchanging those loving stares, Jan's eyes begin to fill with tears. She thinks to herself, "Why can't I make this relationship work?" Walt's eyes begin to tear up, knowing Jan's thoughts. He knows this relationship won't work. She knows it too. Why does making love to each other have to be so perfect? Jan says, "I love you, Walt." Walt says, "I love you too, Jan." They clutched each other tightly for the next several minutes, crying the tears that needed to be let out. They whispered to each other. "I'll miss you." Walt dressed himself, walked to the subway, and took the train to the airport, his heart breaking every step of the way. Jan cried herself to sleep. The Break Up "Mike! Mike! I don't want to hear it! I came down to hang out with you and you left me. You left me! If you didn't want to hang out with me you shouldn't have told me to come here! I don't want to bother you. So I won't. We're through!" I couldn't help but here this argument and be a little curious about the young woman who was doing the yelling. I turned around and saw her, eyes filled with tears, cell phone in her hand and pretty damn cute. "Are you okay?" I asked her, really just trying to be polite. She told me that she was okay but kind of unloaded half her story on me. She had come down to the Mardi Gras celebration on South Street to meet her boyfriend but he ditched her to hang out with his friends, leaving her virtually abandoned. Now she was alone, trying to walk back to the train station to get back home. I told her that I was walking the same way and offered to walk with her. She told me that I didn't have to but I said it would be my pleasure. Besides, I told her, I can't stand to see someone unhappy on Mardi Gras. We walked and talked and she got cuter the more I hung out with her. She had stopped crying and I had even made her laugh a little bit. I could tell that she was feeling pretty low so I tried to build her confidence. I told her that she shouldn't get to worked up over her boyfriend. He sounds like an asshole and she'll have no problem replacing him. She cheered up at that, and asked "Really?" "Of course," I told her. "Hell, if I had met you in any other situation, I'd be hitting on you instead of looking after you." She really seemed to liked hearing this. I could tell that she was starting to feel better about herself, but she was trying to play shy. "Why would you hit on me?" she asked, fishing for more compliments. I only approached her to be friendly, but the situation was drastically changed now. She was flirting with me, I could tell. Plus, we were both a little drunk and it was mardi Gras after all. "I shouldn't say," I replied to her question. "I don't think its too polite." Now she smiled a sexy little smile and there was no sign of the girl who was crying just a few minutes ago. "Oh now you have to tell me! You've got my curiosity peaked!." "Well," I began, "I like asses and you've got a great one. "That's why I'd hit on you." I know this was a risky move but I thought either she'd lock up and tell me I'm rude or she'd be into it. What did I have to lose? I instantly knew I made the right move. She lifted her sweater a little bit and showed off her ass to me. It was so round and thick in those tight blue jeans I loved looking at it. She tried playing is shy and acted as if she was showing off her ass because she couldn't believe that I was attracted to it but I know that she knew she had a sexy ass. So I took another chance and called her bluff, pushing our conversation a little further by telling her that I knew that she knew she had a great ass. "Tell the truth, you know your ass is hot. You probably fuck doggystyle all the time." I pushed the line a little bit. Her body language told me so. I had to retreat and fast. So I quickly uttered out "Oh, sorry for the language. You probably have sex doggystyle all the time." That wasn't much of a retreat but apparently it was enough for her. "I do," she said, "but...." "Don't tell me, you never finish that way. Right?" "How'd you know?" "Because few women can. Its normal. The guy just needs to be smart about it." "Oh, and let me guess, you're smart about it?" "Honestly, yes I am. I'm not trying to brag, but I know how to treat a woman." I couldn't believe how dirty this conversation was getting. I couldn't believe myself or her. It was surreal. But as easily as the conversation was flowing, it suddenly halted and I realized that her boyfriend didn't know how to treat her. I decided to push a little more. "Oh no. He doesn't give you orgasms does he?" I asked her, sort of mocking him and sympathizing with her. She didn't answer. "Oh my god, he doesn't! Does he? How long has it been?" She laughed a sexy little laugh and told me that its only been two days since she's had one, but that doesn't mean that he gave it to her. "And who was the hard worker who gave you the orgasm?" I asked, expected her to admit that she cheated. But instead she took the credit and told me that she was the hard worker. Oh I loved this conversation! "So, you're not too shy to take matters in to your own hands?" "Hell no!" she replied. "A girls got to do what a girl's got to do!" "If you're not too shy to take care of yourself then you can definitely come from doggystyle, you just have to do a little work yourself." She looked at me a little confused, like she never thought of this before. So I continued. "The next time your having sex doggystyle, play with yourself. You'll cum. You'll see." She blushed now. But it wasn't a shy blush. She was thinking about it and getting turned on. Desperate to change the topic before she completely lost control, she turned the focus back to me and teased me for being very bold. I apologized, but told her that it wasn't really my fault. I'm walking down the street on Mardis Gras night with a sexy stranger, how can I not think of sex? She corrected me and told me that I could be thinking of other things, like if maybe this stranger could become my girlfriend. She wasn't really mad though, I could tell. So I played with her a little bit. I explained that I'm honest, to a fault. I spoke to her because she was upset but because she was cute. I enjoyed when I was walking behind her because I got to watch her ass wiggle. And I'd like to have sex with her. I told her all this and said that she can't blame me for being honest. It would be dishonest, I explained, to have some daydream about becoming boyfriend and girlfriend with a woman I just met and knew so little about. That's how I dated, I explained. I become physically attracted to a woman. I enjoy a physical relationship with that woman and if an emotional relationship evolved, I enjoy that too. If it doesn't, we just part ways when we realize we're not going anywhere. I decided to turn it back to her again. I asked if she was really thinking about picnics in the park and renting videos together on a Saturday night with me. Or, I went on, was there something else she was thinking about..... I loved being so bad with this girl. She was so cute and sexy I just couldn't help myself. "Well, since we're being honest, I haven't been thinking about nice romantic things throughout our conversation." I laughed. With fake surprise in my voice I told her that I was stunned and asked her to elaborate. "Well, when you were talking about my ass I was wishing you'd reach out and touch it. You know, palm it while I walked." I quickly palmed her ass as we walked and asked "Like this?" in a nice deep voice. She sort of moaned a "yes" and continued talking. "A few blocks ago we passed a dark alley and I thought about making out with you back there. I thought about how nice it would be. A little dirty, very naughty, but very nice." This was turning into a great night. As fate would have it, we were about three blocks from my apartment and decided to invite her in. "Alleys can be a little dirty, and besides, the bricks might be a little cold against your bare ass once I get your jeans and panties down to your knees." She interrupted me with the laugh like that would never happen but I continued. "I only live a few blocks from here, why don't we stop by my place. I can turn up the heat so that no part of you will be cold ocne I get you naked." This was it, my big move. She decided to flirt a little back rather then answer my question. "What makes you think I'd go back to your apartment and get naked? We just met and I don't even know your name!" "That's what makes it so sexy. You don't know my name. I don't know yours. All I know is that you look sexy as hell and want to cum tonight. You need to cum tonight and not by yourself when you get home. You need to get naked and feel someone rubbing you up and down, massaging you, relaxing you, going down on you. You need that release followed by the sweet sensation of giving your body to someone else to use. I can tell. You'd be lying if you denied it" She stopped walking. We were at a dark spot on the street and she faced me. If you drove by, you'd just think we were talking or maybe about to kiss, nothing too serious. But her hand was on my dick, feeling my excitement through my jeans. "So what if all those things are true. Its not like you're not just as horny as I am. And if I need to feel someone going down on my then maybe you need to feel someone going down on you? And I don't mean someone who's to immature to get into but, but a woman who loves sucking dick. Maybe you need that?" I looked down, into her bright mischevious green eyes as she stroked me through my jeans out on the street. I asked if she might be that woman and she said that she is that woman. So we walked, quickly, until we got to my place. Once inside, I turned up the heat and gave her a seat on the couch while I got us two beers. When I returned, I found her almost completely naked and still undressing. Her body looked amazing and I feasted my eyes on it. She loved the attention and wiggled and shook a little bit before walking towards me. "For tonight, you can call me Amber. That's not my name but that's what you can call me. And I'm going to call you Brad. So put those beers down, Brad and kiss me." I've had a lot of drunk hookups and one night stands, as much as anyone I suppose. But never had I had a girl like Amber. The combination of Mardi Gras debauchery, break up vengeance and uninhibited sexual desire made her the best partner I think I've ever had. It didn't take either of us long to cum but it took us both a while to get tired. In fact, I think we both enjoyed two orgasms and were on our way to our third when we were just too drunk and tired to keep it up. Amber was great. She was so confident and eager and aggressive. She even called her boyfriend while I was going down on her and just let him hear her moan then hung up. The following morning, I woke up with a serious hang over, alone in my apartment. I had approached Amber because I wanted to be helpful. I had flirted with her because I wanted to fuck her. But now I wanted to talk to her because I missed her and wanted to see if an emotional relationship could grow between us. But it wasn't meant to be. Its ironic, but that's life sometimes. If you read this, Amber, you were fantastic. The Break Up Here's a short and fast one (under 3000 words) about trying to break up with Alicia until she wears a facial in public and changes my mind. I hope you enjoy! At nineteen, Shannon Marie Mitchell ruined me. I didn't know it at the time, but she fucked me up for years. It was the finals week, two days before we left the university for different sides of the state and the second to last time we would be together. It was a good blowjob. Shannon didn't mind sucking dick, but hated to swallow. Like always, she sucked me right to the edge of an orgasm, pulled away, and started stroking me. When I came, I sprayed on her face. She laughed, something she did a lot, before leaning back on her heels so I could see my cumshot rolling down her cheeks and chin. "How do I look?" "Like a porn star," I had told her. Getting up, she went into the bathroom my room shared with another room and looked at herself in the mirror. "I do look like a porn star!" she giggled. "Maybe I should just stay this way?" That's when her cell phone rang. Darting across my room, she answered it and had a quick conversation with my cum dripping off her face. I don't know why, but that was the moment that ruined me. It never happened again and it took me years to realize what she had done to me. College was more years ago now than I care to admit. After several moves because of work, I was successful, but frustrated. Karen's a good example. Nice woman. The kind of woman you take home to meet the parents and she was still hot enough to turn heads at a business party. She seemed to like me, but she was uptight in the bedroom. She wouldn't kiss after I went down on her, so that sucked. She wouldn't kiss after going on me, either. And seriously, ninety percent of the time, that would have been fine. We had a lot going on between us outside the bedroom, but her limits got to me. Six months into an otherwise fine relationship, I broke it off. Sorry. I was bored. Back to dating. Over the years, I kept repeating the same process. I'd find a woman, we'd date for a few months, and then I'd get restless. It wasn't their fault. As the list of names behind me grew, I knew it was me, but what the fuck was my problem? I was turning into a serial monogamist. Renee lasted six months before I moved. Brandy lasted four months before I realized she was a psycho-bitch (at least that one wasn't on me). Darla was a three week fling. Terri wanted a ring and I wasn't interested in giving her one. I liked Margo, a lot, but she was a germ-o-phobe who insisted on showering before sex and the second we were done. That just got annoying. Yeah, there was more behind all those names, but when I'm sitting at home jerking off, it gets to be about the sex. I really wanted things to work with Alicia. I liked her, a lot. But four months into dating her, I could feel those same old frustrations creeping in and that wasn't fair to her. Meeting her for a late lunch at an outdoor cafe downtown, I decided it was time to come clean. She ordered a Long Island Iced Tea. I ordered a regular iced tea. Quick on the uptake, she called me out before we had a chance to order our food. "This just sucks," Alicia said, folding her menu and setting it aside. We had ordered drinks and nothing more. "What does?" I asked, not realizing she had figured things out. "You're going to break up with me, aren't you?" "Fuck," I said, frustrated that a drink order could tip her off. Oh well, it was out there, might as well run with it. "I'm sorry." "Can I ask why?" Alicia said, her blue eyes burrowing into my brown ones. She didn't look pissed or sad, just determined to get a straight answer. "It's not you, it's me." "And we can still be friends, right?" She smiled as she said it. It wasn't a happy smile. The waitress dropped off our drinks and slipped away without taking our order. I felt bad, for her and me. I guess I was being a jerk, but I wasn't sure how. I could have written her an email, sent a text, or done it by phone. I could have tapered things off, I guess, becoming too busy to go out a few times in a row until she got the message. Instead, three days after our last fuck, here I was, doing it face-to-face and trying to own up to being me. "It really is me," I repeated. "You married? Going to jail? Met someone else?" I shook my head. "No." "Then how do I know it's you?" "Because there's no reason for it to be you," I said, touching the back of her hand to soften the blow. She didn't grab my hand, but she didn't move hers away, either. Smiling, I apologized and explained, "Almost said we can still be friends." "Is that what you want? Do you want to be fuck-buddies and nothing else?" I bit back asking if that possible. "I don't know what I want." "You just know it's not me," she said, pulled her hand from beneath mine and taking a sip of her drink. "Good enough for me. I'm going to sit here and finish my drink before I head home. You okay with that?" "Yeah, sure," I mumbled. "Okay if I pay for it?" "Since I didn't bring my purse, that would be good." I flagged down the waitress and asked for the check. She took my card and went back inside. "Ask a question?" Alicia nodded. "What if I didn't offer to pay?" It was a bullshit question, but I was curious. "You see that guy over there?" she grinned, nodding at a table slightly behind us and to the left. "He hasn't taken his eyes off me since we showed up. I bet he would have bought my drink." When I glanced over my shoulder, the guy quickly to an interest in his cell phone. "At least he has good taste." It wasn't a kindness, I meant it. Alicia was cute. Blue eyes and straight blonde hair that hung like a curtain to her shoulders. I liked how her hair was a darker blonde, more yellow than white. She had a pretty smile, though it was perfect. Her eye teeth stuck out too far and she liked red wine and coffee too much for her teeth to have that fake bleached white look that was so popular. She was naturally slender, which meant she was on the flat chested side. It didn't bother me, I'm more an eyes, face, and ass man. Pretty eyes, a cute face, and a killer ass was the right combination for me. "Just not good enough for you, right?" "No, that's not true. I think you're hot." "Ah, so it's a sex thing then?" she asked, taking another sip of her drink. "Wow, this is getting weird." "Sorry, just wondering, okay? I thought we were doing good, so it sort of sucks. Is that it? Not enough blow jobs?" "Stop it," I laughed. The waitress returned with my card and the check for me to sign. I signed the check, but sat still. Was I making a mistake? "Do you believe me when I say I like you?" "Before today I did." "I still do." "You've got a funny way of showing it." "You're right. I'm being an idiot. I'm sorry." What else could I say? Alicia was fun, but not fun enough. How the hell do you say that to someone? You don't. You just say it's you and you walk away. Putting my card away, I stood. "I'm going to fuck him." "Who? That guy?" "Why not? I was planning on fucking you tonight, but I guess he'll do." "He might be kinky." "As long as it's not anal, maybe I'm kinky, too. Did you forget how we met?" I hadn't forgotten. It was from an internet dating site. Not one of the tame ones you see advertised on TV and not one of those sites, but it did have a bit of an edge to it. Still, Alicia had my attention. I hesitated. "I thought you were leaving." "Do you want me to?" "I want you to be straight with me, that's all. If you want something, ask for it. Who knows? Maybe I'll do it. But if you're too lost to even know what you want, then I can't help you." I don't know what it was about the way she was staring at me, but it got to me. Her stare wasn't any different than before. She didn't look sad or mad. Maybe it was how her jaw was set, as if she was daring me to say something else. "Aw, never mind." Alicia turned back to her drink. I sat back down. Sure, it was on the edge of the chair. I didn't think I was staying, but I was curious. "Why does it matter?" She shrugged. "I'm just tired of a dating, you know?" Her words hit home with me. "Yeah, I get that." "So stop being a pussy and put something out there. Shock me. See what happens." "Fine. You like that guy over there? Go suck him off and come back with his jizz on your chin." She looked at the guy sitting by himself for a moment. She smiled at him before turning back to me. "How do I know you're not going to leave while I'm doing it?" "You don't. I might, but what difference does it make? You already said you were going to take him home, I'm just moving the clock ahead." Alicia sucked her drink dry. "Order me another one of these before you leave, okay?" Standing up, she walked over to the guy who couldn't stop staring at her. Picking up a knife, I used it like a mirror. I saw her sitting across from him, talking. It took a minute or two, before the guy stood up and walked inside the restaurant. Alicia detoured past the table before she followed him. "Be right back." As I sat at the table on the sidewalk, I wondered what I was doing. I watched a few people walking past. The waitress asked if there was something more I needed. I kept the menus, reopened our tab, ordered Alicia another drink, and decided a Long Island Iced Tea was a better choice for me, too. I was halfway way through my drink before I saw the staring man leaving the restaurant. He looked in a hurry. He shot me a grin on his way past me. "Thanks for the drink," Alicia said, touching my shoulder before she sat back across from me as if nothing was happening. She picked up her drink and drank from the long straw while I stared. There was a wet smear across her nose, her left cheek, and several more on her chin. I could see where the white, clearish liquid as run down her neck, too. What's more, anyone who walked by the outdoor cafe could see it, too. She leaned across the table. "He was really small, so good call." I wanted to say something, but what? Reaching beneath the table, I had to adjust my hard cock. Alicia fanned her face. "It sort of tickles." "Nice," some guy walking past said, noticing her. After sipping her drink again, she leaned back. "Well?" "I'm hard as hell," I admitted. "Stand up. Let me see." I glanced both ways, wondering who else I was going to show before I stood. Her eyes were on my crotch. She smiled. I sat back down. "I thought you were leaving." I panicked. "Are you kidding?" "So, you like this look?" "Hell yeah I do." "Interesting," she said as our waitress came back. "Oh my God!" the poor woman said when she looked at Alicia. The waitress looked around at the other diners. "Ma'am, you can't just sit there like that." "Like how?" Alicia asked. "With stuff on your face." "What stuff?" "I think we both know what stuff," the waitress said, standing stiffly. She looked to me for help, still wearing a incredulous look on her face. "She can't just sit there like that." "Don't look at me, it's not mine." "That's gross!" "Well, it was his idea," Alicia corrected, smiling. Scooping a bit off her chin, she poked her finger in her mouth. The waitress, a sweet looking college girl, opened her eyes still wider. Her mouth matched the perfect O shape of her eyes before she spun and rushed inside. "Drink up, she probably going for the manager," Alicia laughed. "If I could leave a twenty behind, I'd say we could just leave. But I'd hate to stiff her, too." Alicia fished inside her pocket, pulled out a fifty and tossed it on the table. "I thought you didn't have any money." "You don't I blew that guy for nothing, do you?" she asked, grabbing my hand as we laughed and left the restaurant with other diners staring at Alicia's face. "You're kidding me, right?" "No. I told him you forgot your wallet and I didn't bring mine." I roared with laughter as we turned the corner and slowed to a walk. We passed a couple walking hand-in-hand in our direction. They gave Alicia's face curious glances until they were close enough to see the pattern splattered there. "No shit," the guy said. "Perverts," the woman added as they walked by. Our cars were parked around another corner, behind the restaurant. Parking was free on Saturdays. I saw Alicia had parked next to mine. We stood between our cars. "I might have a napkin or something in my car," I offered. "Fuck you," she said, grabbing my face in her hands and laying a kiss on my lips. As we kissed, one of her hands slipped between us and grabbed at my hard cock. She rubbed it as we kissed a moment longer. "Do you have any idea how excited I am right now?" Looking at her face, my eyes were on the not yet dry jizz. That's when I licked her chin. She gave me a surprised look. "Tell me you're not gay." "Does this feel gay?" I asked, pressing against her and kissing her again. My hands clutched at her ass and when that wasn't enough, I tugged at the front of her jeans until they were open far enough for me shove my hand inside. I cupped her pussy, feeling how wet she was. That's when she started the working the front of my pants, too. She fished her hand inside my underwear, pulling on my hard cock. "I want this," she purred. "Fine," I said, pulling and pushing her until she was pressed up against my car. I jerked her pants down, pressed up against her, and fished my cock between her legs and inside her wet pussy. Alicia moaned, rested her arms on the roof of my car and pushed backwards. Pressed against the side of my car meant she could see the light Saturday afternoon traffic as it moved by. She could see the few people walking down the street, past our parking lot. Turning her head, we managed to kiss over her shoulder. I didn't last long. I couldn't. I was too excited. Feeling her pussy clenching at my cock in a rhythm that meant only thing , her orgasm; I came, too. Pressed against the side and roof of my car, we watched as another car cruised slowly by, looking for a space. "Now I'm really wet," Alicia sighed. "I can fix that, too," I offered, dropping to my knees and pressing my face against her pussy. I licked her and me while she stayed sandwiched between me and my car. "Fuck, you're nasty," she moaned. I moaned back, but that's all I did. My mouth was too busy. "Hey, get a room!" a gruff man said as he and his woman passed us. "I think he's calling the police," Alicia cautioned. That was enough to turn the moment sour. I stood and we kissed while we pulled our clothes back into place. "You taste like pussy and cum." "Problem with that?" "Only if you're still breaking up with me." There was still jizz on her face, drying and beginning to flake. "What if I'm just getting started?" "Yeah, what if?" Alicia asked and she kissed me again. If you liked the story, please be generous with your rating so others might find it, too. If you're anonymous, you can still vote! The Break-Up ©Nora Quick 2013 If you are reading this on any site other than noraquick.com, noraquick.yolasite.com, or literotica.com it has been reproduced without permission and is in violation of copyright. Please contact noramquick@gmail.com right away. * I think I fell in love with John the first time I heard him. I'd walked into the Green Mill like so many others, tired after a long day of work. I'd wanted good music, good drinks, and the atmosphere of the old jazz club in Chicago's Uptown. It was a daily ritual after work, have two stiff drinks then go for dinner with friends or go home or to the gym. But always first a relaxing drink to ease me out of the stiff world of business. I'd walked in from the late spring rain soaked, my dress plastered to me, and could only smile as the pianist was playing a jazzy arrangement of Al Stewart's "Year of the Cat." I'd entered just at the line about the woman's dress running like a water color in the rain. The bar was half filled at the early hour, the lights low. The messy stage, always ready to change to suit the act of the night was filled with the stage presence of the pianist. His only backup was a drummer but the pianist owned the stage, his voice haunting as he sang the sad tune. I took a seat at the bar where I usually sat and didn't even have to tell Steve the bartender what I wanted. He knew my drive from Northbrook into the city was a long one and my first order never changed. He brought my straight whiskey as I smoothed my long wet hair back and tried to ignore my reflection in the mirror behind the bar, lit softly with greenish light. Thanking him, I turned to the pianist. He had the kind of voice that reached inside you and touched your soul, a beautiful tenor. His hands danced over the keys lightly, fascinating me. I'd always had a thing for men's hands. Don't get me wrong, the penis is a wonder of nature that I love dearly, but a man's hands could raise such delicious sensations that I often found myself on the train staring at strangers' hands and wondering what they might feel like on my body. His were long fingered and dexterous, and I felt my body heat just watching him play. It was an odd selection to hear at the club, but one of my favorite songs and I had to admit he did it justice. He played the piano like I'd never seen, like his hands were caressing the keys, cajoling the notes from them rather than commanding. Unlike I usually did I ended up staying through his set, longer than my usual two drinks. For the first time in my life I turned off my phone and blew off my best friend Beth and her boyfriend Jaques who were expecting me at dinner. I let myself sway on the stool to the music and joined in the applause when the pianist left the stage. I introduced myself and bought him a drink and we talked. We got dinner from the taco shop next door. He was funny and sweet. When he spoke those hands, long, tapers, masculine, moved as he spoke about everything with a passion that was foreign in my world. John was thoroughly average in looks. A few inches under six feet he was lean with the kind of body that had probably never been inside the gym nor a buffet. His coloring told me he was a mutt and his smile was crooked but endearing. His shaggy dark hair needed a cut but suited him. His eyes were dark and his face pleasing but basic. The only things about him that were spectacular were those hands and his voice. Even when speaking it was melodic and rich, a voice you could feel. Three years later I loved him no less but things had changed. It had been an easy relationship. He was sweet, romantic, moody, all the things a musician should be. He was also forgetful, unreliable, and often scatterbrained. My mother had been a musician and I knew to expect this, but it didn't make it easy. She'd given it up when I was little and molded into the perfect north shore hausfrau and no longer showed much emption of any kind. I'm sure I wasn't the best girlfriend. He often seemed embarrassed to explain to his friends I was an insurance claims adjustor for Allstate. Oh, he enjoyed my salary and the nice uptown loft it got us, the grand piano it paid for that sat in the middle of the loft like a stage of its own. He enjoyed his clothes, the food, all of it, but he was deeply embarrassed that it was all mine. However I thought in black and white, numbers and math. He thought in dreams and tasted the world in colors. The differences between us had first seemed exciting but they began to drag as time went on. Still, the sex had always been perfect and I supposed that's why we lingered longer than we should have. The sex was in fact the best in my life, if it was a bit more slow and gentle than I was used to. What finally made me wake up and realize it couldn't go on was his music. John was a gifted pianist and singer, but as a songwriter he was a train wreck. He'd never go anywhere in his career like that and most of the time I suspected he'd be homeless if not for me. I didn't mind carrying him, but like most people if I was going to care for him and pay all the bills I wanted it on my terms, and anyone who's ever tried to saddle an artist knows how impossible that is. I'd asked him to stick to the jazzy arrangements of folk tunes he was so good at but he wanted to play and sing his own compositions which were at best mediocre and often kept him from repeat performances at the same club. He'd rail and rage when dropped from a club and ask rhetorically why, and I could never bring myself to bluntly tell him composition wasn't in his blood. So he never seemed to grow as an artist and it often felt like he was running in place. Again, I was no better. Like most people I was aging and wanted kids, stability, a mortgage and car payments and day care fees. I spent a lot of the time at the gym trying to help my German genes triumph over the Italian which threatened to turn my love of pasta into a large ass. John had spent some of his college scholarship money on a vasectomy and still had nightmares of a bad childhood. My friends played racquetball and golfed, his friends did body shots and partied until five a.m. on a Tuesday. I jogged two miles a day and John barely moved from the piano bench and had to be reminded to eat. My parents threw garden parties on the north shore where I'd grown up in privilege and his father was in jail, his mother in rehab, again. My brothers were partners in dad's law firm, his sister was a whore back in Detroit. We were just night and day. But every night it didn't seem to matter. He'd play the piano after dinner and if he liked what I'd cooked he'd take requests. I'd sit in the chair listening until the throb deep inside was too much, then I'd take him by the hand and lead him to the bed up the ladder. Those marvelous hands were always so gentle and attentive and for the first time in my life every time felt like making love. For that alone I treasured the past three years. But then things changed, and it was like waking from a dream. Somehow he'd been recruited by students at Columbia to cut an album in their studio. The recording students did this in teams, competing for the best album before graduation. Quite a few artists who'd participated had gone on to some measure of success. It was a June night, the air promising rain, when his album had won. I had to admit it stunned me. I felt like an asshole for not having faith in him, but in all fairness he thought my job and family money made me "the man" and I was frankly sick of hearing how much he hated my money, even though it paid for the clothes on his back and the roof over our head. He was right, I knew deep down inside. My family was stiff, formal. We didn't laugh, we didn't have passion. Sometimes I wondered how my very Germanic father had bled the natural passion of my Italian-American mother, but he had. We Walbergs lived for math and reason. Still, it was those abilities that told me John was setting himself up for major heartbreak and failure with his album. We returned from the small party to celebrate his win dressed well. He was in a suit and had looked itchy all night. As love does, he'd become quite handsome to me, but I had to admit in the suit other women seemed to notice it well. His confidence on stage had grown and it was spilling over into his daily life. The second we were through the door he pulled off his coat and tie, kicked off his shoes and rolled his sleeves up, unbuttoning three buttons at the collar. His hair was even longer, to his shoulders now, and it made him look so much younger. His crooked smile was endearing and his eyes sparkled with excitement and victory. I was twenty -nine and he was just twenty-six, but right then he stood on the threshold of great things while I felt it was time to make the closing deals on my life. "Why don't I grab some champagne?" "That sounds great, hon." He kissed me and went straight to his piano, vibrating with excitement. I winced as he began to play one of his original songs which sounded like a butchered Neil Sedaka tune and would have suited a higher tenor better. Kicking off my high heels Irolled my neck as I grabbed two glasses and found the bottle I wanted. John didn't care about labels but I'd been born into a world where only the best mattered. It saddened me to know he'd chug five hundred dollar champagne, but it was just who he was. I popped it and poured, then brought it out. I placed the champagne on the placemat he'd put on top of the piano before I curled into the chair to listen. Surprisingly the bare brick walls and old plank floor worked for acoustics, but again I wished for a better song. He ended and turned to me, grabbing his glass. Smiling, I raised my glass to him. "Here's to new beginnings and success." He raised his and smiled that crooked smile. We each took a sip- well, I took a sip and he drained his glass. Sighing, I set mine down on the small side table. "Would you play something for me?" "What?" "Year of the Cat." He smiled. It was a song he'd always gladly play. He knew well and good the only foolish thing I'd ever done in my life was fall instantly in love with a man because he played that tune well. Every other moment of my life had been planned, scheduled, and calculated until the night I met him. As always, it was beautiful. He seemed to sense my mood was off, so he didn't play his jazzy version but the original. My heart winced as his beautiful voice sang out the words. His voice alone could seduce any woman, and the way he held himself as he played told the world he was a commanding lover. The fact that he was always gentle was a pleasant surprise. That discovery had dazzled me on our third date. At one time in my life I'd yearned to be free and wild, but it wasn't to be. That was for the artists of the world. For one mad week in college I'd considered deviating from the path until my father threatened to cut off my funding. Dreams of world travel, glamour, and intrigue had been crushed asunder by the weight of practicality. However, I could see John in some foreign corner of the world at a piano, playing his tunes to smiling young women easily dazzled. It was the life he was meant to live and I was just holding him back. Still, for a moment in time nothing mattered but his melodic voice, those sensual fingers dancing across the keys. By the end of the song I was shivering, eyes closed, drinking in the music. When John played, he owned me body and soul, and I doubted he even knew it. "Julie?" I opened my eyes and he was there, kneeling beside the chair. Without thought I reached out and grabbed him firmly by the shirt, pulling him to me for a kiss. I loved how he always let me take the lead without complaint. That night I was in no mood for gentle. Kissing him I tasted champagne and that sweet almost honeyed taste that was John. I gripped his shirt and in my hands and pulled, happy when the buttons popped off and his shirt was ripped open. "Julie?" he asked against my lips. I bit his lower lip and felt the tremor in him, pushing my own arousal higher. He pulled back from me, dark eyes questioning. "I thought you preferred it slow...gentle." "I don't want to talk tonight, John. I just want to fuck you." Yeah, that was what I needed. A soulless fuck, emotional distance between us while I worked up the courage to do what I needed to do. He smiled in a way I'd never see in all our three years. "All right." He pulled me to my feet and holding my hand nearly dragged me to the small ladder to our lofted bed. He pushed me up it, groping my ass in a flagrant way that felt foreign, dark, exciting. Scrambling up behind me as soon as John crested the ladder he grabbed me and hauled me back against him, my back to his front. "I hate this dress," he said with amusement. To my shock he managed the shred the seams on the side and my very expensive, very nice Armani LBD was ruined as he tugged it and let it fall to the ground. "Like the underwear, though," he said, and turned us towards the oval dressing mirror in the corner. His hair mussed, shirt open, he stood fully clothed behind me. In our stockinged feet he was an inch taller but I was so used to being in heels and taller it felt strange. He looked different, like a stranger behind me. There was a confidence in him that was new, making him look almost predatory. I looked my usual self, lots of pale olive skin showing around my black bra and panties, my own dark hair pulled up and held in place with a silver clip. He lowered the cups of my bra and roughly palmed my breasts. "Was this what you wanted?" He said harshly in my ear. "No talking," I growled and turned, pushing him to the bed. Before he could collect himself I straddled him and pinned his body, claiming his lips. If he kept talking in that voice, let those hands dance over my body as gently as he was with the piano, I would lose my courage. So I silenced his mouth with my own and stroked my hands over his body. He was lean, lean enough you could see the lines of his scant muscles. I'd often thought with a little work he could be gorgeous, but for the moment a part of me did want to remember him just as John was. He was an unfinished masterpiece, and soon he'd be completed, framed, and hung in someone else's gallery. I got to his pants and had to shift down to undo his belt, sliding along his erection. He felt harder than usual and a tremor of responding excitement coursed through me. I undid his pants as I kissed his chest, moving down I slid his pants with me. He never wore underwear, something that had always seemed odd to me, but now I had to admit was quite handy. I pushed his pants just free of his cock and paused to admire him. His cock was hard and pulsing slightly with his heartbeat. He was average, on the larger side, but it had always felt just right. His voice, his hands, and his cock seemed like magic to me. I wrapped my hands around his erection savoring the feel, like silk over steel. His hands slid to tangle in my hair, pulling, and I nipped at him, growling. He just laughed and it struck me how odd this was. In three years never once had there been laughter in bed. Passion, intensity, respect, and caring, but never laughter. Confused I ducked my head and took his cock into my mouth, just the tip. Licking I was desperate to hear that wondrous voice turn to low murmurs and moans. He was always vocal in bed, something rare and special I adored. John was already wet and I licked the fluid from him, slowly tracing my tongue around the head seeking out his favorite spot. When I found it I sucked hard and he arched his hips, thrusting up, trying to fuck my mouth. Growling I took as much as I could and like never before I worked his cock. I needed time and space to get my head right, and driving him crazy allowed me that. However, one thing John was always and forever was passionate. It surprised me when he moved his hands to my shoulders, hunched up, and rolled me with his legs. "I don't know what's gotten into you, Julie, but I like it." "You're talking," I grumbled. "Well then, better keep my mouth occupied." He latched onto one of my bared nipples and it was nothing like he'd ever been before. I felt teeth and the spice of pain made the suckling so much hotter. He lay between my legs and my hips moved, grinding against him, seeking relief. He'd been cupping my breasts but now reached one hand between us, lifting a hip to slide it between our bodies. Jerking my panties aside those long, tapered fingers slid in, two of them. John was rough, thrusting his hand, his slight weight pressing me down as he sucked hard one on nipple and rolled the other in a continuous pinch. He'd never been so rough, I hadn't felt anything like this since my days of dating half-drunk frat boys. But with John there was caring, and I knew he was doing this for my pleasure, not just his own. This was so unlike any other time with anyone, and it felt forbidden, dark, and beautiful at the same time. Despite my plans I loved him deeply, and on that odd thought I came wailing. Still his fingers pumped relentlessly, the slick sounds of my cum ringing out over my moans. I gripped his shoulders, digging in my nails, thrusting so hard I lifted us both from the bed. On and on it went as if he was pushing me, even though his mouth and other hand gentled on my nipples, flicking, driving me higher until I was wrung out. "Fuck me, John," I said with a growl as the shivers began to slow. Without a word he pulled back and turned me over, raising me to my hands and knees. My heart was thumping. We so rarely used this position, he was always a face-to-face kind of guy. Without pre-emption he thrust in, deep. Still wearing his shirt and pants I felt the buckle on his belt press into my skin, but quickly it was gone as he began to thrust. This way I felt him so deep, thrilling me. John felt so hard, and when he gripped my hips and jerked me back in time to his thrusts I felt light headed, nearly swooning with dark pleasure. "Yess," I hissed out, fists balled in the comforter. Ever the gentleman, John slid one of those incredible hands around and buried his fingers against my pussy. His fingertips rubbed back and forth in syncopation pulling at the skin around my clit, and though he thrust his cock fast he began a soulful swivel in his hips I'd never felt before form any lover. I came again, like a freight train, nearly screaming with the release as I shook. All through it he thrust, mesmerizing me, his own panting moans spurring me on. When at last my body was weak all he did was slide me forward onto my stomach. Never before had he taken the lead but in that moment it felt right. He pulled back his hand to position himself, laying across me, still buried. At this angle he felt so deep it was as if he'd come to the end of me. John braced one hand on the low headboard and pulled back. As he slid in I moaned, defeated, undone. At that point, had he known my plans, if he forced me to promise to stay ten years I would readily agree so long as he didn't stop. This was a slow slide, not a hot, fast, heady ride, but as soon as he was almost all the way in that swivel would happen again. He touched every hot, feverish part of me deep inside. I was filled completely, pressed down to the bed unable to move, but even if I could have there was no way I would do anything to escape this pleasure. "Please, John, please!" "What, Julie? What do you want?" "Your hand again, please!" He laughed, but I felt it slide between me and the mattress. The second he touched me I came again, and just as the orgasm hit me he began to thrust like a beast, making animalistic sounds as he fucked me like he never had before. When he came he nearly howled with it, his beautiful voice ringing out as I felt his hot cum fill me deep inside where I was already pleasantly sore. The Break-Up John surfaced from his bestial quaking and placed a gentle kiss on the back of my neck before he withdrew and flopped next to me. Before I could move he turned me and drove me into the crook of his shoulder. "Wow. I never knew it could be like that with you. Now that I do, things are going to change." He kissed my temple. I pushed the sweat-soaked tendrils of hair from my eyes and sat up slightly to meet his dark gaze. "What do you mean?" "It could be like this every time. I love that you're not shy, Julie, that you ask for what you want and lead, but I like this. It feels right to take the lead." "Then why haven't you before?" I smoothed his shaggy hair back. "I guess I've felt lost. But now...now XRT is going to play 'Simeon.' With any luck this A and R guy from Island will come to my next show at the Green Mill. Finally, Julie, my career is going to go places. I'll finally be able to pay my share of the bills. I won't be living in y- in a shadow," he corrected himself, trying sweetly to avoid a fight. I sighed, thinking on what his future held. "And go on the road. You know as well as I do musicians make no money off albums, it's touring." John chuffed and laid back on the pillow. "Why does it always come back to money with you?" "Because this is the real world, John. In this world money matters." He was silent for a long moment. "Why did you ever stop painting?" That shocked me. "I never really painted, I just took two art classes in college and I was good at it. But I'm better at math." He rolled to his side, dropping me to the pillow as he braced his head on his hand and let his other hand trail over my body. "The painting in your mother's office is yours. Julie, it's fantastic." I winced, wondering how he'd ever been inside my mother's office on the four occasions I'd dragged him to my parents'. "I'm not meant to be an artist," I said flatly. This was the heart of the issues between us. "I'm not like you, John." I'm boring and steady and have concrete goals. "I'm not saying you have to be. I'm just saying you should try living for yourself and not your parents." "Here we go again." I kept my voice soft. I was just so tired of this issue, I couldn't even get angry over it. "I like my boring, stable job. I like always having enough money for the rent, groceries, the bar, and the golf course. I like having evenings and weekends free to read, play, work out, see friends. That's what I want out of life." His eyes flashed darkly for a moment and his hand stilled. "No, what you want is to be good so your parents don't disown you." I sat up, angry enough to jerk the cups of my bra up though my panties had been so pulled and shredded they were goners. "I have two degrees and a stable job. I don't need money from my parents. I'm living life the way you're supposed to if you're a responsible, mature adult. What is it, John? You want me to apologize for fate? I was born into a loving, close, wealthy family. So what?" He turned from me then and sat, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, giving me his back. I'd hurt him somehow, and I wasn't sure how. When he spoke it was surprisingly soft. "Do you look down on me because of my family?" I stood and grabbed for my robe hanging on the bedpost. "No, John. How we're born and raised is not our fault and no one is responsible for it. But I do look down on you." He stiffened in shock and slowly turned to me, glaring. The storm was coming. "What?" "You know as much as I do you can't write songs for shit. You're a born performer. What you need is to find a composer with no playing or singing talent and form a partnership. Like Elton and Bernie. Do that and you could achieve your dreams. Keep going on this path and you'll fail. That's what I look down on, your stupid stubbornness." "Is that all my career is to you?" I could deflect it and start a raging argument, but I was done. "Yes." He shocked me, standing, doing up his pants. Without a word and climbed down the ladder and slammed the bathroom door behind him. I dressed quickly in jeans and a t-shirt and pulled out the suitcase I'd packed that morning. Adding a few other things I climbed down too and looked for my favorite sneakers. "What I this?" He demanded, jerking the door open. "All your stuff is gone from the bathroom." "I'm leaving you, John. Your life could go places. When you're older you're going to be a hell of a man, but right now we want different things. I can only hold you back and vice versa." "Why? Really, why?" "Because I don't respect what you do. Because if you don't change a few things you're going to end up heartbroken. And I don't want to be the one that carries you. I want children, a family, a real life." He glared at me but I'd never made a secret of that desire. He'd never tried to argue me out of it, rather often he'd posed "what if" questions as if seeing if I could live without following faithfully in my parents' wake. I waited for something like that now, but for a moment his shoulders slumped. We stood silent for a long moment until he pulled himself up, like a puppet on strings, and a slow fire had begun behind his eyes. "So what now?" There was no artistic temperament, no throwing things, no screaming. It unnerved me. "I'm going to go stay with Beth. I paid the rent up for the next six months. If you can pay the bills you can have the loft. I'll come for my things next week. I'm sorry, John. I love you but it just isn't working." His eyes narrowed. "You are such a fucking bitch." I winced at that and couldn't even get angry because hell, he was right. Like a fool I'd assumed he'd been feeling the end coming like me. If I were a better woman perhaps we would have talked about it months ago and gotten it out in the open. Instead I'd cowardly waited and sprung this on him, and obviously he wasn't expecting it. "I really am sorry. It's better this way. Go on the road, don't be tied down. Dive into the business and do what you need to. And if you ever need any help, I'll be there for you." He laughed, and it came out a choked sound like a sob. "It's the biggest night of my career so far. It could be the start of something huge. You supported me all the way there and now when it's paying off you jump ship? I depend on you to be my rock and now you're gone. So you're a fucking liar, Julie. If you were there for me, you'd stay." Madly, I thought of the Meatloaf song "I Would Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)" and it took all I had not to laugh madly. John had actually done a great version of that on the album he'd cut with the Columbia students. "I really am sorry, John. Good bye." I finished putting on my shoes and rose, keys in hand. "Before you go-" "What!?" I was about to lose patience. He smiled, and it was almost evil. "Your parents are complete shits. They don't really love you. They brainwashed you to be a daughter they could brag about. Your mother told me she hangs that painting of yours in her office to remind her how close you came to losing your mind. "Did you know the night I met them, dear old daddy tried to pay me to leave you? I refused ten grand. Boy, was I stupid." With that he turned and slammed back into the bathroom, the only way to escape me in the open floor plan. I had no reply but a wince, and so I closed the door and walked out of his life.