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There was a girl back at school. I had a huge crush on her. It's one of those things you have in your childhood years and remember all your life even though to someone looking from the outside it wouldn't look like a significant thing at all. I was completely mesmerised by her. The fact that I knew very well I could never have her only made me dream more painful dreams.

In those dreams in broad daylight I had hundreds of different paths for me and her to take, but they always crossed at some point and always the impossible happened. Always. She'd always recognise me for what I really am and appreciated what she saw. Of course, dreams are just that, dreams.

She was a bitch, really. We didn't use that word back then so lightly as everyone seems to be throwing it around nowadays, but this is what she was. She was the prettiest girl in class, alright, but that was not it. That was not what made me go through nights of imagining her body next to mine and a thousand masturbation sessions. It was her personality, her mind.

She was the smartest girl in class in a way. She was way more mature than me or anyone else I hung out with at the moment. And she was so dumb at the same time. I couldn't understand it then. How could she be so bright, so sharp, so cruel to others slower than her and at the same time be so dumb, so blind, to let herself be used by some of the older lads. They had no respect for her and still she clung to them and ignored those who respected her. Those who had to work hard to conceal their burning desire and childish loyalty to her. Me.

It took me a while to work things out. Hm, it took me years and decades. You are slow, Nick and weed is not making you any faster, you know that?

It took me a while to work things out. To understand her passion, to understand the hunger she felt, the need to feed the fire in her belly. I was just a kid. I am sorry now, I really am.

But I was a disciplined kid and I knew how to shut herself out to my eyes and to my thoughts. It took months but it worked. I was free. I was not victorious, I was not a conqueror, not a killer holding a smoking gun, not a football star raising his arms after scoring, but I was free of her. Of her name and face and voice and scent. I was free to look at others and look for others.

The ironic thing is of course, that I spent most of my life from that point on looking for her. Not for her in particular, I was too ashamed, but for her, for traces of her in other women, for that look on the face, for that vibe in the voice, for that mixture of strength and auto-destructive urge.

If only it wasn't for that letter...

Sometimes I fuck Clarissa's ass without any lubrication. It hurts me but it hurts her more. Sometimes I want to hurt her, not just because she enjoys it. Sometimes I just want to hurt her.

Stupid fucking Gothboy. Fucking Jimmy redneck and his celebrity lifestyle, product of a celebrity mind. You are no celebrity, fuckhead, you are an AIDS-bucket and you are dying. And no one cares.

The letter.

It arrived after months of dedicated fasting. She was banished from my eyes and from my thoughts. I was occupying myself with music and porn and glue. Those were good days in fact. I had no worries back then except to forget about a girl I could never have. I was free to explore all the pleasures my body and mind offered and I did it, I drank from the source, ate like a pig, swallowed porn and glue and weed and cider and lager and I masturbated furiously.

And before I was aware, I was free of her. It became possible to think about her and not experience just pain. I stopped caring. A good thing.

And then, the letter.

"I know I have to thank you, you taught me how hard it is wishing just for the only thing you can never have."

The only thing she could never have.

She could never have.

Never have.

Me.

It was like a bad pulp romantic novel. I could smell the glue, the cheap paint on greyish paper, the pages stuffed chockfull of cliches and stereotypes, the characters made of cardboard moved through situations painted with careless, impatient moves. It didn't hurt me less because of that. But I stopped caring, right? And I never ever did anything. Never.

What I can not figure out is this: I was looking for her all my life since then. All my life. And Clarissa is not her. She is not, I checked. I can't smell her in Clarissa's breath, I can't see her in Clarissa's eyes, she is not there. She has never been in this body. Clarissa is something completely alien to me. Like something out of this world. I don't understand. How did we come together?

Maybe this isn't me any more. Maybe I truly have become someone else.


The first time is always special, isn't it?

This is how it was: In all honesty it was seduction. Oh, alright I did rape her, technically. But it was seduction: I was seduced to rape her. She was seduced to be raped, willfully taken and fucked. I was seduced by her shyness, her eyes always avoiding mine, her little smile always looking nervous and fearful that I might be insulted by whatever she said.

What it was about me that seduced her I still don't know. File under alcohol, I don't know. She was somewhat drunk. I was too. It was the first time she ever came to my place and I insisted she sleeps over. She insisted she had to get back to her place out of town, but I was more persuasive or at least more bullish. Another girl would probably get pissed and walk out and slam the door and get out of my life for good, Clarissa just accepted.

I don't know what we were at the moment. We weren't lovers. OK, we touched each other sometimes, but it was just something two people close to each other do. It's not like we kissed or something. I am oldskool, to me kissing still denotes transition from one state to other. The status of lovers. So we were friends but I never had a friend like her before. Sure, I had some female friends and some of them I wanted to shag (and in one instance it happened even), but it was never like it was with her. Never so intimate and so secretive.

So, three or so drinks in there and I am starting to lose reference points for straight thinking. We already had some drinks downtown and it's not like my thinking is terribly clear even when I am sober. I deliberately put some extremely dirty and insulting hip-hop on. Good thing about this part of town is I can really blast my music as loud as I want even at night without the fear of having neighbours camp at my door. I never thought of it, probably because Lynn was not that loud, but it was also good that no neighbours were close enough to hear Clarissa scream. Then and later.

So, the music was blasting away, the big bad black males were boasting about fucking hoes and getting blowjobs in exchange for crack, that sort of thing. Fun stuff. Clarissa was obviously rather ashamed for being subjected to this but she didn't complain, she just looked down whenever I looked at her. And I laughed at her. I laughed at her before too. It was not malicious, it was just a part of our relationship. She expected me to laugh this laughter of dominance and she accepted it with her shy smiles.

And I kept drinking and the world kept getting blurred. At one point I realised I had no idea what time it was. The night was stretched from the beginning of time to the end of eternity. And the only thing sharp enough in the landscape made of cotton-wool was this girl on my sofa.

I had erection. I never tried to deny this, I was attracted to Clarissa very early in and the only thing that prevented me from trying anything was that I felt I wasn't her type. That I felt she was too nice to just say no but that she would never truly fall for me. So I took what was there and spent time around her. And this evening took it all further. I was looking at her and every movement she made, every gesture and facial mimic was just too sexy. Part of me argued that this is just me and my friend the bottle and months of abstinence.

The other part of me kept typing in big fucking red letters in front of my eyes: "SHE IS SCREAMING AT YOU: FUCK ME!!! CAN'T YOU SEE?" It was a conflict of epic proportions, an inner battlefield of instincts, desires and fears. I tried to put out the fire with more alcohol but it only made flames burn with increased fierceness. The bigger the feast, the bigger the hunger. My cock was painfully swollen and pressed against the fabric of my jeans.

So when she dropped her glass it was like the heavens cracked open and a thunder descended down to earth to give me instructions. She dropped it on the carpet and it didn't break. A little of the stuff spilled and she looked at me in shame, red in the face. The fucking carpet, I can't remember when it was the last time it was washed, I was a boy living on his own, regular vacuuming was the best I could do. So I put my arm around her and said something that surprised even me: "So, tell me, why is it that you keep teasing me all night?"

I think she was frozen in a second. Fuck, I was frozen that moment. What did I just say? What?

But she knew. It was all part of a ritual, wasn't it. We knew which words needed to be said, which gestures had to be made, regardless of the time and place and circumstances, we had this planted in our minds for a while. Not knowing consciously, but knowing for real.

"What are you saying?" Her voice almost inaudible.

And I just pulled her closer, using force. Yes, force, it was not an assured, confident gesture of a great lover, it was force.

"You keep teasing me. Don't deny it. I can see what you want. Don't deny it. I see what you want."

She tried to deny it, but I pulled her hair and her head shot back.

"Don't!"

I said. "No... Don't!"

I kissed her. It started as a kiss and turned into... Into feeding, devouring. I sucked her inside, I breathed her in, I ate her. She struggled, she did, that much has to be said to her credit. She didn't just give in. But all the same, when our lips parted I looked into her eyes, I took a really deep, deep look and asked her: "Why? Why are you doing this to me?"

"Please, please don't, I don't want this, please", her voice was trembling, at the edge of tears.

"Why? You want this, don't you? You can't lie to me any more, Clarissa, I see what you want."

And before she could answer I started kissing her again and this time I didn't stop so soon. I kissed her lips and used my teeth and sucked her and chewed on her tongue and kissed her neck and smelled her hair and I pulled her even closer to me her body felt so hot and fragile my erection about to burst I started biting on her neck and her shoulders I ripped her blouse open and left red marks on her skin.

All the time she was begging me to stop in that soft voice of hers, brought to the edge of panic, edge of screaming. And when I ripped her bra off in one swift, violent gesture, her nipples were rock hard, painfully erect, inviting, obscene.

"Look at this. Look at this. Clarissa. Look at this"

I started squeezing her breasts and I placed my lips on her left nipple and I squeezed and sucked. She let out a deep, long moan. It was like a singing from another world.

"Don't lie to me!" I was almost out of breath and even though she kept repeating "No, no, no, no, no," I couldn't stop. "Don't lie, you want this, you need me to fuck you, you always did, don't lie to me!!!" I was chanting my mantra without threat in my voice, without aggression.

Her nipples were hard and the taste was rich, bitter and mesmerising. The beats in the room were hammering on my skull. My eyes were open but my field of vision felt so reduced.

Underneath her skirt, the heat was scary.

"Oh, Fuck, Clarissa, fuck, is this it? You are so wet. You are so fucking wet and you pretend you don't want this. Why? Why?" I was murmuring these words right into her ear, drunk and lost as she was moaning. My fingers were pushing her soaked panties to the side and penetrating her without patience. She was wet, she was open and eager. I could not be stopped. I would not be stopped. This was so unlike anything I knew before.

She did try to push me back, the final lines of resistance, and I just pushed her down and whispered, smiling, sure of myself, surer than I was for a long time: "You know you want this, don't lie to me. You know you are a slut and you couldn't hide that."

And she screamed "No!! Nooo! Please!!" and I might have stopped there, her helplessness and pain visible and convincing, weren't it for her body that danced a dance of hot nails under the conduction of my fingers in her wet, soaked, hungry pussy.

I slipped her panties down her thighs, down her legs. I brought them close to my own face, smelled them, held them up like a trophy. They were a proof, my proof that I was right and that she was what I insisted she was. A slut in dire need of dick.

"You little slut, look at this and tell me you weren't trying to seduce me. Look at how wet you are, how bad you need to be fucked!!" I still managed to keep control even with the smell of her cunt juices on her panties playing havoc with my brain.

"Open your mouth, come on."

She looked at me, begging me, her eyes the most beautiful thing I can remember ever seeing by that point.

"Open your mouth."

She waved her head left and right, her eyes filling with tears. She tried to pull back but she was lying on the sofa, me on top of her.

I pinched her nipple, hard. Harder than I ever did it to anyone. She cried a painful cry.

"You are making me hurt you. Is that what you want? You want to be hurt?"

"...no." she whispered

"Then do what I said, open your mouth. Be a good slut and open your mouth now."

She opened her mouth and I stuffed her panties, squeezed into a tiny wet ball of fabric, smelling of her excitement, I stuffed her panties into her mouth. Tears started rolling down her face. And I felt like I just grew a pair of big, strong wings.

"Can you taste it? Can you taste your own cunt, Clarissa? Can you feel how wet those panties are, you dirty whore, and still you pretend you don't want this."

And she was crying in shame, pinned down beneath me and I knew I couldn't wait any more.

Her eyes shot wide when I ripped my jeans open. My cock was happy to taste fresh air after everything that happened so far. It was swollen and red and wet with precum. I felt such a relief and such power. Seeing her eyes fixed on my throbbing cock made me feel so... strong, so masculine. I was preying down on her and there was nothing anyone could do about it. This was right, this was what life was designed to reach. She knew that too, she wanted it, I was sure she did.

I spread her legs wide and lifted them up high. Her pussy was wet and dark red inside and the smell was making me even more drunk than I was. Entering her was like stepping into fire. She was trembling, she was burning and she was crying through her gag. But those were not cries of pain, no. Fear and humiliation maybe, but not pain, her agony couldn't have been physical, she was so wet, so slippery, so in need of cock. I started thrusting forth and back, falling deeper into her with every subsequent move.

I am not the world's greatest lover, OK. But I am aware that it takes two to have sex or even make love and it's always about giving as it is about getting. Those are simple things you learn once you manage to step outside the occasional sex phase in your life and step into the regular sex one. I do try to make my partner feel good, I do care about how it is for her, mostly because that way I make her care about how it is for me.

But not this time, not here. It's ironic. I just wanted to use her, I just wanted to fuck her. She was the most intriguing woman I have met so far and I never planned this to happen and now it was happening I just wanted to fuck her, not make love to her, not have sex, just to fuck her. To fuck. I was impaling her and thrusting into her, fucking her the hardest I could. I squeezed her breasts and spat on her nipples. It would never happen again. I will probably never see her again. I just want to fuck her. I just want to fuck her. Fuck her.

And the orgasm almost broke my back. It was so strong, so powerful, so scary. It was her flesh embracing and caressing my cock, seducing it and making it burst. I shot my semen all over her, I remember watching it fall on her breasts and face and cheeks and nose and eyelids, her forehead and her hair and asking myself is this possible, could it be I have so much cum inside of me?

The fucking thing stayed hard. I swear to God, it was like being 15 again and watching porn all night, masturbating several times in the row, my cock staying erect throughout. I came more intensely than I ever hoped I would and I was still hard. And Clarissa beneath me was the image from dreams and fantasies. She was in tears, her panties still in her mouth, covered with my semen, humiliated and fucked. And yet in her eyes there was this look I can't name. She was accepting. She was forgiving. She needed more. She needed to go deeper.

The rest is like something out of any number of wankfantasies I had during my lonely months. I never seriously imagined I could do something like that. I believe that, at this point I decided that there are no rules any more and that the night is about to finish soon and that I have to take everything I can carry now or never.

By her hair, I pulled her up, only to force her down to her knees. She was crying but she was not struggling any more. She accepted whatever I had in stock for her and this only turned me on more. She was ready to take anything. Anything.

I tied her hands on her back with her own bra or what was left of it. I forced her to spit her panties out and take my cock into her mouth. Dear God, I tremble just remembering the sight of it: Clarissa on her knees, wet and humiliated, helpless and tied up, sucking my cock that I was pushing in with hard, impatient thrusts. I didn't know I had it in me, but, fuck I did, I do, I don't know.

That was not to be all.

Once I bought this thing for Lynn, it was more a joke, she once complained about me touring and her being without sex at those times and said something along the lines of me having to buy a dildo for her or accept that she will be sleeping around while I am away. Now, what she didn't realise is that I didn't really care too much what she did while I was away, most of the time. But a night in town with the boys makes you do silly things.

In those days I don't think I'd just walk into a sex shop and purchase a dildo on my own. But with a bunch of merry lads fuelled with beer and weed, it was all just one big joke, just macho posturing and embarrassing sex remarks.

I took it out of the drawer where Lynn left it when she bailed out. I guess this way she was informing me that I was not that hard to get over after all, heh.

I stuck it to a hard wooden chair, the rubber sucker on its bottom securing it in proper position.

Silly thing, this sex-industry.

"Do it. Do it or I will have to hurt you. I will hurt you, swear to God."

She did. My God she did.

Clarissa rode that dildo for me, rode it for my viewing pleasure, she fucked herself, her wrists tied on her back, her legs spread, that thick red thing penetrating her every time her hips went down. Her cunt was making wet noises, her breasts were bouncing up and down. I was glad I made her spit the panties out as I wanted to listen to her.

And she was screaming. God, she was screaming when I took my belt and started lashing at her buttocks.

I am not a religious person. But, even though they say faith is everything, I figure, if there is heaven and hell, it makes no difference whether you believe it or not. If there indeed is hell, I think I have one five star pit of molten lead booked and awaiting my inevitable arrival. If there indeed is a God, he knows I deserve it.

I don't know how and why. I just wanted to hear her scream. I wanted her to do it for me and I painted her skin red with my belt, lashed at her sensitive ass and encouraged her to scream.

And this dear, dear girl... She never once stopped fucking that dildo, despite my lashes and insults, she just once turned to look at me over her shoulder and I could read it in her eyes. I could see it. She wanted it, she thought she deserved it. I swear I saw that as clear as I can see my own hands on the keyboard right this moment.

So when the screams became a mantra, when her skin was burning and her pelvic movements became spastic and nervous, I put the belt down and I grabbed her. Her anus was tight and her moans developed another shade of pain and as I fucked her she fucked me and her dildo and screamed and there were no words any more, her head bowed down, her hair concealing her face. And her orgasm scared me.

I will never forget the sound she made, I thought her body was bursting, for a second I thought she was dying, honestly. She came, violently, unstoppably, she came after being humiliated, tied up, fucked, tortured and degraded to a mere object. Her hair was wet with her sweat and my spit, wet as if she'd just had a shower. Her pelvis was thrashing so hard, her spasms were so violent that it brought me to orgasm a lot sooner than I thought it'd happen.

She was still cumming, her belly-muscles twitching uncontrollably when I pulled out of her anus and grabbed her hair and forced my cock into her mouth. And I started coming the very same instant. I was filling her mouth with sperm and she was swallowing, I swear she was. Even in this moment she was thinking about me. Just as she was the whole evening, I realised.

Just as she was the whole several months, I realise now. But try as she might, she could not swallow it all, it dripped from the corners of her mouth and fell down on the carpet. She was sucking and licking me, her eyes closed, even when there was no more semen coming out. My cock was smeared with sperm, saliva and, I realised, blood. It was like a hallucination but it was there. No denying, she spread the semen on her face, rubbing it against my cockhead and blood came with it. It was her lip, she bit right through it. It must have happened while I was whipping her, or while I was savaging her from behind. Christ, what have I done?!

But then, and then, and then...

She opened her eyes and there was nothing in there, nothing but the deepest gratitude I have ever witnessed. This was the purest thing I have ever seen. I felt honoured. I still feel honoured. I didn't deserve this. I don't deserve her.

So that was our first time.