We’re Fucked, Pt. 42 (Fiction)


The scents of jasmine and rose petals are wafting from the adjoined bathroom. Jacqueline has turned off the light, but candles are burning in crystal bowls at each corner of the bathtub. They are casting flickering shadows on Jacqueline’s body, highlighting her nakedness with a golden hue, accentuating the translucence of her pale skin, as she soaks in steaming bathwater. The upper half of her thick breasts is floating like a pair of fleshy icebergs, and her peachy-pink areolas are two round lollipops.

My beloved is dripping scented gel on her bare chest with one hand as her other one smears the oily substance slowly in circular motions. Her queenly face is relaxed. Her wet hair hangs loose like a waterfall of polished obsidian. Half-lit by the candles, her cobalt blues are sparkling as if painted with stars.

“Hey, baby,” she says mellifluously in her soft French accent. “I hope you are feeling better.”

Jacqueline looks like a living sculpture, an angel descended on Earth just to torment me with lust. My heart is pounding like a crazy drummer, my crotch is aching with need.

“I’m hungrier now,” I answer huskily. “I want to rip your tits out with my teeth. But this doesn’t look like a shower scene.”

Jacqueline, as she continues soaping herself gently, narrows her eyes and smirks.

“I figured that I could splurge on a full bath with my ravenous baby girl. So get in quick. Let me take care of you.”

Her sultry voice makes every nerve ending in my body prickle.

“I-I hope you accounted for Archimedes’ principle…”

Jacqueline’s gaze roams all over my torso as I take off the tank top I grabbed from her spare bedroom. The leggings are sticking to my legs, and refuse to come off easily even as I push them with both hands. Once I’m holding my panties, I give them a good sniff until I remember that I’m not alone, then I toss them aside.

Jacqueline’s bare knees emerge from the water as she spreads her legs apart. I catch a glimpse of the tuft between her thighs.

I climb into the tub, then I lower my ass carefully into Jacqueline’s lap. The warm, silky smooth water feels wonderful against my sore muscles, although I wish it could wash away the shameful mess inside my head.

Jacqueline wraps her arms around me and pulls me tight against her chest, pressing our bare skins against one another. I melt into her embrace. I’m resting on the world’s most comfortable pillows, except for the two hard nubs digging into my back.

My skin tingles all over. The scents of jasmine and rose petals have enveloped me, making me drowsy. I close my eyes and let out a contented sigh.

“I want to eat you like an apple,” Jacqueline whispers, then she nibbles on my left earlobe. “But I also want to eat you like a taco.”

“Eat me however you want, or whenever for that matter.”

Her fingers trace over my ribs and hips.

“You’ve worked hard, you deserve this. Don’t you feel much better now?”

I’m reluctant to admit it. It feels unfair to do so.

“In the same way I would feel relief after someone stopped punching me in the face.”

“Except that exercise will improve your life. Sure, it can bust your knees if you are sloppy with your form. But apart from that, your body will thank you for your effort.”

I consider telling her that such workout sessions will improve my life: by killing me. But the hot water and her warm body have turned the tub into a comfortable womb.

“I’ll have to trust you on that, but I’m so weak that I almost died from drinking a glass of water. It will take me a while to recover from the ordeal.”

Jacqueline chuckles softly. Her nose tickles my neck as she nuzzles into it.

“One of the rewards about exercising with you will be smelling this sweat on your skin. And some other day we’ll just lay towels over the bed and get busy with each other right after the workout. Wouldn’t you want to lick the sweat clean off from all over my body?”

I caress the hot skin of her calves.

“You are telling me about smells… Yours is so good that I risk turning wild, an animal that only wishes to bury itself deep inside your warm cunt. In turn, once you spout your hot load on my face, you’ll be the one to smell the result of my labor.”

Jacqueline’s laughter fills the bathroom while her breasts jiggle against my back. When she responds, her breath has turned heavier and her voice has a dreamy edge.

“Tell me, how would you describe my smell?”

I lean back and take a deep whiff of Jacqueline’s throat.

“It’s summer, green grass and freshly-cut flowers. It makes me imagine myself living in a world of a myriad of colors and eternal sun. You’re an old school rose that has survived a terrible storm, but has kept all its beauty and charm.”

She hugs me tight.

“My my, I thought the workout routine had wrung you dry.”

“I haven’t exercised my mouth except through talking.”

“Also, you were mostly describing the shampoo.” I feel her quickened heartbeats, but her voice sounds sober as she whispers in my ear. “I only intend to make you healthier and stronger. You know that, right?”

“That’s the only thing you intend…?” I ask roguishly.

Jacqueline giggles. Her hands slide down my hips and grope at my thighs.

“Well, I’m going to turn you into an unrecognizable beast, one that will be able to survive in the jungle of our bedroom. I will teach you how to live and thrive in there.”

“Good. I was already thinking of thriving in your jungle.”

“We’re on the same page, then. So please, don’t give up.”

I can’t compute how much Jacqueline must have grown to care about me. Just how many hours does she plan on diverting from her far more valuable self to improve a woman-shaped monster?

“I-I feel like it’s always about my weaknesses,” I complain in a guilty tone. “Let’s talk about you instead, Jacqueline! What do you even do at the office? You have Excel open most of the time, but I have no clue what you put in there.”

Jacqueline sighs.

“If I were to explain my job, you would find me more boring than you could ever imagine. There are no thrills, no dangers involved. My coworkers are nice, though.”

“Alright… Tell me about how you went into sex work.”

Jacqueline freezes.

“It’s not really that much fun to talk about,” she finally says.

I reach back to stroke her cheek with the pad of my thumb.

“It doesn’t have to be fun. And I’m interested in everything about you, Jacqueline. You can just let it flow out.”

I can tell she’s smiling because that side of her mouth has contracted against my hand.

“Well, it’s mostly complicated, and I can’t figure out how to explain myself to you. One day you will understand why. That I can promise.”

I interlace my fingers with hers, then I lift her hand to my lips and kiss her knuckles.

“When you are ready to open up, I will help you walk through that jungle, just like you do for me.”

Jacqueline relaxes. I hear her gulp down, then take a deep breath.

“Anyway, it’s about time I clean you up,” she says gratefully.

Her breasts push me forward as she reaches for a shampoo bottle at the edge of the tub. She squirts the liquid into my hair, then she slides both hands in to rub the shampoo into my scalp. I close my eyes and concentrate on the tingles that her kneading fingers are providing.

A sudden memory from childhood pops up into my mind. As a kid wracked by nightmares, my mom would wake me up and rub me down with an icy-cold washcloth. I had begged her to stop rubbing me with her fingers, because they felt as rough as the prickly surface of a cactus. Once I calmed down, she told me to go back to sleep. Half an hour or so later, if I dared to open my eyes in the darkness of my bedroom, I could make out the dim contours of my mother as she sat silently in a chair beside my bed. I always woke up with a chill on my skin and a sour taste on my tongue. I knew that if I had let her, she would have rubbed me down every night of my life until I got old. I would have grown accustomed to her cold washcloth and prickly fingers.

Jacqueline’s hands won’t leave any marks on my skin. They won’t leave me cold and trembling. They will instead make me warm all over, dry away every drop of sadness I’ve carried inside me, and burn a trail of flames between my thighs.

My beloved grabs the plastic bottle of shower gel. Once the lather has covered her hands, she begins working them on my neck and shoulders. She massages my facial features with gentle strokes of her fingertips. She slides her hands down my arms, soaping them up. She asks me to bend over, then she starts spreading the gel all over my back. Her fingers slide into my ass crack and massage me there.

I’m getting drowsier. I’d love to slip under into dreamland and let my girlfriend figure out how to carry me to bed from the tub.

Jacqueline’s arms wrap around my sides to cup my breasts. I flinch and let out a surprised gasp.

“What?” she breathes in my ear as her fingers knead my tit-flesh. “Don’t you like me fondling this pair of beauties?”

“Maybe it’s just the opposite…”

She rubs my nipples until they harden to a point that almost hurts. I’m biting my lower lip and shuddering. Jacqueline squeezes my tits together, lifts them with a gentle motion, then focuses on lathering them until they are slick.

I’m breathing deeply through my mouth and remaining still; Jacqueline should play with my body however she sees fit.

Her hands slide down my torso trailing her fingertips along my sunken abdomen, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“You’re as thin as a starved pig,” Jacqueline says languidly.

“I admit that my body lacks the layers of fat required to keep warm, but did you need to compare me to a pig? Couldn’t you say that I’m as thin as a ghost?”

“I won’t compare you to dead things.”

I sigh.

“Anyway, it’s because I only ever eat sandwiches at the office. But my taste buds play a game of cat and mouse with the flavors of mayonnaise and ham as I go about devouring the stuff.”

Jacqueline chuckles.

“Aren’t you afraid that you might become as truly emaciated as a starved pig?”

Although I laugh, I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down at the ocean that stretches for miles and miles and miles below me. The only thing that can prevent my plummet into the abyss is the strength of the rope that Jacqueline has tied around my waist.

“Before that happens,” I answer calmly, “I’ll eat you up.”

“You may as well. I can’t have you wasting away from lack of proper nourishment, can I? If you fail to eat properly with your mouth, I’ll have to force feed you with my own.”

After I shiver from head to toe, I squeeze my thighs together.

“You know, I might accept that kind of punishment.”

Jacqueline’s right hand stops at my belly button, and her index finger explores it like a wet, burrowing tongue. While I squirm, a moan escapes my mouth. I get as embarrassed as if I had burped in front of a crowd.

“So you have two sensitive little buttons, huh?” Jacqueline purrs, then she turns my head towards hers and presses her lips to mine.

My waterlogged labia must be oozing with juices. I can’t wait for Jacqueline’s right hand to slide between my thighs, for her fingers to make circles around the entrance of my pussy, pressing ever so lightly onto my clit as she works a digit inside me. I can almost feel my vagina tightening and spasming around the intruder.

When Jacqueline’s tongue leaves my mouth, I want to cry like a baby that has dropped her pacifier.

“You have such a lovely body, little piggy,” Jacqueline whispers as her cobalt blues hold my eyes in place. “But enough eroticism. You need a good scrub.”

My mind’s gone woozy; I can barely tell what’s happening except that my girlfriend is scrubbing my skin with a sponge. The bath has reduced my pain so much that it seems almost inconceivable that twenty minutes ago I was writhing on the floor while moaning in agony.

Jacqueline turns on the shower, and begins washing my hair with the handheld head.

“Aah! You are a goddess!” I mumble against the spray of water.

She giggles as she sluices some of my hair over my shoulder.

“Are you talking to me or to the shower?”

The warm stream cascades down my face like a blessing from the heavens.

“You are the goddess of mercy, for I was dying of boredom until you came along. Also, you smell like the sea, or like the ocean itself.”

“Now you’re losing it, not that I mind. But the ocean is a place filled with sorrow, isn’t it? With the sadness of those who have drowned in it.”

I can see them, as well as the currents that have claimed their lives. Their bodies are sinking to the ocean floor, and all the while their arms are trying to grab on to anything they can. But the ocean’s scent is the reason that at times I can feel at peace. Whenever I step into its waters, my mind gets washed and cleansed from all the grime and muck that the world deposits on it every day. That’s why I always wear my bathing suit on. Meanwhile, other lost souls float on the waves, their corpses rocking against the surface like empty plastic bags.

Thoroughly rinsed, the both of us step out of the bathtub. We get busy drying each other with fluffy towels while the water drains. The pleasant sensation of being so clean has made me all warm and fuzzy.

Jacqueline unhooks a white robe. I thought she would hide her nakedness with it, but she lets the garment hang from her shoulders all the way down to her ankles. The fabric slides off the sides of her jutting breasts. Her twin teats are pointing defiantly at me, as if questioning why I am gawking at them instead of latching on.

I snap out of my trance; Jacqueline has lifted my chin with an index finger. I swallow the lump in my throat.

“Jacqueline, you are more beautiful than all the paintings in the world combined.”

“Truly? Don’t I have the barren body of an old lady with sagging tits? Aren’t you sad you fell for a woman of my age?”

“No way! You are Aphrodite incarnate.”

Her long lashes flutter, and a gentle smile adorns her lips.

“She wasn’t the goddess of mercy, was she?” Jacqueline sighs. “I swear, nobody loves breasts more than you do. Let’s go to bed, Leire.”

I want her to pick me up in her arms and carry me, but instead she holds my hand and guides me out of the bathroom into her bedroom, which I’d prefer to consider ours. The space is dimly illuminated by the moonlight that comes through the windows and the balcony door. Jacqueline lets go of my hand and sits down on the mattress. As she shifts further up towards the headboard, the way her breasts bounce sends a wave of warmth through me.

Jacqueline spreads her legs, displaying her pubic hair. It’s dark, thick and silky. A stiff cock juts out from between her thighs. The mushroom head glistens with pre-cum. I blink and the cock is gone.

I imagine a purple butterfly spreading its wings from that smooth bush to make a splash of color against the pale skin of her belly.

Jacqueline pats the mattress next to her.

“Come here and give mommy a big hug,” she beckons me sultrily.

A sigh escapes out of me, and with it, for a brief moment, all the troubles in my life.

I climb onto the bed. The scents of soap and shampoo and Jacqueline’s own womanly musk envelop me. I lower my face to rest it on her belly. It feels hot, familiar; the center of an oven where bread dough rises.

Maybe a couple of minutes later, I shift my body up until I’m lying down beside Jacqueline, who wraps an arm around my shoulder to pull me closer.

My free hand slips down her torso to her pubes, then I venture further until I find the soft mound between her legs. I stroke the length of her silky labia. I tease them open with my fingertips. An intense heat emanates from her folds, so hot that I wish it would burn through my flesh. When I sink two fingers inside her pussy, they get swallowed whole in a velvety sea.

I need to nuzzle against Jacqueline’s wetness and inhale deeply as if savoring a fine wine. I need to lap up the juices that’ll dribble down her inner thighs, down to the last drop.

Jacqueline clenches her thighs together, then she closes a hand around the biceps of my free arm.

“Not now, baby,” she whispers.

Her words paralyze me. My remaining strength leaves my body. Has she finally gotten sick of getting touched by my slimy self?

Jacqueline tugs on my arm gently so my fingers slip out of her insides, then she embraces me tightly and cups my head against her neck. Our bodies are pressed together from chest to belly button.

As I sink into Jacqueline’s arms, I listen to the beat of her heart. Her sweet scent permeates my nose and fills my lungs. My eyes are growing heavy, and I let them flutter shut.

Right now I could use a blinding orgasm, one that would leave me panting, one that would erase everything that’s happened in my life. But this warmth feels real good too.


Author’s note: putting this chapter together has taken me an absurd amount of time in comparison with recent others. Throughout, instead of Japanese shoegaze, I’ve been listening to some of my favorite songs from 20-25 years ago. Songs like:

-Modest Mouse’s ‘Baby Blue Sedan’, that, if I recall correctly, references in part Bukowski’s ‘Ham on Rye’, my favorite book of his.
-Modest Mouse’s ‘3rd Planet’, the song that launches Brock’s best album. That one remains for me one of the best breakup albums ever.
-Modest Mouse’s ‘Edit the Sad Parts’. This song has a special significance for me: it became the main theme song for my beloved previous novel (‘My Own Desert Places’; I guess there’s no harm in some self-promotion). The whole process of pushing that novel out feels now like a strange dream. I retain more vivid memories from the events in that novel than from real-life memories, and some of those moments from the novel still hurt like a bitch (I miss you, A.).
-Weezer’s ‘Across the Sea’. This one is unique, heartfelt, and very near and dear to my heart.
-Weezer’s ‘Only in Dreams’, one of their best songs, particularly the final four minutes.

This last Monday I started a new contract at my usual hospital. They were in the middle of updating tablets for several buildings and virtually every medical department, so I ended up visiting I don’t know how many departments, chatting enough with the local nurses and supervisors so they would cooperate, then configuring the tablets from zero, testing them and returning them back to their departments. As if that nonsense hadn’t been enough, these last three days we’ve also dealt with three big issues that required further hours of nonsense: two lying users that didn’t want to admit they had messed with a core PC in Pharmacy; a busted router in another hospital on the other side of town that the guys from HQ wanted us to go and check, although it was entirely their problem, and had already planned on sending their guy anyway; and a monitoring center in the ICU that stopped working, and that the locals also intended to turn into our problem although we couldn’t do anything about it.

I only tolerate my job there because I’m not employed full-time; for example, this time they’ve only hired me for a couple of weeks. When I’m unemployed, I can’t leave my place for more than an hour before my anxiety requires me to return home immediately, and I simply don’t speak in person with other human beings that aren’t providing a service. But in three days at my job I’ve ended up having to deal with twenty or so new people, interactions that provide me nothing but anxiety and general despair, given that I have to act my way through all of that; incidentally, acting was the only activity I remember fondly from my schooling years. I also do it all the time when I write. But as an autistic person living a non-autistic-oriented life, you either learn how to act or you don’t survive. I can’t simply be myself, because people don’t tolerate when you remain quiet and refuse to look them in the eye.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. If you haven’t, well, does it truly make any difference to me? Probably not.

2 thoughts on “We’re Fucked, Pt. 42 (Fiction)

  1. Pingback: We’re Fucked, Pt. 41 (Fiction) – The Domains of the Emperor Owl

  2. Pingback: We’re Fucked, Pt. 43 (Fiction) – The Domains of the Emperor Owl

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