“I want to come inside you so fucking bad,” I say in a needy grunt.
“Fill me up, Drake. Mark me as yours.”
God damn. A thrill runs up my spine at her words, and my hips start working on their own, thrusting so hard, she nearly hits her head on the mirror. With one hand planted on the counter, she uses the other to rub nimble circles around her clit. The movement of her fingers sends me over the edge.
“You are mine,” I bellow, fucking her wildly as she screams. “My girl.”
I know the moment her orgasm hits because her spine goes rigid and her thighs squeeze like a vise grip on my hips. And the sounds coming out of her mouth are a jumbled mess of sounds and grunts.
I bury my cock in her one more time before it begins to pulse, pleasure gutting me as I spill myself inside her, throbbing for so long, I’m afraid it will never stop.
We’re left panting and sweating, and I stay sheathed for as long as I can. I never want to leave her body, but I smile against her shoulder, knowing that I’ve officially marked her now. I’m not taking my friend’s girl. I’m taking mine—no, ours.
Rule #36: It’s never as hard as you think it’s going to be.
Hunter
Ray Thomas Scott
Father - Husband - Brother
Died, age 62
According to his headstone, he was just a father—no signifiers to elaborate on what kind. I sure as fuck hope mine at least calls me a loving one.
Maggie suggested I come here, for closure, I think. She suggested I write him a letter or say a few words to express what it is that I would say to him if he were alive. But, to be honest, I have a hard enough time opening up to living people, so the idea of speaking to a piece of stone placed over a rotting corpse and some dirt is a little bit much for me.
So, just sitting here will do. Sitting here and thinking.
Thinking about how I was crazy to assume two months would be enough to undo all the damage this man has done. It was a start, though. Enough of a break to make me realize that I can’t live like this anymore.
But this time alone did help. It gave me time to reflect, to feel what my life is like without them, and to force myself out of the mental funk I was in. And more than anything, it makes me realize one very important thing.
I can’t live without them, and I don’t intend to.
But I’m not going back to them empty-handed. I want to show them progress, because that’s what they deserve. Which means, I need to suck it up and get over my fear of expressing myself, and stop letting this man—this dead man—control my life anymore.
So, I’m here to say goodbye. But I feel the itch to say something else.
“I’m bisexual,” I blurt out loud, surprising even myself.
Oh fuck, that felt good.
“What do you think about that, asshole? I’m bisexual and I’m in love with a man.” A laugh rolls off my lips as I stare at the word engraved in stone. Moss and decay have already begun to show themselves. Weeds sprout along the bottom because he was too much of an asshole to ensure people would care for his grave after he’s gone.
I won’t make the same mistake.
“God, I hope you’re rolling around in your grave right now. Damn, I wish I would have said that to you when you were alive. I bet you would have been so pissed. I can only imagine the things you would have called me. You might have even tried to punch me for it. But you would have been too sick and weak to overpower me, and it would have felt really good to watch you try.”
Damn…okay, I guess I can talk to a grave. I quickly turn to make sure I’m really alone, which I am, so I don’t feel like such a weirdo for doing this. I feel lighter, like something has been lifted from my chest.
“Maybe if you weren’t such an asshole and took better care of yourself, you could have met them. Maybe you would have been proud of me. I have a beautiful wife, and a fucking awesome…boyfriend? I don’t know what I’m calling him right now, but either way, I’m lucky enough to have two amazing people, who want to be with me, and I really fucking hope I didn’t blow it because of you.”
A breeze blows through the small cemetery, rustling the leaves that have fallen around sparse headstones. And suddenly, this feeling of being lighter is replaced by a sudden anxiousness. As if losing this burden has triggered my response to go back to them, to go home.
“All right,” I mutter, looking down. Bending over, I grab the weeds that have laid roots around his grave. I yank a few out and toss them to the side. Then, I brush off the top of the gray stone. “Well, that’s all I have to say. So…fuck off, old man.”