The Rebel

Dylan-3

“I’d like to check upstairs,” I nod towards the stairs.

She slowly runs her hand down my biceps and looks at me as if I had just said I had won the lottery.

“So soon?” she asks, tilting her head, running her hand over my chest, making its way towards my belt.

“At once,” I answer authoritatively.

What was she thinking? Will I be hanging out here all night with these losers, playing board games? No, babes! Upstairs we go, and as quick as possible. To make my point clearer, and to show her how butch I am, I take her hand and put it onto the protruding front of my jeans. She freezes for a second, but her eyes begin to glitter almost at once, then she begins to cackle. Oh God! She leans over to the blond girl who is shaking herself next to her, and whispers something into her ear. Now they are both cackling, then the blonde sizes me up and down, and bites her lower lip. If it was possible to shag with eyes, I would be rolling on the floor with my backside in pain, damn sure. It crosses my mind for a second to take both of them upstairs, then think the better of it. After a six-month break I really don’t want to take on too much. Anyway, these two together are way more irritating, and today I don’t feel like listening to all their gabbling.

“After you, love,” I point towards the steps. Ashley grabs my hand with a grin, and draws me after herself.

“Do you need a drink?” she asks while opening the first door.

I shake my head. I’ve had enough for today. Damn, I just want to f**k, I need nothing else.

“Oops, sorry,” she lifts her hands, moving away from the threshold with a giggle.

“What’s that?” I frown.

“Room’s taken,” she tweets, batting her eyelashes, and I push the door open.

A couple is moving about on the single bed, tangled into one another completely.

“f**k it,” the words break from me, slamming the door. Frustratedly, I run my fingers through my hair. “What about that one?” I point a finger to another door.

“It’s Luke’s parents’ room.”

Shit. I’m beginning to feel fed up, so I grab Ashley’s wrist, and I simply yank her into the half-open bathroom. Everything is modern, granite grey, but most importantly, the wash basin is smooth and large enough for what I want to use it for. Looks like my relationship with this girl is deemed for shagging in toilets, but quite honestly, it’s to my liking. I push her against the wall, beginning to kiss her neck, putting my hand under her top. The truth is, I adore female necks. I don’t know why, but they can get me going as hell. I grasp her breasts and begin to massage them not too carefully, then she groans and sighs my name multiple times. I pull up her skirt up to her waist and reach under her butt to lift her onto the flat surface.

“Oh, Dylan, Dylan, oh, Dylan,” she groans louder and louder, even though I’m not even inside her yet.

Damn it – I lift my face to the ceiling. Why can’t she just stay quiet, at least for a while? She is working on my belt, so I let go of her for a moment to help her undo it. I lower my jeans with my boxers to my thighs, and step closer. She grabs my d**k with such vehemence as if she had never seen anything like that before. She begins to pull her hand up and down on me, but I grab her wrist. Take it easy, girl! After half a year, this is the first time I’ve got a woman’s hand on me, and if progress like this, I will c*m into her hand in twenty seconds. I lean over and start rummaging through my back pocket for a condom. Shit...! I hope I have one on me. Left pocket. Nothing. I’m already thinking about changing to Plan B, when, in my right pocket, the packet is caught in my hand. I tear it open, and while quickly rolling it onto myself, I remind myself that I need to stock up on condoms.

Ashley takes my face in her hands, and pulls me in towards her. She wants to kiss, damn it. I rarely kiss. Really, I only do it when I like someone a lot, or if a woman has such sensuous lips that I can’t resist, but it hardly ever happens. I normally prefer their mouth near my d**k. I turn my face to the side, and choose to devour her neck a bit longer, while slipping a hand under her panties. It’s wet. She wants me, no doubt about that. I’m into girls who don’t care much for foreplay. I grab her butt, lift her in position, and…

“Ah, Dylan! I’ve missed you so much,” she whispers into my mouth. “No one does it as good as you.”

I pause right before sliding into her. What is she talking about? We don’t even know each other. We have shagged once in the toilet. Maybe twice, who knows by now? Why would she miss me? Once again, she is looking for my mouth, at which I change my mind and lift her off. With one move, I turn her towards the mirror, press her against the surface, now her butt is pressed against my crotch. Hi, rosy tattoo. I feel much more at home now.

“You’re really hot, babe,” I mumble to please her a little, then I roughly take her from behind. She screams and grabs the edge of the wash basin with both hands. I lift my face to the ceiling and groan out loud. I’ve missed this feeling. I begin to move slowly, back and forth, in and out. She moans in sync with my rhythm, repeating my name. I must be so f*****g good – I smile to myself.

“That’s it, that’s it. Harder!” she shouts, and my eyes wander to her tattoo.

That rose is not that bad, after all. Okay, not too original, but could be worse. Like a Harry Potter face, Hello Kitty, or other s**t like that. I remember, one girl had a map of Africa tattooed to her belly. That was another time I couldn’t focus on the shagging. I kept wondering if at the Eastern part, at the horn of the continent, it’s Kenya or Somalia. It was too bad. Eventually I had to do her from behind as well.

With a tilted head, I watch the petals of the rose move with my thrusts. I begin to count them, but when I’m at four, I come to, and shake my head. I’m out of my mind! Seriously, something must be f*****g wrong with me. I stop messing about, grab the girl’s waist and speed up the tempo. I can also feel that I’m only here in body and my thoughts are completely elsewhere, but to hell with it, I’ve never been the sentimental kind. I shut my eyes tight, and think of nothing else but my d**k and Ashley’s hot arse. As I thrust her faster and faster from behind, I’m already beginning to get that tingling in my crotch, as the tension is growing and it’s all concentrated to one place. I love this feeling, these pre-orgasmic moments. As the spiral is pulling me higher and higher, it’s tenser and tenser, the lustful pain is more and more unbearable while I hold myself back. I am panting, while Ashely’s body is jerking so much that I have the feeling she is cumming too. Three, two, one… and I let go with a loud groan. My body is relived very soon, too soon. The pleasure is intense, but short. Too short. She screams and pushes her hips hard backwards as if she was cumming together with me. I’m not sure if she has really c*m or just pretended to, but I can’t be bothered. I mean, of course it’s so damn romantic if we reach the top together, and all… but right now I’m too stressed and tired to take any snivelling. And there is also something in me I can’t give a name to, but it’s there and it bothers me. I pull myself out of her carefully, take off the condom and tie a knot to it. I want to throw it into the bin, but I catch Ashely staring at me and then at the used condom with big eyes, an uncomfortable feeling comes over me. f**k it! I don’t trust her. She might try to manipulate me in the end. I quickly put my boxers back on and the jeans, I step up to her, grab her neck and pull her close for a quick kiss. It’s something like a reward kiss for being so helpful, and in the meantime, I put the used condom into my pocket. She grabs onto my neck, but before she would get too emotional, I pull my mouth away and plant a kiss on her shoulder.

“You were aces, love,” I wink at her, turning towards the door.

“Going already?” she asks, with her lips pouting as she rearranges her clothes. I look at her with a frown, but then quickly avert my eyes. Is she expecting me to give excuses? I don’t do that kind of thing, and I won’t start it on this very day. “There’s still lots of booze downstairs, and Luke is planning a cool surprise,” she says hopefully, but the more she talks, the more I feel like getting the hell out of here.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask what that damn good surprise could be. Wow. Are they going to play strip poker? Because if they are, I will stay. I quickly swallow these ironic words I’m about to say, as it is, I’m already quite rude with her. As I put my hand on the door handle, I turn around.

“Next time.”

And I’m on my way out of the bathroom, straight to the steps. I still hear her shouting after me.

“Dylan, my number! Let me give you my number, call me.” And yet, I don’t stop, only wave to the others as I go and aim for the entrance. The smell of pot hits my nose in the living room, and I see that the chicks have meanwhile settled themselves in the guys’ laps.

I step out into the open air and take a deep breath. Slowly, I pull my palms over my face, and exhale. What’s going on with me? I have just had s*x with a damn sexy girl. Shouldn’t I feel much better? Looks like life on water has made me a savage. I start for home, which currently means Liam’s apartment, and throw the used condom into the first bin. While strolling down the street looking ahead of myself, the word I was looking for, pops into my head. The feeling I could put into words up there, in the bathroom, after s*x, but what was definitely inside me, and what I can clearly feel even now.

Emptiness.

＊

I step through the door, it’s dark inside. It’s really late, or rather, early, Liam must be asleep. I may have done better doing the same instead of picking up that woman at the pub. I still don’t get what was wrong, after all, Ashley is exactly the kind of girl I am happy to take for a round. She’s got everything, she is round at the right places, she would do anything, although she talks a bit too much, but nobody’s perfect. I must be tired. Yes. That’s what it must be, I’m fed up with work.

I switch on the light on the bedside table, and lying on my back, I stare at its reflection for a while on the ceiling. I hate darkness, I never sleep in complete darkness, even on the ship I light a candle at night.

“Leave her! No! Don’t hurt her!” the boy shouts with his high voice, at the top of his lungs, using the table as his shelter, but to no avail, the huge fist strikes again and again, until the mother is still. The boy is watching the mother’s chest, holding his breath. Breathe! Breathe! Come on, you must breathe,” he goes on desperately. And indeed, the mother’s chest heaves, her eyes open and they meet the boy’s gaze. The boy sighs, but before he could feel relieved, the fist is in the air again. He wants to shout, but the little girl’s quiet moan hits his ear from behind his back. He turns to look, and quickly presses his finger over her mouth. Quiet! Be quiet! Be invisible! He can’t notice you – he signals with his eyes, but it’s already too late. The fist stops mid-air and turns to the girl. Bloodshot eyes are searching the corner of the room and the fist drops. The girl’s hair flies around in its messy pigtails as she shakes her head with terror.

“Come… come over here,” the voice gurgles, the voice of the fist’s owner. As the girl makes no move, he slowly turns around, and starts towards her with shaky footsteps. The mother’s hand reaches out to the child, but she can’t do anything to stop the fist. She is lying on the floor, helpless, her left eye bloated, a stream of blood running down her temple, the blouse in shreds on her upper body. The boy doesn’t think, he instinctively jumps out from the shelter of the table, straight towards the gigantic hand.

“Run! Go!” he shouts to the little girl, who, terrified, crawls to the door on all fours. The boy knows that the fist is stronger than him. Taller by two heads, and also much stronger. Its blows hurt, and it’s more and more difficult to cover the purple spots with his clothes when he goes to school. But the boy also knows that it won’t always be like this. He’ll grow up, and will be stronger, bigger, more gigantic than the fist. And then he will repay him. He’ll pay not only for himself, but for the little girl and his mother too. But until then…

The fist grabs his top and lifts him in the air. It curses, its saliva is spraying as his alcoholic breath hits the boy’s face. The boy is kicking about, protecting himself as much as he can, but he is held by an iron fist. He drags himself to the cellar’s entrance, opens the door and pushes the boy down the stairs. A sharp pain pierces through his ribs and back as he hits the bottom. He has also hit his head, his whole body is sore, his ears are ringing, but he can still hear his mother’s painful scream from upstairs. And then the cellar door is slammed, the key turns in the lock. It’s cold and he is surrounded by darkness. Heavy, stifling darkness, hard as lead. The light switch is at the top of the stairs, out the door. The boy holds his knees with his arms, and, shivering, pushes himself against the wall. He knows the fist will come down to the cellar as soon as it is finished with the mother. He has ten, maybe fifteen minutes to prepare. He is scared and hates the darkness.

I sit up on the bed, the sweat is pouring down my body. I am panting, there is a pain creeping up my arm from my palm. Dizzily, I turn to look, and see that the sheet is covered with drops of blood where my hand is gripping it with a crazy vehemence. Slowly, I release the grip and lift my palm to myself. It has blood on it. The hand of a murderer.

Chapter 4