Author S. K. Nicholas

While she’s stood on the balcony drinking wine from the bottle that was intended for the both of us after our meal, I’m stood weak-kneed in the shower masturbating with the radio turned up so she doesn’t hear my moans and groans as I’m fantasising about nailing her best friend- the one with the cleavage she keeps finding me taking a peek at whenever we meet after work. We’ve argued, and not for the first time. She wants me to try harder; to put in more effort regarding my transformation into a regular person, but as I keep telling her, I’ve no intention of becoming just another somebody. I’d rather be a loser, a writer. But you’ve not even published anything, she says. You’re not even trying! But I tell her to write is reward enough, and if only one person were to find my words meaningful, I would die a happy man. She thinks I’m joking; that it’s all part of some act. Whenever we make love, she complains I’m not tender enough. I say I can’t control my passion for her- that breathing her in makes me want her until I’ve transformed into some kind of werewolf. She doesn’t appreciate it, however, and so we make love less and less until the only time we touch is saying goodbye to each other before work. Even when we sleep, we do so with our backs turned, such is the disdain she holds for me. All I can be is myself, but it never seems enough. Still, she’s free to leave. She can cast me aside whenever she wants, and yet she doesn’t. Anyway, so we’re lying in bed, and I make a move for her. She responds, and for a while it’s looking good. A hand around her waist, then my mouth on her neck while pulling down her panties. She sighs as I pinch her nipple, but then I do something wrong. I fuck up the order of things, and so she wriggles from my clutches and goes out to the balcony, hence me knocking out a frustrated wank. She means so much to me because she has such a beautiful soul, but she’s got this sadness in her that she keeps on trying so hard to deny. She’s upset that she’s fallen behind others; that the world isn’t being kind to her, and no matter how much I try convincing her that her sensitivity is a gift she should cultivate, she keeps attacking me. Keeps pushing me away, so I act like I don’t care, and it only serves to widen the divide that’s growing between us. Trembling as the orgasm engulfs my aching bones, I tilt my head and swallow a mouthful of water as she knocks back the bottle until it’s almost dry. The lights look so pretty from far away, and yet if she were to go to them, she would remain the same.

A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.co.uk

A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.com