Abuse: The Complete Trilogy (58 page)

“Delusions,
too, die hard. Forgetting pain is convenient, remembering it... agonizing. But
recovering the truth is worth the suffering…”

— Cheshire
Cat,
Alice in Wonderland
.

~~~

Grant
Wilkinson

“You asked me
what I was afraid of, and I honestly didn’t know. I guess my unconscious mind
answered the question for me. I didn’t want to remember. Like the woman who genuinely
believed she had a perfect childhood, I preferred to think my father loved me.
I grabbed hold of that lie as if it were life or death, like hanging by my
fingernails to the edge of a cliff.”

She shrugs.
“We’ll never know what he was thinking. Whether your father loved you or not is
a question for another day. What’s important now is what
you
think.
Realizing all of this, how does that make you feel?”

“It explains so
many things, but specifically my fear of blow jobs. They remind me of the dread
I felt of my father. That was the start, you know? Having his mouth on me was the
very beginning of my abuse. He made it a game. He made me like it. It was also when
I made my earliest decision on the subject.”

“What decision?”

“To do as my
father says, because otherwise he might kill me,” I say with a bitter yet slightly
hysterical chuckle.

Renata smiles,
probably because I’m laughing—even though it isn’t remotely humorous. I think
my laugh is one of rejection and disbelief. Why wouldn’t a child be frightened
of a known killer, so much bigger and stronger than themselves? Particularly
when there’s a potent aura of violence and guns around him.

“I made the exact
same decision very early on myself,” she says.

I nod. “As I’ve
said before, we’re quite a pair. I think you had a far worse childhood than I
did, and you think the same thing about me. Yet, we have much more in common
than I thought. It turns out we were both terrified of our fathers.”

“So true,” she
agrees, “but it’s not really surprising. Abuse survivors have loads in common
regardless of the nature of their abuse; nightmares, guilt, anger, shame,
depression, self-hate, self-harm and addiction issues for a start. Discovering
you were afraid of your father is a fantastic realization. Is there anything
else you want to tell me about it?”

I draw in a
deep, steadying breath. “My father’s games became fun as time went on. It
became normal and I received pleasure, praise and attention from him that I
equated with love. That’s what I remember. But you know what? It’s good to
realize just how evil my father was. In my mind, I wanted him to be perfect. It
seemed so much easier to believe
I
was the one to blame, that I was the monster,
not him. Yet it’s the height of wickedness to scare a child into committing sexual
perversions.”

“Abuse of every
kind is wicked.”

“My father
controlled me with fear and love, two extremely powerful forces,” I murmur,
blowing out a breath.

“What happened
to you wasn’t your fault,” she says, as she’s told me many times before.
“Against a man like your father, no child would’ve stood a chance.”

Renata and I
walk to the kitchen, make ourselves another warm drink and return to my
bedroom, all the while discussing my new insights, at length.

“For as long as
I can remember, I’ve
wanted
oral sex,” I explain, “but I also
didn’t
want oral sex in equal measure. The mere thought of it could trigger extreme
anxiety, enough to quell my arousal. However, until tonight, I'd never known my
introduction to the subject involved a childhood terror of being killed and
mounted on the wall of my father’s den!”

“Yeah, that
sounds pretty scary.”

“It was,” I say,
“I took up hunting myself as time went on. It was a choice, I guess. I felt
safer being the one
behind
the gun and doing the shooting.”

She nods. “Genuine
fear of death of oneself or of a loved one is the basis of PTSD.”

“As a kid, I
remember having nightmares of people trying to kill me,” I say, slanting her a
self-conscious look. “I also wet my bed for years. It was embarrassing.”

“Night terrors
and bed wetting are classic signs of severe psychic disturbance in a child,”
she says.

“You got that
right.” I smile, feeling so much better about everything. “It seems an
unconscious fear of death was the key to my oral sex hang-ups. I thought it was
just the shame, disgust and guilt I associated with any sexual act, even though
this felt way more extreme. It was fear that held me back.”

“Oh?” Renata
murmurs, encouraging me to continue.

“It’s difficult
to admit,” I say as I cringe, “a very shameful truth, but I learned to enjoy
both giving and receiving oral sex with my… abuser. I liked it.
A lot
.”

“Perfectly
natural,” she remarks. “Psychology! Biology! Children want to please adults,
they need love and attention. And as terrible as it is, even little boys get
hard and feel good when their penises are fondled.”

“True,” I agree.
“Yet after our ‘games’ stopped, instead of pleasure, the whole idea of sex
became a source of pain. Isn’t that strange?”

She shrugs. “Your
father may have stopped his abuse, but the negative associations he left you
with never went away.”

I nod.

“By the way,”
she adds, “I’m impressed with your bravery. You seem quite comfortable
discussing this subject openly. It can’t be easy.”

I snort. “André
made me share exact details of what my father did with me—
at length.
Now
when I see my story from his point of view, I understand why he was able to be
so calm during my confessions. He saw me as a child being expertly groomed for
abuse, while, I viewed myself as a monster and a pervert. André didn’t see that
at all. Still, sometimes the truth can be incredibly difficult to face.”

“I can hear
André now,” Renata says.
‘
The truth—oui, oui! It can be oh-so painful,’
she says, imitating André’s French accent and mannerisms while giving me a
Gaelic shrug of philosophical resignation. She raises both hands, palms up. ‘
And
yet, it is still the truth, n’est-ce-pas?’

Her
impersonation is so perfect, it’s like having André right here with us. We break
into sidesplitting laughter, easing the tension that’s been building.

It’s been quite
a journey. As a child, I lived the illusion of having the perfect father. I
blocked out what I couldn’t face—I was overawed and afraid of him. This hidden
terror is now banished. I’m no longer crippled by my once forgotten fear.

Remembering can
be agony, but facing the truth is worth the pain.

What price can
one place on the freedom of one’s mind, heart and soul?

A significant
part of my past has been unearthed and examined. This may not be the last puzzle
piece to fall into place, but it’s certainly a
significant
piece. It explains
so much.

Emotionally, I’m
exhausted, but I feel so much lighter with that oppressive weight lifted and
gone. Happy. Cleansed.
Alive.

For years my
only goal was to ease my pain, to attain a state where life was bearable. I
never imagined I could be content, much less happy. It was a modest goal, to
hope that someday my time spent on this Earth was ‘OK.’

Just now, I’m
happy. Joyously happy. Every day is a gift.

“The more we
trust, the farther we are able to venture.”

―
Esther Perel

~~~

Grant
Wilkinson

“I think we both
need some sleep,” Renata says with a cheeky grin on her face. “And I know
exactly how to help you to conk out,” she adds mischievously, clearly referring
to mad, passionate, sheet-tearing sex.

A smile tugs my
lips. “Is that right?”

“Yep.” She
stands up, moving to position herself before me. Her bathrobe drops to the
floor.

My eyes trail from
that fallen robe upwards, admiring her long, supple legs, the wonderful
feminine shape of her soft thighs and hips, her curvy figure, full breasts. Her
brows arch mischievously.

Her smile takes
my breath away.

I’m definitely
the luckiest guy in the whole world.

To my surprise, she
places her soft hands on my knees and parts my legs. In one graceful movement,
she kneels between my thighs once more.

Shit.
Of
course she wants to give me a blow job. Why didn’t I expect that? Despite my
reservations, my cock is hard and ready, jutting out in front of me.

“Want to try
this oral sex thing again?” she asks. When her gaze lights on my stiffening
erection, she smiles and says, “Oh, I see that you do.” She arches a playful
brow and purses her mouth. “Tell me, tough guy. Do you want to come in my
mouth?”

My swollen shaft
twitches as I run a hand through my hair, considering her offer.
Can I do
it?
I’ve always wanted to. The idea of having Renata’s thick, luscious lips
around my cock makes my breath quicken and my pulse race—in a good way for a
change.

I inhale deeply.
“Would that be all right?” I ask. “I’ve fantasized about having a woman go down
on me for years. It terrified me and captivated me, but never once did I try to
act out the dream.”

“Mmm. Years,
eh?” She waggles her eyebrows. “I’m all about fulfilling fantasies.”

I give her a
tight smile. “Well then…” I swallow uneasily, “hell yeah.”

Yet, even though
my dick is hard and I
want
to do this, I find myself thinking too much. Once
I get into self-conscious mode I’m screwed. What do I do? This is awkward. I
feel uncomfortable and still have my doubts.

What if I
can’t climax?

With those few
thoughts the stiffness of my hard-on lessens considerably.

Ever aware of my
moods, she tilts her head, studying my face. Conscious of my misgivings, she
stands up, and returns to sit beside me on the bed.

Neither of us
say a word.

Renata knows me
so well. We don’t need to speak in order to fully understand each other.

Our eyes lock. What
starts as a look of acceptance, companionship and understanding leaps into raw
lust. Her eyes grow large, her pupils darken.

Once again, the
air virtually sizzles between us. Seconds pass—or a minute. Or an eternity. Just
like that, my entire body is fully primed and ready for her. Yet, this isn’t
only about sex. This is an awareness, a joining that engages my heart and fires
my soul.

“Grant,” she
whispers quietly, suddenly reverent, as if she’s in a church.

The soft,
musical sound of her voice pleasurably tightens my chest. I hear my name on her
lips, but with that one word she’s telling me,
Hey, it’s OK. I understand. I
need you and I want you so much.

My lungs and
throat seize. My breath hitches. “Renata,” I whisper back.

We come together
in a soft, intimate kiss. I feel her chest rise against me as she inhales a
deep breath. As much as I long to fall on her with animal-lust, to take her and
ravage her, I don’t.

This moment of
magic seems profound.

To my surprise,
my mind conjures a memory, a time in the forest when I witnessed a mother deer
and her white spotted fawn. Maybe ten or eleven years old, on the cusp of
manhood. Alone and upset, I’d been out walking.

I could no
longer pretend my relationship with my father was normal. Reality had been
seeping in. Deep inside, I’d known it. Hate, fear, shame—I’d been captured by a
tumult of ugly, unwanted emotions.

The moment I’d
seen that deer and her fawn, I’d gaped in astonishment. Suddenly, I saw the
forest glade as it was—not as an obstacle to be trudged through or to escape into,
not as a killing ground for my father on his hunt, but as a tiny Eden.

The trees rose
majestically, their boughs giving shelter to mother and child. A small creek
burbled nearby. Running water must be what brought them here, a part of me
realized. But most of my thoughts were caught up in the perfection of the
moment before me.

Unconditional
love.

The beauty and utter
simplicity of that vision took my breath away. All of my angst and torment had
instantly disappeared.

I knew I would
never forget this perfect moment.

Hate couldn’t
live there.

Not when
surrounded by so much good.

I remember becoming
alive with awe and wonder. Innocence. The sense of rightness. The magical
perfection of the natural world.

For me, Renata
is exactly like that unspoiled moment. I need her. She calms the fear and rage
inside of me. She teases me out of my moods. She heals me. Transforms me. Completes
me… loves me.

“Mmm,” she moans,
deep and long, enjoying our loving, sensual kiss.

I groan with
need.

Her breasts
press against my chest, her slim arms wrap around my neck. Renata’s fingers
entangle in my hair as she embraces me. The musky scent of aroused woman fills
my senses. I kiss her back, answering her desire with a desperate craving of my
own.

White-hot passion
flares. Our tongues thrust and parry, circle and stroke. Sighs and groans,
musical songs of need fill the air. My hands roam her heated skin, down her
back until I grasp her buttocks. My fingers press into her soft womanly flesh
as I pull her closer.

Jesus.
I’m
uncomfortably
hard.
I think I could climax from simply feeling
her
desire through this one kiss. Her wanton need
for me
. All misgivings,
doubts and uncertainties fade away.

Her mouth is wet
and soft and warm and…
fuck.
A lifelong fantasy fills my thoughts.

I want those soft,
sweet lips of hers wrapped around my cock.

As though I’ve
spoken out loud, she stands up and moves in front of me. With a knowing smile,
and never once taking her eyes from mine, she places a hand on each thigh,
kneels between my legs.

Her generous
lips part, but she doesn’t say a word.

She doesn’t need
to.

My cock jerks
and twitches. The feel of her delicate, feminine fingers resting on my thighs,
seeing her
right there
, her mouth so close to my aching erection… well. My
whole body is at a fever pitch of excitement.

On her knees
before me, Renata is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

Smiling, her
gaze still locked with mine, she intently watches and delays. She wants to know
if I’m ready for this. She’s patiently waiting for my permission.

I’m unable to
speak. Instead, I inhale a deep breath, lick my lips and nod.

Taking my cock
in her hand, she leans toward me with her luscious mouth open. The pink tip of
her tongue is visible, and the sight makes me even harder. My body hums and my dick
throbs, quivering with need.

I moan when she
takes me inside her sweet, sexy mouth where a pool of saliva awaits me. I’m
surrounded by heat and slick moisture. Her tongue gets busy, and her mouth
creates a vacuum. Her strong, rhythmic draw and pull against my cock feels
beyond divine.

Already, she’s
surpassed every oral fantasy I’ve ever had.

Holy shit.
I’m blown away. It feels too good. The sight of her kneeling between my legs is
too much. Add that to the delicious erotic sensations of strong suction
combined with her busy, licking tongue and I’m already about to explode.

Renata’s lips move
slowly up and down. Then she takes my hard on in her fist, working her mouth
and hand together. I grip the mattress, fingers curled as my senses reel. I’m
dazed by inconceivable pleasure.

Breathing
raggedly, I shudder and my balls clench. I think I’m going to come!

“Stop,” I call
out. Her hand stops moving and her mouth stops sucking.

“Look at me,” I
tell her, placing my hand lightly under her chin, my thumb caressing her face. Her
blue gaze is dark with arousal. She’s so incredibly beautiful.

I catch my
breath while gazing at her. Every single ounce of my natural confidence and
dominance in the bedroom returns. She brings out the real me, completely
accepting exactly who I am.

I’m back in
control while I enjoy her going down on me.

I won’t have
difficulty climaxing now.

Oral sex is just
that, an erotic pleasure given by the mouth of one’s partner. There’s nothing
to be afraid of. It isn’t wrong. It isn’t bad. It isn’t a sin to give, or to
receive it.

Her eyes dance
mischievously in her excitement. Getting me off clearly turns her on. Why
should I be surprised? Getting
her
off does the same to me.

Shaking my head,
I can’t help but grin. “It’s a good thing you have my dick in your mouth,” I murmur.
“Otherwise, I bet you’d be talking, wouldn’t you?”

She flicks her
tongue, skimming under the head of my penis. I gasp. Her gaze remains on me. Moving
up and down, she sucks hard, pulling my pulsing cock with delicious vigor.
Fuck.

I swallow
hard
and my hands move to her head, keeping her still. I tangle my fingers in her
silky hair, tightening my grip. “Did I tell you to start sucking?” I growl at
her, my voice low, deep with lust.

Her eyes widen
in a coy expression of innocence, the little minx.

I smile. “This
feels so amazing, I want to savor it,” I tell her. “How am I going to do that
if you make me come?”

Renata can’t
talk and truthfully, I don’t think I can hold off from sexual release much
longer. So much has happened tonight. I’ve realized so many things about myself.
What an epiphany. A huge weight has been lifted from the burden of fear, shame
and self-hatred I've carried with me for as long as I can remember.

She’s expanded
my world and introduced me to pure ecstasy.

I stroke her
hair with both hands, then place my palms back on the mattress. I nod. “Go
ahead, darlin’,” I tell her. “You go right ahead. Do as you like. This time,
you’re in charge. It’s
your
turn to make
me
come.”

I’m so close
already, teetering on the edge. It takes only a few heartbeats under her
skilled hands and mouth. My eyes squeeze shut. I groan loudly when I feel the
familiar delicious sensation of cramping at the base of my spine, my thighs and
my balls. Exquisite pleasure, building to epic proportion, rushes outward from
my groin as an orgasm slams into me.

I climax
violently. My hips jerk, but I’m careful not to thrust inside of her as I
ejaculate. I don’t want to hurt or choke her. True to her own preference, she swallows
every drop.

It’s the sexiest
thing
ever,
her swallowing, drinking me in.

Something primal
within me, my inner caveman perhaps, sighs with deep satisfaction. The woman
takes my breath away. The look of sated satisfaction on her face must certainly
reflect my own.

There’s no
question in my mind. Renata’s enjoyed sexually pleasing
me
as much
or
even more,
than I’ve enjoyed being sexually pleased.

In this we are
alike.

It’s probably
part of why we’re utterly drawn to each other. We’ve both been damaged. We both
suffered with shame and pain that’s left its mark on our souls. Inside, we’re
the same.

I want to make
her heart overflow with happiness, appreciation and joy. I long to possess her,
protect her and pleasure her. The swing set I’ve built her isn’t enough—I’ll
find something else to give her. I don’t know what exactly, yet I’m sure I’ll
figure it out.

I’m here in this
perfect moment. My mind is free of fear and bullshit.

Next time she wants
to give me a blow job, I might very well be nervous again. I doubt I’ve fully
conquered this hang up, but that doesn’t matter. Today, I overcame my fears,
and I triumphed.

In this moment, I’m
at peace.

With Renata by
my side, everything makes sense.

Passion,
happiness and love fill my heart. I peer down at the kindhearted woman kneeling
at my feet and brush my fingers along her cheek. I’m so grateful. Words could
not begin to explain how I feel, but I have to make an attempt.

“Thank you… for
this, darlin’,” I say in a raw, husky voice. “Thank you for
everything
.”