Six Flavours of Sin (4 page)

Chapter 7

Scream the House Down

Sunday is coitus day. And friends’ day. Friends come over to watch movies, get drunk, smoke up a storm, leave me and my resplendent home, wasted. But we indulge in copulation all day, until they arrive. My underwear has gone through a few transformations over the past year. And the Sunday practising of spawning starts off with handcuffs and blindfolds. (He's so classy. A real class act.)

Let's rename Sunday to ‘Indulge Your Master Day’. Today, he knows exactly what he wants, he's going to try out the Kama Sutra. And I'm the idiot with the engagement ring on my finger. So guess who he's testing the theory on?

Please, I'm begging you: don't do it. I did ballet and gymnastics, could still do the splits, and I found the Sutra too much like contortionist masochism. But Gary was having a ball. And I was getting two. (Yes. To answer your question, every single one of those positions was recreated.)

I have never been happier to have his friends arrive to disrupt my life. In nanoseconds the chains, cuffs and ties were hidden. I launched into the bedroom and shut the door to get clothes on.

Gary just pulled on his jeans, lit a smoke to disguise remnants of activity, and opened the hefty door to his alcohol-wielding friends. The goofy musketeers were reunited. Two more friends followed. A decent couple: Cindy and Graham.

I walk out and smile, lighting a smoke with a trembling hand, cheeks flushed.

Charl is probably the most depraved man I have known. And he hones into that picture book like an addict needing a fix, "What's this?"

(Which is
creepy
to observe: picture someone with bulbous fish eyes offset with a caricature potato nose, alighting with demented anticipation, almost drooling ... yeah you get the picture ...)

Gary does his deliciously wicked chuckle that still makes my knees turn to goo, "The Sutra."

Charl's steel-hued eyes light up, (glistening like the old black and white version of the Hunchback of Notre Dame), "Does it work?"

Gary flops into a recliner, his diabolical smirk illuminating his face, "I'll let you know."

(How come, when he does that, he looks handsome - not demented?)

Alan drops the afternoon's entertainment on the table in front of Gary. Porno movies just brought in by his boss. Kristy picks up the Sutra and leafs through it. She passes the book to Alan. He opens it and informs Gary, "I'm borrowing this."

Gary picks up the movie on the top, "Then I'm keeping this."

Alan smiles and throws an unlit joint to Gary, "Deal."

The drink flows like the fountain of youth. (It works that way, have you noticed? Everyone looks better – even Charl – once you're sozzled.) My home is a smoky haze and I'm  giggly on fumes. We drink, we eat, and we watch porno stars show us their stars. It's disgusting I know. But inevitably a long afternoon and evening morphs into sex talk, Irish coffees, and the last joint of the weekend.

I don't care who's done what with whom. I'm learning secrets from Cindy. She has a friend who's a nurse, and she's telling me how to prevent ejaculation so that it lasts longer. Kristy is flipping through Cosmo and reading to us how to successfully perform a blow job.

"It says to hold it and lick it like an ice-cream cone."

Cindy laughs sarcastically, "We know how to do it, Kristy."

Kristy drops the glossy mag as though it's anthrax, "I can't believe they have to explain that! How can you
not
know?"

I keep quiet. I didn't know.
Gary's sadistic lifestyle taught me that
and
waaaay
more. (
In fact I naively thought it was a
blow
job. I had heard the expression and had a vague idea of what went on during the act, but I had no idea back then that he did the blowing (up) not me
.) Two accusing and perceptive pairs of eyes pin me to my cigarette.

"What?"

Kristy starts jiggling with raucous giggling, "Stef!
Oh my God
!"

The room stops, and all men present are staring to see what the commotion is about. I feel my cheeks getting hotter. Gary is smiling at me. Instigating, he eggs, "Show her how it's done, Cindy."

There is still a lady inside me somewhere, and she wants to crawl under the sleeper-wood table as Cindy grabs her empty beer bottle and starts performing her version of oral sex on it. I notice that Charl's perverted hands have just snaked into his loose dirty red baggies.
He is so gross
.
(
Did he honestly think that none of us would notice?)

I can't watch and avert my eyes to stare morbidly at
the taupe carpet, listening to the mocking laughter as Cindy performs her expert craft on a piece of cold moulded glass. Music blares, breaking the tension, when a hand grips me and hauls me into the arms of my lover.

He smiles with understanding and squeezes me tight. Whispering confidentially into my ear, hotly, "It's okay woman. I won't
tell them."

I love him. I really do.

Eeuw, Charl's just made his way into the marine blue bathroom. To jack off no doubt. I hold on and kiss my man. He's my haven in this never-ending flurry. He's in a romantic mood for a change and holds my hand.

Expelling his friends from our abode at last. We all have work tomorrow. A part of me is dreading having to do more Kama Sutra, or gymnastics like the flippin' wheelbarrow. If he was any taller that wouldn't work.

I look at the mess and sigh. I clean up ashtrays, bottles and greasy glasses, while he watches Miss Magic Boobs in her porno movie. I walk in just after midnight and have an education on the flat screen burned into my retina, the multiple facets of using an ice cube. A long ice cube. A long, rounded, ice cube.

I shudder.

He flips it off, we're cloaked in blinding darkness. Strong arms surround me. He kidnaps me to the bedroom. Wow, kisses and cuddles. For a change he's making love to me as he strips my body naked. Caressing me. Sucking my youthful skin with his magnificent mouth. Turning my relaxation into exquisite anticipation.

I am so relieved to just lie back and be indulged. Tonight he's being slow, gentle, no violence or hard, punishing, invasive manoeuvres. Letting him rock my body with the motion of the ocean, I succumb to a heightening.

Each time he eases himself into me, I become more aroused. I'm twenty-two, and something happens. It's divine. It's unlike anything I've ever experienced. I have never felt this good in my life.

A hand clamps over my mouth, "Shut up, the neighbours will hear you."

I don't care, just keep moving.
I don't care
(Houston, we have lift off!) I wasn't even conscious of my voice moaning out of me. Now I'm done.

It's official. This is the man for me.

He looks like a god, and finally he's giving me what girls have been talking about since high school. I'm not going anywhere. Just keep doing that and I'll stay with you.

Chapter 8

A Good Woman Stays Home

One thing I loved about being with Gary, was the lifestyle. It was chaotic and wild. Perfect Cape ocean-view bike runs at least twice a month along the coast.

Sometimes doing the wine route, other times following the scenic coastline to the Cape of Good Hope Nature Reserve, where we'd end up swimming naked together on secluded beaches we had to illegally hike to; endless pubbing and clubbing, from Mercury Live to Stones in Tableview; socialising eight days a week. It kept me motivated.

I can't say when the switch happened. It was that insidious. He often kept me waiting at work, insisting on fetching me. So my best friend was the security guard. He was a very nice guy, with fair hair and big blue eyes. A tall and lanky dude who came from the same town as Gary. I worked in a particularly seedy and crime-ridden area at the wrong end of Adderley Street; so waiting outside after dark
was not even a consideration.

When Gary came to the door, looking through the glass to see me laughing and joking with Mr Security Guard, I was completely unprepared for the jealous repercussions. He could have any girl he wanted. I knew my place. I would
never
cheat on him. A: I didn't have the energy – (you've heard the expression, ‘I'm fucked’, right?) – and B: I loved him so much, I would have laid down my life for him.

I was the recipient of the sulky-silent treatment all the way home. Not knowing what I'd done, I can take it no longer and as we walk inside I broach the subject.

"What is your problem?"

"Why were you talking to him?"

"Gary, he is the security guard. No one else is there at that time! What must I do, sit and stare at the wall? He's just a friend."

I get The Look. Wow, he must be angry. He fetched his own beer.

"What were you talking about?"

I look at his face and know he's a cobweb away from violently angry. I know that look and I never want to see it again.

"Music. We like the same music."

I get the ‘
yeah right!
’ look.

Half an hour later I sit down with him in the lounge, waiting for dinner to finish cooking. He looks across at me with those smouldering blue eyes and states, "You don't love
me."

What!

He's breaking up with me because I spoke to the security guard about the kick ass rock band, La Paz?
Are you kidding me?
He's ripping my heart out of my ribcage with his wounded stare. I can't lose him.
I can't
.

I can barely breathe, "That's not true. I do love you."

"Prove it."

I'm shaking. Why am I so afraid?

"How?"

"Never talk to him again."

Okay, that’s impossible. I work there. How can I never talk to the man who opens and closes the door for me? It's irrational. I know I can't keep my word if that's what he wants.

"I can't
not
talk to him. That's unreasonable."

Silence.

I know Gary. I've been with him for a long time. So I get on my knees and crawl over to him. This always works.

He pushes me away, "I don't want you anymore."

Cue: Sledgehammer. Pounding me into emotional smithereens.

Tears. I can't help it.

"Why not?"

"I don't want what another man has had."

I'm shocked breathless. "Gary, nothing happened! I
promise
."

"You were alone. You just said so."

God give me strength.
"That doesn't mean a thing. I can't wait in the dark for you. Gary, I would never ...”

Saved by the dinner buzzer. I get off my knees and walk in these ridiculous heels to the kitchen. Gary has rearranged my wardrobe. Tight, tight or tight. Jeans even tighter. He criticised me endlessly, until I became his image of arm candy. I serve dinner. I'm not hungry and go to the coldly spacious bathroom.

That night was the first time Gary and I did not engage in any form of physical activity, other than our very first night in a frigid bed. The situation was bad. Cataclysmically bad.

Days followed days. I tried to maintain my distance from Mr Security Guard. I had to explain why though. And I felt really stupid telling him about the fight. We had an arrangement. We would sit across the office from each other. Chat from afar. As soon as we heard a car door or any activity, I would pretend to work, he would pretend to be listening to his earphones. I guess it was obvious. The silent confrontations each day, between my friend and my lover, at a door I walked through each and every day at work.

But, tonight is pool night. Finally I can have a sense of normal. I rush dinner, get ready, when the bullet impales me.

"It's just the lads tonight. Sorry woman. I need time alone with them. We're all sick of women interfering."

I'm deflated. I try to justify it. I can see that he needs time alone with his friends. That's not unreasonable.

"Okay."

How stupid of me to think that this issue would be just tonight. This was the beginning of the end. I watched him pick up the case with his pool cue in it. He looked dashing, he smelled fuckable. I loved his smell. (He was the pheromone lord!)

Chapter 9

Two Slippery Nipples and a BJ

By now, I know most of you think I'm exaggerating and writing a load of rubbish. If you do think this, then you are so very lucky. This is my life. It is my normal everyday reality. And if you've never been someone's walking blow up doll, then consider yourself blessed. (I was in a dysfunctional relationship and I didn't even know it.)

The first step to becoming someone's slave, is the severing of all previous ties. You deliberately cut off your network. And it's easy to do. It started for me with my friends of colour. Lovely, kind people. Gary was the worst racist I have ever known. Blondie hated dark skins. He had a derogatory statement for anyone who wasn't vampire white.

Because I loved and respected my friends, I 'phased' them
out of my life (because I didn't want Gary to hurt them). I knew they wouldn't understand. Then came my family and old friends. In his opinion my mother hated him, my brother was gay – (he was homophobic too) – he had an issue with every single friend, (even Adelle), until all I had were his friends girlfriends. I did everything he told me to do.

I did
anything and everything I had to, to keep him happy. So, when Gary pushed me away and kept me at a distance, I was miserable.

I still could not take my eyes off him. He was stunning. No man, (other than Calvin Klein models), looked that jaw-dropping in nothing but plain old blue jeans. And he chose to walk around in just the blues so often that I was in a
permanent state of arousal.

Gary kept me at arm's distance for two weeks. He rejected every advance I made, but had to feed the beast. I cannot convey how it shattered my heart (and self-esteem
– the little I had left) – that he refused to speak to me, to engage with me in any way, until I was fast asleep. For two weeks I was woken with him skewering me in the middle of the night. When he was done, he'd just roll over and go to sleep. Two hours later he'd wake me up again. Just a shake.

"What?" I'd mumble sleepily.

He would smile. I would fall for it, thinking that redemption was going to be mine. When he pulls my head into the top of his thighs, I give him what he likes.

My hopeful eyes would meet his, just to be met with that triumphant gloat.

He was killing me with degradation and humiliation. (I fell for this multiple times. Ha ha. You can tell I'm a natural blonde.) And I had no one I could share my pain with. My only real friend now, was Gary.

Once he'd decided that I'd suffered enough for being attractive to other men, he took me back. Gary style. The dynamics were changing faster than I could comprehend. But I was just so grateful he wanted me. He picked me up from work, drowning out any conversation with blaring Metallica. I stared sullenly out of my window at the back end of Table Mountain. The beauty lost on me in my haze of misery. Craving him with every breath and hating him for my sufferance.

When I got home, I walked in through the door expecting to simply make dinner. The kitchen was the first room as you walked in through the door. I dropped my Gucci bag on the table and put the kettle on. I opened the fridge and took out the cold brew to slake his hard day's thirst. He's wearing his wicked grin.

My heartbeat accelerates. Oh, how I've missed that look. His eyes sparkle deceptively as he puts his noosed tie around my neck. He takes the beer and places it onto the table next to us. His grin is a smile now. He's touching me. YAY, thank God he still wants to touch me. My dress falls to the floor. My bra follows.

I step out of my shoes and become diminutive, looking up at him, wondering what he's going to do. He pulls off his button-down work shirt and drops it to caress my dress. With my leash he leads me to the bedroom. I'm melting. The thought of him has my body in biological response-ready mode.

He pushes me rather forcefully onto the edge of the king sized bed. Face down. I hear the zipper and my body explodes when he unlocks me. Tears of gratitude and relief well up. I'm into it. The rhythm. I feel the hardening before he ices my cake and instantly feel robbed as he pulls out of me and sprays hot ectoplasm all over my naked back. I swallow hard, fighting back bitter tears. I'm given hope again as the noose tightens and he pulls my head back by the hair. He re-enters the chamber of secrets and starts doing his thing again.

Hope restored! I'm used to his games. If Gary is anything, he's unpredictable. And he gets bored easily. The bedroom dynamic was constantly morphing, an endless kaleidoscope of sadistic creativity.

I am shamed when he pulls out and repeats the process. When he does it a third time, I am broken. He pulls me up off the bed backwards, with the noose tight around my throat, and turns me to face him. I cannot meet his eyes.

My emotional pain is too excruciating. I don't want him to know what he's just done to me. I stare fixedly at his amazing pecs, my eyes caressing the shape that is perfection.

A commanding hand lifts my chin until I finally look into his eyes with my own. I hate Gary. He knows me better
than anyone ever will. He loves to make me angry and hurt, because my eyes turn a deep sapphire. He deliberately shames and humiliates me, because he relishes my eyes when they’re that shade of blue. I know that my eyes are betraying me, because his smile communicates that he has achieved what he set out to.

He hasn't spoken a word. Neither have I. I wait for the next instruction. He sits down on the kohl black sheet and pulls my body by the tie to stand between his legs. He looks at my erect nipples and a gloating smirk morphs his handsome
face. He waits expectantly. I remember belatedly that this is my cue. (Hah! No pun intended).

I kneel and watch his eyes close, as a low moan escapes his throat when my warm mouth cossets one of the twins. He flops back and the noose gets tighter. I can hardly breathe and with the erection in my mouth, the lack of oxygen is making my vision blur. I've read about people dying like this. Squashing my fear, I choose to trust him. It's odd, but it's an adrenalin rush. Erotic extreme sports has entered our dynamic. He finally relinquishes the leash.

I'm in!

I loosen the tie slightly as I become the dominant partner. Looking down at my victim who is enjoying lying back with expectant anticipation. I've learned the art of masochism from Gary. And it's pay-back time.
I'm hornier than a blowfish, but I've waited this long, a little while longer won't be any harder to take. Those hands grip my hips, and I take the noose off and restrain his hands to the bed with it. No way is he interfering in this.

Ha!

His eyes opened and I saw startled surprise. I smile back at my master. He's forgotten that he's trained me well. Sub or dom, top or bottom, I can do both.

I learned the Asian art of making love using all of the pelvic floor muscles. My body can do better than my lips can. I ride him until I anticipate the precipice, and using the nurse’s technique of stalling a detonation, I make him wait. It's a brilliant technique. 

I start the slow build up again. He's my victim now, and I'm relishing torturing him. I fondle my own pink skin and watch his eyes cloud with anger. The motion doesn't stop. My body is working its erotic pleasure on him, he moans loudly ... I cut it off again.

Three times he humiliated me.

Three times is payback.

So I initiate joyride number three. I'm getting my own
fix. Two weeks without the explosion of a new galaxy is a lifetime when you've been having two or three a day for years. I'm now as sick as Gary. He has made his needs my needs. I cannot change who he's conditioned me to be.

I've never heard Gary yell like that ever. When I let him have the release, it looked like it could almost have been painful.  I stay on him, smiling.

Game, set and match.

Respect won, he smiles back. The smile that conveys openly,’ I love you, bitch’.

Feeling secure, I undo his hands and free him. My head lurches as he grabs me and pins me underneath him. He's angry and has to work off that energy. He's nailing me hard. (And I'm loving it.) Since that first time I have never had a vocal climax again. The only way to shut up, is to hold my breath. He knows I'm cumming when I stop breathing. A long groan breaks the never-ending slapping of skin on skin. Not from me. He drops heavily against me. A tear of relief and satisfaction escapes out of the corner of my eye. He leans away and grips my face. His explorative kiss feels like rape. I savagely kiss him back, returning the mingling of lips and tongues. I'm hungry. I've been craving this sustenance. His hand tightens around my neck and squeezes. Kissing and asphyxiating me.

My vision starts blurring again. Fear hammers my heart. Would he really kill me? Is this a power trip? I'm too breathless to scream. You never beg with Gary. You never ask. If you do, he'll show you the door. So I watch through tearing eyes as his head pulls away from mine.

(Thanks to Gary I can hold my breath for an indeterminate amount of time.)

He lets my throat go and laughs happily. A gentle kiss is placed on my swollen lips. Swollen from kissing. The soul-soothing voice speaks in my ear as he pinches my nipple, "Fuck, I love you." The first words of the night.

I can't tell you a time when I have felt this happy. My heart is blowing evanescent bubbles of joy as I walk naked to make us dinner. That night he engaged with my body repeatedly. And I felt loved. This was love. (Or so I thought.)  I lost count of the orgasms we had between us. After dinner he put in Miss Magic Boobs and doggie'd me in the dark, watching her writhing. I'm addicted to his smell, it turns me inside out. I never object to his overwhelming appetite for my lips on his cue. I crave his hands all over my body. I adore him inside me. In short, I worship him.

(In retrospect I think he had turned me into a sex addict who missed her calling as a porn star.)

I knew I'd won him back when we went out together for drinks with the goofy gang on Friday night to the V&A Waterfront. Cindy is short, really short: four-foot-two or something ridiculous like that. And she can drink an alcoholic into surrender. Her joy at our being reunited is palpable, and she intends to rejoice with shooters. Shoving money into my hand she grabs the other and pulls me off my bar stool, "Come!"

She pushes me through throngs of men to the bar. I know the routine. She can't see over the bar so someone else has to get the drinks for her.

"What are we having?"

She grins and flicks back wildly curly, long blonde hair, "Two Slippery Nipples."

I laugh, and feel my cheeks heat up as every man around us is suddenly giving our nipples their undivided attention.
Shit. They are reacting to the attention! Great. Thanks nipples!

The tall, dark-haired beefcake behind the bar smiles and asks, "What can I give you?"

I order, "Two Slippery Nipples, please." His eyes move to my nipples, he grins, "Sure thing." The suggestion is obvious.

As he walks away Cindy pulls on my arm and yells, "And a Blow Job!"

I raise my eyebrows because now we're becoming the object of commentary and scrutiny. She laughs and, too loud, says, "I'm craving one."

I'm not. I had a lifetime's supply just yesterday. Sleep is becoming an indulgence of luxurious proportions.

The bar-tender returns with the shooters and quirks an eyebrow, "Anything else?"

I blush for real, "A Blow Job too, please."

His smile causes sunlight to break through the night and he unzips his jeans, "With pleasure."

I clarify, "The shooter."

He gives me a wink, his mischievous glance said very clearly, ‘It is the shooter, angel,’ but he pulls it back up. His throaty laugh causes my cheeks to burn with fervour. (This is my give-away. It reveals that no matter what happens between Gary and me behind closed doors, I'm still naive and easily embarrassed around strangers. Especially men.)

Laughs erupt from the baritones and muscles surrounding us. A huge scary looking guy leers at me, "I'll give you one."

This isn't going well. If Gary sees other men talking to me, I'm in endless shit. And I've only just been allowed out to play again. My flushed cheeks drain as his wide shoulders push through them and he stands towering behind Cindy. His look of displeasure sends fluttering panic through my loins. Cindy fears no repercussion and is encouraging the lewd behaviour. Gary scowls at the men, puts his arm around my waist and slides his hand into the back of my jeans.

"Woman, is there a problem?"

I shake my head as the bartender returns to me with a Blow Job. I pay him, my eyes pleading silently for him not to joke any further. As he hands me the change, Gary knifes him with two cold, hard, blue eyes and orders, "Two Castle's!"

Gary is used to ordering people around. You can tell. He never says please. Gary moves his arm to around my shoulders and blatantly cups my right breast. Angry eyes seem insulted as they watch him. I feel shamed and carefully pick up the drinks, handing Cindy her Blow Job, avoiding all eye contact with the audience around us, at any cost. She downs it and I put the empty glass back on the bar. I hand her the Slippery Nipple and get ready to walk back to our table with mine.