The Autumn Diaries (5 page)

The one with the chunky cum -

How I panicked and said, “That’s not oatmeal!” and didn’t understand what he was saying because I thought that Sharpie was stuck up his ass and that he was panicking, but that it was just his normal routine. Remember the bit about how I wanted to call 911 again, and 911 was like, “Is that you again, Autumn?” while he was yelling at me that he couldn’t go to the emergency room again so soon after getting that thing stuck. Also note: Wilford Brimley reference.

The one with the guy who dirty talked in Elmo's voice -
 

This is a maybe. There might be a trademark violation.

The one with the helium tank -
 

“Make me fly, baby!”
 

“I can feel it bubbling up into my stomach!”
 

And that bit about when the rubber end thing broke off in Betty’s ass and we got all panicky.

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28

DIDN’T HAVE A GREAT DAY. Not sure why. Sam came in and asked me what was up, and I couldn’t give him a good answer. He was sweet. He came over and kissed me all gentle, which is totally different from the way I usually attack him. This is the guy who played John Mayer the night that I, in a different vein, decided to see how hard a blowjob could make him cum. But today it was really nice. I think he just meant it as a kiss, like a hug, like to make me feel better. Maybe I was just being hormonal, I don’t know. But once he got going with the kissing I started to get wet. So I said it. I just told him that I was getting wet, because that’s what I do, all blunt, and still somehow it didn’t break this sweet mood. He just slid his hand into my panties all slow and touched me really soft, and it felt good in a way that most of the harder, rougher stuff doesn’t always — not better, but different. So I reached for his crotch, but instead of grabbing it and going down on it right away, I just kind of stroked it, and then I got it out and he pulled my pants and panties off, and we just kind of kissed and rubbed each other. I don’t know when it became hot enough to cum. It just felt sweet and even romantic. There were no big fireworks or theatrics. I just quietly felt an orgasm build and I came against his hand, and at almost the same time he gave a small jerk and he kind of breathed into my mouth and then my hand was all slippery and wet. We wiped off with tissues and then fell asleep, and when I woke up a few hours later and the sun was still shining, I felt a lot better.
 

M
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1

SAM WAS SWEET AND AWESOME, but for the past few nights I’ve woken up at almost exactly 3:30am and I’ve felt something odd in my chest — not like a physical pain, more like some sort of emotional hole. This is something that Lexi Maxxwell would never admit to, but Autumn Cole will, right here and now.
 

I felt somehow vulnerable or maybe sad, and I couldn’t even say why. This may sound strange, but it reminded me of that scene in
Unbreakable
, where Samuel Jackson is talking to Bruce Willis and he asks if Bruce ever wakes up and feels a kind of emptiness. That’s what it was like. I peed and got a drink and went back to bed each time, unsure what to think.
 

Some of it is probably malaise from frustration. I looked at my Amazon stats again this morning (I’m too compulsive about them, I know) and I just kind of shook my head because the stories in the
Swallowing Secrets
and
Sex and Money
series aren’t taking off like I’d hoped. Neither is
Talking Dirty,
though that’s still pretty new. And really, when I think about it, I’m being unreasonable because even my oldest stories aren’t yet two months old, but frustration isn’t always reasonable. I feel like I’ve really ripped myself open and been unflaggingly honest about who I am and what I want and feel, and I guess part of me had hoped that it would happen immediately because everyone out there would be just like me, or my stories would spark something in them, and everything would just, I don’t know, take off. But again, I know it’s unreasonable. It’s only been two months, and building an audience takes time.
 

This is the valley. I just have to keep writing and keep pushing and be patient.
 

I kind of want to try something different. It’s all just ideas now. But I keep going back to those websites I bookmarked a while back by writers, and some guys are doing stuff that’s like TV, like they release episodes of their stories. Like an old serial. But somehow different, I don’t know. I need to read it again.

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3

I HAD AN IDEA THAT I thought was so great that I was giddy all day today. Sam thinks I’m insane. He says I have ADD or something. But what does Sam know? When he walked in the door I shoved him onto the couch and ripped off his pants and got my tits out and bet him that I could blow him well enough to make him shoot a load two full feet into the air. He asked me if I planned to use a ruler. I used one hand to stroke his pole and the other to grab a yardstick we got for free at last year’s fair. It’s been leaning on the wall behind the couch for forever. I gave Sam the yardstick and told him to hold it against his leg. He’s eight inches from base to tip, so I told him that if I could make him hit two-eight, he owed me a nice dinner out.
 

I won. We had sushi. Sam made so many jokes about raw fish that we ended up fucking when we got home, too.

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APRIL
= ME

BRIAN
= Mike (the one with the bad knee from the time we fucked in that ride outside the drug store and he tripped out when his button fly got caught in the coin slot)

Basic points to add to the beginning later:

- April meets Brian at school. He’s cute and works as a college librarian.

- Brian likes to read, they go to a date at that used book store. He mentions how he likes to “collect things.”
 

- Trip to thrift store. Doesn’t set off any alarms because he needed skis. Forgot the skis in the shop because
I’d
she’d put
my
her phone on vibrate and stuck it up
my
her pussy, and he kept texting.
 

- Discovery that his apartment is full of shit. Mention the gerbils. Mention the month-old pizza.

- April’s apartment is being fumigated, she has to stay with Brian. Makes him clean a room first if he’s going to get any head or ass at all while she’s there.
 

Then go on to:
 

April had to make her way through a kind of narrow mountain pass to reach his bedroom, which was all the way at the back of the apartment. She was suddenly sure he hadn’t gotten rid of anything to clear it. He’d simply taken all of the crap that used to be in the room and balanced it precariously in the living room, bathroom, and dining room. She saw the Mearle Haggard records he used to have on his bed balanced on top of several years worth of the
New York Times.
She saw the disassembled pool vacuum in the bathtub, covered with that truckload of used underwear he’d saved from the thrift store’s dumpster, arguing that it was at least clean and that he might someday need a rag. The kitchen cabinets were full of Denise Austin VHS workout tapes, and April couldn’t even protest his outdated technology since there were seven VHS players under the coffee table like a set of very small drawers. The room had been cleared, yes. But the rest of the apartment had become twenty percent fuller.
 

“Nice and sparse, huh?” he said, smiling as he gestured toward the bed. “Have I done well?” This time, he gestured toward his belt. It was probably not supposed to be obvious or even conscious, but it seemed that at least part of Brian’s mind had equated “job well done” to “pay attention to my dick.”
 

“This room is, I guess,” said April, looking back at the narrow aisle she’d barely traversed from the doorway. The path was wide enough for one person and six feet tall on both sides. April had once gone caving, and had squeezed through narrow passageways she thought would crush her. This was like that. And the path only went to the door; if she wanted to go into the living room (there was a five-foot clear space where they could watch TV while fearing death from above), she’d have to go to the door first, then take a separate path. She almost wanted a map.
 

“So, you’ll be happy here?”
 

“Um…”
 

He made his voice sly. “And
horny
here?”
 

April had never felt less horny in her life. It was hard to focus on your crotch while the rest of you thought it might be trapped and have to eat off its own foot to survive.
 

“Um…”
 

“I haven’t had sex with room to spare in here in years,” said Brian. April realized she didn’t know how old Brian was or how long he’d lived here. This all might be a very bad idea, but they’d screwed a bunch of times before she discovered his hoarding and he had a very special tongue. Her pussy was having a hard time letting go, like a jilted romantic.
 

“Um…”
 

Brian unbuckled his belt and lowered his jeans. His cock sprang out.
 

“Know what I mean?” he said.

It wasn’t as forward as it would normally have seemed, since April and Brian had had sex in the library a dozen or more times and this was their standard cue. Usually it was funny. She looked around, saw the tottering piles that she hadn’t noticed were, in fact, still in the corners of the otherwise clear room. He had tried. Maybe she could pretend she was in the library stacks.
 

April put a smile on her face, then took off her shirt, displaying her cute, small-C tits with their perky nipples. Then she pulled off her own pants and panties in the same undramatic, unromantic way he’d done and sprawled back on the bed, stark naked, her knees in her hands and legs parted wide. Her pussy opened a little, betraying her disgust with its ill-informed interest.
 

“I know what you mean,” said April, giving the countersign.
 

She told herself that this was hardly the weirdest thing she’d done.
 

Brian moved in and slipped his fuckpole into her waiting snatch, and after a few strokes she started moaning enough to mercifully forget the piles. He flipped her over and put her on top, then she rode up and down on his dick with her tits bouncing. Because she could see his horde, April got onto her hands and knees and looked back, her wet pussy beckoning him. With her ass in the air she said, “Fuck me from behind.” So Brian did while April looked out the window and pretended that she was in wide-open spaces, until a few minutes later she had a somewhat unremarkable orgasm, immediately preceding Brian’s rather sizable one.
 

He pulled out and blasted the window with a blob that looked a little like Elvis.
 

April knew she’d have to stay with Brian for a few days, and that was the situation’s true bummer. One of her girlfriends worked for the fumigator, and she’d managed to get April and her roommates a rather sizable discount in exchange for flexibility. Specifically, the company wanted to be able to handle her apartment whenever it found the time, and that depended on the shifting of schedule, the comings and goings of workers who weren’t always reliable, homeowners’ whims, and so on. So she’d tied up the apartment and planned on staying with Brian for a week if necessary. On the ninth day, however, nothing had been done, so she called her friend, who told her they were “getting to it.”
 

Brian had done well keeping the bedroom clear for the first few days, until his need for collection reasserted itself. On the third day, he bought three entire baseball card collections from a sports shop because he figured he could mix and match then sell them. On the fourth day, he retrieved six suits that were too large for him and were twenty years out of style. On the fifth day, he found a recumbent exercise bike in storage and brought it up so he could exercise. It didn’t make sense to bring the bike into the bedroom, so he put it in the living room and brought some stuff from the living room into the bedroom. “Just for a few hours until I can organize,” he said. Then he set out to exercise on the bike, ordered a pizza, and watched TV.

Brian was a good guy and in no way passive aggressive, but he did seem to think that having a live-in girlfriend — even a temporary one — should entitle him to a daily sex regimen. So every day and sometimes more than once, April laid down for him, bent over for him, stuck a leg up in the air for him, or polished his knob. It was cool. She was horny most of the time. But each day she had less and less space, and was feeling increasingly claustrophobic.
 

“I think there’s some room in here,” Brian told her. He moved a collection of troll dolls and pointed to a two foot square of bedding.