Through the Hole

Through The Hole

Kendall Newman

© 2015 Sensual Ink Publishing

All Rights Reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author.

Life always had a way of being so dull, so droll and otherwise ‘boring’…almost like life was looking for a way to mock, to poke and prod and just
give
any reason it could to make things seem so tasteless and…blah…

At the tender age of 29, in a process that repeat itself until the day she died—Marissa Jensen seemed to have everything that most people twice her age were searching for; she had a good job. More importantly, she had a high paying job in which nothing seemed to ever go wrong! She had her own apartment on the Upper East Side, and shit…she had a nice car too. Nothing ‘high performance’ or anything, but an adorable little powder blue car she loved taking with her when she hit the streets and hung out with friends.

To make matters better? The woman was reminded of a movie called
Mean Girls
…falling into the category of ‘hot’ without even trying, with her pouty lips just a few shades darker than her naturally tan skin, and supple but perky breasts over a slender and well-built figure. You know the kind, with all the right curves? Heck, she even thought her size seven feet were adorable too, with the index toe on each a little longer than her big toe. Everything about Marissa’s life seemed like it should have been a girl’s dream come true…she even had long flowing locks of curly auburn hair to match soft brown eyes.

So what was the problem?

She said it again despite that, “Blah…” her convictions as spoken within the confines of her own mind seemingly deplorable as she reflected while seated on her balcony overlooking a small park.

The downside to living within the City…everything has a shadow cast over it.
She reflected as she took notes of the deep shadows of the towering spires of New York dwarfing this small park.

Cup of coffee in hand, and bare feet kicked up on the edge of her outdoor recliner, she looked out onto the rest of the world in a reverence that begot the notion ‘you guys are
so
lucky’, despite her own obvious success.

The latest of her ‘flings’ was just exiting out of the bedroom as she heard the alarm bell in her bedroom strike six, a slight wince touching her face as she totally forgot about Kyle. “I’m sorry, guess I forgot to shut that off,” she lied with a fake smile, her lips kissing at air as a groggy and mostly naked man lumbered over to her to kiss her lips—which after a quick turn of her head, became her cheek instead.

Kyle didn’t take the hint, and rubbed a hand slightly through his hair as he went to reach for her cup of coffee.

“Uhm…thanks but this is mine,” she said flatly, and gestured with a slight wave back towards the kitchen. “Creamer’s in the fridge, sugar is next to the coffee pot.”

“Thanks
babe
.” Kyle remarked sourly, and turned around to make himself a cup.

Alright, so maybe
boring
was such a strong word, but at twenty nine Marissa imagined she’d be having more than a simple booty call by now—maybe a bit of meaning and purpose in her life with a loving man, as she jumped back and forth between the arms of a whole
legion
of Mr. Wrongs.

Marissa’s mother would argue that she spent way too long playing the field, and now she’s only stuck with the incorrect match, and her friends said she was too picky, or point out that her ‘standards’ always filled in bad people who didn’t quite make the cut.

Take Kyle for instance…

The two of us on the dance floor. I knew what he wanted…I could ‘feel’ it as he rubbed and ground my thighs between his with each dance step. He told me everything I wanted to hear, plus a few things that I don’t think were physically possible. But when he kissed my neck, it felt like butter…and it was only half as good as the feeling when we hit silk bed sheets.

My head was swimming in Long Island Iced Teas and vodka, and it felt wonderful; how he touched my tender breasts, the way his teeth felt against my nipple as he tugged and pulled. His breath reeked of cigarettes and beer, which was nasty, but it didn’t matter…what mattered was the feel, the ‘sensation’ the moment he penetrated me, like a staff piercing straight into my heart.

When she woke up her head was beating twelve beats faster than her heart, and she had the same stink of shame, sweat and beer on her that she could literally smell as the man openly snored aloud just across from her, making her head throb even more.

He wasn’t adorable, not anymore…that child-like charm and hair gel only could go so far as she looked at the sloppy mess he really was, lips agape and drool collecting on her fancy pillows as most of the fabric stuck to the side of his face—
I seriously need to invest in plastic covers for my bed—
and his hair looked like some funkified version of Peppermint Patty’s from Charlie Brown. You know the style…

Well douche it up now! That’s the hair that was stuck to her pillow now, and she couldn’t help shaking that ‘sticky’ feeling she got when she finally got out of bed, prompting the man to roll over and scratch his ass while she trailed off to the bathroom to wipe off several layers of that funk with an industrial scrubber and a razor blade.

“Hey babe, if you’re not doing anything later—”

She caught Kyle’s voice as he finished up, and she swore she heard something tip over, but it didn’t get to her. Most men like Kyle were slobs; epic Gods of sex and love in their own minds, and tended to conform to personalized rules which negated them from niceties like cleaning up after one’s self, or hitting the toilet when taking a piss.

‘
Why do that when I ‘rocked’ her world? She’d be thrilled just to be in the same room as me, let alone clean up my urine!’
her inner voice mocked using NOT his tone, but her own in more condescending fashion.

She even shook her head and frowned comically while impersonating, crooking a single finger under her lip as though she had an ugly mustache to match. She was interrupted when she realized she was ignoring Kyle.

…
Something about doing stuff later?

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Were you even listening to me?” Kyle cut in rather sourly as he stepped out onto the porch, not even caring to dress in more than a dirty pair of boxers while he still reeked of cigarette smoke.

She smiled again—that fake but polite smile—and admitted, “No, not essentially…” shrugging her shoulders. “I’m sorry but I just don’t have any interest in hanging out.”

“So then that’s it…” Kyle scoffed.

“And if it is? Kyle…the moment you laid eyes on me I was just another booty call. So you can go brag to your friends if you want, but understand that you were just another notch on my belt too…” she cooed softly, and stood to her feet finally as she kissed her finger before placing it against his lips.

He scoffed again, and she found that tone annoying. “Man, you’re just a bitch aren’t you?”

“Maybe. Doesn’t matter though cause I have an appointment—so get dressed, I need to clean the funk out of my bedroom.”

“You freaking skank!” he snapped, and set the mug down harshly as he stormed back into the bedroom to gather his pants.

“So what does that make you for sleeping with a skank? I was going to say ‘nothing personal’ but I think we know who the bitch in this booty call is…so…leave, bitch.” She quipped, and gave her most innocent smile as she caught his fading ass in the doorway—
he REALLY does have a nice butt—
as the door slammed shut.

Her chest raised and lowered slowly in a small but deep breath that she took, venturing around her apartment to assess the damage. As she suspected, he not only missed the toilet, but left one of the seats up.
Typical.
And the kitchen? Spilled milk across the counter and a small pile of sugar where that—too—spilled out. “He must be marriage material” she said aloud.

There was one of his socks in her hamper too, which made her figure that he threw his clothes there at some point, possibly to portray dominance over her.
Yeah, how did that work out for you, slick?

She started the slow process of cleaning—starting with the kitchen—when she got a call from one of her best friends. Jessica…Jessica Decker. The girl was a fucking firecracker to say the least, but she was the one Marissa trusted the most because, like Mar (her nick name), she also slept with men in ‘booty call’ fashion. She understood the premise behind ‘nothing personal’, even though it always seemed as if guys had more ego to scar than girls when finding out they were a one-night stand.

“Hey
gurl
, how you ‘doin?” she quipped with a wry grin, and dropped the scrub brush as she went back to the porch.

Mar spent the remainder of her morning/afternoon regaling her ‘antics’ with her quickly dismissed boy toy in vivid detail. Funny as it may seem, it still only placated to the real underlying issue that was her vastly diminishing romantic life. While Marissa wanted something that was longer than a quick night—or even a quick three months—she still couldn’t break free from the cycle that she had gone down.

It was one thing to talk about true love, but it was another entirely to try and break from old habits, and the only thing Mar had going for her
was
her old habits, regardless of how hard they died down.

In the end it was all the same…including Jessica’s ‘
This time around will be different, you’ll see. We’ll hit the town again and try out that new place
—
you know the one…’
  blah-blah-blah. The woman was a broken record, but she was sweet. She was about the closest thing Mar had to a BFF in this life without the ever-present desire to put a bullet in her brain.

Despite popular belief, girl talk could be very…boring. Incredibly boring—with vivid details and imagery created and crafted behind the placated ego that what kind of sandwich one had for lunch while sitting at the Bistro on Fifth Avenue and Liverspot somewhere was remotely related to the rude cabby trying to look up one’s skirt while also contemplating what to do with the latest fling, of which it was ‘speculated’ that so-and-such had a thing with you-know-who, who was also conspiring with life’s-favorite-person in a sordid attempt to—
SPLOCH!
That was the sound of the bullet going off.

What made it worse was that Mar was no different from the others; she laid out her life like a carefully plotted journal, writing out the affairs of a whole day and somehow fitting it in only twelve measly little pages.

So maybe the only reason Mar was bored was because she had to listen to Jessica talk about
her
fling the night before when all Mar
really
wanted to do was bash the ever-loving hell out of her own man.
I’m especially proud of the way I kicked his ass to the curb, thinks he can lie to me when he hasn’t a freaking clue what he did wrong.

Oh it was back to the same night in bed, just last night. An endless, tawdry affair of love-making and drunken sex that Mar learned to take in stride. All of it, every last shred… interrupted at the single moment when that smoke and booze-laced breath groaned out ‘Oh Bev!’ for the whole world plus Apartment C to hear.

…BAM! Magic dead, and it was just meaningless sex all over again.

“Oh I know right?!—you won’t believe this though, while we were at it he had the nerve to call me Bev!” Apparently Mar did get her day in court after all.

Still, Marissa had a rule with this kind of shit: she never took on meaningless—or maybe somewhat meaningful—sex while it was a workweek, and she never went home with someone unless her girlfriends (at least one of them) could hook up with a guy too. It was like the girl version of ‘Bro’s before hoe’s’. Most of the time it was Jessica leading the pack, but it was Mar’s turn in the coin-toss among her small circle, as went their game which had no rules except who was playing designated driver—and since they were in the city, designated driver was more or less associated with the girl caught making sure everyone got in a cab safely.

About the time the conversation was winding down, Marissa took notice of loud shuffling and ‘banging’ noises echoing around her. Mar just reached the highlight of her escapades with Kyle when the noise was starting to hit a distracting point.

“Well it’s not my fault the guy acted like a little bitch,” she cooed like a child being scolded, slightly curled up around the phone.

“Well, it’s not his fault you have such high standards either.”

She huffed, “Jessica, since when did you care about me getting a booty call?”

“Since you decided you want to die alone, and I’m no helping either. But since I’m not the one committed to getting into a serious relationship I at least get to dog your ass until you find a man.” Jessica replied.