TornByLove

From an early age, I’d always known what I wanted out of life and did my best to make decisions that would make reaching my goals possible. Yet somehow I ended up in the worst situation possible when I found myself torn between love and desire and knew one of the two people I loved most in the world would end up hurt—and there wasn’t a damned thing I could do to change that.

As a rebellious teenager giving my parents sleepless nights as I broke curfew, drank, and experimented with drugs, I never listened when my grandmother warned me to show more concern for my parents because I’d reap what I sowed. Yeah. Right. Like such nonsense warnings were going to make an impact on me.

Years later, I found myself struggling to keep an angry, rebellious teenager from making all the mistakes I’d made at his age and wishing I’d been kinder to my parents. They died in a car accident just after Brenda lost the baby and before they got a chance to see that I’d finally straightened up my life.

As a teenager, relishing in triumph each time I outsmarted my parents, I promised myself that I’d never allow some ungrateful little crumb snatcher to do the same to me. Once I started having sex, I made it clear to every female I slept with that I wasn’t interested in being anyone’s baby’s daddy. Of course that was before I made one of the biggest mistakes of my own life, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

My best friend Dan, who had struggled with drugs since junior high and had unprotected sex once too often and ended up a father by the time he was fifteen, was forever going on about how wrong I was to write off fatherhood. But I was too busy enjoying being single and kid–free to listen to him. Still, it did seem to bring out the best in him. When his baby’s mother took off with another guy and left him to struggle alone as a single father, he buckled down and devoted himself to his son, Mark.

I was at the hospital when Mark was born and often thought of him as a somewhat annoying pain in the ass. Dan made so many sacrifices for Mark, I often joked about his being the father of the decade.

Imagine how shell-shocked I was when Dan asked if Mark could stay with me while he headed to L.A. for his first vacation in four years. When I reluctantly agreed, I had no idea of his real intent. Four weeks later, after ignoring all my attempts to contact him, Dan sent a terse email telling me he couldn’t cope with being a single father anymore and he needed me to take care of Mark until he recharged his energy.

I protested but he said the alternative was to stick Mark in a home since none of his relatives were willing to help. I couldn’t see Mark alone with strangers. So I settled down to play dad for a few more weeks.

Three months later, Dan had cut off all communication and I realized I was stuck with Mark until he came to his senses. Although royally fucked off, I did the best I could. At first Mark took every opportunity to piss me off as if I were the one who’d deserted him. I lost track of the number of times I felt like tossing him out on his ungrateful ass.

That first year was rougher than anything I’d ever endured. Mark was surly, rebellious, and fond of reminding me that I wasn’t his father every time I told him to do something he didn’t want to do. Hell, he pissed me off when he did that and I wasn’t above reminding him that father or not, I was the one keeping a roof over his rowdy head and spending a small fortune to feed his ungrateful, dumb ass.

I was determined to see that he didn’t do any of the things in my house that I’d done to make my parents’ lives so miserable. That included skipping school, drinking, smoke weed, and blowing off his curfew. Not in my damned house.

When he was nearly seventeen, I came home early to a marijuana-filled house and found him and his loser “best-friend” double fucking a drunken woman old enough to be their mother. That resulted in our biggest blowout. After I tossed his loser friend and the hooker out of my house, things nearly got out of hand when he took a swing at me. I came within a breath of knocking him on his ass and kicking him out of my house.

I wrestled him to the floor and promised him that if he ever took another swing at me, he’d be picking his teeth off the floor—after I’d pried my size twelve foot from his ass.

Although I suspected he was probably as scared as he was angry, he didn’t back down. Neither did I and that was one long night. Somehow we survived it and the tense days that followed.

We continued to have confrontations because he continued to challenge me. However, none of them carried the same level of danger we faced and overcame that night. Each challenge we survived strengthened our relationship. Before I knew it, he was eighteen and graduating from high school. And I couldn’t have been any prouder when he finished first in his class if he’d actually been my nephew.

Much of the two years I’d spent battling with Mark had been hell but the pride I felt seated in the audience, made nonsense of all those rough times. Me, a guy who never wanted any kids or responsibilities had guided a rebellious, angry teen to graduate first in his class.

He could have attended college anywhere he wanted. I wouldn’t admit it to him, but I was thrilled when he chose to stay in Philly and attend Temple University. I’d been half afraid he would decide to go to school in California in the hopes of connecting up with Dan again who we’d heard had married and had a baby on the way—all while pretending Mark no longer existed.

The next years passed in a blur. And I was determined to give Mark what I didn’t have—a college degree. I worked long hours of overtime to put Mark through college so he could start his adult life off free of the burden of student loans. He repaid me by studying hard and graduating early, third in his class.

Although he called me Uncle Paul, by that time I felt more like Daddy Paul, and I think…I know he felt the same. So what happened later was something neither of us expected. I couldn’t have loved him anymore if he’d been my natural son. So how had I come to hurt him so badly that his love and respect for me turned into hate?

It happened when I met Marlena. When I did, my entire world turned upside down. When I met her all the so called truths that had led to my losing good women to other men ready and willing to commit to them were shot to hell. I fell so hard for her that I did the unthinkable—I damaged my most cherished relationship with Mark.

The first time I saw Marlena Stevens, the last woman in my life had ended our relationship because I didn’t want to settle down, get married, and have a couple of kids with her. I’d been without a woman in my bed for several months so I was more than a little horny at the time.

It happened in the supermarket of all places. I rolled my cart into another aisle and there she was. Every tall, beautiful, long-legged, big-breasted inch of her. The alluring white short set she wore highlighted what looked like miles of beautiful, dark skin the color of barely creamed coffee. Not quite full-figured, she had curves and pads in all the right places.

She looked up and she might have walked out of my most secret and horny fantasies and into my heart.

Her deep brown eyes seemed to look right into my soul and set it, my heart, and my passions on fire. And she had this sexy, beautiful smile that made me feel as if I were the only man in the world that mattered.

Although I’d always had a thing for women with dark, luscious skin and deep brown eyes, I had very conventional parents. They weren’t prejudiced but just felt a mixed-race marriage started off with more problems than a same-race one. I guess a part of me kind of agreed with them so I’d never really done anything about my attraction.

But when I looked at her, it was like looking at my fantasy woman in the flesh. I was consumed with an insatiable need and desire I’d never felt with any other woman.

I stood in the middle of a supermarket aisle, trying not to stare at her, imagining what I could and would do with her alone on some deserted island or tropical sun-soaked beach. Just the thought of what she would look like standing nude near the ocean with the waves gently breaking against her ankles aroused me.

My hands itched as I thought about cupping her breasts in my palms and sucking her nipples until they were hard peaks. Then I’d tear off my briefs, revealing my aching cock, which I’d greedily thrust balls deep into her pussy. Then we would fuck the night away. And in the morning we would do it all over again. And then we would…

“Hey buddy you taking root there or can I pass?”

A harsh male voice interrupted my beautiful daydream.

I blinked and pushed my shopping cart to one side. I gave the man who faced me an angry look. He shot one back at me. We engaged in a stare down for a few moments before he pushed past me. When I turned back, the object of my lust was no longer in the aisle. I pushed my cart down the aisle and into the next one, but she wasn’t there…nor in the next aisle. I abandoned the cart and made a swift tour of the store.

But she was gone—as if she’d vanished into thin air. Fuck!

As I stood near the check–out lines, swallowing my frustrations, the same bastard who was responsible for my losing sight of her pushed his cart past me. It took all of my willpower not to drag his ass out of the store and bitch slap him all over the parking lot.

For the next six weeks, I took countless cold showers and visited the market numerous times hoping to spot her again. But I knew in my gut that you only get one shot to grab at paradise and I’d missed my one shot with her.

I spent months losing myself in dreams where she was my woman, sharing my bed. She was the only woman I wanted to risk having a baby with. Waking each morning to the realization that she was not my woman and never would be insured my mornings started off badly.

I had a few one–nighters during that time and while each encounter took the edge off my sexual frustration, I walked away from every one of them thinking of her.

Six months after I’d spotted her in the supermarket, I was home one Saturday morning lounging in my living room in a pair of sweat bottoms when my entire world came crashing down on my head and I was faced with a decision that would forever change my life and the life of the one person whose welfare was more important to me than my own-Mark’s.

I’d had an unsatisfactory one-night stand the night before and I was feeling restless and horny as hell when I heard the front door to my house open.

“Uncle Paul! Uncle Paul, are you home?”

Damn. Although I was usually always happy to see Mark, I just wasn’t in the mood for company that day. I didn’t answer hoping he’d think I was asleep and leave.

“Uncle Paul, I have someone I want you to meet.”

Great. I had to put up with him and one of his hoochie mamas. I groaned as I heard Mark’s voice calling out to me as he moved, unannounced through the house. Not that Mark needed an invitation to visit.

Although Mark had moved out after he graduated from Temple, we both considered the house his home.

“Uncle Paul?”

The sound of Mark’s voice roused me from the past, but I didn’t answer. Hell, I loved him, but I was not in the mood for company. I sure as hell didn’t want to waste my Saturday morning being polite to some silly, skinny, model thin girl he’d met at the accounting office where they both worked.

I’d done my best to discourage him from getting too serious with any woman too fast, but he’d always had a mind of his own and didn’t listen. It’s not that I didn’t want him to be happy. And I understood his need to start a family. But he was only twenty-two and not long out of college and living on his own for the first time. This was the time of his life when he should be enjoying his bachelorhood, not getting serious with one girl.

Granted, he probably viewed me as a jaded thirty-eight year-old womanizer afraid of commitment and as a result not in any position to give him advice about women. Hell, he might have been right. But he was still too damned young to get serious with one woman.

And I did have the advantage of having been married, albeit briefly and not happily. My ex-wife, Brenda, and I had fallen into lust when we were both nineteen. We got drunk one night and spent the entire weekend fucking like rabbits without protection and were shocked when she ended up pregnant.

Both our parents insisted I had to marry her. I found myself married and expecting a baby I didn’t want at twenty. I hate to admit it but I was almost relieved when Brenda lost the baby six months later.

She was devastated and seemed to know I wasn’t. Things went downhill after that. Oh we went on pretending we gave a damn about each other for awhile. But honestly, I regretted not having waited before rushing into marriage with her. Because of that and getting her pregnant, I’d had to drop out of school and forego my dreams of being an architect in favor of becoming a master plumber.

Despite my regrets, I wouldn’t have left her and thought she had the same determination until a job fell through and I came home early one afternoon to the house my parents had given us as a wedding present and found her with two men in our bedroom. One of the men kneeled behind her, thrusting his cock balls deep in her ass. The other man stood in front of her with his hands over her head while she deep throated him.

I knew immediately that she was a willing participant. How? I’d lost all interest in porn after I started having sex in high school. I couldn’t see wasting time with a movie when I had willing females eager to spread their legs for me. But to my surprise, Brenda loved porn and had a massive collection. Nearly all of it featured a pretty, petite blonde, like herself, being fucked raw and rough by two or more big-dicked black men.