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Satan Doesn't Count Towards a Threesome or You and Me and the Devil Makes Three

Hey guys, I've seen some good work on here and some great criticism.  I know it's a little long, but I hope you guys can enjoy this and tell me what you think.  It's the first chapter of a novel I'm working on.  Thanks for anything you guys can tell me.

 

First off, my editor says that I shouldn’t start a book with those two words. Well he can kiss my ass. I’m not writing this for him. In fact, I’m not writing this for you either. I’m writing this because my therapist and my SAA sponsor say that writing down my thoughts and emotions can help me sort through them. I listen to my therapist because I finally got my shit together enough to pick a male doctor.

Try telling a female doctor about your sexual deviance.

Try to hide the stiffness in your pants you get from recounting a particularly amazing night of sex.

Try not to have sex with your shrink when she’s gotten wet from hearing about you coming several times in one session, and notices the rock hard erection in your pants.

Try pushing her away when she drops to her knees in front of you and starts unzipping your pants like a kid opening a present on Christmas morning.

Try it, and see if you do any better.

So, I listen to my shrink because I finally have one I’m not screwing. And I listen to my sponsor because I quit going to the groups. The Sex Addicts Anonymous groups were becoming counter-productive. It doesn’t help when you know that all the women that show up to these groups are raging nymphomaniacs. I would say it’s like shooting fish in a barrel, but that would be an understatement. It’s more like that scene in Crocodile Dundee where Paul Hogan is fishing off the side of a boat with dynamite. I just turn into this predator stalking its prey. I’m a hyena creeping up on the smallest, weakest wildebeest in the herd. Only this is a herd of crippled, lame and broken wildebeest. And two hours later I’m calling my sponsor again. After I’ve kicked the girl out, citing some lame excuse about having to go to work early the next morning, or having an early appointment at the free clinic to get my results back. The latter will get them up and out in a hurry. I’ve literally had women running out of my apartment in tears. Whether it’s because I just convinced them to break their ten months of celibacy or because they think they’ve just contracted some venereal disease, I don’t really care; as long as they get the hell out when we’re done. I’m not the type to lie around in bed and cuddle any longer than the time it takes me to smoke a cigarette and pour myself another drink. Because the women that go to these groups, sex isn’t their only problem. That's just the beginning. But here I am getting ahead of myself.

If I really want to sort all this shit out, I should start at the beginning, or as early as I can remember. You’ll be happy to know I didn’t start out so depraved and demeaning. I used to have a lot of respect for women. Hell, back in my early days, I’ve been known to wait months, baiting and dating and spoiling before actually getting into bed with a girl. Even before that though, you could probably see the signs of what was to come.

My older brother taught me everything. My older brother, and my dad’s collection of eighties pornography. My brother and I were latchkey kids back in grade school. He was two years older, so when he learned something about women, or sex, or masturbation, I learned it, which was two years earlier than I probably should have. During the summers, you could normally find us both on the couch watching some woman getting ravaged one of dad's videos. We knew our parents wouldn’t be home for hours, so we’d dip into dad’s collection and pop one in the VCR in the living room. I was the cook, he was the video guy. I made hot dogs and served them with drinks and Little Debbie’s while he got the video ready. Then we’d watch. He told me that you could sit there alone and stroke yourself when it was hard like that, and that white stuff you saw on the videos would really come out of the tip. It was called cum, or jizz, and when it came out, you were done. In my naiveté I couldn’t really see the point in doing that. It looked to make an awful mess. These guys were shooting loads of the stuff all across the room, onto the ceiling, all over the woman, and she certainly didn't seem to enjoy it. I was young, but I could tell she was only pretending to like it. It made me feel sorry for the women almost. What had driven them to this life? Oh, how little did I know that, soon enough, I would find out.

When I was younger, I considered myself to be a breast man. Seeing all these worn out, hair covered mounds in the porno; it kind of grossed me out really. So much hair you could barely see what was going on underneath. Like a low flying plane trying to catch a peek of Charlie crawling through the jungle, only the canopy is so thick you can’t see anything underneath. You’ve got no idea where to drop your napalm. I had no idea that women today had mostly turned to shaving their secret areas. So as a breast man, I was more turned on by just looking at naked women than watching the actual intercourse. That was until I finally jerked myself silly one day and almost had to burn the couch.

It was one of the summer days I had to myself. My brother was over at a friend’s house and it was just me and Electric Blue. One of those collections of shorter videos, each introduced by a woman who was hosting the whole thing from a satin covered, king size bed. She eventually got a good dicking too.

So I’m watching this, and since no one’s going to be home for hours, I whip out my already rock hard dick that’s been trying to bust my zipper since I popped the video in. I get to rubbing and stroking and right when it’s starting to feel really good, I get the sudden and most inconvenient urge to piss. I actually have to run to the bathroom because I feel like I’m not going to make it. I get to the toilet only nothing is coming out. I go back to the couch and resume molesting myself. Again, as it’s getting good, I have to piss. Only this time I say fuck it and just keep going, it feels too good to stop now. And then, right at that moment, I had one of two life changing epiphanies. As I’m shooting all over the place like a rogue fire hose, my mind goes completely blank and I experience this brief moment of complete, total clarity. Like I’m outside of the universe floating in a black, empty, nothing and I’m looking in. Everything makes sense. I understand all the problems of the world and for a brief second I can almost see the solution to everything. Then it fades just as quickly as it came over me, and I sit in total defeat. Void of energy, completely annihilated, and nothing is left but guilt. This deep, dreading kind of guilt that I imagine you would feel right after pulling the trigger and taking someone’s life.

That’s what I've done though, isn’t it? I’ve just pulled my own trigger and I’m standing over millions of my own unborn children, watching them suffocate slowly on the couch like a fish out of water. I’m so drained I could collapse and fall asleep for days. Only I can’t. I have to clean this mess up or my mom is going freak. First, I imagine she would disown me for doing something so horribly disgusting and perverted that she wouldn’t be seen with me in public. Then I imagine she would kill me for ruining the couch. Shit, the couch.

The best way to clean semen out of upholstery is douse it with club soda and wipe it up with a dry cloth. I know this now, but I didn’t back then. I get a rag from the kitchen, the one hanging on the oven handle, and I soak it in the kitchen sink. I run back to the living room and start rubbing. It’s not working. The water is effectively turning the baby batter into a nice, thick paste and I’m just smearing it all over the couch. This is great. I rub and scrub and keep going until I’m exhausted. Sitting there on the floor, defeated, I get the best idea I’ve had all day. Flip the cushions. Cleaning the living room is one of my chores, so I know that I’m really the only one that actually finds time to fluff and flip the cushions. No one else is going to bother with it, so I’m safe.

And it worked. No one ever suspected a thing. My parents would eat dinner in that living room for years, watching Friends, having no clue of the massacre that had happened on that couch. The grandchildren they would never get, just inches away from them on the other side of the cushions they were sitting on.

Now that I had discovered the magic of orgasm, I finally had something to shoot for while “shakin’ hands with the champ.” A goal to reach every time I pulled the little guy out. Fast forward a little bit and it’s all I can think about. I’m doing it in the shower, on the toilet, on the couch when my parents are gone, in my bed before sleep. I was a man on a mission. Like I was saving lives by jerking off. The only problem I ever had to worry about was clean-up. The toilet was a no brainer. When I was ready, I’d just stand up, turn around and spew myself into the bowl and flush it, or just tuck it inside the bowl while sitting forward. The shower was a little more trial and error. First I had to learn the hard way not to use shampoo or soap. Get even a little bit of it inside you and you’ll be pissing razor blades and rubbing alcohol. Then there was the clean-up. If you weren’t careful, you would easily learn that semen, water, and leg hair make an outstanding paste that would rival even old Elmer’s. In bed, well, needless to say in those years I went through a lot of socks. Some days I would be so bored and horny I could knock it out almost ten times a day. And that was rubbing it raw to the point where my little MVP would have to sit the bench for a couple of games after days like that.

Soon though, I was getting bored. It lost its excitement and almost became a chore. I mean, I was “roughing up the suspect” at least once or twice a day. I was just running out of ideas. My imagination was running out of stories to play through. I had imagined myself as the guy role in all those pornos I watched but it wasn’t the same. I had to find something that was a little closer to reality, something that hit a little closer to home.

I got to the point where I was being seduced by all the neighbors’ wives. I’d be mowing their lawn, and they’d invite me in for lemonade or whatever, and they’d take advantage of me as if they were teaching me the ropes. Little did they know that Electric Blue, Savage Fury, and Snatch Smackin’ vol IV had already taught me plenty. This was all imaginary of course, just little day time soaps I had concocted up in my big head so I could take care of the little one. This made it awkward enough though, when I was actually around them.

My friend down the street, his mom was pretty attractive. By far the most attractive in the small neighborhood where we lived. If he only knew the things I had done to her in my head. The nasty, dirty things we had done to each other. Hell, if she knew, she’d probably have gotten a restraining order. But actually being around her made it that much more awkward. Every time she was in the room I couldn’t help but stare.

I’m in the living room, sitting on the couch. She’s sitting on the opposite side of the room and I’m asking if David can come play outside. She says he’s in his room, and he can’t come out until it’s clean. She tells me this could take hours. Then she bends over to pick something up off the ground, and I can see all the way down her shirt. No bra. This was my first glimpse at a real breast. My jaw dropped to the floor while my dick went the opposite direction. She looks up and sees what’s going on. Looking angry she stands up and grabs her tits.

“You looking at these?” she pushes up on her breasts and lets them drop back down into place. Magnificent.

I can’t manage to force anything out of my mouth other than some barely audible noise that goes unnoticed by her. She walks closer to me and pulls her shirt off in one fluid motion. This is when I snap back to the now and realize that I’m staring down her shirt and the bulge in my cargo shorts won’t go unnoticed for long. I quickly stand up and bolt out the door.

I was running out of ideas and getting desperate. Talking about it with one of my friends at school, he tells me what he does. Sometimes, when he’s doing it in the shower, he sticks his finger in his ass. He swears it’s not gay and that it feels amazing. I call him a fag, of course, and shun him for participating in such activities. What a pervert. That night, I’m the pervert. I’m in the shower twisted up like a pretzel trying to figure out how to get it in further. He’s right, it feels amazing. It feels so good, it’s almost unbearable when you finally climax.

So there I was, barely 13 or 14, trying to find everyday household objects to shove up my ass. And when I was done, that sickening wave of guilt would wash over me even worse. This was disgusting. I’m a pervert. There are hospitals and special jackets for people like me. This was socially unacceptable and could never be spoken of aloud, or surely they’d lock me up. So I kept it a secret.

For years it went on like this. Every time my parents left the house, I’d bolt into their room and pilfer through the porn. Not that my dad had a huge collection or anything, I would say it’s of normal size. A few videos, a few magazines, but I’m positive that I got more use out of them than he did. Then finally, right before I graduated high school, porn became obsolete.

I wouldn’t say I was a ladies man back then, not by far. I actually got pretty nervous around them until I actually found out if they were interested in me or not. No, I was no ladies man, but I wasn’t lacking either. Of my small group of friends, I seemed to get more action than the rest of them. But it never went much further than making out on the couch. Hard kissing and heavy petting. Some of these grade school make out sessions would last hours, and I’d be sent away with a rock hard erection and aching balls. I’d have to handle things myself when I got home just to ease the pain. I was ready, but they weren’t, so I didn’t push the subject. It didn’t seem like much of a problem until my senior year.

I was drinking, smoking pot, and going to parties just like a normal senior. Only I was positive that I was the only one at these parties that was still a virgin. By the end of my senior year I was so willing to get rid my “V-Card” I almost didn’t care who it was with. It was like this mark of shame that I wore on my face for everyone to see. And finally when the opportunity arose, I jumped at it.

I was a senior in high school, and already on my second job. I was financially independent so I pretty much did what I wanted, and as long as I didn’t get brought home by the police or end up in the hospital, my parents didn’t mind. I had been talking to this girl, Tabby, for a little bit, but nothing had really happened between us. It was after midnight, a school night. I’m out on the deck smoking a joint by myself. I was already in my pajamas and had no real intentions of going out and doing anything. My phone rings and it’s her. She had just got home from a party and was a little drunk. Her mom was asleep, her dad was away on business and she was lonely. We talked for a few minutes until she invited me over. I told her I’d be there in twenty minutes and I ran back inside to throw some clothes on. I bolt down the stairs and there’s my dad. I tell him I’m going out for a bit, to hang out with a girl friend of mine.

“You’re not crawling through any windows are you?” Of course not. At least I hope not. “Well alright.” He says. I tell him not to wait up.

I get there in 15 minutes, and call her when I get to her street. She tells me to park across the street and she’ll meet me in the driveway like this is some kind of drug deal from the movies. Whatever, I go along with it; I don’t have much of a choice. I park my truck out on the side of the road and start walking down her long, gravel driveway. I see her walk out of the house and she meets me half way. It’s awkward at first because I have a pretty good idea of why she invited me over, only I don’t want her to think I’m expecting it. So, we chat it up for a bit, just idle small talk really, nothing that stood out enough for me to remember. It was pretty chilly outside, only I’m the one with a jacket since she’s in her pajamas. I offer to share the jacket, because it’s way too cold to just give her the whole thing. And that was my move. She scooted in closer to me, and we stretch the jacket over both our backs. We look at each other and I decide I’ve laid enough groundwork; it’s time to go in for the kiss. I do, and I’m greeted warmly by her lips kissing back slowly. We make out for a good half hour before she decides it’s too cold to stay outside. She can’t have me walk in through the front door, so she sneaks me up through the basement. We creep through the hallway, and she points to a door on the right. The door on the left is wide open and someone is inside snoring loudly. She pushes me into her room, closes the door behind her and locks it.

“That’s my parents’ room. My mom’s asleep so we’re going to have to be really quiet.” She pushes me to the floor as she says this, and starts attacking my face. I’m only half paying attention to what I’m doing because in my head I’m celebrating that this is it. I’m sure of it. It’s all over after tonight. And I’m right. We undress each other on the floor and she asks me if I have a condom. Shit.

“Umm... No, I wasn’t exactly expecting this to happen.” I lie.

“Well... Alright, you just have to be sure to pull out.” By this time, I knew enough about sex to know that this is what all the porn stars did. You pull your boat out of the dock and cast out your nets. All over the woman. So now that I have the go ahead from her. I aim the best I can and start stabbing in the dark. Literally. She sees that I’m fumbling, so she reaches her hand down, grabs me and guides it in.

This is when I have the second of two life changing epiphanies. It’s heaven. If I were to die right then, this is what heaven would be. It was so warm, and wet, and hugged tightly to my member like the most perfect fitting pair of jeans. This is the meaning of life. I was in another world. This was way better than masturbating in the shower by myself. It seemed like an eternity. In retrospect, it was more like three minutes. I tell her I’m going to come and she says not to get it on her. This isn’t good. The gun is cocked and I’m pulling the trigger, only I’ve got nowhere to shoot. I grab my shirt from beside her head and pull out. I stuff the shirt down in between our stomachs and hope for the best. The shirt gets ruined, but I don’t care. I’ve just had sex. I threw away my virginity at the first girl willing to take it. I didn’t tell her she was my first, but she had to know.

When it’s all over, she gets up and hides in the closet to get dressed. I can’t understand why she’s hiding her naked body from me. I just had my penis in her vagina for Christ’s sake, and she’s trying to hide now? Whatever, it didn’t matter. I get dressed and she comes out of the closet. She sneaks me out of the house, we kiss, and I walk back up her driveway to my truck. My shirt in my hand; my jacket is the only thing covering my upper body.

I don’t quite remember the drive home, but I’ll never forget walking in the door. My dad was still awake, and he was expecting his son to walk in that door. Only I wasn’t his little boy anymore. When I walked in that door, my dad was greeted by a man. He asks if I’m hungry, he’s going to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I tell him I’m not hungry, I just want to take a shower and go to bed. He knew what had happened. He had to have known that his little boy was gone forever. I take a long, warm shower and wash the sex off my little guy. Normally I would rub one out, but he worked his little ass off tonight so I give him the rest of the night off. I got in bed, only I didn’t fall asleep right away. Millions of thoughts were running through my head. Holy shit, I just had unprotected sex with a girl. I was pretty sure that this hadn’t been her first time. Could she get pregnant? Could she have given me some kind of disease? Fuck. Is my dick going to fall off? These were the thoughts running through my head as I fell asleep. A few days pass and turn into weeks, then months. My dick didn’t fall off and I got no phone calls from her asking me to join her for Lamaze class so I figure I’m in the clear. I look back now and can’t help but laugh at my first time. I’ve come a long way.