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Authors: J. P. Barnaby

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BOOK: A House of Cards: Deconstructing Ethan
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The wickedly decadent feeling of his mouth brought my attention sharply back to Jayden and, from that moment, all I could concentrate on was his lips, his tongue, his teeth and his hands as they worked my painfully hard cock. As his hands massaged my balls, I knew it had been far too long since I had been touched like this and it was going to take little effort for him to make me climax. From the out of control sounds that Lexi was making, it wouldn’t be long for her either. I let my hips find a natural rhythm as they began to come off the chair, moving them gently, fucking his sweet mouth. I was so fucking close, I could just feel it building – like a rubber band about to snap.

Reaching down, I stroked his cheek and he looked up at me. I cried out as Lexi and I climaxed together. Grunting and gasping, she came passionately on Connor’s handsome face as he held her steady and prolonged her orgasm with his talented tongue. She cried out over and over as her orgasm consumed her. Jayden sucked me hard and I found my tension was being released right along with my semen. By the time he let me fall from his mouth, I felt relaxed more relaxed than I had in weeks.

As he laid his head on my thigh, I ran my fingers through his soft blond hair and knew that I would be able to put my thoughts to paper. Kneeling, he kissed me on the forehead and I wrapped my arms around his shoulders.

“Thank you, I really needed that.”

Chapter 4

Journal Entry: The Birth of Ethan Bryant

As my eighteenth birthday approached, I found myself feeling increasingly agitated. Fights with my parents became more frequent and generally ended with me in my room like a caged animal and my mother in tears. The situation in our house was deteriorating rapidly and I knew that I had to get out. I applied to colleges as far away as I could find – not to escape my parents, but to get away from the stigma of being „little Ethan Hughes’. I was accepted at several schools on the east coast, but it wasn’t until I got the acceptance package from the school in Washington State that I felt any measure of hope and I wondered if being that far from the hustle and bustle of Chicago would allow me to escape recognition. I doubted it, but I could always hope.

When I informed my parents of my decision, my mother was understandably upset, she felt like she was losing me all over again. If she’d had her wish, I would have gone to the University of Chicago and lived at home. My father, however, took an unexpected, but welcomed, approach. Taking me into his office to talk, he told me that he was proud of my resilience and my strength. He was proud that I wanted to be a doctor, that I was “using my experience to help people.” Then he said something that really caught my attention and pulled up a site on his computer, showing me my investment portfolio that I didn’t even know existed. I was too young to discuss it before my abduction and since I had returned, things had been so tense that it had just never been mentioned. I couldn’t help but openly gape at the numbers.

He explained that when his parents had passed away they left me, their only grandchild, a significant trust for me to inherit when I turned eighteen. My parents also held a separate college account for me. They had started it shortly after I was born and had continually added to it, even after I had been abducted and since my return, hoping that I would come home normal enough to go to college. I was pleased by their faith in me. The college account alone would insure that I could be financially independent throughout college and medical school, able to attend class without working, reducing the stress that would be put on me.

I graduated and turned eighteen without much fanfare. With no friends, there was no reason for a party. My parents bought me a car as my graduation gift and I fell in love with it at once. My father had wanted something flashy while my mother wanted something safe. They compromised on a small, but well equipped, beautiful black Audi…It was sleek and elegant – and it was mine. We spent that last afternoon together loading it up for my long drive to my new life. Of course, they had offered to drive me, fly me or even walk with me to Washington – but I felt that this first step toward my independence should be taken alone.

It took several days of prearranged hotels and prearranged calls with my mother, to get to Washington State. During that time, I alternated between being scared and being excited, torn between having a shot at a new life away from the horrors of my past and nervous about what I might find when I arrived. Would the other students recognize my name? Would they
question me? Would they shun me? What if my new roommate knew? Would he want to sleep in the same room with a guy that had been with another man? Would my history freak him out? How could I live with him
if it did? But, I didn’t want to live alone in an apartment off campus. As much as I hated being around people, they were like a safety blanket that I could wrap myself in. If I was alone, he would find me, he would come into my room.

Then, the solution hit me -I would change my name. I didn’t know what I would change it to or how to go about doing it, but that was the solution. Maybe they would look at me and see that I was familiar for some reason, but without the name to connect it – I could be free. I called my father and explained my epiphany. Surprisingly, he agreed with me and emailed me the contact information of our family attorney, who could handle the paperwork. Pulling over, I called the attorney and he took me through the process, assuring me that when I reached Washington, he would fly out and accompany me to the local courthouse to file the paperwork. I felt … relieved, light-hearted, as I reached the Washington border. All I had to do was decide on a name.

There were names all around me, but nothing that felt right. I was going to have to be this person, this name – I wanted it to be something that I could live with. Finally, I gave up on the big advertisements. I didn’t want to go with a more popular name, it would raise questions. I started looking at street signs.

Lake St. – Ethan Lake?

Birch Ave. – Ethan Birch?

Clark St. – Ethan Clark?

Bryant Dr. – Ethan Bryant?

I liked that one. Ethan Bryant. It didn’t sound like I took it off of a street sign. It sounded normal.

The dorms weren’t accepting students until Monday, so I checked into a hotel near campus. I called our lawyer and let him know what I had decided. He said he already had a flight booked and would be there that afternoon. I was surprised, but as he said, it needed to be done and the change filed with the school before anyone even heard the name Hughes. If anyone was able to connect Hughes with Bryant, the change would be in vain. Even though he argued about it, I picked him up from the airport and we made our way first to the courthouse and then to the college. He had insisted on helping me with the school administration, which turned out to be a very good thing. They didn’t think it was appropriate for a teenage boy to change his name without his parents. The woman obviously didn’t recognize the name Hughes. Finally we were ushered in to speak to the Dean of Students where the attorney explained the situation to the Dean while I stood staring blankly out of the window.

In the end, the Dean was sympathetic to my plight and erased all mention of Ethan Hughes in their computer system, replacing it with Ethan Bryant. I don’t think it even occurred to him that the change wouldn’t be effective for at least a week, when I had to go before the judge. Locking my application securely in his office, he also switched my roommate because they would have seen my name before it was changed. Doing everything he could to hide my identity gave me the impression that, for whatever reason, he understood my need for normalcy.

When the first semester started, I was thrilled that I seemed to fade into the background. I kept my head down in class, I sat alone on an open bench outside at lunch and I even managed to get a roommate who kept to himself. For the first few months, everything was fine. But then I started to notice groups of people hanging around together, couples holding hands while walking across campus. I was surrounded by people, but I felt so isolated. I didn’t engage anyone because I figured I didn’t have anything to offer. Why would they want to hang out with a guy who was just an empty shell? Instead, I threw myself into my classes and I excelled.

It wasn’t until my third year that things started to change for me. One
of my new suitemates, Gary, was outgoing and charismatic. Surrounded by an air of confidence, he made friends easily, especially female friends. Although he never brought them back to the suite, he talked about them so frequently that I thought maybe he was overstating things until he offered to hook me up with one of his friends. At twenty-one, I felt like the only virgin on campus. Both of my suitemates had thought it was a joke when it came up, until I blushed and assured them that it wasn’t. Gary set me up with Jennifer because he said she was a “sure thing.” I was pretty sure that meant sex…

Gary arranged to stay with a frat buddy that night “just in case,” and left a box of condoms by my bed, while my other suitemate looked on in mild concern. While I was mortified, I decided that I would at least try. I mean, it was just sex – everyone did it. Well, normal people did it. I couldn’t really put myself in the „everyone’ group. Jennifer turned out to be a nice girl and I was able to talk to her at least on a superficial level. I had no real social skills, but she seemed to talk enough for the both of us. After a simple dinner, we came back to my room. We sat down on the bed, looking awkwardly at each other, and that’s when I started to panic. She took my hand and told me that she understood I was frightened and that was normal. When she leaned forward to kiss me, I just closed my eyes and froze.

Her lips were warm and kissing her was very nice. She smelled like apples, not like the stale beer I was used to. Her body was soft instead of wiry and she was yielding and compliant, instead of insistent. Undressing in front of me, I marveled at each new discovery as she unveiled them to me. Guiding my hands, she taught me what to do. Then she undressed me and the realization of what I was about to do hit me so hard it took my breath away. This would mark the end of his power over me.

She pushed me back onto the bed and slid the condom down over my burgeoning erection. It seemed that she was ready and, I guessed, I was ready too. I wondered if intimacy would come later, because it just felt perfunctory. She straddled my hips and placed my hands to her breast, moaning as she sank down onto me. I was inside of a woman for the very first time. When she began to move, it felt good, though some of the feeling was obstructed by the condom. I looked up and saw that her eyes were closed and I rubbed her breasts like she had showed me. “Yeah, just like that… you feel so good…” I stilled. He had used those exact words with me. My erection waned and I put my hands over my face, trying to calm my frantically beating heart.

“Oh, honey, it’s okay,” she told me quietly, “It happens.” She had no idea that I wasn’t just having normal erectile issues, it was something else entirely. “Let’s try it this way.” She climbed off me and lay down on the bed, pulling me on top of her. I didn’t know that I wanted to keep going, but I felt like a freak telling her that I wanted to stop. Instead, I got on top and let her guide my partial erection into her again. This position made me feel more powerful, more in control, and I liked that feeling. I kissed her just to keep her from talking again and ruining it. As I moved my hips, I felt myself getting harder. Soon I was back to a full erection and she was moaning into my mouth. She whimpered and that sound unlocked something inside of me.

I took her hands and pinned her wrists above her head, driving down hard into her. Arching her back, she pressed her breasts up into me. She was the one that was helpless now, jerking her hips up to meet mine as I drove relentlessly, mercilessly, into her. Grunting in time with my thrusts, as I continued to pin her to the bed, she thrashed and rocked, but I held her firm. Finally, her body tightened around me. At first, I wasn’t sure what was happening, but then she made sounds like those girls in the movies and I knew. She continued to writhe beneath me, but couldn’t break my hold, turning me on even more. My grip on her wrists tightened and I fucked her as hard as I could, not bothered by the animalistic sounds I was making as I desperately sought….what? An orgasm? Redemption? Some sense of normalcy? I climaxed with something akin to a roar; it was a sound born of triumph as I emptied into the condom.

It was only then that I realized what I had done. Her eyes were wide when I looked down into them and as I let go of her wrists, I saw deep red marks that would surely bruise. Even as she assured me that she was alright, she dressed quickly and left all the same. I was sickened with myself, horrified at my abuse of her. She was only trying to help me. I knew then that I would never have a normal relationship with a woman.

He had ruined me.

Gary was not happy with me after that night with her, so I had taken to spending my free time on the roof of our dorm. I spent hours just looking over at the fifteen-story drop, trying to will myself onto the ledge.

Then, with one essay, my life changed.

My psych professor had asked me to stay after class one afternoon. was anxious to get back to the roof. I thought maybe today would be the day. The feeling was particularly strong after writing that fucking essay on trauma. We were supposed to interview someone in our life that was coping with trauma. Well, since I didn’t have anyone in my life and I was a walking fucking poster child for trauma, I wrote the paper, changing some key details, about myself. Suddenly, he was calling me in to talk about it. I was sure I was going to fail and that would just kill my grade point average for medical school. So, I agreed to stay and talk to him.

BOOK: A House of Cards: Deconstructing Ethan
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