Abuse: The Complete Trilogy (82 page)

“The only way
to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows
sick with longing for the things it has forbidden…”

— Oscar Wilde

~~~

Grant
Wilkinson

Renata and I
spend a good forty minutes on our double swing set. We compete, laugh and see
just how high we can go. It’s great fun for both of us.

What a
wonderful day.

When we’ve
finally had enough, we’re both laughing and upbeat. Renata’s face is flushed,
sweaty with effort. She looks delicious.

Grinning
flirtatiously, in an exaggerated drawl I say, “Girl, y’all look so damn good
I'm gonna take you inside and sop you up with a biscuit.”

This Southern
saying cracks her up.

It’s midafternoon
when we get back inside. I head straight for the refrigerator, open it and pull
out the pitcher of homemade iced tea. I put ice in two glasses, fill them both,
hand one glass to her.

“Thanks. I’ve
had a really good day.”

“Me too.” I
drink the entire glass, then pour myself another.

“I know the idea
of hitting me freaked you out, especially after I told you the only thing that
would cause me to leave you was violence. Talk about mixed messages. I must've
really messed with your head.”

“Yeah, well… I
got over it.”

“While you were
doing the honors, I noticed you enjoyed playing with my ass. Are there any
fantasies you want to tell me about?”

Hell, no!

I shake my head.

“You know, what
your dad did to you was bad enough, but I’m thinking that your whole religious
‘burn in hellfire and brimstone’ upbringing has probably screwed you up even
more. You were taught sodomy is a sin, right? Just what you needed—more reasons
to be inhibited, guilty and ashamed.”

Sodomy? Jesus,
I’ve never even said that word. I’ve never had the nerve.

I grit my teeth
and keep my mouth shut. How can she talk so openly and easily about stuff like
this? It’s a subtle yet effective tool, this casual manner of hers. I find
myself wanting to speak nonchalantly too, even though I can’t.

“Grant, I know
you too well not to make an educated guess. Want to hear what I think?”

I doubt it.

I give her an
offhand, evasive shrug. She tilts her head, narrows her eyes and stares at me
intently. Only years of experience allows me to keep a straight face.

Fucking hell.

“Did you ever try
anal with one of your prostitutes?” she asks in her relaxed, conversational
tone. Then she takes a sip of her iced tea.

What?

I’m not
answering that. The woman has no filter—no subject is off limits. Remaining
perfectly still, I attempt to hide my automatic response. It doesn’t work.
Whatever reaction she notices sends her into a peal of laughter.

“I
knew
it!” Snickering, she nearly chokes on her tea. A broad grin spreads across her
face. “You haven’t, have you? Even though I bet you wanted to.”

Why can’t I
talk about this?

I don’t reply. I
can’t.

“I knew you were
an ass man. I’d be pretty unobservant not to notice. You can’t seem to get
enough of mine. You’re just like André! There’s nothing he likes better than taking
a woman in the ass, but you know, André being André, he’s probably fucked a man
or two as well.”

My thoughts spin
wildly.

I think my eyes
are beginning to cross—or roll back in my head. Maybe I’ll pass out. I suspect that
would be a good idea given the way this conversation is going.

André likes
fucking asses?
André butt fucks men, too? How in the hell does Renata
know André’s sexual preferences?

I’m just trying
to absorb this first salvo, when my girl goes back into her new, super excited,
motor-mouth mode. For the love of God, the woman has
a lot
to say.

I rock back on
my heels, still reeling from her last statement while she moves on.

“Tell me the
truth, Grant. You’ve fantasized about anal sex, right?”

“Um… yes,” I
admit, unable to meet her gaze.

“Ha! Probably
all the time, I bet!” Her expression is gleeful. “Good for you!”

Why this both amuses
and pleases her, I can’t figure out.

“Heavens, sodomy
is no big deal,” she says. “Well, that’s not totally true, it can be dangerous
for a woman—not as much of a risk for a man. Cross contamination, you know.
Human feces contains a ton of bacteria, so women get urinary tract or kidney
infections if both parties don’t pay attention—not that it’s dirty down there, or
anything is visible.

“The best thing
to do is to be careful. Enemas are more for self-assurance—they’re not really
necessary. We’ve both been tested so you can go bareback. A generous amount of hand-warmed
lube prevents friction tears, which can happen.” She laughs. “You are so going
to love applying lube!

“Anyway,
never
go with what you’ve seen watching internet porn. Those actors do it all wrong.
Fuck mouth, then pussy, or pussy then mouth—going from one to the other is
fine. Ass to pussy? No way!
Always
fuck the anal passage last. End in
the end, so to speak.” She laughs.

“It’s a good
idea to only use, say your left hand, for anal play. Right hand for pussy,” she
snickers, “and don’t mix them up. Anyway, it’s fun and no big deal, I’ll teach
you the rules.”

Her machine gun,
rapid-fire form of communication reminds me of my mother.
Jesus. Am I
marrying my mother?
This left field thought is stupid. Renata is nothing
like her.

With barely a
pause, she continues, “In biblical times, when they put the fear of God into
everyone about sodomy, it was for good reason. No antibiotics! Back then if you
weren’t careful the women became septic and died. Women dying in droves went
against that whole ‘go forth and multiply’ commandment.”

Her barrage
trails off for a moment, her blue eyes light up. “On a personal note, the anus
is full of nerve endings. It’s very sensitive.” She grins. “I find
any
attention there, through fingers, mouth or tongue incredible. Put a cock up there
and it’s hot as hell. It’s going to be particularly awesome with you because
you’re such an ass man—inhibited, but definitely keen.” Her sun bright grin is
mischievous, naughty. “Don’t worry. You’ll get over that.”

After that
onslaught of information, I’m rendered totally mute. My head spins. I can’t
think of anything to say. I’m still stuck on the concept of André sodomizing
men. Is he bi-sexual?

Thank God he
never hit on me. I couldn’t have handled that. But how does Renata know what
André likes sexually?

“So, just to be
clear. I know what your father did
to you
, but you’ve never done it to
someone else?” she asks.

“No,” I manage
to choke out.

“Good, then I’ll
be your first,” she says enthusiastically. “What an honor. Man, are you in for
a treat! No problem, I’ve packed an enema kit somewhere in my stuff, just in
case.” She winks, then downs her drink as though she’s in a hurry, as if she’s
going to go right upstairs and give herself an enema to prepare for anal sex…
with
me.

Fuck.

Renata is
normally hyper-aware of my moods, yet she hasn’t noticed how disturbed I am.
Frowning, she suddenly notices.

“Grant, are you
OK?”

I sit down
heavily on a kitchen chair, take a few deep breaths. “I’m… not sure,” I say.

She pulls a
chair up close to me, sits down, takes my hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to
freak you out. Tell me what’s happening. Is it your past with your father
that’s bothering you, or what?”

I shuffle
through an array of upsetting thoughts and decide to start with the first one I
think of. “I…” I hesitate, take a deep breath. “I went camping with André. We
shared a tent. I’ve seen him naked and he’s seen me.”

“And…?”

“Somehow, learning
he’s sexually attracted to men seems like a betrayal. I had no idea. He didn’t tell
me. Now if feels as though he was a voyeur. It reminds me of my father.”

“Are you saying André’s
behavior was similar to your father’s?”

“It feels like
it.”

“What evidence
do you have of that? Did he hit on you? Seem perverse? Did you catch him
looking at you? Did he do anything odd?”

I snort.
“Everything he does is odd—but no, he was fine. He was great, actually.” I
flash though my memories and shake my head. “Truthfully,
I
was the one watching
him
all the time. Remember I told you about that compulsion I had to
look at men’s dicks?”

“Yes, of
course.”

“André was often
naked when we were camping. He knew about my hang-up and was making it OK, you
know? I was supposed to become accustomed to looking. He actually cured me of
that issue. Now when I’m at a men’s urinal, I look or don’t look. It doesn’t
matter to me anymore.”

She smiles. “I’m
glad.”

I sigh. “André
is nothing like my father. I’m just not that liberal-minded, I guess. I was
comfortable with him, but I don’t think I would have been if I knew he liked having
sex with men.”

“That makes
sense. I don’t know if you’d call him bisexual or not—I think André simply
doesn’t differentiate according to gender. He’s a sexual therapist for both
sexes and incredibly good at it. I do know André adores women, but mainly? He
likes all people, and people like him.”

We discuss this
subject for quite a while, until I get it nailed down in my mind. André hasn’t
betrayed me. I’m safe with him. Someday we’ll probably discuss my thoughts on
the matter. Truthfully, a counselor’s sexual orientation isn’t really the
client’s business I suppose.

“OK, so what
else has you tied in knots?” she asks.

My smile is
uneasy. “I do feel dirty and perverse when it comes to my obsessive interest in
anal sex. It feels like a sin. Perhaps that’s part of what draws me, I don’t
know.”

“Do you think it
has anything to do with the things your father did to you?”

My face heats, I
evert my gaze. “Yes, that’s definitely part of the attraction. Am I compelled
to do it because it was done to me? I think so, to some degree. He taught me…”
I pause. “I learned to enjoy it—even though I’m not gay.”

“Yes, you
explained this to me before and I completely understand. A penis is a carnal,
mindless thing.”

I laugh. “Yes it
is. The church went on and on about the evils of homosexuality, so that plays a
part. For me though, giving anal sex would be kind of like going full circle.
Maybe it will be similar to what you realized about the meaning of pain. Pain
is just pain.”

Renata nods,
following my train of thought.

I raise my
eyebrows. “I lust after your ass.
Badly.
Maybe I’ll realize that fucking
you
there
… is just that. Anal sex is simply anal sex. Does that make
sense?”

“Absolutely,”
she agrees. “It will not only be gloriously fun, erotic and exciting, but
you’ll take charge of the fantasy. Self-acceptance, hon. Always good to let go
of needless shame.”

“I hope so,” I
say.

Then she gives
me a sly, teasing smile. “Want to know what I think?”

I shake my head
ruefully, theatrically wincing. “You terrify me, woman, but go ahead, I can
take it. Tell me what you think.”

“First time anal
sex?” Her skin flushes, she shifts on her chair, and licks her lips—her usual
signs of arousal. “I think it will be life changing… for both of us.”

Filled with love
for her, excited, petrified, nervous, ashamed and aroused all at once, I smile
faintly. I guess I’m finally going to act out my most compelling and forbidden sexual
fantasy.

At least that’s
what I think is about to happen.

I couldn’t have
been more wrong.

“The cultural
ban on having sex with your friends is an inevitable offshoot of a societal
belief that the only acceptable reason to have sex is to lead to a monogamous
marriage-like relationship.”

―
Dossie Easton

~~~

Grant
Wilkinson

“OK… so,” Renata
says.

Our eyes meet in
a scorching blaze of sensual heat.

Her slow smile
makes my pulse race. “Unless you have more questions, or anything else to say, I’m
going upstairs to take a shower. Wait here and come up in about fifteen
minutes. How does that sound?”

I shift in my
chair, trying to ease the pressure on my erection. My breathing and heart rate
jump skyward, my muscles tense, while my cock budges in my jeans. I open my
mouth to speak, but first I need to swallow.

“Like a dream
come true,” I say, openly raking her body with my gaze.

She smirks.
“Like a
fantasy
come true, you mean.”

I nod solemnly.
“The mother of all fantasies.”

Laughing, Renata
strides toward the stairs with carefree, springy steps. As usual, my eye is
drawn to her fabulous ass. Head up, shoulders back, and hips swinging—she’s so
damn sexy I want to jump her before she leaves the room. She’s every man’s wet
dream.

My heart swells
because
she’s mine.

A thought
strikes me. “Hey, just one more thing,” I say. “How do you know what André’s
sexual preferences are?”

Freezing in her
tracks, she turns to face me with a frown, then glides back and sits down next
to me. “How do you think I know?”

Baffled by her open-minded
ways, I shake my head. “The way you and André talk so easily about such
personal subjects, I guess I can imagine you two discussing anal sex over
lunch. I don’t know how you do it. Does
anything
sexual ever disturb
you?”

“Other than
sexual abuse, not really.” Her brows draw down. “Um… Grant, you do know I’ve
been working for André as a sexual surrogate, right?”

“Of course.” I
grin. “You were
my
surrogate, but now you’re going to be my wife.”

“Yes.” Her face
lights up. “And you’re going to be my husband.”

We grin at each
other like lovesick fools, but the intimate moment is broken when she nervously
bites a thumbnail, an anxious frown in her eyes. “When we marry, do you expect
me to stop working as a surrogate?”

“Of course!
Jesus,
Renata. I don’t want you to be intimate with anyone else. Being faithful is a
big part of what marriage is about,” I say adamantly.

Her brow
furrows. “Why? Most surrogacy is about intimacy and physical connection, teaching
the client how to touch another person and not freak out. I don’t actually need
to have sex with anyone.”

Molten heat
rushes through me. I shut my eyes for a moment to block out unwanted mental images.
I don’t want to imagine Renata in anyone else’s arms—not even if she’s just
touching someone as a form of therapy.

I won’t share
her! She’s mine!

I clear my
throat. “Can you give it up?” I ask hopefully, practically begging her with my
eyes while willing her to answer in the only way I can accept. “
For me
?”

“I honestly
hadn’t thought about it,” she says. “I didn’t realize it would bother you, but
I can see how it would. You’re so… traditional.” She winces. “I guess having your
wife work as a surrogate would be a rather big leap.”

The way she says
‘traditional’ makes it sound like a swear word. To her, my thoughts are
outdated, old-fashioned and uptight. Well, maybe she
needs
some
traditional in her life.

After all, she
made a choice to be with me… unless she’s changed her mind?

My heart thuds
hard in my chest as I break out in a cold sweat. The rigid tension I feel makes
it nearly impossible to breathe.

Hesitating for a
long moment, her lips pursed in thought, she finally smiles. “Of course I’ll stop
being a surrogate if you want me to. I can still work as a counsellor when I
finish my degree. I won’t give up helping, though. That’s my thing.”

I lean forward
so we’re sitting knee to knee. I pull her to me, rest my forehead against hers,
and take a few deep breaths.

“Thank you,” I sigh
with profound relief.

“You’re
welcome.” Pulling back from me, she meets my gaze with a grin. “I understand, truly.
With luck, there won’t be time for it anyway—not if we’re going to try to start
a family.”

“That’s right.”
I raise an eyebrow. “If you’re taking orders, I want a little girl just like
you.”

“And I want a
boy just like you.”

The tightness in
my chest eases. “Renata, there are some social conventions I won’t ever get
past, primarily because I don’t
want
to get past them. I refuse to
share. I know it’s selfish, but I want to keep you all to myself. I need you to
belong to me alone.”

“I already
belong to you alone.”

We kiss, sweetly
and sensually, then I move in to deepen the kiss. Controlling. Demanding. Possessive.
I want brand her as my own. To leave her with no doubt
she’s mine
.

“Mmm,” she hums.

“Mmm,” I agree.

Breathing
heavily, Renata pulls back as though with a sudden thought. “Grant, how do you
think I learned about sexual surrogacy?”

“I’m guessing
André taught you.”

“That’s right,”
she says, a look of deeper meaning in her expression. “When it comes to sex, while
I was no virgin, André still taught me practically
everything
I know.”

I stare at her.

I hear the words
she says, but I’m unable to understand them.

Shock does that
to a person. It freezes my mind as a feeling of disbelief comes over me. Have I
heard her correctly? I
must
have misunderstood.

Unfortunately, I
didn’t.