Death by Fucking    © 2003 by Andrew Wiggin
     
     
Chapter 4 Passion or Love?  Deirdre’s Story
     
     I’ve done it.  I’ve opened myself up to a man for the
first time in many years, maybe for the first time in my
life.  I’ve had sex in the past, not often perhaps, but with
several partners.  I’m not an innocent young thing.
     But that’s what I feel like.  I feel like a virgin at
the ball.  I feel totally susceptible and yet totally
accessible.  What does that even mean?  I’m vulnerable;
very, very vulnerable.  This could kill me.  Can I take this
kind of risk with this beautiful young man?  I trust him.
He’s good; deep down he’s good.  But are we experiencing
overpowering lust, or is there more to it?  Is the lust
based upon real values, true attraction?  How can I know?
     I’ve got to talk to Donnie.  Maybe she can help clarify
my emotions.  I’ve got to get Donnie up here.  She’ll know
what to do, how to react.  I don’t make any major decisions
without my sister.  I know that seems odd, but we are close;
closer than any two sisters I’ve ever met.  We are like two
peas in a pod.  When she meets Andrew perhaps she will be
able to tell where physical attraction ends and emotional
attraction begins.  I’m afraid.
     Andrew made love to me.  I don’t swear very often.
Momma and Daddy would die if they heard some of the things
I’ve said to Andrew.  I don’t think I’ve used the word
‘fuck’ a dozen times in my life, and yet here I am, thinking
the word ‘fuck’ because that is the only word that applies.
Yes, Andrew made love to me, but first he fucked me.  What
he did first could hardly be called lovemaking.  It was
fucking, pure and simple.  I’ve never been so thoroughly
fucked.
     I had been without a sexual partner for three years.
Perhaps I had some built-up passion that had been waiting to
be released.  Andrew released it all.  I am incapable of any
more passion than Andrew provoked in me.
     We had just finished that wonderful animal-like fuck
(I’m sorry but there just isn’t another way to say it).  I
wanted to be held.    Andrew came into my arms and we
kissed; a romantic, sensual kiss of gratitude and promise;
gratitude for what we had given each other, promise of what
was to come.
     We talked.  I wanted to know about this sweet man who
had become the focus of my existence almost overnight.  He’s
from Ohio.  He went to Youngstown State University.  I had
assumed he had majored in computer science, but I was
mistaken.  He majored in history!  He is an endless well of
surprises, all positive.  Every time he talks, I learn
something.  He knows everything!
     
     I asked him the obvious question.  “Why are you in
computing when your degree is in history?”
     
     He gave me a non-committal shrug.  It’s no big deal to
him.  He said “I built my first computer when I was eight.
You just pick things up.  You’re part of the community and
you share knowledge.  Before I was out of high school I
could have run most of the IT departments I’m familiar with.
Why go to school for something you can pick up
independently?”
     
     So I asked another obvious question. “Why history?
What in the world did you expect to do with history?”
     
     “Oh it didn’t matter much which major I took. I was
mostly interested in filling in my gaps in knowledge, in my
understanding of the world.   I took liberal arts, since the
ability to think is a dying art, especially in America,
where the authorities want to tell you what to think.”
     
     “Andrew, I have a firm rule that I never talk politics
in bed.”
     
     He smiled an apologetic smile and said, “Sorry,
Deirdre.  I do get carried away.”
     
     I asked him about his other interests.  He’s interested
in everything.  He seems to have infinite obscure references
at his fingertips.  I’ve even heard him quote Betty Friedan.
How many men can do that?  How does all this information
accumulate in one head?  How is it so readily accessible for
retrieval?  He never seems to be stuck for a response.
     
     So I asked him.  “How do you know all this? What good
does it do you?”
     
     He laughed.  “I know all this because my brain is a
repository of totally useless information, and I remember
almost everything I read.  I can’t help it.  It’s not a
talent, it’s a curse.  What it’s good for is to play
Jeopardy.  I could be a professional Jeopardy player and
make a lot of money.  I’m waiting for the National Jeopardy
League to come into existence.  I’ll be taken in the first
round of the draft.  They’ll be selling Andrew Adkins NJL
bubble gum cards.”
     
     He builds these little imaginary scenarios that stand
on their own but are just so ridiculous.  How does he come
up with them?  I think it’s very funny.
     I asked him about his family.  He’s from small town
Ohio, father is dead, mother still living.  He has a brother
and sister, both living in mid-western cities holding down
professional jobs.  He isn’t close to any of his relatives.
     I wanted to know about his love life.  After all, I’ve
made it perfectly clear that I have no love life.  I didn’t
want to appear too obvious, and I didn’t want to appear like
it mattered to me one way or the other about his current
love affairs, since they really weren’t any of my business.
But I found that it did matter.  I wanted to know.  I guess
I wanted to know what my competition was.  Still, I don’t do
relationships.
     
     He was very open about it.  “I’ve had a few somewhat
serious relationships.  I’m currently seeing no one that I
expect to become serious with, present company excepted, of
course.”  (I felt a delicious tingle throughout my body when
he said that.) “Nothing has panned out because I guess I’m
looking for something that most women aren’t willing to give
me.”
     
     This was interesting.  “What is it that you want that
you can’t get?”
     
     “I want someone who demands a relationship that is
equal and open.  I want a relationship where both people
accept responsibility for making the relationship work.
There has to be an open dialogue.  I want a woman who I
don’t bore to death and who doesn’t bore me to death.
Unfortunately, that hasn’t been easy to come by.  I’m
interested in things that a lot of people find deadly dull.
I want at least an intellectual equal.  My ideal woman would
be smarter than me, I guess.  I want someone who thinks, who
challenges me with her mind.
     “I don’t want to find out that my partner has been
brooding about something I said or didn’t say, did or didn’t
do.  If I do or say or not do or not say something that
hurts my partner, I want to know about it immediately, so we
can address the problem and get past it.
     “My last relationship broke up because this girl had
been mad at me for over a month and I didn’t even know why.
To this day I don’t know and I don’t care why.  All she had
to do was tell me.  I asked her, of course, but she was like
‘I should know what I did wrong without having to be told’.
What we had here was ‘failure to communicate’.  No
relationship can survive that.  I let her down as painlessly
as I could, but I had to let her down.  We had no future
without communication.
     “I guess I need a strong woman; someone who will tell
me when I’ve failed to live up to expectations; someone who
will insist that we work at our relationship every day of
our lives.  You have to have two people who think the
relationship is the most important thing in their lives.”
He got a sheepish expression on his face.  He said, “I guess
another reason I haven’t stuck with a woman is that I do go
off on tangents.”
     
     Well.  I’m a girl whose every relationship has been
built around the needs of the man I was with.  I never felt
that my opinions about anything really mattered to any of
them.  Mostly I was window dressing, and when they wanted an
opinion from me, they would tell me what it was.
     I’m a smart person.  I’m not embarrassed to admit that.
I’ve got my MBA from Duke, and am close to my doctorate.
But in my relationships with men, I’ve always been treated
as if I were intellectually inferior.  I think it’s kind of
a Southern thing.  I would be earning twice as much as my
boyfriend, but would be treated like a child.  Is it any
wonder that I gave up on relationships?  I’m not good at
existing in that environment.
     And now Andrew is telling me his relationships failed
for essentially the opposite reason.  He needs a full
partner.  The women he’s been with wanted a traditional male-
dominated relationship.  Andrew just isn’t capable of that.
He’s too sweet.  He’s too considerate.  He’s too smart.  He
needs a full partner.
     I’m getting scared.  He’s so perfect.  How could anyone
be so perfect? How could we fit so well together?  We appear
to be the pieces that will fit into each other’s puzzle of a
life to make both of us complete.
     I’ve got to talk to Donnie.  Andrew requires full
disclosure.  He doesn’t ask for anything except honesty.  I
haven’t been totally honest with him.  It’s dishonesty by
omission, but dishonesty nonetheless.  After I talk with
Donnie, I’ll decide about full disclosure.  We are a strange
family.  I just don’t know if Andrew can handle that fact.
But of all the men I’ve met in my life, I think that Andrew
is the one most likely to accept me as I am, accept us as we
are.  I’m getting scared.  I’m not sure if I’m scared that
he can’t accept us or scared that he can.
     We talked and laughed for a while.  Andrew loves to
laugh.  He finds humor in everything.  We spent the evening
together and we were either laughing or making love the
whole time.  He knows how to fill all the time you spend
with him with only good things.
     Suddenly Andrew had enough of talking.  He started to
kiss me.  He kissed all over my face.  He started on my
neck.  There is something so sexy about having a boy suck on
your neck.  I think it’s because it reminds me of high
school, when girls had to cover those love marks.  I even
got them on my breast, but I never showed them to anyone but
Donnie.
     Andrew was doing all those high school-like things to
my neck and it was giving me chills.  He left my neck and
went to my breasts.  God it was like Andrew was the official
breast inspector and he did all his inspections with his
mouth.  I’ve never had my breast so thoroughly inspected.
His tongue was tantalizing.  Under the circumstances,
perhaps I should say, it was titillating, if you know what I
mean.
     I was totally passive throughout this process.  I just
laid there and let myself be loved.  He is an expert at
loving me; it seems he is the expert at loving me.
Finally his mouth moved from my breasts to my belly button.
His tongue just assaulted my belly button.  It was such a
sensual feeling.  My state of arousal had been climbing, and
now it was approaching a peak.
     I don’t know why I am so naïve.  I finally realized
where Andrew was heading.  My God, he was going to put his
mouth on my sex!  No one has ever done that for me.  And we
just finished making love.  I was dripping with my own
juices and with Andrew’s juices.  I must have been a mess
down there.
     Yes, I will admit that I have dreamed of someone doing
that to me.  Had Andrew told me he wanted to do it, I would
have been properly prepared.  I would have bathed and
cleaned myself down there.  I would have perfumed myself.
Lord, I would have tied a bow around it.  But not just after
we made love!
     Andrew was in total control.  I had abdicated all
responsibility, so I really couldn’t object to what he
wanted to do, if he wanted to do it.  That’s what I told
myself.  It was out of my hands.  Thank God it was out of my
hands.  His fingers were teasing my sex, making me crazy.
     And suddenly, his mouth was there!  His tongue licked a
path right through the center of my pussy lips.  It may have
been the most wondrous sensual feeling of my life.  His
mouth was doing wonderful things to me.  He claimed to be a
history major, but I think he got his degree in pussy
eating.  I had to watch.
     He caught me watching.  I’ve never seen a person who
enjoys his work as much as Andrew.  I could see it in his
eyes, his beautiful deep brown eyes.  Our eyes met and I
knew.  He loves me.  He worships my body.  He loves to give
me pleasure.  How could the act of a man going down on a
woman be so romantic?  Andrew was making love to me with his
mouth, and with his hands, and with his eyes.
     When we had intercourse that was just fucking, primal
primitive mating.  But now we were making love.  It was so
sensual, so lovely.  I reached down and held his head in my
hands.  I just wanted to touch him.  He was so relaxed, so
unhurried.  He seemed to be exactly where he wanted to be
and would stay for as long as I let him.
     I know that when ‘tongue’ becomes an Olympic sport,
Andrew will win the gold for length and strength.  And he is
a shoe-in for the tongue marathon.  He’s been graced with
two perfect sexual organs.  I’m so lucky!
     God, Andrew started working me over.  He was playing me
like a violin.  I would almost be to my peak of passion, and
then he would bring me down a little.  Then he would bring
me close to my climax again.  I couldn’t believe it!  He
knew my mood.  He knew what I was feeling.  I became more
and more aroused.  My hips were pushing my pussy into his
mouth.  My legs were squeezing his head.  The poor boy must
be suffocating.  I couldn’t help it.  He had me so hot!
     Oh, his fingers were in me.  His mouth seemed to suck
in my clitoris.  He began to gently lick it as his fingers
rubbed inside my passage.  I screamed.  My orgasm erupted!
My body arched so high he almost fell off of the bed.  But
somehow his mouth stayed clamped to my pussy.  His tongue
pushed me higher and higher.  I had achieved a continuous
orgasm, but my oxygen supply was gone.  I collapsed onto the
bed just trying to breath.  And still his mouth was on my
pussy, loving it, massaging it, worshiping it.
     I have this person, this perfect wonderful handsome
young man, and he worships my pussy!  When I was
sufficiently recovered, I reached out to him.  I had to hold
him.  I had to feel him holding me.  He came up and our lips
met in a soft sensuous kiss.
     And suddenly his rock hard erection was slipping into
me again.  It felt wonderful.  It filled me to the brim,
making me stretch to accommodate its width, feeling its
length touching my cervix.
     He was in no hurry.  We looked into each other’s eyes
as he slowly pumped in and out of me.  I felt us bonding.
I’ve never bonded with anyone except my sister.  But this
man, this wonderful loving man, made me feel so full of
emotion that it kept threatening to come out my eyes.  I
held back my tears.  I forced myself to hide them.
     We kissed again, so passionately, so lovingly.  I was
giving myself to him fully.  I couldn’t bring myself to say
the words, but he must know it!  I won’t say it.  I can’t
say it till Donnie says I can.  I know that sounds weird.  I
am weird.  But if body language counts for anything, he
knows.  I can’t give him more of a commitment than that at
this time.  It wouldn’t be fair to him or to Donnie.  But I
love him.
     That mutual, unspoken, acknowledgement of our feelings
of love was what it took to move Andrew’s lovemaking to a
different level.  He had been in me forever.  How long,
really?  It must have been close to an hour.  And that was
after he had eaten me for at least an hour.  They were the
two most wonderful hours of my life.
     Andrew almost instantly reverted to the madly
passionate boy he had been when he first came into my room.
He was suddenly pounding me.  Powerful and more powerful
strokes were igniting me with waves of passion, waves of
love, waves of lust.  I wanted to hold him and kiss him
forever.  I wanted him to feel just a tiny bit of the ocean
of emotion that had welled within me.
     He was riding me wildly.  I was whimpering with my
need.  I opened up for him, made myself totally vulnerable
for him.  I spread my legs for him, wrapped my legs around
his waist to give him deeper and deeper access to my being.
I thought I would explode from the passion.
     And suddenly the wave broke.  I felt his hardness swell
within me.  I felt wave upon wave of liquid warmth filling
my pussy.  I was shaking with my release, screaming, then
mouthing wordless noises, my body clenched on him, feeling
only his wonderful penis as it spasmed its last shot within
me.
     It’s impossible to describe my feelings.  I never
suspected there could be a time like this for me.  He loves
me.  He said the words, but more importantly he told me with
his eyes, with his mouth, with his heart.  I believe him.
     I love him.  I haven’t told him, but he must know.
I’ve told him with my eyes.  I’ve told him with my arms.
I’ve told him with my heart.  He must know.
     To achieve that passion, that peak of emotion with your
true love is the most perfect moment that we’ve been given
on this earth, outside of childbirth.  I never even
suspected that this feeling was possible.  How could I?
     My body is awash in sexual satisfaction, brought on by
a romantic, passion-filled coupling with the love of my
life.  I’ve never felt so complete.  I’ve never felt more
loved.  I’ve never felt more love.  I’m dizzy with the
overflow of my emotions.
     Life can be wonderful and it can be awful at the same
time.  I’ve got two weeks to figure out what to do with the
rest of my life.