Are you ready for Blaire?
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Love is selfish...
My name is Blaire.
I'm the bad girl.
The other woman.
The one who never gets
the guy in the end.
I'm the gold digger.
The bitch.
The one no one roots for.
The one you love to hate.
I hate myself too...
Everyone has a story. Are
you ready for mine?
Innocence
Past
What is love?
I don’t know.
I’ve never had it.
Is it even real?
No, I don’t think so. I mean, how can I believe in love when I’ve never witnessed it? When it seems to only exist in books
and films, or in the lives of more fortunate people than me? Trust me, I know.
Love is my personal chimera.
I am gazing at
brown eyes, admiring the richness of the color, the beauty of the man to whom
they belong to.
“You’re so beautiful, Blaire … so wet,” he murmurs, his hand going
between my legs as he begins to rub me. His fingers spread me open to their
soft invasion, tuning my body to his wants and needs, preparing me to be taken
as the hot friction of his touch lights a wild fire within my body. It’s not the first time he has touched me like this, but each
time feels better and better—the sensations all-consuming and
heady.
One finger.
Two fingers.
One finger.
Two fingers.
Over and over again.
His invasion is
fast and slow, deep and shallow. His touch is soiled heaven.
As I open my legs
wider for him, I wonder if it feels this good because of him or because I’m taking something that doesn’t belong
to me and making it mine.
“Oh God … I love you, Blaire. I love you … I love you …” he pants in my ear.
“Don’t stop …
it feels so good,” I breathe.
Okay, maybe it’s because at this moment in time this man thinks he loves me and no one else but me, however false
his proclamation may be.
I close my eyes as
his lips land on mine. He kisses me softly as if I’m
made out of gold, kissing me with that familiar mouth I’ve
seen smile tenderly at me so many times before. The assault of his tongue
debilitates me but doesn’t incapacitate me.
“It’s four dollars, gorgeous,” the cute barista says, smiling
at me.
I’m about to pay for my cappuccino when I hear a deep, manly
voice say, “Let
me get that for you.”
A man wearing a beige suit comes forward,
standing next to me as he hands the barista some bills. “I’ve seen you around … you’re Paige’s friend.”
I smile, licking my suddenly dry lips. “Thank you, and yes … I know Paige.”
The smile on his handsome face seems to
freeze as his gaze follows the tip of my tongue, the spark of hunger
brightening his eyes. Inwardly, I smile because who knew it was so easy to make
men desire me, particularly when I went without attention for so long.
“My pleasure. Are you,” he coughs, “here with someone else?”
I shake my head and look at him through
fluttering eyelashes. “No, I’m here all by myself.” I pause, touching his arm invitingly, and smile. “Would you like to join me?”
He looks around the coffee shop, probably
considering if he should, if it’s proper to do so, but less than five seconds later, he’s staring at me once again. “Sure.”
Yes, just like that.
The beige walls are
spinning.
The clock is
ticking.
The bedsprings
creak as the moon cries outside the motel window.
And the man above
me kisses me while he fingers me, preparing me for him. Gotta love such a thoughtful man.
I can taste his
sweet saliva mixing with mine, and I love it.
“Please,” I beg against his lips, reaching
for his hard cock and wrapping my fingers around it. “I’m ready.”
I feel his mouth
leave mine as he begins to make his way down my partially dressed body. “Are you sure, Blaire? Are you sure you want to do this with
me?”
I open my eyes to
witness what I think I want him to do. No, what I’m sure I want him to do. I can’t help the smile I feel playing on my lips as I see him
struggling with his conscience. He asks me if I’m sure
when he has already fucked my mouth with his cock countless number of times,
when his fingers have filled every orifice of my body. Should I laugh? No … I decide to take pity instead.
“I’m sure, so sure,” I say, letting my arms land like dead weight on the bed, the
cheap fabric rough against my skin.
“All right.”
When I feel the bed
dip between my legs, I instinctively open them for him and watch as he brings a
condom package to his mouth. As he rips it open with his teeth, I admire his
perfect full lips that emphasize how masculine he is.
I feel pleased with
myself.
So fucking pleased
because he wants me.
Mr. Callahan wants
me. Me. Can you believe it? Chubby Blaire. Ugly and awkward Blaire.
Unlovable Blaire.
I guess I’m not that ugly anymore. My body? What was considered fat as a
child is now called boobs and ass. Guys want it. They want me. They want to touch
me, grope me, feel me … they want to screw me. And it
feels good to be wanted … so good. It makes me feel
powerful, and like a potent drug spreading inside your bloodstream, I want
more.
I need more.
“Hurry up,” I say, not bothering to be shy
or coy about it. I mean, he brought me here to have sex, right?
“Fuck, give me a second, Blaire. Trying to get the damn condom
on my dick.”
As he rolls the rubber on his stiff dick, his eyes wonder over my bare chest, my face, my spread legs. Shaking his head as if trying to clear his mind, he mutters, “You’re so beautiful. I want you so much.”
As he rolls the rubber on his stiff dick, his eyes wonder over my bare chest, my face, my spread legs. Shaking his head as if trying to clear his mind, he mutters, “You’re so beautiful. I want you so much.”
That’s not the
first time I have heard those words come out of a man’s
mouth. Josh tells me all the time how beautiful I am, how perfect I am, how
much he wants me, how much he loves me. But he’s my
friend with benefits. The words kind of lose their meaning when it’s the same person saying them to you over and over again.
“Show me.”
Those two words are
all it takes for him to spread my legs wider with his hands and finally enter
me with his throbbing dick. Pain shoots through my body, and a groan escapes my
mouth when he covers my body with his. I feel his whole length inside me in one
deep thrust.
“Christ, you’re so tight.”
He lifts both my
legs, wrapping them around his lean waist and starts to thrust. Hard. It hurts.
But I like the pain. It sobers me.
And that’s when reality comes crashing down on me. It hits me with the
speed and blinding power of a torpedo, making me realize what I’m doing. What I’m giving away and the man doesn’t even know it.
What the hell am I
doing?
Proving that you are your mother’s daughter.
Making her proud.
The room is filled
with the noises of the man grunting his pleasure and the wet slapping of our
skin; it makes me want to gag. I
want to throw up. Maybe it’s the alcohol I drank.
Maybe it’s self-disgust.
The initial pain is
gone and now I just feel sore. And strange.
His beautiful face
lowers, his lips about to connect with mine, and I feel the bile rise inside my
throat. I turn my face to the side, his kiss landing on my cheek. My eyes watch
the way the lights in the bathroom illuminate all its used and dirty ugliness.
“Oh God, I’m going to come … I’m going to come … I’m going to come,” he continues to pant in my ear, pumping in and out of my
body. Before I know what’s happening, he half-screams and
half groans, his body going tense on top of mine.
And just like that
it’s over. In less than five minutes I’ve
managed to kill a part of me.
Our breathing evens
and he pulls out, moving to stand up. I push myself up on my elbows to see him
inspect his condom. It still glistens. By the time he lifts his eyes,
connecting with mine, I’ve already wrapped my body with
the duvet cover.
Confusion, shock,
and pleasure reflect in those brown eyes. “I-I didn’t know … I …” His
hands go to his hair as we stare at each other. “I didn’t know you were a virgin.”
I shrug my shoulder
carelessly, causing the duvet to slide down, exposing my bare breasts to him.
His eyes immediately flare with lust. “It doesn’t matter … I wanted it to be you.”
And that’s the truth.
“But—”
“But nothing. If it bothers you, then forget it happened. I
already did,” I say, ending the conversation.
This is my body. I
will have the last word. Not him. Not anyone. This is my life. This is my
decision.
Without giving
myself a chance to doubt my next words, I turn to look at him in all his naked
beauty, the gold wedding ring on his finger catching my attention. “Don’t worry, Mr. Callahan … I won’t tell your daughter that you
fucked her classmate.”
And with that, I
seal my destiny.
My name
is Mia Asher. I'm a
writer, a hopeless romantic, a wanderer, a dreamer, a cynic, and a believer.
And, oh yes…I might be a bit crazy - but who isn't?
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