Porn Again-Prologue

Sweet oblivion. Pure, sweet, uncorrupted oblivion...that’s what she tasted like on our first night together, and I dined on her soul like a madman in the most beautiful prison in which there was no escape. Candace Rhodes was her name...’Candy’, as I liked to call her, and man did she ever taste like the sweetest candy on Earth. Fresh out of college, the employment boom in South Florida wasn’t so much a boom for me as it was a faint trickle; a stark reminder of the challenges of life in the Bush economy. Somehow, the dream of one day owning a nice, palatial home in Miami withered down to a modest 2-bedroom dwelling in the Victoria Park section of Fort Lauderdale. Still, those early years with Candace made it all the more enjoyable and special.

“Don’t worry love, we’ll make it work. Just stay positive,” she would often say with that playful gleam in her eye that suggested she knew something I didn’t. That was often the case.

Even now I can still see her standing there, with the brilliance of the morning sun enveloping her like something out of a classic film. Her voice, delicate yet filled with passion; sometimes I still can’t get enough of it. Introduced to her by my piece of shit brother who shall remain nameless, she too was fresh out of college and working in an art gallery. Personally, I don’t care too much for art. To be honest, I couldn’t tell you the difference between a Monet and a Dali, and neither could my brother for that matter. When the son of a bitch introduced us, it was on a double date that he’d setup. Candace had a college friend in town for two weeks that she was entertaining and thought it might be a great night out for all of us. Needless to say, my brother had that famous Craigslist look in his eyes the first time he saw the poor woman’s nipples peeking out from behind a modest blouse. I should’ve seen this coming sooner. To this day, I still can’t remember what her name was, but I do remember why my brother’s interests along with his hormones were on high alert. His latest potential victim was nearly the spitting image of that 80’s movie star and teen icon Molly Ringwald. Star of such popular John Hughes films as Sixteen Candles and The Breakfast Club, nearly every guy in America had a major crush on that woman at some point. It must have been something about those lips, and if you’ve never heard of Molly Ringwald, you missed out. True, they were cool films but personally I was always a classics man, Casablanca in particular.

“Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine...”

Eager to make a great impression or a believable show of bullshit, my brother decided that we should all visit an art gallery, followed by dinner, drinks and drunken ass fucking for the rest of the night. Granted, he didn’t put it in those exact words, but you get the idea. The bastard even dressed for the occasion, donning his best clearance suit from the Men’s Warehouse complete with a rolled up tube sock stuffed in his pants to make his dick look bigger than it really was. Sometimes I couldn’t tell what was worse, the idea that he thought that actually worked, or the fact that he always managed to find a woman dumb enough to fall for it. My brother, the failed attempt by our parents of breeding what could be considered a decent, respectable male was a nymphomaniac jackass from the beginning. For instance, back when we were kids...

A much younger version of the man in question finished his usual routine of raking leaves off the freshly mowed lawn and bagged them up near the side of the house. Another bright and sunny, picturesque day in South Florida, he thought to himself as he caught a glimpse of the neighbor across the street watering her lawn. Mrs. Harrison. ‘Darling’ as she was affectionately known in the neighborhood, every man on the block went out of his way to be nice to her. Whether it was helping her move new furniture into her home or little kids helping carry the groceries back from the store, she almost never lifted a finger on her own. Maybe it was her sunny disposition and affectionate nature...or maybe it was just the biggest pair of boobs a growing kid had ever seen complete with a body that both Bettie Page and Marilyn Monroe would’ve killed for. The ‘Mrs.’ part came from the fact that she had been married for six years, although very few in the neighborhood ever saw her husband. Some said he was in the military. Others claimed he was a traveling salesman, but no one really knew for sure. What was known was the fact that everyday at 4 p.m. when Mrs. Harrison would head outside to water her lawn, it was definitely MUST SEE TV.

Decked out in one of her tightest summer outfits, she always gave a great show, bending over in poses that she had to know people were waiting for, especially us kids. While most of us along with the adults pretended not to notice, my brother was usually perched high up in the tree just outside our bedroom window with his trusty camera. For 50 cents a pop, every kid in the neighborhood got their own personalized Polaroid snapshot of Mrs. Harrison in her finest poses. A dollar got lucky customers nude shots directly from her bedroom window, which was somehow always cracked open. She was quite the exhibitionist, as we kids could attest to from all the weird noises coming from her bedroom late at night, to which either the mailman or local preacher always had to sneak out before morning.

Heading inside for a fresh glass of juice, he grew visibly frustrated from the absence of his older brother who was nowhere to be seen. The kitchen was a virtual collage of trash, dirty dishes and scraps of food scattered everywhere, with loud music blaring from one of the upstairs rooms. The parents were also nowhere to be seen. The little boy stormed up the stairs in a huff, his run-down sneakers nearly burning holes in the carpeted steps as he made his way up. A scowl slithered across his face as he stepped into his bedroom...and it got worse very quickly.

Much to his shock and dismay, the room was littered with pictures of completely nude women ripped from the pages of Playboy Magazine, along with other graphic pictures torn from their father’s hidden stash of porno magazines. Breasts, butts and photos of men and women doing things the kid could have never dreamed of were all over the place. On the edge of his freshly made bed sat none other than his brother...stark naked with a sly grin on his face, magazine in hand...and a rather large tube sock stuffed over his penis...

See what I mean?

Back to the night in question. It was a high class, sophisticated, bourgeois and rather boring affair filled with indecipherable banter of ‘post-modern this’, ‘expressionistic that’. Personally, I couldn’t have cared less about some poor bastard who went crazy and cut off his ear. The only thing I could think of...was Candace. Even now I can remember what she was wearing. A very form fitting black dress, which kissed every curve of hers beautifully, caught my attention from the moment she said hello. She had these big eyes, nervous and shy, complete with that smile that stirred something deep within. After the initial introduction, she and I hit it off very well, spending hours on the phone like two high school teenagers talking about everything from favorite movies to books. It was the first time in my life I’d found a female that I felt completely comfortable confiding in, which was great news for our parents. For years, they all but ignored the exploits of my brother and instead focused on my love life, or lack thereof. Yet when Candace came along, that changed everything.

In spite of my complete ignorance of all things artistic, she was such a sweetheart, grabbing me by the arm and teaching me things that I’d never cared about before. She playfully educated me on the greatness of artistic giants like Van Gogh, Salvador Dali and Barnett Newman. Every time she touched my hand, I could feel this intense electricity just from our fingertips meeting. My brother on the other hand, his grubby paws were all over that poor woman’s ass the entire time. To his credit, she seemed to enjoy it. In spite of this, I was completely under Candace’s spell for the duration of the night. Ever had one of those nights that you just never wanted to end? Well that’s what this was. Every step of the way, I could feel my heart beating faster and faster. It was almost as if the paintings on the walls were suddenly coming alive, and I was now drowning in some surrealist portrait straight from the hallowed confines of the world famous Louvre itself. I couldn’t help staring at her, blushing at the way she ran her delicate fingers through fiery red locks of hair...and those freckles? Oh my God! She was the perfect ginger if there ever was one. The more time we spent walking along the corridors of the gallery, I couldn’t help but find myself strolling a few steps behind her to catch a faint glimpse of her figure. Every line of her was sublime perfection; every movement of her was picturesque poetry in motion, from the curl of her neck all the way down to a very nice and toned ass just waiting to be tasted. And those legs were the stuff of a dancer’s dream. Every now and then, she would look back and catch me undressing her with my eyes, to which she’d always flash a playful wink and smile. I could do nothing more but smile back.

Dinner that night was a dizzying blur of stimulating conversation, wine and subtle flirting that was beginning to make me sweat. Candace had this way of drawing a man into her eyes, nearly draining him of all sense of logic and reason. I tried desperately to listen to her words and respond in kind, but the blood in my brain couldn’t stop rushing down South. We continued to feed each other from our respective plates along with dessert. God, I wanted to taste her so badly. Across the table, I could sense my brother’s sophomoric charm working its magic, as I caught him whispering his usual pornographic sonnets in his date’s ear. Her face lit up every time, and I could easily sense him slowly guiding her hands underneath the table to his crotch. Yep, it was going to be one of those nights...but somehow I didn’t give a damn. I had been blessed to spend time with an absolute ravishing woman...and those freckles. Goddamn those freckles! They caught me every time. She inched closer to me and we continued whatever the fuck we were talking about. Her fragrance suited her perfectly, dulling my senses even further. She was so close; I could feel her breath on me, welcoming it...tasting it. Once again, our fingertips just barely grazed each other, and I could feel the perspiration building as our eyes met. Her lips were so close, and I wanted to feel them so badly that the anticipation was maddening. I’m pretty sure she could feel me bulging below, to which she welcomed it with a wicked smile. I could quickly feel my stomach sinking as she placed her hand in my lap, stroking the length of it...waiting for it. She wouldn’t have to wait long.

The cab ride back to my brother’s apartment could’ve easily been something out of Taxicab Confessions, as the driver, a tall and gangly Eastern European by the name of Yorge quizzed us on some rather personal shit that was beginning to annoy me. I probably would have said something if it hadn’t been for Candace siting on my lap, making a subtle habit of adjusting herself on my crotch in an attempt to feel the full effect of it. Having her skin so close to mine drove me crazy. Silky smooth and delicious, I eagerly awaited the answer as to just how tasty she really was. When we got back to the apartment, I never got a chance to admire my brother’s sudden talent for keeping a tasteful and clean living space. With several glasses of wine coursing through our systems, Candace and I wasted no time in making our way to the couch, kissing as if it would be the last time we would ever see each other again. My brother eagerly dragged his all too excited new trophy into his bedroom where there was no telling what sick and depraved shit he had in store for her.

Candace’s eyes locked deeply into mine, and everything got dizzy. My breathing quickly intensified as we stripped each other completely bare. My mind urged me to savor the moment and slowly undress this beautiful work of art in front of me but...fuck that. I couldn’t wait any longer. Goddamn. She truly was the perfect ginger. Her lips locked on to mine again, tasting like the sweetest death and the sweetest life all into one. Tongues merging into one, I grabbed a full mane of red, curly hair, pulling her back as I took my time tracing the surface of her lips, making my way down her neck.

“Aww fuck yeah bitch! Suck my cock! Suck it you fucking whore!”

I swear to God, my brother was a complete fucking asshole. We could hear nearly every word and grunt coming through the wall along with that God-awful sound of his date gagging on him. It almost sounded as if some sick bastard was choking a seal. Candace kissed me softly, directing my attention back to her. In the faint light creeping through the huge windows, she looked as if she was the epitome of love’s greatest design...and somehow I was but a mere mortal blessed with the opportunity to be with her. My body hovered over hers’ savoring every last sight of the meal as her soft legs suddenly wrapped around me. We kissed each other for what seemed to be an infinite moment, with time no longer becoming a concept either one of us could fathom. The way she smelled and tasted could drive any man crazy...and I was just getting started. No motion was wasted, spending every moment to take in the essence of her, kissing every inch on my way down. Every nerve of hers was responsive to the touch, and I could feel her nipples growing even more erect as I made my way toward them, nibbling, kissing and sucking along the way.

“That’s a good girl. That’s such a good girl. Take it all the way down. Take it balls deep! Oh my God, you nasty bitch!”

“Don’t stop,” Candace whispered as she could feel my brother’s antics really annoying me.

Still, I couldn’t help but lose myself once again in her. Every bit of flesh was exquisite, as I could almost taste her heartbeat, softly tracing my lips down her body. She was so warm, yet I could easily feel her shivering with anticipation. Matching in intensity was my own growing erection that was nearly rubbing a hole in the cheap carpet on the floor. I continued making my way down, kissing her waist, followed by her hips and inner thighs. She relented with only a faint whimper as the anticipation was growing to such an extent that it could’ve killed us both. I carefully kissed everywhere except for one spot, but even I couldn’t hold on any longer. Candace quickly arched her back as if a jolt of electricity shot through her and I kissed it softly. There’s something about the very first taste of a woman that you just never forget. Now if you’re one of these typical male ego-dominated jackasses like for example-

“Take it you fucking slut! Whose pussy it? Whose pussy is it???”

Yep...like this ignorant fuck in the other room, you never truly learn the very important fact that tasting a woman isn’t just something you do to apologize for whatever you fucked up this time. It also isn’t something you do just because she asked for it and won’t stop talking about it. Tasting a woman, ‘eating pussy’ or whatever you want to call it is nothing less than a privilege that most men never fully learn to appreciate. Sadly to say, it took me quite a long time to finally figure this out. Granted I had my share of wild days in college, but being with Candace was different. Somehow, she’d unlocked something deep within me that had been repressed for a while, and I wanted to thank her in kind. That first taste was like being baptized all over again, and I savored every drop as if I would never see her again.

Like I said, there’s something about that first taste that you just never forget. In that moment, you realize that not only is a woman the greatest thing God ever created...you also realize that in creating her, He was just showing off. She had a taste that lingered in one’s memory like the sweetest of fruit, and every time I could feel her inner thighs twitch, I wanted to please her even more. Her slick wetness dripping from my fingers, we shared the taste of her in between sessions of pleasing her more, dining on her relentlessly. It all felt like the greatest dream...

Drowning within a sea of pleasure and pain, I see my reflection magnified through your energy, sparking chakras into flame. I can't find my way through this maze, but to be lost in the nightmare is as sweet as Sunday morning, as tempting as the first bite and as beautifully painful as a climax before death. Dancing circles in each other's existence, can I be with you? Or better yet can I be you? Can I exist within the surface of your flesh, sparking the blood to boil? Can I be the catalyst that sparks the mind, or the water that cools the soul? Can I be the fire that burns through your memory? Can I be the quiet whisper in your dreams? Can I be the nightmare you love to relive, injecting your planet with my memories and fears? Pain and passion intertwined with venom and virtue, till we wake up in the mirror...till we become the mirror, till we are the same reflection. So potent is the perception of becoming both your friend and enemy, the energy is so explosive. The fear is so potent, it will consume us eventually-until we become but ashes and passion, burning within the surface of the mirror. Can you see me? Can you be me? Can you feel my thoughts at your weakest point? Can you feel us destroying each other, only to relive the danger again...and again?

It seemed almost an eternity that I had her thighs wrapped around me, enjoying the very breath of her. I didn’t want to tear myself away from the taste, but I had to enjoy her in every way. Quickly she clung to me as I sat up, clutching on to me as she kissed me deeply, wanting to once more feel the taste of herself from my lips. I immediately lifted her up; her thighs tightly wrapped around me before slowly letting her drift down on it...

Letting her feel just a bit...and then right back out.

It wouldn’t be that easy, and the anticipation was staggering, judging from the bite mark she placed onto my shoulder. As did I, she wanted it so badly. Something had to give. I laid her back down on the floor, staring deeply into her, giving her the sweetest of kisses as I began to tease her again...

Giving her a bit more...and then right back out once again.

The sight of her biting her lips in frustration was beginning to turn me on even further. Her body began to shake, begging for it as she tried to position herself forward. Every single time her precious lips got close to taking it in, I would pull back, feeling that familiar slick wetness drip down to the floor.

“Kiss me,” she begged.

And how could I resist? How could I not indulge myself once more in what had to have been the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen? I leaned in slowly, and she pulled me deeper into her...

All the way...

Every single bit of me inside her, we both nearly struggled to catch our breath as I held every bit of it deeply within. Grabbing me from behind, she pulled me even deeper inside, as we ravished each other madly throughout the seemingly endless hours of that beautiful night. It came as a surprise to no one in the months that followed how close we grew as a couple...all the way up to the day we exchanged vows. Sweet oblivion. Pure, sweet, uncorrupted oblivion...that’s what she tasted like on our first night together, and I dined on her soul like a madman in the most beautiful prison in which there was no escape. Candace Rhodes was her name...’Candy’, as I liked to call her, and man did she ever taste like the sweetest candy on Earth. I was truly a man living the most beautiful and picturesque life...but unfortunately, that all seemed like ages ago. Fast forward to several years later...

Fuck my life. It’s quite amazing how shit happens in the blink of an eye. One minute you’re stepping out into a brave and beautiful new world with the love of your life on your arm and success on the horizon. Next thing you know you’re stressed out, reeking of beer, piss, cheap perfume and drinking away your sorrows in a place reeking of sweat, semen and sorry ass motherfuckers. For instance, this quality piece of work over here...

His weary and bloodshot eyes ventured through the dismal fog of cigarette and cigar smoke permeating the club to one of many patrons sitting at a table off the far right of the stage. Dollar bills and drinks danced throughout the club like banshees, as statuesque strippers danced, frolicked and mingled about in search of their next hustle. It was another hectic Friday night at Sensations, one of the most upscale and premier clubs in the area. Yes sir, the most perfect tits and ass that surgeons could supply were on full display tonight. None of this mattered to the man, as he stared off at the slightly rotund gentlemen entertaining a stripper enticing him for a lap dance. Even through the fog of smoke, the man could easily notice that distinctive marking on his ring finger; the one that a wedding ring leaves on the skin after someone finally takes it off. That cheating son of a bitch.

Now here is this fat fuck throwing away his car payments, house payments and possible future child support payments on some stripper whose cunt has probably been banged to shit in the back. Fucking disgusting man. Absolutely fucking disgusting.

The man then turned his attention in the direction of a rather obnoxious and drunken group of older women at another table, all cheering one of them on as another stripper was grinding on the birthday girl and rubbing her tits in the woman’s face. He could do no more than shake his head as the others cheered loudly while smacking the dancer’s ass. For them, it was probably the first time in their lives that they’d ever touched another woman’s ass...probably acting out their repressed L Word fantasies straight from DVR or Netflix. Fucking posers.

It never ceased to amaze me how these so-called ‘cougars’ manage to escape their quaint, middle-class, White-bred, shithole lives and head down South in search of some young hump to replace the hapless, cheating bloke back home. Seems like every weekend after another, they come to town hitting up the local bars and hotspots with their knockoff fashions and makeup; diving for dicks in Dolce, or cunnilingus in Cavalli. These poor souls were either looking to have a statutory fling to remind themselves of their youthful fire...or to replace old heartache back home with new heartache, a light purse and a possible yeast infection. Some people just never learn. You can dress it up, doll it up and drink till you can’t stand straight or remember the previous night, but in the morning...all the stress and strain of the cheating husband, the kids’ soccer practice, the mortgage and the inevitability of age itself will be right there with that first Bloody Mary waiting for you. Bottoms up...

Having enough of the dreadful scenery, the poor unfortunate soul spun around on his stool, facing the bar. The man sitting directly to his right was overly drunk and engrossed in his conversation, leaving his freshly lit cigar unattended. The man thought about it for a moment, and figured why the fuck not, before swiping the cigar and taking a long, slow drag from it. The taste was robust and memorable, his first cigar in quite a while, harkening back to that bright, beautiful morning after his night with Candy. To his immediate left, a woman was being enticed by another dancer. Damn shame that she should leave a perfectly concocted drink sitting so lonely at the bar. Fuck it, he thought as he confiscated it and gulped it down. Oh my God. Who the fuck drinks Chartreuse in a strip club?

Oh, I almost forgot...pardon my manners. Harper Downman’s the name, but my friends and overbearing family call me Happy. What the fuck do I have to be so happy about? Who the fuck knows? Happy lifted the bracing glass of alcohol to his freshly bruised black eye, wincing a little from the pain of what came before. And what about me you ask? Why do I seem so cynical and bitter? What did I do to be so black and blue?

Bear with me…

TO BE CONTINUED IN PART ONE…