Stable Employment Pt. 02 - Final - Sex Stories

Stable Employment Pt. 02 - Final

... "And the cum."

Yeah. The fuckin' cum, from the fuckin' man.

"But do you like him?"

Her smile widens. It's a knife through my heart. "Yeah, I do. He's our adorable weirdo. He's even funny sometimes -- not nearly as often as he tries to be, but that's part of his charm, too, I think." Here's a pun: what a twist. You know, of that knife? Fuck me.

"Honestly," she continues unprompted, "a few extra cocks were the only thing missing. If he brings a dickgirl or two on, I think that seals it. This will be one floor down from heaven itself."

For girls, she means. It'll be almost heaven for girls -- and even closer to it for fuckin' men.

Dickgirls will be below them, looking up. Same as it ever was.

******

Waiting a day to rush into emotional fucking nonsense feels so fucking fake. I work myself up into a tizzy, and then into tears, over and over again, dreading Jack's return to the apartment while simultaneously being desperate to see her. I torture myself needlessly, imagining all the ways the conversation could go.

She walks through the door, and I don't get up from the kitchen table. I've got tea there, waiting for her. I let her take her time. She doesn't dawdle. She's not a coward like me. She doesn't take off her clothes, though. That means something. We should be past that part, but it devastates me anyway, because I'm weak.

She sits and surrounds the warm cup with her hands. It's late autumn. Does that matter? Of course not. Nothing does.

"I ...

... got the job," I say.

"I knew you would," she replies.

"I'm pretty fucked up about it."

"I know."

We sit, and we sip. 'John's' ranting has been stuck in my head for a day and a half, and language fails me. It's not a pounding. It's not needles or knives. It's not poison. It's creeping black mold. I can feel it slowly extending to important parts of me. When it reaches them, some version of me will die. I'm not sure if I'm strong enough to craft a replacement. There's no pod for that. Well, shit, maybe there is.

"I met him."

"And?"

"He fucked me up pretty bad."

Jack's hackles all raise. I selfishly indulge in the knowledge that she still loves me.

I shake my head. "Words. Ideas. That's all."

She doesn't calm down all that much. "Talk to me?"

I nod, and I try. "I know this is all fucked up, Jack. I know that. I know we're not going to fuck. Maybe we won't even kiss. Even if we never do again, though, I just... I feel like I want to just stay and tell you that I love you, over and over and over again, forever, even though it's nothing but sadness and crying and apologizing."

"Why would you want that?" she asks. It's a well-crafted lie, all artful omissions. She can't hide things from me as well as she used to. She wants me, too, even though she won't take me. Maybe she doesn't have the words, though. Maybe 'John's' ranting wasn't completely worthless.

"Because this was real," I say. "It is real. And... if I go, and I do this, I might never ...