Intro by Dom.
We were both 20 and about to break up.
We had met at college, and became an item almost immediately.
We got engaged, despite her oppressive parents...parents she hated, and who had left her upbringing to her grandparents for most of her life.
My parents had gotten divorced recently, and my dad got an opportunity to move to a different country, not too far from home, but far enough to start afresh.
We chose to go with him, after convincing my girlfriend that this was the chance to escape her parents and their destructive behaviour. My dad was happy for her to come along and share our new home, and our new adventure.
It had lasted only 6 months or so. Each day she appeared more sullen, more depressed. It didn't help that I found work that kept me away most of the week. Leaving her with my dad as company. But he was not her family and she felt increasingly isolated and alone, she told me finally.
We argued. She told me she wanted to go back home and begged me to come back with her. She didn't miss her parents, but she did miss and worry about her grandad she said. Homesickness had struck her bad.
I was too blinkered to want to understand what she was going through. I could not relate to why she wanted to go back, to waste an opportunity to create a life together in a new place, away from all that she had tried to escape from for years. I resented her wanting to go home. It felt like a snub. A kick in the balls. But she was adamant that she was going back home, with or without me - even though she didn't want us to split up. She pleaded with me to go with her, but I acted like a real prick, and was cold towards her, told her to go. Told her it was over, and that I could not understand why she would chose to leave me and give up on everything that lay in front of us.
And here we were. The last night together before she was due to leave early the next morning for the journey home.
My dad had gone to bed early. I assumed he was trying to avoid the acrimonious atmosphere of our untangling relationship, and the raw emotion of that last night. He had tried to intervene on her behalf. It seemed she had been talking to him about it while I was away. He assured me it was OK for me to go back with her, that my future was with her not him, but I was stubborn, and resented him taking her side. God I could be self destructive.
There had been tears, and continuous pleading. At one point she said she had changed her mind and would stay, but for whatever reason I belligerently told her to go, she had made her decision, the damage had been done and could not be fixed. I will never understand why I said that. Why I acted that way. The best I could do years later was decide that I wanted to hurt her, because she had hurt me by wanting to leave, by rejecting our future together. Because I was immature.
I don't know how it happened. But as the night wore on, and we talked; the small bedroom charged with emotion, the conversation took a strange turn. I can't describe in a single word how I felt; it was a cocktail of resigned, fatalistic, curious, angry, heartbroken and oddly, extremely horny - and it was this last emotion that ruled my actions and my words.
As we would cease to be a couple in less than 12 hours, I asked her all sorts of strange questions, like I wanted to feel more pain, like I was willing her to give me a reason to hate her even more, so it would somehow help deal with the heartbreak. I wanted her to be the undisputed villain of the piece, so I could say "it was her not me" to those that asked.
"Did you ever cheat on me....did you ever play away."
"What?"
"You heard...you might as well tell me now anyway, it doesn't matter anymore, does it."
She glared at me. Fury on her face.
"No...no I didn't."
"Really...did you ever want to. Did you have the opportunity? Is there someone you wondered about, fantasised about and thought, what if?"
The more I spoke, the more I discovered that I wanted her to confess to some sort of infidelity, it just got to me, that thought of her with someone else, or an admission she craved someone else.
"What the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you ask that?"
I reached for her, and yanked her to me and kissed her hard...she resisted at first. Confused.
"What are you up to. You don't get to do that anymore."
I moved forward, pushing her backwards with my body weight, until she could do nothing but fall back on to the bed.
I lay on top of her, and she struggled. I kissed her again.
"I want to fuck you. One last time. One more night to remember you."
I was lay between her legs now, my erect cock pressed in to her pubes through her little satin shorts from within my own sports shorts.
"I don't know why, but I feel so fucking horny right now. I have to fuck you."
My hand slid under her satin vest top and gripped one of her breasts.
"Please...one last time. I need something...anything. A goodbye."
I could see the pain and sadness in her eyes, and perhaps pity. She made a decision and kissed me back letting me know it was ok.
The hand that had groped her breast, slid down to her shorts, and up inside them from one of the leg openings, and fingers touched soft downy hairs on her pussy.
She sighed as my fingers parted her and probed her labia and clit; getting increasingly lubricated as her arousal grew and my fingers sank deeper, then slid back and forth rhythmically.
"I'm going to miss this. You always were a great fuck."
She didn't answer.
I paused for a moment to strip off my shorts and t-shirt, my swollen cock felt harder than it ever had due to the emotionally charged circumstances. It felt somehow wrong that I was about take her for the last time. Almost taboo. I felt heady with power, with dark thoughts surging through my mind. I wanted to use her, do and say things I had never dared to before, I wanted to make it count, get it all out there and leave nothing to regret.
I yanked her shorts down, almost tearing them from her, and then lifted her vest top over her head. She lay there naked. Expectant. And I thought a little bit uncertain of why she was allowing this to happen.
