Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
I have such a peculiar feeling about how the rest of my day will go. I can’t quite place the emotion, so peculiar will have to do.
Priscilla’s gone now and I’m alone. Nothing inside of me is poking or prodding at me, and I feel something strangely unusual.
I feel calm.
It could very well be the proverbial calm before the storm, but I have nothing left to give really. Not until I find the one that keeps eluding me.
I think I’ll spend the rest of my day retracing my steps. Where the hell was the last time that I saw her? The grocery store. What was she wearing? ... I can’t remember.
I won’t bother trying to recall her face, her eyes, or the color of her hair because it’s useless. It’s almost as if each time I see her, she’s wearing a new face, her hair is different, and my brain refuses to retain what she looked like the time before.
Why is this happening?
It’s quite frustrating.
Perhaps I’ll go back into the living room and turn the television back on. Perhaps I’ll clean my home. Perhaps I’ll go back to bed and forget that the world exists, but I know that none of these will be enough to keep my mind preoccupied.
I won’t hurt anyone else today; my quota has been met. Verona and her family were way above what I usually do for a day. To be honest, I can keep myself from hurting more people until I find her.
And then I’ll stop .
That’s when it will all end, and when I’ll finally be at peace with everything I’ve accomplished so far in my life. Which gives me an idea of how to occupy myself for the day.
First, I have to shower. I don’t want the folly of what I’ve done to be so prominent on my hands. Also, I want to get the feeling of Priscilla off of me.
From every part of my body.
I clear my throat as I make my way to my bedroom to retrieve some fresh clothes, then head into my bathroom. I place everything neatly on the edge of the sink before I turn and pull the glass door open. A moment later, I’ve tested the heat of the water and begin to undress.
I like to use an exfoliating soap scrub. It assures me that all of the dirt I may have accumulated throughout the day has been removed and leaves me feeling quite refreshed. For my hair, I use a rejuvenating shampoo and conditioner for no other reason than to keep my hair shining and healthy.
I’m not vain.
I take pride in my appearance.
After I lather and rinse the shampoo, I use the conditioner next. It’s organic, of course, and smells of eucalyptus. While that sets, I reach for my soap scrub and unscrew the top. It, too, smells like eucalyptus, and while I understand that may seem a bit quirky, I find it’s much better than reeking of two different scents.
I find it subtle and slightly intoxicating, as do others around me. It’s more for those in the pleasure of my company than for myself. I like to make others comfortable when I can.
I smile as I scrub myself. I can feel the soap working quickly, leaving small trails of grain against my skin. I have to take care not to scrub too deeply because I can draw blood on myself with something as simple as this.
I’ve done it before .
Call it a morbid curiosity that I wanted satisfied.
I wince as the conditioner starts to drip down into my left eye, but I continue scrubbing, leaving my cock for last. I turn and step under the shower stream and shake my hands vigorously before I wash the conditioner out. Once I’m done, I grab blindly for the towel I have draped over the top of the door and dab at my eyes before turning and grabbing the soap scrub again.
Now would be the time that I would wash away Priscilla’s shameless and lewd acts against me. While I had allowed it, I still found it to be completely vile to have a woman such as her deem herself worthy of my cock.
I hated myself for letting her do it, and I could tell because I was scrubbing too quickly, too deeply, too violently.
I’m not clean enough. I can feel it.
I jab my fingers into the jar again and bring out a generous amount of soap and continue scrubbing, but I can’t seem to get the horrid sensation of her off of me. It’s burned in my fucking brain, and if I don’t stop soon ... Is that blood?
Oh, God. It is, but I have to keep scrubbing. I have to get her off of me. I move my hand faster and reach with my other hand for more soap. Why isn’t this working? How is it possible that I’m not clean enough yet? Why is my breathing starting to become heavy? Am I … am I enjoying this? This attempt to wash her away, her memory, her touch, is making my body feel torrid, and I’m becoming hard. I can feel it.
But if I scrub harder, it’ll go away … won’t it? The memory of Priscilla, the hard cock, the feeling that I’m about to—
“Fuck!”
My breathing is heavier now and I feel so betrayed by myself as I look down at my hand. There’s small amounts of blood from my attempting to clean myself, but there’s also a generous amount of cum on them as well.
This really wasn’t meant when I said I wanted to get everything off. I didn’t mean to.
Can you forgive me?