Chapter 5 #4
She hesitated for a few seconds, unsure what to do, before gulping and then opening her lips, allowing me to slip my finger inside her mouth.
My index finger made contact with the liquid heat of her tongue, and Jennifer teased it, sucking just the way I’d told her to.
She did it with uncharacteristic apprehension.
“I’ve been patient with you tonight,” I whispered into her ear, my voice sensual yet menacing. My bare chest brushed the tits covered by her leather jacket, and she shivered. I felt nothing.
“But it’s not going to happen again. Don’t push me, Jen.” I pressed a kiss to the place just under her ear to reinforce the message I wanted her to receive. Then I pulled back, dragging my finger from her mouth with a smirk.
***
I awoke in a foul mood after a sleepless night. Just like every other damn day.
I’d gone to school, attended my classes, and now I was searching the mansion for Logan.
I hurried to his room, needing urgently to talk with him.
My brother was the only person I confided in about my problems or any thoughts that were troubling me.
I threw the door to his bedroom open but stopped immediately when I spotted Alyssa, grinding intently on him as the two of them kissed passionately.
“What the hell!” The girl turned bright red and immediately leaped off Logan. Fortunately, they were both still fully dressed. I’d interrupted them before they’d gotten too far.
“Neil!” My brother shouted at me, furious. He hated it when I barreled into his room like a tank, never knocking or giving a shit what he was doing in there.
“I need to talk to you.” I walked into the room with a cheeky smile and took a look at his girlfriend’s bare legs, exposed when the dress she was wearing had ridden up on her thighs.
Logan lay there, hair a mess, his lips smeared with her lipstick, and gave me a threatening look, which did absolutely nothing to intimidate me. Naturally.
“Can’t you knock? Jesus!” he snapped, sitting up and fussing with his hair.
Alyssa swallowed hard and got out of the bed, fixing the hem of her fluttering dress.
I had no idea where they were in their relationship—they’d been dating since Logan’s accident—but I doubted it was love.
I suspected my brother was just passing the time with her.
He was attracted to her, but not much more.
“You’ll have other fucks. I”—I gestured to myself—“am more important.” And that was the truth.
Logan was always there for me, just like I was always there for him. Women were a secondary concern, and, right then, Alyssa needed to make herself scarce so I could have a moment in private with my brother.
Logan rolled his eyes at me and sat up on the end of the bed, irritated.
“I’ll call you later, baby,” he murmured, giving her a reassuring smile, and I made a put-out face.
Why did men always use the same pet names for women? I’d never have done that. I would rather find something personal, something unique for the people I deem important. I was a nonconformist; I valued originality. I couldn’t have adapted to the typical couple lifestyle or behaviors.
“Okay, sweetie. Later,” she answered gently, and I shuddered.
Sweetie…this was worse than I’d thought. I sighed and rested my ass against the desk, waiting impatiently for Alyssa to get out. Once she did, Logan turned all his anger on me, shooting me a glare that had me grinning.
“You’ve got lipstick right there, sweetie,” I taunted him, pointing at my bottom lip. He huffed through his nose as he stood up. Fortunately, he could now walk without crutches and only wore the brace under his pants to keep from pushing himself too hard. He was almost back to normal.
“Not funny, asshole!” he groused, heading for the bathroom.
“You’re a total simp,” I scoffed, beginning to get seriously concerned. How had that girl reduced him to this?
“You go fall in love, then we’ll talk.” He vanished into the bathroom, and I heard the water running. He was probably brushing his teeth.
“You can bet that I’m not going to be like you,” I said, plucking a pencil from the holder on his desk. I sat down and opened a random notebook of his, doodling senselessly. “I don’t get why men become such dipshits whenever they get into a relationship,” I muttered to myself.
I heard the toilet flush, and a few moments later, he reappeared with his hair straightened and the minty smell of toothpaste wafting off him.
He glared first at my face and then at the pencil I had between my fingers before marching over angrily to take it from me.
“Don’t scribble all over my notes!” He put the pencil back where it belonged and sat down on the bed, waiting for me to talk. I spun around in his office chair and folded my hands over my stomach, stretching my legs out in front of me with one ankle crossed over the other.
There, I had assumed a position typical of the kind of cocky guy that I was.
“So? What did you want to talk about?” he asked curiously.
I wasn’t sure where to start. My upbeat, overconfident attitude was just a way of hiding how agitated I was. I’d never suffered from this kind of problem before, and revealing it wasn’t easy. For a man like me, feeling like I couldn’t fully experience sex was embarrassing.
“I’ve got a problem…” I leaned forward and arranged my face into a serious expression. I rested my elbows on my knees and stared at him, searching for the right words that would help me confess everything.
Fuck, this was difficult.
“What sort of problem? Neil, you’re making me worry,” he chided me, unsettled.
I gazed into his darker hazel eyes, a place where I had always been able to find myself. Logan had always been the best part of me, the one who stayed pure and uncontaminated.
I glanced around awkwardly. I was experiencing something that was common for most other humans but rare for me: embarrassment.
“I don’t…” The shame was clear in my voice. I hated that awkward, speechless moment. Logan just watched me, perplexed, and I looked like an idiot who couldn’t talk.
That’s why I hated doing that kind of thing. Words were useless. Most of the time, I only used them to describe problems or express negative feelings. There had rarely been a time when I felt the need to speak out of joy or to tell someone something good.
“You don’t what?” he urged me, becoming increasingly concerned.
I had to spit it out. It was now or never.
I needed to confide in someone and I’d always held back with my friends.
I didn’t like talking about myself or my life.
I was introverted and slow to trust. I was never the kind of person to just say what I thought without hesitation.
I always thought long and hard about what to say and—most important of all—who to say it to.
Very few people had my trust.
“I can’t orgasm anymore,” I said in a rush, staring at the toes of his black Air Jordans instead of at his face.
I knew he’d never laugh at me for having that kind of problem, but I was still uncomfortable.
It didn’t feel good, as a man, to admit that sort of thing.
I felt incomplete, wrong, and defective.
A Ferrari with a malfunctioning engine.
“What does that mean?” he asked, sounding surprised. “For… For how long?” Now he was the one who looked embarrassed and was having trouble keeping up this absurd conversation.
I jumped up from the chair like there were hot stones under my ass and began pacing nervously in front of him.
“For a while now. I can still feel everything. It feels good; I can get hard. Hell, I can fuck for hours, but…there’s no ejaculation,” I managed haltingly.
Orgasm was an extreme feeling, a rush of energy followed by a profound state of relaxation and I no longer even remembered what it felt like to be really satisfied.
Reaching a sexual climax was supposed to put an end to one’s desire and the erotic tension of the act, but the opposite was happening in my body.
My frustration was as palpable as my anxiety because my want and arousal were trapped in an endless refractory period.
“Jesus, that can’t be easy,” he said, rubbing a hand over his mouth in shock.
No, it wasn’t. It was terrible.
“Do you think there’s something wrong with me physically?” My voice shook. The mere suspicion that this situation could be the result of a physical problem or a serious illness terrified me.
Logan considered this for a moment. I didn’t want to dump all this on him, but I didn’t know who else I could turn to.
“What the fuck are you talking about? Of course not!” Logan said suddenly, getting to his feet. “There’s nothing wrong with your body, Neil. I think it’s…” He paused, looking meaningfully into my eyes. “Psychological,” he finished.
Psychological?
What he was saying made sense. Ever since I was a child, I’d had a strange relationship with sex.
I could never completely let myself go and could never feel truly emotionally involved with my partner.
I was always more concerned with “giving” than receiving.
I always needed women to feel good, to achieve orgasm.
I focused on lasting as long as possible for them, keeping my erection until they were done.
I was concerned about “quality” as well as quantity and gave it everything I had without ever getting emotions involved.
It was all somewhat methodical, practiced, and carefully calculated.
The fact that I almost never gave into requests for oral was a sign of the intense control I maintained with all of them.
Basically, women shattered underneath me while I thought about Kim, about the weeping Boy and my damaged soul. And, eventually, my mind abandoned me. I regressed into the past. Distant but somehow still very present.
“So you think it’s like a mental block?” I asked Logan, scrubbing a hand over my face before looking away, out the French windows to the blue sky beyond.