Heavy Steps

Heavy steps, that’s how I would define my trail as I left the grief handling meeting last Friday, it was discouraging, and of course, quite expected, my offer wasn’t accepted at all by anyone in my group. They all were having the same issue as me, I was frustrated. Was it so hard? I mean, I know I am about to die and all, but so are them, and all I wanted back then was to be freed of my stress, having someone inside me would have done the trick and, right back then, my standards were low, quite low. Anything with a shaft would have been enough, but that woman wouldn’t understand what I really needed.
That woman probably has sex daily, with her husband, if she doesn’t; she is wasting quite a guy.
Blood cancer is hard, my dear reader, it is quite controllable though. It consumes your body steadily and it burns down your life flame slowly, providing pain day after day, after day. Seriously, I couldn’t bare the pain but at a point, you learn to live with it, you learn that a slide on your feelings is no more than that… a slide, so taking it up is your choice. Want to fight pain? Be my guest, I worked with it to a point where everything went into balance. I was at peace with those two things that torment women in my situation… hair loss and death. Chemotherapy is extremely evil, although it extends your period alive it does it at a big cost.
I am not here to write about my fight with cancer, but I needed some context ;) I hope you don’t care I trailed off back then.
Even though I am 33, I don’t look at all like a 33 year old woman. My husband left me some years ago and my kids, well, they are better off somewhere else than around me. I never cared much for them anyways, at least not now; I learned to be completely egotistic right after knowing my life could be over at any moment. I spent it all, went hiking, and traveled around the globe and everything.
But sex… my husband stopped touching me when I lost all my hair, I was too frail, according to him. No one would ever do me a thing, this was frustrating.
Those heavy steps made me reconsider something I wasn’t able to do some years ago, the whole idea of me still being an attractive, luscious, and sexually active woman was slowly leaving me. I had to do something quick, before I considered losing myself as a person, as a girl.
Richard came up to me and winked, he was such a sweet guy. I remember him helping me walk through the corridors on the community center while I was unable to walk, back in shape I would always wait for him complementing me; he had no understanding at all on how much he helped me withstand the pain. I would dropped myself into the ground for him, given any of the complements were true. I knew they weren’t.
-Looking good as always, I bet you would look amazing in a short skirt.
A Short skirt, those two words hit me, like a hammer to a nail, right on the spot. When I returned home I looked at myself, the reflection on the mirror showed that, a dying woman on colorless clothes, someone being unable to attract anyone, as I removed my cap I felt that chill through my spine.
I was making myself unattractive.
And then, something darker came into my mind. I had a good body still, I had clothes, and I had a wig… what could I lose? I had nothing left at all. I dressed up on a red miniskirt. I thought it wouldn’t fit me, it barely did, and just a wrong move would make it drop down. A blouse and the blonde wig, as I looked myself into the mirror, I felt good.
I would walk on high heels steadily, however when I reached the red light district everything was darker, and I thought that maybe being a bit clumsy would make me more appealing. Yes, more appealing, someone who can’t run is a perfect target.
I was there to be raped, hopefully.
It didn’t take long. A gentleman talked to me from his car. He looked safe, speaking smoothly to me as I was nervous. The chill down my spine was harsher than when I was back home, I couldn’t feel my fingers, cold as they could be they barely moved at all. Before I knew it, I was inside of his car looking at him, glancing at him, riding back to my “place”.
Fake address, they would come in handy someday.
We stopped, and I stepped down the car…
-“This isn’t my place”
I said, trying to fake a scared voice as best as I could, it worked, before I knew it he was already pushing me to the car, holding my waist from behind with his strong grip and pushing my face to the door with his other hand, he smelled me and I went nuts. His warm breath was barely touching my skin and I wouldn’t understand exactly why but feeling this was amazingly refreshing, rather than fearsome. He wanted me, he actually liked my body as it was, even if I was skinny or bald, he wouldn’t know, he wouldn’t really care if he had no eyes to look at those little details. I squirmed a bit, letting out cries for help, faking it.
Faking something like this, something I would never find in any manual or book.
Everything was intense so far, but when he noticed I had no underwear he started calling me a whore. Those bold words, coming from a stranger, a stranger that minutes ago looked like “just another nice sweet talker giving me a ride”, I was so turned on that I was actually biting my tongue to not ask him to fuck me on the spot there.
That would have ruined it completely, so I played along, asking for help, asking him to stop calling me a whore, begging him to let go of me. All of this stopped when he forced his penis inside of my vagina. He probably ripped something open there, it was so painful but it felt so damn good. I stopped squirming, went limp, I was so aroused there I could only close my eyes and feel how the cold ceiling of the car contrasted with my warm, red, face. I was probably making his dick wet since I could feel my pussy melting around him, he was so hard, so excited, moving fast, pounding me from behind.
I had an orgasm, with it more insults from him, pressing what was left of my breasts up, touching my nipples and making me go even wilder. I probably passed out at a point since I don’t remember lying down on the back seat and having him on top of me. He was careful though, never took of his glasses or hat, I had no idea of what he looked like.
He had a penis, hard, using it inside of me; I wouldn’t care if he was not human.
And then, if it wasn’t enough, I felt his warm semen coming inside of me. It drove me nuts, I would have asked for more right there but I couldn’t speak, I had no strength at all. All I could do is stay there, feeling him abuse of my body, eyes lost on the night sky, feeling the, probably cold, breeze of winter winds.
He didn’t seem to be satisfied with filling me up, he turned me over and did me again from behind, he was so hard, all of this probably was really arousing for him. It was more for me, since I lost my mind again. I couldn’t resist it, and begged for more, begged for him to call me a whore, begged for him to fill me up with his semen.
And he did. He made me his whore for that time. He covered my skirt and blouse with his semen, shooting me with his nice, hard, long penis. I looked up at him and quietly, with a soft voice that he could barely hear I asked…
-Can you tell me… your name?
And then, he shot me, leaving my dead body on the road.