Desiderium – Monsters, The First Ch4

My #WedPeeks post for this week is chapter 4 of my new novella, scheduled for release this coming October. Desiderium is a dark fantasy/horror and is for mature readers. There is violence, sex, and a lot of profanity in these pages – you have been warned!

 

~ FOUR ~

Passionate Interludes  

The dream is back. Dreams, I guess. I’m scared of them, but so far they’re not anything like the first one. These ones are sexy, not scary—beautiful, even, and I think whatever has possession of me has rubbed off on Sophie, too. Several times after these dreams I wake to find Sophie awake, too, and ready for me. Our lovemaking is particularly driven on those nights. We fuck desperately, hungrily—two starving castaways suddenly presented with a feast.

I’m pretty sure Sophie believes that this is some sort of a breakthrough, and likely due to the therapy sessions. But I stopped going to see that dumbfuck ages ago. It was too expensive, and was gaining me nothing. She would be pissed if she found out I was lying to her, but for now I plan to enjoy it. I’m just grateful that the dreams and resulting urges aren’t violent and perverse like that first time. I sometimes feel guilty about taking advantage of Sophie this way, but damn, the dreams turn me on, and she so clearly feels it too. It satisfies both of us. A win-win all around.

The dreams are always the same for me. Sophie and I wrapped in one another’s arms, making love. The soft glow of flickering candlelight, and there’s low music playing somewhere in the background, but mostly I’m consumed by the feel of our flesh pressed tightly together, our breath in synch with our bodies’ rhythmic movements. But then our bodies vanish and we become only our breath, combining and mingling and floating through the air, her feelings turning to mine and mine to hers. We become one entity, an entity of pure passion and pleasure and orgasm. It’s a closeness like nothing I’ve ever felt in my waking life, something only possible in dreams.

These dreams are like the best wet dream of your life, the kind that resulted in you volunteering to do the laundry the next day out of embarrassment for what you left behind when you were a teenager. Except I don’t have to be embarrassed, because Sophie is right there with me. We’ve been making love every night for months, frequently more than once a night. More than when we first began dating.

We’re both kind of baffled by this change, really. I don’t know where this passion and energy is coming from, and clearly she doesn’t, either. I’ve caught her watching me from time to time, her expression beatific but with a shadow of suspicion in her eyes. I think if I could stop myself from going out at night, that suspicion would vanish. I half-think she believes I’ve found someone else, and instead of physically cheating I come home to her to funnel my frustration and desire for another woman into our lovemaking.

But I really do think that the dreams have her, too, and that’s what keeps her from asking. Or accusing. We don’t talk about it. We don’t talk much about anything. Our mouths are generally busy with other activities.

It’s getting out of hand. Even those nights Sophie and I are together twice are no longer enough for me. I think about it all the time, more than normal. More than I’ve thought about it in all my life, even when I was first figuring it out as a boy and everything was bright and sharp and new.

I think about it as I wander through the city or lurk outside Blake’s old house. I’m ashamed to say that I’ve actually jerked off more than once while waiting outside the house our while pulled over in a dark alley. The urge simply overwhelms me, and I can’t help myself. I’ve tried not to, believe me. But it just gets stronger and stronger until I can’t stop it. It feels like getting caught in a rip current and being sucked out to sea, choking and spluttering on pleasure the whole way.

I’m at Blake’s house again tonight. I don’t know why I keep coming here—there’s obviously nothing here that will help me. I’ve been lingering for months now. If something were to happen here, surely it would have already. But this is one of the few places of his I know, so I keep coming back. I hang out for awhile, watching on high alert, staring out into the blank darkness of night. It doesn’t take long for me to get bored and for my thoughts to drift back to sex.

I catch a faint hint of a scent that I don’t recognize. It smells a little coppery, sharp—a bit like blood, but mostly of musk. It smells sexy, it smells like sex, and the more I inhale it the more turned on I get. I lean back, my thighs falling apart. It’s the most incredible scent I’ve ever encountered. I wriggle down further into the cradle of the seat, unzip, pull out my dick, and let the fantasies wash over me. Oh my god, that smell…some company is going to make a fortune off that perfume. It really is an aphrodisiac. I made love to Sophie twice before I left tonight, and now I’m jerking off again in the car. Some part of my brain recognizes the ridiculousness of it all even as I come on my pants with a muffled shout. No bother, no one will see in the dark.

Afterwards, feeling loose and boneless and just a little reckless, I drive to the alley that runs behind the building Blake’s body was found in. This time, though, I decide to park my car and I wander down into the alley’s dark maw. Why not? I stop at the halfway mark and sit on a ledge jutting out of a brick wall. I look down the alley in each direction and take in the city filth around me. Clearly this place isn’t used much—there’s garbage everywhere, and it stinks, too.

Underneath the usual garbage smell is something far more rancid and foul. It smells like something dead, rotting—something that would turn out to be filled with maggots if you poked at it. I can’t ignore it—there’s also a hint of that sexy musk perfume mixed into the rotten smell around me. I feel myself getting hard again and barely suppress a disgusted shudder.

I feel a flutter of fear in my gut. I know it’s not normal to feel turned on when you smell rotting flesh, but there was no denying the pheromone-addled undertone of rut in the air, too. Maybe this is what male animals smell when the female of their species is in heat. The smell of blood, yes, but also the smell of a female hungry to be filled. I may be human, but I can feel some wild remnant inside of me twitching awake and responding to that scent.

The scent gets stronger, and my response becomes stronger, too. I look down the alleyway again to make sure I’m alone. I look up at the buildings around me, but all of the windows are boarded up or bricked over. It’s 4 am in a dark alley in an awful part of town. But I’m alone here. Before I can question it, I pull out my dick and jerk off, fast and rough, coming onto the brick ledge so quickly I feel dizzy, not bothering to suppress my moans. There should have been little left after three ejaculations already tonight, but that smell…I feel hot and itchy all over, and more than a little embarrassed as I take in the huge load of jizz that I’ve just shot onto the ledge.

I yank up my pants and head home, where I should have been all along, snuggled up with Sophie. What’s wrong with me? What kind of a person sneaks out at night to jerk off in a dark alleyway or to lurk outside his dead brother’s house, hoping against hope to find whatever killed him? Even as I ask myself these questions, I know I can’t stop. I have to find that darkness, conquer it, kill it. Maybe then…maybe then these urges will stop.

Sophie was right that night all those months ago. I am a sick fuck.