FARTHER: An Erotic Romance by Jorja Tabu Read online

  I hadn’t been back to our hometown in over a year and a half.

  “What about Waikiki?” She’s missed that column, maybe. Maybe it was posted when one of the boys was born. I couldn’t remember. I lost track of these sorts of things, not having any life but one that was mobile and unfixed, wandering.

  “The dirty talk one,” I told her, and she grew quiet for a minute. “You don’t like dirty talk,” she said finally, a knowing tone in her voice.

  “Didn’t like dirty talk,” I corrected, then stopped looking at my chipped manicure and grinned. “Wait—how would you know?”

  “Brothers talk about everything,” she said in a sing-song voice, and we both laughed for a minute. As usual, my high school self contradicted my adult explorer.

  “Well, I like it now, in the right dosage,” I muttered, thinking about Waikiki. Part of me felt really hot, and part of me felt really degraded; part of me felt hot because I felt degraded. It was a weird mix, and I didn’t revisit it if I could. Seattle hadn’t known it was a hot button with me. Why would he? We weren’t even friends. He was just a hot fuck that’d taught me to love having my asshole stretched by the occasional dimpled cutie.

  “Well I’m not telling Mike that,” Trish said smoothly, and I rolled my eyes. “I’ll let him figure it out for himself once you’re back in town,” she said confidently, and I rolled my eyes again.

  “Oh jeez, Trish,” I groaned, “give it up, will ya?” She chuckled.

  “You’re meant to be,” she said in that same annoyingly confident, best-friend one. “You’ll see one of these days.”

  “You should show him that Waikiki column, and see if you still think that,” I replied, and she shut up about it. Because she knew I was right.

  By choosing freedom, I’d chosen being alone.

  But I couldn’t dwell on that then. I had to get ready for that doctor’s appointment. And only a part of me was so sad about missing out on relationships; I never really felt the ache until we talked about Mike. After my diagnosis, after my illness…I felt it all the time.

  That seemed like a whole different lifetime now—and in some ways I suppose it was. In the present day, sitting in my new, clean and tiny apartment, looking back on that moment before I knew, when my body was still whole…I’d had freedom, so being alone hadn’t really been so bad.

  But now I wasn’t free. My true life partner--my body—had betrayed me.

  Well, at least I was closer to Trish, now. I put the column away and tried to make some chamomile tea before the folks came over for dinner to help me settle into my new place.

  My last new place.

  3.

  Waikiki. The mystique, the power, the exotic eroticism. It’s a writer’s wet dream to write about the place, let alone go there, let alone get laid there and then write about it. So. I’m wet all over again, just re-living this episode as I type this.

  But it wasn’t enough that I visit and find suitable nubile surfer boys to explore. I found my fuck-buddy, tour guide and instructor in Dirty Talk 101 through the many comments section in my blog. “Come to Hawai’i,” he said, and I could practically feel the warm sand under my toes, his warm skin beneath my fingertips. “I’ll rub you down with coconut oil, suck your wet pussy till you beg me to stuff you full of dick. You ever had a marine, baby? We fuck like it’s our last day on earth, every time.” Something about it was laughable, boastful, but when I replied to his comment he responded so genuinely and frankly that we struck up a correspondence, and by the time I was ready to come to Hawai’i, three years later, he’d been halfway around the world and back himself, and said he’d love to show me his favorite US city. How could I refuse?

  But he was a Marine, that was doubtless, and when he picked me up from the airport I knew it without asking which one of the tanned, muscular bodies was my escort. He met me with a wide grin, his boyish features younger than his age and offsetting his menacing build. He was covered in USMC tattoos, barbed wire, and wearing casual board shorts and slippers. His shaggy hair told me he’d been on leave for a little while, and it made him look like a charming mix of beach bum and Special Forces. “You’re even more beautiful in person,” he said warmly, looking me over appreciatively. I’d worn my very best beachwear; gold bikini peeking out from beneath a form-fitting black sleeveless dress, three-inch heels on my wedge sandals. He picked up my luggage as if it weighed nothing and led me to his car, giving me an all island tour in a just a few hours, filled with ukulele music, delicious pineapple and scandalously beautiful Polynesians everywhere, swimming, spinning poi, and smiling as they packed the crowded beach. After a twilight swim and a romantic walk on Waikiki, soldier boy took me home. My hotel was right on the beach, overlooking the fathomless depths of the ocean, and the last shreds of a spectacular sunset said goodbye to a long, exhausting day.

  “So what do you think?” He was leaning over the balcony, taking in the busy beach below. Night time traffic on Waikiki was slamming the sand after the brief dinner lull, tourists flocking to the boardwalk and the crystalline waters of the swimming pools below filling with night time swimmers. I wasn’t watching them, though; I was watching his biceps jump as he moved easily to soak up the breeze, his body one solid hunk of hewn muscle. Each abdominal was etched out of marble. Each tweak of his body caused a ripple of movement along the musculature of his back. And then, to top it all off, was that boyish smile. Huge brown eyes, warm and sweet, made him the perfect image of American manhood.

  “I like everything I’ve seen so far,” I told him, and we looked at each other. I uncrossed my legs, knowing it gave him a view of my inner thighs, and saw the only muscle that wasn’t readily on display twitch beneath his shorts. He grinned for a second, uncrossed his arms, and angled his body to give me a full view of his chest.

  “I like what I see,” he said slowly, allowing himself to harden; it seemed he was just as big everywhere. “Care to show me more of yourself?” His eyes held a sheen of lust that was newer; I’d noticed it lurking under his sweet demeanor all day.

  “Care to follow up your threats online with a little action?” I parted my legs a little further, knowing that the gilded fabric of my bikini was glinting in the fading light. He took a deep breath, the heady Hawai’i air filling his lungs, and then he slowly unbuttoned and shucked off his shorts, naked before me in thirty seconds flat. And my god, he was beautiful. His hip muscles projected like half-moons through his tan line, the paler skin just adding to the deliciousness of the view. Downy hair nesteled around his heavy wooden cock, purple in the twilight, and I saw a glimmering bead of precum already waiting for me on the tip.

  “Come taste it,” he said, seeing me notice it immediately. He put his hands on his hips and pointed his cock towards me. “Give me a little of your tongue, baby girl, and I’ll give you a lot of mine.” Sounded like a bargain, so I went for it. Kneeling before him on the balcony, I wondered how many people in the high rise rooms around us could see me pleasuring him. I licked him from the shaft of his cock all the way to the tip, lingering on the head, circling it, feeling him swell beneath my fingertips. “Mmm,” he said, arcing into me, giving me even more than a mouthful. I let my hands play with his balls while I worked on his fat cock head. “Mmm, suck those for a second baby,” he said, gently catching my hair in his hands. “Suck my balls for a minute.” How could I resist such a sweet request? I fit one in my mouth; they didn’t both fit. I used my hands to rhythmically work his shaft and felt him buck and restrain himself. “Mmmhm girl,” he groaned, and then gently stroked my cheek with his finger. “Let me taste you now.”

  I stood up, and he had my clothes off in seconds. We were both naked on the balcony, before everyone, the last bit of sunlight betraying our nakedness to the world. My breasts loomed bright white in the half light, nipples proudly cresting as I wiggled out of my bikini bottom before his hungry eyes. “Get your ass back in that chair,” he directed, and I laughed and complied. His charming smile made it easy to want whatever he ha
d in mind.

  Then he was down on his knees before me, my legs opened wide and propped up on the armrests on either side. His head and shoulders didn’t fit through the seat, he was so big, and his massive hands reached under my ass cheeks and pulled me forward until his face was hovering inches above my pussy. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “Tell me the truth,” he said, opening his beautiful brown eyes again and looking at me. I placed my legs on his shoulders and felt his massive muscles beneath them, and his reached up and secured my calves open before him with strong hands. “Is this a slutty pussy?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Or is what you write on that website just load bullshit?”

  Count on a Marine to make me laugh so hard I almost choked just before giving me the time of my life. “Way to ruin the mood,” I said, struggling to pull my legs back. It was hilarious that he was so candid, but I was also a little offended.

  “Really?” He grinned, letting me wiggle in front of him, apparently enjoying the show. I wasn’t going anywhere until he let go of those legs, anyway. “Because I only like a slutty pussy baby girl. I don’t want to waste my time with some bullshit pussy. So come on, out with it. Are you hungry for dick or what?”

  He looked at me expectantly. I felt my jaw fall open, and he chuckled. “I’m hungry for slutty pussy—I want a pussy that needs to cum so bad she could just cry, and then I need to make her want it again and again. That’s what I want. So tell me--are you the real deal or not?”

  This is a common dilemma I suppose—in the age of the internet, asking and receiving is a gamble. He didn’t mean it as an insult; he meant it as a prerequisite. It took me a minute to commit, though. I’d never in my life thought of me or my pussy as…well…slutty. But here we were, having the job we do, doing the things we’d done. So…”Yeah,” I said, swallowing a gulp, “I have a slutty pussy.”

  “Let me hear you say it again,” he said, his voice dropping an octave as lust burned in his eyes. “I like to hear everything you’re thinking, every dirty thought in your head. I want to hear it come right out of those pretty lips.”

  “My slutty pussy wants your cock,” I whispered, my nipples getting harder. I had under-valued saying what I wanted out loud, I guess. As much fucking as I’d done, I rarely spoke the specifics—I saved it all for my blog. “My pussy wants to cum so hard on your cock it gets so wet and sticky…”

  “Sticky, like this?” He lapped at my clit, and the already engorged organ swelled up like a little balloon. He felt it under his tongue and smiled. “Mmmm, likes it, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I purred, flexing my legs beneath his strong hands.

  “Does it want some more?” He lapped at my hole this time, tasting all the nectar that had pooled there after seeing his fine body all day. He lingered on my clit in the final top stroke, thrumming it gently for a second while I panted and plucked my nipples.

  “Yes,” I begged, “suck my fat little clit, suck it for me? Please?” He acquiesced, fitting my whole clit and mound in this mouth, pummeling it with his eager tongue as I continued stroking him, begging him, driving him on. My legs were cramping, but I didn’t care, because I could already feel what was sure to be a series of monumental orgasms gathering in my core. He stoked the flames with his tongue as I pleaded to cum, twisting in his large hands, until he yanked me towards him in one sudden movement, penetrating me deep with his thrust tongue, and I came so hard I felt the cum pulsing out of me in slow rivulets. He lapped at it, forcing me to ride the wave of my orgasm to its end, teasing each spasm from my body as his pointed tongue neatly tapped my clit. “Oh my god, baby,” I groaned, and when I could open my eyes again, I saw him smiling at me. “I want it again,” I said, feeling my pussy responding already to his confidence. Instead of moving to fuck me, he found a bottle of coconut oil nearby and spread some on his wide palms.

  “Your pussy ready to handle that?” He cocked an eyebrow in mock-seriousness. “Think that slutty little hole’s had enough for one day?”

  “No,” I said carefully, feeling him working over my thighs, gently easing the oil into my skin. “No, she wants it all, all over again.”

  “That slutty little hole,” he said, smiling broadly. I couldn’t believe how he talked about my body, so casually irreverent, so happy with my need. “Let’s get her ready, huh?” I gasped as he slid two of his big fingers inside of me, dripping with oil and indifferent to the tense reaction. He slid them in and out, greasing my entrance, and then flickered towards my clit while his other hand gently massaged oil into my belly and breasts. He loomed over me, his body so large he closed the light out. “That headboard’s going to make a good handle,” he said, and winked. Then just as suddenly as they’d entered me, his teasing fingers left my pussy and both strong arms were around my waist heaving me up. We were on the bed in seconds.

  My back was arched, his thighs neatly sliding under my ass and his cock pressing into my greased folds in a heartbeat. “Mmmm girl, I can see how pretty that pussy is,” he said in his low, husky voice, holding me tightly. “I want to fill it up with my cock.”

  “Give me that cock, “ I whispered, ready. I missed his fingers, his mouth. “Sink that big fat cock inside my slutty pussy hole.”

  Well, that’s what he’d been waiting or—he did exactly that. With no resistance, his massive cock slid inside of me to the hilt as I cried out, impaled with pleasure and feeling the flash of widening as he moved me onto him.

  “Girl, you’re so tight,” he said through gritted teeth. “You sure?” I could tell he genuinely meant it; he was a big man, and he didn’t want to hurt me.

  “Fuck me with that fat cock,” I commanded, letting my back arch, my head drop, and pushing against him with my hands on the headboard. I sank onto his flesh an inch or two more, making him growl. “Fuck that slutty pussy, soldier boy.”

  He did. With that, I wrapped my legs tight around his solid waist and he supported my weight with his hands, effortlessly gliding in and out of me at a breakneck pace. I could feel my next orgasm marching to the fore without hesitation as soon as he began slamming into me, and I pushed back as hard as I could using the headboard as support. “Fuck me,” I panted, gathering strength to lift my head and look him in the eye. His boyishness was still there, but the marine steel was evident as his muscles flexed and bounced beneath the tanned, tattooed flesh, disciplined thrusts picking up pace even still. “Fuck me harder, soldier,” I cried out, cresting, and he let me cum as he pulled completely out and back into my slit with merciless precision and speed.

  “Now give me your cum, soldier,” I whispered, my body now helplessly spent and dangling on the end of his cock as he let me ride the waves, creeping back and forth over my body. “My slutty pussy wants your hot load to land deep inside.” His eyes lit up, a new fire in them, and he bit his lip as he began to systemically pound me again. I felt another orgasm stiffening in my body as he picked up speed once more, my clit stretched tight by his hard cock. His hands clenched beneath my ass cheeks, lifting me up and down like a weightless ragdoll on his massive cock, and I heard myself wailing in exalted ecstasy as he joined me, cumming deep in my body. The headboard clanged like a bell.

  And that, my friends, was how I spent my first night in Waikiki.

  That one had been harder to write; not because it wasn’t true, but because it was. Most of my stories were peppered with exaggerations and omissions, private humiliations, even; this one was exact. The Marine had been a fan, commenting on my blog, and I’d agreed to dinner with him my first day on-site. (So that had been the only lie—I hadn’t met him at the airport, and deigned to go anywhere with him until I knew exactly what he was like. Any sort of safety measure was deemed ‘unsexy’ by my editor, so they were always omitted—condoms, a necessity for my lifestyle, never appeared in the written version but were never absent in my encounters). He’d been gorgeous, super buff, a walking wet dream, just like the rest of Hawai’i. He’d been the only shot I thought I’d ever have at love.

  An
d he’d died in Afghanistan two months after I published our adventure.

  I hadn’t wanted to—I’d wanted to keep him for myself. Wanted his simple, candid desires to be mine, privately, wanted to keep my willingness to indulge his dirty talk, his love of my promiscuity, for myself. We’d written via email almost every day after I left Hawai’i, and he had us both believing we’d be married when his next tour was over.

  Maybe that was the first time I dared to think about how much I’d missed by becoming a professional slut. The first person to say the word out loud to me, to dare to mean it and have it be something positive, something they matched with desire, was the one who finally revealed to me what love could be.

  But then he’d died. And I was just left with the knowledge of what I had truly done when I’d decided to become a writer for expertise, what I’d truly given up.

  I’ve never been back to Hawai’i.