TongueTyler
Really Really Experienced
- Joined
- Aug 4, 2003
- Posts
- 346
Thanks to everyone for reading and giving some great advice.
I will leave the story here, and all are welcome to read it as they wish. Note there are several areas that need to be fixed. If you wish to leave a comment or found something not already discussed please do. If you look over the posted replies first it may help in making the story a bit more enjoyable.
If you wish to just leave a simple note on your opinion you may do so as well. To really jump in and make a long indepth post may not be the best use of your time.
I will still read it. However many of the areas have been discussed positively.
Enjoy!
This is a more or less romance story of the voodoun religion in Jamaica. Most all the details are of true origin. There are 6269 words if that is too long for anyone don't feel you have to read it.
I have not posted it as of yet because of several areas I have questions about. It is not my normal get to the point sex story.
I prefer you read my questions after you have read the story. But that is up to you.
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Is there enough erotic scenes?
Should the ending be different?
I thought about the ending being a rape scene, then the confrontation. what do you think?
Is the time displacement easy to follow?
The Jamaican dialect with the translation next to it. Is that a pain in the ass to read? Does it hinder the story or give it a Jamaican feel?
How boring is it between erotic scenes? What could be cut down and what should be elaborated on?
Did you get a sense of real feelings from the story?
Is the story visual enough, to know what the enviroments are like?
I know this is not a real wanker of a story, it could be. I was in one of those softer moods when I started it. I kind of like it soft though. If I was to move this from the romance category into another category. My thoughts were to place a rape scene at the end, and elaborate more on the drugged night ritual sex. Perhaps change the wife scene into a bit more harsh dom, and call the story Non-consent.
I just know I am going to get the average 7,000 views in the romance category and that bugs me most of all. What would you do leave it alone or manipulate it into another category?
Thanks in advance. I will do my best to respond to every comment asap.
Phil
PS the story will be posted under TongueTyler. And as always I could care less how hard you slam it. Just be honest if it sucks say it sucks. I can live with that before it is posted.
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Voodoo Don’t Work on You?
A Caribbean love story of a fate with no control
The story I am about to share with you is a personal experience. The facts are mostly true, the people are real. I must hide the identity, as you are aware.
The date is 1962, April the Tenth. The “Jamaican Labor Party” is announced victorious. In another place on the other side of Kingston Jamaica, away from all the celebration there is a newly married couple of wealth which is peacefully bedding down for their consummation of vows. They have chosen Kingston as so many others have for the rich cultural roots and large city style life it embraces.
The morning news runs out as the papers and radio broadcast dampen slightly the news of the victory so earnestly welcomed by the Jamaican people. Over the radio, “A couple de marriage from the parish of St. Ann has been slain inna most vicious attack. It look to have been burglars, uh did see dat? Report to authorities A who dat?”
On April 9, 1992 I was gloriously married, and my new bride and I had planned our honeymoon on the exotic shores of Jamaica. We arrived the day following the ceremony in Montego Bay and found our decrepit minibus. The driver, Paul, acknowledged all on board and extended a most vibrant welcome, “Irie”. (“cool, good, nice”) At which time he briefly mentioned the two hour bus tour to the hotel resort Couples in Runaway Bay. Then he rambled on about obscure facts and things to do while visiting.
The excitement was a growing knot in my stomach. I had wished for this moment to arrive for over six months now. I had visited every site on the net. I had researched all the information available. The resort catered to every whim and included all amenities. The nude island was the grand focal point as my thoughts slipped into a dream about to become a reality.
“HONK, honk!” I awakened as the bus sidestepped around a goat and just past an oncoming car. My thought changed quick, ‘holy shit’ I was going to die just moments away from my dream vacation. “Thudump!” I knew now we did not miss the ragged goat. The bus pulled to the side. The driver Paul exited the bus, and then was loudly talking to another Jamaican man.
Driver: "A fe me cyar." ("It's my car.")
Man: "Chobble nuh nice." "Yuh inna big chobble." ("Trouble is not nice." "You are in big trouble.") "Di wola dem a me fambly."(“All of them are my family.")
Driver: Pointed at us in the bus. "Ef yuh chobble 'dim, me a guh bax yuh". ("If you trouble them, I am going to hit you.")
Shaken, my wife grasped my hand and mentioned we should get off the bus and stretch or something. Stepping out I noticed the dead carcass and looked away, not needing that in my thoughts of passion tonight. It was too late; etched in my mind like a photograph. The blood streaked down the side of the bus and parts were torn. Chunks of bloody flesh and hair enveloped the rear axle, bumper and street behind.
Keeping my wife’s eyes away I led her toward a roadside shanty across the way that sold beer. Soon other couples followed as it was now evident this was going to take a while. I sipped a Red Stripe beer and my wife became friendly talking with others from the bus.
Looking about, I meandered behind the bright colored shack. The ocean was so beautiful, it was a blue/green that was more than I could capture even in a picture. The water glistened to my sight, the phosphor made it appear to glow. I was entranced, strolling closer to the water’s edge, I was disturbed.
“You dayer, what you are trespassing fer mon?” Spoken by a woman behind me, with a certain deep bitterness in her voice.
I turned around to view an older woman of freakish proportions. I lie not, she stood at least seven feet tall, with a very dark complexion and intimidating, big in mass. I explained the whole bus incident and apologized for the intrusion. Other native onlookers seemed to giggle from a distance.
This woman looked at me and said, "Mi cyan 'elp yuh wit dat problem." ("I cannot help you with that problem.") “Give me ten dollars, and USA monies, no Jay money. I tell you what you need to know.”
I was not about to argue and handed her ten dollars and made past her toward the crowd of tourists. I did not piss my self but was rather uneasy. I heard the woman speak and I halted my step, listened without turning about.
"Yuh nuh dun yet?"("You have not finished yet?")
I turned around and this woman proceeded to tell me she knows who I am and why I have come back home. (I thought she was a wacko, a big one) She told me I did not know yet but soon would know all. She pointed to a young girl who might have been sixteen and explained that this was my love. The other was a serpent. She claimed the goats blood spilled for a purpose. All the while she talked she continued holding this odd stick in front of me with fashioned beads stringing from it.
I mentioned, “I am married,” showing her the ring and I commented, “I think this little one is a bit young besides.” I thanked her as I backed away cautiously. Just before I turned the corner of the shanty I heard her: "Galang bout yuh business." ("Go along about your business.") "See yu pan Satday.” ("See you on Saturday.")
I joined with the others as a new bus had already arrived. I was explaining to my wife, loudly I gather, what happened and she laughed.
Paul said, “Schoolas, small up unnu self man mek Daddy siddung.” (“Please make some room in the bus so this man can sit.”) Turning to me "Is dat ooman deh did tek yu money?" ("Is that the woman that took your money?"), pointing out the window.
I answered, “Yes! And she thinks I am going to hook up with that little one over there.”
Paul looked at me and in an all-serious tone voiced, “Tap di blinkin lyin, yuh ole liyad.” (“I wish you would quit lying.”) "Put de bag unda de seat." ("Put the bag under the seat.") and Paul moved to the front driver's seat, pulling away like it was the Indy 500. The new bus was more like a large van and cramped.
I looked out the window and searched this woman’s features for a brief moment so I would remember her. Then turned around and sat next to my wife. Puzzled at the event I shook my head as if to clear an “etch a sketch” board in my mind.
Ten minutes later we arrived at the resort. I was dripping sweat and relieved to be here at last, fourteen hours from door to door with one layover and one minor accident. I smiled at my wife as she went to check in at the desk. I waited for our luggage to be unpacked. Naturally ours was last and it was on top I thought.
I reached to tip Paul and he grasped my hand saying, “Thank you mon.’ taking the money quickly,’ Tis be no joke, she be a witch.” With that said he slammed the rear hatch and determined to speak no more, left to drive away hastily.
I honestly gave it no more thought. My wife and I enjoyed the luxurious accommodations and lived like a King and Queen for the week. The resort was all my mind had dreamed of and more. The sex filled week had so many scantily clad women to admire along with my wife’s own teasing.
On Sunday we arranged for our ride to the airport, where we dauntingly stood in line for customs. I never thought twice about the woman until we boarded the plane. Then I felt relief. “Ha” I thought, "she was wrong." The big plane taxied out the little gate and lined up. Then with a “schwoop” the Jet engines roared. My body thrusting back into the seat became limp and relieved.
Now, flying on Air Jamaica of course the propaganda was going to reflect Jamaica. I pulled out this book from the pouch in front of me and it was called “Destination Jamaica”. I let it slip and as I caught it, the book was opened to page 131 for those of you who might have a copy. The topic was “Arts and Crafts” with a photo of an old painting displayed. I became flush, this was the woman. The subtitle read, “Girl in blue, often referred to as the father of Jamaican art”. This was ridiculous, this was a painting looking at me. But it looked so much like her, just different. I snapped the book closed. My thought made me smile, “it is Sunday ‘bitch’, you are too late. See ya!"
Time had passed over a year easily. Now I do not know if you believe in a Hex, Hocus Pocus, Mumbo jumbo Voodoo crap. I wouldn’t, plain and simple, it was foolish nonsense to me.
Being a man of the world I had many commitments that kept me from pondering the strange occurrence.
At the top of the list being this woman whom I married. She was by every description a man could give, a looker, a real “10”. This might seem to be the ultimate wife to most who desire a flirtatious woman. The obsession that has consumed her was not exactly what I thought of when we married.
Not knowing the date as it was a memory I rather dismissed, I entered the driveway of my estate style home. I did not recognize the green F150 parked in the driveway, so I checked my appointment book and there were no arrangements made for the rest of the day.
Upon entering the house I could see clothing plastered on the floor and over the cabinets. Not being inquisitive for fear in what I would find, I placed the clothing in a pile on top of the table and left a concise note above it. “I think I need some time alone, ‘Don’t call’.”
I stayed with a friend and his wife for a few days. I needed to have an open ear to listen and reason with. Friends do not always give good advice, but their intentions are good. Shortly after I found myself back living the lie that I knew so well. It is easy to forgive but not so easy to forget.
In March 1996 I found myself on a Delta Airbus looking out the window at this tiny boat in the ocean. “Bing!” “This is your captain speaking. We are on final approach for Montego Bay. Estimated time of arrival is twenty minutes.” I looked over across the aisle and my friend and his wife were grinning from ear to ear. I looked at my wife and I received a cheerless smile with a look of wonder about her marriage.
We flew in on a Wednesday to avoid the weekend rush, besides this gave us two days to adjust for the weekend and the never ending theme parties. The wicked person that my wife had become was more evident than ever. Only two days into the vacation and I could not stand to be with her. Imposing upon my friends, I would leave her with them as they toured different locations in the area.
On Saturday morning I awoke early, around five and with coffee in hand I proceeded to walk the beach, when I came to a man who was selling conch shells in the water.
He said boldly, "Ello, mi can help yuh wid someting?" ("Hello, can I help you with something?")
I shook my head no.
He added, “Evrytin irie mon!”(“Everything good friend!”)
He proceeded to explain his name was Shellman and he wanted to make it all better here in Jamaica for me. I laughed, it was not like I never had been approached before. I laughed because I needed to be drugged or I might just kill my wife I thought. Shellman explained he could get what ever my needs were.
I explained I had no money with me. I was not shopping, just walking the beach.
Shellman said, "De nex time yu will buy."("The next time you will buy.")
Handing me a black pill, I noticed that it had the texture of horse grain. Shellman had an explanation of it’s just like a strong aspirin only better.
I looked at it, then at him in complete uncertainty. In that moment, a sight caught my eye further up the beach. A young couple embraced each other with tender kisses as they took in the romantic view of the sun rise. My heart broke instantly; I placed the pill to my lips.
Shellman said, "Go on mon nyam.”(“Go on man eat.”)
Taking the last bit of coffee I watched the two young strangers and swallowed.
The colors were sadistic in shades. Lightning bolts flew through my mind, I could not even consider who I was. My eyes were open but my mind could not register what I saw. My fondest memory of that pill was the moment I knew I was vomiting on my self. I was not concerned with too much of anything, still in a daze. The sunlight was fading as my eyes tried without attainment to focus on the streams of light that passed through the green leafed trees. My body heaved as I dejected more vomit.
Two men picked my limp body up and doused me in an ice cold stream. I was unable to move my limbs or speak. They carried me to a raft of sorts and placed me on my back lying on it. I wondered where I was, I could not hear the ocean, only the quietness of the splashing water as they poled the raft forward. I smelled kerosene from the torches they lit and wondered what they were doing as neither of the men ever spoke a word.
As day became night I knew we had been traveling for some distance. I could now move my fingers slightly and my vision was not as blurry, attentive on the full moon in the sky. My senses told me I was naked but I was helpless to move. I no longer felt ill, just a relaxing calmness as though my mind and muscles were separated. Strangely there was no fear in me, like a lamb going to slaughter I accepted my surroundings as all is good.
The wood of the raft hit on some stones jarring my limp body so my head fell to the side. I saw many hundreds of torches burning in the trees along with a large fire. The two men picked me up side to side and carried me forward into the lighted area. Many people were gathered around watching as I was carried in and placed in a chair made of wood and straw. My arms alongside with my upper body were securely fastened to the back upright of the chair to keep me from falling over. The men stepped back to each side of me and stood tall.
The silence was astonishing. What obedience, not so much as a murmur, only a crackle from the fire. Then I heard drums beating loud and repetitive, from out in the dark, and I heard voices chanting as more torches approached from the black woods.
Suddenly I felt embarrassment as these people entered the area and stood opposed to the fire from the other group of people. One smaller person stood in the middle of this group covered by an excessively white sheet. All at once the drums stopped along with the chant.
“Langage Kouwa-Kouwa, Génouwazé-Génouwazé! manti-a la..a-go la! “ Spoken out loud and forceful from directly behind me, breaking the silence. “Taté Zila Moyo, o ki mizè saa anba lawé.” With that said all present folded to the ground.
I felt my hair pulled back. I gazed up, the woman from my past was smiling down at me with bright yellow and green shapes on her face. I looked in disbelief trying to speak, I found I could not. Moving to the fire this enormous woman picked a log from the edge holding it high shouting,” anba-zila” Then stood in front of me and with the flames still rising off the wood, brought it up to the flesh on my left leg and placed it against my skin. At this precise moment the man on the left poured a liquid down my body which was thicker than water and kept me from being scorched. I felt the burning heat as she passed my face. The same was repeated on the right side.
The witch then took the log and tossed it into the fire, where the log exploded with high flames burning at an astounding rate. Looking at my self I could only see black soot dripping from my skin.
Returning to me she displayed a long knife and removed a small amount of hair. Then taking the blade and putting the cutting edge just below my left breast drew it slowly sideways. The sting was tremendous as my eyes rolled back into my skull for the split instant in torment. She placed a thimble-sized container to collect the blood, then turned and walked away.
I watched as the crowd separated around her as she entered a hut. The men and women dispersed and rejoined as if she was walking through water.
Silence was once more the theme of this party. The man on my left held a cloth over the wound. Less than ten minutes later this woman returned before me, with one hand opened my mouth and poured this liquid with the consistency of warm Jell-O down my throat. She stood straight and addressed the crowd. “Ayimaké Vodoun, o nan Misi Yèwé!”, while holding a small effigy doll high as if it was a baby. The crowd in a relief cheered and the drums began loud and fast paced. Men and women were dancing by the fire’s edge. The cloaked person was ushered near.
The high priestess held a hood mask to my face of poor chalk artistry and made out of burlap. Then she placed the hood over my face restricting my sight of the immediate surroundings. Saying, "A di dutty duppy man dweet."("The dirty ghost did it.") “Bwoy yuh noh dead yet?”(“Boy you are not dead yet?”) felt the fabric of this silky cloth stride up my body from my legs to my chest as it was tossed over the two of us. The presence of a female was rendered to my senses as this person on top of me began to straddle me. I felt the warm touch of her skin on my lap, her weight being light. The feminine smell of her perfume aroused my thoughts. I tried to speak and almost mumbled, as her hand covered my mouth from outside the mask.
She said, "Mi wud radda yu nuh chat to mi."("I would rather you not talk to me.")
The feminine touch of her hand took hold of my cock. I realized for the first time how erect I had become. Was it her presence, or the toxin the witch gave me? My thoughts scattered as I blindly stared into this nasty mask. I felt her slide down before me between my legs.
Still holding my erection my legs were pushed apart and lifted. Slumping my torso my ass rested on the edge of the chair. My senses were overloaded as I felt her mouth warm and wet with saliva surrounding the end of my cock for a short time. Felt a tender touch come across me as she ran her tongue down the shaft, past my balls and probed my anus with her tongue, continuing the stroking of my erection at the same time.
I wanted to move and couldn’t. All I could do is clench tight my eyes as this occurred.
Moving back to my balls she devoured them as I felt the coolness of her saliva amidst other parts. The warmth of her mouth found my cock head once more. Holding the shaft firmly with her hand she progressed to suck splendidly hard on the sensitive skin. I could feel her teeth hit every so often. Her other hand caressed my anus and balls alternating.
The pressure was making my cock pulse, I knew it was going to be soon. My breathing paced quick in shorter breaths.
Now this female changed her position. Still firmly grasping my erection she straddled me once more. I felt the wetness and warmth of her crotch.
“Honestly if I could have moved at this point I would not have.”
Applying her weight, the pressure of entering her was squashing my cock. Then all at once I felt her opening, squeezing down my shaft. An audible “Ooh” then a small grunt followed. Her breathing became stunted as she moved her hips holding onto my shoulders.
Pressing down and up was accomplished by the movement of her abdomen and hips. Not counting, but I knew that by the twentieth stroke I was erupting. My balls grew tight as she simply held a firm down position rocking her hips. I could not respond as the semen passed through my erection into her body. The orgasm ripped through my cock each time I ejaculated, making the head throb to the point it hurt. My balls ached like they had been kicked.
The girl lifted the mask to my lips and kissed me so tenderly. Her lips were plump and voluptuous. Then she said, “But cooh pan di lickle invalid.”(“Oh the poor little boy is handicapped.”) With that I felt a needle strike my neck. The female was lifted quickly off my erection and body along with the cloth. I could hear her softly crying.
I heard the Priestess say, "No bodda bawl im soon cum bak!”("Don't bother crying he'll soon be back.") That was all I knew.
I awoke in the bed at the resort, looked about, and my wife was sleeping. Then I looked at the clock it was five am. I slid out of bed, put on a t-shirt and swim trunks. Feeling wonderful I headed down to the food area, acquired a cup of coffee and sat at a table. I was about to go for a walk down the beach when my friend came around the corner.
My first thought was, ‘He is going to ask what happened to me yesterday. Why did I blow him off for our golf time? What do I say?’ He gathered his coffee and a toast then seated him self across. I said, “Good morning.”
, “Yes, a very good morning and it will even be better after I show you how a true man plays golf today.”
I looked at him with a look of strange pondering.
, “You didn’t forget we set up for Saturday at ten?”
I said, “No, no I was just confused it is Saturday already. Wow, island time, it just flies! Excuse me I must utilize the men’s room.” I entered the men’s room and lifted my shirt. There was a scar about three inches long under my left breast and it was not new. Standing in front of the mirror I questioned my memory. If it was all a dream, then how did I obtain such a scar? Surely I would have known it happened by the size of it?
November 1998. The weather was becoming cold, I ended my workday early and headed home. I recognized my friends van in the driveway. I pulled in around it and parked. I wondered what he was up to. I jumped in the door, out of the cold and kicked off my shoes. “Hello, Hello!” no answer. I trotted down the stair treads to the playroom. “Hello, Hello! No answer. I thought: "That is strange, why would he leave his work van here?"
I strolled upstairs and then proceeded up to our bedroom to get changed. Upon entering the doorway I backed up. Here was my friend banging the shit out of my wife doggy style on my bed. I watched as he pumped his cock into her. She was groaning to each thrust. My stomach became ill, yet I was aroused. Turning around I headed out and left.
Returning home four hours later the house was quiet. My wife was chatting on the phone. I sat next to her and began to tease her as she tried hard to carry on her conversation.
Slapping my hands playfully and whispering, "Quit it", she held her composure as she completed her conversation. She hung up the phone and asked, “What got into you?”
I simply said, “I’m horny and seeing that you are my wife, guess what? It is time for some of that marital bliss. Let us go, shall we?” taking her hand and leading us to the bed room
Getting the usual comment as she stripped down, “Fine, if you must, but I am not really in the mood so', as she flops onto the bed like a dead limp doll 'do what you got to do.”
Telling her to roll onto her stomach for a bit of excitement, I added, “It may make this go quicker.” So she did.
I climbed onto the bed behind her, looked at her pussy and wondered how many cocks fucked her since we got married. I stroked my cock squeezing the base to make it erect. I placed my legs to each side of her ass, the soft skin touching my inner thigh. Taking a big mouth full of saliva, I dripped it down to the crevice of her ass.
She tried to roll but I had her pinned. She was saying, “Now why the hell did you have to do that?”
Responding I said to her, “Needed to make sure it was lubed for this big cock of mine.”
, “It is fucking lubed, just do your business! I have things to do; I don’t have time for this right now!”
I thrusted my cock into her well opened hole. She was correct, it was well lubed. I grabbed her wrists and pulled them behind her in a policeman’s hold. I began my assault on her pussy. Holding her hands with one hand I fingered her anus with my other. She protested at first then succumbed as she moaned lightly not allowing me the pleasure of getting her off.
Thrusting in and out I soon was ready to cum. I removed my fingers from her ass and leaning over her I stuck my fingers in her face. Whispering in her ear, “I want you to eat shit.”
Bucking furiously under me, I almost lost my grip on her hands. I stabbed her pussy with my cock as she stated colorful metaphors to me.
Leaning back I asked her, “So, tell your husband, just how many cocks does this pretty little pussy fucks in a single week?” She fell silent “I want a fucking answer whore!” I slammed her hard as I came, shaking out of anger and exhaustion.
Still holding her hands behind her back, grasping her hair I said, “I am sorry to inconvenience you to have sex after you just fucked my friend earlier today. I can see why you would not be in the mood. Being the person I am, I wanted to make sure you received your goodbye fuck personally.” With that I stood up, sweaty and pissed, walked over to the window. Then I wiped the nasty shit off my dick on her yellow curtains.
She watched with her eyes, afraid to move.
I dressed, walked over to the safe and removed the contents. Looking back I said, “The ride is over. And you best go find a job.”
“Fuck you, I will see you in court.”
I smirked , “Let us see: four hours ago I had to mortgage the house to the limit to pay for debts in the company. Two hours ago I sold the business', throwing a hundred dollars down, ‘there is your half. The rest you can keep!”
She started to speak and I immediately cut her off, “Shh, shh, shh' placing my finger over her mouth. 'See three hours ago I stopped over at my friend’s house. He was not home but his wife was. I am quite certain he will be looking for a partner. Hey here is a thought, you could shack up with him. That would be nothing new now, would it?”
April 10, 2002. High on the side of a mountain about 1700 feet above sea level and in a small town named Epworth. You have never heard of this town? It is located four miles south west of Ocho Rios, Jamaica, in the ring of mountains that surrounds the seaport. Many of the people who live here would rather not be known. From the view of my home I could see Jagger’s and Connery’s humble abodes overlooking the bay. You might be surprised to know the neighbors.
As for my self I moved here in the summer of 1999. This had been a journey for me based on reality and the unknown. Wondering through life, will I ever know the truth? Each morning while I sat on the veranda and drank my coffee I pondered the question: what is love? Then I thought: who was she? When I knew it was too real to be a dream. So I had searched this land for an answer.
One thing I will say about the people who live here is they are consistent. No one knows anything even the people who do. All they will say is, “Relax mon, you will see tomorrow will come.”
On this certain day I made an excursion to Kingston for the renewal of my extended visit documentation. Being an American there were certain guidelines for remaining in the country.
A typical day, the sun shone bright, it was a balmy 89 degrees at 8 in the morning. The wind blew slightly off the ocean making the palm leaves rustle. I climbed on my motorcycle and headed on down the left side of the road.
Pulling up to the Public Offices building and parking out front, I tried to make myself look as presentable as one can after a 2 hour trip. The heat from the pavement was searing hot and the sweat dripped down the side of my face. Within moments I was presented with a rejection for my request of stay. Unless you are filthy rich or married to a Jamaican it is difficult to obtain resident status. This was not really the worse thing. Just meant I had a week to fly back to the US and remain there for 24 hours before I could return for another year.
Upon return to the parking lot, I noticed the front wheel had been stolen off my motorcycle. I would be surprised but this was Kingston. Looking about I found a place that said they could have it repaired as early as tomorrow morning. I could almost bet it would be with my original wheel but it was no use to argue.
I took a Red Stripe out of the grungy cooler in the entrance to the garage. Standing just in the shade of the work shop I looked out as the town prepared for the annual parade later that evening. I realized as I downed the beer, that it was going to be impossible to find a place for the night. Placing the small bottle in the trash I walked toward the center of town.
The sun was frying my brain as I was delirious as to the real question why I was even here. I found a small hotel that looked like it had been closed since the thirties. It was obvious there was no air conditioning as there were not even windows. Venturing inside, I met with an elderly woman who politely greeted me. She told me she had but one bed left for the night but I would have to pay for two nights. I knew the game and just agreed as it was more suited than sleeping on the ground. She handed me a key and said: "Enjoy the evening’s celebration."
Making my way up to the room I entered the small area. The room was rather nice with a ceiling fan turning the air and a large window overlooking the main street below. I was surprised this room actually had a bathroom. Antiquated but still a private bath was unique. I sat down on one of the two beds and looking between I saw luggage, not much, but more than I had. I looked around, there was no one there. Then it hit me what the lady garbled to me, “She has but one bed.” I shook my head and wondered who my roommate would be.
I continued to ponder why I just did not move my ass back to the states permanently. I should spend the rest of time within the distance of my family so they could visit each day.
I took a quick rinse shower and headed down and out for a bite to eat. Making my way to the ocean side it was nice to be greeted with friendly gestures. With all the excitement going on things were busy. I had many drinks while waiting for a table and soon finished dinner, wasting the day away with some more drinks. I stumbled out of the restaurant with a half bottle of Appleton’s rum in my hand. I was feeling no pain. I was making my way back to the hotel amidst the crowds of people now in the street. I don’t know how many patrons guided me along the way.
Entering the room I was looking forward to watching the parade from the window. I fumbled for my key within my own befuddlement. The door opened and inside stood the biggest man I had ever seen holding a young female to the bed by her throat. His other hand held the bag that had been left between the beds earlier.
He was yelling, “Die, damn it, die bitch!”
Coming up behind him with only the bottle in my hand, I swung and hit the man just below the ear with a mighty blow. The bottle shattered into a million pieces. The man turned around fast as night and I felt a knife slice into my chest. Just under my left breast. The end of the broken bottle still in my reached out hand had caught the man in the neck as he turned.
I stood frozen with the piercing blade stuck into my chest and the man’s eyes glowed like the moon as blood coughed out of his mouth and squirted out his throat. Like King Kong he fell to the floor with a thunderous thump. I stood there, I could not feel any pain nor could my mind rationalize the situation. I felt warm blood trickling down my stomach. I looked at the girl who was just beginning to move. I knew her and our eyes met for the moment we both knew. Tears ran down my face and from the corner of my eye I caught the glimpse of a 6year old boy squished in the corner out of fear looking at me. I smiled for the last moment, he was beautiful, and he was mine.
My hand released the bottle as it fell smashing to the floor covered in blood. I sat back on the bed as my hand rose silently to my chest. My eyes blurred from the tears. Suddenly the pain overtook me, and it began to burn like hell. My eyes rolled back as it became overwhelming to bear the pain. I blacked out just as I felt her lips kiss mine.
Voices in my mind yelled out to me, but I was tired, I wanted to sleep. Suspended deep in a sea of black. I could leave so easily, when all I needed was clarity and someone to tell me. What the fuck is going on, God damn it! We were willing and wishful to be together and ever so close this time.
I wish you too could see this, because there is nothing to see. It is peaceful in my meaningless mind, and now once more it is fine with me. Not like the world where I used to be, maybe now they would be better off, if even with out me. I knew now having seen him, and her; life was complete.
So goodbye to you girl, so long and farewell. I can’t hear you crying, so don’t cry for me. Talk to me softly, I will know how you feel inside, I have been there before, you know all to well. Give me a whisper and a sigh. Give me a kiss before you tell me goodbye. Never mind the darkness coming in now, we can still find a way. Maybe someday we will never say, “Good bye.”
I will leave the story here, and all are welcome to read it as they wish. Note there are several areas that need to be fixed. If you wish to leave a comment or found something not already discussed please do. If you look over the posted replies first it may help in making the story a bit more enjoyable.
If you wish to just leave a simple note on your opinion you may do so as well. To really jump in and make a long indepth post may not be the best use of your time.
I will still read it. However many of the areas have been discussed positively.
Enjoy!
This is a more or less romance story of the voodoun religion in Jamaica. Most all the details are of true origin. There are 6269 words if that is too long for anyone don't feel you have to read it.
I have not posted it as of yet because of several areas I have questions about. It is not my normal get to the point sex story.
I prefer you read my questions after you have read the story. But that is up to you.
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Is there enough erotic scenes?
Should the ending be different?
I thought about the ending being a rape scene, then the confrontation. what do you think?
Is the time displacement easy to follow?
The Jamaican dialect with the translation next to it. Is that a pain in the ass to read? Does it hinder the story or give it a Jamaican feel?
How boring is it between erotic scenes? What could be cut down and what should be elaborated on?
Did you get a sense of real feelings from the story?
Is the story visual enough, to know what the enviroments are like?
I know this is not a real wanker of a story, it could be. I was in one of those softer moods when I started it. I kind of like it soft though. If I was to move this from the romance category into another category. My thoughts were to place a rape scene at the end, and elaborate more on the drugged night ritual sex. Perhaps change the wife scene into a bit more harsh dom, and call the story Non-consent.
I just know I am going to get the average 7,000 views in the romance category and that bugs me most of all. What would you do leave it alone or manipulate it into another category?
Thanks in advance. I will do my best to respond to every comment asap.
Phil
PS the story will be posted under TongueTyler. And as always I could care less how hard you slam it. Just be honest if it sucks say it sucks. I can live with that before it is posted.
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Voodoo Don’t Work on You?
A Caribbean love story of a fate with no control
The story I am about to share with you is a personal experience. The facts are mostly true, the people are real. I must hide the identity, as you are aware.
The date is 1962, April the Tenth. The “Jamaican Labor Party” is announced victorious. In another place on the other side of Kingston Jamaica, away from all the celebration there is a newly married couple of wealth which is peacefully bedding down for their consummation of vows. They have chosen Kingston as so many others have for the rich cultural roots and large city style life it embraces.
The morning news runs out as the papers and radio broadcast dampen slightly the news of the victory so earnestly welcomed by the Jamaican people. Over the radio, “A couple de marriage from the parish of St. Ann has been slain inna most vicious attack. It look to have been burglars, uh did see dat? Report to authorities A who dat?”
On April 9, 1992 I was gloriously married, and my new bride and I had planned our honeymoon on the exotic shores of Jamaica. We arrived the day following the ceremony in Montego Bay and found our decrepit minibus. The driver, Paul, acknowledged all on board and extended a most vibrant welcome, “Irie”. (“cool, good, nice”) At which time he briefly mentioned the two hour bus tour to the hotel resort Couples in Runaway Bay. Then he rambled on about obscure facts and things to do while visiting.
The excitement was a growing knot in my stomach. I had wished for this moment to arrive for over six months now. I had visited every site on the net. I had researched all the information available. The resort catered to every whim and included all amenities. The nude island was the grand focal point as my thoughts slipped into a dream about to become a reality.
“HONK, honk!” I awakened as the bus sidestepped around a goat and just past an oncoming car. My thought changed quick, ‘holy shit’ I was going to die just moments away from my dream vacation. “Thudump!” I knew now we did not miss the ragged goat. The bus pulled to the side. The driver Paul exited the bus, and then was loudly talking to another Jamaican man.
Driver: "A fe me cyar." ("It's my car.")
Man: "Chobble nuh nice." "Yuh inna big chobble." ("Trouble is not nice." "You are in big trouble.") "Di wola dem a me fambly."(“All of them are my family.")
Driver: Pointed at us in the bus. "Ef yuh chobble 'dim, me a guh bax yuh". ("If you trouble them, I am going to hit you.")
Shaken, my wife grasped my hand and mentioned we should get off the bus and stretch or something. Stepping out I noticed the dead carcass and looked away, not needing that in my thoughts of passion tonight. It was too late; etched in my mind like a photograph. The blood streaked down the side of the bus and parts were torn. Chunks of bloody flesh and hair enveloped the rear axle, bumper and street behind.
Keeping my wife’s eyes away I led her toward a roadside shanty across the way that sold beer. Soon other couples followed as it was now evident this was going to take a while. I sipped a Red Stripe beer and my wife became friendly talking with others from the bus.
Looking about, I meandered behind the bright colored shack. The ocean was so beautiful, it was a blue/green that was more than I could capture even in a picture. The water glistened to my sight, the phosphor made it appear to glow. I was entranced, strolling closer to the water’s edge, I was disturbed.
“You dayer, what you are trespassing fer mon?” Spoken by a woman behind me, with a certain deep bitterness in her voice.
I turned around to view an older woman of freakish proportions. I lie not, she stood at least seven feet tall, with a very dark complexion and intimidating, big in mass. I explained the whole bus incident and apologized for the intrusion. Other native onlookers seemed to giggle from a distance.
This woman looked at me and said, "Mi cyan 'elp yuh wit dat problem." ("I cannot help you with that problem.") “Give me ten dollars, and USA monies, no Jay money. I tell you what you need to know.”
I was not about to argue and handed her ten dollars and made past her toward the crowd of tourists. I did not piss my self but was rather uneasy. I heard the woman speak and I halted my step, listened without turning about.
"Yuh nuh dun yet?"("You have not finished yet?")
I turned around and this woman proceeded to tell me she knows who I am and why I have come back home. (I thought she was a wacko, a big one) She told me I did not know yet but soon would know all. She pointed to a young girl who might have been sixteen and explained that this was my love. The other was a serpent. She claimed the goats blood spilled for a purpose. All the while she talked she continued holding this odd stick in front of me with fashioned beads stringing from it.
I mentioned, “I am married,” showing her the ring and I commented, “I think this little one is a bit young besides.” I thanked her as I backed away cautiously. Just before I turned the corner of the shanty I heard her: "Galang bout yuh business." ("Go along about your business.") "See yu pan Satday.” ("See you on Saturday.")
I joined with the others as a new bus had already arrived. I was explaining to my wife, loudly I gather, what happened and she laughed.
Paul said, “Schoolas, small up unnu self man mek Daddy siddung.” (“Please make some room in the bus so this man can sit.”) Turning to me "Is dat ooman deh did tek yu money?" ("Is that the woman that took your money?"), pointing out the window.
I answered, “Yes! And she thinks I am going to hook up with that little one over there.”
Paul looked at me and in an all-serious tone voiced, “Tap di blinkin lyin, yuh ole liyad.” (“I wish you would quit lying.”) "Put de bag unda de seat." ("Put the bag under the seat.") and Paul moved to the front driver's seat, pulling away like it was the Indy 500. The new bus was more like a large van and cramped.
I looked out the window and searched this woman’s features for a brief moment so I would remember her. Then turned around and sat next to my wife. Puzzled at the event I shook my head as if to clear an “etch a sketch” board in my mind.
Ten minutes later we arrived at the resort. I was dripping sweat and relieved to be here at last, fourteen hours from door to door with one layover and one minor accident. I smiled at my wife as she went to check in at the desk. I waited for our luggage to be unpacked. Naturally ours was last and it was on top I thought.
I reached to tip Paul and he grasped my hand saying, “Thank you mon.’ taking the money quickly,’ Tis be no joke, she be a witch.” With that said he slammed the rear hatch and determined to speak no more, left to drive away hastily.
I honestly gave it no more thought. My wife and I enjoyed the luxurious accommodations and lived like a King and Queen for the week. The resort was all my mind had dreamed of and more. The sex filled week had so many scantily clad women to admire along with my wife’s own teasing.
On Sunday we arranged for our ride to the airport, where we dauntingly stood in line for customs. I never thought twice about the woman until we boarded the plane. Then I felt relief. “Ha” I thought, "she was wrong." The big plane taxied out the little gate and lined up. Then with a “schwoop” the Jet engines roared. My body thrusting back into the seat became limp and relieved.
Now, flying on Air Jamaica of course the propaganda was going to reflect Jamaica. I pulled out this book from the pouch in front of me and it was called “Destination Jamaica”. I let it slip and as I caught it, the book was opened to page 131 for those of you who might have a copy. The topic was “Arts and Crafts” with a photo of an old painting displayed. I became flush, this was the woman. The subtitle read, “Girl in blue, often referred to as the father of Jamaican art”. This was ridiculous, this was a painting looking at me. But it looked so much like her, just different. I snapped the book closed. My thought made me smile, “it is Sunday ‘bitch’, you are too late. See ya!"
Time had passed over a year easily. Now I do not know if you believe in a Hex, Hocus Pocus, Mumbo jumbo Voodoo crap. I wouldn’t, plain and simple, it was foolish nonsense to me.
Being a man of the world I had many commitments that kept me from pondering the strange occurrence.
At the top of the list being this woman whom I married. She was by every description a man could give, a looker, a real “10”. This might seem to be the ultimate wife to most who desire a flirtatious woman. The obsession that has consumed her was not exactly what I thought of when we married.
Not knowing the date as it was a memory I rather dismissed, I entered the driveway of my estate style home. I did not recognize the green F150 parked in the driveway, so I checked my appointment book and there were no arrangements made for the rest of the day.
Upon entering the house I could see clothing plastered on the floor and over the cabinets. Not being inquisitive for fear in what I would find, I placed the clothing in a pile on top of the table and left a concise note above it. “I think I need some time alone, ‘Don’t call’.”
I stayed with a friend and his wife for a few days. I needed to have an open ear to listen and reason with. Friends do not always give good advice, but their intentions are good. Shortly after I found myself back living the lie that I knew so well. It is easy to forgive but not so easy to forget.
In March 1996 I found myself on a Delta Airbus looking out the window at this tiny boat in the ocean. “Bing!” “This is your captain speaking. We are on final approach for Montego Bay. Estimated time of arrival is twenty minutes.” I looked over across the aisle and my friend and his wife were grinning from ear to ear. I looked at my wife and I received a cheerless smile with a look of wonder about her marriage.
We flew in on a Wednesday to avoid the weekend rush, besides this gave us two days to adjust for the weekend and the never ending theme parties. The wicked person that my wife had become was more evident than ever. Only two days into the vacation and I could not stand to be with her. Imposing upon my friends, I would leave her with them as they toured different locations in the area.
On Saturday morning I awoke early, around five and with coffee in hand I proceeded to walk the beach, when I came to a man who was selling conch shells in the water.
He said boldly, "Ello, mi can help yuh wid someting?" ("Hello, can I help you with something?")
I shook my head no.
He added, “Evrytin irie mon!”(“Everything good friend!”)
He proceeded to explain his name was Shellman and he wanted to make it all better here in Jamaica for me. I laughed, it was not like I never had been approached before. I laughed because I needed to be drugged or I might just kill my wife I thought. Shellman explained he could get what ever my needs were.
I explained I had no money with me. I was not shopping, just walking the beach.
Shellman said, "De nex time yu will buy."("The next time you will buy.")
Handing me a black pill, I noticed that it had the texture of horse grain. Shellman had an explanation of it’s just like a strong aspirin only better.
I looked at it, then at him in complete uncertainty. In that moment, a sight caught my eye further up the beach. A young couple embraced each other with tender kisses as they took in the romantic view of the sun rise. My heart broke instantly; I placed the pill to my lips.
Shellman said, "Go on mon nyam.”(“Go on man eat.”)
Taking the last bit of coffee I watched the two young strangers and swallowed.
The colors were sadistic in shades. Lightning bolts flew through my mind, I could not even consider who I was. My eyes were open but my mind could not register what I saw. My fondest memory of that pill was the moment I knew I was vomiting on my self. I was not concerned with too much of anything, still in a daze. The sunlight was fading as my eyes tried without attainment to focus on the streams of light that passed through the green leafed trees. My body heaved as I dejected more vomit.
Two men picked my limp body up and doused me in an ice cold stream. I was unable to move my limbs or speak. They carried me to a raft of sorts and placed me on my back lying on it. I wondered where I was, I could not hear the ocean, only the quietness of the splashing water as they poled the raft forward. I smelled kerosene from the torches they lit and wondered what they were doing as neither of the men ever spoke a word.
As day became night I knew we had been traveling for some distance. I could now move my fingers slightly and my vision was not as blurry, attentive on the full moon in the sky. My senses told me I was naked but I was helpless to move. I no longer felt ill, just a relaxing calmness as though my mind and muscles were separated. Strangely there was no fear in me, like a lamb going to slaughter I accepted my surroundings as all is good.
The wood of the raft hit on some stones jarring my limp body so my head fell to the side. I saw many hundreds of torches burning in the trees along with a large fire. The two men picked me up side to side and carried me forward into the lighted area. Many people were gathered around watching as I was carried in and placed in a chair made of wood and straw. My arms alongside with my upper body were securely fastened to the back upright of the chair to keep me from falling over. The men stepped back to each side of me and stood tall.
The silence was astonishing. What obedience, not so much as a murmur, only a crackle from the fire. Then I heard drums beating loud and repetitive, from out in the dark, and I heard voices chanting as more torches approached from the black woods.
Suddenly I felt embarrassment as these people entered the area and stood opposed to the fire from the other group of people. One smaller person stood in the middle of this group covered by an excessively white sheet. All at once the drums stopped along with the chant.
“Langage Kouwa-Kouwa, Génouwazé-Génouwazé! manti-a la..a-go la! “ Spoken out loud and forceful from directly behind me, breaking the silence. “Taté Zila Moyo, o ki mizè saa anba lawé.” With that said all present folded to the ground.
I felt my hair pulled back. I gazed up, the woman from my past was smiling down at me with bright yellow and green shapes on her face. I looked in disbelief trying to speak, I found I could not. Moving to the fire this enormous woman picked a log from the edge holding it high shouting,” anba-zila” Then stood in front of me and with the flames still rising off the wood, brought it up to the flesh on my left leg and placed it against my skin. At this precise moment the man on the left poured a liquid down my body which was thicker than water and kept me from being scorched. I felt the burning heat as she passed my face. The same was repeated on the right side.
The witch then took the log and tossed it into the fire, where the log exploded with high flames burning at an astounding rate. Looking at my self I could only see black soot dripping from my skin.
Returning to me she displayed a long knife and removed a small amount of hair. Then taking the blade and putting the cutting edge just below my left breast drew it slowly sideways. The sting was tremendous as my eyes rolled back into my skull for the split instant in torment. She placed a thimble-sized container to collect the blood, then turned and walked away.
I watched as the crowd separated around her as she entered a hut. The men and women dispersed and rejoined as if she was walking through water.
Silence was once more the theme of this party. The man on my left held a cloth over the wound. Less than ten minutes later this woman returned before me, with one hand opened my mouth and poured this liquid with the consistency of warm Jell-O down my throat. She stood straight and addressed the crowd. “Ayimaké Vodoun, o nan Misi Yèwé!”, while holding a small effigy doll high as if it was a baby. The crowd in a relief cheered and the drums began loud and fast paced. Men and women were dancing by the fire’s edge. The cloaked person was ushered near.
The high priestess held a hood mask to my face of poor chalk artistry and made out of burlap. Then she placed the hood over my face restricting my sight of the immediate surroundings. Saying, "A di dutty duppy man dweet."("The dirty ghost did it.") “Bwoy yuh noh dead yet?”(“Boy you are not dead yet?”) felt the fabric of this silky cloth stride up my body from my legs to my chest as it was tossed over the two of us. The presence of a female was rendered to my senses as this person on top of me began to straddle me. I felt the warm touch of her skin on my lap, her weight being light. The feminine smell of her perfume aroused my thoughts. I tried to speak and almost mumbled, as her hand covered my mouth from outside the mask.
She said, "Mi wud radda yu nuh chat to mi."("I would rather you not talk to me.")
The feminine touch of her hand took hold of my cock. I realized for the first time how erect I had become. Was it her presence, or the toxin the witch gave me? My thoughts scattered as I blindly stared into this nasty mask. I felt her slide down before me between my legs.
Still holding my erection my legs were pushed apart and lifted. Slumping my torso my ass rested on the edge of the chair. My senses were overloaded as I felt her mouth warm and wet with saliva surrounding the end of my cock for a short time. Felt a tender touch come across me as she ran her tongue down the shaft, past my balls and probed my anus with her tongue, continuing the stroking of my erection at the same time.
I wanted to move and couldn’t. All I could do is clench tight my eyes as this occurred.
Moving back to my balls she devoured them as I felt the coolness of her saliva amidst other parts. The warmth of her mouth found my cock head once more. Holding the shaft firmly with her hand she progressed to suck splendidly hard on the sensitive skin. I could feel her teeth hit every so often. Her other hand caressed my anus and balls alternating.
The pressure was making my cock pulse, I knew it was going to be soon. My breathing paced quick in shorter breaths.
Now this female changed her position. Still firmly grasping my erection she straddled me once more. I felt the wetness and warmth of her crotch.
“Honestly if I could have moved at this point I would not have.”
Applying her weight, the pressure of entering her was squashing my cock. Then all at once I felt her opening, squeezing down my shaft. An audible “Ooh” then a small grunt followed. Her breathing became stunted as she moved her hips holding onto my shoulders.
Pressing down and up was accomplished by the movement of her abdomen and hips. Not counting, but I knew that by the twentieth stroke I was erupting. My balls grew tight as she simply held a firm down position rocking her hips. I could not respond as the semen passed through my erection into her body. The orgasm ripped through my cock each time I ejaculated, making the head throb to the point it hurt. My balls ached like they had been kicked.
The girl lifted the mask to my lips and kissed me so tenderly. Her lips were plump and voluptuous. Then she said, “But cooh pan di lickle invalid.”(“Oh the poor little boy is handicapped.”) With that I felt a needle strike my neck. The female was lifted quickly off my erection and body along with the cloth. I could hear her softly crying.
I heard the Priestess say, "No bodda bawl im soon cum bak!”("Don't bother crying he'll soon be back.") That was all I knew.
I awoke in the bed at the resort, looked about, and my wife was sleeping. Then I looked at the clock it was five am. I slid out of bed, put on a t-shirt and swim trunks. Feeling wonderful I headed down to the food area, acquired a cup of coffee and sat at a table. I was about to go for a walk down the beach when my friend came around the corner.
My first thought was, ‘He is going to ask what happened to me yesterday. Why did I blow him off for our golf time? What do I say?’ He gathered his coffee and a toast then seated him self across. I said, “Good morning.”
, “Yes, a very good morning and it will even be better after I show you how a true man plays golf today.”
I looked at him with a look of strange pondering.
, “You didn’t forget we set up for Saturday at ten?”
I said, “No, no I was just confused it is Saturday already. Wow, island time, it just flies! Excuse me I must utilize the men’s room.” I entered the men’s room and lifted my shirt. There was a scar about three inches long under my left breast and it was not new. Standing in front of the mirror I questioned my memory. If it was all a dream, then how did I obtain such a scar? Surely I would have known it happened by the size of it?
November 1998. The weather was becoming cold, I ended my workday early and headed home. I recognized my friends van in the driveway. I pulled in around it and parked. I wondered what he was up to. I jumped in the door, out of the cold and kicked off my shoes. “Hello, Hello!” no answer. I trotted down the stair treads to the playroom. “Hello, Hello! No answer. I thought: "That is strange, why would he leave his work van here?"
I strolled upstairs and then proceeded up to our bedroom to get changed. Upon entering the doorway I backed up. Here was my friend banging the shit out of my wife doggy style on my bed. I watched as he pumped his cock into her. She was groaning to each thrust. My stomach became ill, yet I was aroused. Turning around I headed out and left.
Returning home four hours later the house was quiet. My wife was chatting on the phone. I sat next to her and began to tease her as she tried hard to carry on her conversation.
Slapping my hands playfully and whispering, "Quit it", she held her composure as she completed her conversation. She hung up the phone and asked, “What got into you?”
I simply said, “I’m horny and seeing that you are my wife, guess what? It is time for some of that marital bliss. Let us go, shall we?” taking her hand and leading us to the bed room
Getting the usual comment as she stripped down, “Fine, if you must, but I am not really in the mood so', as she flops onto the bed like a dead limp doll 'do what you got to do.”
Telling her to roll onto her stomach for a bit of excitement, I added, “It may make this go quicker.” So she did.
I climbed onto the bed behind her, looked at her pussy and wondered how many cocks fucked her since we got married. I stroked my cock squeezing the base to make it erect. I placed my legs to each side of her ass, the soft skin touching my inner thigh. Taking a big mouth full of saliva, I dripped it down to the crevice of her ass.
She tried to roll but I had her pinned. She was saying, “Now why the hell did you have to do that?”
Responding I said to her, “Needed to make sure it was lubed for this big cock of mine.”
, “It is fucking lubed, just do your business! I have things to do; I don’t have time for this right now!”
I thrusted my cock into her well opened hole. She was correct, it was well lubed. I grabbed her wrists and pulled them behind her in a policeman’s hold. I began my assault on her pussy. Holding her hands with one hand I fingered her anus with my other. She protested at first then succumbed as she moaned lightly not allowing me the pleasure of getting her off.
Thrusting in and out I soon was ready to cum. I removed my fingers from her ass and leaning over her I stuck my fingers in her face. Whispering in her ear, “I want you to eat shit.”
Bucking furiously under me, I almost lost my grip on her hands. I stabbed her pussy with my cock as she stated colorful metaphors to me.
Leaning back I asked her, “So, tell your husband, just how many cocks does this pretty little pussy fucks in a single week?” She fell silent “I want a fucking answer whore!” I slammed her hard as I came, shaking out of anger and exhaustion.
Still holding her hands behind her back, grasping her hair I said, “I am sorry to inconvenience you to have sex after you just fucked my friend earlier today. I can see why you would not be in the mood. Being the person I am, I wanted to make sure you received your goodbye fuck personally.” With that I stood up, sweaty and pissed, walked over to the window. Then I wiped the nasty shit off my dick on her yellow curtains.
She watched with her eyes, afraid to move.
I dressed, walked over to the safe and removed the contents. Looking back I said, “The ride is over. And you best go find a job.”
“Fuck you, I will see you in court.”
I smirked , “Let us see: four hours ago I had to mortgage the house to the limit to pay for debts in the company. Two hours ago I sold the business', throwing a hundred dollars down, ‘there is your half. The rest you can keep!”
She started to speak and I immediately cut her off, “Shh, shh, shh' placing my finger over her mouth. 'See three hours ago I stopped over at my friend’s house. He was not home but his wife was. I am quite certain he will be looking for a partner. Hey here is a thought, you could shack up with him. That would be nothing new now, would it?”
April 10, 2002. High on the side of a mountain about 1700 feet above sea level and in a small town named Epworth. You have never heard of this town? It is located four miles south west of Ocho Rios, Jamaica, in the ring of mountains that surrounds the seaport. Many of the people who live here would rather not be known. From the view of my home I could see Jagger’s and Connery’s humble abodes overlooking the bay. You might be surprised to know the neighbors.
As for my self I moved here in the summer of 1999. This had been a journey for me based on reality and the unknown. Wondering through life, will I ever know the truth? Each morning while I sat on the veranda and drank my coffee I pondered the question: what is love? Then I thought: who was she? When I knew it was too real to be a dream. So I had searched this land for an answer.
One thing I will say about the people who live here is they are consistent. No one knows anything even the people who do. All they will say is, “Relax mon, you will see tomorrow will come.”
On this certain day I made an excursion to Kingston for the renewal of my extended visit documentation. Being an American there were certain guidelines for remaining in the country.
A typical day, the sun shone bright, it was a balmy 89 degrees at 8 in the morning. The wind blew slightly off the ocean making the palm leaves rustle. I climbed on my motorcycle and headed on down the left side of the road.
Pulling up to the Public Offices building and parking out front, I tried to make myself look as presentable as one can after a 2 hour trip. The heat from the pavement was searing hot and the sweat dripped down the side of my face. Within moments I was presented with a rejection for my request of stay. Unless you are filthy rich or married to a Jamaican it is difficult to obtain resident status. This was not really the worse thing. Just meant I had a week to fly back to the US and remain there for 24 hours before I could return for another year.
Upon return to the parking lot, I noticed the front wheel had been stolen off my motorcycle. I would be surprised but this was Kingston. Looking about I found a place that said they could have it repaired as early as tomorrow morning. I could almost bet it would be with my original wheel but it was no use to argue.
I took a Red Stripe out of the grungy cooler in the entrance to the garage. Standing just in the shade of the work shop I looked out as the town prepared for the annual parade later that evening. I realized as I downed the beer, that it was going to be impossible to find a place for the night. Placing the small bottle in the trash I walked toward the center of town.
The sun was frying my brain as I was delirious as to the real question why I was even here. I found a small hotel that looked like it had been closed since the thirties. It was obvious there was no air conditioning as there were not even windows. Venturing inside, I met with an elderly woman who politely greeted me. She told me she had but one bed left for the night but I would have to pay for two nights. I knew the game and just agreed as it was more suited than sleeping on the ground. She handed me a key and said: "Enjoy the evening’s celebration."
Making my way up to the room I entered the small area. The room was rather nice with a ceiling fan turning the air and a large window overlooking the main street below. I was surprised this room actually had a bathroom. Antiquated but still a private bath was unique. I sat down on one of the two beds and looking between I saw luggage, not much, but more than I had. I looked around, there was no one there. Then it hit me what the lady garbled to me, “She has but one bed.” I shook my head and wondered who my roommate would be.
I continued to ponder why I just did not move my ass back to the states permanently. I should spend the rest of time within the distance of my family so they could visit each day.
I took a quick rinse shower and headed down and out for a bite to eat. Making my way to the ocean side it was nice to be greeted with friendly gestures. With all the excitement going on things were busy. I had many drinks while waiting for a table and soon finished dinner, wasting the day away with some more drinks. I stumbled out of the restaurant with a half bottle of Appleton’s rum in my hand. I was feeling no pain. I was making my way back to the hotel amidst the crowds of people now in the street. I don’t know how many patrons guided me along the way.
Entering the room I was looking forward to watching the parade from the window. I fumbled for my key within my own befuddlement. The door opened and inside stood the biggest man I had ever seen holding a young female to the bed by her throat. His other hand held the bag that had been left between the beds earlier.
He was yelling, “Die, damn it, die bitch!”
Coming up behind him with only the bottle in my hand, I swung and hit the man just below the ear with a mighty blow. The bottle shattered into a million pieces. The man turned around fast as night and I felt a knife slice into my chest. Just under my left breast. The end of the broken bottle still in my reached out hand had caught the man in the neck as he turned.
I stood frozen with the piercing blade stuck into my chest and the man’s eyes glowed like the moon as blood coughed out of his mouth and squirted out his throat. Like King Kong he fell to the floor with a thunderous thump. I stood there, I could not feel any pain nor could my mind rationalize the situation. I felt warm blood trickling down my stomach. I looked at the girl who was just beginning to move. I knew her and our eyes met for the moment we both knew. Tears ran down my face and from the corner of my eye I caught the glimpse of a 6year old boy squished in the corner out of fear looking at me. I smiled for the last moment, he was beautiful, and he was mine.
My hand released the bottle as it fell smashing to the floor covered in blood. I sat back on the bed as my hand rose silently to my chest. My eyes blurred from the tears. Suddenly the pain overtook me, and it began to burn like hell. My eyes rolled back as it became overwhelming to bear the pain. I blacked out just as I felt her lips kiss mine.
Voices in my mind yelled out to me, but I was tired, I wanted to sleep. Suspended deep in a sea of black. I could leave so easily, when all I needed was clarity and someone to tell me. What the fuck is going on, God damn it! We were willing and wishful to be together and ever so close this time.
I wish you too could see this, because there is nothing to see. It is peaceful in my meaningless mind, and now once more it is fine with me. Not like the world where I used to be, maybe now they would be better off, if even with out me. I knew now having seen him, and her; life was complete.
So goodbye to you girl, so long and farewell. I can’t hear you crying, so don’t cry for me. Talk to me softly, I will know how you feel inside, I have been there before, you know all to well. Give me a whisper and a sigh. Give me a kiss before you tell me goodbye. Never mind the darkness coming in now, we can still find a way. Maybe someday we will never say, “Good bye.”
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OK I will need to add a little more. I think you are right.
To clarify by the time this story is written/shared (he) would be on his third human life, to be making the opening statement. Completes the circle of the story. I only know of one other person who caught the loop at the end, it is a dead man twice writing the story. 
