Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
“Shut your mouth and move your hand quicker. I’m going to cum in your dick, then I’m going to let it drip on the floor before forcing you to clean it up like the good little cum dump you are.”
“Fuck, your piercings. Feel so good inside my dick.”
Iggy’s hand glides along our joined dicks with such fervor you’d think his life depended on how quickly he’s able to make me come.
“That’s it, Iggy. Good boy.”
His forehead crashes to my shoulder, and he groans. “Fuck, why do I love it when you talk to me this way? Anyone else would’ve gotten a broken jaw, but with you, I want it. I crave both your words of degradation and praise. What have you done to me, Marley? What have you done and why can’t I break free?”
My arms wrap around Iggy, and I pull him close, longing to stay with him like this forever. Here I’m not consumed with pain, doubt, and self-hate. At this moment, my mind isn’t traveling at warp speed, confused and lost in space. Right now I feel a fucked-up sense of peace even though I know my current situation of bliss can disappear like a mirage in the desolate desert.
I give in and come, releasing into Iggy’s dick with a groan. “Fuck.”
Iggy’s head lifts from my shoulder, and he stares into my eyes. “Guess they weren’t lying about docking, but I don’t want to come like this. I want you deep in my ass before I shoot my load. I want you to fuck me, Marley, but before we do, I need you to tell me your truth.”
I pace the room, breathing slowly to control the fear in my chest that seems to grow larger and threatening to spin out of control.
“Talk to me, Marley. I promise no matter what it is, I’m not going anywhere.”
I whirl around and shove my wrist in front of his face. “I got this tattoo to cover up how fucked up I really am. It was my first one. Then I kept getting them because being poked by the needle of a tattoo machine didn’t make me seem as fucked up as walking around with razor blade marks on my flesh.”
My eyes shut, and my mind travels back to that day. The day my entire world tore into pieces and I lost everything and everyone I cared about.
“Hurry, Marley,” my father’s voice boomed on the other side of the bathroom stall.
We’d been practicing for that moment for years. That was the moment. My audition with the New York Philharmonic. If accepted, I’d become the youngest pianist they’ve ever had.
“Just a second, Dad,” I said as I dragged the straight razor across my wrist. A small mark, nothing too noticeable, couldn’t have me bleeding out on the keys. I thought I could get by today, but I needed to see the blood. Needed to ease the pressure. My parents wouldn’t care about my secret. My dad would probably tell me to do what was necessary to succeed. That’s all he cared about, being able to brag that his son was a world-renowned pianist. Most days, I hated the piano. There were moments when I wanted to take an ax and pound onto the wood until it splintered and turned into dust.
The stall door vibrated from the banging of my father’s fists. “What are you doing in there, Marley?” He jiggled the door handle. “You can’t blow this.”
I placed the razor back into my small kit and hid the box of shame in one of the side compartments of the satchel. Tucked away safely where no one could find it but me. Other musicians had drugs, I had a straight razor and Band-Aids.
I brushed toilet paper against the blood, covering the self-inflicted wound on my wrist with a small Band-Aid to ensure no blood got on the cuff of my crisp white shirt. Once I was composed, I flushed the toilet and watched as the evidence of my weak mind floated away.
My father stood with his arms crossed as I opened the door and walked out.
“Sorry, Dad, I had to take a leak.” I pushed past him, washed my hands, and headed to the washroom door before turning to my father. “Ready?”
As we walked to the auditorium, my father slung his arm around me. He didn’t say encouraging words to put me at ease. He didn’t tell me he was proud of me or the audition alone was a phenomenal accomplishment most would never attain. My father pulled me to him and said, “Don’t embarrass me up there, boy.”
I got to the piano and played a piece I could recite in my sleep. A composition I had learned so completely that I didn’t even require sheet music. I could see the judges from the corner of my eye. They looked impressed. I was in. Then I remembered my father’s words and at that moment, I wanted to burn it all down so finally after thirteen years of devotion I could rest. So, I missed the last note on purpose.