No Motive by Carmen XueLi
It was easy to get caught up. It was harder to run away. He was into living his life free form, like an abstract… like a Pollack. He knew he could never win, but he was always afraid to give in.
He met her in the club on a Friday night. She said her name was Jasmine. He lied and told her his name was Henri, and pronounced it the way it sounds to a German or French man… On-ree. He knew it wasn’t going to go past that night. He’d fuck her, cum in her face, especially her eyes, which was his weakness, and then never call her. He knew he wasn’t the kind of guy that got attached or formed bonds with people. He knew it would take a heck of a woman to fall in love with him. He was a poor desperate soul that always came about 15 minutes in. Rarely did he ever last twenty minutes. She’d have to be a good fuck to last anything passed twenty minutes. Only Gabriel would get forty- five minutes, and it was well over ten years since he had even seen her. The break- up was so bad, she vowed never to see him again, and she was serious. Still, there was always some poor, desperate woman that would fall, and he got tired of having to pretend to give a shit about her feelings, as she cried, asking him why he was “doing this” to her. He always wanted to say “you did it to yourself when you spread your legs. I just wanted a fuck”, but he never got the guts to stab a heart and twist the knife.
Show, don’t tell. Don’t ask don’t tell. Tell don’t show.
She was great. Everything happened the way he wanted it. He came in her eyes. She blinked a few times and wiped the corner of her left eye with the middle finger on her left hand and placed his semen on her tongue, all the while moaning. He grabbed her by the hair and yanked hard, bending her head on an angle. In a frantic rush of excitement, he placed his right hand around her neck. She smiled and screamed “yes, yes”! “You like that, huh?” He asked, his voice coming from a dark place. “Mmm hmm”, she moaned, letting go of the shaft of his cock. She ran her tongue along her top row of teeth and then gave a devilish smirk. There was an innocent twinkle in her eye that seemed artificial.
“Dance for me”, he demanded.
“Oh, I’m not a good dancer”, she pleaded.
“Why were you in a club if you can’t dance? Weren’t you scared I would ask you to dance”, he questioned now.
“I knew you wouldn’t ask me to dance with you”, she said abruptly.
“Why did you assume that”, he asked, taking on a more interrogating tone.
“You just don’t seem like the type to… well, you know…”
“I have no clue. Tell me. What type do I seem like” he asked, now sounding quite defensive?
“The type that just wants a one night stand and didn’t have time to waste.”
He wanted to get angry, but knew that he couldn’t. She was right.
“Dance for me now”, he demanded again, as if he had forgotten that he had already asked her. Slowly, she stood, pushing him down in the sofa. He didn’t expect it. Had he known, he would have stopped her. He had a fear of motel beds and furniture. He assumed they were laced with bed bugs. It was too late. She had already captured him in a moment where the soft moonlight peered through the slit in the curtain and beamed on her entire right side. She was like a shadow, effortlessy moving her body in a seductive motion. She was wearing a red dress that fit tight again her small frame and when she turned to the side, her small breats were almost obsolete. He didn’t care. As long as she had a hole.
He reached out for her, but she pulled back quickly. She then turned her back to him and sat on him. He reached for the wetness between her legs, but there was no heat. There was no moisture. There was no scent.
She jumped up quickly. “We should stop”, she said. “I was just getting started”, he responded.
“Let’s stop before the night is ruined”, she answered.
He was quiet for a few seconds, but then agreed. She was leaving a small impression. He wanted to see her again. There was an element of mystery to her that he couldn’t quite put his hands on.
“Can I at least have a kiss good-bye”, he asked? She was trembling, searching for something in her bag as she knelt over to strap her platform heels on. She adjusted her dress and stood up, erect, attempting to kiss him quickly. He grabbed the back of her neck and passionately shoved his tongue down her throat, grabbing and groping her ass and thighs. He spanked her and reached between them to get her moisture on his hand. He at least wanted to take it home with him.
She withdrew again.
“Why can’t I touch you? We just fucked”, he interrogated, now filled with curiousity and frustration. “Good night Henri. I’ll call you tomorrow”, she said, trying to walk around him to get to her black leather jacket. He grabbed her arm, reeling her back in violently. She fell on the bed, crying, begging for him to “please stop”. He climbed on top of her and held her down. He grabbed her neck, but felt something familiar, but strange. He forced a kiss on her, and she pleaded for him to let her go, pleading “don’t let the night end like this”, and “I just wanted to have a good time”.
He could no longer restrain the animal within him. All apprehensions went out the window as he stepped into danger. He slowly slid his hand up the center of her thighs, wanting to savor the moment. He began to salvate as he thought about tasting her flooded kitten. All the while, she pleaded continuously to “stop. Please stop”, but he could never heed to her request now. It had too far gone. He reached his destination, and it was wet as he hoped, but the lips he anticipate never presented themselves. As he withdrew in horrow, the soft glow of the midnight moon impaled her glowing skin in the dark room. There was total silence. As he slid off of her body, he felt a familiar yet strange feeling. It was hard as it brushed against his stomach.
“Oh God”, he said, gripping his stomach in shock as he attempted to stand, leaning over the bed in shock. She took advantage of the moment and quickly, still aware of her surroundings, got off the bed and walked hastily towards her jacket and purse. She grabbed them quickly and exited the room, making sure that he was not behind her.
He was on his knees, vomiting by the bed, with one hand bracing his body, the other firmly gripping his entire waist and stomach. He was drunk. He was in a dark room. She might call the cops but she had nothing on him and he had no motive. He was the victim, but he didn’t care about breasts or ass. He didn’t care. As long as she had a hole.