18 Mart 2023

Sleepless Days


There comes a time in every man’s life when he stands at the brink of a precipice. He must decide whether to do what is right for him, a good idea, or what is right for her. Trevor had reached this point. He stood there in the driving rain, trying to decide whether to break her heart, which was best, or let her keep on believing that she was the one that he had been searching for. Not knowing what to do, he touched the gun in his pocket. It brought him instant relief and understanding. He knew exactly what he needed, what she needed. With his head down he started toward the squat brick motel that she was staying in, probably for the last time in his life.

It all started earlier that year with a phone call, you may think that a phone call 9 months ago couldn’t put this into motion but it did. Cue Trevor, worn out, beat all to shit, and alone in some no-name place, plenty of money but on the run.

I’m sitting in this shitty hotel room, wondering whether I should even care enough to go out and buy a drink or three. So I guess I’ll just sit here, tracing the shadows down her cold dead body. I didn’t kill her, don’t get the wrong idea. She was Frisking, or whatever the fuck the kids are calling the ecstasy-cocaine combination that is the new campus craze. Probably a heart attack from the amphetamine, that stuff really fucks you up, then again it could have been them. It could have been a dab of cyanide in her stash, a drop of arsenic in her drink, or even the tried and true morphine injection while we both were passed out. Either way, she was dead and my DNA was all over her, all in her too. A whore, of course, it seems that all I can get is whores these days. A shadow cast by a passing car’s headlights rolls down her smooth breast, behind which once held a strong beating heart, but now only silence, and into the tiny cup of her navel. She was beautiful. I fucked her to death. I can’t believe my luck, the one time that I think I got a hooker that didn’t fake the orgasm and the bitch dies.

Now what am I supposed to do?

I can’t leave her, I can’t hide the body, and I can’t take her with me. I am royally fucked. I guess all I can do is wait until the rain stops, and maybe hit that shit she has in that little baggie in her purse and hope that my fate will be more forgiving than hers.

Goddamn it! I’m even lying to you. I need to get it together, it’s just everything has been falling apart for the last few months, and I thought I might have finally gotten away from them. Apparently I was wrong.

Let’s start last night. I was in the bar as usual, when this pretty young girl with a sparkle in her eyes and cheap rouge on her cheeks came up to me and sat down. I bought her a drink, we talked. She made it seem like everything I said was music to her, I’ve seen the type before, find some poor bastard that looks lonely, talk to him about anything for half an hour, and then make a little money off him in the back of his car, or on the always squeaky bed of some cheap-ass motel. This time it was different, I don’t think she understood what she was getting into when she swung her hips my way. I’m not infected, or a murderer, or anything else that most whores are scared of. I am unclean. We went back to my hotel room in the Shady Day Inn, located in sunny wherever the hell I am now, Kentucky. I was coming off a jaunt, my word for an 8 day drinking binge that usually lands me in a different city with a different girl, So I’m a little lonely, is that a crime? We talked money and settled that problem quickly. She was cheaper than I was used to, but close enough to count. What the hell? I might as well have some fun, so I told her, Everything. She listened, probably thinking I was some kind of lunatic, until I finished, and said “sounds rough, want me to give you a massage to make it all better?”

I could have stopped here, throwing her ass out on the street with half her money and still able to turn another trick tonight would have been better for her, but that wouldn’t have been fun would it?

I fucked her; do I need to say more? I fucked her hard, fast in every way I could think of, in every hole I could get it into. About half way in she went into the bathroom to take a shower, and apparently snort some shit. I followed her, sneaking up behind her, as she looked at her smeared makeup in the mirror. I was banishing all the problems from the last year tonight, I told myself as I slid up behind her. She turned around, a slight smile playing across her lips still white with powder, and greeted me in the way that only whores can. She got down on her knees and took my whole dick into her mouth. No teeth, lots of tongue, and deep-throating till I thought she might choke. It was intense. When I came, she let it dribble down her chin and land on her obscenely perfect tits.

Oh, Lament and Discordia, I didn’t want that orgasm to end. You understand don’t you? It was like that first blow job, that first fuck, its like a light bulb goes off in your head, telling you otele gelen escort that you would rather die than forget this moment.

She stood, glistening with my spend, and began to rub herself in that way that says “I’m trying to get you up again so I can fuck you to death.” It worked. We started out, her sitting on the little sink me standing, but that wasn’t enough. She wanted to be dominated by me; she wanted me to take over, like I was the whore. So I fucked her from behind, leaning over the wrought iron bathtub. Sliding in and out of her so fast I thought I might have a heart attack. That seems almost funny now. She came, I know she did, there is no other explanation. I’ve had fake screamers, been called half a million dirty names, been asked if I wanted to do a million dirty things, but it has never been like this. Her muscles tightened around my dick, and she started making noise. Not that fake moan that you always hear on late night cable TV but a gasping noise that means she is enjoying this too much to talk. I never stopped, I never came, I just kept on, harder and harder, as deep as I could, hoping that she might be the one good lay that would keep me from killing myself.

Did I mention that my life was shit?

I looked down at her, her head all the way back, squinting as, what I think was a true orgasm, ripped its way through her, and still I couldn’t stop. Time after time, when I would get close, I would think of what might happen if they caught me, and I’d beak out in a cold sweat and nearly lose my erection. This went on for hours, sometimes from behind, sometimes on the floor with me on top, sometimes standing against a wall, but never stopping, only pausing to change position. Finally I got close enough to want it, I told her I was cumming, all she said was don’t stop, over and over again, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop. I think I blacked out when I came.

It never crossed my mind, lying in a pool of sweat, and sex, with some no-name hooker that I had nearly died fucking, that they might have found me. But I think they did.

When I came to, she was laying on top of me struggling to catch her breath, smiling at me, and rubbing my chest at the same time. She whispered something; I don’t know what it was.

That’s sad isn’t it, these were her last words on earth, and I missed them. What can I say? I told you already that I’m a poor bastard.

I mumbled in reply, and made my way to the bed. When I woke, she was sleeping beside me; her arm curled gently around her nude body, her cleanly shaven pussy still wet with our earlier action. She could have been one of those nude models that people paint, or photograph. Their beauty unsurpassed by anything manmade. I showered, cleaning her dime-store perfume off my body was almost impossible, and dressed in the bathroom. I can’t be sure if she was dead when I got out of bed, but I think she was breathing, nothing is for sure nowadays.

Let’s make a long story short. When I got out of the shower, she was dead. Still with her arm curled, like a model posing for her last portrait, around her face. I couldn’t even bring myself to move it to check if she was alive or not. I think they did it, I think they killed a pseudo-innocent American just to keep me guessing. And they call me the bastard. I figure, right about now you are confused about that phone call that I told you about earlier. Well, here goes. I hope that I’m not putting your life in danger by telling you. I work for the government; I’ve been an agent for the CIA for about 8 years now. You know what I mean, I’m the guy that they always tell before my missions that if I’m caught my country will disavow all knowledge of me or my actions. This time it was Russian mafia.

About 9 months ago I was assigned to do some routine penetration surveillance, that’s Nazi-speak for undercover infiltration of a group with the intent to gather information. It was all going well, until the stupid doorman-soldier gave me the wrong cell phone after the meeting. Leave it to my shitty luck to have a cell that looked exactly like the Don’s. When my contact from the agency called me he answered, and knew exactly what was going on. I don’t know how he knew the information codes to get my new orders, but he did. Just so happens, my new code-set orders were to kill him.

What fucking luck. All those months of undercover work undone because the doorman keeps cell phones at the meetings. I guess it is policy, to keep people from being able to make a call to a remote detonator. Either way, I’m royally fucked. Didn’t I say that already? So now you know, I’ve been on the run ever since. I can’t get help from the State Department, because I don’t exist. I can’t get help from my mafia contacts, because they are already dead, I can’t even get help from some third-rate hooker in a small town.

Sometimes I just want to die.

Hot-wiring a car is much harder than it looks pendik escort in the movies. I know, I just finished my sixth successful carjacking in my illustrious career. I can’t even get a break here. I’m stuck driving some beat-all-to-shit Ford, that looks like it might have been new about the time that Nixon Resigned, not my favorite Getaway Car, if you catch my drift. I know what I need to do. What I should do, is just drive right into a bridge support as fast as this piece of shit will go. Eh, knowing my luck I wouldn’t be able to get enough speed out of this heap, and end up in some hospital with one of them as my nurse. Fuck it, I’m going to Norfolk. That’s it I’ve decided. This time there is no turning back, I hope.

You might be wondering what I’m doing driving all night to some back-water southern town like Norfolk, Virginia, but it really does make sense if you think about it. When I was in special ops training at Quantico I met a man named Brigham, I don’t even know what his first name was. He never introduced himself. But about a year later he became my CO, a huge heap of a man who always wore a mustache even after half was blown off in a training exercise, told me that if I ever got into some trouble to come back to him and he would take care of me. I remember the way that the sun glinted off those aviators; he always wore them, even at night. There was talk that the Colonel, or Brigham if you prefer, had some kind of eye surgery for the military covert ops program, and it gave him better night vision, but made his eyes super sensitive. It’s probably all bullshit anyway. I didn’t want to involve him, it’s our code to get the job done without having to run to mommy, or daddy, or colonel, but Goddamn it they killed her! He needs to help if not for me, then, for her. 189 more miles, that’s all I have to say… 189 more miles.

The sun was just rising when I finally entered the little southern town of Norfolk. I didn’t know what to do, Should I go right now to the base and risk being seen, was I followed, is Brigham even here? To hell with it, I mean worst case scenario is they find me and kill me. That isn’t much worse than what I was going to do to myself about 10 days ago. So I go, not much to the story, my S.E.A.L.S. pass will still get me on the base, I still know my way around. I headed right up to Brigham’s office, paused, knocked, and entered when I heard his rough voice, so curtly speak only one word, Enter.

Sometimes there are days when I just wish I had a camera on my job. The look on some people’s faces when you pull that tiny, silenced berretta from nearly nowhere, or when you finally put the cuffs on a little tighter than you should, just to let them know you aren’t fucking around. Now is one of those times. Brigham glanced up, cue me in my civvies, and a look of utter astonishment crossed his face, just for a second. Then came a true, warm smile. I haven’t seen anyone genuinely smile at me, other than the whores I guess and I was paying them to smile, since everything went to hell.

Brigham put me up in a motel just off base, so I did what I do best, I looked for some loud bar and a whore to make it louder. The first place I came to, the International Seamen’s lounge just off Orapax Street. I waited to be hustled or asked to leave. But no one said anything to the slightly used guy who laid a C-note on the table and told the waitress with the tight ass to keep ’em coming. It didn’t even take an hour. I guess when you go to places like this and look like you are lonely, some bar wench will take you out and earn a little on her back.

I didn’t see her approach, but when I finally caught a glimpse of her face my heart stopped. How could it be? 24 hours later and almost 500 miles away, how could I run into her again? I thought she was dead. She sat, whispered that we needed to leave now, and we did. I… can’t believe she is here, I don’t even know what to say. She puts a finger over my lips and whispers, all in due time lover.

Alright this Story is getting more fucked up as time goes by? How the hell was she still alive, how could she have followed me without me knowing, What the Fuck?

I hop into my Getaway Car, I named it, isn’t that cute? And I head back to my hotel, with her riding shotgun. We head inside the room, and immediately she is on the lookout. What the fuck is going on? I mean that seems like a reasonable question to ask at a time like this. But she answers with a kiss. Do me now, I’ll tell later. Wait, something is wrong here, we didn’t talk money. And she is keeping an eye out the window by looking over my shoulder in the mirror.

It really didn’t matter what she was thinking anyway, so I slid into her again, and it was ecstasy embodied. Her tightness makes this the best sex I’ve ever had. I wasn’t trying to hurt them with her this time, so we went slow, easy, and amazing. She rode me, her wetness dribbling out onto my thighs, for what seemed like rus escort an eternity. As I got closer and closer to cumming, she started to force herself down on me harder and harder. She didn’t make noise this time, but I don’t think it was a fake. She looked into my eyes, and talked again. I still don’t know what it was all about. I really have to pay more attention to what the lady says. Last time I missed her last words.


I’m lying on the floor, her still on top with the side of my face stinging from a backhand bash to the skull. No I didn’t hear. Ok I’m officially nominated for the asshole of the year award. I was put here to protect you from those men outside. I’m an undercover.

Alright is everyone completely confused by the plot twist? Don’t feel bad I was too. How could this amazing lay be the answer to my problem? Right about now I don’t even care. Somebody finally sent the Calvary. I never thought my saving grace would come in the façade of a cheap whore, but I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Alright sweetie, so you’re an agent. Who is your contact? Same as yours Lover, funny thing that word lover, it can mean so many different things. I’ve been Avery’s top woman longer than you have been his top man.

Can you say fucked up? See, I knew you could. So now what’s a guy to do? Sitting in some skanky-ass motel 6 room with a gorgeous whore/agent still riding my ever-so-steadily decreasing erection, and I had no idea what was happening to me. She begins to explain quickly, as she dresses. That guy that you were ordered to take care of was not Russian mafia like you thought. He was another Agent, not ours, KGB. Now the shit is really getting thick, and I’m confused again. So, angel, what should I do about all this information that you are giving me? Nothing, she nearly purrs, keep on just like you have been going since the beginning. I’m here now, and everything will be just fine.

What the hell is she thinking? Men with guns outside, I’ve got a contract out for my life, not for the first time, but the first time that I didn’t have the backup I was accustomed to. And she wants me to act like nothing is going on. Just act like you are paying me and stay here, I’ll do the rest. So I’m just supposed to sit here while they open up with those AK-47’s? I don’t think so. There is a team outside too, they will take care of the problems. We need to climb out the bathroom window, and into the car I have waiting outside, much better than yours I might add.

Again, long story short, we got away. We climbed out the window and nearly fell over a late model Impala.

She jumped in just in time for the gunshots to start in front. I think it might be better if we just take the back exit, don’t you? We skid out of the parking lot doing about a hundred and on to the highway. Most of the drive goes on in silence, until suddenly she speaks. Do you know where I’m taking you? My mind races, adrenalin, what can I say? And suddenly it all becomes clear. We are heading to the Base to see Brigham. She just nods. Inwardly I smile, damn I’m a genius. We stop outside the Colonel’s house, I’ve only been inside once, that was the day that we both graduated from the SO training. She drops me off, with only one thing to say. I’ll be at the Holiday Inn on Johnston Avenue, come see me when you finish. Then off in a smoke trail of tire rubber

I walked up, rang the bell, and Brigham appeared almost out of nowhere. He invites me in, offers me a drink and gets comfortable in what appears to be his favorite chaise lounge. He talked, I listened. They knew all about the people who were chasing me. They were KGB as well. Mostly they were assassins that were trained in counter-insurgency techniques. When he seems finished and both the drinks are gone, he pauses and begins to speak again. So what should we do about you? I think quickly, it was always my strength. I could go and stay with the other Agent, she said she was sent to protect me, and I feel very protected when she is around. In truth I only wanted to taste her pussy again, but he didn’t need to know that. This pompous son of a bitch has the balls to laugh. I feel my anger rising, when suddenly he produces a silenced pistol from under the cushion of his chair. Apparently he had some ideas about what to do with me, and they were a little more permanent than what I had in mind.

Oh this lousy Goddamn bastard. He was working for them all along. They knew it was only a matter of time until I went to him. Then the bombshell, He tells me that Korina, the girl that I believe to be another Agent is one of them too. Most of the whores that I’ve had since October have been. He looks at me like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. He still has that look on his face when I move my hand from under my coat to expose the tiny, silenced, snub-nosed .38. I fired three shots; each would have been a kill shot. The first hit him in the stomach, the second just above his left nipple, and the last took most of his face off, in a gory splatter of bone and brain. I’m pretty sure he was dead before he fell back in his chair.

So the story is almost over, I’m driving the late Colonel’s car to the Holiday Inn where Korina told me she would be. It’s raining now, but that shouldn’t be a problem. I’ve been trained to take people down in worse situations.

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