I've Come to the Conclusion

Chapter 4

Entry 4

Friday:  October 6, 2015

9:28 p.m.

The soft flesh of his warm lips delicately brushed my chin.

"I hope you're ready for round two." He whispered to me in the dark bedroom. His breath was a mixture of cool mint and cinnamon. 

All I could muster was a weak sigh as my body surrendered to his playful affections. Sexy, raspy pillow talk dropped from his lips in poetic phrases that he punctuated with soft kisses. My hands snaked up his muscular back; enjoying the rhythm of his half-naked body. Enjoying the weight of him pressing against me. The smell of freshly showered masculinity mingled with aftershave. He craftily traced the curves of my shoulders with the tip of his tongue. A war had begun. I bit into my lower lip hard enough to cause pain. An orgasm threatened to break free before he'd even started again. 

We whispered lustful desires into each other's mouths between deep passionate kisses. I gently raked fistfuls of his dark silky curls between my fingers. He lifted his face from the curve of my neck and stared down at me through long dark lashes. His narrowed grey eyes were full to the brim with arousal. I felt the rock-hard sensation of his manhood as it parted my slippery vagina lips and pressed inside of me.

I jerked awake. 

My eyes were wide open in the dark.  I felt angry. Ashamed. The crotch of my underwear was soaked with the aftermath of a wet dream.

These recurring dreams I keep having about Phillip are really annoying. I'm trying so hard to keep that man in my past.  

It has been ten days since we broke up. Ten days of individuality and peace. The silence that now lives within my eight-hundred-square-foot abode is priceless. 

I took half the morning off work today for a dental appointment.  Since I had some time to waste afterward, I decided to throw out the rest of his belongings. I could've sold his stuff online for some decent money, but it felt like that would've required too much time and effort. Besides, he was taking too long to come back and claim his shit.  I know Phillip well.  This was his sly way of keeping one foot in the door. I got tired of seeing that damned box and being reminded of him every time I opened the hallway closet to get bath towels. 

I shoved everything else into garbage bags and hauled all of it to the dumpster in the alley behind my apartment building.  Mostly clothing and shoes. The box was the last thing to go because it was so heavy.  Fortunately, John, from the first floor, walked up as I was struggling to drag the box off the elevator. 

Who's John? Well, the best way to describe this handsomely rugged man is that he is of European descent and appears to be in his late twenties.  He looks to be around six feet tall and slender with an almond complexion.  He has this fiery red hair that reaches just below his armpits and is usually pulled back in a thick, wavy ponytail. His forearms and neck are covered in intricate tattoos of dragons and other mythical figures. Both of his ears are studded to the max with piercings. Silver hoops, bars, and posts are everywhere except where the earlobes have been stretched open with nickel-sized gauges. I love those sleepy tea-brown eyes and the dusting of freckles across the bridge of his keen nose.  His facial bone structure, strong jawline, and those pouty pink lips give him a model-like appearance.  A thin, reddish chin-strap beard frames the lower portion of his face, connecting to a narrow strip of hair that touches his bottom lip.  

We rarely bump into each other. And when we did, he would mostly keep to himself. That is until this one Saturday afternoon when we happened to catch the elevator together. He was going to play his bass guitar in the common area on the roof. I complimented the unique design of his guitar case. His guarded demeanor visibly changed and he seemed to become more relaxed.  He told me that he is part of a rock band called "Red Eyes Ugly", but only when his girlfriend, Misa, is in a good mood. In the meantime, he maintains IT systems for a bank. This really piqued my interest and we engaged in more small talk up to my floor. He said something funny as we exited the elevator and we both chuckled. He did a suave salute and started to walk towards the stairwell leading to the rooftop, then stopped in his tracks.

"Oh...hey...L..London" he spun around, stammering like someone trying to get used to saying a new name.

I watched him pluck a laminated flyer from the back pocket of his distressed, chain-covered jeans. He walked over and held it out to me. It had the date, time, and location of his next show on one side and more verbiage and fancy artwork on the back.

"You should come." He smiled and stared at me as if he was going to say something else.

I nodded, "Cool. Thanks," and we parted ways.

Unfortunately, I ended up not going. Phillip had been so strongly against it.  He flew into a jealous rage and started accusing me of wanting to fuck around on him.  I suggested that he go with me but he wasn't interested. He claimed it wasn't his kind of music. Instead, I ended up staying home and being forced to watch some boring ass porn with him. Then afterward, reluctantly gave in to his insatiable appetite for rough sex.  I was relieved when he finally ended the ordeal in an orgasmic spasm. I pushed his limp body off me so I could go scrub myself in a long, hot bath and wash the entire experience away.

Today was the first time I'd seen John in perhaps a month. He finished twisting the key out of his apartment door and rushed over to me in three quick strides. He offered to help me and I politely thanked him. He swung the box onto one shoulder and followed me through an exit to the alley behind our building. The stench was immediate. My half-digested breakfast almost made a grand appearance on the ground between my feet. A matted grey squirrel stared down at me from a power line with beady black eyes as if anticipating the steaming pile of nourishment. I found a good spot for the box on top of another one about the same size. In reaction to a sound, we both glanced up the weed-choked alley. The noisy garbage truck was tipping the dumpsters just behind the neighboring apartment building like a big bully looking for lunch money. I turned to John and thanked him again.

"Anytime." He smiled and retraced his steps back inside; leaving me to face a disgusting swarm of flies.

His voice never seems to rise above this low, mellow tone.

I waited for the garbage truck to approach. The two guys on this morning's route gave me a weird look when I pointed toward the heavy box. I hadn't bothered to tape it up. They could clearly see the contents.

"Free shit!" I winked. Even to my own ears, my voice sounded bitter. "You guys might want to look through it first."

Both the driver and the passenger climbed down from the truck.  The taller of the two, with the bald crown and a tiny little ponytail, half smirked at me. Sweat beads glistened on his deep chocolate forehead. He and the other man looked at each other and then over at the items sticking out of the over-packed box again.

"Is this a fucking setup?" The other man joked. He was a short, skinny older white man and walked with a slight limp.

I turned to head back inside the apartment building as they walked over to the box and started rummaging inside. The white guy yelled after me, asking if I really intended to throw out the expensive set of golf clubs. He said the name brand out loud as if I hadn't been acquainted with those fourteen fucking shafts for almost three years. He pulled one of them out and held it up to get a better look.

"These are them titanium ones with the nice ribbed grips." I heard him say to the taller man.

I told them they could do whatever they wanted with the clubs and everything else in the box.

I hope they also enjoyed the laptop, two brand new game systems, his three custom-made fluted bezel diamond watches, and that new bottle of his favorite cologne.