Let’s Hope it’s Not a Bad Choice

Jack woke up horny. He rolled over on top the girl and kissed her. She gazed into his eyes, how beautiful, you know. They kissed good morning, she even tasted sweet.

Jack wanted more, the girl did too. They were kissing, Jack got hard, she was wet and more than willing, Jack was inside her, as they kissed good morning. Did you sleep well? Here is my hard cock.

I can't remember your name?

They fucked without a condom, “really fucked, long and hard, like it was a race to the finish,” Jack said. The first time ever I have done that without it being a girlfriend. He was surprised, as he was doing it. It was easy with her, like it never has been before. He wanted to. She sat on him and he couldn’t feel a thing, except with her fingers. He always found that a problem with the girl sitting on top, it would all go dead for him. He rolled her onto her back and just slid it in. He could feel it then. He could feel the edge of his knob on her ring. He could feel every centimetre of skin going inside her. He lay her sideways and fucked her good, no holding back, until they came, he carelessly blew inside her.

Let’s hope it’s not a bad choice. 

Jack sobbed the whole story, Monday morning, on the couch, after she kicked him out to go to work.

They fucked mindlessly against the front door, with her in her work clothes, her panties pulled down.

“You’re dangerous,” she said. “You could get me fired.”

I wasn’t exactly sure why Jack was so upset, something about the girl he really liked had kicked him out so unthinkingly.

Just the usual suspects were present, Anthony, Liam and me, Luke, Sebastian, Jamie, Chloe, her latest boyfriend. Mitchell. Tom.

“Hasn’t it been hot lately,” said Jack. Off came his t-shirt. Some girl he’d met in a night club in the city, her name was Arizona, no Indigo. He went with her to her Southbank apartment, her boyfriend is away overseas for two months, they fucked until the sun came up. Then he left and came home. He was shiny with sweat. “She had a tight pussy.”

“She wants me to go back when her boyfriend is back.”

“When her boyfriend is there?” I questioned.

“Yeah, she wants to have two guys at once,” said Jack. “She says I am very like her boyfriend which turns her on.”

“Do you want to?” I asked.

“Yeah… kind of,” said Jack.

“Well?” I shrugged.

Jack’s got big, beefy legs and a big beefy arse. Weight lifters legs. He’s got the kind of bulked up torso the kind you’d look at and say he was on steroids. Jack has been on steroids for years. That was part of the trouble, we are all convinced of it. He’s big and cut. I mean his chest. But he is big and cut down there too, Jack’s rat-faced mother, Marie Campbell, had wanted Jack to look just like his daddy, and his grand daddy, (not that grand daddy was ever sober enough to know who Jack was) I kid you not.

“It’s just easier,” she sighed. We were all in the surgery. Jack was lying on his back, his cock out. “One less thing to go over the reason why.”

Marie Campbell was stressed out. Well, her husband, Liam, had just told her he is gay. So, maybe we could put it down to not thinking straight.

Jack lived with us, 18 through to his late twenties, until we got sick of his aggression and sent him back to his mother. Jack is big, and strapping, and handsome, and charming, and strong.

Some Sunday mornings, he could be found walking the top of the parapet wall, deep in thought, only centimetres away from falling through a glass roof, maggotted on booze. Hanging from 12 floor hotel balconies, high on speed. (the brothers who taught him to inject, should hang their heads in shame) When he raged, he’d walk up the middle of our street with a baseball bat egging people on to challenge him, in what, we were never so sure. 

Fortunately, the doctors got his pills right, and the rages seemed to stop. He gave up drinking too, it is alcoholism that ran in his mother’s, Marie’s, family. Jack’s maternal grandfather was a serious alcoholic for many years.

Other days Jack would come home and say he woke up inside a MX5 with the side all kicked in. “Who the fuck would kick in an MX5?” said doofus Jack. We knew instantly. His short term memory was shot when he was on booze.

There was the time he made the bomb scare because a club kicked him out (for being too drunk) and the police raided moments later. Jack never thought about caller ID. Seriously. I was away that weekend, thank goodness. If we’d had a police raid on some of our weekends, we’d have never been able to flush it all down the loo to escape charges.

Nice one, Jack.

There was the period he’d bringing home the homeless, high on drugs, coming home from clubs, for everyone else to look after. He’d install them in our lounge and promptly pass out and sleep the sleep of the dead. There would be this awful stink.

There was his lunatic mother, who told him every day of his teen years that he wouldn’t amount to anything. 

“You’ll grow up just like your uncle.” 

There was his uncle, his mother’s brother, who, while the idiot mother was distracted by her father’s alcohol problems, the grandfather, raising the other 10 kids as if they were her own, the criminal brother would babysit Jack. We found out years later, he would torture Jack by locking him in a box in the back yard for hours when he got sick of him. 

By all accounts, the criminal brother sexually molested Jack when he was approaching 10. 12. The criminal brother, was caught once by Chloe “doing things to a dog,” when Chloe was very young. Their Labrador, Sandy. 

“I don’t know, I closed my eyes,” said Chloe. “But I can’t unsee the first bit I saw, the image of Uncle Ivan may never leave me, even if I didn’t understand what I was seeing.”

Poor Sandy.

Ivan is now in jail. For other reasons, because he is a piece of shit. Marie still kind of defends him, I think that is so as not to have to admit the extent of the mistakes she made.