(Read the prologue here)

I’d been called many things in my life. Bastard, motherfucker, faggot, shithead, wanker…. But never whore. I didn’t think whore was the right word to call me. Sure, I fucked everything that had two legs and a pulse, male or female… But I never considered myself a whore.

These words have a way of puncturing my soul like a needle through fabric. And she had a way of making it bleed.

Aurelia.

Fuck almighty, she was the most glorious creature I had ever seen. The only woman I’ve ever loved. And the only woman with the power to rip my heart out from my chest and stamp on it. And she did, repeatedly.

I wanted to hate her. Despise the flesh on those bones. But I just couldn’t. Even now, hours after it happened, I couldn’t bring myself to hate Aurelia Davide. Because she was still the best thing I had going for me in my life.

Sitting in the dark of my flat, I couldn’t stop thinking. I tried to come up with ways to apologize. Ways to talk me out of what I was in and ways to once and for all convince her that I was a Good Man. But what was a good man, I wondered?

Someone who had dignity, probably. Someone who wouldn’t have… wouldn’t have a jealous bone inside him.

And I did. I had many a jealous bone, and they were all hurting, smarting from the sight of Aurelia with… him.

I didn’t know him. But I knew of him. It was her man. And it was something I could never be. And I tried to process it in the most fucked-up way I knew.

Revenge sex.

As I watched her nearly fuck her lover in the middle of the floor, I drank myself to near death. And in a state of numbness… I don’t remember what happened next. I think I took the girl outside. Tried to fuck her. But she said no. Why did she say no? Maybe she thought I was trying to rape her? But I wasn’t. I was trying to forget.

And now, I was still trying to forget. Forget the moment Aurelia stepped outside for a fag-break, probably puffed out from shagging face all night.

And the words played in my head, over and over again.

“Graham Connor, you’re a disgusting whore!”

But I wasn’t! Honest to God, I am not and never will be. I just… she drove me to it. Made me insane. And for once I just wanted to tell Aurelia that she made me into what I was at this very moment. As I covered myself with the warm, comforting duvet, I felt tears streaming down my cheeks.

 

But I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t anything, really. Defeated, at most. And I needed to clear my head.

In a reflex, my hand snaked down my pants. That was the only way I knew. Sex had become comfort, and fuck, did I ever need that comfort.

But as I stroked my flaccid cock, whispering little prayers that it would go erect so I might actually feel something tonight, I knew I was wrong.

But it still didn’t stop me.

 Aurelia Davide had ruined me for sex. Because no other person in the world would be as perfect as she was. And the thought of never having those plump lips, round hips and slick pussy to my own was maddening.