Home / Fiction / Holiday Indulgence – Tu B’Av

Holiday Indulgence – Tu B’Av

By on July 22, 2013
Prev2 of 2Next
Use your ← → (arrow) keys to browse

A179 Tu BAv 2

Love consumes you, it electrifies you and makes your blood flow faster, thinner, feather weighted… It devours everything in its path, it fills you and tricks you into believing there’s nothing else. No one else.

No. Love is bullshit. You lose perspective; you lose yourself, you fool. It’s never been real for her, she knows it. All of the people in her life have been there just for fun, nothing more; especially not love.

Are you sure? All of them? I don’t think so.

Oh, hush. She is not listening to the annoying voice in the back of her head. Not right now, when she’s trying to enjoy.

Trying? Not succeeding? Why not?

She is succeeding; shut up. These are not thoughts she wants to dwell on. Not ever, but especially not now. She is quite occupied. Is this really what she wants? Unattached sex? No strings? Yes. That’s why she ended up in his room, after all.

You are attached.

Indeed she is; she is attached to the bed while he fucks her, see the handcuffs? She doesn’t need more attachment than that, she can barely move as it is. Her eyes are covered. Part of the complete experience, he told her, if she wanted it. And why not, what does she have to lose?

Control.

By relinquishing control, she gains other things. Perhaps not love, perhaps not a husband, as apparently is the intention of the ridiculous holiday. But ultimately it doesn’t matter, because that’s not why she’s there. That’s not what she wants. Isn’t it? No. Stop thinking.

But she can’t. She’s feeling it, she really is. The cloth covering her eyes enhances her feelings. But also puts her mind in overdrive.

Fool.

“At hazona sheli!” He whispers, his bearded face mere inches away from her ear.

Ah, he’s a talker. He’s also the groper. What was his name? It doesn’t matter.

“At hachi sexit ba’olam.”

What is he saying? That she is sexy, or something. Whatever. It still doesn’t matter. God, he does have great hands. Who needs love with hands like these?

“Merega she’hikarti otach ratziti lezayen otach chazak.” He’s grunting while his hips collide mercilessly against her over and over again.

She hears him, she feels him inside of her; he fills her every inch and she moans to make him continue… so he won’t stop.

His hands are moving. If his tongue is like his hands, she can’t wait for him to shut up and put it to good use. It’s infuriating. Or it should be, but she’s not bothered in the least.

She’s close. She can feel the telltale signs; the warmth in the pit of her stomach, her oversensitive skin, her walls starting to clench around the man. Oh yes, now he is a man.

Her scream makes him come. It always does. Men are so suggestible.

………

“You came,” she hears, thick accent still in place.

“I did.” She’s not sure why, though.

“I’m glad,” he says. “Come in.”

“What is this all about?” She asks, hoping to get an answer this time.

“I told you: love.”

“You don’t have to lie to me, impress me. I’m already here, aren’t I?”

“I’m not,” he assures. “Tu B’Av is about love, romance, courtship, perhaps even finding a husband.” He winks. “It’s a night of full moon.”

“Ah.” Of course. She can read between the lines. Full moon, fertility, sex.

“It is believed that on this day, mystical, enigmatic forces orchestrate lovers to meet.” She barely understands him but his voice is dark, enthralling, and utterly addictive.

“Love is the ultimate surrender,” he says standing behind her.

She feels him wrapping a cloth over her eyes.

………

The initial buzz, the overwhelming desire, the unbridled lust, that’s the first stage of love. It’s hormonal, testosterone and estrogen. Then the attraction deepens; you are stimulated but sedated at the same time, you feel euphoric, confident, aggressive, and hyperactive; it gives you pleasure, it motivates you. Blame the serotonin, dopamine and norepinephrine. The final stage is attachment, oxytocin. You feel content, calm and secure, your trust increases and your fear reduces. You feel powerful, invincible. You feel in love.

Love is a drug. It’s a placebo.

She was right all along. It’s not about love, it never was.

Finally, she thinks as she feels his tongue spreading over her wet folds. This is what it’s all about. Why have love when you can have this?

Right?

To Be Continued in the Next Installment of Holiday Indulgence…


Prev2 of 2Next
Use your ← → (arrow) keys to browse

Dirty Di has the stuff that you want; she is the thing that you need. So if you're feeling devious, and looking glamorous, let’s get mischievous and polyamorous, because you live only once, so be sure you got it right. And if you don't, try again.
Related Items