Scarlett in a bikini … ah, there
you go. I was masturbating again. A memory of Scarlett licking ice
cream would remind me of the way she licked pre cum off the shaft
of my cock, and I was jagging off. Memories of me fucking her mouth
so brutally and ejaculating so forcefully that my semen spilled
from the corners of her mouth and dripped down to her breast always
had me reaching for my cock.
The worst part was that these memories were
no respecters of person. They could occur when I was at a
Billion-dollar merger, at a friend's daughter’s naming ceremony, at
a church, or even at a fucking funeral. The urge they spurred in me
was so strong that it felt as if I would die if I didn't give in.
Maybe that was my mind's sick way of connecting to Scarlett and
dealing with her absence. I missed her so much that the pain became
physical. However, during the times I masturbated, I was always
able to feel the bond I shared with her. I was able to be with
Scarlett again. Her hands were on me, her sweet wet mouth on mine,
and her soft warm body on top of my own. And of course, my cock was
buried deep inside her sweet warm pussy.
It didn't take long, perhaps a year, for me
to realize how detrimental those masturbation sessions were.
For in doing them, I was feeding my
connection to Scarlett. A connection that desperately needed to be
broken.
It was obvious that she had moved on and
didn't want me to find her. I needed to move on too. But I
couldn't. Despite my pride, I knew I could only move on if I found
another Scarlett. The plan was simple then, since the real Scarlett
didn't want me, all I had to do was find a substitution.
If I couldn’t have a brownie, then I would
have a fucking chocolate cookie.
So the search began. This wasn't The Voice,
America. This was The Pussy. I, Drake Edgar, was here to search for
pussy. Any pussy that could make me feel as great as Scarlett's
did.
And I searched, well fucked. The more women I
fucked, the more I realized that I would never find my
Scarlett.
And let me tell you, it scared the fuck out
of me. To reach the point where I admitted to myself that there was
only one person in the world who could make me happy. One person
who could make this life worth living. Scarlett.
I imagined there were people out there who
found solace in the knowledge that there was only one person out
there for them. But most of those people were paired up with good,
kind, considerate human beings. However, for those of us who had
evil-hearted partners that had no trouble leaving us or cutting off
ties, it was fucking scary.
The fear that time would not heal my broken
heart, and Scarlett would always have a hold on me, drove me to the
edge. I overindulged. I fucked every woman that reminded me of
Scarlett, some nights there were even up to five women at once.
The emptiness remained.
Reality was as clear as a bitch. I would
never find another Scarlett.
Soon my cock stopped working. No kidding, the
bastard simply wouldn't get up to play no matter what girls did to
it. I never knew the desperate lengths girls would go to get your
cock hard until that period of my life. But the big guy down there
wasn't listening. My cock was appalled. It needed the fucking
brownie or nothing.
It took a while for me to stop fighting and
accept my fate: I would never be over Scarlett. The bitch would
always have my heart.
I was angry. I cursed her, wished her evil.
She had trapped me and she knew it. Here I was, a man, and she had
reduced me to nothing but a shaky, needy little boy.
With time, the fear changed into awe.
Scarlett was the only thing in the world that could control me
mentally, emotionally, spiritually. Scarlett was my god because she
alone had the power to reach into my soul. But like most believers
that start hating their god when things aren't going their way, I
began to hate her too.
It was the helplessness I felt knowing that
the one person who held the key to my happiness and purpose in this
world was
you go. I was masturbating again. A memory of Scarlett licking ice
cream would remind me of the way she licked pre cum off the shaft
of my cock, and I was jagging off. Memories of me fucking her mouth
so brutally and ejaculating so forcefully that my semen spilled
from the corners of her mouth and dripped down to her breast always
had me reaching for my cock.
The worst part was that these memories were
no respecters of person. They could occur when I was at a
Billion-dollar merger, at a friend's daughter’s naming ceremony, at
a church, or even at a fucking funeral. The urge they spurred in me
was so strong that it felt as if I would die if I didn't give in.
Maybe that was my mind's sick way of connecting to Scarlett and
dealing with her absence. I missed her so much that the pain became
physical. However, during the times I masturbated, I was always
able to feel the bond I shared with her. I was able to be with
Scarlett again. Her hands were on me, her sweet wet mouth on mine,
and her soft warm body on top of my own. And of course, my cock was
buried deep inside her sweet warm pussy.
It didn't take long, perhaps a year, for me
to realize how detrimental those masturbation sessions were.
For in doing them, I was feeding my
connection to Scarlett. A connection that desperately needed to be
broken.
It was obvious that she had moved on and
didn't want me to find her. I needed to move on too. But I
couldn't. Despite my pride, I knew I could only move on if I found
another Scarlett. The plan was simple then, since the real Scarlett
didn't want me, all I had to do was find a substitution.
If I couldn’t have a brownie, then I would
have a fucking chocolate cookie.
So the search began. This wasn't The Voice,
America. This was The Pussy. I, Drake Edgar, was here to search for
pussy. Any pussy that could make me feel as great as Scarlett's
did.
And I searched, well fucked. The more women I
fucked, the more I realized that I would never find my
Scarlett.
And let me tell you, it scared the fuck out
of me. To reach the point where I admitted to myself that there was
only one person in the world who could make me happy. One person
who could make this life worth living. Scarlett.
I imagined there were people out there who
found solace in the knowledge that there was only one person out
there for them. But most of those people were paired up with good,
kind, considerate human beings. However, for those of us who had
evil-hearted partners that had no trouble leaving us or cutting off
ties, it was fucking scary.
The fear that time would not heal my broken
heart, and Scarlett would always have a hold on me, drove me to the
edge. I overindulged. I fucked every woman that reminded me of
Scarlett, some nights there were even up to five women at once.
The emptiness remained.
Reality was as clear as a bitch. I would
never find another Scarlett.
Soon my cock stopped working. No kidding, the
bastard simply wouldn't get up to play no matter what girls did to
it. I never knew the desperate lengths girls would go to get your
cock hard until that period of my life. But the big guy down there
wasn't listening. My cock was appalled. It needed the fucking
brownie or nothing.
It took a while for me to stop fighting and
accept my fate: I would never be over Scarlett. The bitch would
always have my heart.
I was angry. I cursed her, wished her evil.
She had trapped me and she knew it. Here I was, a man, and she had
reduced me to nothing but a shaky, needy little boy.
With time, the fear changed into awe.
Scarlett was the only thing in the world that could control me
mentally, emotionally, spiritually. Scarlett was my god because she
alone had the power to reach into my soul. But like most believers
that start hating their god when things aren't going their way, I
began to hate her too.
It was the helplessness I felt knowing that
the one person who held the key to my happiness and purpose in this
world was
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