Read Online Killing Johnny Fry by Walter Mosley - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Walter Mosley
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pulling back and forth.
“Keep coming,” she told me, and I did. “Don‘t stop."
Even after I stopped ejaculating, my thing was still hard and I was moving back and forth. Jo pulled me to the other side of the couch and got down on her stomach. She put her hand in her mouth and then slathered her anus with her own saliva.
“Fuck my ass, Daddy,” she cried. “Fuck my ass with that big hard dick."
Daddy.
I grabbed her arms and held them out so that she was pinioned a little like Mel was in the film. Then I plunged into her. She cried Out and grunted in just the same way she had with Johnny Fry. She bucked up against me and cried, “Deeper.” And when I pressed harder, she called out in pain as she had done with her other lover.
I ground away at her, and she writhed under me. In my mind I was in
The Myth of Sisypha,
and in Jo‘s mind I was Johnny Fry cuckolding myself.
When I came, it was like my whole being went into orgasm. There was no local feeling, just an overall ecstasy.
Afterward we lay there quivering. I imagined that Jo‘s passion came from getting me to behave just as her lover had done. I was shivering from an emotion I‘d not experienced before, at least not since adulthood. It was a loathing deep in my heart. It was hatred so profound that I couldn‘t even locate what or who it was that I despised.
Was it me I hated, for playing such a fool? Or was it Jo, for making me jump through hoops like a goddamned dog? Maybe, like with my orgasm, it was everything that I hated: the moon and stars, gods and maggots.
“You‘re still hard,” Jo said.
I was lying on my back in the Sunlit room. My erection was standing straight Up. And even though the only feeling I had was revulsion, I reached for Joelle‘s arm.
She rolled away from me, laughing.
“You can‘t come in me again Until you wash off,” she said. “I could get infected if you don‘t."
I grabbed her arm and dragged her to the bathroom. Yanking a towel off the rack, I said, “Wash it off fast."
Giggling, Jo used soap and cold water. I relished the bracing chill over my balls and down my inner thighs. The cold renewed me and staved off the revulsion in my mind.
“My God,” she said.
“What?"
“I thought if I put cold water on it, it might go down and give me a break."
“Does that work with your other boyfriends?"
“I don‘t have any other boyfriends,” she said playfully.
I pulled her from the bathroom to the bed, propped up the back side of her knees with my arms, and plunged into her pussy this time. She gasped and stared into my eyes.
“Have you ever let another man fuck your ass?” I asked her.
“Never,” she said shaking her head and staring me in the eye.
“Not even once with your first boyfriend, Paulo?"
“Not ever. Only you. Only you. Only you."
Every time she said it, I pressed into her as far as I could, and she gasped, keeping her eyes anchored to mine.
“You love me?” I asked, my voice cracking a little.
She put her hands on both sides of my face and said, “There‘s you and only you."
And then for a while I lost my mind.
We were on the bed and then on the floor. At one point she ran away from me, but I caught up with her in the kitchen and made her wash dishes in the sink while I fucked her from behind.
I remember moments of that evening, but there‘s no continuity; only snatches of sex here and there. I was crying. Jo was crying out. I was hurting. She was digging her nails into my thighs.
And then it was very late at night. We were both in the bed. The covers were off, and I was cold. Jo was asleep under the sheet. I was relieved that my erection had finally diminished. My testicles ached, as did my jaw and calves.
Lying there in the early hours, I went over what had happened. Jo had made me act out her lover‘s moves. When she looked into my eyes, she was telling
him
that she loved
him.
And I couldn‘t stop myself. It didn‘t matter that all I felt was hatred. It didn‘t matter
“Keep coming,” she told me, and I did. “Don‘t stop."
Even after I stopped ejaculating, my thing was still hard and I was moving back and forth. Jo pulled me to the other side of the couch and got down on her stomach. She put her hand in her mouth and then slathered her anus with her own saliva.
“Fuck my ass, Daddy,” she cried. “Fuck my ass with that big hard dick."
Daddy.
I grabbed her arms and held them out so that she was pinioned a little like Mel was in the film. Then I plunged into her. She cried Out and grunted in just the same way she had with Johnny Fry. She bucked up against me and cried, “Deeper.” And when I pressed harder, she called out in pain as she had done with her other lover.
I ground away at her, and she writhed under me. In my mind I was in
The Myth of Sisypha,
and in Jo‘s mind I was Johnny Fry cuckolding myself.
When I came, it was like my whole being went into orgasm. There was no local feeling, just an overall ecstasy.
Afterward we lay there quivering. I imagined that Jo‘s passion came from getting me to behave just as her lover had done. I was shivering from an emotion I‘d not experienced before, at least not since adulthood. It was a loathing deep in my heart. It was hatred so profound that I couldn‘t even locate what or who it was that I despised.
Was it me I hated, for playing such a fool? Or was it Jo, for making me jump through hoops like a goddamned dog? Maybe, like with my orgasm, it was everything that I hated: the moon and stars, gods and maggots.
“You‘re still hard,” Jo said.
I was lying on my back in the Sunlit room. My erection was standing straight Up. And even though the only feeling I had was revulsion, I reached for Joelle‘s arm.
She rolled away from me, laughing.
“You can‘t come in me again Until you wash off,” she said. “I could get infected if you don‘t."
I grabbed her arm and dragged her to the bathroom. Yanking a towel off the rack, I said, “Wash it off fast."
Giggling, Jo used soap and cold water. I relished the bracing chill over my balls and down my inner thighs. The cold renewed me and staved off the revulsion in my mind.
“My God,” she said.
“What?"
“I thought if I put cold water on it, it might go down and give me a break."
“Does that work with your other boyfriends?"
“I don‘t have any other boyfriends,” she said playfully.
I pulled her from the bathroom to the bed, propped up the back side of her knees with my arms, and plunged into her pussy this time. She gasped and stared into my eyes.
“Have you ever let another man fuck your ass?” I asked her.
“Never,” she said shaking her head and staring me in the eye.
“Not even once with your first boyfriend, Paulo?"
“Not ever. Only you. Only you. Only you."
Every time she said it, I pressed into her as far as I could, and she gasped, keeping her eyes anchored to mine.
“You love me?” I asked, my voice cracking a little.
She put her hands on both sides of my face and said, “There‘s you and only you."
And then for a while I lost my mind.
We were on the bed and then on the floor. At one point she ran away from me, but I caught up with her in the kitchen and made her wash dishes in the sink while I fucked her from behind.
I remember moments of that evening, but there‘s no continuity; only snatches of sex here and there. I was crying. Jo was crying out. I was hurting. She was digging her nails into my thighs.
And then it was very late at night. We were both in the bed. The covers were off, and I was cold. Jo was asleep under the sheet. I was relieved that my erection had finally diminished. My testicles ached, as did my jaw and calves.
Lying there in the early hours, I went over what had happened. Jo had made me act out her lover‘s moves. When she looked into my eyes, she was telling
him
that she loved
him.
And I couldn‘t stop myself. It didn‘t matter that all I felt was hatred. It didn‘t matter
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