Read Online The Leaves 03 (Nico) by JB Hartnett - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: JB Hartnett
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head. Not to guide her; she didn’t need any fuckin’ guidance. I just wanted to feel her 118/510
hair in my hands. I wanted to smell her perfume on me later so I had something good to think about, even if it was just a blowjob in the bathroom of a seedy bar. “Fuckkk…” I groaned out, holding her mouth at the base of my dick as she swallowed every last drop.
I slumped to the disgusting floor, not giving a fuck when my hands met the sticky surface.
“See ya, baby,” Diana said, opening the door. “You ever wanna fuck, first one’s on me, baby. You have a nice cock.” I nodded and tried to stand. I was totally fucked up, but I didn’t want to go home. The only thing I would do there was drink more, maybe pull my dick, and pass out. I stumbled by the trendy stores and their even trendier displays. Surf shops with long boards and swimwear and photos of stick-thin women in bikinis. Then the more touristy shops with magnets, framed pictures of Main Beach, and lighthouses made out of sand. I 119/510
stumbled around the corner and saw a new shop; the shelves were filled with bottles of wine, fancy glasses, and jars of fat, green olives. The other window had a display of stationary with Montblanc pens and big, leather diaries. Fuck, I lived in an expensive city. I put my hands flat on the windows, but noticed they stuck to the glass with whatever bathroom residue was on them.
Then I heard it… the ocean.
I used to sit on my roof an average of six days a week, unless the weather was really shitty. I would lift myself up from the front railing and just listen to the cars, to the waves breaking against rocks, to women giggling after a long night of drinking… then I stopped. I lost the ability to listen. I lost the ability to appreciate the beauty that surrounded me every single day.
The weather wasn’t exactly warm, but I didn’t give a fuck. I walked up a small hill, away from Main Beach, since, being a place 120/510
with dickhead-laws, you weren’t supposed to swim after ten or some shit. I stripped down to my boxers and walked into the waves. The swells were small, low tide, so I swam out in-to the water easily, the brisk temperature welcoming.
I floated on my back, looking up at the night sky. I thought about all the different designs I’d put on peoples’ bodies and how they would live with them for the rest of their lives—my contribution to something they felt so strongly about at the time. It was there permanently. Some tattoos were so fucking stupid though, but who was I to judge. I wasn’t exactly making stellar life choices myself. Either way, they would likely look at it and be reminded of a time when their stupidity or their passion led them to get that tattoo in the first place.
I was passionate about nothing. That was what occurred to me, floating there. The black night sky, the water holding me, I let 121/510
my body collapse below the surface, just to feel that escape for a moment.
Then something brushed past my leg. I convinced myself it was probably just seaweed, until it happened again. Through my whiskey-fog, I made a conscious decision not to panic; instead, I began to swim back to shore. I hadn’t realized how far out I was. If I were to yell to the houses on the cliff, it was unlikely anyone would hear me. I kicked out with my right leg when something nipped my ankle. The skin had for sure been punctured, and my previous decision not to panic van-ished. I increased my speed and fought against a current I didn’t even know was there until I had to work against it. But now, my boxers were in the grip of a creature I could not see, and it was probably better that I didn’t.
We’d had a few shark sightings off the coast, but very few attacks. Whatever had been toying with me before now meant 122/510
fuckin’ business. My lungs burned, my arms burned, pain from the puncture of teeth was setting in when whatever it was let me go…
but only for a second. Tthis time, I felt the
hair in my hands. I wanted to smell her perfume on me later so I had something good to think about, even if it was just a blowjob in the bathroom of a seedy bar. “Fuckkk…” I groaned out, holding her mouth at the base of my dick as she swallowed every last drop.
I slumped to the disgusting floor, not giving a fuck when my hands met the sticky surface.
“See ya, baby,” Diana said, opening the door. “You ever wanna fuck, first one’s on me, baby. You have a nice cock.” I nodded and tried to stand. I was totally fucked up, but I didn’t want to go home. The only thing I would do there was drink more, maybe pull my dick, and pass out. I stumbled by the trendy stores and their even trendier displays. Surf shops with long boards and swimwear and photos of stick-thin women in bikinis. Then the more touristy shops with magnets, framed pictures of Main Beach, and lighthouses made out of sand. I 119/510
stumbled around the corner and saw a new shop; the shelves were filled with bottles of wine, fancy glasses, and jars of fat, green olives. The other window had a display of stationary with Montblanc pens and big, leather diaries. Fuck, I lived in an expensive city. I put my hands flat on the windows, but noticed they stuck to the glass with whatever bathroom residue was on them.
Then I heard it… the ocean.
I used to sit on my roof an average of six days a week, unless the weather was really shitty. I would lift myself up from the front railing and just listen to the cars, to the waves breaking against rocks, to women giggling after a long night of drinking… then I stopped. I lost the ability to listen. I lost the ability to appreciate the beauty that surrounded me every single day.
The weather wasn’t exactly warm, but I didn’t give a fuck. I walked up a small hill, away from Main Beach, since, being a place 120/510
with dickhead-laws, you weren’t supposed to swim after ten or some shit. I stripped down to my boxers and walked into the waves. The swells were small, low tide, so I swam out in-to the water easily, the brisk temperature welcoming.
I floated on my back, looking up at the night sky. I thought about all the different designs I’d put on peoples’ bodies and how they would live with them for the rest of their lives—my contribution to something they felt so strongly about at the time. It was there permanently. Some tattoos were so fucking stupid though, but who was I to judge. I wasn’t exactly making stellar life choices myself. Either way, they would likely look at it and be reminded of a time when their stupidity or their passion led them to get that tattoo in the first place.
I was passionate about nothing. That was what occurred to me, floating there. The black night sky, the water holding me, I let 121/510
my body collapse below the surface, just to feel that escape for a moment.
Then something brushed past my leg. I convinced myself it was probably just seaweed, until it happened again. Through my whiskey-fog, I made a conscious decision not to panic; instead, I began to swim back to shore. I hadn’t realized how far out I was. If I were to yell to the houses on the cliff, it was unlikely anyone would hear me. I kicked out with my right leg when something nipped my ankle. The skin had for sure been punctured, and my previous decision not to panic van-ished. I increased my speed and fought against a current I didn’t even know was there until I had to work against it. But now, my boxers were in the grip of a creature I could not see, and it was probably better that I didn’t.
We’d had a few shark sightings off the coast, but very few attacks. Whatever had been toying with me before now meant 122/510
fuckin’ business. My lungs burned, my arms burned, pain from the puncture of teeth was setting in when whatever it was let me go…
but only for a second. Tthis time, I felt the
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