The Irresistible Bundle (114 page)

LOST

~ DIEGO ~

I remember the day we realized my mom was really sick. Like the kind of ailment that required hospitalization. The type of falling ill and never recovering kind; because the day my mom entered that hospital she never came back out... In less than a week I'd gone from being the kid with two happy, healthy parents to the kid having a single-father and dead mother.

Her blight started as a cold. Everyone gets a damn cold... but hers turned into pneumonia. And she never recovered from it. I learned several years later that she'd reacted to some medication cocktail, mixed with her debilitated state; it made the right ingredients for death.

Everyone pitied me, us. They treated me differently. Kids acted like the word "mom" was taboo in my presence. They acted like I was made of glass and would shatter at any moment. I wanted to be pissed off at God and the Universe but if my dad wasn't then what the hell gave me the right to be? I wanted to be strong and brave like him.

My mother was an amazing woman. She was beautiful both inside and out. She died when I was a young boy but I still remember the way her eyes shined with laughter, the way her smile lit a room, the way her voice made every situation better. I didn't have her for very long but her lessons and memories forever stayed imprinted with me. My mother died but I didn't turn into some asshole who hated the world. On the contrary I made every effort to emulate my father. I wanted to make my parents proud; I wanted to find the kind of love they had.

It took several years for my father to move forward. I loved and respected him more for the way he mourned the death of his wife. He never pretended to be okay. He never hid his sadness and grief. He always welcomed me into his arms and together we cried for the woman we lost. I cried for my mommy while he cried for the wife he'd never see again. Her name and memories were never buried and forgotten. We carried on with the same traditions and always did something in memory of her. Through his grief he somehow found the strength to be both a father and mother to me. I realize now that he buried himself with work and raising me to get through the tougher days... but he still trudged on, even when he didn't want to. He never turned to alcohol, drugs, or meaningless sex. He stoically moved forward while constantly reminding me of the good times.

Women always noticed my father. He's a good looking man and time hasn't changed that. Mom used to laugh at him when women ogled him or tried to openly flirt with him. It always left him flustered and chagrined. Women saw his wedding ring but it never deterred them. When he lost his wife women congregated in masses trying to comfort the widower and see if they could take her place. I don't know how I would've reacted in those days if he decided to start dating. But my father wasn't like that. I came first. Work came next. His desire to fulfill physical needs never superseded my needs or wants. The man was a saint.

~

Yolanda and Carina came into our lives when we finally found our stride. We were comfortable being bachelors. I'd seen my dad go on casual dates. Some of the women I knew from church, around town, or their kid went to my school. I was never concerned. He never brought them home and it never lasted long. I took over mom's role of laughing at him whenever he got hit on. It was good to have things coming back full circle...

So by the time Yolanda came around I didn't think much of it. Sure she was drop dead gorgeous, and her kid was too, but that didn't hold weight with my father. Yolanda was the intellectual type, sharing a passion for education, literature, and art... like my father. But still it didn't worry me. It wasn't until he brought her home for dinner that I realized she was something different to him. Dinner included her daughter which meant I was included. And I was
never
included in any of his dates.

Even in the beginning I didn't hate them. It was hard to when they were so beautiful, so nice, and completely endearing. I found a kindred spirit in Yolanda's daughter, Carina. She'd lost her dad like I'd lost my mom. We knew what it was like to lose a parent. She too had found a way to function with a piece of her gone. I didn't have that with other kids. It was the unspoken difference between me and my friends. Some dealt with divorces or absentee parents but none had gone through a parent's death like I had. But the day she walked into my life I realized that no matter what happened between our parents I had someone I could confide in. Someone I could go to.

I never cared who my father dated before. But the moment Carina and Yolanda became a part of our lives I began to take a vested interest. I didn't laugh anymore when women flirted with my father. I glared at the trifling women before steering him the other way. My father wasn't a cheater; he didn't stray. I just wanted to ensure he didn't venture off this path. For the first time since my mother's death I danced with the possibility of having someone replace her. I didn't openly welcome the idea but I didn't strongly oppose it either.

My father dated Yolanda for almost two years before they finally married. I loved and admired them both for their concern and care regarding my and Carina's feelings about their relationship. They never rushed anything. They always took our feelings and wishes into account. It didn't mean they would've broken up because we were throwing a fit but they respected our feelings and apprehensions.

Those two years were pivotal to my relationship with Carina. We bonded in a way that surpassed typical siblings. We became best friends. We didn't need to have a blood bond, sharing something far richer. For the first time in my life I had someone I could confide in about anything. I wasn't concerned about what Carina would think about me when I voiced my insecurities, thoughts, and dreams. She was a few years younger but I valued her opinion and advice as much as I did others my age. She was an old soul trapped in a young body. She'd known grief at a young age and it shaped her.

I was extremely excited the day Yolanda officially became my stepmother, but it was for a different reason... Because it meant Carina was officially my sister. Yes, a piece of paper brought me a measure of comfort. Now, no one could tear us apart. I went through my formative high school years with a mother and sister. Yolanda was good to me. She never overstepped her boundaries and she respected my reticence to call her
mom.
It took some time but eventually it happened.

I naturally fell into the big brother role. It was as seamless as becoming point guard for my high school basketball team. Every decision I made after Carina became my sister took her into account. I almost didn't apply to the Ivy League schools concerned that she wouldn't follow me to college. But dad and Yolanda almost strangled me for even entertaining that. Carina pushed me to be the best. She in turn did so too, showing me that she would aspire to be as great as her big brother. It was the best fucking compliment I could ever have.

But not everything was perfect in our little world. Not everything fell into place so seamlessly. I made it to the college of my dreams. I accomplished all of my high school related aspirations. I had to leave my new family behind but I made sure to visit them often. I got in a few fights once Carina developed a body to die for. My friends learned quickly to steer their dicks clear away from her. The few pricks that thought they could be slick learned hard, fast lessons. I usually wasn't the kind to lose friends over females but Carina was my sister and she was gorgeous. No one fucked with her.

I walked on pins and needles her senior year of high school. She applied to numerous colleges, mine being her first choice. So when she received the declination letter she was devastated. With her college dreams shattered I contemplated changing universities but she wouldn't have it. She refused to go at all if I transferred. It didn't matter that I wanted to be wherever she was. If I haven't already said this before I'll say it right now. Carina is one-of-a-kind. She's amazing. Like my mother and Yolanda, Carina is beautiful inside and out.

TICK-TOCK

~ DESIRAE ~

Freedom is an abstract term. I was kidding myself if I believed four years was enough to buy me permanent freedom from Father. It's easy to believe that after not returning home for a year. If I could stay away for 12 months of college then why couldn't I do it forever? It seems simple enough but I need a solid plan. Father pays my tuition and all related expenses. Now that I'm finally out of his grasp I'm desperate to keep it that way.

Should I pursue a Master's Degree? Would he finance it? Bile floods my throat at the thought of owing him anything. I need to get my shit together and cut all ties, including being dependent on his money. Carina's a prime example; she covers half her tuition through grants and scholarships, lessoning the burden to her parents. It's possible to wean any and all dependency from those bastardly parental units of mine.

A lot's happened freshman year; Carina and I became best friends. Andrea, another college friend, seamlessly blended in balancing me and Carina out. I've found my haven within the walls of a sex club,
Hedonism.
Carina has enough drama in her life to help me forget all about mine. Although the clock constantly ticks in the background, I don't focus on it. Instead I revel in each moment.

Freshman year opened my eyes to my refined abilities and endless options. Guys flocked to us every night regardless of where we were or who we were with. It was the first time in my life I'd gotten the opportunity to mess around with someone my age. I had a clean slate with a slew of boy toys to choose from. I knew nothing about drunken sex, quickies, and one-night stands until I'd gotten to college.

Although promiscuous, okay a little bit slutty, Carina only slept with a handful of guys our freshman year. It's just that the guys who slid between her thighs were so damn hot you couldn't help but envy the girl for her good taste and gold-medal pussy.

Now me? If there were categories for those of us within our little circle it would probably go something like this: Carina's considered the loveable slut. Chelsea's the brazen whore that fucks anything with a dick and who people barely tolerate. And I'm more the fiery tramp that keeps everyone in line. We're all nymphos in our own right.

Every week of my freshman year, at least during the first semester, I slept with a different guy. I had a lot of time to make up for and I wanted to experience sex with guys who weren't tainted like the men who'd bartered and bought me during those years under Father's grasp.

Most guys were the same. Their primary focus was getting themselves off without considering the girl beneath them. I stopped trying to get to the finish line before they grunted their release. It took too much effort and defeated the entire purpose behind having sex with them in the first place. I merely wanted that experience; the opportunity to connect with someone physically, consensually.

Sex keeps me grounded. I hold the power: to choose who I'll be with, what we're going to do, and if I'll ever do it with them again. Most guys only get one shot with me. They aren't worth my time or effort for any repeats.

My true tests were when I stepped outside the easy familiarity of college boys and gambled with grown-ass men. Not just guys 18 and over, but business professionals - the kind I'd been trained to fear and loathe. Devon, the bartender at our favorite nightclub, Club 69, was my first consensual experience with a guy over the age of 25. I couldn't have asked for someone better. Okay maybe I can but he was just the right person as my "first".

My first.
Isn't that a fucking oxymoron? I haven't been a virgin in a long time and I've done everything under the fucking sun, and then some. But Devon was the first
man
I'd slept with willingly, and had thoroughly enjoyed. Watching a man's knees buckle while his dick is in my mouth is completely invigorating, empowering.

Giving head is usually a task, a power move, a chore. I know how to do it, exceptionally well. I'll do everything possible to make the man looming above me come so hard that he'll be useless afterwards. But Devon woke something up in me. Being with him; being completely engaged in the sexual acts - physically and mentally, provided a completely different experience.

Having that taste of Devon made me want more. Watching Carina and the men in her life made me pickier in my nightly selections. Not every guy was a quick fuck. Some never got past a hand job and finger fuck because not all guys are created equally. From short fat dicks to skinny stubby ones, I was always eager to undress the greedy bastard in front of me to see what I was in for. I've never needed a nine-incher. A dick is a dick. As long as the guy knows how to stick it in and use it I'm good to go.

~

Three men irrevocably ruined my life but by January of my freshman year in college I realized that three different men had the power to completely change everything, for the better; if I allowed them to.

A part of me died the day Father bartered me off to Mr. Pearce. I'll never get that back regardless of how much time passes and how many therapists I indulge with my craziness. The moment someone pries my ribs apart it'll be there for all to see; the charred portions of my heart. I'd long ago accepted that I was damaged goods. As long as no one got close enough they wouldn't be able to see the fractured and corrupted parts of me. No one would be able to see the physical scars left by Mr. Pearce and Mr. McNamara and the invisible ones that hurt just as much.

But three other men were determined to break that barrier. They saw the scars and wanted to dig deeper. Diego may've been the first to see through me but I fought like hell to keep him at arm's length; for my sanity and for my friendship with Carina.

Valentino, Carina's lover, patiently yet meticulously worked himself into my mind and heart, but not in the same capacity as he had with Marco and Carina. What we had was unique, special... If I had a male best friend, I'd consider it to be Valentino. Somehow, someway the man gained my trust and confidence. It didn't happen overnight and it wasn't easy.

And Nicholas, the owner of
Hedonism
... Nicholas just might be my savior. But only time will tell, while that fucking clock keeps ticking.

Time... Depending on the day, the moment; time is an ally or my nemesis. Time away provided freedom, possibilities. But as time passes it means the end approaches. Eventually my time will run out and Father will come after me again. I can't touch my trust fund until my 25
th
birthday, which means unless I'm pursuing a higher degree I'll have to return home dependent upon my bastard father and venomous mother.

Time is on both our sides, for the moment. He can't control me during these four years of college but he gleefully counts down the months until my time is up. Because the moment I return home he'll once again have me under his thumb and regardless if I'm there for only a year, or three, he'll slowly kill the little pieces left of me until it doesn't matter that I have unfettered access to my trust account. He'll fucking own me.

Somehow I blinked and freshman year was over. I can't afford to allow that to continue happening. Tick tock motherfucker. I have every intention of making time my bitch - like I do everything else in life.