Forbidden Love

  Forbidden Love

  By

  Jack Gunthridge

  Forbidden Love

  Jack Gunthridge

  Copyright 2013 by Jack Gunthridge

  Smashwords Edition

  ISBN: 9781311740519

  Author's note: All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

  Chapter One

  When I first met him, he was way off limits. And I didn’t think of him in that way, since he was dating my mother. He was younger than she was. Even though he was a couple of years older than I was and extremely nice, fun to be around, and handsome, I didn’t think of him as anything other than one of my mother’s boy toys. He seemed to be more style than substance, which pleased my mother. She would date men like this in an attempt to deceive herself that she was aging. I never knew if the men were dating her for her money, for her advanced sexual techniques she flaunted about in her conversations, or for the fact that she put out.

  I don’t mean for that to sound bad. Men have a habit of knowing which women are easy to bed. Even he has said, “Men are like electricity. We take the path of least resistance.” Of course, he said it with a twinkle in his blue-grey eyes and with a smile playing on his lips. I have always found him to be the most handsome, the most charming, and the most aggravating at these times. I’m torn between wanting to kiss him and wanting to smack him as hard as I can. I don’t think it would bother me so much, but I get the feeling he knows I find him attractive and is playing with my head and emotions. It’s like he’s trying to get me to admit something, so he can then deny he feels the same way.

  I don’t think he would affect me this way, but… Since I first met, my opinion of him has changed. He is my best friend, and yet, in a lot of ways, I don’t really know him. The more he lets me in, the more he seems to be a mystery to me. I get the feeling he enjoys being a mystery.

  He met my mother at a wedding. She came up to him and asked why a good looking guy like him wasn’t dancing.

  He said, “I’ve grown tired of the game. This is the sixth wedding I’ve been to this year. The bride and bridesmaids might change, but it’s always the same group of women my age trying to find a man to prove to the world they are successful. They don’t care what the man is like as long as they can somewhat get along with him enough to get married and pop out at least one kid before she hits thirty and thinks she’s going to suddenly become barren.”

  His game… His game may be that he doesn’t see love as a game at all.

  Once, when he was single for an extended period of time, I asked him why he wasn’t seeing anybody. Without disclosing too much, I told him he was handsome, successful, sensitive, and good with children. He would make any woman happy.

  He told me, “That’s the problem with women. They’re always judging a man by his market value. I wasn’t born to be any woman’s possession, and I’m not going to sell my genetic stock at a discount price just to make myself somehow feel accomplished by continuing the human race.”

  He said it with a charming smile and without taking his eyes off of mine. It was like he was daring me to make him settle down. As we both waited for the other to cut the tension that was building, he finally broke it while breaking my heart and making me want him more.

  “Did your mother ever tell you about the first time we made love?”

  I shook my head no. It was all I was capable of doing as I tried to hold back the tears.

  “It was the first night I had met her. I don’t remember now whose wedding it was. I know she approached me in a sexual manner and wanted me just for my body. I flirted back because she was different from every other woman there. She knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it, even if there was the possibility of the younger man turning her down because she was no longer as young as she once was.

  Youth may have no longer been her ally, but she had confidence, poise, and the ability to carry on an actual conversation. She wasn’t interested in me as a potential husband. She was interested in me as a person.

  Between the alcohol and the dancing, what I remember most about that night was how she pointed you out to me on the dance floor. You were with Rick then. She told me how much she loved you and thought you were making a mistake by seeing him. She wished you could see yourself the way she saw you, so you could realize how much better you could do than him. She told me about how important you were to her and how you were there for her when she had endometrial cancer.

  As we continued to dance and talk, I could see her becoming torn between wanting me to be with you and taking me for herself. I ended up making the decision for her when I kissed her. You were still young and didn’t know what you wanted out of life. Your mother was a lady that needed me.”

  I had heard about their first time several times, but it was always from my mother’s point of view. Before I knew him, I thought she was just telling me about her sexual exploits to let me know how well-endowed he was or the way his abs looked while he was making love to her

  Then everything about him began to make me wish that it was me kissing him with my left arm around his waist and my right hand on the back of his head pushing him in closer to me. His hands are lifting up my dress and caressing my back side. He’s pulling me in closer to him to where I am aware of growing desire through his jeans.

  As we pause to catch our breath, he pulls my dress up over my head and tosses it aside. With my skin bared, he goes in for my neck and works his way to my shoulders. As I throw my head back in ecstasy from the wonderful touch of his lips, he undoes my bra with such ease as if this is not his first time.

  I don’t know what it was about the touch of his hands, but I let out a sigh that was a mini-orgasm in and of itself. His hands gently slide down my back and rest around my waist. They then stop, and I open my eyes to see his beautiful blue-grey eyes looking at me wanting some sort of response.

  I pounce on him. He tries to return the passion I am giving him by pulling me closer to him so that his forearms are on the upper part of my bare back and his fingers go under my bra straps. I slap his arms off of me. With a stunned look on his face, I bite his bottom lip and tell him through clenched teeth, “You’re mine.”

  As he goes willingly into submission, I kiss him as if he is a meal I cannot get my fill of. I work my way down his neck and take in the smell of his aftershave. As I get to his shirt, I forcibly pull the two sides apart until the buttons come out of the holes.

  We are both breathing hard by this time. He sits down on the bed and starts to undo his belt and pants as I take off my bra and throw it to wherever it might land. As he continues to take off his shoes and pants, I scoot over behind him. I run my fingers through his hair dark, black hair, pull him back towards me, and nibble on his ear. My breasts are against his smooth back. I can’t stop myself with just his ears and neck. I kiss his shoulders and muscular back while my hands feel his pecks.

  He has stripped down to his underwear. I push him down on the bed. I hold his arms down to let him know I’m in control. As I’m holding them down, they are bent at the elbow so that he is really flexing. Little tufts of armpit hair are sticking out. I’m straddling him as I’m pinning him down. He’s letting me do with him as I please.

  I find myself licking the outline of his biceps before working my way to his pecks. He’s a lean, muscular man. He’s not bulked up like he spends the majority of his day at the gym. His nipples… His nipples are small and like a delicious delicacy that sit gently atop his firm pecks. My tongue plays with them and my mouth takes them in and then gently blows on them as I gage his reaction from the feel of his dick through his cotton underwear as it rubs up next to my lace panties.

  As much as I want to play with him, I can’
t fight the prize that is waiting for me. I slide my body down his. My hands get to enjoy his muscles as my bare breasts conform to his clothed penis. I release him from the prison of his cotton boxer-briefs.

  I don’t know how big he is, but I’m able to comfortably stroke him with both hands while still having enough room to gently suck him and have my tongue tease him. He has a sweet saltiness to him that I could enjoy all day.

  Before I can get my fill, he gently takes my hand which is resting on his upper leg. I look up at him while I’m taking one of his balls into my mouth. He motions for me to come up to him.

  I slink up to him so I’m on top of him. As we kiss, he rolls me over so that he is on top. He whispers in my ear, “Now I will let you know you’re mine.”

  Most guys fondle your breasts, or slobber all over them in their excitement. He handled them as delicate little orbs that were objects of beauty to be cherished. He ate of them like they were a delicious apple where each bite was to be savored. With each bite, he made my own self-consciousness and insecurities disappear.

  By the time he kissed his way down to my panties and kissed me through them, I was ready for him. I wasn’t prepared for him to take them off of me and to go down on me. Most guys would have considered this enough foreplay and then start to satisfy themselves. Not Jack. He builds the tension to where you can’t wait for him anymore while making you feel like you are the most beautiful woman in the world.

  As more of my insecurities faded away, I found my right hand running my fingers through his hair, grabbing it at times, and pushing and pulling him as he continued to drive me to pleasure. His right hand was on my thigh. My left hand caressed his forearm before intertwining his fingers into mine.

  On the verge of orgasm from just his mouth, I pull him up towards me. I kiss him as if I could never get enough of that mouth. The warmth of his kisses linger in the area no man has ever made feel so alive. I feel more warmth from him that I can’t wait to feel deep inside of me.

  He didn’t disappoint me, whether I was on top or bottom or from behind. I didn’t want his body to be separated from mine.

  I cum three times before he finds his release. I grab his ass as he does. I hold him close to me and don’t allow him to pull out. He falls on me exhausted. As our sweaty bodies rub against each other as if they are one, I pull his head close to my mouth. “Stay inside of me.”

  I don’t know how long he stays inside of me. I only know I felt him going soft and then getting hard again. It was like I was emptying him out. He was giving me all he had, and I felt like no matter who either of us had ever been with, we now belonged to each other.

  That is the sex I could have had that night. Instead, I was dating Rick. Rick is a good looking man. He’s a bit of a frat-boy. He’s arrogant, self-entitled, and feels like women should appreciate him for the gift he is to them.

  He’s the father of my child, whom I wouldn’t trade for anything. Instead of being with Jack, the man who chose my mother over me, I was with Rick, the man who made me question so much about myself. He tore me down as he was building himself up. We would fight, and I would stay for the makeup sex and because I thought I could never do better than him.

  I don’t know why Jack chose my mother over me that night. I have always kind of thought it was because he knew Rick had me pretty messed up. Then again, I think he likes women who are in need of a man and can truly appreciate what he has to offer them.

  The part I have always been jealous of from their first night together was what happened after the sex. They are laying in bed, and Jack notices my mom’s scar from the surgery to remove the endometrial cancer. He asked her about it and listened to her talk about it. He kissed her in a loving and gentle manner across the length of the scar. He then told her she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

  Maybe I would just like for him to kiss my emotional scars and make me that way. That is what hurts the most about being his friend. I’ve only gotten a portion of what he has to offer. I keep wanting more of him.

  Chapter Two

  He once told me he was the ultimate bad boy. He’s kind, caring, a good listener, has a job, great with children, funny, sensitive, knows how to cook and clean, and has no desire to be married. Among the other qualities he forgot to mention were handsome, the ability to understand women, and being a writer of romance novels.

  When I first met him, he was just starting out in the business. He was working for a small magazine publisher in New York. In the beginning, I thought he was using my mom as a way to advance his career through her various contacts. His career did start to take off while they were dating. Looking back on it now, I think she was helping him out because she loved him and saw something in him. As much as he wanted to make it on his own, being in love with her made him do things he wouldn’t normally do, like accepting help.

  When they first started dating, my mom introduced him to people at parties and what not. He was treated as nothing more than arm candy to the other moguls, socialites, and social climbers. I couldn’t really blame them for treating him that way. My mom’s past seemed to indicate a pattern of younger men looking for more in life than what they had been born with. If she was using them for sex, it was only fair they should use her as well.

  Jack, being the type of man that he is, saw through the fakeness of it all, even if he allowed the other women my mother’s age to believe they could ever be with him if it didn’t work out between him and my mother. They would introduce him to their husbands, who were bigger publishers and people in the industry. He knew he was being used and felt disgusted by it. The husbands played along as their wives wanted younger men. If it kept their wives satisfied while they went after younger women, what difference did it make? Youth and sex are just as much a commodity as fame and fortune. Jack said, “It’s all just a giant game of Monopoly where you make deals to get something else that you want.”

  At a party, I saw him work the crowd and then step out on the balcony for a breath of fresh air. It was like he couldn’t live with himself and what he was doing. I knew he was at a moment of weakness, and I wanted to expose him for using my mother.

  I was calm and sure of myself as I confronted him. He looked at me and said, “Have you ever loved somebody and wanted to make them happy? Sometimes you do something against your own basic morals because you don’t want to disappoint that one person you care so much about. Somehow, you just can’t get that person you are closest to to hear what you’re saying or how much you are hurting yourself trying to make them happy. As you continue to struggle with living with yourself, you ignore the voice in your head that keeps telling yourself you are doing things you promised to yourself long ago that you would never do.”

  He then looked at me with those blue-gray eyes, which seemed to cut right through my soul.

  “No, I guess you wouldn’t. By the way, how are things going with Rick?”

  I don’t know whether it was his words, his eyes, or the smile on his face letting me know he understood me better than I thought that cut me the hardest and the deepest. Before I could recover from the wound, he continued, “The saddest part is you know what is inside of you that other people can’t seem to see because they only see you as some sort of property on somebody’s arm. But how does a watch tell its owner, whom it loves, that it wants to be more than a prized possession without losing the love of the person it is cherished by? Even being a watch and being close to them is better than not being near them at all.”

  One time at my mother’s house, I had seen him naked as he was getting out of the shower, but I had never seen him stripped bare until that night. We stopped pretending we were in control of our lives and we were happy with how our mid to late twenties were going. We became friends. We didn’t judge each other or any of our life choices. I was glad to have him in my life.

  A few months after that, he gave me a manuscript he had written. All he said was, “I think you’ll like this. It’s about a girl torn between a guy t
hat looks like Channing Tatum and a guy that looks like Adam Levine.”

  He never said it, but I think he wrote it about me. The Channing guy was Rick. I was blinded by his classic good looks and muscular body. I couldn’t see everything else he was doing to me. The pain was worth the pleasure of having that body to comfort me. While I was dating the man I shouldn’t, there was a less classically good looking man, who was really hotter, standing in the wings waiting for me to make a decision before he would save me.

  Whether I was supposed to or not, I gave it to a friend in the publishing industry. That’s when he became famous.

  I did it because I loved him. I thought it would be my way of saving him. If he could escape being just a watch and become an actual person, I felt like there was hope for me, too. Life had another way of working it out.

  As his fame grew, he started to come out of my mother’s shadow and be seen as his own person. Younger women were hitting on him. They had fallen in love with the character he had based on himself. The women my mom’s age started to pursue him, too. When who you are with determines your value in a society, he was a commodity that others wanted in order to improve their own stock.

  He tried to make things work out between him and my mom. He says their relationship ended because she destroyed the beauty he once saw in her. To compete with the younger women, she turned to plastic surgery. He told her he liked her the way she was. She couldn’t ever seem to hear the words he was saying. He said that was what hurt the most about it all. You love somebody, and you know they are doing something to try to please you. But the person is so intent on what they think you want and need that they miss the point entirely.

  He told me, “I would have kissed a million of her cancer scars to make her see the beauty I saw in her. But there’s nothing I can do to make a woman feel beautiful when she thinks she has to change to make me happy.”