Always Sayin’ // 3:29 – 4:06

Categories: Club D, repeat fuck, slut stories

You’re always sayin that it’s all going better. Well I’ve seen you, and it needs to. God I hope it’s all going better for you. And you’re saying that it tastes so much sweeter. Well I’ve been there, and it’s bitter. God I wish that I could feel sorry for you.” – The Littlest Man Band

Over the weeks of knowing Private Pyle two things had happened. He’d earned his nickname & I had realized he was up to some bullshit. The chaos gremlin that controls (at least) half of my brain can’t help giving people enough rope to hang themselves & seeing what they do it with. Usually they string themselves up faster than a desperate man trying to fuck an especially saucy looking marinet. I love to see what plays out & you guys can’t deny it usually makes for some interesting stories.

But sometimes (often) I chaos gremlin a little bit too close to the sun & my tiny gremlin ass gets burned.

We quickly went from fucking at the club to him sneaking me into his (mom’s) house to me having to meet his whole family as a consequence. I swear to god this little shit was in his mid-twenties, but was also mid-divorce & given all the information he’d given me in the weeks of knowing him, consciously or not, kind of a hapless idiot.

Fine enough for a fuck friend, but again, it was clear he had some other motives besides fucking me by just his insistence on wanting to invite his (soon-to-be ex) wife to the club again. They’d been before, but it wasn’t really her bag, but he was certain he could show her the light if she just came with him as friends. They’d always made better friends than lovers according to him.

Another balmy night at the club, sitting out back basking in the clouds of smoke & fruit flavored mist and moonlight. At this point, I’ll be honest I’d grown pretty bored (and annoyed) by Private Pyle and his antics. I’d started to ignore his messages (what few and feeble he’d send) but on this particular evening, he’d managed to get his (probably-by-now ex) wife to join us for a night of good ole fashioned American debauchery behind the sacred walls of Club G and the chaos gremlin in brain started to scratch at the inside of skull again.

I sat in my usual spot & watched Joe doing the same thing he’d be doing weeks earlier: playing on his 3DS. In strolled Private Pyle looking mighty proud to introduce the woman who lived rent free inside of his mind. I smiled, introduced myself & noticed immediately Pyle was about to act up.

She sat down across from us on the steps into the dance floor as we made small talk & Pyle did his best to paw on me in ways he’d never bothered to before, including but not limited to grinding his semi-hard dick on my back.

I looked at his ex-whatever-the-fuck to see what her reaction to all this was & instantly weeks of wondering if it really was some high school level bullshit was confirmed. This asshole was trying to use me as a pawn to hurt another woman who to my knowledge (and his own words) hadn’t done a damn thing wrong except not want to be with him. After I shrugged off his hands & dick, clearly not getting the message, he grabbed my face & tried to shove his fat tongue down my throat to the second hand embarrassment of his obsessive ex-love interest & first hand embarrassment of me. I shoved him off & told him he needed to stop. At the very least for the night, if not indefinitely. If he touched me again, whatever he touched me with was being returned to him in some form of pain.