D E V I N
OVER THE PAST nine months, I went from drowning in the ocean that is my mental illness, trying to stay afloat in the waves of my past to finding a yellow rope of hope, leading to the life jacket that is my fiancé.
Hope for a better life.
Hope that she'll never leave.
Hope that she'll always love me.
Most of all, hope that she'll understand.
An inadequate fantasy for a future, until recently, I thought I'd never get to live, yearning for the illusion of it. But when I met Genevieve, my fears calmed like the ocean does after a hurricane, placid and naked of frights, welcoming a thundering storm with open arms.
What's another typhoon, another whirlpool when I've survived a tsunami?
Genevieve Peterson will keep me safe. She gives me the stability I desperately need. She gives me a strength I didn't know I have, even when the whole world is against me, even when my own mind is against me.
My lips turn upward into a sly smile. She'll be Genevieve Green, in a few more months.
Christ! Just the sound of her new name makes me rock fucking hard.
Nights of jerking off in the shower will never satisfy this craving. Dreams of thrusting my cock inside her folds will never drench my desire to be inside her.
I want her.
I want her more than I want to breathe. More than I want to sleep. More than I want to survive in this godforsaken world.
Her nonsensical arguments about a God that doesn't exist and staying a virgin until marriage are driving me insane. I will never understand that logic. Does she really think she won't be allowed into "Heaven" because she had sex before marriage?
I'd like to believe my future wife is smarter than that. I'd like to believe she doesn't need futile words from a book written by humans thousands of years ago to know right from wrong.
However, I won't hurt her feelings with my opinions. I stay quiet whenever my mouth reaches her pubic bone and she asks me to stop. I push off the bed, kiss the top of her head, and walk to the place that's become my nirvana in the last two weeks she's moved in with me: the bathroom.
The worst part about living with my fiancé is that now I can't even jerk off because she asks me all the time why I take so long in the bathroom and what I am doing in there. Whenever she asks that question, I give her a knowing look, but she's oblivious to it. Her forehead furrows in the cutest way and the corners of her lips twist in the sexiest pout.
And I see nothing. Nothing but those plump lips wrapped around my cock as she looks up at me from under thick lashes, moaning in appreciation of my taste. Yet again, I turn around and practically stumble to the bathroom before I embarrass myself like a horny teenage boy.
The fact that she doesn't know how sexy she is makes my infatuation for her reach the highest peak, climbing until I reach the summit and the only way down is to fall. And fuck if I haven't fallen for her, broken my limbs, and casted them in valor. Loving her is like going into a battlefield. I know the consequences such a dangerous act has on my life. However, the prize is worth it.
Genny's worth it.
No woman has ever driven me to this extent. None of them loved me as she does. None of them saw me as more than a hookup. But she finds me deserving enough to be a husband. Her husband.
I can't blame them, though because I saw each and every one of them as they saw me. Being young, all I wanted was one thing. The faster the better, so I didn't have to be around them more than I needed to. The farther from school the better, so I never ran the chance of seeing them again. That was until I met her and for the first time dared to fall asleep and dream.
To this day, I still think I'm dreaming and I dread the thought of ever waking up.
I breathe a heavy sigh, my eyes losing moisture the longer I stare at her. Right now she's bent over and reaching for something inside one of the many boxes that pile our living room. Her ass peeks out in a provocative way, daring me to bite it.
I adjust myself before she turns and get up from the couch. Hearing the familiar jingle of a collar, I stop in my tracks. Genny's mission might be to possibly turn my balls into dried blueberries, but Angie's is to follow my every move. Seriously, she follows me everywhere.
The kitchen, the balcony, the dining room, the living room, even the freaking pantry. I draw the line when she tries to sneak into the bathroom with me.
Sometimes it feels like I'm running a zoo. Curious George always asking questions and Angie always running around behind me.
Seeing as neither of us wants to buy a house soon after marriage and, although Genny's lease doesn't end until November, we decided it was best to move into my apartment as it's a more stable place for rent in the future.
In the two weeks she's moved in, Genny's managed to turn my bachelor/man-cave of an apartment, into an after shot of a home decorating TV show.
Lamps. So many lamps. Cushions. All sizes, all colors, all shapes, plop on my couch, making the once manly leather into a piñata of colors.
I thought I knew everything there was to know about women as I lived with four of them, but my girl takes things to a whole 'nother level. She says she's not into decorating. I laugh at that, after all, she is her mother's child.
Mrs. Peterson's image kills my erection and I feel normal enough to walk back to my seating spot, Angie following behind.
Yesterday, Genny and I agreed on a winter wedding. We haven't concluded the date yet and haven't talked much about the venue or guest lists, but so far it looks like we're on the same page.
What I have to focus on at the moment is a job. It's been two weeks without a paycheck. Two weeks Genny has had to pick up my slack and pay for groceries and bills. Not just our rent but her apartment's rent as well.
Even though we're not using the space but for storage, there's no way she can break her lease. She's stuck paying two bills now because of me.
I'm tired of it. It's my job as a man to provide for her, give her whatever she asks for, whatever she wants and needs. I can no longer do that as I have no job. My hands are fucking tied.
I won't allow her to pay my debt, not just because $10,000 won't do shit to cover it, but because it'll feel like castration. Maybe other men are happy with having a sugar mama, but I'm not like that. I will fight teeth and fucking nail until I clear out my debt on my own without her help. It's mine and mine alone. And I will get my finances under control. I just need to find a new job.
Scrolling through the plethora of companies looking for computer programmers in the area, an email notification from a distant family member pops on the screen, chilling my veins until my entire body turns Arctic at the subject header.
Perry Ellis Green.
When was the last time I saw this man? When was the last time I hugged him or shared jokes? I run a hand through my grown-out hair, reminding myself I need a haircut.
Maybe it was when my grandmother tried to take me from my mom. Or maybe when Dad was alive. I can't remember. The most I can remember is a fishing trip with Dad and cousin Clark. Dad's side of the family hates my mother, meaning we never had a close relationship, so why the fuck is he emailing me for?
Without wasting another second, I open the email, the clicking sound of the mouse mimicking my heartbeat.
"Hey, whatcha looking at?" Genny asks, walking to the couch and sitting on the arm.
I rub my temples, willing the headache to vanish and not understanding the moisture building in my eyes. "It's an email from my dad's brother."
Her brows furrow. "What does it say?"
"My grandmother died."