By: Michael Lee

Copyright © 2000 by Michael Lee. All rights reserved.

"I need some distraction, oh beautiful release,  
memory seeps from my veins, 
let me be empty and weightless and maybe 
I’ll find some peace tonight.  
In the arms of an angel, fly away from here, 
from this dark, cold hotel room 
and the endlessness that you fear . . ." – Sarah McLachlan

I am an enigma. As a writer, I enjoyed the irony of being characterized as a man of few words. I make my living through the exclusive use of the written word, and yet the world sees me as a quiet man. I move through life at a distance, observing the interaction of others, while hesitating to actively engage those I observe. A product of the public school system, I grew up under the watchful eye of the cold administrators who ensured I was properly analyzed and categorized. Shy, difficult, intelligent, and unsociable, were just a few of the labels used to define me. While the teachers ensured I was neatly placed into a well-defined box, my classmates made sure I never forgot who they thought I was. The names I remember were the usual insults such as pussy, fag, and wimp, as well as the nicknames that still reverberate in my nightmares. Flee, Lee-O-Tard, and Sara-Lee among others. However, instead of retreating in defeat, I retreated in silence. I learned to fight my battles with words, silent words. I fought for my soul not in the halls of my schools, but in the pages of my journal.

As I grew older, I realized that the less I said, the more I wrote. I would endure the teasing of others, and take my revenge in the entries of my journals. My language became my sword, as I sought to deal swiftly and surely with my enemies. It also became my salve, as I discovered the healing powers written confession brought to my soul. I continued this journey until I entered the University of Missouri as a journalism student. My world changed overnight. No longer was I viewed as an outcast. My professors and peers soon recognized the talent I had refined in my youth. I was now an admired and respected student. I exacted my revenge in personal success as my tormentors settled into lives of mediocrity. I vowed to make them suffer as much as possible through my continued success, and was as surprised as anyone at how well I achieved that goal.

As my confidence grew, so did my social standing. No longer the outcast, I became accepted, even among the girls in my class. I began to date, and soon, I won the affections of an exceptionally pretty redhead. Her name was Jordan, a journalism student from Dallas. Her quiet mannerisms attracted me, and I found many of my personality traits mirrored in her lovely eyes.

Strange how I remember the events of my life with crystal clarity, and yet I cannot recall how I arrived here. I have no idea where I am. I think it is December, although I cannot place the date, or the day of the week. I know it is night, since there is no light outside the window. But I do remember one thing. I remember the fear, since I still feel its cold hand around my throat.

A man of few words, that is how I am described by those that know me best. As I sit in this strange motel room, I realize I need only one word as my latest label. Haunted. That is what I see now. As I stand over the sink, I look at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes tell the tale. Today, I say more in one haunted look than I could possibly say in ten thousand words. But today I have decided. I have to try. There is a tale to tell, since a look no longer suffices. I have to tell my story. Perhaps, when I am finished, I can find the peace that now eludes me. Perhaps, by writing out my story, I can recall the images that evade my sight. But I secretly fear the truth won't close the door to the past; I fear it will open the window to the demons that wait outside. I have struggled to keep them at bay for the past few weeks, but their cries stalk my dreams. Each time I close my eyes, they open theirs and start the nightly reign of terror. And every night I awake with her name on my lips. The name of a girl who now walks hand in hand with the demons that haunt my dreams. The girl whose eyes stare endlessly at me from the darkest corners of my memory. Jordan.

What has happened to bring me to the very edge of madness? How could I have taken the steps on this horrific journey without knowledge of the trip itself? But that isn't entirely true, is it? I remember the dream. Oh yes, the one thing I wish I could forget remains crystal clear in my mind, even now. The last concrete memory I have before awakening in this depressing room was the final morning of the dream. The clarity of that dream stands in sharp contrast to the opacity of the recent past. Perhaps, the ease I recall the dream results from my familiarity with it. It had become a regular visitor to my subconscious in the many nights since Jordan and I parted.

The dream remained the same, no matter how many times it repeated. The most surprising element in these nightly episodes was not the memories, nor the visions, but the physical sensations. I remember the cool mist as it surrounded my face. I could feel the rush of silent wind through my hair as I began to run. But it wasn't these sensations that caused me to awaken with a scream each night. It was the final touch that shook me to my very soul.

In the dream, I am alone. It is a dark, moonless night. The mist and fog surrounding me seem to glow from within, coloring the blackness of the night with an eerie tint. I am searching, my mind clouded with suffocating dread. My search ends when I spot the lonely form walking silently through the mist. I stop, studying the shape as it moves away. Suddenly, I recognize the person in the mist. It is Jordan, my lost love. She seems sad, distracted in some way, as she continues her unsteady gait. I call to her, but she doesn't hear me. And then, my unease becomes unbearable as I suddenly realize where I am. With a growing horror, I realize Jordan is rapidly approaching a deep chasm, obscured by the darkness and surrounding mist. She is walking straight towards the edge. I scream again, and begin to run. I feel the wind rushing through my hair as my run becomes a sprint. I am running parallel to the cavernous opening in the earth, attempting to cut her off before she reaches the precipitous edge. I am almost there. Again I scream her name, and now I can see she is crying. Her head is buried in her hands, and she is shaking with the force of the sobs. Again, she makes no acknowledgment of my calls.

Almost there. Just a few steps more. And that is when I realize I am not going to make it. Jordan is still walking, her head in her hands. She takes the last step, and her foot catches at the very edge of the gorge. She must sense the sudden loss of ground, for she drops her hands, and stops in mid stride. She is at the edge now, but her momentum causes her balance to shift past her halted feet. She turns to see me, and reaches for my hand even as gravity takes her and pulls her over the edge. I lunge for her, but I am too late. My fingers reach, and in fate's last cruel gesture, I feel my outstretched hand graze against hers before closing around the cool mist. She falls, soundlessly disappearing from my sight. That is when I awake, screaming her name and soaked with sweat, my heart pounding in my chest. The vision of her emerald eyes vanishing through the mist remains fresh in my tortured mind.

That is all I remember. But I desperately need to remember it all. And to remember the end, I must recall the beginning. Perhaps by revisiting the past, I can illuminate my darkened memory. So that is where I will go. Back to the past, our past, where I can be with her once again.

I see her now. I hear her soft voice once again, and smell her gentle fragrance. I close my eyes, and as my breath catches in my lungs, I am with her once again. My memory takes me back, back to my final year at Missouri, but the beginning of my time with Jordan.

It was a lovely spring day, the first truly warm day of what would become a sweltering summer. The campus was alive with young students tossing aside winter's wardrobe in favor of the less confining fashions of spring and summer. As I walked across the campus on that bright, sunny day, I noticed a pretty girl reclining quietly on a blanket, her legs crossed and her head supported by her hands. An open textbook sat on the ground in front of her. As I approached, my eyes were immediately drawn to the smooth line of her bottom, highlighted deliciously by the tight cut-off shorts she wore. I slowed my pace, hoping to take in more of her shapely form. Her lovely legs were the color of cream, shaped by the toned muscles of her calves and thighs. The swell of her hips complimented the narrowness of her waist. Her long red hair flowed across her shoulders, graciously reflecting the light of the spring sun.

As I walked closer, I finally recognized her. It was Jordan Sinclair, a girl from my Cultural Reporting class. This was the first time I had seen her away from class, and her current attire stood in sharp contrast to the baggy, oversized clothing she typically wore to class. As I passed, I called out my greeting. She turned and smiled at me, looking at me over the top of her sunglasses, flashing me with her brilliant green eyes. After our passing hello's, I continued on to my destination, although my mind was consumed with the image of Jordan lying prone on her blanket.

Looking back, that was the moment I began what later would become an obsession. It started innocently enough, a casual glance at a pretty girl. Had I known the direction that casual glance would send us both, I would have run screaming in the opposite direction. But the forces that would shape our destiny had already chosen this meeting. I couldn't resist her then, and honestly I couldn't resist her, even now. Yes, I knew from that first glance that I wanted to know more about her. Not as a casual acquaintance, but as someone I wanted know completely. Admittedly, I harbored notions of a possible romantic encounter, for when I saw her after class the next day, I decided to ask her out. To my delight, she accepted, and we planned to meet at a local restaurant that evening.

Jordan was a quiet girl. She possessed so many of my peculiar mannerisms, we eventually took to calling each other "Pisces", a reference to the month we met, and the closeness of our spirits. She was far too pretty to be shy, since she never lacked for male attention. Still, she lacked the typical social graces usually possessed by attractive young girls. She struck me as being somewhat uncomfortable in social settings, a situation I was more than familiar with. Maybe that is why we hit it off so well that first night. Perhaps she recognized our kindred spirits as well as I did.

Whatever the reason, we had a splendid time that first night. The food was forgettable, but the romance that blossomed wasn't. I couldn't keep my eyes off her face. She completely entranced me, by the sheer force of her beauty as well as the easy manner we related. Our periodic silences seemed to strengthen our growing bond even more than our intimate conversation. By the end of the evening, we were a couple. We held hands as we left the restaurant, and shared a quick yet passionate kiss at the entrance to her dorm. As I think back on that night, I am startled once again by the innocence of that first date. There were no warning signs, no cautions displayed that could have signaled the impending danger. Jordan's quiet, calm demeanor belied the passion and depravity I would soon uncover. Our first date effectively anesthetized me to the gradual change I would notice as we quickly and tragically fell in love. In many ways, the looming tragedy of our future was sealed that night. The night I fell hopelessly and completely in love with Miss Jordan Sinclair.

Sometimes, I wonder if I would have fallen in love with Jordan if our first date ended as our second. I am still amazed by the transformation. Jordan was always a mystery, a girl hard to predict, and even harder to understand. She created her own rules, and lived her own life. The trap had been set by the illusion of our first date. Perhaps I stayed with her as long as I did to find the girl I had the quiet dinner with. The worst part was how that girl steadily vanished as each day passed. I noticed the change the night of our second date.

It was a Saturday night, and we were just leaving the movie theater. The dinner and movie had been fantastic, and I continued to be enthralled by her. I remember how light her mood was that evening, how she seemed to be walking on air. She was bubbling over with unbridled enthusiasm, and her passion seemed electric. Each casual touch of our bodies sent shock waves of desire through me. I was just about to discover exactly how intense the power of love, especially when coupled with unbridled lust, could be. As we left the theater, she wrapped her arm around my waist, pulling me into her body. Her hand fell to the swell of my bottom, and she gave me a playful squeeze.

"Hey," she said, looking up at me with a smile, "what did you think of that ending? Pretty good, huh?"

"Yes, I suppose it was," I said, laughing. "It was certainly Hollywood."

She stopped for a moment, giving me a questioning look. "Hollywood? What do you mean by that?"

"You know, it was a typical Hollywood ending. The type of neat, happy ending that only happens in dime store romances and Hollywood movies."

"Are you saying you don't believe in happy endings Lee?"

I thought about her question, and the way she had taken my casual observation and turned it into a deep, revealing moment. I sensed there was more at stake than I first realized. I took a deep breath, and turned to look at her.

"Jordan, I believe only what I know to be true. So far, I have seen more tragedy around me than triumph. I have watched as nice, well-adjusted and perfectly happy people met and fell in love. I watched as their love burned brightly for a while, only to fade in time before dying altogether. My parents were caught in a loveless marriage. So were my Aunts and Uncles. I don't recall seeing a single loving touch or longing glance at any family function I attended as a child. So, tell me Jordan, where are the happy endings? All I see are moments of love followed by ages of regret."

Her smile faded slightly. "Wow."

"Wow?" I asked, indicating my return from my sudden moodiness with a teasing smile. "Is that your best rebuttal to my passionate argument over the state of love?"

"It's just that . . . well, I never thought of you as so . . . so . . ."

"Pessimistic?"

"Yes."

"Hey, I try not be. Honestly I do. I learned pessimism at an early age, and it is my first defense when I feel my heart begin to betray me."

"Betray you? How?"

"Oh God Jordan, you can certainly stir the soul can't you?"

"Come on Lee, tell me."

I took a deep breath before continuing. "Honestly, I want the happy ending Jordan. I want it so bad I can taste it. It's just that I have avoided the happy ending to prevent risking the unhappy one. I have always trusted myself, and have never wanted to rely on the presence of another to define my ending, good or bad."

"No, Lee. I can't believe that. See, I believe in happy endings. Don't you see, it's the risk that makes life worth living, Lee. How could you love the day without knowing the night? You have to experience the absence of light, to appreciate the rainbow. You have to take that chance to love, Lee. You have to risk it all for love, at least once."

"Have you done that?"

She stopped, and looked at the sidewalk. "No. But . . ."

"Yes?"

"I feel I may be about to."

Jordan turned, took my hand, and began pulling me along behind her. "Where we going? The car's over there!" I called.

"Come on Hollywood, let's take that chance," she answered, a glow now burning in her wild eyes. "Are you ready, Lee?"

"Jordan!"

"Shhh. Just hush and follow me."

I followed her through the dark streets, my heart now pounding in my chest. Admittedly I had never felt so alive as that one moment, when anything could happen. I sensed we had turned a corner in our relationship, that we had somehow crossed a bridge that neither could return to. I think our fate was sealed that night, in the short conversation upon leaving the theater. I believe Jordan decided to test me that night. That night would start a pattern in which my love could only be proven through a series of tests. Only then could she gauge the strength and purity of my love for her. What happened next was the first of these tests.

From the moment I recognized Jordan on the blanket in the sun, I imagined exactly how making love with her would be. I envisioned us lying together, in a beautiful four poster bed. We would be totally naked, and our first tender coupling would be a testament to love and romance. I never dreamed our first time would occur in a darkened alleyway, caught in the mad grips of lustful desire. I dreamt we would make love, not fuck. But in the first of many surprises, we did exactly that. We fucked.

She stopped as she led me around a corner. Jordan scanned the surroundings, and upon seeing a suitable location, pulled me to a pile of pallets stacked next to a small loading dock. The arrangement created a small sheltered area, effectively blocking the traffic on the sidewalk and street from view. As I opened my mouth to protest she turned and silenced me with a passionate kiss. She tasted of passion and desire, as her tongue danced with mine. Our hands sought the comfort of each other's bodies, pulling each closer to the other until we seemed to merge. I could feel her hot breath against my skin as she placed her lips and tongue to my neck. Her breathing quickened, as our arousal continued to soar.

Once our passions ignited, she quickly moved to fan the flames even higher. Her hand dropped to my stiffening cock, and as she gave me an enticing squeeze, she quickly turned around, and bent forward from the waist. Her invitation was as clear as her intent, and I took her short skirt in my hands and lifted it above her waist. Jordan wiggled her lovely ass at me, pushing back against my cock as she moaned her approval. I hooked my fingers in the elastic band of her silky panties and pulled them to her ankles. My hand reached under her, cupping her pussy as I began to explore her soft treasure. She was already quite wet, and the soft, short intake of breath affirmed her growing passion. As I continued to stroke her, she closed her eyes, and reached down to caress the growing heat between her thighs. Our hands entwined in a passionate embrace of moisture, pussy, and fingertips, as she continued to relish in the delightful sensations radiating from her sex. Finally, just as she began the climb towards her climax, I reached to my crotch, and pulled my cock from my pants.

I took my cock in my hand, and nuzzled it against her searching fingers. She immediately felt the firm head, and quickly wrapped her fist around my shaft. She put the head directly against her opening, and in one long, slow push, I began the journey that would eventually end in unthinkable disaster. As I felt the silky walls surround my shaft, her pussy became my obsession. From that moment on, I longed to be in this very place, my cock buried deep inside her, the look of exquisite passion painted across her lovely face. That night, as I began to fuck her, the sight of her face looking back at me lured me into her trap. The conquest that began with a glance on a spring day, finally ended as she fucked me in a dark alleyway.

I knew I was hooked the minute she called out my name as her orgasm shook her from within. I held on tightly to keep her from falling on her knees. She cried out, announcing her climax with the cries and moans that I lived to hear. Her call was laced with an almost unbearable sadness, one tinged with a loneliness her desperate lovemaking tried to keep at bay. At that moment, I discovered the power her calling, spoken at the height of passion, had on my soul. I longed to hear her come again and again, and devoted my time to the pursuit of that sordid goal.

In that dark alleyway, I continued to fuck her. Her cunt began the rhythmic contractions of orgasm as her cries increased in volume. I was lost in the delightful sensations surrounding me. The risk of fucking in such a lewd manner, in the public alley, thrilled me in unimaginable ways. The sight and sounds of Jordan, writhing at the end of my glistening cock, spun my growing desire to new heights. I wanted more, more of Jordan, more of her pussy, more of her talented fucking, and more of her heart. I wanted it all.

I continued to thrust into her, rocking her with my powerful thrusts. I wanted to fuck her in a way that would ensure she could never forget me, just as I was instantly sure I could never forget her. I held her hips tightly, guiding her onto my cock as I pushed deep inside, the blunt head now opening her completely. I was fucking her to make her mine. I wanted her completely for me, and at that moment, I thought I had won. She began to talk to me, encouraging me with explicit instructions.

"More . . . oh God, Lee . . . MORE! Give me more baby . . . come on . . . fuck me baby . . ."

I continued my slow and steady assault, giving her everything I had. I wanted my cock to fill not just her pussy, but her soul as well. Just as the thick head parted her most private treasure, I wanted it to part the curtains concealing her heart. I wanted her to fall in love with me, since I knew I had fallen for her.

"Lee, oh God, Lee . . . you're fucking my pussy baby . . . come on . . . say it, Lee. . . . please . . . say it."

"Yeah, that's it baby. I'm fucking you Jordan. You feel that, baby? That's me baby . . . I'm fucking you . . . you Jordan. You."

"Yesss . . . Oh God . . . please . . . say it . . . say it again."

"I'm fucking you baby. I'm fucking your pussy with my cock Jordan. God you are so tight baby. Come on, now . . . fuck me . . . fuck me Jordan."

She cried out again, coming a second time, as we continued the hot talk. The deliciously nasty words we said, as well as the intensity of her orgasm, finally doomed me. I couldn't hold back any longer, and with a one last deep thrust, I unloaded my cum deep inside her twitching pussy. On and on it went, filling her, before finally running down the inside of her thighs. My cock softened inside her as I continued to hold her in my arms, neither of us willing to break the coupling we had fought to make. Finally, the spell broke as we were startled by the blare of a car horn. As I backed away from her, the headlights from the approaching car exposed her shapely ass and messy pussy before she could pull the skirt back down. As the car passed, she turned to me, almost falling in my waiting arms. I will never forget that moment. I can remember to this day the softness of her hair against my neck, the comfort of her arms around me, and the scent of our love in the cool night air. I can feel my heart breaking even now, as I remember the promise of that night. God help me, I still love her, even now. As hopeless as that may be.

Now, as I continue to think and write of the past, I am suddenly aware of the hidden signs that eventually doomed our love. And with the opening of each old memory, new ones slowly emerge from the midst of my mortally wounded mind. I now remember where I am, although I still cannot quite piece together how I got here. Along with this realization comes a new certainty, one I had been avoiding since the first night of dream. I now know I will never see Jordan again.

Strange how God designed the brain in the same manner engineers designed power systems. A power system must be able to withstand a short circuit, overcurrent, or overload at any location without shutting down the entire system. Small parts are sacrificed to protect the integrity of the system. As I sit at the battered desk in this musty motel room, I suspect I have lost a portion of my memory in order to protect my mind. Just as a tripped circuit breaker prevents loss of power to other critical sections of the grid, my darkened memory has allowed the remainder of my intellect to remain in the light. In some strange way, I feel each internal breaker reset as I continue to explore the past, looking for clues that will enlighten my memory.

Still, I am frightened. I know something has happened, and I am afraid to learn what it is. I am afraid the damage that caused the initial shutdown is still there. I fear I risk my very sanity by continuing. God has sent me a warning, and the electric impulses that form my subconscious have protected me once. I know that I risk everything by exposing the fault to the light once again. But I have to know. I have to know what happened to me, and to Jordan. So now, I continue to go backwards in time, back to the moment I recognized our love affair was doomed. Until that night, I had hidden my insecurities under the blanket of my love. But on that night, I realized Jordan would never allow me to love her enough. She always wanted more, and on that night nine months after our first date, I was challenged to her next test of love.

The date started exactly as the one before. And the one before that. In fact, we had settled into a pattern of dates that had one thing in common. Alcohol. We did not drink socially, although all our dates began at a bar or club. We drank heavily and we drank for one reason. We drank to escape the personalities we had been born with, and enter the new ones created at the bottom of a whiskey bottle. We relished the way we talked once drunk, and the sober moments became increasingly frustrating. We longed for the deep soul-searching conversations we engaged in once alcohol obliterated the walls of self-protection. We also discovered that our sex life was greatly enhanced by alcohol. All inhibitions were shed, and she and I both engaged in all sorts of wild, impulsive, and sordid sexual encounters. We wanted to push the envelope of physical and emotional sensation to new, unprecedented heights. We engaged in numerous public lovemaking sessions, encounters driven by the inherent danger of the situation. As we explored the delights of anal sex, we found its eroticism depended almost entirely on the taboo nature of the act. We began to incorporate anal sex into all our public sex acts, and the mix of depravity and danger drove us to unimaginable heights of passion. We had entered into a vicious cycle of need and dependency. As with any addiction, we failed to recognize it would take more and more to reach the same level of heightened sexual intensity. That night, I would find out how much Jordan needed to keep her sexual edge, and how far I was willing to go to help her achieve it.

It all began innocently enough. We had spent the past few hours dancing and drinking at one of our favorite clubs. Several of our friends had drifted in and out, and by then, Jordan and I both were at our characteristic level of intoxication. I sat down at our table to rest, exhausted from the last series of dances. Jordan wanted more, and as I explained I was too tired and too drunk to continue, she asked if she could continue to dance. I kissed her, and told her she could do whatever pleased her. Little did I know how prophetic those words would be.

I watched her as I nursed my scotch, and laughed as she began dancing alone in the middle of the crowded dance floor. She looked at me, and blew me a kiss, as she began making suggestive moves with her body. I immediately sensed the shift in her demeanor. Her playful, teasing smile slowly transformed into a look of smoldering lust as her eyes widened and her tongue touched her wet lips. Her hands smoothed over her hips, as she began to gyrate seductively on the floor. She slowly rotated her hips, raising her hands past her narrow waist to rest at the sides of her small bosom. As she danced, the hem of her tight black mini-skirt crept up her thighs, and I could see her erect nipples projecting clearly through her bra-less tight white tank. It wasn't until I saw a large hand cover her small breast that I realized she was no longer alone.

A man had joined her on the floor, and had pressed himself against her back. His hands now explored her body as he took her in his arms. She continued to stare at me, while allowing the stranger to hold her tightly from behind. I could not see his face, since he had taken his lips to the side of her thin white neck. She tilted her head, allowing him free access to her neck. The moment was surreal, and the contrast between his deeply tanned skin and her china white features added an exquisite touch to the erotic picture she was painting before me. As I watched the strange man caress Jordan so openly, I began to experience a myriad of confusing emotions. On one hand, my mind screamed at her to stop. After all, she was betraying my trust, and was doing so directly in front of me. But a deeper, more primitive part wanted her to continue. My sexual subconscious, aided by the alcohol, wanted to become a silent voyeur. I wanted to see how far she would go, and how she would look as she took this stranger in the most intimate of ways. As my mind battled within, Jordan continued the decadent show on the dance floor, oblivious to the conflict raging within me.

By now, Jordan had allowed the man complete access to her body. I could see her breast in his hand, the tight erect nipple pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He slowly rolled it, twisting and pulling in the way I knew she loved. Jordan’s head was thrown back, and she stood in a widened stance. Her hand was now behind her, and I guessed she had the man's cock in her grasp. His other hand had slipped under the hem of her skirt and was hidden underneath the thin material. I could make out the movement of his fingers under the material, and I knew he had reached his destination from the look on her face. He was rhythmically caressing her pussy as they slowly moved together. I knew she was highly aroused, and I could tell she wouldn't take long to come. Again the conflict in my mind intensified. Although I desperately wanted her to stop, I knew she wouldn't. And I was powerless to stop her. I decided to allow her this one moment of unrestricted lust. I knew she would come, but she hadn't actually had sex with this man had she? She wouldn't betray me completely, of that I was sure. And as I smiled at the confident thought, I saw her eyes close, and I watched as she came under the touch of another man.

As she descended from her peak, she turned, kissed her lover, whispered a few soft words, and then returned alone to my table. I thought it was over, and I was ready to ask her to accompany me to the restroom for a quick fuck. But the surprise of the evening was yet to be realized.

"Oh God, Lee," she panted, "that was amazing! Did you see that baby? Did you see how he made me come so easily?"

I stood and kissed her softly on the lips. "Yes, Jordan, I saw it all. You were so hot. God do you know what I would love to do now?"

"I think so baby." Jordan still had that look in her eyes, the wild animalistic look that I had come to know quite well. It was the look that told me she had gone too far to stop. I should have guessed her reply by the look on her face, but the words still came as an utter shock. "Lee, you want me to fuck him don't you?"

I was stunned. I suddenly felt sickened by the whole thing. I had just watched another man touch my girlfriend's most intimate place, and I had allowed it to happen. My silence encouraged her to continue, and now I could see just how far our misunderstanding had taken us.

"Jordan, no. That's not what I want. I . . . I want to make love to you. Not some . . . stranger."

She immediately dropped her eyes. "Lee, I don't believe that. I know you want me to do it, you just don't want to admit it. Come on, you just let me come while you watched."

"Hey, you started it. I never would have allowed it if you had asked first. But you didn't ask baby. You just did it. But now, I can't agree to let some guy fuck you. I'm sorry, I just can't."

"Lee . . . I . . . I can't stop now. I thought you wanted me to do this, so I told him to wait for me outside. Lee . . . come on, I can't stop now."

"Jordan, I'm serious," I said taking her hands in mine. "If you go to him, I'm leaving. Do you understand what I am telling you?" I knew exactly what I was saying, but it still didn't register with her. She was too far gone, and my earlier permissiveness convinced her that she could do whatever pleased her. And she wanted to fuck. The problem was, she didn't want to fuck me, she wanted to fuck him instead.

She pulled her hands from mine, and with a whispered apology, turned and walked out the door of the club. I remained at the table, stunned into inaction by the impossibility of the situation. She had just walked out the door to fuck another man. My love, my Jordan, was about to let another man take her completely, in the way that had been promised only to me. I felt the tear run down my cheek as the weight of the situation hit home. Finally, after several minutes, I stood, paid the bar tab, and headed out the door.

As I walked through the parking lot, I saw two dark shapes moving in the shadows. I wanted to run, to close my eyes and dash to my car, but something made me move closer. It was Jordan and her lover. He had pushed her over the hood of an expensive sports car, and I could see her skirt bunched at her waist. In a cruel mockery of our first time, she pressed her chest tightly against the hood, her lovely naked ass high and proud behind her. I could see his large cock glistening in the light of the overhead street lamp as he fucked her in long steady strokes. Her head was turned away from me, and I was slightly behind them both, so I am sure neither saw me as I watched. And then, she did the thing that finally broke my heart. I could stand no more once I saw her take his cock in her small hand, pull it from her pussy, and place it against her ass. Even as I turned to walk away, I heard her cry out as he pushed inside her tight ass. The sweet, incredibly sexy sound of my Jordan taking a new cock in her lovely ass echoed across the dark parking lot as I pulled the car door closed behind me. The silence that followed was quickly shattered by a new sound, the sound of my heartbroken sobs.

That was the last time I had seen Jordan until two nights ago. The memory of her reckless affair opened yet another page of the journal hidden away in my mind. As I remembered her desperate phone call two nights ago, I also recalled how devastating the two years without her had been. Jordan had called several times after that night at the club. I knew she honestly believed I wanted her to have sex with that man, but I still could not forget the image of her guiding his cock to her treasured ass. I could not take her again, without thinking of the other man violating the same space I wanted so completely. I loved her, that much I knew. I loved her to the point of madness, and that madness had ultimately ruined us. The madness we created allowed her to perform the one act I could never forgive her for. Her final test, administered to assure my complete and unconditional love, ultimately cost her the very thing she sought to prove. My love. She was now alone.

I heard accounts of her decline from various friends over the next few months. I never had first hand knowledge, since I never went back to any of the clubs we used to visit. Our breakup devastated her, and she took refuge in the way I had taught her. She slipped further and further into the grips of addiction. I heard many tales her wild nights. Rumors circulated of her legendary bouts with alcohol, drugs, and depravity. She apparently slept with many men, and each time I learned of her latest excess, I would go to my quiet and empty home, pull out her picture, and cry.

I handled our breakup in the ways I had perfected during adolescence. I became isolated once again, and poured my soul into my journals. I retreated from the pain by refusing to even talk to Jordan. At the very time where a few well chosen words, spoken to her face could have saved our love, I couldn't find the strength to even see her, much less talk directly to her. Instead, I took my pain, and buried it deep inside my journal. I wrote consistently of one theme. I wrote of my belief in second chances. I wrote of my dreams of absolution. I stopped going out, and completely stopped dating. I continued to love Jordan, fighting for her love in the pages of my journals, even as she slipped further and further away.

When she called two nights ago, I remember opening my journal to write. However, instead of writing, I began to flip back through the pages, recalling passages I had written after we had ended. One passage leapt out at me, written one year ago to the day. Even now I can see the words as written on the page . . .

I still cannot come to grips with the path destiny has chosen for us. It has now been one year since the night we ended. From the moment I first saw Jordan, laying on that blanket on that warm spring day, I have only wanted one thing. I have always wanted her to have it all, and to be completely happy. When we first met, I thought I would be the one to deliver her that happiness, and yet I completely failed her. Her decline began the day I asked her out. I find myself wondering where she would be today if I had chosen a different path that spring day. Would she now be happy, safe in the arms of a man that loved her without reservation? Would she have found a man whose love she could accept without having to test? Instead of suffering in her addictions, would she have been secure in a loving marriage? How could my desire for her happiness create nothing but misery? How could I have failed her so completely?

Now I know my destiny. I have to correct what I have wronged. Somehow, someway, I have to wait for my second chance. I have to be ready to help her. I know the time will come when Jordan will want out of the life she has created, and when that moment arrives, I will be there to save her. That is all I live for now, the one moment when fate gives me the chance at absolution. I will not fail her a second time. I could not bear to hurt her again.

Please God, please send her to me once more. Please give us one more chance to find the happy ending she always believed in.

As I remembered those poignant words, the horror of the ultimate ending came flooding back to me. With crystal clarity, the images attacked me, breaking me swiftly and completely. My hands flew to my head to squeeze the demons from my mind once and for all. I felt my grip on sanity slip, and I screamed aloud, cursing my stupidity and ignorance. How could I have believed I could save her? After all, wasn't I the one that always brought her such pain and misery? Too late, I recognized what I should have known all along. Her destiny was not to be with me, it was to be away from me. We allowed each other to tempt fate, to take chances in a relationship that was utterly destructive from the outset. We allowed our love of the impossible to destroy any chance we had at obtaining what we truly desired, and that was the happiness that seemed to elude us. And now, as I completed the breakdown on the motel bed, I laughed at the brutal irony of the end. I wasn't destined to save her after all. In the cruelest twist of fate, my destiny lay in the opposite direction.

The dream should have warned me. All the signs were there, and yet I refused to believe them. So when the call came, I took it eagerly. As I answered the phone on that fateful night, I barely recognized the voice on the other end. It took only a second before I realized my prayer had been answered. It was Jordan.

"Lee? Is that you?" the girl asked, in a voice softened by time.

"Yes, this is Lee. Who is this?"

"Lee, its me, Jordan. Can you talk a minute?"

I was stunned, but excited. My heart leapt in my throat as I realized she was finally here. The moment I had waited on had finally arrived. "Oh God, Jordan. I . . . I can't believe it. Is it really you?"

She paused, remaining silent for several long moments before answering, "Yes, Lee. Its me." Silence.

I was suddenly and acutely worried. "Jordan, are you . . . okay?"

Again her silence said more than words ever could. Even before she spoke, I knew something was dreadfully wrong. "Lee . . . I . . . I need help. Can you, come to me? Please, Lee? I . . . need you so much. I . . . I . . ."

Her sentence ended with her plaintive sobs into the open connection. I listened to her cry, hearing the pain I had such an instrumental hand in creating. I knew what I had to do.

"Jordan, where are you? I'll come get you. Just tell me where you are."

"I'm just outside Arlington, at the Hilton off I-30. Room 226. Please, Lee . . . please come to me . . ."

"Wait there. I'll be there as soon as I can."

I arrived at her hotel just as it began to rain. The impact of the call was nothing compared to the impact of seeing her again. I would like to say time had been kind to her, but she had been living hard and it showed. She had lost weight, and looked thin and pale in the harsh light of the hotel room. Her dress, although fashionable, was faded, and her shoes were scuffed. Her lovely hair had been cut short, above the ears, and although her eyes were still as impossibly beautiful as ever, the dark circles surrounding them testified to the difficulties she had weathered to be here now, with me once again. No words were spoken, or needed as I walked in and took her into my trembling arms. We each broke down and cried, holding each other tightly as if we could shut out the agony bestowed upon us the past two years.

We spent the night in her bed, naked, in each other's arms as we talked about the past. We didn't make love, we only talked. We confessed our sins, asked for and then received our forgiveness. As the morning light broke through the glass, we finally fell asleep, exhausted not only from the events of the day, but also from the weight of the past two years. I fell asleep thinking that just as the sun rose, so did our chances at happiness. I believed that we had finally buried the demons that had terrorized us from the moment we met. Little did I know they had also stepped into the light. No longer confined to the secret landscape of our dreams, they stepped out just as I closed my eyes, sleeping without dreaming of the chase through the mist for the first time in months.

We awoke at six o'clock in the afternoon, rested but utterly famished. She hopped into the shower as I drove out to buy a change of clothes and some basic toiletries. I had decided to stay a few days with her, just Jordan and I catching up, and falling in love again. That night, over dinner I recalled the perfection of our first date, and marveled at how similar this one seemed to be. In addition to the deep conversation, there was an undeniable sexual tension hiding just beneath the surface. She and I moved past the sadness, and a new spark began to ignite as we sought to rekindle our budding romance. By the time dinner had ended, we were in a state of obvious arousal. I never wanted a girl as I did that night. And I could tell Jordan was equally affected. As we walked to the car, I felt we needed to put one event behind us, to make right what once had gone terribly wrong. When I asked Jordan to go dancing with me, she accepted with a passionate kiss and gentle squeeze of my crotch. I had unwittingly invited Jordan to accompany me to the ultimate tragedy.

I guess I wanted to pick up where I thought we had left off two years earlier. The events of that night led to the misunderstanding that destroyed our love, and I wanted to create a new memory, one I knew the old Jordan would love. As we danced, we fell into the same habits that ultimately led to our downfall. We began to drink once again. Somewhere deep in my mind, I knew we shouldn't be here, dancing, drinking, teasing, just as if the past two years had never happened. But they had, and although I knew we were making a mistake, I shook off my unease with the attitude that one night couldn't hurt.

As the evening wore on, we continued to fall deeper and deeper into our previous patterns of behavior. We flirted and teased each other, making suggestive touches and building the erotic tension with comments, gestures, and glances. By the time midnight had arrived, we were each at the end of our rope. Something had to give. She was the first to make the suggestion.

"Lee, are you ready to go?"

"Sure. You ready?"

"Baby, I have been ready since we walked in here." She stopped, then took my hand in hers. "Lee, remember our last night, when you said you wanted to make love to me at the club?"

"Yeah, Jordan. I remember."

"Do you . . . do you think . . . we should?"

I knew what I wanted. I wanted her, just as I had always wanted her. I knew the fire inside burned only for Jordan. This wasn't about sex, this was to be an affirmation. If we did this again, it would prove she still needed me, just as much as I needed her. As always, she was my weakness, and once again, I fell.

"Yes," I said, almost in a whisper. "Please."

She leaned into me, kissing me tenderly as ran her fingers through my hair. She then stood, and taking my hands in hers, led me out the door and into the night. We walked to my car, and she asked me to put the top down. As we drove off, she began to sing along with the radio, the cool night hair swirling her hair around her face. She sang and danced in her seat, releasing her seat belt to allow her arms more freedom of movement. She was completely lost in her sensual world. Once again, I could see the growing look of lust cross her delicate features. As she gyrated in the seat, she reached down and began unbuttoning her blouse. As each button opened, she would pull the material open, giving me a teasing glance at her lacy push-up bra. Before long, the buttons were undone, and she removed the blouse, leaving her clad from the waist up only in her tight black bra.

She leaned over to me, talking loudly to be heard over the roar of the wind, "Lee, pull over!"

"What?"

"Pull over! There, behind that shopping mall. Stop there."

I saw where she was pointing, and turned the car into the empty parking lot. We circled around to the back, out of sight from the road. As soon as I stopped the car, she removed her bra, and reached across the console to unbutton my pants. I could tell this was to be a fast and furious fuck. There would be no time for gently lovemaking, and I shouldn't have been surprised. Her sexual appetite left little room for such timid encounters, and tonight would be no exception. Within seconds, she had my cock free, and as her hand massaged my shaft into the firm shape she desired, she used her other hand to remove her panties from underneath her skirt. Once the flimsy nylon was gone, she crawled into my lap.

She placed her legs at my side, drawing her knees up as she reached down to guide my cock to her wet and willing pussy. For several tantalizing minutes, she slowly stroked the head along her slit, spreading her delicious wetness across her soft outer lips. Her deliberate movements drove us wild with anticipation of the joining we longed for. The moment I had waited for was about to arrive. I was literally within a fraction of an inch of being inside her once again, and could barely stand the exquisite torture she was inflicting upon me.

I started to tell her I loved her right then, but as soon as I opened my mouth, she silenced me with a kiss. Her tongue spoke to mine, the tips touching delicately and sweetly, their restraint and tenderness in direct contrast to the mounting lust building within. I pushed my straining cock at her, attempting to slip past her tight entrance and enter her moist treasure, but she held me at bay, allowing only the head to part her. As my cockhead nuzzled just inside, she held me still. Her tongue teased me, tasting me and caressing me, as she began to squeeze me tightly with her cunt. She continued to tighten, then release, only to tighten again as she worked my cock head within her. Her hand fell to her lap, and within seconds she began to come. Although we continued to kiss through her orgasm, we shared only our breath as she reached a shuddering and gasping climax.

I could stand no more, and as she rode the wave of her passion, I reached behind her and pulled her onto my shaft. I filled her completely. I pulled her closer, my cock sinking deeper inside her hot, slippery tunnel, until the coarse hair at our junction combined into one. She began to move, pushing away from me with her legs before allowing me to pull her back. We quickly established a furious rhythm, and the increasing speed of our union forced us to abandon our kisses. She leaned back against the steering wheel, one hand on her breast, the other on her clit.

I kept my hands firmly on her ass, guiding her onto my cock, fucking her with every ounce of strength I could call from within. The quiet night air was now filled with her delighted cries of passion. No longer could I recall her cries from the night two years ago, as the stranger filled her ass as she lay sprawled across the hood of his car. Now, I could only hear her delight as my cock once again delivered her to the passionate heights she so desperately craved. Once again, she was mine.

"Oh God, baby," she called, gasping as she reached her peak once again. "I'm . . . gonna come . . . again. Please, can I come . . . please?"

"Come Jordan. Come for me baby."

"Oh God, Lee, fuck me baby . . . fuck me . . . please don't . . . don't stop . . . oh God . . . yesss . . . yessssss!"

As she came, I finally reached the point of no return. The delightful pressure began to build within my belly, and I held on as long as I could. When it arrived, I unleashed the pain and heartache from the past years into the air as I screamed out her name. My cum poured from within, filling her with a bath of my love. I cried to her, erupting in a spasm of pleasure and satisfaction. I had finally found her once again, and I knew that no matter what, I would never lose her again.

The cries we launched into the dark, quiet sky that night echoed off the buildings and skipped along the pavement, before awakening the demons that had been born in my dreams. As Jordan settled back into her seat, I felt the first cold drops of rain as the sky above us began to open. Jordan began to laugh, telling me to keep the top down as she struggled to replace her top. Within minutes, Jordan was safely buttoned up. I put the car in gear and pulled back onto the highway just as the light rain eased.

We had driven several blocks when I passed a police car heading in the opposite direction. Although I was safely under the posted speed limit, I checked my rearview mirror, a habit acquired by years of driving under the influence. To my surprise, the police car slowed, and made a quick U-turn behind me. I knew I couldn't get caught, since I was more than likely above the legal limit, so I gunned the throttle and made a series of quick turns, hoping to elude the officer. I wasn't sure if he had turned around because of me, but I had no intention of finding out. As I left the main thoroughfare, the streetlights ended, and the road before us became dark. That is when I realized why the officer had turned around. In the confusion following the unexpected rain shower, and Jordan's struggle to put on her bra and shirt, I had forgotten to turn on the headlights. I reached for the switch, and looked again in the mirror. The police car turned quickly behind me, and I could tell he was speeding up.

We were approaching a hill, and I knew I had one last chance to lose him before he had me in his sights. I reached the hill with the officer still several blocks behind me. As he disappeared from sight over the top of the hill, I floored it. The Mustang quickly responded, and within seconds we were pushing 60 mph down the wet city streets. I had to make the next intersection before he crested the hill. If I could make it, I could lose him, and would once again avoid losing my license.

Almost there, just a few more yards. I quickly checked the mirror once again. Nothing. At the last possible second, I threw the car into third gear, hit the brakes and spun the wheel to make a quick left turn. And that is when I realized my mistake. I had forgotten about the fresh coat of light rain that had just fallen, creating a treacherous mixture of water, dirt, and oil on the road. The Mustang never had a chance. All four tires broke loose at the same time, and the car began to slide. It was over in a second. The car struck the light pole directly on the passenger side door. The impact spun the car around once, and the last sound I remember was the horrific sound of shattering glass.

As I place the pen down on the battered desk before me, I find I no longer need to write. I see it all now. The horror of that night runs like a silent picture through my mind, the grainy images unfolding with astonishing clarity. And the only sound I hear is the sound of the plate glass window shattering like a bomb, as Jordan's body was thrown from the car and through the window of the antique store on the corner. She was dead before I could get to her. I remember the paramedics pulling me away from her lifeless body, blood from the accident covering my hands and clothing. Fate's last insult was leaving my body completely unscratched from the wreck, while ensuring Jordan's was ruined.

One moment of reckless behavior, and here I am. Unscathed, but utterly destroyed. I sit here, holding her picture in my hands, trying to recall her sweet voice, her quiet mannerisms. As I stare at her eyes, I whisper softly to her, choking back the tears that threaten to consume me. I'm sorry, Jordan. I am so sorry. You never got the happy ending you had faith in, did you? The bitter irony of her fate haunts me now, as I struggle to understand how my efforts to save her ultimately killed her. Every step I took brought her closer to the demons that took her life in that brief instant. And now, the absolution I had longed for remains a cruel mockery of my heroic delusions. All along, I was destined for one thing, and one thing only. And that was to destroy her. In the end, I wound up killing the one thing I had vowed to love. Jordan.

But the part that horrifies me the most is the knowledge that the demons are not yet through. Oh no. Not by a long shot. Tonight, they have come for me. They arrived the day I vowed to save her, and called their mark the day she died. And now, I no longer have the will to fight them. If anything, I welcome their visit. I knew my destiny when I wrote the words long ago. I can not bear to live without her.

I turn to look at the clock by the bed. The glowing red numbers inform me that it is 5:38 am. As I walk out the door, the cold air of the December night wraps around me. Dressed only in a tee shirt and jeans, I am not prepared to face the cold. And yet, I have no desire to dress appropriately anymore. Nothing matters, so why should I care if I am cold? I walk to the rental car, start the engine, and pull from the space. Street lights and traffic signals pass in a never ending stream, each seemingly a replica of the one before. I am moving, but going nowhere. I have yet to take the first step on the journey I have in mind.

Finally, I am here, at my destination. As I walk across the concrete, I feel the bitter wind blow through my hair, and I think of Jordan. Her last conscious experience was the feeling of wind through her hair. It seems fitting that mine will be the same. As I step up to the guardrail, I take the cold steel in my hands. Part of me wants to savor the last sensation I experience before I fall. And then, I look up past the guardrail before me, and gaze into the dark empty void. I blink, staring intently at the dark horizon before me. The night is perfectly clear, with the light of a thousand stars shining through the cold night air. There is no moon tonight, and I am struck by the absolute blackness around me. I realize this night has become the perfect metaphor for the turn my life has taken. Blackness or more specifically, the absence of light has become my defining symbol.

But as I stare, a thin, almost imperceptible line of light begins to emerge from the blackness. I watch, transfixed by the dance of light and shadow playing out before me. The minutes tick by, but I cannot move. The light of the hidden sun paints the sky, first in deep reds, then bright oranges, followed by pale pinks. A multitude of color is now splashed across the heavens, and although the sun remains beneath the horizon, I know a new day is dawning. Every ending, happy or tragic, is in fact a beginning. Life hides beauty everywhere, and even at the darkest hour, the light of hidden beauty can chase away even the darkest demons. I watch as the night is erased, and as the new day is born around me, I smile. Although she will remain forever hidden, I smile knowing Jordan’s beauty will forever add the presence of light to even the darkest of days. I smile, and breathe once again.

THE END

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