Perverts 'R' Us

Carrying the Shame

By Danyealle ( M/F, Rom, Plot )

Sitting on the edge of the bluff, the salty ocean breeze blowing softly, ruffling her hair, she looked off over the vast expanse of green water. Waves crashed ashore with that familiar sound that seemed to be almost part of your life if you grew up near the ocean. It was as if your blood ebbed and flowed with the tides and salt water was part of your body. Hugging her legs tightly with both arms, her chin resting on her knees, she stared off over the vast, never-ending expanse, eyes filled with tears, salt streaks down her face from the ones already shed.

As the sun started to sink into the horizon and the sky became the fiery red it always did as the day ended, it appeared she hadn't moved a muscle, still sitting there, eyes staring off over the water. Even as the silken black of night wrapped around her, she didn't move, sitting there as if carved of stone, not feeling the cooling night air or the wind picking up. Only her eyes showed any kind of life, shimmering in the low light from the tears standing in them.

This is where he found her, finally. Pulling up behind her sporty little car, he shut his SUV off and leaned back in the plush bucket seat, staring at her, relief filling him. But now he was unsure of what to do. Did he leave her alone and let her deal with her pain herself, or did he go to her and lend his support? After a mental tug of war, he climbed out of the vehicle, grabbing her jacket from the back seat, and walked over to her. She looked up at him as he sat down beside her and put her jacket around her shoulders.

Looking at him, tears still shimmering, she whispered, "You don't have to do this. You don't have an obligation to me of any kind. Walk away if you want, I won't fault you for it."

Gently taking her hand, looking at the long link of horizontal scars that stretched all the way to the bend of her elbow, the self-inflicted punishment on herself for perceived wrongdoing, he looked into her eyes and smiled. "I know I don't, I'm doing it because I WANT to, no other reason."

A fresh wave of tears streamed down her face as she looked at him. "You don't understand! I'm not…"

Putting a finger to her lips, he shushed her and smiled. "You ARE a good person and I don't care what you did in the past. It's who you are NOW that matters to me. And that person is wonderful and caring."

Letting out a small sob, she pressed to him and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly, and head resting on his shoulder. Holding her close he stroked her shoulder length, raven-colored hair softly. He just held her while she cried on his shoulder, letting her release everything.

They had met in college a couple years before. He was in his last year of an engineering degree. While standing in the hall, talking to friends between classes he had seen her for the first time. She had cut through the crowd in the school hallway with ease, as if there was no one there at all. Sure, there were plenty of other Goth chicks around, but she was different. Unlike a lot of the others, her pallor and pale skin wasn't from make-up; it was natural, as if she had never been out in the sun. Her dark make-up was flawless, almost as if it was tattooed perfectly onto her skin.

While black hair is fashionable with Goths, they usually have to dye it to get the color. Hers appeared to be natural, with a healthy sheen to it. Under the harsh florescent lights the crown appeared to be blue-black. From the toes of her well-worn Doc Martins to the leather jacket she wore, everything on her was black except for the bright silver cross that hung from her right ear and a couple of silver chains around her neck. The ratty jeans and tight tank top were a faded black, obviously having been worn many times. Black leather fingerless driving gloves were on her hands. Buckled around her wrists were a couple of studded dog collars, as was the fashion. But unlike a lot of Goths, her nails weren't painted the traditional black. Instead there was no polish on them at all, since she appeared to have bitten them down to the quick on a regular basis. As she navigated down the busy corridor, she cut through the crowd confidently, nodding to those that greeted her before disappearing out the door that led to the quad. He was hooked on her from that first look.

Like most men and the fear of rejection they had, it took him a couple of weeks to build up the courage to ask her out. But he never regretted doing so. After the first couple of dates where they tried to get to know each other, they clicked. She often told him she felt they were soul mates, fated to be together. Well, that wasn't something he knew about, but he did know there was an electric connection between the two of them that he felt on their first date.

After his graduation, they moved in together. He had found a good job with a local firm and she went back to school, she still had two years to go to get her degree in creative writing. Coming from a smallish town from deep in the Bible belt, he was still a bit of a hick about things. His ultra-conservative raising hadn't prepared him for someone like her. A free spirit, she always was trying new things and experimenting with things she hadn't done before just for the experience. She took him to plays and art shows of students from campus that were eclectic and out of the norm. She dabbled in all kinds of things, from new age religions to enlightenment sessions. Despite the oddness of some things, he found the ride to be most educational and eye-opening.

From the beginning, she had told him she had problems, emotional ones, and was in therapy trying to work them out. That wasn't something he had encountered before, but knew enough to know that at least she admitted that she had a problem, and was trying to deal with it. Like all couples, they went through good times and bad, ups and downs here and there, but each time they worked through them.

Six months ago, something happened that caused her to start to spiral downward into a very dark pit of depression. Over her protests, her parents came to visit them. It was clear, to him anyway, that she wanted no part of them or to even see them. It was odd, any other time when she didn't want to do something or it made her uncomfortable, she was assertive about saying no, but somehow or other she didn't have that strength when it came to her family.

His upbringing had taught him to respect his elders, but her parents taught him that there are some elders that deserve no respect whatsoever! While not overtly emotionally abusive, the subtle jabs and disapproving nature about almost everything she did and every part of her life were just as bad as if they had come right out and told her she was worthless.

One night after dinner, and too many drinks on her mother's end, the woman went on a rant about how much trouble Sabra had been as a child. How she was a liar, a slut, and always caused trouble. Ranting on, the woman went into how much money she had spent on therapy for the girl because she had emotional problems, even detailing how Sabra had 'wanted to get attention' by cutting on herself and trying to kill herself many times. Then the woman went on to accuse her daughter directly of trying to break up her marriage by making up lies about her husband, how she didn't want her to have a life and be happy, and how she had hated Brandon, her stepfather, since she started seeing him.

Sabra, his strong-willed love, didn't even try to defend herself. She just sat, curled up in a chair, eyes lowered, saying nothing. Any other time if someone had said something like that to her, she would have reared up and let them have it back. But coming from her mother, she said nothing, looking down at the floor and taking it. It took him saying something to stop it by telling them he had to get to bed. Before they left, her mother pulled him aside and 'warned' him not to marry her daughter, saying she would only bring him grief. He let the older woman have it, making it clear that they were not welcome to come back.

But the damage had already been done. Sinking deep into herself, Sabra withdrew into a shell, not letting anyone in. Not knowing what to do to counteract what was done, he did the only thing he could think of. He was there for her and tried to be supportive. As each day passed she seemed to sink deeper and deeper into the pit of depression, giving up things that she had always enjoyed. Feeling helpless, he could do nothing but watch as she seemed to drift away. Her therapy sessions continued, but they didn't seem to do much good any more.

The week before it had all come to a head, while he was at work, he got the strangest feeling. Like a spray of icy water the feeling that something was wrong and that she was in trouble washed over him. Not thinking to question it, he took off for home, desperately trying to raise her on the phone the whole drive. When he got to the apartment he found her curled up in their bed, wrists slit from the palm of the hand up to the bend of the elbow. Without thinking, he wrapped towels around both her arms and called 911. Holding her tightly, he talked to her, begging her not to leave him until the emergency crew arrived.

While she had lost a lot of blood, she was going to make it, thanks to him. He had gotten to her in time. Understandably, she spent a week in the hospital to help her through the crisis and had come home that morning. It was then that she sat down and told him everything. From the way her mother had acted when she had visited, he had assumed Sabra had been abused, but until she told him he didn't know the true extent. Not only that, but he hadn't guessed that her stepfather had abused her sexually. That visit had thrown her into turmoil and brought everything she had hoped to escape by leaving home back to her, triggering the depression. After she told him all of it, she told him that she would understand if he chose not to be with her and left.

Putting a finger under her chin, he tilted her head up and smiled down at her, gazing into her yellowish-hazel eyes, "I don't CARE what happened to you in the past nor about any problems it causes you now. I LOVE YOU! So those problems are just part of making this work. I am NOT going to leave you because you have problems."

Looking up at him, tears spilling down her cheeks, she whispered, "Thank you, Evan."

Standing up, he held his hand out to her and helped her up, and then he walked to his SUV. When they arrived home, he carried her into the house and to the bedroom. Laying her on the bed, he slid up beside her and held her close. Holding her to his chest, he kissed her softly and tenderly. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him back. Within a couple of minutes, that tender kiss became more insistent and passionate, mouths devouring one another.

With a reckless abandon, their clothes were ripped off and tossed onto the floor. With his mouth locked onto hers, he crawled between her legs. Immediately, her legs wrapped around his waist and held him, while her mouth devoured his and her hands rubbed up and down his back. Holding his throbbing cock steady, he guided it to her entrance and then eased it all the way into her. Arching off the bed, driving it all the way into her, she moaned loudly. After adjusting himself to a comfortable position, he started to slide in and out of her wet tunnel, slowly but insistently.

Digging her heels into the small of his back, she thrust herself onto him, whimpering and moaning, her fingers sliding into his thick mass of dirty blonde hair. Breaking off the kiss, she looked up into his pale blue eyes, her own cloudy with desire. Locking his gaze with hers, he licked his dry lips and moaned softly while his thrusts became more insistent. One hand snaked down between her legs and found the little bump of her clit, then rubbed it softly the way he knew, from experience, that she loved it. Almost instantly he could feel her walls start to contract around his throbbing member, as if trying to encourage what he was doing. The faster his finger worked, the harder he thrust into her, his breath coming in loud gasps. Softy, she cried out his name over and over, her fingers entwining in his hair.

Grunting loudly, he started to thrust faster, sweat starting to drip off his darkly tanned skin. Whimpering loudly, she started to wriggle around under him, panting heavily. His finger working faster, he could feel the little button throb madly and the walls of her pussy holding him in almost a death grip. Then, with an ear-piercing cry, she came, hard, her juices starting to flow out of her and the walls of her pussy milking his cock. After a couple more thrusts, he let himself go, cumming hard.

As she slept that night, curled up to his chest, her arm draped over him, he held her close. Gazing down at her peaceful features he smiled, but only for a second. Then he thought of her pain and sighed heavily. No, all the mess probably wasn't over with, but he would be there for her no matter how rough it got. He just had to keep reassuring her of that, he knew, eventually she would accept that he wouldn't leave her like all the rest. How could he leave his "soul mate"? That word triggered a small smile. For the first time he truly understood the meaning of it. They were connected by a bond stronger than a mere pull or physical and mental attraction. It ran deeper and stronger. Shutting his eyes, the smile remained. He would have to tell her in the morning that he finally understood.

Authors Note: The person who this is for will know it when they read it because they will understand the meaning. I hope you enjoy it!