Warning: Contains explicit scenes, graphic descriptions and foul language. Not suitable for anyone under 21.
His name is Kevin. And he’s in trouble. Again. Therapy hasn’t helped. Infatuated with someone forbidden to him, he drowns himself in fantasies alone in his room, until one night he’s allowed a taste of what “normal” young men take for granted: the warmth of a woman. His first experience takes him to new highs. But his confusion between sex and love leaves him spiraling out of control.
If the reader is squeamish about some pretty dark erotica, then stop. Don’t read this. It’s dark. It’s disturbing. It’s violent. It’s sick. It’s a twisted coming of age tale. Step inside the mind of a confused, sad and lonely boy. He’s obsessive. He’s a stalker. He’s an egocentric, scared, introverted, delusional college freshman. Hate him or pity him. Just don’t say you weren’t warned.
Targeted Age Group:: 21 + adult
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
Actually, it’s inspired by an event (or series of events) that happened at college 30 some odd years ago. This is a fictionalized account, of course. But sometimes truth is stranger than fiction. I was writing some short stories to be published (my sister dared me too) and somehow this story slipped out. This one probably deserves a second part. I’m working on that.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
The main character is, as I said, based on an incident that occurred in our dorm years ago. The other characters, including his family, are entirely fictional. They exist merely to accentuate his downward spiral. Each had a part in his emergence as a sociopath. One was promising as a possible salvation, but he was too far gone to be saved without help.
Book Sample
I opened my mouth to catch the cool water as it splashed over my face. Streams flooded my mouth and nose until I pushed it out with my tongue and let it pour over my lips where it joined the river pouring over my pecs, abs, and groin. The cool water felt good on my aching hard-on. “Oh fuck it,” I thought. I pictured her again and wrapped my hand around my penis.
I moved in with them when I was 15. She was my dad’s wife. My step-mom. Taboo. But she was young and beautiful with auburn hair that hung just below her shoulders. When she walked past, I could sometimes smell it, fresh and clean and begging for my touch. She was slender and appeared breakable even, but she was well toned everywhere and not unhealthy. When she danced with my dad, her hips moved in the most enticing fashion. I knew it was wrong, but the moment I saw her, I wanted her.
I didn’t have any experience with girls. Most of them wouldn’t even look at me, let alone talk to me. I didn’t know why. I still don’t. I was and am what most people consider good looking. I work out. I have a six pack. I have a good strong face. I have an amazing cock. Ten whole inches, no lie. Some chick told me it wouldn’t fit. I proved her wrong. I can make girls scream. But they don’t love me. I don’t get it. Did I mention I’m smart? Yeah. Straight A’s. Fucking brilliant. Not hard to study when you have no social life. My hand and dick have an unfortunate obsessive relationship. I like to watch. My penis prefers a good tight pussy. Or mouth. Or ass. But it takes what it can get.
But back to Angela. I wanted her. And she was nice to me. She played video games and sports and joked with me like I was a real person and not some nuisance she had to put up with because she married my dad. I didn’t know what she saw in him anyway. I studied him, trying to figure out what she liked about him, but it was beyond my comprehension. He was educated and funny but he was no perfect specimen. He was flabby and had a gut like most girls don’t have at nine months pregnant. I should know. My real mother was and is a fucking baby factory. Eight more and counting. Maybe she’s hoping reality TV will come knocking. She’s got a ways to go. But I digress. I was socially awkward, but Angela talked to me as if she got me. I tried hinting around one night to see if she liked me too, but she was awfully vague.
“Angela?”
“Yes, dear.”
“How old do I have to be to have sex?”
Yes, I really asked her that. I mentioned socially awkward, right? She gave me some grownup bullshit answer about finding true love and all that. What I wanted was for her to offer herself up, now that she knew I was interested. But she didn’t. And of course I wanted love. But wasn’t sex part of that? And yeah, I wanted to have sex with a real girl. Any girl, really. I was tired of reading about it under the covers at night wondering when it would be my turn. But what I really wanted was Angela. I alternated between wondering what she could teach me, and thinking I should have lots of practice first so I could impress her. I decided the latter – I mean, what if she laughed at me? That wouldn’t do. She was a smart, career driven, successful, hot-as-fuck woman with a real pussy and firm breasts. And what was I? A virgin who couldn’t talk to girls. Who couldn’t get a single girl to put out. Hell, I couldn’t get close enough to one to try. They were a mysterious closed society and only a few lucky guys were invited in for a taste. I wasn’t part of that club. And I wanted membership bad.
“Angela?”
“Yes, doll.”
“Do you think I’m hot?”
Yeah, I asked her that too. And all she gave me was that of course I was a nice looking boy and some bullshit about the right girl coming along, blah blah blah.
“But do you think I’m hot? I mean – if you were my age, would you?” I insisted.
“Kevin, honey. I’m your step-mother and 15 years older than you, so I can’t even honestly answer that question. I’m not your age, and I can’t even put myself in the mindset of a teenage girl. But you’re a nice looking kid and you’re smart. You’re too impatient. You try too hard. I promise girls will notice you and you’ll find someone nice that you can really talk to and enjoy being around – that’s what relationships are about. Quit dwelling on sex. Relationships are so much more than that. And anyway, at your age, you should just be having fun. Not worrying about sex and relationships.”
She’d say stuff like that – and then hug me for reassurance. I hugged her a lot. She thought it was doting step-son love. I just liked the feel of her body.
As a rule, I like large breasts. Big, voluptuous breasts with nipples big enough to sink my teeth into. Cleavage deep enough to sink all 10 inches of my cock between as I titty fucked some random chick. Yeah. I like that. But Angela’s breasts are small. Only small breasts I ever wanted. Well – almost anyway. Sure, I’ve had chicks with little titties. But bigger is better, right? Anyway, I had to hug her real tight to feel them against me. Tiny perky things poking my chest. Maybe she knew. Mostly she turned at the last moment so all I got was a shoulder squeeze – but if I was lucky, I could hold her a bit tighter and draw her a bit closer than I knew she was comfortable with. Then I’d maybe get a lucky brush against one of those little tits.
And her ass. Don’t get me started. Small, round and perfectly filling out her low cut jeans, or work suit, or bikini. I wondered what it would be like to be in her cunt. Or better, I’d like to violate that ass, holding onto those round firm cheeks and pumping myself into her. I wanted her to scream my name. I wondered if she’d done that with anyone. I wondered if my dad had been there. I loved him. But damn it. She should have been mine.
Lost in my memories, my hand moving over my shaft, I brought myself to a violent orgasm. I closed my eyes and felt the hot semen squirt out of me. I didn’t ooze or drip – no sir. When I came, I went projectile. I could gag a girl if I wasn’t careful. Sometimes I did it for fun – just to see her eyes widen in surprise. I opened my eyes and watched the thick liquid roll down the shower wall, washed down the drain by the cool water.
She didn’t get it. I wanted her. She still doesn’t get it. Years later, I still want her.
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