I still didn’t learn his name but I didn’t really care if I was being entirely honest. In the morning, we dry humped for a while, I got him nice and hard then begged him to fuck me. It was an easy yes when I mounted him then sucked his cock.
After the fact, everything started to trigger me to the point of rage but I showed it through numbness and disassociation. It felt as if everything suddenly added up. Things such as not getting my items paid for when he was the one that asked me if I wanted something, not opening the car door for me (let alone into a store), not having my seat pulled out when we went out to eat, not helping carry my heavy items, the list goes on. Although I was a hippie traveler kine chick, I was still a woman and appreciated these gestures.
“Are you having one of your mood swings?” he asked after I had a sharp cramp come over me.
“It’s my period,” I said, nearly in tears from the pain.
“Could be worse,” he said.
My eyes closed in embarrassment as I realized I just slept with this douche and was even very adamant about having his dick inside of me.
“You being a guy,” I said, “it might be best to keep your mouth shut when a woman is bleeding and visibly in pain.”
It seemed like everything he was doing and saying was pissing me off. He was very emotionally immature but it seemed I was, too if I still entertained men like this just to satisfy the craving of my pussy. I hate that men annoy me so much, to the point of wanting to murder them, but I still can’t help but be uncontrollably attracted to them. I feel so angry with myself that I make it so easy for dudes like this, thinking they can score with just anyone. I am definitely part of the problem.
He pulled me into his lap. “I don’t want you to leave,” he said. “I enjoy what we have.”
“I gotta hit the road,” I said.
He took me a little ways down the main road and offered to take me a longer distance but I didn’t want to be in his space anymore so he dropped me off at a pull out. Before he had a chance to drive off, someone pulled over for me.
It was an Italian couple who were headed close to Reykjavík.
“My curiosity is meaning to ask you,” he said, “an ah American from USA.”
“Yeah go for it,” I said.
“I am curious about the politics. It seems as if America is ah going down.”
“Oh yeah, it’s a joke,” I said, “but it keeps me entertained.”
Not sure why most everyone wants to talk politics with me. I don’t own a TV nor do I know the latest drama of the world.
He became excited to share some phrases he learned from previous Americans.
“Tight ass,” he said.
I was trying to hold back from laughing hysterically but it didn’t work, especially when he kept repeating it.
“Tight ass! Tight ass, ya? Is no correct?”
I wiped the tears off my face and held up my hand implying it was now too painful not to laugh. I let loose and roared.
He laughed with me and goes, “A person in America taught me it means when someone is uh being not a lot vith money.”
“I think you’re thinking of the word stingy,” I said. “It is slang to use ‘tight’ but ‘stingy’ or ‘frugal’ is more proper.’”
I don’t know why that made me laugh so hard but I couldn’t breathe. God, how much I loved foreign people.
I got dropped off at the campground in town where I planned to spend the night, however it was too exposed for my liking so I went to the gas station to study my map some more. I really didn’t want to spend money on a hotel as the norm seemed to be around $400 a night minimum. I could survive off that money for weeks. One of the hostels I was looking into seemed to be really trashy so that was a no go, too. I felt frugal when it came time to travel especially more now because I knew I had another root canal coming. It seemed it wasn’t cheap to be alive and I was already living in the cheapest way I knew how.
Despite not having an idea of where I was going, I had a feeling I was going to meet someone whom I could work my yogi magic on. Not even a few minutes had passed when I saw a guy come in and sit in the corner. He grabbed a small backpack then pulled out a sketchbook and began drawing which gave me insight he was a local just passing some time.
Easy bait.
I was tired and in pain from the menstrual cramps but I did what I had to do and put on my socializing mask. I slipped into my seduction act, figuring I could play the little girl role. That one nearly always won men over.
I caught his attention. “Hey! Can I see what you’re sketching?”
He smiled and gave me a motion to come hither. I playfully pulled up a chair and leaned in close then began flipping through his book.
“Wow! These are so neat,” I said. Truthfully, they terrified me. His artwork was something a child out of a horror movie would make.
“Thank you,” he said.
I leaned my chin in my hand. “Why do you think artists go through so much pain?” I asked, tilting my head in curiosity. “Why do you think they are so out of place in this world?” I gave him my full attention, waiting for him to open up so I could see where he was weak and what I could use against him.
“Mm, I think so we can make art that moves people and takes their pain away,” he said. “I’ve always been the type to want to take the pain away from others so that they wouldn’t have to feel it.”
“I can see that in you.“
I continued to flip through the pages. “What does this one mean?” I asked. It was what appeared as a distorted window, the frames jet black, crooked and jagged. The thickness of jail bars.
“A window into my soul,” he said.
“Tell me about it,” I said.
“People have never really been kind to me in my life. I always felt different from other people I met. And I just recently found out I was autistic so that really helped me understand things.”
“How so?” I asked.
“I haven’t spoken many words in my life. Anytime there were groups of people I would just shut down and go quiet, but never when it was one on one with a person. Learning I was autistic showed me I wasn’t alone in the way my mind worked.” He breathed, “I just view the world very differently. I want to meet people and go deep with them.”
“I do, too,” I said as I placed my hand on his arm. “Go deep with me.”
He took a deep breath. “My dad was an alcoholic. After he left, my mom became one, too. It was hard to see being a kid. They both were cheating on each other.”
I laughed. “Why didn’t they just separate since they were already both cheating on each other?”
He shook his head, at a crossroads for the answer, himself.
He asked where I was staying and I said I was camping out. I let him know my dilemma of the day, but brushed it off and said I’d be fine. “Are you a local?” I asked.
“Yeah, I live in Bifröst.” It was about 30 minutes back where I came from. He noticed my backpack. “There’s a volcanic crater open to hikers there. It’s about a 10 minute walk from my place.”
“A volcano?!”
“Well, was.”
“I wanna go!”
“You do? Really?”
“Of course. Take me there.”
“You know, that actually sounds nice. I would enjoy your company. There’s a bus that leaves in a couple of hours. I just have to get some groceries first.” His eyes dilated. “Never in my time living here in Iceland has anyone ever approached me in the way you did but I’m glad you did. Nor have I ever sat in that spot when you passed through. Now you came along and suddenly, it feels like things are changing.”
I gave him sympathetic eyes. His arms were covered in tattooed sleeves. I traced my finger along them. “I love your ink.”
“It’s funny,” he said. “I started getting tattoos as a protection mechanism to avoid people from talking to me. I enjoyed it when people were afraid of even looking at me. I actually didn’t see how you were talking to me at first because I felt I looked very unapproachable.”
“Oh I see right through that shit,” I said.
“I’ve had a very challenging few months,” he breathed.
It was clear he wanted to talk about painful subjects but I kept shifting the energy towards a sense of upliftment. “Well, we’ll be going to the volcano so that’ll help!” I bursted as I started laughing.
My smile brought one upon his face. “I find you so interesting. I recognized you,” he said as he began talking of fate and destiny.
“It’s as if it was magic,” I said.
We walked over to the store and slowly made our way down the aisles. I curiously studied the Icelandic language on all the food wrappers, trying to figure out the pronunciation of letters such as ‘ö’ and ‘æ.’
“I love seeing things through your eyes,” he said. “There’s so much amazement in them.”
Then, we waited outside for the bus to show. I had an uncontrollable laugh attack from watching an older Russian man converse with someone. He appeared really mad due to the way the language sounded, however judging by the reaction of the person he was talking to, it was clear it was meant to be a regular conversation. But anytime I looked over at him, he had his arms crossed with a big grumpy facial expression that sent me into a spell of laughter.
“The littlest things make you smile,” he said.
During the bus ride we were bumping shoulder to shoulder as I looked out the window, watching my surroundings but not studying them. I could tell he really liked the little girl role play I was playing. I came off so innocent and pure that I could see in his eyes he assumed I was fragile and in need of saving.
He took me into his apartment. Somehow I didn’t think I could receive a worse guy than yesterday but lo and behold, I felt as if I walked into a serial killer’s house. I looked through the artwork on his desk whilst he prepped his clothing for the hike. I came across a page with only the numbers 117 written on it. Waves of goosebumps came over me. Those were the numbers I’ve seen for years now in random places, even numerous times per day.
In the notebook he wrote, Why do I always see the same number everywhere?
I asked myself the same question.
Most of his drawings made me very uncomfortable.
“There’s a lot of pain in them,” I said, flipping through pages of smeared black charcoal.
“There’s a lot of pain in me,” he said.
I continued to flip through the pages and found a drawing of a woman with sharp jagged hair, black eyes and a horrific demonic face.
“Who is this supposed to be?”
“My mother.”
“I’m assuming you two didn’t get along.”
My eyes widened as I glanced around his room and saw all sorts of satanic, devil references along with pentagrams that infiltrated the area. The entire time I was wondering if I was going to get sacrificed. The last drawing I came across was something to do with cannibalism.
Naturally, I laughed and asked, “Are you gonna kill me?”
He smiled and said, “No.”
I said okay, then closed the book. I simply asked Spirit to protect me by being kicked out of his space if I wasn’t meant to be there. Instead, he welcomed me in and his energy felt fine. He was simply a man of pain and he expressed it through his art. The only thing that really rubbed me the wrong way was when he made a comment about feeling at ease watching horror movies because seeing other people in pain brought him a sense of comfort and release.
“Happy and healthy family movies are what feel painful to me,” he said.
I felt like I was interviewing the mind of a sociopath.
“Can I wear one of your jackets?” I asked.
He gave me one then we left out the door to walk over to the crater. My mom called me at that moment and asked what I was doing.
“Met a guy at a gas station. We’re going to take a walk around a volcano now.”
As per usual, she freaked out.
“It’s okay, mom. The volcano’s not active.”
After I hung up, he called me a psycho. “You’re crazy for approaching a random guy who looks like me and joining him on an adventure to go hiking then spending the night at his place.”
I blinked, not really understanding how that wasn’t normal. It didn’t feel like anything out of the ordinary for me.
The hike was not as impressive as I thought, especially after living close to Fissure 8. Also, the area was a lot more touristy than I expected. I took notice that there were a lot more trees and bushes in the area so it would be perfect for camping in case I needed to get out. He showed me his favorite lookout spot on some rocks which I naturally found a great place to meditate. He, however, found it a “fun spot to draw pentagrams.”
We made it back to his place and laid on the couch that was in the shape of a bed. I snuggled into him to watch something on TV. I suggested the movie Eraserhead to add to the effect that I might or might not die.
He started panting in my ear, trying hard to hold his composure around me. I’m sure I made it difficult with my ass being pushed close against his crotch. It was only a couple of minutes before he said he wouldn’t bite. Short moments after that, he was nibbling my neck and kissing my cheeks. I figured he would dry hump me enough and I would bang him. I was very sensitive to touch so it didn’t take much for me to give in.
He had a thick cock, I could feel it just by his bulge in between my ass when he adjusted himself. I was actually excited, especially after the last guy not fucking me properly. This guy was immediately hard, often apologizing for his boner.
“I need to confess something,” he said as he pulled me in closer. “I actually saw you when you first walked in. That’s why I sat close to you. I thought about how pretty you were and I couldn’t help myself.”
I already knew that. There were tons of empty places to sit at and I was in the furthermost corner, nearly hiding out behind a thick steel bar.
Then he chuckled, as if studying me. “Huh. It’s interesting,” he said, “when I first met you, you came off extremely innocent. But then when you came over to my place, I noticed your energy shifted completely.”
It wasn’t by accident. That was the easiest manipulation game I played: little girl in distress. Then when the doors shut, I attacked with a strong sexual charge. I blinded my victims with an energy of insatiable lust, making them woozy and unable to think straight. I could see when they were no longer present in their own thoughts which made it easy to maneuver them.
I nuzzled into him and disregarded his comment. “Ah,” I said, “this feels nice.”
“I can tell you haven’t been held like this in a very very long time,” he said.
“Yes.” All the while I’m thinking how it’s been this morning since I’ve been held the same way by another man.
“I’m going to kidnap you and store you under my bed.”
“Under?”
“Okay over,” he said. “I just never expected anything like this to happen.”
I stayed silent as I knew I often prophesied experiences like this. I could feel them coming.
“I want you to stay for as long as I can have you,” he said as he pulled me in further. “I want to keep you here forever.” Just the same as I took my mask off, he did the same by softening into my presence, becoming all gushy and sweet.
His couch was sucking me into comfort but I wanted to get laid before I fell asleep. I got him extra hard through sucking him off, then holding him on edge. We fucked in the shower since I was on my period, but I told him I didn’t like the water. We finished the scene by me riding his cock on the couch. I didn’t quite like his face, so I stuck to doggy then removed my glasses when I was on top so I couldn’t see him. His cock was drenched in my blood by the end of it. It’s funny, his drawings and paintings are made to look like they’re covered in blood, yet when it came to my moon cycle it was quite a lot for him to handle.
