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I am Jack’s throbbing erection. I ignore it for now.
I am Jane’s empty womb. The tip of Tyler’s cock pushes against my cervix at this angle. All eight inches of Tyler are inside me.
I am Julie’s penis envy. Eight inches is too much, even for someone like Tyler Durden.
Someone like Tyler Durden. Handsome, cocky, charismatic. Now, laying on my blood stained, moldy mattress, letting me use him like a sex toy. Like one of Marla’s oversized dildos, only even bigger and warmer. Twitching.
You’re hurting me, Tyler.
“You’re hurting yourself,” Tyler huffs, clearly upset at me for staying still. His face is all bruised up, dried blood still around his nostrils, smeared on his chin, on his brow bone. I know I’m not looking any better. The wounds on my knuckles open and bleed again as I use my hands to anchor myself on Tyler’s sternum.
Yeah, yeah. It’s never your fault, is it? I roll my hips once. Yeah, I am hurting myself now.
“Taking responsibility is being present, you know,” Tyler breathes out, his hands coming up to my hips. Squeezing. Sneering.
I am hurting myself in the present, impaling myself on Tyler’s ridiculous dick. I look at the back of my hand, the scar as red and ugly as ever. This doesn’t hurt as much as the chemical burn, but it’s a burn as well. Burn of the stretch. Burn of my body trying to accommodate Tyler. Dull and annoying. A constant pain.
You always end up hurting me, Tyler.
“And you always end up thanking me,” Tyler says and squeezes my hips again and thrusts his hips up.
God, fuck, yes, thank you, Tyler. Make it hurt.
“See,” Tyler smiles, a full grin. His teeth are chipped, and I can still see blood between them, “Already thanking me.”
Shut up, I say, just shut the fuck up for once. He doesn’t, even after I force two of my fingers into his mouth. He moans around them like a porn actress, keeping eye contact with me. I see his attempt to smile. He doesn’t gag. I guess that’s not surprising.
I am Jill’s dried up ovaries, making her spend ten thousand dollars on IVF treatment.
I ache to be filled by Tyler in every way possible. He bites down on my fingers. What the fuck was that for? I pull my fingers out.
“Fun,” Tyler smiles in that annoying way again. I want to punch him again. I want to kiss him.
Oh, so this isn’t fun enough? I slam my hips down too hard and see stars. Planet Tyler. Tyler’s Galaxy.
You open your eyes and Tyler Durden is on top of you.
When did that happen? I must not have been present.
“Where did you go?” Tyler asks, he has a cigarette in his mouth. He has my legs on his shoulders.
Can’t remember, can’t think like this. You know that. Ash falls on my chest.
“Well, you’re here now. And stay,” Tyler looks me in the eyes, and I feel compelled to obey whatever he tells me. “Every type of pain you can feel gets you closer to the bottom,” Tyler says.
So, this is a part of the process for you, nothing more.
“Give yourself some credit. You’re a pretty good fuck,” Tyler says.
Wow, thank you. This must be the highest praise from the Tyler Durden.
“You’re very welcome,” Tyler puts his cigarette out on my hip. I barely even flinch. Tyler, he doesn’t like that much. His hips set a pace so brutal I give up on matching it. Can Marla? Can I compete?
Am I still a good fuck, or am I a starfish?
“You’re always a good fuck, dear. Even when you’re out cold,” Tyler says.
I gasp, seriously, you’d do that?
“Maybe I already have,” Tyler says, and he’s right, I’ve been sleeping a little too good lately. I’ve been getting knocked out by Tyler lately. I’ve been getting fucked to sleep by Tyler lately.
That’s low, even for you. Tyler’s cracked lips trail up my neck. He’s got me bent in half and his breath is too warm against my skin. Blood and tobacco. Sweat, hair gel, beer. Soapy, sweet undertone, covered by musk. I try to separate Tyler’s scent into categories. I had a tobacco vanille scented candle at my condo.
“Stay,” Tyler pulls on my earlobe with his teeth.
Should I roll over for you too? Give paw? I would, for Tyler to stay with me.
“That’s not a bad idea,” Tyler chuckles. “Roll over,” Tyler whispers, flipping me into my stomach. I let him. He doesn’t need to tell me to raise my hips, I do it without hesitation. “Now give paw,” Tyler twists one of my arms behind my back and pins it down.
I groan and he starts pounding into me again.
“That’s a good boy,” Tyler says, my ribs feel like they’re digging into my lungs, popping them like balloons and stabbing right into my heart.
Good boy for you, yeah, Tyler tells me I’m a good boy, so I’m a good boy. Tyler, you’re my master, my savior, my god. Own me, save me, absolve me. Make me cum, that part I say out loud.
And he does. I see white and red and a wave crashing against a cliff. Then Tyler flips me over again. Yes, Tyler, I am present.
Before he kisses me, his sweat drips onto my cheek. It feels like a waste of liquid gold. He kisses me and he tastes like cigarettes and plaque. I’m not sure whose lip split starts bleeding again, maybe his and mine together, but there’s blood on my tongue, my lips, my chin. Tyler’s tongue is in the hole in my cheek.
Tyler doesn’t ask if he can cum inside me, he just does. Sure, man, shoot. I can have your abortion too.
He looks at me with that stupid, satisfied expression. Blood all over his face, my spit, his spit. I love him. I’ll never tell him.
“Another round?” Tyler asks and doesn’t wait for my answer, just pulls me to the edge of the mattress. He’s kneeling and pulling my hips up high. I wrap my wobbly legs around his waist. Fuck your cum into me deeper, Tyler.
He looks so beautiful in the dim candlelight. Sweat glistening off his six pack like he’s posing for a fucking protein powder ad. Water is dripping down the walls, or maybe that wet, sloshing sound is me. Tyler, you make me so wet.
“No shit. It’s like a river down there,” Tyler says, and I hear sweaty skin slapping against sweaty skin. My body is sore all over and I can’t tell what’s from getting punched and what’s from getting fucked. There are red splotches on my hips. There’s a purple hickey on the inside of my thigh.
I am yours, Tyler.
“I know,” Tyler says, and he fucks me good, and I think I’m crying.
You wake up on your moldy, cum-and-blood-stained mattress. Your head is pounding, and the air smells like sweat and sex. Tyler is not here.