In the Disgusted Series, I expand on what I wrote in the Degraded Series by including both the female and male POVs. Try as she might, our heroine Tessa just can seem to keep a man for long. After reading this series, it’s easy to understand why!
Disgusted With Myself
I’m going to be honest with myself for a moment, or maybe even a little longer if I can summon the courage. Yes, I was anxious to go out with your friend even though he was almost 20 years older than me. Dating doesn’t come easy to me.
I’m a single mother with a daughter just entering college and hadn’t been out on a date, had not been alone with a man for god knows how long. So yes, I’ll admit it, I did jump at his invitation to dinner.
In hindsight he could probably sense that I was desperate for company, desperate for whatever scrap of affection I could get from any man whatsoever, and he decided to take advantage of me, knowing damn well that our relationship – if that’s ever what it really was – wasn’t going to go anywhere except for what he did to me that night.
Not that I mean to be unfair to your friend. I could tell that he liked me, liked my body at least. Older men like him prefer MILFs like me. (I’d never heard of the term ‘MILF’ before until just recently when my daughter explained to me that it meant ‘Mother I’d Like to Fuck’. I’ll take that as a compliment, I guess.)
Forty-something years old, natural red hair, and my daughter tells me I have a great figure despite having had two children. I figured out later that he wanted to find out if I was really a red head and that the color of the landing strip between my legs would answer his question.
I also found out, much later, that your friend prefers paying for no-strings-attached sex but had decided to make an exception for me, for one night only. Lucky me . . . .
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Disgusted With You
Role model you are not, Tessa, since your daughter has seen you hung over the morning – or afternoon – after one too many times, you having gotten totally wasted and shit-faced the night before.
You lean up on one elbow to begin your ascent from the bed, staring at the puddle of beer staining the hard wood floor below and make a mental note to avoid stepping in it with your bare feet. You also note the remnants of beer still in the spilled glass, and drain what remains of the room temperature golden liquid before getting your sorry ass out of bed.
“Mom . . . !” your daughter’s voice rings up the stairs for the umpteenth time.
“Coming honey!” you call down to Brianna, doing your best to put a motherly-sounding tone in your voice. You’ve been through this routine so many times before Tessa that you’ve got it down pat. If you respond quickly enough you know that she won’t come upstairs to see that you’ve once again passed out in the clothes that you wore the night before.
Even though she’s seen you like this before you figure that you’re still her mother and that you need to set the best example that you can. Flipping off the covers you notice what looks to be a now-permanent stain on last night’s dress, a wet spot right between where your boobs would normally be.
“Mom?” Brianna calls out once again, except that now you can hear her footsteps as she crosses the living room floor and begins to climb the stairs.
“I’ll be right down baby, don’t bother coming up,” you shout, and the loudness of your voice makes your head pound even more as you stagger over to the bathroom. You find the toilet and sit down to pee and that’s when this deja-vu-like memory flashes through your mind with the vague image of a man standing in front of you, watching you take a piss. As your stream comes to an end the man disappears, only to suddenly reappear with clarity as you realize that the man watching you pee looks just like me, the guy who’s sitting next to you now.
This entire scene unfolds in your mind and the corner of my mouth twists upward in what some might consider an evil grin, any sign of empathy or god forbid sympathy nowhere to be found, the thought of the condition that you are now in thanks to me giving me a perverse feeling of pleasure.
Did I say ‘perverse’? Fuck that. In no way do I feel bad about what you allowed me to do to you. You disgusted me and I simply did what comes natural to a woman like you, treated you the way you deserved and needed to be treated.
I avoid your eyes, avoid making eye contact with you, to pretend that I don’t notice you trying to hide the look of shock from your face as you down half of the fresh drink that has just arrived. Instead I decide to ply you with compliments, knowing you will think that I actually feel something for you. “You’re surprised that I called you? Tessa, I’m really glad that you’re letting me see you again so quickly. Did you get home OK last night?”
“Oh I did, thanks again for taking care of the taxi,” you stammer. I realize that you can’t help but like me and decide to work that for all that it’s worth.
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Disgusted With Us
As we walk out of your apartment arm in arm and into the elevator and wonder if you’re appalled, perhaps delightedly so, at how disgustingly easy it was to manipulate me into doing whatever deviant sexual act you chose for me to do, this night and the last. Quite frankly my self-esteem is so low right now that I’m not sure that I really give a shit but I decide to try.
I smile at you, laugh and flirt, letting you know that I believe I have finally found a man that I can actually like, and one who might like me just a little bit in return, all the while totally oblivious to the fact that you are the type of man that I should be seeking desperately not to attract.
But the truth is that I am like a moth attracted to a flame. I know I’m going to get burnt but I just can’t help myself. I should have learned my lesson by now, after the multitude of times that I’ve fucked up, but I haven’t. Despite myself I crave someone who is exactly like you.
Because you are a man and I an a woman and I want you to treat me, or perhaps what I really should say is mis-treat me, the way that nature intended a man to treat a woman.
You’re probably thinking about your friend right now, the guy who first told you about me. Over drinks he described to you how pathetically desperate I was for a date. But who could blame me?
After all I’m a single mom, a MILF in his words, with a daughter just entering college, an 18-year old daughter who was bordering just this side of promiscuity, couldn’t be an easy task. And your friend almost – almost – felt sorry for me. Not sorry enough, however, to prevent him from taking advantage of me.
He knew I was desperate for company, desperate for whatever scrap of affection I could get from a man and that’s when he decided to use me, even though he knew that our relationship, if you could even apply that word to describe it, was not going to go anywhere save for whatever he decided to do with me that night.
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Disgusted: Completely includes all three books in the Disgusted series plus the bonus book Lin Fong: An Erotic Short Story. The stories in Disgusted Completely offer the different male and female POVs from my Degraded Series.
Tessa, a hot red haired MILF with amazingly low self esteem has been looking for love in all of the wrong places after a disastrous one night stand several months ago. Sitting at the local bar she finally thinks she’s found the man of her dreams – one who is sensitive and caring, one who loves her for who she is – but she has no idea how wrong she is going to be.
Here’s an (edited) excerpt from Disgusted: Completely:
“I don’t want to make you feel like I’m kicking you out of bed,” I had said to your friend, smiling apologetically, “But Brianna is going to be home soon and I have to take her over to her Dad’s house first thing in the morning. Do you mind if we call it a night?” I wanted to make sure I had time to clean myself before she got home.
Acting like the true SOB that he turned out to be he seized the opportunity to make a speedy exit. “It is getting a little late,” he agreed as he got up from the sofa, being careful not to touch the sofa cushion where we’d been. I could tell from the look on his face that, very briefly, he considered offering to pay to have the sofa cleaned, then immediately dropped the idea, probably deciding that if it bothered me that much I could simply flip the cushion. As I walked him to the front door I thought that he must really like me because of what I’d made him do.
I gave him a hug good night and the long lost feeling of love reared itself in my mind. “I hope I can see you again?”
“Of course you’ll see me again, don’t be silly! I’ll call you tomorrow,” your friend lied to me, though that night I found myself counting the hours until the next day, when I was sure that the phone was going to ring.
I watched from the front door as he walked quickly down the driveway toward his car parked at the curb, and without glancing back at me over his shoulder threw a quick wave goodbye. Eventually I figured out that he had absolutely no intention of seeing me again. Maybe it was because I’d been too average for him, or was too much of a MILF for him, or maybe it was something else entirely. Who ever really knows with men? Maybe he’d satisfied his curiosity about me and that was the end of that. Could it really be that simple?
The answer is ‘Yes,’ it can be that simple for men. But not for women, or at least not for me. A few months later when I discovered that he’d gotten me pregnant I tried countless times to reach this friend of yours, to seek his support and guidance, to let him know that he was going to be a father.
But this wasn’t the first time your friend had knocked a woman up after a one-night stand. No, he had plenty of experience doing that and was much, much too clever to allow himself to get sucked into what he considered to be my personal problem. He deftly avoided any communication with me, allowing me to wallow in my deep pool of self-pity and guilt.
Fast forward six months and here I am hanging out in bars almost every night, unable to shake the feeling of depression and the knowledge of what your friend did to me. Outwardly I do my best to maintain a controlled appearance but inside I’m a complete and utter wreck, wanting nothing more than a man who will listen to me, who will sympathize with me, who will not take advantage of me in my vulnerable condition.
You smile again as you stroll over to me, sitting at the bar. I can tell by the look on your face that I’m exactly the type of woman you are looking for tonight and against my better judgment I believe that you just might be the type of man I need, a man who is sensitive and caring, who is warm and loving. You do your best to make eye contact with me as you pass but I pretend to show no interest in you, until I spot the unexpected look of surprise on your handsome face.