Hating Olivia: A Love Story Read Online Free PDF

bolt of lightning—I’m a genius! And all this time I hadn’t a clue! I hadn’t realized! It took this twenty-four-hour-a-day living with the Verkhovenskys, Smerdyakovs, and Stavrogins to bring it to the surface. A fucking genius! Don’t ask me how I knew—it was an alchemical thing—I just knew. …”
    What bullshit…. I was a little embarrassed. I had to laugh at myself. But Livy didn’t. She seemed to be taking me seriously. Of course I hadn’t the slightest morsel of evidence, aside from a few pages of a play and half a notebook full of songs untested outside the coffeehouses and bars, that would bear out my preposterously grandiose claim. And I didn’t mention the prodigious quantities of hash I’d been smoking at the time of the great revelation, or the mescaline trips I’d been fond of taking on the weekends. Nevertheless, it made me feel good —validated me almost—to be listened to by a beautiful female without derision. That’s something else women are good at.
    “You’re going to be famous, I can feel it,” Livy nodded. “I have a sixth sense about these things.”
    A chill shot up my spine. Yes! I knew it all along! I’d only needed somebody else to say it out loud in order to believe it myself. Or at least half believe it.
    “Come over here.”
    I wrapped her in my arms and plunged my tongue into her mouth. She gave back as good as she got until we were both huffing and puffing like long-distance runners. I began to strip off her clothes, piece by exquisite piece. I was in no hurry to get where I was going. Then she yanked on the flap of my belt….
    We were both naked. I swept her up and carried her through the open bedroom door. In the soft blue shadows cast by the streetlamps I laid her on the bed and stood over her, my erect prong hovering like a hummingbird in the air between us. She reached up and wrapped her long fingers around the shaft. I let her pull me down on top of her, then gripped her flanks for support. Then I pushed into the wetness inside and drove upward.
    I’d had a few women in my life, but I was to learn something new about sex from Olivia Aphrodite (her true middle name). We were to take the plunge together into the subsoil of raw concupiscence, from which both ecstasy and madness spring, and forgo the dusty, worthless upper strata of passionless habit and duty that most humans know. I would come to live for fucking Livy. For the first time I knew what it was to truly bang a woman, to ram like a battery, to bury my body, obliterate my self, in the mysterious folds of a cunt. Like a devoted master of the Kama Sutra, I discovered the rude pleasure of enjoying the female in an infinite number of contortions, to forge onward when there was no juice left, to bludgeon myself into insensibility from the sheer act of fornication. We would finish our sessions in a state of complete and utter exhaustion—in a delirium, really—oblivious altogether to the outside world….
    And could Livy scream…. It was a giddy delight, knowing I could coax such a welter of howls and caterwauls out of a bitch. With every yelp, a strange thrill traveled up from the tip of my cock and into the depths of my brain….
    That first time we fucked it was a haunted night in early November. Some time after midnight we stopped for a bite to eat. I was famished, and so was she. All that exercise had built up a ravenous appetite. In the living room the television was murmuring. I couldn’t remember how or when it had gotten switched on. Puppets in suits and evening gowns clasped their hands jubilantly above their heads. A man with a Southern accent delivered an impassioned speech from a podium. Numbers—vast, incomprehensible totals in the millions—flashed across the screen. They meant nothing to me or to Livy. Standing there nude with chunks of leftover Italian bread in our mouths, my red-and-purple cock bobbing, we learned that Jimmy Carter had just been elected president of the United