“I have nothing worth living for anymore. I think I’m going to end it.”
I watched as the chat bubble containing the message appeared on the screen. It had a small grey clock at the bottom right. The clock turned into a grey tick. The tick turned into two grey ticks. Then the two grey ticks turned blue. She had read the message. I pressed the home button and waited. A few seconds later I got a notification.
I sensed she was going to type some more. I immediately turned off the WiFi on my phone. Then I set the phone down on the table and waited. I looked outside the window. I could hear the birds. You could always hear the birds at this time of the day. In the next 10 minutes, she called thrice. I didn’t answer. I silenced each call, and after the third one, I put my phone on silent.
I had committed to committing suicide.
I had always found the concept of suicide rather absurd. I could never understand why somebody would want to give up their life, their very existence, no matter how difficult circumstances were. After all, isn’t survival the most basic instinct of man? I had thought to myself that if things became really bad, and if I couldn’t take it anymore, I would simply walk away from everything and everyone I knew, and start a new life somewhere. Perhaps dedicate my life to making other people’s lives better. But all that had changed the previous night, when she had told me that she was in love with someone else.
“There has never been a spark between us.”
For eight years, every day and every night, I had thought of her. She was my muse. She was the inspiration behind everything I had done in my life since the day I’d seen her for the first time. I couldn’t take it that she would no longer be in my life. I was crushed. When you have nothing to live for, I thought to myself, it doesn’t matter whether you go to sleep and wake up the next morning or don’t wake up at all.
I stood up and walked to the window. I looked down. 9 floors. The fall would almost certainly kill me. But should I jump, I wondered. Perhaps this won’t be dramatic enough. Maybe I should jump from the rooftop. I turned around and walked to the door. I slid my feet into my slippers. Then I wondered if that was necessary. Do I really have to wear my slippers, as I walk up to the rooftop to end my life? I realized that the same reasoning could be applied to my clothes. I felt confused. In the end, I decided that it didn’t matter. I decided to go with slippers, since I was already wearing them. I opened the door and stepped outside. I was about to close the door behind me, but I stopped to think if I should. The door would lock itself if I closed it. There would be no going back. We had just one key, and I wasn’t carrying it with me. I wondered if I should carry it, in case I needed to come back for something. Then I realized that I could just ring the doorbell if I wanted to get back in, and someone would open the door for me. That settled it.
I closed the door and walked to the elevator. I pressed the ‘Up’ button, and waited. I wondered if I should take the stairs instead. 22 floors. That would buy me some more time to think. The elevator still hadn’t arrived and I felt irritated. I turned to walk towards the stairs. Just as I did, I realized my reasoning was flawed. Even if I took the elevator, I could still take as much time at the top to think before jumping as I wanted. There was no need to tire myself my walking up 22 floors. Just then the elevator arrived. I stepped in and pressed the button. I wondered if I should turn on the fan. I decided it didn’t matter because I was going to kill myself shortly. But it was hot inside. So I turned it on.
The elevator reached the top floor, and the door opened. I wondered if I should turn off the fan to save some electricity. Besides, it would set a good example for the kids. It might even encourage them to save electricity in their own homes and at their schools. One of them might take this issue seriously enough to dedicate his entire life to reducing electricity wastage. But ultimately, it didn’t matter to me. I turned it off anyway. I felt leaving it on would make me feel uneasy. I stepped out and took the stairs to the rooftop.
It was a hot day, and the sun was in my face. I had just stepped out, and my eyes still hadn’t adjusted to the brightness. There was no way I could stand there and think. I looked around for shade. I found some beside the water tank. I went into the shade and immediately felt better. I realized that there was a cool breeze blowing. I hadn’t felt it earlier because of the sun. I felt hungry. It was past noon and I hadn’t eaten anything since morning. I wondered if I should eat something first. My hunger was taking all my attention. I sat down and closed my eyes to think.
I had fallen asleep. It was already evening when I woke up. It was much more pleasant now. The breeze had become stronger. I felt good. I walked along the boundary wall, all around the rooftop. Everything looked small. The roads, the cars, the trees, the people. I wondered how much smaller they would seem if the building were taller. I realized that if the building had 64 floors instead of 32, they would seem half the size I was seeing now. They were already pretty small, so I felt it wouldn’t have made much of a difference. My eyes followed a car going up the street and taking the turn around the corner. As the car disappeared from sight, I realized I had come to the rooftop to kill myself. The sun was going to set soon, so I had to hurry. I wanted to be able to see where I was falling.
I climbed on top of the boundary wall. It was quite broad and I felt stable. I stepped forward and looked down along the edge of the building. It was scary. It was a lot scarier than looking down from the window in my apartment. I wondered if the fear was more or less likely to make me jump. I wondered if I should be scared at all. I was certain that I wanted to end my life. Even then, fear emerged from the threat to my life, and I felt afraid. The two feelings seemed to be at odds to each other. I wondered if I should jump right now, or wait for some time. I lifted one foot off the ground and leaned forward.
As I stood on the edge of the wall, with one foot in the air, looking certain death in the face, the thought of her vagina came to my mind. Her wet, brown, pussy. I could picture it before my eyes, Even the shape of her labia. It had been over a year since I had seen it, but the image was crystal clear in my mind. I pictured spreading it open with my hands, and kissing the inside with my lips. I kissed it like I was kissing her mouth. Sucking softly on one side, and then the other. I felt the taste of her fluid in my mouth. Salty. Viscous. Wonderful. I felt it mixing with my saliva. I felt my tongue spread it all over inside my mouth. I felt my lips, my mustache, my nose and my face becoming wet with it. I felt the smell of her fluid filling my nostrils and took a deep breath. I rubbed my face against her pussy to make it wet with her fluid all over again. I put two fingers of one hand on her clit, rubbing it, and with the other I spread open her pussy and went in with my tongue. I felt her body twisting, turning, twitching. I heard the sound of her moaning in my ears. I felt her hands playing with my hair. I kept going at it. Harder. Faster. Deeper.
In the middle of my fantasy, I unzipped my pants, pulled out my penis, revealing my erection to the world, and started stroking it, slowly at first, then faster, at the thought of fucking her with my tongue while my hands played with her nipples. I imagined her cumming, squirting a little on my face as she did. I came at the same time. I hadn’t masturbated for weeks, so I ejaculated for a long time, sending big chunks of my semen flying through the air with each shot, as waves of pleasure ran through my body. I kept stroking my penis even as I ejaculated. I looked at the sky the entire time. After I was done, I felt really tired. Soon my penis became flaccid. I put it inside and zipped up my pants. I stepped down and collapsed against the wall.
It was morning when I woke up. I had slept for a long time. I felt cold, even though there was no breeze. My penis was hurting. I had gone at it harder than I should have, trying to extract every last drop of semen. I unzipped my pants, pulled it out and looked at it. It was flaccid and had shrunk to the size of my little finger because of the cold. Its head was still sticking out of the foreskin. I found it painful when the head was out and rubbed against my underwear. So I pulled up the foreskin with my fingers to cover the head. Then I tucked it in and zipped up my pants. I felt reluctant to get up, as I was still feeling tired. So I decided to sit there for as long as I could. I looked at the water tank to distract myself from the cold. That’s when it came back to me. In the moments of climax, I had had an epiphany. I had found something worth living for. It was her pussy. I realized that it had been the primary motivation in my life all along. I didn’t want her love, her support, her understanding, or anything else she had to offer. I wanted her pussy. And I wanted her to suck my dick. I wanted to come in her pussy, on her breasts, on her back, on her face and in her mouth. I wanted her to swallow it. And I wanted her to enjoy it just as much as I enjoyed eating her pussy. I wanted her to crave for my dick all day long. All this I wanted only from her, and no-one else. It had happened twice that in the last few months, girls that I happened to be sleeping next to made a move at me in bed. On both occasions I had stopped them, because I didn’t want them the way I wanted her and I didn’t want to give it to them the way I wanted to give it to her.
I didn’t care if she was an architect, a dancer, an athlete, an Air Force officer, or a nobody. To me, she was her mouth, her breasts, her butt and her pussy. I felt like an animal thinking of her this way, but that’s the way I had always felt. In what could have been the last few moments of my life, when I had nobody to answer to, not even myself, I had seen the true nature of my feelings. Sure, I respected her and admired her for the kind of person she was, and for the things she did and the choices she had made, just as as I respected and admired any other friend. She was definitely exceptional compared to the others. One of a kind. But all this is not what came to mind when I thought about her.
I realized that she wasn’t interested in me the way I was interested in her. I considered it my duty to satisfy her sexually, and felt that I was the only one who should do it. But she seemed to have no such intentions. She didn’t consider it her responsibility. She’d told me to go fuck whatever girl I could find to satisfy my physical needs, if that would get me to stop pestering her about sex. She had no interest in my penis, no interest in satisfying me, finishing me off, not the least bit. We could easily have had sex once or twice a month, and I’d asked her many times, but she had turned me down each time. Fuck her then, I thought to myself, if she neither wants it nor wants to give it to me. She might be the most gorgeous woman in the world, but it’s no good if there isn’t any passionate lovemaking, or any lovemaking at all for that matter. I realized that more that anything else I needed passionate sex, and she wasn’t going to give it to me. Not now, not later. I would only be inflicting pain upon myself by holding on to her.
I’d accepted bluntly to myself that all I wanted to live for is sex. I wondered now how I could get it, for it was the sole purpose of my life. She was the holy grail, and if I couldn’t get her, any girl I could get was as good as any other. I thought about the effort involved in courting another girl. With her, it had never felt like effort, but it would with any other girl. I thought about the emotional torture and all the other hassle that came with a relationship. I calculated the probability and frequency of sex I could get this way, and weighed it agains the time and effort involved. It wasn’t worth it. I realized that I had been going about it all wrong all this while, and that was the reason for my misery. I wondered if I could find a girl with whom I could share a relationship that was only physical. But then I realized that there was always a chance that one of us would develop feelings for the other. Getting involved with another girl was almost certainly going to bring me back to this rooftop, I thought. I had to find another way.
Amsterdam. That was it. As it struck me, it seemed both obvious and surprising. In the three days and two nights I had spent there, I had cultivated an admiration for the city like I felt for no other, although I wasn’t sure exactly why. Now I realized that it was because it appealed to the most basic need of man: the need for sex, the need to be free, to be raw. In Amsterdam, I wouldn’t have to restrict myself to what any society or culture thought was right or wrong, or what’s appropriate or not. I could be myself there, unapologetically so.
I wondered how much sex I could afford in Amsterdam. 40 euros for a fuck or a blowjob. If I got one everyday, it would cost me about 15,000 euros over a year, 20,000 if I occasionally decided to go to a high end place or get a lap dance. I wondered how much I would be able to make if I got a job in Amsterdam. I wondered how much I could save. The math seemed fine. It would take up most of my savings, but I would get pussy every night. During the day, I could concentrate on other more important things instead of thinking about sex all the time, making more money in the process, with which I could afford better pussy, probably even threesomes and foursomes. It was a virtuous circle. The very thought of moving to Amsterdam gave me an erection. But it was a painful one. I let go of the thought and distracted myself. After a few minutes, I got up and left.
“Hi Sarah, this is Alan, Mike’s friend. Please ping back when you see this. It’s important.”
She replied almost instantly.
I sensed that she was waiting for a reply.
“Mike jumped from his apartment window last night.”
She replied immediately,
“Where is he now???”
I thought for a moment and typed,
“Fortunately, he is alive, but his condition is extremely serious.”
Silence. I waited for about 30 seconds, then typed,
“Just kidding, it’s me. I’m absolutely fine. Did you really think I would kill myself over you? 😂”
I watched as the bubble appeared, and the clock turned into a tick, which turned into two ticks, which then turned blue. Then I threw my phone out the window.