Teaser from the upcoming novel, “Lost Sons & Broken Daughters”.

1

The taxi drove in a steady direction through my home. The city was my home. My apartment was just a pit stop for when my home got too crowded. A filthy pit stop where I would reek the fumes from my unrest, which usually would kick off after 10 PM and would dissolve after I came inside the pussy of an imperfect stranger.

Her name was Julia. That was the name I gave her. I couldn’t remember her name but she looked like a Julia with blonde, wavy locks of luscious hair touched by the prism of street lights.

The taxi drove at full speed, and made a nasty turn which upset my stomach. I had whisky in my tummy and white powder residue in my nostrils.

Lights were off in the taxi—darkness was flattering to our faces. The fast, repetitive glimpses of city lights flashed Julia’s naked chest. She was on top of me, and I was inside of her. She kept flexing her cunt muscles throughout the ride.

“Clean” pumped through the small speakers, cutting away the deeper notes. Radio rarely did much good for the artist.

I fucked Julia hard in the cab. I pressed my index finger deep in her ass, her crack was soft as she was tasteful. The Pakistani driver peeked a couple of times in the rear view mirror. I caught him a couple times. Who could blame him? Everyone at the party wanted to fuck Julia. But she chose me… for reasons I couldn’t point out. Maybe it was my indifference? Maybe she felt pity for me? Couldn’t be… I knew a pity fuck when I was in the middle of one. Maybe, she could tell I was similar to her? Similar broken life. A similar restlessness.

“Don’t come,” she instructed.

“I DON’T WANT STAINS IN MY TAXI!” the driver yelled. I was right. He was from Pakistan.

“Rachid, you’re putting a downer on taxi-sex!” I yelled.

A strange threesome of voices all from separate worlds, but all heading in the same direction.

“Julia…”

“My name’s not Julia, you old fuck. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Julia was my sister-in-law. I’m trying to spice up things…”

“Isn’t this dirty enough for you?”

“I’m close…”

“Don’t do it! I’m not on the pill.”

“Well, then stop flexing your cunt.”

I pressed my finger deeper inside her ass and jiggled it a little. Then I squeezed her throat.

She lost it. She enjoyed it. It was all about her. All I wanted to do, was to make her tick. It made me tick. Made me feel less like the eunuch everybody believed I was.

“I’m going to come. And I want you to taste it.”

Julia kept gasping through her soft vocal chords. The taxi stopped for a red light. We were in a Muslim neighborhood. Bypassers were dressed in Mecca-friendly whites and coarse beards. I read “halal” in every storefront.

Then I gushed a load inside of her.

The taxi drove ahead. It was time to go home.

© 2014 Sam Mansoor. All Rights Reserved. 
Any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.