Sausalito

By Anthony Johnson

Corbin Maasai is a self-made man, virile and strong. He lives above the crowd, always looking out and down, never in . . . until he meets her. Now he must decide if abandoning what has always worked for him to gain something new, someone new, is worth the effort. How far do you go to find out who you are? How far is too far? Sausalito might just be far enough.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 31, 2019
• ISBN: 9781796024920

Anthony Johnson

Anthony Johnson is an experienced Design Engineer and Educator responsible for Engineering Design in the Department of Engineering and Technology at the University of Huddersfield. He is also a U.K. Chartered Engineer (C. Eng) with the Institution of Mechanical Engineers. Professor Johnson is a prolific design consultant (with over 400 projects to date), educational consultant, and recent committee member with the British Standards Institute.

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Copyright © 2019 by Anthony Johnson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 03/30/2019

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Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Final Chapter

Chapter One

It’s amazing how quickly your mind reads the visual cues of a standard sized hotel room and tells you exactly where you are. It is helped out by the bland sameness of the furniture, the simple box shape and the windows aligned only on one side of the room. You pretty much know where you are, not necessarily how you got there. Figuring out where you were prior and what you had been doing might require filtering through a virtual mind fog for answers. We tend to hide unpleasantness from ourselves when we get drunk. Once the intoxication wears off the bad memories all come home to roost.

I was caught up. Stuck in the middle somewhere between I give up and I don’t give a fuck. Last night had been a blur of willful drunkenness and debauchery. Her smooth tanned legs and wicked smile invited me in, did me in. Eight hours later I wanted out. The peace I had before we met was what I wanted back. I would settle for my freedom, unmolested as it had been before we started. Freedom is important when you think you have lost it, otherwise its disposable, you piss on it like you do everything else. I was willing to fight to get my freedom back.

Fortunately, my freedom was not lost. It was posted up outside the door waiting for me to claim it. I was willing to share it last night with the smooth tan legs and wicked smile as long as she offered sex in trade; sex with no commitment. Last night was over. It was time I reverted back to who I am—a loner.

I stepped out of the room into the morning air. The breeze was cool on my face. The birds sang songs of praise to me. The sun was bright, so bright it stung my eyes. It was a good sting. It felt like hope. Every new day should begin with hope and offer promise.

I looked back at the hotel room door. I wanted to remember what happened behind that door. I fucked like a champion! It was all that mattered. We were a team competing against itself. Our mutual objective was pleasure. I was the best part of the team; I outworked her. She tried to keep pace but it was not easy. She came multiple times thanks to me. I gave her my best effort, holding off ejaculation, sacrificing my pleasure for hers. We went on like this all night, me holding back, she engorging herself on my unselfishness. We rested a few minutes here and there but we never slept.

The night was long and sultry. The air conditioning enabled us to fuck strong and steady. We could not have survived without it. We slid over each other with frictionless ease. Lubricated by sweat drag was kept to a minimum. She was determined to fuck as long as I was and reap the benefits of it. Our love fest ended on a technicality. We ran out of time. We never ran out of energy.

A few days later images from that night flickered on and off in my mind like a faulty neon sign. I had no control over them. They formed an obvious message playing in my head. "You have never fucked a woman like this before," the message said. It had a double meaning. I had never fucked like that nor fucked a woman like her before. It was true.

I treated her like all the women before her, maybe a little better. I remember leaning down to kiss her pussy before I started for the door. It was still warm. In my hand, I held a business card she had given me after we fucked. We exchanged phone numbers via business cards. It was the proper protocol. We were free from adding each other as phone contacts this way. I stole my business card back while she was preoccupied. As I passed a trash can on my way to my car I tossed them both inside. It was only a perfect night if I never saw her again. I was cool with that. She was too fucking good! I would have wanted more.

I walk above the crowd. The world looks different from up high. The concerns of ordinary people are small to me. I disassociate myself from the commonality that unites them. They are petty. I am special. I am magnificent. I am the mountain. My name—Corbin Maasai- is special. It was handpicked, uniquely chosen to distinguish me from the masses. I know because I picked it. I was once named Manual Franklin. People called me Manny. I’m Corbin now. A few very privileged friends call me Cory, my nickname. At six-feet-four inches tall, I stand above the crowd. My fit and superior physique draws the ire of men who look at me with amazement. I am elite in every way; extraordinary. And yes, I have a dick that is substantial, every man’s dream.

I do not exaggerate accomplishments. Things come easily to me. Instinctively I know when to let go, when to move on. Consequently, I get the most out of every experience. I rarely waste a drop of anything or discard something before its usefulness has been completely exhausted. When I embrace a woman she is enraptured. The enormity of my personality does not suffocate her—she breathes! She imports me into her and a new her emerges. A better her.

Imprinting myself onto a woman empowers her not me. They hold no special significance to me. I do not plan to get to know them. I am a thief of hearts, enamored with my ability to steal love right from their bosoms with their eyes completely open. What’s inside them is not as valuable as the effort it took me to steal it. Having them give themselves to me is what I live for.

My goal is to get them out of their panties. It is my favorite part. Once the panties come off they are completely vulnerable. Every vestige of pride comes off with them. They have staked everything on their ability to discern a robber from a priest not realizing they are often one and the same. They fight to protect what is inside those panties but they lack vigilance. I am determined. Once I take ownership of their pussy it becomes my pussy! They bow to my fat dick like it is royalty. The truth is women rarely plan past their first line of defense, breach that and the gates are spread open for you.

Once I have their pride in the palm of my hand—literally at my fingertips—I keep them off balance manipulating it. I control their pussy by having them worry about how much it means to me. I keep its value to myself. It rises and falls on my word, it is what I say it is. Women love the synergism combining risk, loss, and gain. It creates an addictive reason for them to keep coming back time and time again.

Something was wrong this time; different. Typically I sense uncertainty before it clouds my vision. I attack it head on and clear away the mystery. I love order, hate unpredictability. This time I was not in control of the moment. I did not know where it was taking me. I was confused. What was I supposed to do? I raked my hand across my head temporarily relieving the curl from my hair. I tugged at my chin, anxious to know what was different this time.

My mind kept going back to the girl from a few nights before. She was nothing special, just a girl like so many I had forgotten with ease. Her eyes were green, her smile twisted wickedly at the corner when she spoke. Why was I remembering any of this? Why did I care? …The style of her hair, the smell of her skin, her crooked smile; why did I care? Despite trying hard not to, I kept going back to that night in my mind.

"You’re good…" she moaned, "really good!"

…Yes, I said, I am.

She flipped from the standard missionary position onto her stomach then backed into me doggie style. I had not anticipated she would do that but the transition was so smooth I just rolled with it. She moved her ass right up against my hips pushing me deeper inside her. Then she bent down until her breast stopped jiggling and rested on the mattress. She looked back at me.

It’s your show now baby, she said! Her arms reached out to the sides. She spread her fingers apart and gripped the sheets to brace for what she expected to come next. I marveled at the way her shoulders, back, and arm muscles created a mosaic of fitness and sensuality in my mind. Her tiny trembling voice turned deep and soulful when I gave her what she wanted.

Where was that petite, barely audible, sound I heard when I asked her earlier if she minded me taking one of the empty chairs at their table? The club was packed. It was a popular night-spot hidden inside a hotel chain. I came here because the catch action was so good. Tonight, it was too packed for me. I could not find anywhere else to sit. Maybe I should have asked permission from the man seated with her. It would have been the proper thing to do, but I didn’t do it. She recognized it too and leaned closer to my ear.

He’s not my man, she said, struggling to be heard over the loud music. We came together but you can take him with you if you want, she joked, knowing he could not hear her.

No thanks, I said, I’m good.

You wanna dance, she asked? It’s why women come here. He doesn’t get that apparently.

I took the seat at the edge of their table across from them. He appeared frustrated by her antics. The blood rushing to his face was evidence of it. A lean, handsome man with sophisticated trappings; he was used to directing not following. His jaw tightened. His rigid body language revealed his embarrassment to me. He did not approve of my presence there. The defiance in his blue eyes flashed briefly in my direction. He stood and angrily walked away from the table. I was physically too tired to care about their drama. Working long hours six days a week had drained me. The money was great though. I needed to get out and spend some of it on me to appreciate it. Yes, I was tired, but not enough to get caught up in a lover’s feud. I sat at their table because there was room, not because of her, I told myself.

He’s not tripping about you, don’t worry.

…I never thought he was; don’t mean he won’t act a fool seeing me dance with you.

Ha! Winston wouldn’t hurt a fly.

That’s great for flies but I’m keeping my distance. What makes you so certain about him, I had to ask?

…Because I deserve it and he’s never hurt me. Come on, let’s dance!

I was still hesitant. Her words were not reassuring. Who was she anyway? Most women post up close to the line between good and evil before eventually crossing it, they like the suspense, the drama. She did not strike me as that type; the kind that hesitates, that likes to tease. No, she was a Habitual Line-Stepper! She crossed over between good and bad so often she couldn’t find residency with either. Playing to the attention of another man excited her. She was not one to waste time teasing something she had already decided on doing. Having two men compete over her was a win-only situation. The truth be told, I was turned on by her competitive spirit. I had everything to gain, nothing to lose.

Sure, I said finally, let’s dance.

I was out on the dance floor keeping the beat. She was everywhere doing her own little dance. I do not know what you call it but it was uniquely her own. When the song changed, the beat stayed the same but the floor came alive. She danced in front of me and attempted to spur me into a more spirited version of my two-step shuffle by bumping her chest against mine. She knocked me back, disrupted my rhythm a little then smiled. Chaos seemed to please her.

…Don’t be a pussy, she shouted! "…Come on!"

Sure, I thought, help you make an ass of another guy, possibly a good one. This was not how I planned to spend my night out. She was happily turning the knife in poor Winston. Maybe I’ll make her pay for it later, I thought. Soon she’ll be dancing for me on the head of my dick. I did not feel too sad for poor Winston. He was forgotten the minute I came on the scene. He must have found a corner somewhere and crawled up in it and died, I laughed. I looked around the room in case he was hiding in the shadows. It never helps to have enemies preying in close quarters. I danced a few more songs then took her around the waist and pulled her close.

Let’s take this party to my truck, I shouted over the music!

I’m with Winston, she said, launching an unnecessary lie.

We’ll make it a party for Winston then, I joked, a pity party!

I don’t know if I can trust you?

"…You can’t. Isn’t that the point? If you wanted safe you wouldn’t have run off what’s-his-name!