BABY GIRL Let's Be Honest

  Scott D. Hildreth

  ERIK EAD – Let’s Be Honest

  Scott Hildreth resides in Wichita, Kansas and is well aware of who he is. He tries to write stories that his target audience can relate to. You just may find a little of yourself in The Erik Ead Baby Girl series.

  This writing is intended to be read after Baby Girl, but between Baby Girl Book II, For The Ones We Love and Book III, Love That Just Is.

  If you have read Baby Girl II, proceed with this read. If you have not, please do so before you read Let’s Be Honest.

  THE ERIK EAD SERIES

  BABY GIRL

  BABY GIRL BOOK II – For The Ones We Love

  ERIK EAD – Let’s Be Honest

  BABY GIRL BOOK III – Love That Just Is

  OTHER BOOKS BY SCOTT HILDRETH

  BROKEN PEOPLE

  THE ALPHA-BET

  Dedication

  This writing is dedicated to all of the women that feel like they’re living through the mind of Kelli Parks.

  .

  Copyright

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

  Copyright © 2013 by Scott Hildreth

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author or publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use the material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Cover art by the one and only Emily Dukat

  EMDukat Photography

  Emily Dukat

  [email protected]

  www.Facebook.com/EMDukatPhotography

  KELLI. I don’t think anyone should judge people for what they have done in the past. It’s easy to say that a person, based on their past, is a certain type of person that will be more apt to do certain types of things. I don’t believe that is always the case, I guess it would depend on the circumstances and the person. With Erik, I didn’t care what his past included.

  What I cared about was now. Erik Ead is the first man that I have ever loved. I want him to be my last. The thought of not having Erik in my life is crushing.

  The bottom of a box had opened and everything inside spilled onto the floor. Heather, when picking everything up, noticed a diary that Erik had kept. She said we should look inside to see what he had done in his past.

  “Just put it down, Heather. It’s Erik’s life. It’s his secrets. Put it down,” I demanded.

  “I just want to look at it,” she said as she started to open the cover.

  I pulled the diary from her hand.

  “It’s not yours. Would you want Erik to know everything about you? Are there things you and Teddy do that you don’t want him to know?” I asked, angry.

  “Sure, there’s things that aren’t anyone’s business…”

  I didn’t let her finish, “Your childhood? Anything from your childhood you’d like to keep a secret?” I asked.

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “Okay. This isn’t for you to look at. I’m going to put it up,” I said as I turned to walk upstairs.

  “You’re going to look at it, aren’t you?” she asked.

  I would no more look in Erik’s diary than I would stab him in the back with a knife. Not from fear of him finding out, or from concern of what I may or may not find, but out of respect. We all have a past – every one of us. Our past allows us to be the person we are today, naturally.

  Without our past, happening the way it happened, including all of the events - good and bad - we would be different people. I don’t necessarily like all of the events in my past, but I don’t know that I’d change them.

  “No, I would never look inside of his things. I respect him, you know that about me,” I said as I turned to go up the stairs.

  When I walked back into the kitchen, Heather was playing the drums with silverware on the island.

  “Sorry, I got shitty,” I said as I walked in the kitchen.

  “No problem,” she said as she looked up from her drum solo.

  “What are you doing?’ I asked, laughing.

  “I’m ready for them to get back here, I miss Teddy,” she said.

  I smiled.

  “You’ve never been happier, have you?” I asked.

  She shook her head, “Nope. God I love him.”

  “Not to just keep on it, but would you look in Teddy’s diary?” I asked.

  “Not only hell no, but fuck no. I thought about that while you were walking upstairs,” she answered.

  “Why not,” I asked, her immediate hell no surprised me.

  “Because I love him,” she said.

  “Well, I love Erik,” I said as I made a silly face, bobbing my head from side to side.

  “I get it sis,” she said in a mocking tone.

  “I hope Erik will have a house warming party, it’d be great to have everyone over. Erik says this is ours, not his. He said we got it together. This is just crazy,” I said as I looked around the kitchen.

  I was excited at the thought the home, in Erik’s eyes, being ours.

  “You didn’t hear?” she said, looking up from the box of silverware.

  “Hear what?” I said.

  “About the party?” she asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Oh, maybe it was supposed to be a surprise,” she said.

  I raised my eyebrows in wonder.

  “Tell me,” I said, barely able to contain my excitement.

  She held her arms outstretched as far as she could, and mouthed the word ‘huge’.

  Huge. With Erik Ead, I would expect nothing less.

  Nothing less.

  ERIK. We all have a past. Denying it would be to deny our existence. True acceptance of our past allows us to stand, as we are today, with whatever pride we are able to muster. However, everyone has a portion of their past that will scare the hell out of the most fearless of men.

  To what degree the fear is felt or even understood depends on the events of the past, and one’s ability to comprehend or understand the events as being just that – something in the past.

  My past has been an eventful one, sexually speaking. I have always known that I used women as a tool, or a means of satisfaction of sorts. To me, a woman has always been no different than a car - something that I used as I needed to, and discarded when I was done. As bad as that might sound, I have never misled a woman into thinking she would receive something from me that she wasn’t going to get. Most women eventually want so much more, or secretly hope that they’ll be the one.

  Knowing these things never prevented me from proceeding along the same path each time. Using a woman, telling her that she was going to receive sex and nothing else – then, after whatever time was required for her to develop some form of expectation or feelings, I would leave her.

  I would leave her before I felt pain, never considering what she may feel.

  My desires sexually changed over the years, and I used women to develop a means of understanding potential future women. To me, if one hundred percent of codependent women reacted a certain way, I knew that I could expect a certain reaction to a prescribed action. Using a woman was a way for me to compile data. Useful data. This useful data allowed me to proceed with other women more successfully.

  Sex, in itself, was a release. It was, to me, the same a
s being in a relationship or being married, without the commitment. A commitment requires one to open up, and that exposes the person who is opening to potential pain.

  Feeling a desire or necessity for another person, and not having that person meet that desire or expectation always crushed me. Based on this reason and this reason alone, I never let myself feel a desire or have an expectation toward another woman.

  Kelli finding the diary did not trouble me. She stated that she didn’t read it, and I believe her. The fact that I had kept it, forgotten about it, and eventually exposed her to it did.

  I love that woman, and I do not want to hurt her. Ever.

  Love is a powerful thing.

  But.

  I have not always loved.

  ERIK. Sitting at the fireplace, I opened the cover. The early entries were short and without much detail. As I flipped through the pages, I considered keeping it for recollection of memories - similar to Kelli keeping her treasures in the mason jar. Something to remind me of the past. Something to ignite the fire of what could become a vivid recollection of past experiences. A reminder of what got me to where I am today.

  Thumbing through the pages, I saw a familiar name.

  Danta.

  The entry was 2005, immediately after my 28th birthday.

  I closed my eyes and thought of the day we finally spent time together alone.

  NAME: DANTA N.L.N.

  AGE: 24

  STATS: 5’-5” thin

  ACCOMPLISHMENTS: Anal, A2M, cum play

  We had met for the first time at my 28th birthday party, which was a very small gathering. It included primarily some college friends that were aware of my birthday, and had thrown a party – to my initial displeasure.

  Meeting her at the party made an immediate impact, but she was accompanied by a friend, which prevented me from making any meaningful advancements. She was medium height, very petite, and blonde. She was, on a scale of 1-10, certainly a 9 plus. She was the typical adorable girl that we all dream of. This alone is what attracted me to her. I wanted to fuck her in the ass. Primarily because she looked like she wouldn’t stand for it.

  A week or so after the party, we had agreed to meet at my apartment in Manhattan, close to the campus.

  “So, this place is really nice,” she said as she looked around the room.

  “It suits me – want something to drink?” I asked.

  “No, no, I think I’m fine. Well, maybe a bottle of water. Do you have bottles?”

  “Sure,” I said as I stepped into the kitchen to get a bottle from the refrigerator.

  “I just can’t stand the water in this town, it smells funny,” she said as she followed me in the kitchen.

  “You mean it tastes funny?” I asked.

  “No, smells. It smells funny,” she reiterated.

  “Oh, never smelled it, I don’t guess,” I said as I handed her the water.

  She took a sip of the water and screwed the lid back on. For a short moment, she turned and looked into the living room. Turning back into the small kitchen to face me, she placed the water on the counter.

  “So, explain what you were saying in the BBM you sent me,” she said.

  “It was pretty self-explanatory, was it not?” I asked.

  “Oh, I dunno, try me,” she answered.

  “Take off your top,” I smirked when I spoke.

  “Excuse me?” she asked.

  “You heard what I said, and I’m not going to reiterate the entire message. We can go back into the living room and look at our damned phones if you really want to. Take off your top,” I demanded.

  “I’m not going to take off my top, we haven’t even talked yet,” she said with her hands on her hips.

  Oh you’ll take your top off. Either that or you’ll leave.

  “Take it off, Danta. Do it,” I said, pointing to her top.

  “No. I’m not taking it off.”

  She had made no effort to pick up the bottle of water, or to walk into the other room. If she truly didn’t want to take her top off, she would attempt to change the pace of what was going on. Clearly she wanted to play a game. I wasn’t in the mood.

  “Listen. I’m not going to play games. I told you what I wanted. You read the messages. We’ve been texting for a week. You know what I want. Get undressed. Or, I suppose you can take the water and leave. You pick,” I said as I walked toward the living room.

  Over my shoulder, I saw her grab the water and follow me, several steps behind. As I sat on the sofa, she came into the small apartment sized living room. I had a small sofa, and two chairs to sit on. The small kitchen, living room, and one bedroom were the extent of the space I leased.

  “Take your pick,” I said as she walked into the living room, pointing to the chairs.

  She looked around the room and took a second look at the sofa. She then chose the chair on my left.

  “I wasn’t joking,” I said as she sat down.

  “But we haven’t even talked,” she said.

  “So, let me ask you something. If we talked for an hour and relaxed, you’d be okay with what we talked about?” I asked.

  “She nodded, yeah. Yeah, I would. So, what do you wanna talk about?” she asked.

  “I don’t,” I said as I unzipped my pants.

  She focused on my hands without speaking. I pulled my cock from my pants and started stroking it.

  “Come here,” I said.

  She slowly stood up and walked toward the sofa.

  “Stop, get down on your knees,” I said as she approached.

  She set her water on the floor and kicked her shoes off. As she began to kneel, she reached out and grasped my cock in her right hand.

  “Oh my God, it’s so soft,” she said.

  “Soft and hard at the same time. Put it in your mouth,” I said as I started unbuttoning my jeans.

  She picked up her water and took a drink, then looked me in the eyes as she licked the tip of my cock with her cold tongue.

  “Gag on it,” I said.

  “I probably will,” she laughed.

  At about half way down the shaft, my cock hit the back of her throat. She opened her mouth reflexively, and pulled away from my cock.

  “Oh my god, it’s making my eyes water,” she said as she wiped her eyes and nose on the back of her hand.

  “All of it,” I demanded, smiling.

  “I doubt that will happen,” she said.

  I raised an eyebrow and looked down at her.

  “You know what I told you. All of it down your throat, then sex. Not before,” I reminded her.

  She attempted unsuccessfully to swallow my cock again. Same distance down the shaft, she would stop – as soon as it hit the entrance to her throat.

  I leaned back and crossed my arms in an exaggerated gesture. I raised one eyebrow and looked down.

  “Are you going to give up,” I asked.

  She pulled her mouth from my cock. “Look at this thing,” she complained.

  I did.

  “Well?” I asked.

  “No, but I don’t think I should have to choke myself on your cock to get you to fuck me. This is weird. You’re a power control freak, aren’t you? Karen said you were,” she said the part about Karen in a snide voice.

  Well, Karen would know, she’s had my cock down her throat.

  I started to sit up on the sofa as if I were going to stand, although I had no intent of doing so.

  “No,” she said, pushing on my hips.

  She began slowly, pressing further each time, her eyes and nose both running. She continued to force herself further and further down the shaft until she had reached a mental stopping point. She was three fourths of the way down the shaft. She took another attempt.

  “Oh my God, you make me feel so good. That’s it. Oh God. Fuck. Holy shit that feels good, Danta. Keep going,” I encouraged her.

  She looked up as she gagged.

  “Yes, oh God yes,” I moaned, one eye closed, watching intently with the o
ther.

  “Suck that cock. Fuck yes, you sexy little bitch,” I said. The bitch comment was a coin toss, women either loved or hated it.

  She started being more aggressive.

  Heads, I win…

  I lightly placed my hands on the back of her head, and forced her further down the shaft. She began to moan as I pressed.

  “Suck it, suck that cock, baby,” I moaned as I pushed her head down on the shaft.

  Through the gagging sounds, coughing, and her throat convulsing, she pressed on eagerly as I encouraged her.

  I slowly stood.

  She gripped my ass as my jeans fell to the floor.

  “Oh yeah, baby, suck that big cock. Suck that big cock for me. God you look good with my big cock in your mouth. You are making me so damned proud of you. Look at you suck that cock. God you are so fucking sexy,” I said as I looked down at her, my hands now resting at the sides of her head.

  And, as I encouraged her, she forced herself down onto the shaft like she was in a contest, and this was the finish line. I felt a ‘pop’ as my cock disappeared into her throat. She looked up at me. Her eyes, if it were even possible, were smiling.

  Technically, she could stop now. She did not. She was as proud of herself as I was of her.

  She proceeded to force herself down onto the shaft until swallowing it became second nature. I encouraged her at each attempt.

  “You’re such a good girl, God, you make me proud,” I said as she forced it down her throat again.

  I reached down and pulled her head off of my cock. She was out of breath. As she wiped her mouth and nose on her arm, I helped her to her feet. I reached down and unbuttoned her shorts. I pressed them past her hips and let them fall to the floor.

  “Turn around,” I said.

  I pulled her panties down and dropped them to the floor.

  She lightly kicked them aside.

  I walked around in front of her. “Turn around again,” I instructed her.

  “Bend over and grab the back of the sofa,” I said.