A Taste of Utopia

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Fall Out Girl

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  A Taste of Utopia

  Copyright ©2015 By L. Duarte

  All rights reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Interior formatting by Cassy Roop of Pink Ink Designs

  To my husband and children

  MOST PEOPLE CELEBRATE their birthdays. Not me. I celebrate the anniversary of my death. That’s the date I did the one noble act of my shallow life: I died.

  They say memories aren’t as accurate as one would think. But I clearly remember that day. It’s etched in my brain, encoded and stored in my mind, and promptly ready for retrieval.

  I still remember the stench of melted plastic and burning wood. I can feel the warmth irradiating from the crumpled structure. I can perfectly picture the smoke curling up in the sky, resembling snakes rising upward under the influence of a snake charmer.

  I approached a firefighter holding a metal clipboard. He was making notes and assessing the damages.

  “Excuse me, what happened here?”

  He glanced up from the clipboard. His brows furrowed, silently asking me if I was seriously asking him this question.

  “A fire,” he finally responded with the impatient tone of someone stating the obvious.

  “But . . . but what happened?” I scrunched up my face.

  “Too early to determine. We do know, however, that the fire started in a stove. It appears it was some sort of explosion.”

  “Did anyone get hurt?” My heart threatened to come out of my mouth. Were Mom and Luna okay?

  “Two fatalities. A female and her teenage son,” he said, turning his back to me and resuming his notes.

  Though sluggish, my mind processed the information. Mom. Female body. Her son. Mom was dead. I clenched my teeth to avoid the tears burning the back of my eyes from falling.

  Subsequently, it hit me. They assumed the guy’s body to be me. Me. But why? A flash of Jerry placing my probation bracelet around his ankle crossed my mind. Of course. They assumed his body was mine.

  That’s when I should have called the firefighter back. Informed him I was not dead. Asked if he’d seen my cousin Luna. But the words lodged in my throat and I couldn’t bring them out.

  Petrified, I stared at the house for what could have been hours. It was destroyed. In its place were a charred skeleton and a pile of ashes.

  When I finally snapped out of my stupor, I decided I had to find Luna. Explain everything. Tell her I was alive, that they had misidentified Jerry’s body as mine.

  Altered voices caught my attention. I circled the house. That’s when I saw Caleb, my Cousin Luna’s boyfriend. The guy I was sure was the love of her life. He was arguing with an older man. Immediately, I recognized the man. He was Caleb’s dad. Also, he was the judge presiding over my drug-related case.

  As I approached, I heard Caleb saying, “Nothing will keep me away from Luna now, Dad. Jake’s dead. You can’t use him to separate us anymore.”

  I took a few steps back. Caleb’s dad was using my pending case to blackmail Caleb and separate him from Luna.

  I fled without them noticing my presence. I went back to the blue bench at the beach where I had passed out from drinking. I sat there for hours, thinking. I realized, I was unconsciously destroying Luna’s shot at happiness.

  But there was a way I could avoid further damaging her life. If I were dead, there would be no more blackmailing. Caleb and Luna could be together. Free from me. Free from my baggage of screwed-up decisions.

  When night fell, I hitchhiked a ride and skipped town.

  And I never saw my cousin Luna again . . .

  www.Tailoredcompanionship.com/gallery/Seth

  My name is Seth. I’m 28 years old, 6ft, and 171lbs. I have teal-green eyes, dark blond hair, and a toned and lean body.

  I hold a bachelor’s degree in business and marketing. Some of my favorite activities include hiking, swimming, and cooking.

  I’m a world traveler, lover of good wine, and a connoisseur of black and white movies.

  Special talents: Nude massage with a combination of sensual and therapeutic techniques. A phenomenal dancer.

  I’m open to fantasies and fetishes. I’m discrete, an excellent conversationalist, passionate, and the possessor of a charming personality.

  I’m the perfect gentleman at a dinner table, who will transform into your most erotic fantasy in the bedroom.

  Interests: Toys, Leather, S&M, Shaving, Vanilla, Kissing, Role-playing, Oral, B&D and your very own personal fetish.

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  **FEMALES ONLY.

  I PUSH OPEN THE door to Chemistry 101. Long, confident strides take me to the middle seat in the first row. I place my notebook on the desk and sprawl out in the chair.

  I bring the tip of my pen between my teeth and chew on it. The professor writes her info on a whiteboard.

  Prof. Edith Smith.

  Ph.D. in chemistry.

  E-mail: Edithschemistry@edu.org

  She proceeds to list the schedule, availability, expectations, yadda, yadda, yadda . . .

  The words fade and my gaze falls on th
e professor’s tight ass swaying as she writes the information. My eyes scan the back of her black heels and then travel to her toned and tanned calves, rising higher to her ass clad in a gray pencil skirt, and bouncing chestnut curls cascading down her back. Holy hotness. Yeah, that’s fucking material, all right.

  My cock twinges coming to full attention. As I readjust my jeans, Professor Smith turns and her eyes find me in the front row.

  Her eyes fly to my crotch catching the unsettling movement of my hand adjusting my dick. Her breath catches in her throat, her eyes darken, and I swear she reads the lewd thoughts reeling in my mind.

  She goes on to say what was already written on the board.

  “Welcome to Chemistry 101 . . .”

  Though I don’t pay attention, I don my utterly attentive student mask. My eyes fix on her face as if drinking the words rolling out of her painted lips.

  “Let’s start with basics. Chemical elements are everywhere, including the human body. We can find sixty chemical elements in the body.” She strolls toward my desk. The click of her heels echoing in the auditorium. She props a hip on my desk and continues. “Ninety-six percent of our body mass is composed of water, being made up of the main elements oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, and nitrogen. That leaves the periodic table of elements to produce the remainder four percent.”

  Her hand slightly trembles as she brings her fingers to push the black-framed glasses back on her nose. Her tongue darts out of her mouth to moisten her lips. Her eyes meet mine yet again. They are dilated and dark.

  Oh, this will be lots of fun. All I have to do is endure two hours of mind-numbing chemistry.

  A BUZZ RESONATES from hidden speakers indicating the end of the class. The immediate sound of screeching chairs erupts in the room. A herd of students race to the door, tripping over one another, anxious for freedom.

  Slowly I gather my books, stalling to be the last student remaining in the class.

  I glance up. A lanky student with greased hair glued to his forehead makes his way to the professor.

  Her face crumples with obvious disappointment, but quickly recovers. The sorrowful expression dissipates, and she grants the student her full and undivided attention.

  With my notebook in hand, I file behind the group of students exiting the room without looking back.

  Lingering in the hall, I wait until the lanky student leaves the room. I reenter the auditorium and quietly lock the door behind me.

  I step across the room as silently as a panther closing in on its prey.

  Professor Smith is absorbed by the task of packing away her books in a smart-looking leather messenger bag, her back toward me.

  With an ability mastered after years of experience, my fingers shackle her wrists and I twist them to her back.

  She gasps and before she has the chance to scream for help, one of my skilled hands clamps over her mouth.

  “Hush your dirty little mouth.” I pin her against the desk. “I don’t want a peep leaving your lips. Right at this moment your body is mine. I’m going to fuck and ravish you so thoroughly that for the rest of the semester, every step you take will remind you of my cock slamming into your pussy.”

  I ram my pelvis against her ass. “Are you going to be a good girl and keep quiet?”

  She nods. I remove the hand from her mouth. Her body trembles under me. An anguished moan escapes her throat.

  “You have a mighty fine ass, Professor.” One hand holds her prisoner while the other roams over her body to squeeze her voluptuous and perfectly rounded ass. I do enjoy a plump behind.

  Slowly, my fingers travel over her body until they find the small pearl buttons on the front of her shirt. One by one, I undo them and unfasten the front clasp of her bra.

  “Your tits are big and ripe.” I cup her heaving breast and pinch her nipple hard and rough. She squirms and moans loudly. I tighten my hold on her wrists and pull them back harshly. “I said quiet.” I drag her unbuttoned shirt over her shoulder, and my teeth sink into the exposed skin, punishing her for emitting the noise.

  Under my firm grip, she struggles to suppress another moan. “Good girl.” I soothe the bite-mark with my tongue.

  I bend her over until her face rests on the desk’s surface. “I’m going to let go of your hands. If you move a muscle, I’ll punish you. Understood?” I whisper those demands into her ear, my teeth scraping the sensitive skin.

  She nods.

  I release her arms and place them over her head.

  I straighten my body and retreat a step.

  She tries to glance over her shoulder.

  “Don’t look at me,” I warn.

  She presses her cheek against the surface of the table. Her breath comes in fast gulps, and her body shakes.

  I caress her round derriere. “You, my lovely wench, shook your firm ass in my face to tease me, didn’t you?” My fingers grasp the hem of her tight skirt. I yank it up until it’s bunched at her waist, exposing the black lace partly covering her behind.

  A loud smack resonates through the room when my palm meets her butt cheek. She gasps, but doesn’t emit a sound. “You enjoyed watching me adjust my pants. You knew my cock was painfully hard. Yet, you continued to provoke me.” I caress the pink handprint where I just slapped her.

  I unbuckle my pants and shaft my dick with a rubber. “I could be nice, do a little foreplay, court you and all that. But I won’t. Your pussy will be punished for being such a tease.”

  I grip the flimsy fabric of her undergarment and rip it to shreds in one swift movement. She groans and squirms attempting to suppress her surprise and anticipation.

  I smile and stall. She remains still and silent.

  “Such an obedient slut,” I praise, sticking my hand between her thighs and cupping her sex. “Oh, my professor’s cunt is wet with need,” I tease.

  I place my cock at her entrance, grip her hips, and slam into her.

  Two hours, three orgasms, and another satisfied customer later, I count the wad of hundreds she handed me. My costumers pay in advance. However, she added a thousand dollars gratuity for turning her fantasy into reality.

  Being a male escort is a tough job, but somebody has to do it.

  Two months later . . .

  I slam the door closed and glance at my watch. It’s six in the morning, almost time for my morning run. I drop my luggage on the floor, toss my rumpled jacket on the couch, and kick my shoes off.

  The smell of coffee beckons me to the kitchen.

  “Morning, Zach,” I greet my roommate and best friend as I sit on the bar stool by the granite island.

  “Morning to you,” he says filling a mug with the black elixir of gods—also known as coffee.

  “You want some, yes?” He offers me a steamy cup.

  “How was your trip? Enjoyable?” Zach is wearing a silky kimono patterned with cherry blossoms. Outside the house Zach only wears manly apparels. At home, he always wears a feminine Geisha kimono. Some of them rival Japan’s imperial family’s wardrobe, in my opinion.

  “Thanks, man.” I retrieve the offered cup with a grin. “It was the usual: Middle of the night sex, shower sex, elevator sex, dressing room sex, public sex.”

  “How’s the oriental beauty?” He wiggles his brows.

  My grin morphs into a full-fledged smile. “If I ever get married, please remind me to marry a chick in her forties. The stamina. Damn.”

  “Well, too bad we can’t say the same for men.” He grins and a dimple pops on his left cheek. Zach is beyond good-looking. He is a beautiful specimen. Tall, strong build, aquamarine blue eyes, blond—and curly—hair.

  “How was your date, by the way?” I ask. Zach is bisexual. Well, I’m not entirely sure what he is. As an escort, he only did women but in his personal life, he specifically dates men.

  “Fantastic!” he says in a singsong voice. “Though it was very chaste.” His face deflates. “We kissed goodnight and parted ways.” His expression turns dreamy. “But the kiss . . . ? Wow. Memora
ble. Unparalleled.” His face beams. That’s Zach. He has no poker face. I’ve never met someone so easy to read.

  “Not having sex on a first date doesn’t make a person chaste, you know. That’s how most relationships roll.”

  “Speaking of dates, you have a message from Adriana. She has a new client for you.”

  I frown. It must be someone important. I seldom take new customers. My schedule is booked year round with regulars.

  “Please say it’s a traveling gig. Destination: Fuji. Purpose: Wild beach sex.” I prop my elbows on the granite counter and press my fingers on my temples. A splitting headache is numbing me.

  “You look awful. Everything okay?” Zach asks, raising his brows.

  “Yeah, man. All is well. Just need a legit vacation.”

  “I’ve warned you. Too much work.” He gets the coffee pot and tops off my cup.

  “Between working at His Secret and your gigs with Adriana, you barely have any personal time,” he reprimands me for the millionth time. “Your lifestyle is a recipe for premature cardiac arrest.”

  “You shitting me? My lifestyle is extremely healthy.” Why did I mention anything about being tired? Now Zach is going to grill me with his BS about my needing to quit my job as an escort.

  Since our company, His Secret, started to turn in a profit, he’s been pressuring me to commit full time to it.

  He stares at me. His lips press into a thin, firm line before he says, “You don’t get to tell me you live a healthy life just because you eat organic, drink wheatgrass every morning, and work out like a lunatic.”

  “Someday, you’re going to make a great dad,” I tease.

  “I’m serious, S. You need to take the time to chill out and enjoy life.”

  “I enjoy life. Have you seen my closet? My car?” I wave my arms around me. “This apartment?”

  “I’m not talking about material possessions, Seth. I’m talking about having fun, meeting people, and going out.”

  “I went to New York on a chartered plane.” I hold out my hand and count on my fingers as I boast the events of the previous days. “Visited museums. Watched the New York Philharmonic. Dined at Rao’s. Spent a week in a suite at Ritz-Carlton. And went shopping at exclusive boutiques on Fifth Ave. I even rode in one of those fucking corny carriages in Central Park. But, you dare say I don’t enjoy life? Oh, and did I mention how much I paid for any of the mentioned extravaganzas?” I make the universal sign for zero dollars.