The Doomed Job: My Fucked-Up Past

This is the first story I’ve ever written, so be gentle with me. i had no one to proof-read it, so i did it myself (it’s a really tiring job), and i know a few errors might have gone unnoticed. I’ve tried to use good English, but then again, some errors might be there. Don’t be a grammar nazi. Bear with me. Most of you will find the first part irrelevant, which is true. It is just an insight into the life of Joseph Nelson. This part is the foundation stone for the rest of the story, which is why it’s important. The next parts’, i hope, will be interesting. The story has been told from Joseph’s perspective. Lastly, do vote and comment what you think. Don’t fuck with my patience in the comments section. CHEERS

This could have been one of those normal mornings for us – my girlfriend, Stella, and myself; lying on a king-size bed with the sheets draped royally over our half-naked bodies, feeling the pleasant light and warmth of the morning sun filtering through the curtains and falling upon us, showering our faces, and the sheets and the mattress, with a golden-yellow glow, commanding us to get ourselves out of bed, but our bodies too close and too tempting to be ignored, wanting to experience the tingles of just one more moment of such sheer intimacy, as could be shared only between two individuals drowned in each other’s love. Yeah, it could have been – if I hadn’t chosen to be an arrogant, proud jerk over two weeks ago. God, I really hate to think of the day.

Until that awful day, and for the past one year and a half, I’d been working as a consulting agent in an insurance company. I kinda hated my job, which actually was to fool people into investing in our policies, and fucking them in the ass (a more violent expression for backstabbing, coz I’m really angry right now) when they really needed THEIR money back, but I carried on. The pay was good, and I thought I finally had a well-settled life. To top it off, I met Stella Perkins a year ago and fell in love with her.

I still remember the exact scenario – meeting her at a club I frequently visited, catching a glimpse of her beautiful face and well-proportioned body clothed in a sexy, red knee-length dress, and gathering my guts to go talk to her. I remember how she’d been sitting alone at the bar counter, watching the animals inside the people unleashed on the dance floor, with a drink in her hand, and how after many self-reproachful sermons which had nearly come to questioning the significance of my existence, I had gathered the courage to talk to her. I remember how the introduction had been easier than I thought it would be, and how we’d then talked for hours – she was an easy talker -, then danced to some songs, and eventually ended up in my bed fucking the life out of each other.