Chapter 28 – Part 4, Love is Hate

This is chapter 28, part 4 of the Pleasing María novel. If you are under 18 years of age, or are offended by explicit descriptions of sexual activity or violence, or by strong language, please exit this site immediately. To view the Table of Contents of the novel click here. To go directly to the first chapter, click here. To read the latest novel post, click here. This is a rough second draft.

Chapter 28 – Part 4, Love is Hate

María clearly didn’t want to discuss fucking her brother, so I changed the subject,

“Why did you marry PP?”

“You know I never married him legally. When he brought the divorce papers, I was going to sign them and I asked PP if he would marry me. He laughed at me. He said he would never marry a whore like me, never marry a whore who had the initials of other men tattooed on her body. He said I was dirty, I had fucked too many men, more than one, more than just him, was too many. He said I had been perforated by so many men, I should look like Swiss cheese. He said Brett is a bastard and he could never accept him. His wife, nagging witch that she is, was a decent woman who had never known any other man.

“PP wanted me as a fucking toy, but mainly to destroy you. This is when our problems started, when I contacted my black guy. I never signed the divorce papers, we’re still legally married, although I’m married to PP through his tribe.”

“Why did you stay with him after what he said?”

“I didn’t have anywhere to go. I didn’t have you or anyone else. And he still had the perfect penis. He could take me to heaven better than anyone else. So I decided I would be his whore, the basest, nastiest whore in the world, just for him. And I was, until black guy showed-up. Look at him watching us. He’s a martial arts expert and he’s afraid of you. He saw the castration video and he thinks you should be dead.”

“So how did you feel when you saw the video? Did it make you excited?”


“It did excite you, didn’t it?”

Her face exploded in fury, “I hated he hurt you. I hated it excited me, so much I wanted to fuck him to death. We watched it many times. I climaxed just watching, when he choked you, when he twisted up your prick, when he tortured you again and again crushing your huevos (eggs, balls). You twisted and jerked on the floor, screaming into your underwear, and I hated you for that and I wished he had killed you. I hated him and I hated you and I hated myself and I fucked him until the hate didn’t hurt so much.”

“You hated me? Why me?”

“Because you loved me, because you let him destroy you because you loved me. I knew then how much you loved me, that you were enough for me. You were the only one that ever loved me as deep as death. None of the other men ever came close. They wanted my body, they wanted to fuck me inside-out, they loved me, but not like you, not as deep as death. I wanted you then more than ever, but your genitals were destroyed and he owned you, and I hated you for that. When you were finally enough for me, it was too late. How dare you do that! You took away my one chance in life for a man that was enough for me. I hated you so I fucked him for destroying you and fucked him and fucked him and didn’t stop….”

Her black lover jumped up and ran towards us as she started crying, but she waved him off. She continued,

“See how he watches us? He’s afraid of you. He wants to hurt you. He said you shouldn’t have survived the castration, you lived because you loved me. He thinks you’ll take me away.”

I hugged her and we rocked gently together.

I said, “All I ever wanted was to be enough for you. But it’s over a long time ago, nothing can change it now, it’s OK, it has to be OK.”

But she wasn’t finished,

“And in Guanajuato, I begged you to stay, we were enough for each other finally, but you wanted him more than me. Then you brought me back to PP. You gave me away again. I hated you even more for that; I scorned you in his house, I fucked him in your face to hurt you. I hated you because you loved me that much, but we could never be the same as before. You cheated me out of what I had wanted my whole life. I still hate you, and now I fuck this black man because I hate you. I watch the video with him too so I can fuck him with rage for you. I cheat the black guy now so I can hate you more. Every man I’ve fucked since then has had your face, and I hate them. The hate burns me and I fuck them madly to relieve the pain for a moment, the orgasms make the hurt go away for a while. I can’t make love to any man, they all have your face, your ugly ordinary face, so I just fuck them. I cry when I fuck them. I let any man who has a hard-on fuck me because you can’t. You’ve made me the world’s biggest whore. And I’ll keep fucking other men forever because I hate you, and I’ll never, never have what I most wanted, and it hurts. You could have saved me. Why did you give me away? Why?”

She cried and gasped in huge spasms. I couldn’t answer that question, I’d have to kill myself, and I had no right to do that–Marikarina wants me. So I had nothing to say. We rocked on that concrete bench in the plaza beside the church in Ciudad Vieja. I thought, “This must be getting close, this is raw, this must be close to what love is–love is hating the one that loves you most–love is hate.”

She finally stopped crying, and sat there leaning into me. I said,

“If you ever wake-up one morning and realize you don’t hate me anymore, I’ll be still waiting for you. Marikarina will stay with me only for a while. She’s too young. She’ll meet a young, handsome man that craves a woman with a penis, and she’ll want him more. She’ll be afraid to tell me, but I’ll know, and I’ll kick her out to be with him. She’s not for me. You’re for me. I’m waiting for you now, and I’ll still be waiting for you until the last moment of my life.”

María started crying again. I continued,

“Since we’re confessing and apologizing, it’s my turn. I hurt and mistreated you in a thousand ways. It’s too late now, but I want to say that I know I did you wrong, and I’m sorry. I promise you’ll never be alone. No matter what or when, however long it takes or however old we are, you always have a place to go–to me. I’ll always take you back, even until the end of my life.”

She continued crying, and I said,

“I shouldn’t have said that, I had no right, I didn’t mean to upset you more.”

She cried harder, and said, “You don’t understand, you’ve never understood anything about me.”

Maybe she had loved me, maybe that’s what love is – enduring even the lack of understanding. I said,

“I’ve loved you since the first moment I saw you.”

And she said, “But you didn’t know it.”

“I know it now, can I have another chance?”

“No, never. Why do you stay here? Why don’t you go home to Guanajuato?”

“Come back with me. We can work it out, like you said before. We’ll go to the orphanage in León, choose some girls, some have been abused and they need our help. My mouth is better than ever, and the Estrella has given me lots of kissing practice. Just because I don’t have a penis doesn’t mean…”

“Stop it, stop, it’s not the penises, it’s never been about penises. It’s not because you don’t have a penis. I can never go back to you because you gave me away one time too many. And I’ll never give you the chance to give me away again, never.”

“Now you don’t get it. How can I go back without you? My existence depends on you. My life flows from you. I can’t leave–what if something happens to you? You choose the wrong man?”

Silence. She would never come back.

I was desperate to hold on to any thread of hope, to break through her shell. I decided to lighten up the conversation,

“If we knew then what we now know, what would we have done differently?”


I started, “First, I’d fuck you every day, just for the sheer pleasure of you, because I love and want you as deep as death. Brett would be my true son, and we’d have lots of daughters of every race and color, at least one of them mine. I’d clean other men’s semen from your vulva not because it humiliated me, but because they honored you, so I should honor them. And I’d brush and stroke your hair every day.”

María started crying hysterically, then screaming at me, a scream I had never heard before, primal, from her soul. I could barely make out the words,

“I killed them, the aborted babies, they were both yours, they were beautiful girls, I wanted them, but I killed them. I thought you didn’t want them, I was afraid you’d leave me…”

She choked-off, glaring at me through hate-filled eyes. She didn’t even have the decency to hit me.

I hugged her tightly, and the black guy came at us, mayhem in his eyes.

There was nothing left to say.

I looked up, the black man stood over us. I held on to her like it was my last day on earth. I thought she’d never release me, but when he took María under the arm, she rose up for him. He walked her to their car. And drove away.

Why had I said that? I upset her again, I always said the wrong thing to her, ripping scabs from old wounds I never realized existed. And for what? For some things, you never get a second chance, there is no ‘do it over’ for a failed lifetime, so why say it?

End of book content.

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