Literotic asexstories – Ace Adventure Pt. 01 by SmutHater
(This is the beginning of hopefully a series of short stories. The beginning part is just a backstory. All characters are over the age of eighteen.)
Life really does flash before your eyes as you die, huh.
I lay they’re slowly bleeding out. I had no way of making it. In your head you think, that’s how you would act in a situation, then when it actually happens it goes by so fast and you look back and go, ‘Why the fuck did it do that?’ At least as I feel my lifeforce leave me, I have no regrets.
Sure, I’ve made mistakes. But…
They’re not worth it in the grand scheme of things. I’ll either be branded a hero or a villain depending on which politician gets their hands on my story first. At least she knows the truth. She’s the only one that matters in the end. Yes, she and our child are safe. I never thought I would actually find someone.
As my heart strained to let out its final beat in a vain attempt to keep me alive, I began to lose the feeling in my body. There was nothing romantic or brave about dying. It was just yucky; an unnatural feeling flooded my thoughts as my mind begged and whimpered to live on for even a second longer.
Logically, I knew everything I ever felt was just a mix of chemicals in my head, but there was something else there, I could feel it as the connections in my brain began to collapse in on themselves as one after another, cells died. Just as I was on the cusp of grasping that feeling I lost all ability to think. All that was left were the memories that played out like a movie of how I got to this moment, while the last point, the very edge where my existence was about to fade from reality, seemed to continue on for eternity.
Let me show you how I got to this point where someone who never loved gave their life for someone.
…
My name is Matthew Harvey. I was born in the nineties in the south of England. Far enough away from London that we weren’t cockney. But close enough that at least half the adults living in our town would get the train up to the city for work each day.
I always realized I was different, I just never figured out why for a bit. My mum was essentially what you got when you mixed a person with bi-polar, narcissism and years of abuse. She was a nurse, had been married before and moved to the UK from Canada just wanting to get away from her EX.
When she arrived in the UK, she had no support structure and barely survived, but got a job for the NHS before they reduced wages to the point that you couldn’t live off it. She met my father at a club where a few of the fellow nurses she had made friends with went. He had just gotten out of a divorce with his ex-wife who took pretty much everything he owned due to a loophole in their pre-Nup.
He, being drunk, asked her to marry him that night, to which she just said no. They ended up meeting each other randomly until that Christmas eve, my mum with no one to spend it with decided to go with my dad to his family dinner when he offered.
They ended up both getting a bit tipsy and when my dad invited her up to watch a Christmas movie she hadn’t seen before, things escalated quickly. And that was how I was born. I ended up being the oldest in the class and combined with my already tall height for my age pretty much made me an outcast in the social network.
Anyway, my brother and sister were twins born fourteen months after me. Mum couldn’t have any more kids after that due to injuries sustained in her last marriage. She was always slightly snappy but was a nice person from what can remember. It all changed when I was about seven.
A BMW came out of nowhere on a roundabout as my mum was heading to work and it pretty much derailed her chances of becoming a doctor since she was now in a wheelchair. Not just her body but her mind was affected too. The accident had caused her to lose the part of her brain which basically acts like self-control for emotions.
So, where you would get mildly annoyed at something but in your head go it’s not worth it to get upset, she would go from one second being the most positive and loving person in the world who I loved immensely, to a demon from the depths of hell who knew exactly how to abuse you mentally. I guess that’s why I kept coming back no matter how many times I psyched myself up to leave. I kept saying it’s not her fault. It’s the accident. Looking back now I had essentially got Stockholm Syndrome or at least something like it.
My dad truly loved her, and I watched as over the course of a decade she began to slowly become more and more what she had been fighting to get away from. She turned into what her family and ex had been. A monster. It slowly killed him inside until all he did was wake up, have her scream at him, go to work, come home, and then sit in the garden with a few beers as she screamed at him some more. It was only in my adulthood I realized he did it for us. He could have just left but he stayed so we didn’t have to deal with her alone.
School wasn’t any better. With me always being emotionally drained, I couldn’t be bothered to do any of the manoeuvring needed to get along with my classmates socially. The only friends I had growing up with were online and my siblings. Mum died when I was fourteen. That combined with the now constant physical and emotional abuse I was getting at school, which the faculty did nothing about since it couldn’t be proven, led me to drop out. Well, it was that or grab my grandpa’s double-barrel and start the trend from the other side of the pond over here.
Nah, I cared too much for that. Funny how I probably could have taken them in a fight since even though we had all hit puberty, I still towered over them and went to the gym. I knew though how the system worked, if I so much as touched them I would have a criminal record. I had enough once a glass bottle was smashed on my head though.
I ended up going to a vocational college and that was where I found myself. I got my GCSEs done along with a blacksmithing course. It was fun and my muscles only grew more pronounced. I figured out I was asexual after reading a bunch of books about sexuality when I was about seventeen. When I say asexual, I mean that term loosely. Just like there are I think nine different versions of liking multiple genders. There are Aces who like no physical contact or those that don’t care about physical appearance.
I think I was asexual, bi-romantic. Meaning I could have romantic relationships with both genders, but sex wasn’t really a thing for me. When people would talk about sex and stuff, I wouldn’t quite understand what they were talking about. I tried looking at porn and erotica stuff, it intrigued me, and I could get into it, but I never really felt the urge to jack of or anything.
Take watching Iron-Man when that film came out for example. I went with a few friends I had made and after the film the guys were saying how hot Johansson had been or the girls how dreamy Downey had been. (God he Is.) I agreed with both sentiments, but I just didn’t have the desire to want to pin them down and fuck them like my classmates did.
I heard some asexuals find even the idea of sex uncomfortable while others like the idea but when they get to it, they freakout. I could definitely get into stuff like romance erotica and longwinded stories of chivalry and enjoyed them more than just watching porn which if I’m honest makes no sense how someone can get enjoyment out of watching to people rut and grunt for half an hour in positions which would give even my athletic frame cramps.
I mean I didn’t even get a boner when we were at Brighton beach over the summer. I mean yes, the girls looked cute and since most of them were all at a vocational college had next to no chubbiness. I had just turned eighteen with our group consisting of people between the ages of seventeen and twenty-two.
We ended up moving a few miles east since we decided to spend the night on the beach. We had a tent and a few fires set up. I suspected some of the boys had been planning this since they conveniently had a permit for that section of beach we had moved to, which allowed us to camp as long as we made the fires properly. I had only drunk one beer and was in charge of making sure the guys under eighteen didn’t get any since we didn’t want the police getting us on distributing alcohol to minors.
Around one in the morning, Simon came to relieve me. He was from agriculture and was about twenty-two in his fourth year at the college. I was sort of tired and knew everyone was probably going to party tomorrow as well. I headed to one of the empty tents and got into one of the sleeping bags after taking off my jeans and hoodie, leaving me in my Jaws movie T-shirt and black boxers.
I was about to fall asleep, with the sound of wind, crackling campfires, the waves lapping against the shore with an echo of jazz music someone who didn’t get the mood had put on. There was the odd laugh and sound of vomiting as well. I was just about to fall asleep as the tent zipper slid up and the cold salty air woke my mind from its attempt to sleep.
In stepped Haven Alivia. She was Nineteen and was in the same year of blacksmithing as me. She wore a white Classic cut bikini top covering her B-cup size boobs and a pair of black bikini bottoms which showed her toned bum. She turned around and froze slightly before noticing it was me.
“Oh, Matt. It’s you. Don’t mind if I change quickly? I’m all wet from a dip and all the other tents are full.” She says in her almost perfect southern English accent which was slightly warped by her polish heritage since both her parents said with a heavy accent. She had grown up over here, but the accent popped through, probably since she was drunk. Before I could even respond she began to untie the knot around her neck which held the two triangles in place.
As soon as I saw her reach behind her neck I turned away and said, “Umm, you know it doesn’t work like that. Just because I don’t get a boner doesn’t mean I don’t find you pretty.” My voice had increased in an octave from its usual deep tone as my voice caught at the end.
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