As Robert lifted his head to apologize or make an excuse he saw it was empty.
She was gone.
This became Robert Maddox's existence for all time. He would pace, look at the clock in anger, lift more weights and screw more women, or the same few women in a series of related imaginary incidents. But they would always disappear and he would be left to clean the couch again.
As the days, minutes, hours, years, and centuries past by or simply were Robert Maddox began to slowly realize that this was going to be his life ...FOREVER. Life on his terms, his life...his mind...forever.
Lifting weights, pulling, swelling, stretching, lusting, thrusting, pressing, meeting the imagined, undressing, pumping away, and coming.
Always alone, Robert always needed to clean the couch afterward.
Time lost currency after a long while. It just ran together like and endless recurrence. The lines blurred between all activities. Undressing and lifting began to be the same. Curling and coming became one.
Having grown bored with screwing Rachel on her parent's living room floor (the inside of the karate studio would morph into a perfect replica of her place replete with a whimpering basset hound in the corner, a 27" Magnavox television set pounding out Rod Stewart videos and occasionally Rachel's father would burst into the room near climax and tell "what the hell?!"
Which only made Robert thrust harder and deeper.
At other times Maddox would imagine her coming to the studio...and she would always be there. Dark haired falling around her full breasts as she went down on him. But she started to phase in and out.
He persisted. She would give him a mouth job while he lifted and did curls... But she was fading.
When it was over he had to clean the leg press, or he curled up in a ball on the floor because she had left early and was gone.
______________________
Part seven..the end...to come.
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