The Three Minutes Demon

 

Antonio

Antonio was the kind of guy everyone loved: tall, handsome, clean-shaven, with a humility and kindness that drew people in like moths to a flame. But deep down, he believed he wasn't a good person. A demon lurked inside him, he thought, waiting to spring out at any moment. He rarely got angry—he controlled his temper so fiercely that folks swore he was incapable of it. Even when someone pushed him over the edge, it was just a raised voice for a fleeting second. His anger never lasted more than three minutes.

He lived in a calm, peaceful neighborhood, steering clear of the hotheads whose tempers raged like storms. He wanted no part of fights he could avoid. People trusted Antonio implicitly; they confessed their sins and worries to him, and he kept every secret. He'd offer thoughtful advice, then always add: "Think hard about what I've said. In the end, you'll face the music if it's wrong. I've done my part—seek another opinion and see if you can blend the two."

His love life, though, was a disaster. He wondered if it was cursed. Any girl he slept with? The relationship crumbled soon after. To make them last, he avoided sex with most of the women he dated. But fate—or the girls' frustration with his excuses—always intervened. They'd grow tired, he'd give in, and days later: arguments, fights, breakup. The pattern repeated until he stuck to professionals—girls who charged for a quick encounter. It worked for years, until he met Rachel.

She was beautiful: tall, fair-skinned, with a big ass but breasts as small as a teenager's. He fell hard, showering her with attention. But Rachel, for all her looks, had the mind of a child. It disappointed him—not because he didn't want her, but because he craved maturity in a partner. He couldn't even hold her hand without her yelling, "Let go, or I'll scream that you're trying to rape me!" He couldn't take it anymore. One day, he walked away, heart heavy as he reflected on her childish ways.

She couldn't wipe her mouth after eating, rarely bathed, and reeked of body odor like an atomic blast. Washing her laundry? Forget it—she'd wear the same clothes for a week. He tried helping: good soap for scrubbing, a brush and toothpaste, other feminine essentials. All futile. To top it off, she was wasteful with everything. It was a regret he wished he could erase.

Back to his loveless routine of paid sex. Years passed like that until he noticed a new girl in the area. Inquiries revealed she lived just a few blocks away. He made his move, telling her how much he liked her and wanted her in his life. "Give me time," she said. "We can be friends first so I can observe you and see if we could build something real." He agreed, and their friendship blossomed—soon the talk of the neighborhood.

Her name was Joy. Not as tall as Rachel, but prettier, he wagered (though he doubted himself sometimes). Her ass was even bigger, her breasts full to bursting. He daydreamed constantly: sucking them to his heart's content, hearing her moan as he thrust faster, harder, her crying his name, begging him to drive her crazy. Just thinking about it made his manhood stir; he'd groan in frustration.

One evening, lost in conversation and laughter, they didn't notice the hours slip by. It was late. "Spend the night at my place?" he asked. She agreed. Inside, he was thrilled—humming nonsense lyrics under his breath, happier than he'd been in ages.

In bed, talk turned intimate: past experiences, fantasies. He offered to suck her breasts; she consented. As he did, his right hand slid to her inner thigh. She grabbed it, stopping him.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"No," she whispered.

"Then let me feel you." She released his hand.

Desire consumed him. He grinned crookedly in the dark—lucky she couldn't see. His fingers explored her; her moans pleased him immensely. When he tried to enter her, she stopped him again. "Not tonight. It's my first time in your house."

Frustration boiled, but he hid it with a shrug. "Will we ever get to the real thing one of these days?"

"Yes," she promised.

The world felt like his to command. He pulled her close and cuddled her until dawn.

He came to know about Joy, and what he found out really put him off, but due to his love for her, he closed his eyes to her faults. One day she let him make love to her and it was great; he was happy they had finally bonded together and he hoped that the curse he dreaded wouldn’t come to destroy their relationship.

He was shocked to know that Joy had a bad character like a nuclear blast; she was quarrelsome and small things offended her, she was disrespectful and always thought she was in the right even when she was wrong; she would argue and never accept her shortcomings.

Antonio closed his eyes to all this, wanting to prove the curse wrong; he wanted to prove that he could keep a relationship after he had had sex with his lover.

It was going fine and he dreaded the day something would come up that would destroy everything he had worked for in that relationship. When they made love the second time, he was in pure bliss, knowing he had beaten the curse, but how wrong he was to think karma would just let him be in a world full of ups and downs.

One day he and Joy had a fight; it was just a joke at first but due to the anger he had buried deep for all her troubles, he never even thought it would go far. He thought it would be like their usual fights—starting with an argument and ending with them making love, moaning in ecstasy.

So this night when the fight started just because she stepped on his toes and he told her not to do it again, she hated when someone said "don’t do this"; she took it as a challenge and stepped on his toes again; he was furious but tried to calm himself, so he told her if she did such a thing again, he would kick her out of his house and she told him, "you don’t have the guts to do that, you're a pussy," she said with a mocking laugh.

Antonio was livid with rage and he dared her to say a word again and see what would happen. She, as a stubborn and troublesome person, just laughed and said, "you are a fool, you can do nothing."

That settled it; he kicked her out of his house and that night he slept alone; after two days, he came to the conclusion that he had a curse and nothing would ever work out if he had sex with the girl he loved.

He tried to think how it all started and traced his sexcapades back to his university days when he slept with a girl who was a virgin and he was told to do a sacrifice to appease the gods which he mockingly refused and told them to stuff their sacrifice up their asses.

Now he wondered how he would ever lift that curse off himself again.

He wondered if he could really go back and perform the ritual they had asked him to do back then: tie red cloth over a white one, go to a crossroads with seven eggs and a live chicken, circle the seven eggs over his head seven times, kill the chicken, and spill its blood across the road. Could he really do it—or was karma truly a bitch?

The End

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