Friday, May 06, 2005

Come to think of it, I'm more of a marshmallow fluff man

"What do you wanna ask me?"

"Nah, never mind."

"Why never mind?"

"You're in rehab. I'm not gonna hit you with this crap."

"Steve. I needed to dry out for a while. I'm not a friggin' junkie. TALK to me!"

"That Dom thing..."


This is a huge fucking mistake. I don't need to know. I shouldn't WANT to know. It shouldn't matter. Dom and I have made our peace. Lila and I have, too. Like they say, it's better not to know how sausages and laws are made. It's also better not to know the specifics of how, when, where, and how well your co-worker fucked your ex-girlfriend.

But I can't help myself.

"Sometimes I feel like I need to know more about what happened."


I'm playing right into her hands. She wanted to make me jealous, so the worst thing I can do is show that it's working. But I'm doing it anyway, and I'm telling myself that it won't be that bad, that I'll feel better once I know, that the consequences will be worth it. But in reality, It's my insecurity creeping up again, demanding to know if Dom has somehow fucked his way under her skin and into her brain, if he has made her forget all about me.

"Who called who?"

"I called him. I met him for a drink at Doc's. He bought me a Cosmopolitan."

"And then?"

"He... asked me if... he could come over...."

My cock gets stiff. I love the idea of some other guy drilling her, making her box hot and creamy and wet, making her tremble with pleasure as he stretches her pussy wide open, fucking her relentlessly.

It's a strange combination: The cold, stabbing ice pick of betrayal mixed with the hot, lava-like flow of lust. The two sensations mix together and form a potent drug, something that gives me a rush like the last big hill on a rollercoaster ride. I know I need to stay far away from it. But I can't fucking do it. I hate this and I love it; I want her to stop talking, but I need her to keep going.


"You know what happened, Steve."

"Did you go down on him?"


I'm harder now. My cock is supersensitive, filling me with waves of pleasure each time it rubs against the inside of my pants. At this point, I'm pretty sure I would fuck a jar of peanut butter, if there were one in front of me.

"And then you had sex with him?"


"How many times?"

"I dunno. I was stoned. Two, three? And then again in the morning."

"He stayed overnight?"


"Did you....."

"Did I come?"

"Yeah. Did you?"

"Yeah. When I was on top I did."

My stomach is in knots. I am filled with rage. She is MINE, my subconscious screams. MINE, MINE, MINE! [warning: sound file link] How DARE he take her away from me!

Yeah, I'm being a moron. She's not mine. She hasn't been for some time. I thought I was past this. Maybe I'm not.



"It meant nothing."

"I know."

"I was trying to make you jealous."

"Well I think it worked."

"I'm so sorry, honey."