As I sit in my self-loathing, I hear the lock turn and the door opening, but I don’t care. I cradle my most loyal friend and realize I’ve already downed half a bottle.
Tonight will be one of those nights. Where there are so many regrets to memories unknown. And truly, it’s what I’ve always deserved.
“Toby?” Bry’s soft voice calls out to me.
“One sec!” I holler back, hoping I can stay hard for her. It’s sad when you can’t even force your dick to rise to the occasion when choosing to cheat. If it’s not for pleasure, then what’s the point? But luckily, looking over Joey’s and my personal porn, my dick is awake and ready.
She saunters into the room, noting my bottled friend, but ignoring it. Joey wouldn’t ignore it. She’d grab it, then chuck it at the wall or pour it down the drain, all while screaming at me to stop hurting myself.
Because even though the hatred runs thick between us, her love still powers through. Just like before we were married, she killed me with hatred and soothed it with a bite of lust and a whole lotta love.
I hate her so damn much.
It runs deep.
Intrinsic and depraved.
But fuck, her body could fulfill every fantasy of mine, drive me through the wall with pleasure, and it’d sate me. It’d do something none of these women ever could. It’d bring me peace. She doesn’t deserve it, though, not while she shares her body with Francis.
Is that what she’s doing right now? Riding his cock while she wears my ring? My anger builds, and as Bry drops her trench coat and reveals a lacy number, I pretend it’s her that has me hard as a rock. I imagine Joey is fucking my best friend, letting him into her tight little ass like I used to. And then I’m grabbing Bry, throwing her on the bed, and sheathing myself before sinking in. She’s wrong. Not the same tightness. Not the same heat. Not the same. Not the same. Not the fucking same.
I growl as I think of my wife’s perfect pink pussy, how she screams for me and milks my cock. I think of her perfect real tits and not the fake bubbles I’m gripping as I thrust. It’s Joey’s whimpers and lip biting I’m fantasizing about and not the woman making loud noises that don’t turn me on.
And as she’s getting louder, the only thing that’s pushing me forward is the thought of my wife with another man, and I have to make her feel this pain. She needs to feel what I feel. She needs to fucking hurt, and I want to be the bearer of every ounce of pain. She will feel it all and then I’ll hate myself more, pretending it’s what I want. Sadness manifests inside me, but you know what’s stronger? What absolutely overwhelms me until there’s nothing but it?
Hatred.
It immobilizes me, taunts me to push, and threatens to take ownership.
So, I let it.
Faking an orgasm, I still in Bry, pretending it’s because I’m spent. Before pulling out of her, I grab my cell and take a picture of me holding one of Bry’s tits, my eyes are closed in faux pleasure. Before thinking twice, I send the image to Joey, hating myself more. In that hate, I find peace. Because neither of us should like who we’ve become, and until one of us wins this stupid fucking game, we’re going to despise every shaky breath.
Pulling out, I make sure to hold onto the condom, knowing I’d never fuck someone bare again, especially not this person who means nothing to me. She smiles at me with a look of sedation and yearning glistening in her eyes. I need to cut this shit off. She’s going to grow attached, and I can’t have that.
Regardless of how much I’m turning into my father, I will, under no circumstances, become Jase.
Throwing the condom away, I put my softened dick away, zipping up. I should stay. She likes when I stay a little longer and get her off. Pretend she matters. But I don’t give a single fuck how she feels. No matter what, she knows what she’s signed up for. There are no strings; I refuse to have a single attachment. Whether that makes me a piece of shit or not, I don’t care.
Grabbing my bottle of Jameson, I walk away. As if she knows, she doesn’t follow or