This story was written after listening to Chris Isaak’s song. The ending is intense. You’ve been warned.
“Dennis…you with us?”
Love is such a fucked up beast. Powerful. It claws at you, making you do crazy shit just for the shot at having that one special person in your heart. It forces you to nurture and defend simultaneously. While your subconscious mind often feels the deceit of this conflict, your entire being cannot be fooled.
And when you are driven to end a relationship, there always seems to be a part of you that feels low, almost resentful. You don’t want to do it, but you know it’s for the better, like each of you will grow stronger from it.
Then there is the revenge factor. How the fuck does that saying go? A dish best served cold?
More like cold-hearted…
The boom of his voice snaps me from my trance.
Still holding a hollow look, I slowly turn my attention to the front of the crowded conference room.
“Goddamnit, Barlowe. Where the fuck is your head at?”
My boss is leaning over, palms pressed on the end of a massive mahogany table, so perfectly polished you can see your own reflection. I had been staring down at mine for God knows how long, lost in some haze of thought about my ex-girlfriend, Julie.
“Sorry, sir. Distracted I guess.”
“Quite honestly, I don’t give a rat’s fuckin’ ass about your distractions! We have a goddamn quota to meet an—”
I feel the weight of every set of eyes in the room staring at me as he continues his spit-flying rant. And I just sit there and take it all.
It’s not that I don’t care, the job is pretty killer. Corner office overlooking the city, a personal assistant who had just graduated junior college with an ass that can melt the polar ice caps, and a salary and bonus structure that keeps me and my wife very comfortable.
The truth of the matter is I know I am good, the best actually, and my boss and his fucking quota need me. His spewing off about my lack of focus is just a way of imposing power, letting everyone in the room know he is the one calling the shots. A reaction to his feeling of inadequacy, I suppose. Maybe even a defense mechanism against the inevitable; me one day taking his job.
So yeah, I care, but at the same time, not more than what is pulling my focus. Minutes before the meeting started, I had gotten a text from an old girlfriend, Julie Stallard.
“—reports better be on my desk by the end of business today. Got it, Barlowe?! Jesus fucking Christ, if we don’t move the needle on this one I’ll be sure to let everyone on the board know it was your sorry daydreaming ass that dropped the fuckin’ ball.”
“Got it, sir. Reports. End of business. Needle will be moved.”
His seething glare tells me he doesn’t care for the condescending attitude. But I guess he feels as though he has already rained down enough spittle on that once-pristine tabletop; he decides to move on.
As we adjourn the hour-long waste of my time, I feel a hand brush my shoulder. It’s one of my co-workers, Kirsten.
“Damn, Dennis,” she says, “you’ve got some set on you standing up to the bossman like that.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
I like Kirsten. She is smart and cute, and she flirts with me. If I’m being honest, I am not exactly hurting in the looks department, so most of the women in the office flirt with me. But, she does it in a more sophisticated way. A way that is innocent and fun, and a massive turn-on.
“You okay?” she asks. “I mean, you obviously know your shit and for you, these meetings are basically an exercise in futility but you seem, I don’t know…unusually distant.” She’s smiling and sincere.
“I’m fine, thanks. Just got a lot on my mind.” I want to open up, tell her about Julie. But that relationship ended five years ago, long before I started with the company and the backstory would just take too long.
“Well, if you need me,” she says, “for something, you know, more attractively distracting, my door is always open.” Her eyebrows are raised as she nudges her head down to where her hands form a V by her crotch. Sophisticated.
When I get back to my office, I shut the door and pull out my phone. I open the text from Julie and let it once again invade my headspace. It disturbs me on a level that feels invasive.
Hey…I saw your wife on Facebook…she’s pretty…definitely your type…and mine. Hope you are happy…
The thoughts flood back into my mind. ‘What the fuck does she expect from me? Why won’t she just leave me the fuck alone?’
Julie and I dated through most of our college years when I lived in California. She was hot. Model-tall with long black hair, perfect tits, and a taut athletic ass. To describe her as erotic and wild is an understatement. Sexually insatiable is more like it. We fucked almost every day, sometimes multiple times to make up for days we had to skip. There were even times she kept my dick hard for so long it would ache and I just couldn’t go anymore. Those times she’d have me fuck her with a dildo.
Don’t get me wrong, it was definitely fun. I even remember one time we broke into the school’s chapel and I fucked her while she was bent over the altar. Her idea, of course, but the thrill was insanely hot. My hands kneading Julie’s plump asscheeks and thrusting violently while Mother Mary cast all her Catholic guilt down on me. Well, let’s just say I came more than once.
I held on to those memories for quite a while after we broke it off and never once regretted anything we did. But Julie Stallard isn’t exactly the type of girl your mom wants you to settle down with. And I’m not exactly the kind of guy that likes getting handjobs under the table while surrounded by family for Thanksgiving dinner.
So, when the job offer came through in New York City, I knew it was perfect. A clean break. There was no way Julie was going to leave her beach scene in Southern California, and she was just too sex-driven for a long-term relationship. We ended things and I moved on.
For a while, I would get an occasional text, innocent in nature: I miss you or Thinking of you.
After a bit, they got edgy and weird: I fucked a guy last night but his dick was nowhere near as good as yours. Eventually, I stopped returning her texts and they trailed off but never really ceased entirely.
It became clear she had never let go.
As I am staring down at this latest message, my phone begins to buzz; once again jolting me from a trance. It’s my wife, Linda. I swipe to answer.
“Hi, hun. You busy?”
“When am I not? What’s up?”
“I’ll get right to it then. I got a friend request on Facebook this morning from your ex, Julie.” She pauses. “Do you know anything about that? Is she fucking crazy?”
“Fuck. I honestly don’t know, baby. She sent me a weird text today, too. Just ignore her, okay? She’ll go away.”
“You have been saying that for what, almost five years now, Dennis. When? Tell me when she is going to finally go away? It’s getting worse, Dennis and you know it. Now she’s trying to cozy up to me?” Her tone is sharp, frustrated.
I spin in my high-back leather chair and stare out at the cityscape. So many people in the world, why the fuck is Julie so obsessed with me? I can feel the heat flood my face.
“I can’t deal with this shit right now, babe. I’ve got my boss breathing down my fuckin’ neck here, I just can’t. Okay?” There is another pause, longer this time, ten seconds, maybe more.
“Okay,” she eventually whispers, punctuated with a deep, soft sigh.
“Listen, I’m gonna be here late tonight. I have to get some market analysis reports to Tom before I can leave. Block Julie on Facebook and pour yourself a huge glass of wine. In fact, fuck it, down the whole bottle.” I try to make light of the situation.
“Actually,” she replies, “I’m thinking maybe I’ll go out for drinks. Riley’s been on my ass. Since you’re going to be late, maybe I will meet up with her?”
“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll stay the night at her place.”
I start to get an uneasy feeling. Normally, I wouldn’t have thought twice about her crashing at Riley’s after a night of drinking. But given the current set of circumstances, something feels off.
“Are we okay, Lin?”
“We’re fine, babe. It’s just, well, you know how I hate taking an Uber late at night from Brooklyn.”
“No, yeah, that makes sense. Maybe come by the office tomorrow on your way back to the city and I’ll take you to lunch. I have some money left in this quarter’s budget.”
“That sounds lovely. Tony and Tina’s? They have the best lobster bisque in Manhattan.”
“You bet, on me, well, on Tom actually,” I say with a chortle.
“I love you, Dennis Barlowe.”
Her words grab me and the knot of uneasiness tightens. She used my name. My full name. It wasn’t out of the ordinary to end with an “I love you” but the salutation is always quick and informal. I hesitate for a second before answering her back.
“I love you too, baby.”
~ # ~
It is after midnight by the time I finish at the office and finally make it home. I pop open an IPA from the fridge, fish my laptop out from my satchel, and fall onto the couch. With Linda out for the night, I decide a healthy dose of forbidden porn will help clear my head of Tom and his fucking numbers.
The screen warms to life and I peck-type my password with one hand while unbuckling my slacks with the other.
In the bottom corner, I notice the icon for my work messages has a little red circle indicating that I have one unopened message. Must’ve come through as I was on the train home. I figure it is probably Linda already tipsy and wanting to let me know how flirty she’s getting with Riley. She knows the lesbian fantasy is my favorite and she’ll often whisper dirty deeds in my ear while we fuck. I open it hoping for a nice lead-in to my impromptu jerkoff session.
The message is not from Linda.
I take a pull of beer and stare at the screen for a hard minute unsure if my eyes are deceiving me. The message is from Julie, but how the fuck did she get to my work feed? I click to open it.
There is no actual text to the message, just a raw video clip of a bar scene. The camera is shaky and the noise is loud and indiscernible. I don’t recognize the place, not a bar I remember us frequenting during those days out in Los Angeles. Then the phone raises higher, giving a bit of a birds-eye view above the crowd.
“Linda?” I mutter under my breath.
She is in a far corner sitting at a pub-style table drinking alone. The video cuts. No words, no commentary. I run my hands through my hair. Confusion rips through my mind like a bullet rattling around the inside of my skull leaving behind fragments of reason. The footage looks like it was taken today, but how?
Sliding the laptop onto the coffee table, I grab my phone and ring Linda.
Straight to voicemail.
I send her a text: Hey…I have a message from Julie and it looks like she’s at the same bar as you? Where’s Riley? Call me!
I pull up the video again to see if I can catch any context clues as to what bar they are in. Nothing. The timestamp is well over two hours ago. Odd.
My mind is reeling. If it was in fact Julie, what is she doing in Brooklyn? Why is she stalking my wife? What the fuck is happening?
I try Linda again, voicemail.
“It’s fine,” I say out loud trying to rationalize.
It isn’t like Julie and I had done anything since breaking up, other than her lewd texts, and Linda knows about most of those. Besides, I know my wife can handle herself if faced with a confrontation. Though, she does have a temper so it’s not out of the realm of possibility that I’ll be getting a call from the NYPD asking me to come and bail her out.
I take a long pull of my beer and smile at the thought of Linda with a fist full of Julie’s hair swinging wildly as some burly bouncer tries to separate them.
My message box chimes.
Another video attachment. Is she playing with me? Toying with my marriage? I open it.
This time the view is of Linda from behind, alone and walking down a long, colorful, brightly lit hallway. The timestamp is no more than thirty minutes ago. They are definitely not in the bar anymore. I can see multiple doors adorned with fancy brass ovals displaying black numbers; it is a hotel hallway.
Linda is visibly tipsy, but not falling over drunk. She is laughing and trailing her fingers along the wall while swaying her ass. Then, she spins to face the camera walking backward, maybe ten feet away. Both hands demurely holding the large Michael Kors handbag I bought her last Christmas.
Julie’s voice speaks out, “Say hi to Dennis!”
“Hi, babe,” Linda says looking directly into the lens. “Look who met me for drinks.” She stops, hands falling by her side. Her hair is pulled back in a tight ponytail. Her face is fiercely made up, smoky eyes and dark red lipstick. Fuck, she looks gorgeous.
The camera keeps moving toward her until she is out of the frame. From the abrupt shaking of the footage, it appears as if they are in an embrace. My heart is racing and my mind is fuzzy, like I was drugged or in some kind of fucked up dream. Things are happening at a speed I am struggling to keep pace with.
The phone flips so it’s facing up, capturing both of their faces in the frame. Julie looks diabolical, Linda looks apologetic.
“Hi there. I hope you don’t mind me borrowing her for the night? Of course you don’t,” she laughs. “Remember those times at UCLA when we’d fantasize about bringing in another woman? Your beautiful wife here confirmed that that fantasy hasn’t died. So, I guess, in a way, you should be thanking me?”
The video cuts out.
I’m pissed. Raging. That’s my fucking wife. The thump of my heart hammers at my breast bone and it makes my chest feel heavy. Stinging. My vision blurs for a second, my mouth is tacky and dry. I have no fucking idea where they are. I can’t fucking do anything. I am utterly fucking helpless.
“FUCK!!” I scream to the ceiling.
My computer chimes again, this time an incoming email. A zoom call invite. Fuck that shit. Is Tom really that fucking delusional to think I’m going to go over PCS reports at 12:45 AM while my motherfucking marriage is on the brink of unraveling?
I reach to slam the laptop closed and notice that the invite is not from work. The return address is a Gmail I don’t recognize. The subject attached reads: You’re invited to join the fun!
Opening the feed, I maximize the screen. My nerves are frayed, trembling with anger mixed with an odd dose of intrigue. The link brings me to a holding screen waiting for the host to start the meeting. It has to be them.
I drum my fingers on the table. “Come on! C’mon, c’mon c’mon… Open, dammit!”
Three excruciating minutes pass before the video connects and I can see into the hotel room. Linda is moving in the background, Julie flops onto the bed facing the camera.
We are now live-streaming.
“Hi again! Nice of you to join us. So, a few items before we begin. This is not going to be participatory, you are muted and we have your camera off. We cannot hear or see you; you are here only to enjoy the show.” She is smiling and then lowers her voice, “I wasn’t about to risk you talking your wife out of this. She’s stunning, by the way. So much prettier than her Facebook profile.”
“You fucking cunt!”
“If I know my Dennis, you are probably yelling at the screen right about now. Again, we cannot hear you. This is just for you. Your fantasy, coming true with two gorgeous women. Don’t get yourself all worked up. Relax. Take your clothes off. Enjoy the fun.” She once again lowers to a whisper, “I know I will!”
Julie carries the laptop to what looks like a bedside table that had been moved off-center in the room. It offers a perfect viewing angle to the bed.
I can’t peel my eyes from the screen. It all feels so surreal. I blink a few times slowly, hopeful that after one of the blinks I will awaken in my bed, realizing it was all just a dream. But my body never moves from the couch, and the scene unfolding in front of me never wavers from its dreamlike state.
Julie disappears out of the frame and I can see Linda more clearly. She looks nervous while at the same time confident. Her tight hair, promiscuous makeup, form-fitting black jeans, and stiletto-spiked heels, all painting a picture of dominance. She’ll often play that role for me.
I live in a world where power equates to success and then the success circles back to more power. It is enthralling. It will make my cock hard. But, it is also draining. Having Linda take control behind closed doors is a thrill beyond compare. Offering her my trust and receiving the relief of being able to safely relinquish myself is, at times, a defining factor in our sexual relationship.
And now I am watching her on the screen, about to clash with the power I know lives within Julie Stallard.
My pulse quickens. I should be growing more enraged, smashing everything within reach. Instead, the scene is subconsciously engorging the muscles in my crotch. I am getting turned on.
Their voices are muffled, just above a mumble. I repeatedly tap to turn the volume up, but they are too far from the microphone for me to understand what is being said. I can, however, read their body language.
Julie seems to be the aggressor. Which plays into my theory that Linda is probably having doubts. Maybe that’s just my subconscious telling me our marriage means more than this one-night fling with my ex-girlfriend.
Then Linda steps forward. She is barely visible in the frame and I desperately want to nudge their laptop so I can see more of what is happening. Probably divine intervention’s way of easing me into the action. Julie’s hands roam up Linda’s back, that much I can see. They are evidently making out.
Without pulling my sight from the screen, I reach and grab the beer to wet my tongue, tipping it back until I finish it. The girls have still hardly moved and I am growing impatient to see their kiss. I need to gauge its passion. Is it soft and sensual, like lovers? Or Is it heated and gnashing, emotionless?
Julie is the first to fully reappear walking past Linda from right to left on the screen. She crawls onto the bed and lays her head on the nest of pillows. She has already taken off her pants and is lying in just her panties and t-shirt. I can tell she has also removed her bra by the beaded outline of her hardened nipples under the thin material of her shirt.
She’s smiling and has her head tilted slightly to one side, watching something—Linda undressing, I am sure of it, and I’m right. She still has on her thong, but that is it. Tits gently sway freely as she crawls onto the bed in between Julie’s legs.
From my angle, I can only see the back left side of Linda’s head, her ponytail laying neatly down the middle of her naked back. The lighting is dim, but still enough for me to see the muscles in Lin’s shoulder blades as she steps her hands further up the mattress. Her thumbs snag the seam of Julie’s tee as she moves, eventually pushing it up, exposing her gorgeous tits.
They haven’t seemed to have changed since college. Pert and supple with nipples that would extend when she was fully aroused and at the moment they are like spires. Linda’s lips find one and I can see her cheek dimple as the suction is applied. My jealousy spins sideways and I am actually envious that they are not my lips, my tongue, my teeth once again grazing and suckling Julie’s hardened flesh.
I quickly look to Julie’s eyes, half-expecting her to be sneering back at me through the camera. She isn’t. She shows no indication of caring that I am watching; evidenced by the slow close of her lids. All she cares about is the sensation of my wife’s mouth on her tit.
My cock throbs and begins pressing more firmly into my boxers. I hesitate to free it. In my head, it would mean concession. Giving in to this fucked up scene of my loving wife and jilted ex-girlfriend having sex. But my libido is apparently joining forces with my rational self. There isn’t anything I can do at the moment to stop what is happening.
Linda slides back down Julie’s body and pushes herself into a kneeling position, butt on top of crisscrossed feet. I can’t see her face yet, but by the way she is trailing her fingers over Julie’s panty-clad mound, it’s clear she is enjoying this.
“I’ll bet you have a pretty pussy,” Linda says, her words just above a sultry whisper. She takes the back of her middle finger and nestles it in the crotch of Julie’s panties between her swollen labia. “You’re already wet…”
Julie’s head nods, still slightly cocked to one side. She moans softly as Linda inches her crooked finger up, pressing the knuckle into Julie’s clit.
“This cunt, your cunt,” Linda suddenly seethes “Tonight, Julie, this cunt is mine, do you understand?” Without waiting for acquiescence, Linda yanks the material sharply to one side.
Fuck. That Linda I know so well is beginning to emerge. The Linda who can put me in my place and drive her stiletto heel to stab the shaft of my cock. The one who can bubble pre-cum to the surface with an uncomfortably firm fondling of my balls. She is settling in, getting more relaxed, more composed, taking control. My dick flinches and I finally pull my shorts down to throttle it.
I watch her middle finger return to Julie’s pussy only to disappear inside. Next, her ring finger joins. The sight of our wedding band plunging into Julie’s glistening mess almost sends me over the edge.
Her fingers drive deeper, coaxing out another moan as Julie’s hands flail to either side and rip at the pristine bedsheets. She clamps her thighs together trapping Linda’s hand for a moment. Then, in one swift move, Linda snatches her fingers free and once again pries Julie’s legs wide open. With digging nails to the inside of Julie’s thighs, Linda forcefully pushes both legs down to the mattress. I can once again see that pussy I used to fuck relentlessly.
Her lips are swollen and open like the petals of a flower and there is a visible dew-like glisten on them.
“Such a pretty, pretty pussy,” Linda murmurs like she is pulling the thoughts from my mind.
With a slap to each inner thigh, she stands, pushing her thong down to step out of it. While still standing, Linda runs her right hand over her crotch as her left seems to be slathering Julie’s essence onto her own nipple.
I desperately want to latch onto that basted tit. To taste the juices I once feasted on that must now be glimmering on my wife’s flesh. I pause my stroking in order to edge my orgasm closer to the surface, precum already bubbling from my hole.
Julie starts to slide a hand along her tummy. As it reaches her hood, my wife chides:
“Don’t you fucking touch that pussy! I told you, it is mine tonight.”
Receding her hand with a visible pout, Julie runs her foot up Linda’s thigh.
“And how long are you going to make me wait?”
Linda takes Julie’s foot in both hands like she is cradling a cup. Widening her stance, she slides her crotch over the bottom side of Julie’s foot. I can’t see entirely, which is killing me, but in my mind’s eye, I know my wife is fucking Julie’s toes.
“You’re a dirty girl, aren’t you, Linda? And…I’m glad I’m not the only one who is soaking wet.”
“You talk too fucking much.”
Linda tosses Julie’s foot to the side, steps over her waist, and pauses for a moment. It is hard to catch exactly what she is doing as I am staring at an angle from behind. By her body movements, it looks like she is playing with herself, something she loves to do for me while watch.
I can tell the way her waist angles forward that she is pulling apart her labia to expose her little nub of a clit. She will often lick the tip of a finger and swirl it over the swollen button. There are even times her clear juices will attach and form a translucent string that she’d end up feeding to me.
Fuck, I want so badly to be in that room.
Linda lowers to a kneel, smothering her pussy over Julie’s mouth. She humps slowly at first. Probably sliding her slick folds over Julie’s extended tongue, letting it fill her, using Julie’s nose to push into her clit. Linda’s legs splay further apart, easing more of her weight down.
Soft moans are now emanating from underneath, making their way through my laptop speakers as Linda presses her open palms to the wall above the headboard.
My mouth begins to salivate at the thought of my wife’s pungent arousal being slathered onto a waiting, accepting tongue. Fucking it slowly, rhythmically, with purpose. She drops her head, her hair covering both sides of her face as her fingernails scrape against the textured wallpaper.
Linda is cumming. I didn’t need any audible confirmation to know this, but she lets out a loud orgasmic scream anyway. That is all I could handle. I tighten the grip on my shaft and fumble to my feet, bent at the waist. With a heavy grunt that reverberates off the walls of my empty apartment, I release thick ropes of cum onto the coffee table.
I don’t have anything within reach to clean up. I just flop back into the couch and let my slowly deflating cock dribble the remaining drops of semen down to my balls.
To my surprise, the girls weren’t done. Linda raises up revealing Julie’s satisfied glistening face. But it doesn’t remain visible for long. Linda pivots quickly and settles back down nestling her head between Julie’s outstretched thighs.
My vision of the action is now almost entirely shielded. I swallow hard and watch their bodies writhe, joined in a locked sixty-nine that is so filled with passion it burrows into the depths of my manhood. I feel my pulse once again quicken. The sight of the top of my wife’s head moving as she eats pussy drives me back to rigidity.
I’m not entirely sure if I will be able to cum again, but the bob of Linda’s head in combination with her gyrating hips on Julie’s face prove I am more virile than I thought. I cum a second time before they are even finished and it seems like the passage of time has slowed to a standstill.
Julie’s mouth is no longer locked on my wife’s pussy as evidenced by her piercing scream. Blowjobs are one of Linda’s favorite sexual activities. Orally, she’s the best I have ever had; so attentive, selfless and giving. She has mastered the ability to read me, to bring me to the edge with her mouth and then finish me off like she craves what I have stored in my balls. And now Julie is clearly the benefactor to that cunnilingual prowess.
There is a brief moment where the two women lay relatively still. Only the rise and fall of their labored breathing is detectable. Then after a moment, Linda rolls off, steps to the floor, and forces her wobbly legs to learn how to walk.
“Water?” she says in Julie’s direction.
“I’d love some, thanks.”
Linda siddles slowly out of frame, legs still weak and shaky. When she returns minutes later, she is carrying two sparkling tumblers of water. She hands one to Julie who drinks it back like she has just finished a marathon. Linda kindly offers her the second glass, which Julie proceeds to finish just as fast.
Licking her lips, she demurely utters, “So, what now?”
“Let’s not go there, Julie. Why complicate things this soon?” Linda answers calmly.
“Well, you need to know that I still love him…”
“And you need to know that I am never going to let him go.”
They talk so openly, it’s as if they have forgotten I am still technically in the room. There is an underlying escalation of tension. Julie smiles wickedly and hands Linda back her glass.
“You’re right. Let’s not complicate it this soon. I’m going to jump in the shower, you should join me.”
“Maybe I will. In a minute,” Linda nods.
As Julie slides off the bed she walks tauntingly by the camera, while at the same time doing nothing to acknowledge my presence. Linda disappears as well, and for a while, I am left staring at the empty rumpled mess of their tryst.
The camera suddenly begins to shake and soon I am staring at my wife as she sits on the edge of the bed, her handbag alongside. As she reaches in for something, I quickly fumble for my phone, anxious for her to call me. What she pulls from her bag, however, is not her phone, rather a generic brown prescription pill bottle. She shakes them for the camera.
“Muscle relaxers,” she smiles with a whisper. “I crushed up a few and stirred them into her water. Fuck, I had no idea she’d drink both, otherwise I’d have dosed her more. Anyway, they should be kicking in soon.”
Confusion washes over me, then fear. Linda reaches back in her bag and pulls out an envelope, extracting two latex gloves and a single bare razor blade from inside.
“She’s never going to leave us alone, babe. Never.“
“Linda! What the fuck?!” I frantically try calling her phone. No avail.
“She still loves you, you heard her. I mean, I already knew it, doesn’t take much more than a fool to realize that. This woman is going to pick and pick and pick until eventually, she gets what she wants. I cannot and I will not let that happen!”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Linda! Think about what you are doing.”
There’s a stabbing pain in my chest.
“I’ve thought about this, Dennis. I really have. A few months ago, I actually considered taking a trip out to California, but it would have been much more incriminating. So when she came here, well, it was like a gift.” She pauses and glances for a moment in the direction of what I assume is the bathroom.
“I will scrub off all the messages on her phone from earlier. And this live feed doesn’t leave a trail, I already made sure of that. Once I clear her phone, I’ll send you a single message from her saying goodbye. It will briefly mention our night here. It will say that she now sees how in love I am with you and how she just can’t be without you, while at the same time she cannot stand to hurt you. It’s perfect, really.”
I feel nauseous. I am staring at a woman I’ve known intimately for over five years, yet I cannot recognize the look in her eyes.
“I know I will obviously be called in for questioning. ‘She showed up unexpectedly, sir. She’s an old flame and I suspect she wanted to see if she could rekindle it. Yes, I agreed to meet her for drinks. We talked, she was feeling me out about the strength of my marriage. She got very emotional when she saw the truth and so I insisted on walking her back to her hotel. It’s so sad, really. I just know Dennis will be shaken by all of it.’ See? I’ve got this. Don’t worry, baby I’ll be home soon.”
My head slowly shakes back and forth, I have absolutely no idea who this person is.
“I hope you enjoyed your little fantasy fulfillment. I love you, Dennis Barlowe.”
The feed ends and I am left staring at nothing.
Copyright © Thought of and written by tams_back_yay. Do not copy or re-post without my permission.