She’s slick, because she didn’t actually take a picture of herself, just of herself through the reflection of the car driver-side door.
Just seeing the obscured silhouette of her, much thinner, her body holding the phone in front of her face, and her hair straightened or wavy down to her back, makes me feel a prick of longing.
Leaning back on the bed, I hold the phone in my left hand as I slide my right under the hem of my boxers to pull out my penis and start stroking.
I only have old pictures of her to go off of, but for whatever reason, the novelty of viewing this, knowing it’s the latest version of her, the most authentic and real version of her, the most live version of her that I can get right now, makes me miss her.
Most days when I’m quiet and alone, I miss her. I regret having hurt her, not because I got caught, but because I allowed myself to be stupid, to ruin the best thing I’ve ever had in my life. I know I’ll never find another love like that ever again.
It confused me just how easy it was to fall into the trap of cheating on my wife. But honestly it was a trap I set for myself, because it could have easily been avoided. Well, maybe not easily, since I spent all my time with Sarah. But if I kept those boundaries in place and listened to my wife, none of this would have happened.
I wish I had been stronger.
“You look so good,” I whisper to her pic as I stroke myself harder to her mere reflection.
“I miss you so much Gabby. Do you miss me?” My whispers come out more stilted as my body shakes, orgasm getting closer.
It’s barely been a minute.
I haven’t even had much time to masturbate. And outside of that, I’m fucking Sarah anyway. But right now, when it’s quiet, when I can feel Morris curled up on the pillow next to me fast asleep, not a care in the world, my mind is fully awake.
Every part of it.
Every mistake and every success. Gabby was supposed to be a part of it. I was doing this for her. What good is it if she’s not here?
My dick gets harder as I close my eyes and stroke faster, not too fast. I want to imagine her here, sliding on me slowly the way she did that beautiful Sunday morning.
That beautiful Sunday morning right before everything went to shit.
Recalling how her body flowed as her wet pussy enveloped my dick.
“Mmm,” I moan, a hiccup escaping me as my breath catches.
For some reason, my mind melds the entire picture together, how jealous Gabby was when she realized I was on the phone with Sarah.
Then when we went to pick up Sarah, the tears Sarah shed and Sarah’s arms around me, only for me to notice the look of hurt on my wife’s face.
As fucked up as it sounds, even though I hurt her and I hate it, it turns me on knowing she was that possessive over me. My mind goes back to fucking Sarah, imagining my wife watching.
My ex-wife.
But she’s still my wife in the back of my mind. It feels… unholy calling her my ex anything.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, closing my eyes tighter, stroking faster, my thoughts solely on my wife.
Gabrielle.
MyGabrielle.
Gabrielle Teoni Faith Washington-Arnoldson.
She was mine, and I fucked up.
Is she under another guy right now? Is she keeping private because she has another relationship? Will that guy treat her better?
Then all at once, like I’ve done many times before, I imagine Gabrielle getting fucked by someone and me being in the position she was, walking in and finding her cheating on me.
Something I never entertained before.
