It was Easier When I Hated Him

I knew what I was doing when I walked myself over to his show downtown yesterday, even if I lied through my teeth and played innocent. Confidence radiated from me as my hips swung from side to side, with each step bringing me closer. Part of me was oh so sure that I could be near him, hear his music, smell him, take him in through my senses and barely feel a thing. But that wasn't the full story. Another part of me knew my womb would beckon his seed the moment proximity was available.

I saw him up on the stage and I have to say he was looking really damn good. The contrast was strong. Having just been fucked by an empty hearted cock last week, standing in front of him awoke the memory of our love pulsing in my pussy. I remembered the way I used to feel the walls of my cavern alive and plump and glistening, so sensitive and grasping for his shaft. I recalled how our bodies merged, becoming one throbbing energy body, electricity coursing through our shared closed circuit.

A part of me wanted to tell him to come with me, to relive that gorgeous Eros together in my bed, to abandon all sense and make love like nothing had ever happened. I looked him up and down, sized him up, noticed his style and his smile and the puffiness gone from his cheeks and belly. He looked like a snack. A dessert I could eat slowly and enjoy every millisecond of presence with the pleasure of his taste. I felt my juices flow. I held back my hands that wanted to reach for him. Kept my heart tucked inside my chest but her radiance escaped me and I could not contain my love. I saw it occupy the space between us. He did too.

"I'm living in Capitola now," he said and my heart dropped. He's living with her. And he saw the pain in my face. He asked me if I'm ok. I wasn't, but I said yes like, what are you talking about, of course I am.

My naughty fantasy is to be his lover. She can be his wife, he woman, his home. She can be everything I would never promise him. I just want to fuck him with my heart wide open and my pussy thirsty for his milk. I want to be his dirty little secret, the one who got away but still gives him just enough to make him ache for more. I want to make him bad, make him abandon any remnants of integrity that remain in the ashes of the wildfire of betrayal he lit. I want to suck the life out of him and drool all over his cock and send him back home to her to take care of him like his mommy while I live my own life.

I just want the sex and the play and the music and the flirtation. I just want the no strings attached full erotic expression of love. I just want the kisses that build slowly in intensity and tongues that dance and my lip between his teeth. I just want to feel his hands on my waist and thighs and ass and his mouth on my nipples and pussy. I want his warm wet breath on my clit and his fingers inside me and his eyes looking up beaming love at me from between my legs.

It was so hard to walk away. The conversation lingered. Neither of us had the heart to make it stop. We kind of said goodbye at least 4 times. I left hungry. Longing. Horny. Empty handed. Grasping at thin air for something I can't have. An addict itching itching itching for a fix.

But I'm married to myself. And while some parts of me would have an absolute raging party bringing my fantasy to life, others would be left wrecked and devastated, betrayed and confused. So I'm just sitting here now with dried tears on my face and labia dripping with cum, having fucked the life into myself and fucked the grief up and out through my climaxing screams. I rode my silicone cock and touched my fleshy curves with my own hands and cried my eyes out. I had a tantrum as the pleasure rose and called in an aligned lover as my orgasm peaked. Then I was laid out, exhausted, fulfilled and unfulfilled. Alone. But with the Goddess curled up by my side kissing my cheek.

It was so much easier when I hated him.