I’ve known Kelly for over a year, and we’ve fallen in love, fought, had completely bacchanalian romps in hotel rooms, parks, and dens…but she lives a long way away, and has another life of some sort, so we spend most of our time on Yahoo video chat rather than in person. She really has a way of getting into you, of getting your head all wrapped around her. You’ve never seen anything like it—all you want is her attention, and when you have that, you just want more.
She has to move around for her job, and this year she’s been over in Indiana. So, she has a fair amount of freedom, away from her people back home. It’s been great to visit her at her house in Indiana, even though I can’t get out there as often as I’d like.
A few nights ago, Kelly went out to a friend’s house for a party. It was going to be other teachers there, and music and dancing. She likes to get dressed up, meet people, and dance. Sometimes she talks about “kissing boys,” which she knows makes me a little jealous—but I’ve always pretty much thought she was all talk about that sort of thing. She’s really quite shy, despite her extroverted exterior, and a very private person in her own right.
I was surprised to see her name come up on Yahoo around midnight or so—usually she just goes to bed after wine and dancing. I was delighted to be able to say goodnight to her, and anyway, it would make me feel safe deep inside to see her back home, alone, and not out kissing boys.
I was surprised to see her not at home, but in a hotel room. She was giddy and flush, with a strange manner about her. She looked really sexy in her black dress, her hair a little tousled from a night of dancing, but her eyes had a mischievous gleam and she seemed unfocused. Her pale skin was rosy with a nervous excitement I couldn’t quite place. There was an air of coy resolve about her, and while she talked she half looked off to the side distractedly, and half stared straight at me with a smile I didn’t understand.
She explained that a main had burst in her house, and she’d have to stay in a hotel room for a few days.
“Sorry about that,” I said. “That’s a pain.”
She didn’t seem too upset.
“Look—I can’t talk for long,” she said after just a few minutes. “I’m tired, and I have to deal with plumbers tomorrow.”
“OK, well, I’m glad you had a good time at the party, and that really sucks about the burst main. Have a good night, love.”
She looked at me with a deep gremlin stare, right into my eyes, and said, “You know I love you, right?”
“Of course,” I grinned. “Thank you.”
She searched my features for another moment and then blew me a kiss. She looked up at the screen to hit while her hand gestured toward the mouse. I got out of my seat to go take a sip of my martini in the kitchen. While in the kitchen I did a few dishes and harassed my cat a little.
When I came back into the study a few minutes later, I saw the webcam was still on. I had a view of her empty hotel room, from her computer on the desk. I guessed she was off in the bathroom, brushing her teeth or something. I would give her a yell when she came back in the room, to let her know her Yahoo feed was still live.
But then I heard her voice off screen. When she walked into camera view, she wasn’t in her pj’s, but had brushed her hair. She was talking on her cell, and before I realized I was eavesdropping, I was already transfixed by what I was hearing: “Yeah…uhhuh. It’s the third floor. Room 312, I think. Hold on—yeah, 312. You turn left.”
My blood froze. Who was coming up to see her in a hotel room at this hour? I don’t think I’m more paranoid than the next guy, but I’m not a complete idiot either.
So this is it, I thought. Didn’t you just say you loved me? Didn’t you just peer deep into me, in a way that I thought meant I was safe? I was hurt and angry and afraid. I felt betrayed, and worst-case scenarios started racing through my mind. Is this something she does all the time? At the same time, she was too tipsy to shut off Yahoo, so now I know. When she pretends she just got an early night and smiles at me tomorrow, I’ll have something really huge on her. If I still want to even talk to her. I felt humiliated and disrespected, taken in like a sucker.
I kept quiet, figuring she would just see the window open on her screen in a minute anyway. Or maybe it’s minimized on her end—I’m not sure how that works. But I wanted to watch just a minute longer, because she was the one who had left this door open. So there I sat, stewing, eyes fixed to the screen, suddenly in the position of power. Power, but at such a cost. I’d just lost everything.
She primped herself in the bathroom, I guess, for a few more minutes until there was a knock on the door. When she opened it, in stepped a tall guy maybe in his late 20s, wearing close fitting clothing and holding a bottle of wine and two glasses. He seemed polite enough, but she leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss on the lips of encouragement. She had to lean way up on her tippy toes, and crane her neck to kiss him. I had never seen her kiss another man on the lips, and that’s when I steeled over. OK, I thought, I’m done with this. We’re through. You can’t hurt me anymore, not now, not after this. I called her horrible names, and gloated.
They poured a glass of wine and bantered, but it was clear that they had essentially gotten all of that out of the way at the party. She was very forward, leaning into him and putting her hand on his arm, and giving him a kiss. She had the ecstatic recklessness of someone intoxicated by music and wine, by an evening of men watching her, by her own beauty and desirability. And as I well knew, she was a person not lacking in desires of her own.
They pawed at each other like teenagers on the bed, which was in my plain view that at medium distance. They kissed strongly and fully, hands working at each other’s clothes between caresses, punctuated with the occasional nervous smile or laugh of two strangers getting to know each other’s bodies and ways.
By now it occurred to me I had surpassed the bounds of simple “she forgot to hang up,” and was an active trespasser on their privacy. I didn’t care. We don’t owe each other anything anymore, I thought.
Much of what I could see was legs and feet, and the tops of heads and searching arms. But I did see the clothes come off, more pink flesh exposed with every turn. And that’s when the moment hit. He started to lower his head down her body, toward her inner legs, but she stopped him. She scooted down to the end of the bed, so that her knees were at the edge, and her feet were almost down to the floor on either side. And then she spread her legs, and I was in full view.
Now, you have to understand how wonderful her pussy is. You have to understand the sweet intoxicating nectar, the soft silken plush, the tender nestling place that lets you know that everything is alright, and you’re right where you’re supposed to be. I have spent hundreds of hours thinking about her pussy, dreaming of it, stroking to it, saying it out loud just when I’m about to cum. And here it was, mine again one last time—but cruelly so, not mine. His. Some stranger’s. But here I was just at the right angle to see right between her legs, though it might have well been a million miles away. I felt a twinge in my pants, and my balls tensed a little.
He got on his knees on the floor and started eating her out. I knew her moans. This wasn’t right. He didn’t deserve this. I’ve spent countless hours thinking about her, dying for those moments when I could be where he is—and he just meets her at a party and they hit it off. He can’t appreciate this; he has no idea where he is. And he doesn’t know what he’s doing. That’s not what she likes. But I guess part of the excitement of a chance encounter is the newness, the unfamiliarity, the exploration with a new body starting all over again. If he wasn’t doing it right (and he wasn’t!), she didn’t seem to mind.
Just earlier, she and I had been joking about Craigslist. Somebody had advertised that they would be willing to lick a woman’s pussy, without reciprocation expected. They also said they were very good at it (but who doesn’t think that?). Earlier it was a joke. And now here is some stranger, licking her snatch.
She pulled him up after a few minutes. Maybe she was too excited to relax, or maybe she just wanted to get fucked. He climbed over her, and they fiddled around for a few moments doing I don’t know what, he climbed between her legs and slid inside her. My world when black with hate. It’s not fair; he hasn’t earned this. She doesn’t love him. His ass muscles clenched and loosened, as she grasped his cheeks and pulled her inside him over and over. Her legs were spread wide to the side. He could look down anytime he liked to see my sweetheart’s pussy, but all I could see was some asshole’s sweaty back, and my love’s naked legs.
For the first time ever, I heard her fucking.
Her voice was clutching, giving, raw, yet melodious even in its abandon. I knew she had worked hard lately, and was under a lot of pressure, and wasn’t receiving the love and attention she deserved. This was something I couldn’t begrudge her—she wanted it and needed it. And she didn’t go out looking for it, I know that: it was just something that fell into place. I closed my eyes, and tried to listen to her voice, and pretend it was me inside her. Pretend it was me she was giving herself to. By now my zipper was down and I was stroking my dick, despite the pain. I knew I could cry later, but for now I was incredibly aroused.
I don’t remember too much of the rest of what happened on the bed; that’s all mechanics, and I didn’t have the best view anyway. But I could hear. He didn’t say much, but as things got faster and shifted around, I winced to hear her say “Fuck me!” or “Yeah—yeah, there!” Once I thought I heard, “Oh God, fuck my cunt!” but that doesn’t sound like her. ‘Sound like her’—like I really know what I’m talking about. She did utter, “Fuck my…” a few times, but it was lost in grunting and breathing, and I couldn’t hear the rest.
When it was all done, I sat breathless in front of the screen. They went quiet very quickly. I had shut my cat out of the room so that he couldn’t meow close to the webcam, and now all of a sudden I had to catch myself from breathing too loud.
They poked, and snuggled, and joked a bit. That’s the horrible part—it’s all fake. You don’t know her.
She got up to go to the bathroom, and for a brief moment as she walked past the camera, I saw her in all her full standing, naked glory. She is the sexiest person on earth, even sexier now in her flush, drained passion and her casual, natural beauty. That’s not her, I said to myself. That’s someone else, a traitor. And yet she looked staggeringly beautiful, and I wanted to reach through the screen and touch her.
Soon he left. She was friendly and encouraging, but it was clear she was helping him decide not to stay there overnight, and in fact to head out relatively soon.
After she closed the door quietly after him with a last peck on the lips, now in her bathrobe, she came and sat at the desk. Here we go, I said to myself—she’s going to flip when she sees this screen is still open.
“How did you like it, Peter?” she asked.
I stopped cold. My mind was reeling. There was a soothing kindness in her voice that had no hint of malice.
I whispered, “Kelly…”
“Does it hurt, baby?” she asked.
After a minute, despite myself, I answered, “it does…”
She smiled intensely at me. “Who was that for?”
“What do you mean, who was that for? Obviously you two were pretty into each other.”
“No,” she corrected. “Who was it for?”
I paused. “For…me?”
She purred, and smiled. “Yes, of course it was.”
I wanted to ask a hundred questions: did you like it? Was he good? Was he better than me? Are you going to see him again? Are you still interested in me? Is this your way of telling me to fuck off? But I didn’t ask anything. Some answers I knew, others I wouldn’t like anyway. I’ll just pick the answers I like best, for those I don’t ask.
“Peter, look at me,” she said. “Are you ok?”
I didn’t answer.
“Peter, did you see me when I spread my legs?” My cock pulsed even harder. “Did you think that was for him?”
I didn’t answer.
“And when he was fucking me, Peter, and I spoke to him…did you hear what I said?”
I said, “some…snippets, yeah…”
“Do you know what he doesn’t have, Peter?”
“No, it seems to me he has just about everything…”
“No, Peter…He doesn’t have the words…I never told him he could have my ‘pussy,’ Peter. That’s yours. It’s yours, Peter.”
I startled trembling lightly.
“Don’t you know that? It’s your vagina, Peter. It’s just for you.” She looked at me so intently, I knew it was true. She had kept things back from him, even though he had no way to know it. Who cares about him. To do that, she had been thinking of me the entire time. It wasn’t full abandon, she wasn’t there fully.
Then the whole thing struck me. Then I got it.
“There’s no burst water main, is there?” I asked.
She smiled.
She didn’t want to do this back at the house. She didn’t want to do this in our space. (Plus, I guess, it sends a message to the guy that he’s not welcome to just pop on over…) This whole thing was for me. Well—I mean, and she got something out of it too, I’m guessing. But she left Yahoo on for me, and orchestrated all of this to include me. She went through a lot of trouble, to let me in, to keep me on the inside.
“I wish you were here,” she said.
I threw a few things in a duffel bag, and grabbed the car keys.