She opens the door to find you, naked, in bed with another man. As soon as you see her, you begin to shrivel. The red hot lust, that roller-coaster pumping through your veins, you felt a mere moment ago also wilts and is replaced with disgust and shame. You cover yourself in a half-hearted, and vain, attempt to change what she sees.
Her eyes, tear bright with betrayal, seem to take in every detail. She lingers on your, unconvincing, modesty before drifting to the blatant arousal of your chosen partner. Those eyes, so full of pain and a flicker of hope, move back to you. They are filled with the hope that you'll find some way to undo the damage being done.
Pissed off, at her, at yourself, at the world; you stand up and grab her arm. Steering her away from the door frame, you drag her into the kitchen. You throw her arm towards her, as if it were diseased, and you wipe your hands against your skin. Absently, you note you are still nude and you hear the distinct click of the bedroom door closing.
"You weren't supposed to be home until next week." you hiss. You sound angry, accusing, as if this is somehow her fault. You act as if the situation were reversed and you just walked in on her. Its her fault you feel ashamed and sick with self-loathing. Its her fault for being too pretty, too perfect. Its her fault that you can't maintain in bed, your manhood like a lifeless lump of flesh in her hands. Its her fault you were in bed with another man. It is her fault.
"I... I missed you..." she stutters, tears falling down her, stupidly, pretty face. You want to slap the tears off her face and give her a true reason to cry. You want to be the man who kisses away her tears at the same moment. You just stand there, angry and out of sorts. She wipes a tear away with her sleeve, unable to look at you. You can almost feel those tears stabbing into you like accusing darts.
You don't say anything, though a self-destructive, and false, righteousness rises out of the ashes of your withered libido. You push her up against the counter and you kiss her, crushing her lips with yours. She gasps between those hard kisses, struggling against you only a moment before she begins to return the kiss. You feel her hand begin to stray between your legs and you flip her around, bending her over the counter.
You stop then, anger rising anew, and you grasp a fistful of her hair and drag her toward the door. You fling it open and throw her out onto the grass, where she lands, unceremoniously. Retreating to the bedroom you retrieve her forgotten luggage and proceed to chuck it out on the lawn with her. You slam the door, lock it and collapse in a heap on the, spotless, linoleum floor.
When you stand up, you glance out of the window and see that she is gone. A soft clearing of the throat brings your attention back to the man you were in bed with. He is dressed and holding himself in an aloof way. He almost seems to be looking down on you, even though you are about the same height. You know he won't stay, not now, not after that. You hold up a hand, as if to stop his excuses from becoming words that can't be taken back. Holding yourself as straight as possible, you unlock and open the door for him. He doesn't even look at you as he exits and you don't bother to say anything.
You go to your room, sit on the bed, and bury your face in your hands.
Her eyes, tear bright with betrayal, seem to take in every detail. She lingers on your, unconvincing, modesty before drifting to the blatant arousal of your chosen partner. Those eyes, so full of pain and a flicker of hope, move back to you. They are filled with the hope that you'll find some way to undo the damage being done.
Pissed off, at her, at yourself, at the world; you stand up and grab her arm. Steering her away from the door frame, you drag her into the kitchen. You throw her arm towards her, as if it were diseased, and you wipe your hands against your skin. Absently, you note you are still nude and you hear the distinct click of the bedroom door closing.
"You weren't supposed to be home until next week." you hiss. You sound angry, accusing, as if this is somehow her fault. You act as if the situation were reversed and you just walked in on her. Its her fault you feel ashamed and sick with self-loathing. Its her fault for being too pretty, too perfect. Its her fault that you can't maintain in bed, your manhood like a lifeless lump of flesh in her hands. Its her fault you were in bed with another man. It is her fault.
"I... I missed you..." she stutters, tears falling down her, stupidly, pretty face. You want to slap the tears off her face and give her a true reason to cry. You want to be the man who kisses away her tears at the same moment. You just stand there, angry and out of sorts. She wipes a tear away with her sleeve, unable to look at you. You can almost feel those tears stabbing into you like accusing darts.
You don't say anything, though a self-destructive, and false, righteousness rises out of the ashes of your withered libido. You push her up against the counter and you kiss her, crushing her lips with yours. She gasps between those hard kisses, struggling against you only a moment before she begins to return the kiss. You feel her hand begin to stray between your legs and you flip her around, bending her over the counter.
You stop then, anger rising anew, and you grasp a fistful of her hair and drag her toward the door. You fling it open and throw her out onto the grass, where she lands, unceremoniously. Retreating to the bedroom you retrieve her forgotten luggage and proceed to chuck it out on the lawn with her. You slam the door, lock it and collapse in a heap on the, spotless, linoleum floor.
When you stand up, you glance out of the window and see that she is gone. A soft clearing of the throat brings your attention back to the man you were in bed with. He is dressed and holding himself in an aloof way. He almost seems to be looking down on you, even though you are about the same height. You know he won't stay, not now, not after that. You hold up a hand, as if to stop his excuses from becoming words that can't be taken back. Holding yourself as straight as possible, you unlock and open the door for him. He doesn't even look at you as he exits and you don't bother to say anything.
You go to your room, sit on the bed, and bury your face in your hands.
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