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Susan had been so reluctant to alert me to that betrayal, but she did know how in the end it had almost caused me to give up college altogether. And now she did this to me in turn? Bitch! Spiteful, nasty, lying, cheating bitch!My stomach was boiling, and I cast around for something to fix on besides my horror and despair at her actions. I saw the microwave flicking at me and realised she had flipped the power switch on the wall. Desperate for something ... anything to think of, I reprogrammed the correct time into it. It wouldn’t make any difference; we never pre-programmed it to start at a certain time, but it was something to do.How could the two most important women in my life both betray me the way they had? Was it me? Was I so worthless that I wasn’t deserving of loyalty, fidelity, the least respect from any woman? Any woman at all? Was I such a loser, a bad lover, a poor provider? I had to know!I got a tot of brandy, and forced myself to settle into the sole armchair. She could. . touching my cock.Groaning."Do you like me touching you?" Yes." Do you want to touch me?" Yes"He laid down on top of me.The oil on my skin allowing him to slide himself up and down my torso. His hard cock rubbing against mine.Leaning down.Whispering..."Do you like it?" Yes"My hands reached up and went to his shoulders. Holding him to myself as he moved above me.Humping against me. Cock on cock. Pecs against pecs. Slippery. Belly on belly. Sliding. Cock against cock. Rubbing me. Humping me."Spread your legs."I opened my thighs and he slipped between them. His cock rubbing against my smooth slippery balls and shaft.Humping his cock against me. My hands on his shoulders snaked around his neck. Keeping us tightly together.He whispered again. "Turn over."He could sense my reluctance."Don't worry. Relax. Let me give you pleasure."I turned over.He straddled my legs. Drizzled more oil on my back. As he leaned forward to massage it into my skin I could feel his hard cock resting against my.
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They were on the cusp of their greatest success. Both felt it. The exhaustion left them giddy. A fleeting moment of contact had evolved into a touch, then an embrace, and finally a headlong rush into lust. Then blessed release. Then embarrassment. Finally shame and guilt. And thus it was that one the eve of her greatest success, she had written her single greatest failure. And that was why she now looked at photographs, as though these frozen moments of happier times might suggest where things had gone so off the rails. Wedding pictures. Honeymoon pictures. They’d been so young then, though the notion applied more emotionally than chronologically. She scrolled. The photographs had long since been committed to memory. She sensed his presence behind her. After several months, she’d almost convinced herself that she’d imagined that night in the living room, relegating the sensations to the nocturnal imaginings of a needy unconscious. Now she knew it was not so. The hairs on the back.

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