The moment I saw you in Walgreen's, I knew I had to ditch my girlfriend.
Usually I run errands by myself (and, thus, she wouldn't have been a problem), but we were on our way home from a day at the lake and needed to pick up a few things. She was in the aisle picking up some "healthy" popcorn-like snack that tasted like cardboard but that I pretended to like for her sake. She was trying to lose weight and be healthier, and I wanted to be supportive -- but I hated our new "living clean" lifestyle. No more pizza or takeout or junk food. Going for daily jogs around the lake instead of enjoying lazy weekends Netflix-binging. Shopping at farmers' markets instead of real grocery stores. Constantly asking at restaurants (on the few occasions we even went out anymore) whether such-and-such was gluten-free. Huey Lewis had once made a good case for it being hip to be square, but for the first time in my life I was seriously questioning the merit of being hip.
And there I was right next to her -- lightly sweaty, with messy hair, and wearing an old t-shirt I got as swag at a conference and gray, baggy sweatpants (the kind with elastic ankles). I was holding some icky vitamin water thing because I wasn't allowed to drink sugary drinks anymore. The water boasted that it was "pomegranate-flavored." I think they had just spelled "pee" wrong.
Meanwhile, you were with a pack of your friends -- all similarly attractive -- hanging out on the other end of the aisle.
The more fun, less healthy end...where the chocolate and donuts and beef jerky were.
The forbidden end.
I had seen you so many times -- on TV, in movies, in magazines, all over the Internet -- but being this close to you in real life and seeing you in THE LOCAL WALGREEN'S like it was no big deal made my heart skip a few beats.
And then a few more.
My throat was suddenly dry. I swallowed what little spit was moistening my mouth. I needed something to drink.
I looked at the vitamin water in my hand.
I looked at my sweaty, flushed, ponytailed girlfriend holding a bag of rice-whatevers in one hand and a box of green Tampax in the other.
I looked at you and your friends.
I looked at you.
What I really needed was you.
I felt terribly guilty -- for a moment. I loved my girlfriend, but things had been...different...lately.
Less (...I don't know...) fun.
And I needed release.
I began walking up the aisle. Toward you and your pack of friends (sisters? God, you're all so fucking attractive). Toward you. I had no idea what I was going to say or do when I got there. Perhaps make a fool of myself. But that was irrelevant.
"...H--"
"Baby?" my girlfriend said. "You coming?"
I turned around. My girlfriend was ready to go; that meant I was ready to go too.
"Sure."
I walked toward her -- away from you. I knew my girlfriend wouldn't understand my wanting to...interact...with you. She clearly hadn't noticed you, so better I didn't point you out to her at all -- and avoid awkward questions.
I love my girlfriend. I love my girlfriend. I love my girlfriend.
Something about you made me want...you.
We bought our groceries, checked out, and drove home.
After putting everything away, I won the coin toss to shower first. (I can't remember the last time we showered together... Two years ago? Three?) I stripped off all of my clothes (my girlfriend not even giving me a second glance, as was par for the course), went into the bathroom, turned on the water, and got in the shower.
As I felt the shampoo suds running down my body as I scrubbed my hair, I looked down at nakedness.
Still thinking about you.
My body was aching for you. All I could think about was slipping you out of that sexy, shiny blue number I had spotted you in and doing all kinds of things to you.
I found my hand drifting down my body...across my belly...downward.
It was silly. Why the fuck was I suddenly obsessed with you?
Maybe I felt repressed in my relationship. Maybe I felt like I needed to rebel somehow.
Or maybe...seeing you had struck a nerve.
And now I hungered...for you.
"Baby?" I said, finishing toweling off as I entered the bedroom? "We forgot the milk."
"Jack..." she started, in that tone.
"MILK IS GOOD FOR YOU," I blasted at her for the nth time. "IT DOES A BODY GOOD."
"Fine," she said, with an air of finality as she stood up and began to disrobe. "You can go out and get it if you want to."
She brushed right by me on her way to the shower, her squeezable naked ass brushing by my hips as she went into the bathroom.
"Okay," I said.
Without a word, she closed the bathroom door behind her.
I stood there, looking at the door.
Thinking.
"I'll be back in a while!" I called through the door.
The water was running. She probably didn't hear me.
Quickly, I got dressed -- my best jeans, a dark, form-fitting sweater, and my Chuck Taylors.
I ran out the apartment door, locked it behind me, and dashed even more quickly down to the car.
In minutes, I was speeding (more than I usually do) back to Walgreen's. I made it in record time. I even got a good parking spot.
I walked briskly inside (I didn't run because I didn't want it to look like I was actually in a hurry).
Guilt hit me as harshly as the fluorescent lighting did. What the Hell am I doing? I asked myself. I have a good thing going for me. I'm living a good life.
I stood there, near the entrance, staring ahead (but not really seeing anything), thinking.
I stood there for a full minute -- or maybe a century.
I sighed.
I walked to where they kept the milk.
(There was far from any guarantee that you'd still be there after all this time anyway. How fucking stupid I was being.)
Upon opening the refrigerator door, my hand instinctively reached for the whole milk -- but the guilt (or was it the psychological effects of some sort of abuse? is there even a difference?) hit me again. My hand reached a shelf lower...for the skim.
I glanced over my shoulder -- perhaps because I felt like I was doing something wrong (perhaps because I had just been thinking about doing something wrong).
You were still there.
Holy shit holy shit holy shit...
What do I do?
I let go of the skim milk.
I grabbed the whole.
I stood up and -- as confidently and nonchalantly as I could muster with my pulse quickening to a good 200+ beats a minute -- approached you.
To this day, I can't remember anything I said or did...until some indistinct number of minutes later when I was standing in the checkout line.
The jug of whole milk was in my left hand.
My right hand was on your bottom.
I squeezed it lightly.
We left together -- you, your friends, and me. We got into the car (my girlfriend's car) (what the fuck am I doing?) together. You sat in the front passenger seat, next to me.
I buckled myself up, then did your seat belt for you...running my hands along your valleys through that hot blue ensemble as I secured you in.
Part of me felt silly. Part of felt guilty.
All of me was filled with desire -- and only desire.
I drove to the Hilton. It was the first place I thought of. (Where else could I go? It's not like I could take you back to my place -- and even if having my way with you in the car was practical, I didn't want to risk my girlfriend finding any evidence of our encounter).
Thanks to all those business trips (the ones that had taken me so far away from my girlfriend for so long -- the ones during which I could think of little else but her...the love of my life) (what the FUCK am I DOING?), I'm a whatever-Elite HHonors member with eleventy-thousand points. I booked us a suite on the Executive Level (the top floor, which you need a special keycard to even get the elevator to go to).
Even though I did my best to avoid eye contact as I booked us the suite, I could feel the front desk girl staring at me -- judging me. I had no luggage -- except, oddly, I was carrying the milk. Force of habit, I suppose; you buy groceries, and then you take them inside when you arrive at your destination. Besides, I didn't want the milk to go bad in the car.
In any case, you and your friends didn't say anything about it. Or, if you did, I certainly didn't hear you.
We all got into the elevator together -- joined by a man about five years older than me and his young son.
None of us said a word.
The father and son got off the elevator a floor below us. When the door opened with a ding on the Executive Level, I could feel my palms sweating; I could feel my heart ready to burst through my chest.
I could hear my girlfriend's voice.
"Fine. You can go out and get it if you want to."
I slowly slipped the keycard down into our suite's slot.
The lock clicked open. I grabbed the shaft of the door handle with growing certainty and pumped it downward, opening the door.
This is what the fuck I'm doing.
In seconds, I had stripped the covers off of the bed and spread you and your friends out on it -- the blue vestments torn asunder and crumpled up on the floor. My mouth found your body as my hands found the bodies of your friends. My fingers lightly tickled and explored their crevices -- while my mouth engaged in a more thorough expedition.
You tasted so good. Kissing my girlfriend -- anywhere -- was nothing like kissing you.
You were clearly every bit as good as the media made you out to be.
But I still needed more.
You were still wearing a tiny, matching black top and bottom embossed in a frilly design. With trembling but nonetheless skillful hands (it had been a while for me, but this was far from my first rodeo), I managed to remove your lacy things with expeditious expertise...leaving just you. Pale. Bare.
I caressed you with my finger as your friends remained on the other side of the bed, next to -- touching -- each other. O, how soft you were -- as if you would mush up into a ball in my hand if I squeezed you!
Once more, my tongue found you. I happily, gratefully slurped every last bit of you as my hands reached for your friends -- lest they get jealous (and lest my desires remain unsated for too long).
I couldn't remember the last time I had felt anything close to the pleasure I was feeling now during the past few years of my relationship. My girlfriend was a distant thought in my mind -- there, but small and barely noticeable -- a dot on the horizon that you have to really focus on and pay attention to to even have any real sense of.
I was ready to burst with ecstasy.
And so I did. I let gushes and gushes of wet, white fluid spill all over your friends -- soaking them and the bed.
And then, pig of a man that I was, putting the milk jug down on the nightstand, I ate the rest of your friends, too -- one by one.
In a span of less than ten minutes, I had eaten the entire package of Oreos.
I picked up the milk and took a big swig of it -- directly from the jug -- to wash you and your friends down. O, how delicious you had been! I could still taste the chocolate crumbs and vanilla frosting that remained in my cheeks and on my teeth.
I put the milk back down and laid back on the bed -- staring at the ceiling -- contemplating what I had just done.
Imagining the disapproval my girlfriend would feel if she knew.
I...smiled.
I stood up and walked to the bathroom to wash my face and hands. Then, I left the hotel room.
The residual taste of Oreos still dancing on the back of my tongue, I had made my decision.
The elevator trip back down to the lobby was quick. I exited the elevator and went back to the front desk.
"Excuse me," I said to the front desk girl.
"Yes?" she said, looking up at me -- making eye contact.
"Would you like to fuck?"
Submitted October 06, 2014 at 04:20AM by JackRection http://ift.tt/1s0xnTy dirtypenpals
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