The writing looks seductive. It is cursive. Nothing close to Bob's handwriting. I read it four more times as my heart starts beating faster. They have broken in twice now. And they wanted me to know it. I flipped the note over to see more on the back.
Now masturbate.
The fucking bitch has been reading my mind this whole time. I don't even bother to begin to wonder who it was despite my sudden interest in older women. I begin to prance to my bed, every step a longer stride. I feel myself getting higher off the crushed up methamphetamine she left me, which I snorted out of the bag.
Spun, I spring onto the bed as though a kitten. Only that I am a filthy human suffering from my own slick heat seeping through my delicate body. I reach for my vibrator, but instantly change my mind. Fingers will do. But I do not know where to start.
My clit is sore. My labia is caked with cum and sweat. My anus, having taken some punishment last night as rode my thick black dildo like a naughty cowgirl. The pain purifies my soul. I cannot help but fill myself with toys that are too big. Frustration floods my thought process as I'm only left to fist myself.
I knock over the lamp next to me reaching for my personal lubricant. I spread my legs and sing quietly as I lube my snatch, flicking my sensitive clit to agony.
Danielle enters my thoughts. She places her tongue in the airplane lady's mouth and bites it gently. I feel four fingers plunge deep into my sopping cunt. They copulate in my vision, their loose vaginas bumping against each other, mashing clits and talking dirty. My juices cover my hand as I attempt the whole fist.
I groan in pain, having gone too fast. But I fucking love it. My g-spot swells helplessly and my clit gets hard, pulsing and throbbing at the massive pressure inducing an abundance of pure, exorbitant pleasure. An intense tingle snakes across my body.
I take my fingers out and shove them down my throat. I taste myself, creating a bondage between my physical senses and emotions as I refrain from touching myself. I want to be tied up. Instead, I am alone.
I revert back to fucking myself, fisting and twisting to my g-spot's liking. I wonder what the airplane lady's eyes look like as I masturbate grotesquely. Sicilian? Romanian? I grit my teeth so hard I nearly relocate my mandible. Two fists. It's time for two.
The feeling sickens me on the inside. Danielle. DANIELLE. He must have moaned hundreds of times
on my way to the airport. In my state of rage I nearly rear-ended a family that day. Sometimes I wondered, if, because I chose not to have children, I fully missed out on marrying rich and experiencing it for the longterm. Instead I had it thrown straight back into my decrepit face.
I remember her eyes were yellow. Full of conniving relief. Leering straight at me before she turned her head back to my husband.
I finish before I can fully get the second fist in. As much as I'm tempted to continue, I drop my actions to lay my head against my pillow. It feels like cotton candy mauling my head in a soft spoken frenzy.
I relive our argument as I bite my thumbnail. Fucking ambivalent degenerate, impoverished of substance in any way, shape or form. What an exhibitionistic fool, worshipping Danielle with every last of the manwhore in him.
I press my face against the pillow and cry. Again, I am sobbing like the hopeless peasant I am. Hopeless, powerless... Will I ever care about anything again? Has Danielle shattered my complex that easily?
I look down sick with disgust in myself. My vagina is open wide, appearing as though I had just been trained by a group of men in the alleyway outside the rundown motel down the street. I am filled with hatred towards this visualization – my senior year memories of the football team being related to such. I am a filthy nymphomaniac. I always have been. But Bob couldn't fuck me?
At this point, I am angry. It's not like I wanted his cock in the first place but he still filled a void. He was still my husband.
Three knocks on my door cause my thoughts to silence.
"Housekeeping," an elated man chimes.
"Hello," I say sternly. I want him to come back later but I am not one to expect I will be any more
or less indecent. "Hold on a minute."
I pull my panties back on along with my tank top, pulling down on the cotton until it covers my asscheeks. I head into the restroom after yelling, "Enter."
In the bathroom, I notice I have managed to place my ice on the counter. Should I do it again and go to the gym? The question I cannot answer right away manifests an impulsivity to place my nose in the bag and insufflate all I can at once.
Bob better be glad I sunk this low. As my thoughts of him pass on by like a freight train full of debris I could stuff Danielle's cunt with, I hesitate to enter the elevator in front of me. There stands one person, a man, who is rather good-looking. Our eyes don't meet.
I feel suicidal. Over Bob. What I saw Bob doing to Danielle. Danielle's yellow eyes boring into me from the distance.
The torment, the mockery and contempt I cannot handle. The disrespect I so deserved for being the weak woman I am.