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I loved last Friday with you, Leslie. My asshole’s sore now and I’m limping like a lame duck, but I want to do it again asap. Love you, Ron
The pain in my chest multiplies exponentially, and I literally clutch my heart, fearing that I’m having a heart attack. This can’t be happening. Noise rushes in my ears and for a couple minutes, I forget how to breathe. In fact, I forget everything except for the soul-crushing agony in my chest. This doesn’t make sense. We are so happy. Leslie is so happy. And yet here she is, cheating on me with her bastard ex-boyfriend.
Like a zombie, I make my way to the living room and glance outside at woman splashing happily in the pool. She has no idea what I just saw and smiles sunnily, lazing about in the waters. Why would she give up everything we have together for a dumb shit like Ronald Putnam? It doesn’t make sense, but then again, life is unknowable. Besides, those pictures were so extreme, and maybe that’s it. Maybe Leslie’s got an itch that only Ronald can satisfy, and it’s her deepest secret that she’s been unable to share.
Turning away once more, I swallow hard while staring at nothing. This can’t be happening and yet it is. What do I do now?
10
Leslie
I’ve been floating on top of the water blissfully, waiting for Malcolm to join me. It’s going to be amazing once my boyfriend gets in the pool because after some splashing, I know what this swim session is going to turn into. We’re going to have hot fun with the alpha male taking me below the water line, both of our cries ringing to the Heavens, and I can’t wait. Being with Malcolm Neuwirth is always so wonderful.
Yet, it’s been a while now and I don’t hear anything. There’s no sound of the glass door sliding open, nor of an enormous man lowering himself into the pool. I wait a few more minutes, figuring he’s just finishing up his morning coffee, or ogling me through the windows like he seems to enjoy doing every time I come out here for a swim. But when several minutes pass, I figure I must have made a mistake. Maybe Malcolm wasn’t angling for a swim, but instead, went back inside to work.
Disappointment washes over my frame. Leaning forward in the water, I let my feet sink to the bottom of the pool and peer towards the penthouse. Sure enough, I see the outline of Malcolm’s big frame, and he’s even got his swim trunks on. But he appears immobile, and he’s staring at something in his hand. What the hell is going on?
I wade to the edge of the pool and wave at Malcolm, but he’s too engrossed to even look up. Dang. What is that? It better be a declaration of World War 3 in the news because usually, nothing prevents my boyfriend from sampling my curves.
Heaving myself out of the pool, water rolls down my curves as I slick my hair back. The bikini clings to my hills and valleys, and has even come undone slightly over one hip. No matter. I’m sure Malcolm will be making short work of that in about a minute or so.
But when I pull open the sliding door, a blast of chilly A/C hits me.
“Malcolm?” I ask. “What’s going on?”
He looks up, and my heart drops to my feet. There’s a strange look on his face I’ve never seen before. It’s hard to categorize: pain, or maybe even disgust. Then I finally get a look at the phone in his hand, and to my surprise, it’s mine. I don’t have any secrets, so it’s fine, but I have been shopping a lot and I wonder if it’s the dollar value of my most recent on-line spree that has him upset. I raise an eyebrow and look at him. “Is something wrong?”
Instead of answering, he holds my phone up and turns it around so I can see the screen for myself. What is that?
I go closer and then realize it’s my ex, Ronald, being fisted by a woman. The look on his face is one of pure delirium as his bottom is violated, her entire hand disappearing between his pale cheeks. It’s not a pretty sight, and his face is clenched with pain as he’s stretched obscenely.
“Oh my god!” I cry out, bringing my hands up and clamping them over my mouth. “What is that?”
Malcolm growls, staring at me.
“I don’t know. You tell me, sweetheart. This is your phone.”
Tears spring to my eyes. No wonder Malcolm looks so disgusted and betrayed. He probably thinks that I’ve been cheating on him, and that I’m the woman in the photos putting Ronald through his paces. Still in disbelief, I snatch the cell away and begin furiously scrolling through my inbox. OMG. Ronald has really taken things to the next level, judging on what he’s doing in these photos. Can he even breathe? He looks to be near losing his life in some of them, and I wonder if he has a safe word.
