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The reaction is almost immediate.
Peter is on top of someone and he stops while he's raised up. He twists his head back and sees me. His eyes go wide.
“Ashley!” Peter exclaims.
I just stand there as he looks back down to whoever it is below him and then to me, like a deer caught in headlights.
“Ashley, what are you doing here?” Peter asks again.
I say nothing. No, that’s not true. I think I shake my head.
Yes, I’m shaking my head.
“Ashley,” Peter says again, as if saying my name again is going to mitigate what I’m seeing.
And what I’m seeing is searing into my memory. I see Peter get up off of whomever he's with. His dick is hard and slimy.
He tries to cover himself, but the woman grabs the blanket and raises her head.
She’s blonde like me. She has huge boobs. Not so slender. Kind of a fucked-up face.
Yes, okay, I’m being unfair. Whatever. I have the right to be unfair right now.
“Ashley!” Peter says again.
I wish there was something I could do to make everyone see what an asshole my ex-boyfriend is.
I’m not thinking. That’s why I pull out my phone.
I turn on Facebook. I select the option to go live.
Sure, I’m young. I have thousands of friends on Facebook. So does Peter. We have so many mutual friends in common. People from Peter’s work are my friends.
I push the button and voila. We’re live on Facebook.
“Everyone,” I say pointing my iPhone toward Peter who is standing there frozen, his dick is hard. “Say hello to my ex-boyfriend. He used to be my boyfriend, but I just got home from work a few minutes ago. I’m about four hours early. And I found him in bed with…”
The woman doesn’t seem fazed at all. She gets out of bed and I wince as I see her tits sway. Did he cheat on her because I don't have as big of tits as her? I mean, I have D cups. She’s definitely older.
She looks to me.
“Hey, love bug,” she says with a wave as she picks up a pair of panties. “I’m Laura. You can find me on the corner of 42nd and 8th Avenue. I charge $100 for the half hour. $150 for the hour. Do you want my website or something?”
A hooker?
A fucking hooker?
Peter Theller, my boyfriend, was cheating on me with a hooker who stands outside of the Port Authority Bus Terminal?
“Peter Theller,” I say, surprisingly calm. “I just want to make sure all my friends know, so they don't have to ask when they find out why we broke up, that I caught you cheating on me with a hundred dollar whore that you found outside of the bus terminal!”
I zoom into his face. He’s sputtering.
I move the camera down.
Peter’s cock, which was as hard as a 5-inch cock could be, starts to deflate. Despite myself, I can't suppress a smirk. This is insane.
“Ashley, turn that off!” Peter says angrily.
