Recovery. Realization.

Monday, 11:20am

You open your eyes and lift your cheek off the concrete of Troy's stoop. You see stars; your balls are living agony.

You move your hands to your head to settle the throbbing. Your right hand comes away sticky. Blood?

No, saliva. You remember now.

Ugh. And something else. You've vomited on Troy's stoop. And your shirt. Oh, and his front door. And you laid your head in it. Great.

You pull your legs over the edge of the stoop and slouch forward to lower your head between your legs. That's better. The throbbing is still there but your eyes can focus again.

Where did THAT come from?!

You're shocked. You guess you don't know what you expected. You didn't expect this.

She didn't hesitate. She didn't stutter. Hell, she mostly didn't even look at me.

Has she already made her choice, then? Does she WANT to stay with Troy? Did she mean that about your sex life?

She did always prefer to be fucked from behind, even before she made her irresistible offer. Was that with everyone... Or just me?

You sit on Troy's stoop. Carrie's voice keeps echoing in your head.

You won years ago.

I'm yours.

You can have me.

'Isn't that exactly what you begged her to say? You asked her to bully you.'

'sad missionary sex'

'limp dick'

You never thought you were a sex God, but you'd never heard any complaints before. This is the age of the Internet; you'd looked it up and you knew you were at least average in that department.

She seemed so sincere.

Yeah, she did, but that was all part of the game, wasn't it?

If you tell me to leave him, I will.

THAT is EXACTLY what you asked for.

She gave it to you. And there is no doubt in your mind that she meant every brutal, cold word of that sentence. Troy knows this, too.

You sit, recovering, for a half an hour.

You sit on Troy's stoop. You don't know what you're waiting for. Carrie to suddenly open the door: "And another thing!" To have her text you, apologizing and begging for forgiveness? To have both her and Troy come out, laughing, saying "April fools!"

That wasn't happening. You realize that you're straining your ears to hear sounds from the house. Whispers? Movement? ... Moans?

Troy's house is huge. That's a fool's game. Of course you hear nothing. Not a sound.

I am so pathetic that I'm sitting here, begging myself to hear the sounds my girlfriend cheating on me with a college rival.

No. That's not right.

I'm sitting here straining to hear the sounds of my college rival fucking HIS girlfriend.

That's worse than pathetic. What's worse than an emasculated (literally? You hope not! You'll be pissing red tomorrow, though, you fear.) loser cuck waiting for his girlfriend to come back after a date with another man? How about a voyeuristic loser hoping to catch a glimpse of his ex after she's slept with her new boyfriend in his home?

You get up and start down the walkway. Your stomach heaves; you lean out past the concrete and retch unfruitfully into the bushes. After you finish, you turn back toward the house, not sure what to do. Should you go back, knock? Ask Carrie if this is real?

You change your mind. You saw Carrie's face. This is Troy's story, for now.

You turn back and walk toward your car. Your balls hurt.

Tuesday

The next day was hard.

Not literally, of course; at least not for you. Your testicles were swollen, a little bit. At least you weren't pissing blood like you'd feared. Between the pain and the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, though, nothing about your body was hard the next day..

That day was difficult.

The days after that, though, are VERY hard.

You keep playing the last few moments you had with Troy's girlfriend in your head.

Take what you want.

I'm yours.

If you tell me to leave him, I will.

That about sums it up. You asked for this.

You keep imagining Troy and his girlfriend around his mansion. Talking. Laughing. Fucking. Going to sleep late. Waking up together. Fucking.

Shit.

Troy will certainly get sick of Carrie eventually. You've never known him to keep a girl for more than a month. And then she'll come back to you, smiling, full of stories, laughter... And semen, no doubt.

That's okay. Hell. You'll eat it out of her right in the living room, in front of your roommate, even, if she just comes back to you.

'sad missionary sex'

I'll think about you even if I'm with him.

...

Shit.

And even with all of those thoughts, you find yourself imagining Troy's girlfriend in all sorts of positions and situations.

Your dick grows hard imagining Troy pulling the strings of that bikini loose. You imagine him cupping her breasts, kissing her neck, slowly caressing her nipple, first over the fabric and then, as his other hand finishes with the strings, sans any barrier at all.

Your mind's eye can see her take his hand and put it back on her thigh, right where her skin is exposed above her bikini. She leans back against his chest, reaching above and behind her, caressing the back of his neck as she tilts her head up to kiss him. He moves his hand downward, catching the string of her bikini bottom and working it downward. It doesn't come loose; instead, she undulates her legs and the bikini slips and falls free of her body the moment Troy works it over her hips.

You imagine the next step. That night -

Yeah, right. "That 'night'," cuck? How naïve!

You imagine the next step. While a pathetic loser is sitting on the stoop wiping vomit and spittle from his eyes. Troy gets impatient. Or does Carrie? Either way, a trail of bikini pieces and work clothing lead to the first bedroom on the second floor. Troy is caressing his girl's head as it bobs up and down. She works slowly -

Is he bigger than me? A lot bigger? Or just better with what he has?

She works slowly at first, getting her mouth used to his cock. It twitches in her mouth, warm, hard.

'limp dick'

You wrap your fingers around your cock, feeling it give slightly under your grip. Is this hard enough? I guess I don't have any comparison.

She does, now. And you'll lose. You were a loser then and you're a loser now.

Your hand is on your hard ... erect? ... cock as the scenario plays out in your mind. Again and again, she stands up, dragging her fingers up his sides as she does so, and pulls her boyfriend to his bed. She lays back (no need for doggie style with him, not all the time like before) and pulls him onto (and into) her. She gasps, moans, and calls his name as he enters her again and again.

You can hear her excitement. You can hear the words as she approaches climax.

Take what you want!

Use me as just one more opportunity to spit in that

'pathetic' *gasp*

'limp-dicked' *moan*

'whining' *AHHH*

'cuckold's' *sigh*

You always manage to spurt a little load right about now. It reminds you of the spittle running down your face outside Troy's door.

But that never is the end, is it? Your treacherous mind always plays out the event to its bitter end.

"What pathetic limp-dicked whining cuckold are you talking about? Do you have another boyfriend you've been hanging around?"

...

'No, lover. There's nobody else. I'm all yours.'