The Second Finalist: Gus

697 Days

Amanda spent a long two days in the homeless tent city, while you fretted and worried in the condo you shared with her. Finally, she showed up, a bottle of malt liquor in a brown paper bag, with Gus, the 57 year-old Black homeless man that had Willy Wonka-ed his way into your ex's heart.

"Oh my gosh," Amanda said, giggling. "Clyde is like, sooooo funny. Hey sweetie." She acknowledged you with a gentle kiss on your cheek. Your relationship had evolved so much. From soulmates, to almost a dominatrix, to almost a platonic plateau now. You loved it and hated it at the same time.

Gus chuckled, giving you a once over, deciding once again that you posed no threat. You'd sucked him off once, you remembered. You wonder if there would be a repeat performance.

You sat with them at the kitchen table, drinking some green tea, while listening to them amble on. If it'd been you, you'd jump in the shower at the first opportunity, you thought. But they both lingered, talking with each other. He smelled absolutely rank, all of his possessions (mostly bought by Amanda) in a backpack. And after two days in the encampment, she didn't smell much better. Was it that she was adjusted to it? Or you cared about it more than she did?

Eventually they did go into the shower, and she took the time to trim Gus's beard and Afro. You watched them make love, his big fat cock erect, making your own remnant ache in jealousy. After he came and they fell asleep, you got closer, inspecting him up close. Yellowed, long toenails. Small scabs and injuries along his frame. Fat, probably from too much fast food and booze. Parched skin from too much time in the sun in Miami. And yet, your ex wanted this. Wanted it badly enough that this was his bed now.