Horny Hour #3
This is part of one of the longer stories I’m trying to write. It came about thanks to a couple of prompt lines from a website I found a while back when I was stuck for ideas.
This weeks prompt
He stood, looking out of the window. He had the urge to go out into the rain and clear the ground, so he could look out and see nothing. Not the flowers she had planted, not the trees they had chosen together just a few short months before. That summer had seemed to last forever, neither of them quite able to believe how right things were between them, how well they fit together, complemented each other. He felt as if she were the thing he’d been searching for, the piece that had always been missing from his life, without even realising there was a hole. He thought she had felt the same way until he had woken up to find her note. ‘Sorry’ one word and suddenly he was cast adrift, lost, with no idea why, no idea what had changed. He thought back to that morning, waking up to find himself tied to the bed, the feel of her mouth on his cock, the memory of how she had fucked him, how different it felt to find himself at her mercy. The thought of it made him hard again until he remembered. Remembered waking up to find her side of the bed empty and cold, knowing that she wasn’t there, the house feeling just as empty and cold, the way it felt most days because she wasn’t there. He cursed himself for falling asleep, knowing that if he had stayed awake she’d still be here, they’d still be in his bed, wrapped around each other. He sank to his knees in the grass, arms wrapped around himself, trying to keep the hole closed, trying to hold the darkness inside, his tears mingling with the soft rain falling on his face.
Later, as he lay on the bed staring at the ceiling, the mud and dirt from his bare feet and jeans staining the sheets, he thought about looking for her but he had no idea where to start. She’d taken nothing but her handbag, everything else was still there. Did that mean she was going to come back or that she’d decided to forget everything about their relationship? Another question he had no answer to. His thoughts drifted back to the day before, she’d seemed so happy, happy to be with him, happy to have no demands on her but his. They’d talked and laughed, watched crappy TV, kissed and hugged, she’d read while he did some work. They’d eaten dinner, drank wine and eaten chocolate. All the things they always did. She’d talked about working in the garden if the rain held off, baking him a cake, she’d joked about them being like an old married couple, set in their ways, so predictable. He knew she’d had issues in the past with men wanting a commitment she couldn’t give, that she had gone along with them for a while until she couldn’t pretend any more. But she had told him that he was the first, the first person she could actually see a real future with. She had said she was good at pretending, but that good? He didn’t think so. Why had she come all this way if she had planned to leave? He turned to face her side of the bed, pulled her pillow to his chest, buried his face in it, inhaled her scent. He knew she hadn’t planned it, she hadn’t even thought about what she was doing, she’d panicked, scared of how she felt about him, about them, He didn’t know how he knew this, he just knew. And the knowing took away some of the darkness inside, he just wished he knew where she’d gone so he could talk to her. He knew that if she really couldn’t come back he would accept it, learn to live with her decision and try to move on. His phone beeped, as he sat up he noticed the state of his clothes, but when he read her message he forgot about the muddy bed.
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