He’d sustained an injury, that was for sure. But how did he explain that to his boss?
Oh I’m sorry I won’t be coming in to work today because I have a sex-related injury.
There was nothing, ‘sex-related,’ about it. It was absolutely from sex.
That bitch had ridden him hard. He had fucked her in every square inch of her apartment and what was even more crazy was that when they had finished she had rolled over, looked him straight in the eye and said, “You need to leave.”
No thank you, that was fun. No hey, let’s do that again sometime.
She had shut down emotionally like…
Like a man, he told himself.
And he hadn’t liked that one bit.
He was supposed to be the one who did that. He was supposed to be the one who felt nothing and who rejected the clingy bitch.
But she wasn’t like that. Not one bit.
He wasn’t sure he liked it like that. He liked feeling needed. He wanted someone to want him. It stroked his ego and helped to dull the pain of his insecurities.
No, not pain, he told himself. A feeling of uncomfortableness.
As she stood under the shower letting the hot water run over her still highly sensitised body, she smiled to herself.
I’ve got the power, she said in her mind.
He didn’t stand a chance.