Musings

I Wish You Stayed A Fantasy

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As my husband said, you courted me.

You always initiated the contact. From the very first time. I passively accepted your desirous intentions. You knew my answer would always be yes.

I wish I had said no now. I never intended for you to infiltrate my mind the way you clearly had. We had connected more than I’d usually allow. You shared more of you than I did of me, or so I thought. Opening up your passions and dreams to me had managed to trigger a subconscious response. To care about you.

Stayed a Fantasy

You told me about the girl you got pregnant. I can imagine how much she wanted you, but she knew better. You were distressed by her futile attempts at using herbs to abort. She told you her strong feelings for you was holding on to the baby. I think she wanted to keep what would have tied you to her forever.

You didn’t need to worry about that sort of inconvenient adulation from me. You knew I was taken. I wouldn’t make demands. I wanted what you wanted. To feel you in me, then go home to my husband. I would never ask more from you. I didn’t want to plan holidays with you, much less a family.

I was probably the perfect woman to masturbate to, in your quite moments alone with no real, willing body to distract you. A woman to which you had no ties. We only had one kiss but it inspired a number of scenarios in your head. I should know as we’ve fucked countless times already in my own mind.

In retrospect it was good to only think about you now and then. I’d see snippets of your brilliant life online but quickly dismiss you, perhaps later allowing my thoughts to drift back to the past. They were harmless fantasies of what might have been. I’d make myself come then resume my own fulfilling life, never giving you another thought until you’d get in touch again.

Finally having you in me after all those years of fantasising left me speechless. I know it wasn’t the reunion you hoped for. I’m sure you had been a better performer in all those scenarios you played out in your head about me. I didn’t care, but perhaps it was critical to you. We should have left it there but we didn’t.

You told me later at the party that you wish we had done ‘this’ ten years ago. What? Fuck? Party together? And why? Were you more virile? Because you cared less for me back then that you would have got hard and stayed hard all night with me? If you left me dissatisfied then you wouldn’t have given a shit ten years ago? For all the inspirational quotes you’ve shared with your followers, dwelling on what could have been is a bit hypocritical. You are still hot and desirable, but you either live in the here and now, or you keep things in the past.

Your ridiculous brain doesn’t think we should have sex now. I know you find me sexy but it doesn’t help. Did you friend-zone me? Have you placed some emotional value on me? Am I no longer the random slut you don’t have to prove anything to? You could have reasoned all you wanted about what happened but the bottom line is that I lost the hottest fantasy I had in my life.

I can’t think about you now without thinking that you no longer imagine fucking me. I hate that.

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