Honestly, fuck Paul. You always knew he was a pompous douchebag anyway. Fucking asshole is more like it. You knew she wasn’t just his friend. Fucking liar. He was into her and you knew it right when he told you about meeting her in class. And when you saw him Facebook messaging her again from his phone. And when he said it was fine, he could just hike and do science shit with her and come home to you. You looked her up once. She even fucking looked like you. But with better hair. Fuck her.
Somewhere, you knew he wasn’t going to possibly stick around. Not through your tendencies to cancel all plans to stay home and watch Parks & Rec again. That probably should have been the first sign you were bipolar or schizophrenic or what the fuck ever they decided to call it next. But you didn’t know that then. You thought you were just unhappy with your job and watching him fade away into her. It was depression though. And you’d go through it again.
But you just never pictured him leaving you. One night he got drunk and told you how hard it was. Falling in love with you while you stayed cool, closed off, distant. He always thought you were too cool for him.
You talked about getting married and getting engaged secretly. You got drunk and watched kids’ movies on snow days. You laid together in the grass watching fireworks during summer session. You went to his high school and kissed by the football field. You made morbid jokes together about death and talked about all of the crazy and stupid things your friends would do. You would lay in bed all day alternating between having sex and running your hands up and down each other’s bodies, just looking at each other. Amazed. At how you could have met someone so open and curious and interesting and smart. He would bring you coffee and bagels back from his morning walk after you slept in again. He would hold you and kiss your forehead. He would tell you that he loved you more than anyone.
Fuck him.
You can’t believe he did this. He told you that she was nothing to worry about. She was just a friend. You knew it wasn’t true.
One night a few months ago he told you he was confused. He asked you how you were so sure about wanting to be together forever. You told him you just felt it everywhere. You can’t know, you choose. You chose him and would keep doing it. He cried. He wanted to be sure and he didn’t want to miss out on dating. He asked if you ever just wanted to stop putting up boundaries with friends you were attracted to, just to see where it went.
You should have fucking known. You should have just left him. But you couldn’t. You knew you’d never love anyone that much again. But you hadn’t met Jesse yet.
Tim though. Holy shit. Tim was hot. Like too hot. You should’ve known better about him too, but you were too heartbroken to realize. Looking for anyone to fill the void. Someone who would come close to Paul in some way.
You met Tim on Tinder. He was Greek. Longish dark, wavy hair. Wore glasses sometimes. In extremely good shape. The kind where he clearly lived in the gym. Tall and muscular. You started talking and couldn’t stop. You told him about Paul. He said he was an asshole. You decided you wanted to meet up. He picked a bar near your mom’s house, where you were living since Paul dumped you.
You drove from a happy hour with your coworkers. You would all go out after work and blow off steam after teaching all day. Tucker would tell you to get back on the horse and scroll through Tinder with you. Jane would tell you you were fucking hotter than him anyway and you’re in your prime! Megan would start a game of Fuck, Marry, Kill about all the other teachers in school when she got too drunk. It made you forget about getting your heart ripped out of your chest.
You get to the bar and park. Tim calls you.
“Hey are you here?” Tim says.
“Yup, meet me at the doors!”
You get out of your car. It’s raining so you pull your oversized cardigan over your head. You see him standing there. He’s fucking gorgeous and smells way too good.
“Nice to meet you,” he says. You hug and head into the bar.
Tim buys you a gin & tonic and you sit at a table off to the side, away from the noisy bar. You talk and talk and look into his big brown eyes. It’s magnetic. He’s gorgeous. Definitely hotter than you. And he knows it. He’s just as confident as you. The borderline narcissist type for sure.
It’s a school night so you say you have to go home. You don’t want to though. He walks you out to your car. He asks if he can kiss you. You say yes and he does. Everything’s spinning.
You get in your car and start driving. Something switches inside of you and you start sobbing. Fuck Paul. You can’t even makeout with a hot guy without crying because of him. He ruined your whole fucking life and now he was off with his new girlfriend that his mom probably actually approves of. Fucking Karley. Bitch even ripped off half of your name. Fucking off brand version of you, wildlife loving, absolutely perfect for him whore. You wonder if he thinks about you. You decide he doesn’t and you feel pathetic.
———-
The next time you see Tim he picks you up from your friend’s house. You got wasted with them for St. Patrick’s Day like you used to in college. Only this time you went to hip bars in Manayunk and talked about everyone’s fancy jobs. Ashley was a lawyer now and had a hot boyfriend who owned a boat. Emma was studying to take some business exam and just got a new kitten. You were freshly dumped and working for pennies teaching kids with disabilities in Wilmington. Your friends surrounded you in their designer clothes while you pulled at the sleeve of your hipster, discount boho bitch sweater from Forever 21.
“He’s so fucking hot,” Emma says when he gets up from the couch to get another beer, “How did you find him and where do I get one?”
“Calm down over there,” you laugh.
He takes you back to his place near Drexel. He’s a mechanical engineering student there. You realize you really have a type.
You spend hours making out on his couch. But not normal making out where your eyes are closed and all your thinking about is how much tongue is too much tongue or how he’s squeezing your boob way too hard. It’s not a squeaky toy bro, chill. Instead this is something slow. In between kisses and sips of air you catch each other’s gaze. Instead of worrying about your tongue you’re moaning into each other’s mouths. You haven’t been this turned on in…ever? You forget Paul ever existed. Whatever’s happening with Tim has never happened with anyone else before. You’ve never wanted someone so bad and felt so wanted in return.
He guides your hand down and says, “I’m not going to take your clothes off, I just want you to feel it.”
You do and it’s fucking huge. You’ve only ever seen one other dick before and it was nothing compared to this.
“I want you so fucking bad right now,” he moans into your mouth.
You spend the next hour dry humping, talking, and staring at each other. He tells you he has a brother and a very large family. He’s been to Greece to visit them a few times and loves it there. He tells you he wants to take you there. You tell him you just met. He tells you it just feels right with you. You wonder if you’re falling in love with him or just trying to replace Paul. You decide you don’t care, you just really wanna fuck him.
—————–
You spend the next week seeing Tim most days. You go to the movies one day and hold hands the whole time, laughing together and whispering between the dialogue. You go to a bar by your house and make out in a funeral home parking lot in the rain. You tell him you really like him in between his mouth being all over yours. He tells you there’s a word that’s stronger than like that he’s thinking of.
He wants to wait to have sex. The anticipation makes things more fun, he says. He pulls your panties off in the back seat of his Lexus and says to trust him. He goes down on you and you cum hard into his mouth. He tells you he’s going to take such good care of you when he finally gets to fuck you. And you believe him.
When he fucks you for the first time you’re in your room under the light of the lava lamp on your creaky bed. Your mom totally knew you were getting fucked. Whoops.
You’d been doing the usual making out, hands all over each other, out of breath routine for a while before he says he just can’t take it anymore.
He takes out a condom, slips it on, and fills you up. Your eyes roll back as he starts to thrust. You stare at each other while he slowly slides in and out of you.
“How are you doing, sweetheart? Do you like that?” he says.
“Yessss,” you moan barely able to get the word out.
He wraps his hand around your throat and fucks you harder. You moan louder. Paul never fucked you like this, that’s for sure. He starts playing with your clit while he keeps thrusting. After a little while you tell him you’re gonna cum. You do and he smiles at you and says, “Good girl.” You fucking love him calling you that. You’re in big trouble now.
———–
The next week you see Tim again a few times. You continue having mindblowing sex. He makes you cum so easily every time. You love watching him fuck you and having him call you his little slut. He loves how inexperienced you are. He tells you he brags to his friends that he’s only the second guy you’ve ever slept with and the only one who’s been able to make you cum while fucking you. You love that he’s talking about you to them. You think this might turn into something serious.
Then the texts start coming fewer and further between. He stops answering some of your messages all together. He tells you he’s just really busy right now and you’re being kind of clingy. He was testing the waters by messaging you less to see how you would handle it. You don’t handle it well. You hate games and love attention. You end up telling him you don’t think you should see each other anymore to see how he’ll react. He agrees and you tell him to go fuck himself. He returns the sentiment.
You end up reaching out to him again in the summer. You tell him you’re sorry for the way you acted. He said it was fine, you’re a sweet girl. You don’t talk to him again for a while. He sends you a snapchat a few months later of him at the gym. He’s so fucking hot, but you’re dating Mike now. You ask him how he’s been. He says he’s been thinking about you lately. You ask him why that is. He says there’s just something about you, you made him the hardest he’s ever been. He wants to fuck you again. You ask him to send you a picture of his cock. He does and you never talk to him again. That’s what he gets, fucking asshole.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/kbbzsa/daddy_hatefuck_to_all_the_boys_who_fucked_me_over