We all do things we regret, don’t we? Don’t you? I know you do. You must regret me, everything about me. Maybe you hate me. I really think you hate me. I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone. Well, I guess not only am I a person to be hated, but I also can’t be trusted.
It’s okay. It’s the way it’ll be. I still look at your social media. I don’t notice right away when you post a work video, but I notice. In a way, I hope you notice me. Like that one night. The night you noticed me.
I really thought you hated me because you picked on me so much. But with a few words. Or a few insults? I don’t know, maybe for you I enjoyed being humiliated in public. Regardless, I enjoyed the sound of my name on your lips.
I really liked the way you looked. Even jokingly, I liked the way you winked at the screen. When I became bolder, I looked for more videos of you. They were short. But they were you. Because it was you that I needed. Because you spoke this language of knowledge. You knew about some computer thing that I knew nothing about. And you were explaining it.
And at first I just listened. Quietly, in the middle of the night. At first I just wondered if you were teasing me because you hated me. But, I wanted to wonder less. I wanted to wander more. I wanted you to just speak to me.
“Tell me more.”
I whispered as your video replayed in my headphones.
“Fuck, yes, like that.”
I’d bite my lips as my fingers reached in between my legs.
“What’s that?”
Did you know your words get deeper when you’re really excited about what you’re talking about? So I’d pause the magic in between my legs to rewind to that part of your video. The part where you go from normal computer talk to rabid computer talk. It was like if your speech were finessing the button that held all my desires.
Breathless for you. I really was that first time. Endlessly making myself jolt for you until it was too late to pause the video. It was too late to stop myself. And I confessed to you that I brought myself to pleasure over you. That I liked you a lot.
You have no idea how much I regret telling you. Or maybe you do. I’ll apologize profusely every time I think of you.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/kmy5ii/regrets_mftragedysolo