Note: The story isn’t smut heavy and focuses on the psychological side of it.
I look at the clock, eyes barely open. It was the last one in a series of alarms. These days, it was always the last one. Waking up because I have to, not because I want to. I pick the phone up. “Good morning babe” it said, making me smile. Getting out of bed naked, I head to the bathroom, brushing my teeth while I reply to her message.
“Good morning to you too, babe.” I reply, the highlight of my day these days. I hadn’t bothered to wear clothes in over two days, surviving on milk and nothing else. This had become routine over the past few months, after losing my day job, now surviving on my part-time job as a writer. It had gone downhill ever since she had left the country, to go help as a doctor in the northern part of Africa to help the locals with medicine. This was over eight months ago and now she was stuck there and I was stuck here.
The routine had been simple – Get up, drink milk, stare at the laptop screen, get a couple of pages of writing in over eight hours and go to sleep”
I head to the kitchen now, opening the Fridge. I push my now long hair back as I pick up the empty carton. Finally it was time to head out after a week. I put on a robe, hurriedly closing it and head to the supermarket, getting stares for my look. My long unkempt hair, leading to a messy beard. Jason, a friend who works there asks if I am alright.
“You doing okay? Devon?” he says
I nod, not looking him in the eyes.
And within minutes, I was back in my room, naked again, staring at the screen. I try and stroke myself to get myself excited to write. But nothing happens. A couple of hours and nothing. I needed inspiration. And I head to the cellar with the old books. I had already read all of the books but it was still worth another look. I walk through the old dusty room until my eyes stop on the box a wooden one, the size of a bedside table. I open it up, flashing my phone’s light on it.
I cough at the cloud of dust and my eyes settle on the book, a journal, dusting it off as I pick it off.
I open it up. “Property of Anya Beck” it read.
“What the? I never knew you used to write Ann!” I whisper as I head out of the cellar.
I sit down in front of the laptop again, opening the book up to a random page. An entry from July 18, 2015.
“*Dear Diary*,
*I don’t know what to do. He is perfect. He is everything I wanted. He is sweet to me. He has been sweet to me. The last four months, I have been so happy. After Eric, I deserve someone like him. Who treats me like I deserve. Should I tell him how I feel about him? This is all so new but I think I should. I am not sure how he feels. I did tell him to not keep it exclusive for now. What if he isn’t as serious as me? I’m probably overthinking it.*”
I stop reading. July ’15. That was around the time we started seeing each other. So it was me being talked about. I didn’t know she was that serious about me.
In excitement, I skip a few pages, wanting to move forward and see how it turned out from her side of things. Because I had felt so strongly about her from the start.
Another entry. From September 16, 2015.
“*Dear Diary*,
*This feels so good. The way he makes me feel in bed, about me and him and us. When he is inside me, I can’t think of anything else but him. Every movement makes me want to forget everything and just stay with him.*”..
I stop. There was still more to read, but I was trying to remember. I was not very experienced then. Did she really feel that good with me? I turn the page to continue reading where I had left off.
“*Everything he does makes me want to scream how much I want him to fuck me. It feels so wrong to admit it. But when I’m in his arms in bed, the only words that come out are “fuck me, Eric” and it’s..*”.
Eric? She was writing about Eric? I continue, reading faster now.
“*So wrong because it might break Devon’s heart but I don’t think I can stop*”
My heart stops but I look down and dick was straight up, harder than anytime in the past eight months. We weren’t exclusive then. So she was not cheating. But finding out about it is does something to me that I cannot explain.
I read a few more enteries.
“*I need to stop”*
“*He came by again”*
“*I wish Devon made me feel this way in bed too*”
And so on.
Until.. Diary entry from November 3, 2015.
“*Dear Diary*,
*I have tried everything. But I don’t think saying No to Eric is something I can bring myself to do. So I have to do this.*”
I recalled the date. This was the time she remembered telling me she wanted to move.
Was that the only way she could think of? What exactly happened? I needed to know. But right now, I saw the way my body had reacted to it as I start typing, one hand on the keyboard, one hand stroking myself.
********
To be continued
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/rcezn0/chapter1_ghosts_of_her_past_hotpast_cuckold