Another ping from my phone rang out as I downed the drink—a burn of whiskey, followed by a different wave. Smoke billowed from my nostrils and another ping. The nude image of her flashed through my mind. She draped lazily over my bed; her breasts hung down, and she ran her finger between them. Ping. I was thinking about my ex while the future leisurely waited. These things can’t ever be; where is Miss. Parker with her ever-searching eyes. They would caress me on Sunday morning. Her fingers slid down the front of my pants. Shit!
The weed calmed my mind, so I took another puff. I hope you understand my addiction. I will note yours after a few more drinks; maybe we could return to my place afterward. Reveal ourselves in a purer form. The way God intended. My tormenter remained silent as I slipped the blunt between my lips. Gray and black mess trickled from my mouth as I worked the stick. I’m getting off-topic.
The texts began slowly. A nudging gesture, poke on Facebook to confirm life. Gentle motions of addiction beginning to shape. Attention, only the devil desires more than I.
Ping.
The devil wears Prada, and she looks at me from across the room. Eyes fixated, she watches, so I sneak out the back. The texts came quicker, forming the addiction. Stupidly, I responded. Who would’ve known that an emoji could create something so ugly? What if I respond just this time? What could it hurt? A marriage. How so merciful of me. I was saving something more broken than I.
Ping.
Maybe next time. On all fours, she crawls. I lean forward to meet her. Whiskey spills on my converses. We meet somewhere in the middle.
Maybe next time.
Ping.
Maybe next time.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/vg1day/recollection