Last night I fucked someone who was not you.

I didn't want to. What I wanted was you. You were far away. All day
talking with me and it's not til the end that sex arises. You ask me
what I will be doing tonight--coming, i tell you. I'll be thinking
about you, and coming.

You ask me to tell you more, you ask me to tell you I want your cock.

You know I want it. You know I need it. I know you love this, the
intensity of my need for you.

But it's not fair. It's not fair that I should be wet and aching and
wanting you, that I should be living my life on the fringes of you.
I'm starving and I'm given crumbs. You ask me now to tell you I want
you, how, where, and I know your wife will be home in ten minutes. You
know it too. You know you'll leave me here, undone, possessed.

I think again of your wife, and how you'll fuck her tonight. I know
you fuck her, I know how, I know you don't think of me when you do.
I've known that even without you telling me that.

There is nothing I have of you that is only mine. Nothing. Even this,
even desire, even your desire for me--all of it goes back to her.
Wanting to fuck me makes you fuck her harder and better. The
inventiveness I bring to you, you give to her. The things I teach you,
you show her. You love her more now, not less, and it is because of
me.

I think of you fucking her and I envy her. I will give you all my
desire, all my passion, knowing you have it with her. Knowing it
amplifies all that vibrates between you two. I will still give you
it--but I cannot live, with nothing for me.

Even this secret you keep from her, the secret of us--you keep it for
her and not for me, for her happiness and not mine.

Last night I got dressed, I painted my eyes, my mouth. I fucked
someone else, and all I thought of was you.

Baby, he called me during it and touched my face. I turned away from
that and I said coldly don't.

Don't call me that.

No one has ever called me that but you.

Call me whore, I told him, because that's what I am now.

Labels: cheating, eros, X