A Man in Your Situation
Knowing you’re with her causes a volcano-like reaction inside of me. Thankfully I have enough self control not to allow the violence to escape. I’m a lover, not a fighter. You know that about me. It’s probably why you feel safe doing what we do. You’re certain that I wouldn’t ever make a scene, blow up your life, coat your day-to-day in an ejaculation of rapacious lava. You know me well.
Does she ever think about the fact that I had you first? You were mine before you were hers. I think about that a lot. You show the world that you’re happily married but I know the truth. You confide in me. You tell me what’s really going on; a behind-the-scenes sneak peek, just for me. I feel special having this knowledge that no one else does. Well, I suppose that she has it too. A secret between you, me, and her; a most unappealing threesome.
What happens when my name pops up on your phone? You probably have me saved as something else. Phil, Jacob, or Don Next Door. That’s what I would do, if I had someone else. There’s nothing suspicious about you texting another man. What about when she notices a mark on your neck or mint wrapper from the hotel lobby stuffed into your trouser pockets? Does she know that we have a whole life together hidden just underneath the glossy veneer of her perfect existence? Would she care? If what you told me about her is true, she wouldn’t like the idea of me at all: an open mind, a fat ass, a roaring river between my legs that flows just for you. My guess is that she’d care a little too much. Maybe get too involved. Maybe reach out to me herself, tell me I’m a cataclysmic cunt who thinks of nothing but her own gratification, and that’s not something either of us want. She knows about our past, but she’s blissfully unaware of our present.
Of our future.
I feel electric eels when we kiss, wet and stunning. That has to count . . .