"You fuckin' little bitch," Julie angrily exclaimed as she suddenly stood up and faced me. "You spend your entire day "chatting" intimately with these people? What the fuck else have you been up to?"
That outburst had come out of nowhere and I was quite taken aback by it as I stared at Julie in disbelief. We were having a nice evening on the couch, I had just been showing her some of my PMs I had been having from Literotica, some of them rather risqué, and specifically between me and a gentleman there. Julie and I never had any secrets from each other and she was quite aware of my doings on Lit. I rarely volunteered to show her my PM activities, I did not have anything to hide, but when she sometimes asked about them, I would always show her. We would have a lot of fun browsing through the eye candy of the various threads, sometimes while playing with each other, and got a kick out of the PM's I read to her between me and some of my girlfriends there. Especially some of the heavy, lustier PMs. Often many of the threads and PMs gave us some fun ideas to take into the bedroom with us.
We both had come home from work, ate a nice dinner, and other than an unusual dour mood from Julie when she got home, everything seemed to be fine.
"Julie, Sweetie, what are you talking about?" I asked with a slight frown and a half shrug. "I don't spend my entire day chatting on Lit, you know that, and you've seen everything. I'm not hiding anything from you."
"How many people have you been intimate with, and for how long?" she asked bluntly. "Especially this Steve guy, he's telling you some very personal things to do and you go ahead and do it for him. Who else are you doing this with?"
"Julie..." I started, trying to remain calm.
"How many others?" she demanded, glaring at me
Julie and I had developed a policy ever since she moved in, any question could be asked, and all questions had to be answered. And truthfully. Neither one of us kept secrets from the other. That policy led to some difficult times and caused many cry sessions, but it helped unload a lot of emotional baggage for both of us from previous relationships and we grew to know each other very well. It brought us so much closer together and the bond between us much stronger.
The tone in Julie's voice and the direction this conversation was going told me my answer would not be received well, but I had to answer her, and I would not lie to her.
"Sweetie, a couple others..." I started.
"Fuck, really?" Julie angrily spewed out. "You spend your day fucking with these people, you fuckin' little slut!"
I stared in hurt shock at Julie, my mouth open in a O as I sucked my breath in. That word stung deeply and felt like a knife had been thrust into my heart. The one word I never allowed anyone to call me, the word I hated with such vitriol, ever since I was relentlessly teased by those bitches in grade school.
One day as an adult, a guy at work had called me a slut. We were friends and he said it in a joking way, and I knew it was lighthearted. Crude and uncalled for perhaps, but lighthearted, as it were, considering our office atmosphere.
I approached him with balled fists and was just inches from his face, "You ever call me that again and you'll be on the floor with a black eye. You stand up before I leave the room and you'll be on the floor again with another black eye." The look on his face said that he knew I was not bluffing.
Three older brothers picking on me through childhood taught me to fight back at a younger age and my father did his best to show me how to protect myself. I learned not to take any shit from anybody. However, that little comment had been overheard and cost both of us a trip to HR, even though he had already apologized. The rest of the guys in the office treated me with respect and, I think, a little admiration after that.
Julie spun on her heel and marched down the hall as tears stung my eyes. I sat motionless on the couch in shock and disbelief that my sweet girl had just called me a slut. Ever since Julie moved in, we'd had a wonderful life together and we were having such a good evening. Where in God's name did all that come from? She tolerated my activities on Lit, knowing I obeyed her wishes to never play outside. No emails, telephone numbers, or third-party app texting. Certainly, no picture swapping and any play activity was to remain inside Lit. It's all innocent flirting and fun and she knows that. I had asked her many times in the past if she was okay with it and she always assured me that she was.
I heard the bedroom door slam from down the hall, realizing it was not our bedroom, but the second bedroom, or her room as we called it. Julie had moved into my two-bedroom apartment several months ago in early summer, and we had decided to keep our relationship to ourselves and not tell anyone, even close friends or family. My closet was full and even though she moved all her stuff into the second bedroom of the apartment, we always slept in my bed.
I crept down the hall to "her" room and quietly knocked on the door.
"Julie."
I received no answer and could hear crying inside the room. I gently tried the doorknob and eased the door open.
"Get the fuck out!" I heard and jumped as something heavy hit the door.
"Julie," I pleaded through the closed door. I received no answer other than crying.
"
Good God, what the hell is going on?
" I thought. "
This is so not like her; I've never seen Julie like this. What did I do and why was she suddenly so upset?
"
"Julie, please," I tried one more time. Silence was all I heard.
I went back into the living room, still stinging from her name calling. "
She couldn't have meant it,
" I tried to tell myself, as I sat on the couch and hugged my knees close to me.
"
We have had disagreements before, but we've always gotten along and have never fought. We have grown so close, and we both know each other so well. Something must have happened at work. She seemed in such a different mood when she got home, I wish now I had said something and asked her, got her to talk about it,
" I thought regretfully as I sniffed, and wiped my eyes.
