Entry 34
'I want to fuck my husband's best friend.
Okay, okay, before you judge, hear me out. He's hot. Not in the regular, hot man way. He's more like a younger Nikolai Fraiture from The Stokes. Okay, maybe this finally gave my age away and showed just how fucking old I am, but he was that hot.
He was hot, with long hair, Greek features, and cold eyes. And he isn't just hot; he is cool too. Way cooler than Gary would ever be.
He has this lazy smile on his lips, like he just heard the best joke ever and is trying not to giggle. And then there's how our eyes always meet from across the room, and I swear, time slows down like I'm in a damn rom-com. Only this rom-com comes with complications, like the fact that I'm married to his best friend.
Maybe I'm weird for thinking this, or maybe it's not as weird as the fact that fucking Gary hasn't touched me with a six-foot pole in two months. Like, I can feel cobwebs growing down there. And whenever we eventually have sex, it's boring. He comes before the real fun even starts.
It's like when you hurriedly try to make popcorn before a movie starts just to get it over with so you don't miss the beginning scene, but then the popcorn comes out too sticky because you added in too much sugar.
What should I do?
What should I do when I want to rip the clothes off his best friend?
What should I do because when we're in close proximity, I spend half the time playing hostess and the other half trying not to eye fuck his best friend?
Yeah, I know how it sounds. Believe me, I'm rolling my eyes at myself too. But come on--this man.
He's trouble. I know as much because he always catches my eye and holds onto my gaze like he's daring me to do something I wouldn't even dream of. It's like he's taunting me to break the rules with him.
He constantly flashes that lazy grin at me, the one that says, I know you see me--and suddenly, I'm clutching my glass of rose tighter to my chest.
All of this is even more frustrating because I won't do anything. How would I? I'm married. I'm not that girl.
I have the perfect life and husband, and I would be foolish to throw everything down the drain for a silly fantasy.
But oh, that's the best, silly fantasy ever. Anyway, it's harmless. It has to be. These little moments are like candy--a quick hit of sweetness that you can't live on but still makes you smile. And who doesn't like a little harmless fantasy, right?'
The small arrow hovered over the publish icon on my laptop screen. After a couple of minutes of trying to decide if I should post this new blog entry, I closed my eyes tight and tapped on the trackpad, pushing the entry into the dark abyss of the internet.
I let out a deep exhale.
This was my thirty-fourth entry for Slutty Wife Anonymous, and I'd watched my followers grow from just a couple to three thousand. It was shocking to know that people wanted to hear about my boring vanilla life and talk about their own boring vanilla life.
Slutty Wife Anonymous had been a page for me to mostly curse Paul out, complain about the lack of sex in our marriage and also write down all my unbridled fantasies.
And it turned out that three thousand other people feel the exact same way I do. It was liberating, to say the least.
I got up from the toilet seat, straightened, and flushed. I hated that the only level of privacy I got in this darned house was whenever I locked myself in the bathroom.
I also ensured the door was locked before bending down to look into my 'secret counter stash.'
The secret stash was cluttered with various womanly things that Paul wouldn't bother himself about.
On the surface, there were pads and tampons, PTs that I'd completely forgotten about because there was no way I could get pregnant when I barely had sex, skincare products I swore I'd use more often, and my real secret weapon: an electric toothbrush that had taken on a slightly more... creative purpose.
Look, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.
I didn't like the inefficiency of an electric toothbrush more than the next woman, but Paul was too vanilla to even entertain the thought of me having a vibrator or a dildo. This was the only thing I could get without him raising an eyebrow.
Dawn's birthday party was starting soon, and I wouldn't have any alone time for the rest of the day, so I needed to squeeze one quick one in before I was swamped with party duties.
I placed my laptop on the counter, hit play on a podcast that talked about the different things zucchini could be used for--God, there were so many--and then turned on my toothbrush, the podcast drowning the noise.
With my left hand on the counter, my right hand moved the vibrating end of the toothbrush to my lower stomach. I wasn't one to rush into things; I liked to build them up as much as possible.
Then gently, my hand moved down toward my clit, which was already swollen and ready. I shivered a bit when it touched my bud, and after a couple of seconds, my body adjusted to the setting.
I let my thoughts drift to Nikolai Fraiture. He'd been a constant in my masturbation fantasies recently. My eyes fluttered shut as I imagined his gorgeous face and toned body.
My left hand that was holding on to the counter slowly made its way into my blouse, massaging the tips of my nipples, as I imagined it was Nikolai's hand.
Fuck, I want a cock inside me so badly right now.
With the toothbrush, I massaged my clit as my index finger slid into my dripping pussy. I gasped at the feeling. I stroked in and out, and then the image of Nikolai's face in my mind slowly transformed into Grayson, Paul's best friend.
What the fuck?
He had a way of creeping into my mind at the strangest times, like now, when I was supposed to be having guilt-free me-time.
He was the ultimate "look but don't touch" situation, and that little thrill of forbidden territory was probably why he always managed to sneak into my thoughts.
God, stop it, Ashley. This is ridiculous.
But I couldn't stop it. I felt even hornier with the thought of him in my head.
I tried to shake the thoughts of him out of my head, but it wasn't easy. I couldn't stop fingering myself or kneading my breasts when his face popped into my head. Instead, I was getting even wetter. And low moans escaped my lips.
"Grayson," I moaned into the empty space of the bathroom. "Fuck me, Grayson."
I slid another finger into my wetness, increasing the tempo, the vibrating toothbrush on my swollen clit, my other hand pinching my nipples.
Fuck, this sensation was insane.
I've not felt like this in such a long time. The way all the feelings merged into one made my knees turn to jelly. There was no way my legs could hold my body up when I was so close to cumming.
"Grayson, harder!"
I was so close to falling off the edge. The woman on the podcast was talking about zucchini cake, and I was dripping all over the bathroom tiles and my fingers.
I could almost taste the climax when--knock, knock--a knock, followed by a familiar whiny voice.
"Moommmm! I can't find my pink jeggings," Dawn said from the other side of the door.
Just like that, the perfectly crafted world I had taken time to build crumbled on itself. Grayson's face faded from my imagination, but I was not ready to let him go.
"Check the basket I left on top of your bed," I screamed back, half moaning.
Hopefully, that will get her off my hair.
"It's not there. I checked already!" she called back.
Fuck.
"Uh, check your pants hamper? I might have dropped it there."
I struggled to keep my imaginary world in check, but Grayson was quickly slipping away.
