(I was fixing a shower head at this fancy home when I came across an owner's erotic manuscript. She is obviously trying to get it published. It is about her addiction to porn, and what happens to her because of it. I finished fixing the shower head early and so I had plenty of time to make some popcorn, put up my feet, and read her true story about her porn addiction. One thing I have learned from reading it, is that fantasy can turn into reality.)
*****
The wind rustles the leaves.
Such pretty colors. And so I stare downward, treating my eyes to emerald green, sunflower yellow, tangerine orange, and gaudy red.
The moon is only half full, surely a sign that I have only half considered the consequences of what I am about to do.
It is a true story unfolding, although I wish it were fiction, because I've never cheated on Andy before, unless of course you count the computer screen.
A flashing update told me only this morning that my "hard drive can be cleaned for a mere $59.95." It went on to say that it had uncovered "over a hundred and twenty thousand downloads of pornographic material" in just the last three years alone.
I try to push this morning out of my head, then start moving briskly, my deadly five inch pumps feeling more like concrete than tawdry sex symbols. Yet I continue to contemplate the unthinkable.
I listen to the sound of my heels as they click incessantly along the stone walkway like tick tocks of a swinging clock hand.
"Click, click, click..."
The sound is sexy but uneven, with the right being more pronounced and somewhat heavier than the left as I manufacture my sumptuous, teasing swagger.
A part of me feels liberated and free, with my senses running wild with rabid glee. I am actually going to satisfy my cravings and my urges and my passion and my wicked desires. But...but...but there is another side to it, an aroma of self-loathing and disbelief.
The stench of defeat, destruction and degradation now drips off of me like the cheap perfume doused onto my nervous neck. I would never think to waste my four hundred dollar an ounce stuff on such base and unappreciative men.
Headed for adultery? Am I really going to do this? Really? Fucking really? Say it isn't so. Say it isn't so. Say it-
The horn blares as I fail to catch myself stepping into a red light and oncoming traffic. My mind is so damn pre-occupied with what I am about to do that, that, that, that, that-
My mind again, stuck like a broken record, caught between two opposing forces, that which is decent and pure, and that which is immoral and vile.
At any rate, I keep on walking. And my heels keep on clicking. Listen to those heels as they strut their stuff! Lord have mercy, how sexy they sound.
And as I glance in that store window just look at my perfect ass in that skin tight skirt, so short that it barely covers the round irresistible cheeks that make grown men cry like the gorgeous onions that they are.
And my mountainous breasts, so pointy and gravity defying, with no bra to get in the way. But get in the way of whom or what? There are no pictures and there are no screen shots.
There is only the lowlife sex shop and the secret room they call 'the show and tell cage.' A room with a wall full of tell-tale holes.
I found out about the sex shop and its sleazy room from being advertised on one of those scary black listed sex ad sites. The regular porn sites call their own such rooms, glory holes.
I gaze at my stunning hour glass figure and my Goddess milky white face in the reflection as I finally reach my destination.
I then tremble as I try to make a precise mental note of the events so I can write it all down on paper later on. I never recorded my last excursions to this dump, but then I never had the guts to fully see it through the first two times I came here. But you know what they say about the third time being a charm.
I sigh bitterly. Have I really sank so damn low? Why am I doing this? And why am I facing such a dangerous compulsion and such unstoppable cravings that seemingly must be quenched? But I know the answer. My porn watching is to blame. All those enticing cocks and muscular thighs and rippling abs with sinewy chests. I have watched it all, every waking moment the last three years while my husband works tirelessly at his high paying CEO job, raking in millions but leaving me desperately lonely.
Only now, I am determined to do something about it. Even though I am feeling downright humiliated and scummy.
I am absolutely against divorce, and so having said that, the solution lies in cheating. The thought makes me want to vomit, but I hold it in. Just barely.
This, being my third time entering the sex shop, makes me even redder in the face and more degraded than the first two times I entered. I never got around to cheating on those first two occasions. But who knows what tonight will bring. For now, as I show that beautiful but reddened face, the owner rolls his eyes at the ceiling before glaring at me yet once again. And I know what he is thinking. He has arranged for men to pay him to come and give me what I so desperately need. Only the first two times I left without going through with it and so he had to refund their money for the use of the room that we never used.
He had told me on the first two occasions that I am the absolute hottest chick ever to think about servicing the cocks that frequent those holes behind the looming green door, and yet...and yet...and yet, each time I start step to through that green painted door, I get afraid and chicken out, running out of the room and apologizing to Jeff the owner before scurrying out of his shop like some scared rabbit.
Only tonight will be different. I have fortified myself with a tall glass of rather strong rum, and I know from experience that my tipsy state will last for a good three hours.
I downed the glass of rum a mere hour ago, just after lying to my husband Andy about wanting to step out for some fresh air and then spend some time at the library.
