I am half-asleep as I hear his heavy footsteps thudding down the hall to the bedroom. The door flies open, and the lights blaze on.
"Is this you?" he booms from the door, rapidly making his way to my side of the bed.
I groan and peel open my eyes to see a phone screen shoved in my face.
"Huh?" I moan incoherently as the image comes into focus.
I squint at the woman on the screen. She is getting fucked from behind, bent over a familiar tan leather couch, wearing a familiar blue shirt, familiar auburn hair tied up in a familiar bun. I frown, is it me? I glance at the video title, 'Chubby MILF fucked ragged.'
Flattering and arousing,
I muse.
"If it is me, I didn't approve of a video," I reply with the first words popping into my brain.
"Is this you?" He repeats, tone hard.
A hand reaches down and gathers up the blue shirt tightly. A tattooed hand.
"No," I reply, certain. "I've never fucked a guy with a hand tattoo."
More details become clear. A pink camouflage blanket - very much not my style, a table lamp when I'd always preferred floor lamps, and a brief millisecond glimpse of an unfamiliar house.
"I don't care if it is," he says, "as long as it was before my time."
