I rang the doorbell and waited. Life after the breakup. It had been at least friendly at first, with her explaining that she just didn't have time for a relationship, what with her workload increasing and her new opportunities freelance writing and hawking her book at trade shows. We had been really good together, and it felt like we had really connected over the course of the relationship. At first, I had even thought that we'd be together long-term, we fit together that well.
Her interest steadily declined as her workload increased, though. She was growing more distant, and things finally came to a head, and she ended it. I was unhappy about it, but not enough to really fight for her.
She had been growing distant over the last month of our dating, and all the work I put into it was never quite matched on her side. Jennifer appreciated me less and less toward the end, and finally, it didn't seem to bother her much to end it. The humiliating part was that she had essentially dumped me for work.
Jennifer was never what you would call a giving person; maybe that was why she hadn't been in very many relationships. I think they made her nervous, in general, since they were situations she couldn't really control, and being intimate with men was difficult for her. She was a librarian, and looked it.
On the beaten-down side of thirty-five, not physically fit, with graying hair and a bad hairstyle, given to eccentric jewelry and frumpy clothes, Jennifer just never seemed comfortable in her skin. On the rare occasions that she did, it was because I had fucked her silly, and the incredible amounts of physical pleasure as I brought her to orgasm after orgasm finally won out over her inhibitions, at least for a while. There were only three weekends where I was ever able to make that happen, but they were very promising. They revealed an inner side of her that the rest of the world never had a chance to experience.
Those weekends made me want her, even when she left me. The rest of the time, she was needy, grumpy, stressed-out, and usually very busy. The worst was when I could tell she was thinking she was smarter than I was, or needed to decide where our relationship would take us, or any other little thing. She liked to give directions, and the preferred place for her was in the command chair.
It came as a surprise to us both when we discovered she liked being submissive. We found that out completely by accident, the first of the "great" weekends, and found that it turned us both on a lot.
I liked taking control, and she liked giving it up. We fucked like wild, then, and however much she had a hard time accepting that she liked it afterwards, when we were fucking, and her arms were tied together or I was talking dirty to her and calling her a wanton slut, she really liked it. At times the dirty talk and bondage would get her off when nothing else would; it really made her wet to be subjegated and demeaned like that. Such a woman could be a man's perfect match in bed, if she'd only let herself be.
Her friendliness after the break-up utterly disappeared when I made a mistake. I never should've sent her the erotic story I wrote about she and I. In the back of my mind I had thought that the erotic pleasure of it, a tale of bondage and submission, would get her off, maybe even remind her of the good times we had shared together. Boy, was I wrong!
Instead, that was what made our amiable, if distant breakup a total clusterfuck. She wrote me an angry email wondering what I could be thinking sending her a sexual message after we had broken up. Her words were harsh and suspicious, like I had done something incredibly wrong, immoral even. I had hoped it would re-kindle things between us, but there was no chance of that.
After that, things between us were terrible, and all my attempts to contact her were met with cold, detached hostility. How quickly she found a perch up in her fucking white tower, looking down at me! Her responses to me were superior, smug, and condescending. She had thrown me aside, like so much trash, and was completely over me. It was so humiliating to be treated that way, I felt genuinely hurt that someone I cared so much for would rebuff me so for sending her the kind of story we used to tell each other in bed.
After a while, she wouldn't return my calls or my emails. She couldn't have been clearer as to how unwanted, crude, and horrible I was in her mind, and how superior she was to me. Jennifer's inner bitch was suddenly very clear to me, as it had never been before. She was proud, much too proud to ever take me back, and that was the end of it. Or so I thought.
That's what got to me the most about it all. I mean, I wanted her back, on some level, but on another level, I wanted some sort of revenge. I wanted to show her she was wrong, to really rub her face in it, and have her beg me for forgiveness. I wanted her to crawl back to me, begging for me to fuck her again, begging me to spend the least amount of time with her, but I didn't see how that would ever happen. I had thought that the ship of Jennifer had already sailed. But that was before I found the Lamp. The Lamp changed everything.
Waiting for her to come to the door, I smiled a little. Jennifer was a suspicious person, and was sure to look through the peephole. Sure enough, I heard her voice come through the door. "Tom?"
"Hi, Jennifer, I just need to talk to you for a couple of minutes. Please let me in," I said, sounding as reasonable as I could. On the other side of the door, she was no doubt dithering, trying to figure out something to say to send me on my way. I sent her a wave of static, making sure that no concrete thoughts would form in her mind, and accompanied it with an intense desire to see me, if even just for a little while.
The door opened, and Jennifer peeked around it at me, still suspicious of my motives. Inwardly, I smiled. She was right to be suspicious of me, at the moment I was about to begin my revenge.
She was wearing her traditional librarian garb, long skirt and professional blouse with long-sleeved top over it, odd little knick-knacky necklace and bracelets emphasizing her own quirky sense of fashion, pale eyes peering at me through her granny-glasses, her face nearly indistinguishable within the frame of the semi-pageboy hairstyle she sported. And the gray hair she was so oddly proud of! As if she was glad to be past her youthful years, her sexual years, the years when she was actually a woman, instead of just a mind in a body!
Yes, that was her, my librarian ex-girlfriend. Not that much to look at with her clothes on, she'd never be picked out of a crowd by anyone. At least, not yet.
A smile appeared on her face as she looked at me. I cranked up the pleasure she felt at seeing me, making her react to me like a starving woman to food. Now, she couldn't wait to talk to me! "Oh, wow, Tom, you look great! Come on in, please!" She held the door wide open for me, her mind still filled with the static I was broadcasting at her, and feeling positively joyous at the prospect of having me insider her house for a while.
