Wednesday, 16 July 2014


8:00 AM. I wake up, achingly erect and thinking of Janet.

Janet? That’s unusual. But with little hesitation, I grab lubricant from the bedside drawer, slather my cock, begin stroking myself.

I recall Janet, fucking me, riding me hard, hair spilling over her breasts and face twisted with lust. Janet, raking fingers and lips over my chest, letting me clench her ass tight as she bounces.

I gratify myself, stroking, gasping. The memories are intense; I’m desperate to come.

Beautiful, lustful Janet, fucking me. That’s all I think of in this moment.

A marvelous orgasm. Semen bursts from my cock, pouring everywhere.  I moan, loud.

I feel relaxed.

Then, I recall Janet.

Janet, shooting dagger-eyes and dark accusations whenever I interacted with, worked with, or even mentioned other women. Janet, demanding more and more of my time until I saw no one but her. Janet, keeping me awake all night, insulting, threatening, telling me she’d kill herself if I ever left her. Janet, who took four years and tens of thousands to finally divorce.

The memories are queasy, bitter.

But the hot semen on my fingers shows that – for a few moments – I can forget.

That’s progress, right?

Copyright Elliot DeLocke 2014. All rights reserved. Do not reprint in part or in whole without the author’s permission.