“See?” she says, showing me her phone. “People send her messages with dick pics, tit pics, whatever. If she deems them sexy enough, she posts them with little blurbs and people can comment. She also does Q-and-As with followers, shows faceless pics of herself, and gives little shows sometimes. Kinda like porn but more ‘real people’ instead of silicone-stuffed, pump-sucked, fake moan scenes.”
She scrolls through, showing me one image after another of body part close-ups. Some of them . . . well damn, I gotta say that while they might not be professionals or anything, it’s a hell of a lot hotter than anything I’m getting right now. “Wow. That’s uhh . . . quite something. I don’t get it, but I guess lots of folks are into it. Wait.”
She stops scrolling at my near-shout, smirking. “What? See something you like?”
My mouth feels dry and my voice papery. “Go back up a couple.”
She scrolls back up and I read the blurb above a collage of pics. Little titty fuck with my new boy toy today. Look at my hungry tits and his thick cock. After this, things got a little deeper, if you know what I mean. Sorry, no pics of that, but I’ll just say that he was insatiable and I definitely had a very good morning. ;)
The pictures show a close-up of her full cleavage, a guy’s dick from above, and then a few pictures of him stroking in and out of her pressed-together breasts. I’m not afraid to say the girl’s got a nice rack that would probably have most of my co-workers drooling and the blood rushing from their brains to their dicks, but that’s not what’s causing my stomach to drop through the floor.
I know that dick.
It’s the same, thick with a little curve to the right, and I can even see a sort of donut-shaped mole high on the man’s thigh, right above the shaved area above the base of his cock.
Yes, that mole seals it.
That’s Kevin.
His cock with another woman, fucking her for social media, thinking I’d probably never even know. He has barely touched me lately, but he’s willing to do it almost publicly with some social media slut?
I realize Elise is staring at me, her previous good-natured look long gone to be replaced by an expression of concern. “Kat, are you okay? You look pale.”
I point at her phone, trying my best to keep my voice level. “That post? The one right there?”
“Oh, Titty Fuck Girl?” Elise asks. “She’s on here at least once a month with a new set of pics. Apparently, she loves her rack. I still think they’re fake. Why?”
“She’s talking about Kevin. That’s him.”
She gasps, turning the phone to look closer. “Holy shit, honey. Are you sure?”
I nod, tears already pooling in my eyes. “I’m sure.”
She puts her phone down on the table and comes around the table to hug me. “Shit. Shit. Shit. I am so sorry. I told you that douchebag doesn’t deserve someone like you. You’re too fucking good for him.”
I sniffle, nodding, but deep inside, I know that this is always how it goes. Every single boyfriend I’ve ever had ended up cheating on me. I’ve tried playing hard to get. I’ve tried being the good little go-along girlfriend. I’ve even tried being myself, which seems to be somewhere in between, once I figured out who I actually was.
It’s even worse in bed, where I’ve tried being vanilla, being aggressive, and being submissive. And again, being myself, somewhere in the middle, when I figured out what I enjoyed from the experimentation.
But honestly, I’ve never been satisfied. No matter what, I just can’t seem to find that ‘sweet spot’ that makes me happy and fulfilled in a relationship. And while I’ve tried everything, depending on the guy, it never works out. The boyfriends I’ve had, while few in number considering I can count them on one hand, all eventually cheated, saying that they just wanted something different. Something that’s not me.
Apparently, Kevin’s no different. My mood shifts wildly from self-pity to anger to finally, a numb acceptance. “What a fucking jerk. I hope he likes being a boy toy for a social media slut, because he’s damn sure not my boyfriend anymore.”
“That’s the spirit,” Elise says, refilling my wine glass. “Now, how about you and I finish off this bottle, get another, and by the time you’re done, you’ll have forgotten all about that loser while we take a cab back to your place?”
“Maybe I will just get a dog, and I sure as hell already have a buzzing rabbit. Several of them, in fact,” I mutter. “You know what? They’re better than he ever was by a damn country mile.”
“Rabbits . . . they just keep going and going and going,” Elise jokes, trying to keep me in good spirits. She twirls her hands in the air like the famous commercial bunny and signals for another bottle of wine.