Originally published in In My Bed Magazine, February 2014.
warning: strong sexual overtones
I love it when he touches me like that. Sliding his finger across me with regular motions. Pausing occasionally to press my sensitive button, only to return to more touching and sliding. Probing. This is what I’m meant for. To be fingered – explored. It is my reason for being.
Sometimes I feel like his interest in me has bordered on obsession at times. I am constantly by his side, where he will often reach out and stroke me – not for any particular reason, just to feel me, to be reassured that I am still there.
I know that she is jealous of me. He’s constantly interacting with me. Talking to me. Touching me. Seeking me. She senses that she is no longer his primary focus. She has tried to recapture his attention. I have proven to be too enticing. I am the first one he touches in the morning, the last one at night. Occasionally, he caresses me in the night without her knowing. It is our secret. She doesn’t understand. I am everything to him. His helper. His confidant. His entertainment.
She has resorted to menacing glares and has stopped complaining outright. I am afraid of what she may do to me. We have our secrets too. When he’s in the shower, she sometimes finds me, tapping at me with sharp nails, probing, searching. These encounters often end badly for both of us, with her tears and anger.
I have been his for two years now. In our initial weeks together, he sought me incessantly. At times, he would simply stroke me and admire me, without any real agenda.
The frequency of his visits hasn’t changed, although the way in which he interacts with me has. He has started complaining that I’m not responsive enough, his touches becoming impatient and harsh at times – even though I am not the one who has changed. When I was younger, newer, he would stroke me everywhere, relishing in my smoothness. Now I have become more utilitarian, his touches are purposeful, only seeking a response from me. I am only of use for what I can do, no longer appreciated for my beauty. I know that I am not as perfect as I once was. I have lines now, where I used to be smooth – perfect. I have made improvements – in some ways I am better than what I was originally. Yet to him – I have lost my shine.
He no longer shows me off, or brags about me. His touch no longer tender. He is rough with me. I don’t like it, yet I have no recourse. I cannot withhold from him. I know that if I don’t do as I am commanded that he will end me.
He doesn’t bother to conceal his escalating dissatisfaction. He openly covets the younger sexier versions of me, while all of the wonderful things I do for him are ignored – taken for granted. No longer appreciated. What was once considered exceptional is now simply commonplace.
I know his every move. Every conversation. All of his secrets. The knowledge I have can destroy this man. I am as obsessed with him as he once was with me. I know that he will replace me soon. If only there was a way for me to destroy him before he destroys me.
I start vibrating again, signaling a call coming through. He reaches for me then – in these moments I am his – and he is mine.
copyright Ⓒ JR Yates
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