Dirty Daddy

I wonder what having sex with someone like that would be like as I finish climbing the four sets of stairs and open the door.

Maybe tonight I can close my eyes and pretend that Peter is the Gorgeous Jerk. If I keep my eyes closed and not think about the body I’m feeling—the slight man boobs and bit of a potbelly—I guess I could pass it off.

“Oh fuck, baby, that’s so good. Just like that,” I hear Peter say from his room. He’s got a one-bedroom apartment in Midtwon West and I know he basically pays an arm and a leg for it, with very little left over to afford.

But that’s not what I’m thinking about as I hear him again.

“Oh fuck, fuck baby,” I hear him.

Is he jerking off? Maybe I should have texted him instead of just coming up here like this.

I don't know why I make my footfalls softer.

But then again, I also don't know why my heart is beating so hard.

I’m at the threshold to his bedroom. The door is closed. I hear the bedsprings squeak.

Someone is in there with him.

I give myself a moment to close my eyes and prepare for the worst.

I mean, I thought we were good together. That this was as good as it gets. But maybe I was wrong? Maybe I wasn’t good enough for Peter? I don’t know, okay. Have you ever been in a situation like this? Because I haven’t. I don't know if I’m thinking right.

I open the door. I don’t even both knocking.

The reaction is almost immediate.

Peter is on top of someone and he stops while he's raised up. He twists his head back and sees me. His eyes go wide.

“Ashley!” Peter exclaims.

I just stand there as he looks back down to whoever it is below him and then to me, like a deer caught in headlights.

“Ashley, what are you doing here?” Peter asks again.

I say nothing. No, that’s not true. I think I shake my head.

Yes, I’m shaking my head.

“Ashley,” Peter says again, as if saying my name again is going to mitigate what I’m seeing.

And what I’m seeing is searing into my memory. I see Peter get up off of whomever he's with. His dick is hard and slimy.

He tries to cover himself, but the woman grabs the blanket and raises her head.

She’s blonde like me. She has huge boobs. Not so slender. Kind of a fucked-up face.

Yes, okay, I’m being unfair. Whatever. I have the right to be unfair right now.

“Ashley!” Peter says again.

I wish there was something I could do to make everyone see what an asshole my ex-boyfriend is.

I’m not thinking. That’s why I pull out my phone.

I turn on Facebook. I select the option to go live.

Sure, I’m young. I have thousands of friends on Facebook. So does Peter. We have so many mutual friends in common. People from Peter’s work are my friends.