For nine months, I had been with Ellen, my first real relationship, believing we were building something serious and true.
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Andrew was both a friend and a rival of mine, someone I’d encouraged to come out more often. One evening, we finally made plans to meet at a quiet pub near his home, and after some drinks, we headed back to his place to crash.
When Ellen excused herself to change in the bathroom, I trailed behind Andrew into his bedroom. We took seats on opposite beds, less than a meter apart, and started chatting. Then Ellen walked in, dressed in flowing white silk pajamas. She didn’t glance at me, simply passing by and climbing into bed with Andrew.
They curled up close, and Andrew turned off the lights, leaving only the soft glow from the streetlamps filtering through the window. I watched as they nestled together, her shifting atop him after a few minutes, moving sensuously. The rustling grew into soft moans; he’d loosened her pajama top and teased her breasts while she straddled him. The sounds she made were wildly different from the quiet, restrained intimacy we shared—here, she was uninhibited and vocal.
Waves of anger, helplessness, and humiliation crashed over me as I sat frozen, my mind spinning yet powerless to intervene.
Andrew’s pleasure intensified, and Ellen matched his tempo, riding him with fervor. As he climaxed loudly, she lingered, her desire to prolong the moment clear. They lay together briefly before he flipped over atop her, restarting their fervid union. I lay on my bed but couldn’t pull my eyes away.
Their moans crescendoed again as they reached another blissful peak. Afterwards, their whispered conversations faded into passionate touches beneath the sheets. Ellen positioned herself on all fours, and Andrew penetrated her from behind—a position she had always refused with me. Their combined sounds grew louder, the stark contrast stabbing at my pride.
Once more spent, they settled down, yet the night was far from over. Ellen pulled back the covers and began a prolonged blowjob, bringing Andrew to climax in her mouth. She swallowed every drop—something she had never done for me before—and then relaxed on his chest.
The next morning, they lay naked in bed, entwined. Andrew reclined as Ellen rested her head on his shoulder, still fondling him as she opened her eyes to find me watching. Rolling her eyes, she pulled the covers up, kissed him, then glanced at me, uttering only, “There’s coffee in the kitchen.” Her hand soon disappeared beneath the sheets again. I retreated to the kitchen to prepare coffee, stalling desperately before confronting the reality of their intimacy.
The final sting came when Andrew drove me home later. Ellen waited naked on his bed, and I sat awkwardly, trapped beside the man who had spent the night with her exploring desires she had denied me, including acts she hadn’t allowed us to share.
Days later, we were meant to meet to collect forms for a potential flat share. I arrived on time, only to wait nearly two hours before Ellen and Andrew showed up together. She apologized, claiming Andrew had hurt his head getting into the car, causing a delay. Andrew pointed to his scalp, unscarred, smirking at me until I relented, acknowledging, “Yeah, looks nasty.”
During the errand, Ellen kept me at arm’s length, refusing to let me see the forms and largely ignoring me. Once finished, she climbed into Andrew’s car, and they drove off, leaving me standing alone, deserted in more ways than one.
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