TL;DR: My ex Amanda came back from vacation glowing. She started teasing me about one of my best friends, and then told me to send him a picture—of her. The worst part is… I did. And now she’s seeing someone new, and I’m still here. On my knees.
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We broke up last spring.
Amanda said she needed space, and at the time, I thought it was temporary. But it’s been months, and things haven’t gone back to normal. They’ve just changed into something else.
She still uses my place like it’s hers. Comes over to shower. Leaves half-used beauty products on the sink. Sometimes she crashes on the couch. Sometimes in my bed.
She doesn’t text back often. But she still lets me go down on her when she feels generous.
That’s not something I’m proud of, but it’s the truth.
She doesn’t always want sex. Sometimes she just wants to lie back, barely undressed, toss me a baby wipe, and say:
“If you’re still so obsessed, go crazy. I’m not showering for you.”
And I do.
Every time.
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She went on a cruise last week. Told me it was just a few friends from school. “People you know,” she said.
I didn’t ask who. That’s our unspoken rule now—I don’t ask, she doesn’t lie. Or maybe she does. But not in ways I can prove.
She got back on a Tuesday and walked into my place without knocking.
“Bathroom,” she said.
Ten minutes later, she came out, hair tied up, skin tanned, in the same black shorts and a new hoodie. No makeup, still looked like she’d stepped out of a music video.
I asked her if something happened on the trip.
She didn’t answer right away. Just sipped her sparkling water and sat down next to me.
Then:
AMANDA: “Do you think Connor ever wanted to fuck me?”
Connor is my friend. My close friend.
She knows that.
We’ve all hung out together for years. Amanda always said he was sweet. She laughed at his jokes, but never flirted. Or maybe she did and I didn’t notice.
I froze.
ME: “What? Why would you ask that?”
She didn’t smile.
AMANDA: “I used to wonder. I could feel it, sometimes. Or maybe I imagined it. That night he slept in our bed?”
I remembered. We were drinking. Connor was too drunk to drive, so I offered him our bed and said I’d take the couch.
AMANDA: “I wasn’t wearing underwear. Just one of your shirts. I kept thinking—what if he wakes up hard and forgets I’m not you? What if he touches me by accident? Or doesn’t stop?”
She said it so calmly.
Then she looked at me.
AMANDA (soft): “He didn’t. He stayed on his side. He respected you. It pissed me off a little.”
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Later, she stood and stretched like she hadn’t just dropped a bomb on my entire sense of reality. Then she picked up her phone, opened Snapchat, and handed it to me.
AMANDA: “Send him something.”
ME: “What?”
AMANDA: “I’m not telling you what kind of picture. You’re the one obsessed with my body. If you want him to see something—make it count.”
She lay back on the couch, legs parted slightly, shorts pulled down just enough. I could see the top of her ass. I could see the edge of my favorite part of her.
Her butthole.
It’s hard to admit that publicly. But it’s true. That’s the part of her I always begged for. Always kissed around. Sometimes she let me get close. Sometimes she made me do it over her clothes. One time, she sat on my face in her jeans and refused to take them off, saying:
“This is all you get. If you’re gonna be pathetic, at least do it right.”
So I framed the shot. Tightly. One leg raised. Shorts low. The curve of her ass full in frame. Her hole visible.
No face. No caption.
And I hit send.
To: Connor.
She didn’t say anything.
She just took her phone back and went to bed like nothing happened.
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The next morning, she was eating cereal at my counter like we were married.
AMANDA (casual): “Tyler wants me to come over tonight.”
ME: “Tyler?”
AMANDA: “Yeah. From the cruise. The one in my story.”
My stomach dropped.
ME: “You said the cruise was with people I knew.”
AMANDA (shrugging): “You do. You’ve met Tyler. Once.”
ME: “So you’re seeing him now?”
She took a slow bite. Looked right at me.
AMANDA: “We’re seeing where it goes”
That broke something open.
ME: “You let me send a picture of your ass to my best friend and now you’re telling me you’re getting serious with some guy who hates me?”
She smiled faintly.
AMANDA: “Tyler thinks I have stopped seeing you.”
ME: “So why haven’t you?”
She finished her cereal. Set the bowl down gently.
AMANDA: “Because you still do what I say.”
Then she leaned down, kissed my forehead, and walked out.
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Connor hasn’t responded. But Amanda let me know he opened and screenshotted it.
I check every hour. Part of me wants to text him. The other part is terrified he’ll say something I can’t un-hear.
And Amanda?
She sent me a text this morning. No words. Just a picture of her feet on a hotel comforter.
Tyler was in the background.
I zoomed in until the image blurred.
And then I came into a sock I hadn’t worn in weeks.
I’m not proud of this.
But I’d do it all again.
Let me know if you want to hear more about this fucked up experience .
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