Page 7 of Stalker

Before I could come up with a better reason to ignore him besides the fact that I was aching for sexual release, I answered the phone and tried to slide out of the headspace where I was a slut for my stranger’s cock, and back to the dutiful girlfriend I’d been for the last four years to a man who never grew up to become the man I’d hoped he would.

“Hello?” I answered, rubbing my hand over my forehead.

“Why didn’t you answer the first two times I called?” Tyson snapped, and I rolled my eyes, sitting up in bed to hang my legs off the side, further forcing myself to leave my dream man in the darkness and return to the world of the living.

“I fell asleep.”

“It’s not even ten pm.” He scoffed, “Do you ever do anything but sleep these days?”

I gritted my teeth and got out of bed so I could pace around the guest house as I forced my way through the conversation. “I was tired. It’s been a long few days.”

“Hmm.” He hummed and then moved on, in true Tyson fashion. “You want to video chat?”

Knowing that the only time he ever wanted to video was when he wanted to jack off while I sat there topless for him to stare at, I couldn’t help but cringe.

“I can’t right now.” Opening my fridge, I grabbed a water. “The service here isn’t great. I don’t think the Wi-Fi signal reaches out to the guest house.”

“The billionaire doesn’t have adequate Wi-Fi?” He replied like a child, “Well, then send me a picture at least.”

“Tyson.” I sighed, feeling sick to my stomach at the idea of taking yet another picture for him to jack off to. The man had an entire phone’s worth from our four years together, yet he always demanded more. And every time I did it lately, I got the ick from it like I was cheapening myself even though he was my boyfriend. A man I was supposed to love and do anything for.

Yet every chance I got; I imagined my dark monster instead of the man I was dating. Never mind the fact that every time I’d had sex with Tyson since my dreams started, it was that dark monster and his touch I imagined while I lay there and waited for Tyson to get done. I even managed to have more orgasms in the last few months because of the mental stimulation during sex than I had during all of our other encounters over the past four years.

“What?” He whined. “You go off for some soul searching and I’m left with nothing but my hand and you won’t even send me new nudes? Do you hear how selfish that sounds?”

“We’re on a break.” I reminded him. When I brought up the fact that I was taking the three-month-long job a few hours away, he demanded we take a much-needed break. He claimed he wasn’t going to be “stuck waiting around for me.” All of my friends were gettingmarried and having kids, and I was back to semi-single with a suitcase full of baggage tagging along in the shape of a grown man-child who didn’t know how to survive without me but wouldn’t actually commit to me.

Why the fuck did I even answer the call like I owed him anything?

I took a sip of my water and fought down the nausea the entire conversation was causing me and tried to remind myself that deep down I loved Tyson, and it was only because of my midlife crisis in dreamland that I was left lacking the connection we’d built for years. “Look, Ty,”

“Peyton, this is bullshit.” Tyson interrupted me and I sighed, letting him talk over me like usual. “You wanted to take this job and in a way, I agree we needed some space so we could desire each other again,” He said and my brows rose to my hairline in surprise. He didn’t desire me anymore? Then why was he always demanding sex and nudes? “But if you’re going to blow me off like this, I’m going to have to go to someone else to satisfy my needs.”Excuse me?“I’m a man for Christ’s sake, Peyton. I need to come.”

I gritted my teeth and fought so hard to keep my words down like usual when he said insensitive things like that to me. “Ty, I’m not going to send you nudes,” I stated firmly. “And if you feel you need to go elsewhere for your sexual needs, then that’s your decision to make.”

Long before the job listing ever crossed my computer screen a few weeks ago, I knew I needed to break up with him for real. I just had no clue how to start over again as an adult with mutual friends and mutual financials and all of that headache. I was pretty sure that was the only reason I hung on as long as I did.

“Whatever.” He snapped. “Just remember you pushed me into someone else’s bed when you’re the one crying about me moving on.”

“I—” My voice rose in response, ready to tell him where to shove his stupid ego and miniature penis when the call clicked in my ear, signaling that he hung up.

I screeched in frustration and slammed my phone down on the counter. “Piece of shit.” I hissed, shaking my head and then rolling my shoulders so the frustration of being denied sexual satisfaction in my dream and life beating me down for too long wouldn’t choke me out completely.

For a while, I gazed out the window, and as I did, my vision blurred and I stared unseeingly. I was stuck between happiness and emptiness, and some days it felt like I only ever felt alive when I was asleep living a fantasy.

I needed to figure out how to make my real life and my fantasy similar. But short of lurking in the woods waiting for a stranger to chase me down and fuck me, I was low on options.

Unless.

I glanced at my laptop, resting on the coffee table in the living room, contemplating another dive into the captivating lifestyle website I stumbled upon by chance. The one with different tabs for different kinks. I randomly made an account a week before I placed my application for the housekeeping job, and I could almost directly correlate a change in my emotions and actions to that same night. It was like I was finally taking control of my life, first with the site and then with the job.

Sure, I knew joining a kink sex site where people hooked up, chatted, and shared personal bits of their lives wasn’t exactly something a person in a relationship should do, but I also knew deep down that Ty and I weren’t meant to be. I just hadn’t come to terms with it enough to make that last cut. So instead, I lurked on the website, seeing if there was something meaningful about my new interests.

My profile was essentially blank, giving only brief answers to the standard questions and an avatar for the photo.

That first night I searched the site, I found the kink I thought described my weird obsession with being chased. For some reason, I hadn’t been brave enough to click it yet. What if I was right and officially had a label for the perverse desires in my brain that made me feel more like a weirdo than I already was? Never mind the fact that I was pretty sure once I labeled my obsession, I’d never be able to go back.

Back to normal. Back to boring.

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