Chapter 1: The Beginning
I know YOU know me, but the readers might not, and I don’t want to seem arrogant and assume they’ve heard of me. So, for those who are unfamiliar, hi, I’m Jane. I was a respected artist in London, but wouldn’t say well known. I was certainly no Lucian Freud but did my best to capture the figure, and I dreamed of being famous. Guess we’ll never know because now I’m infamous! While I felt I was successfully working my way up in the London art scene, I suppose if it weren’t for what happened, I could have just vanished into the artistic ether like so many others.
Being murdered was not precisely how I had imagined being famous. I had hoped to be alive when my art would gain acclaim. Suppose I should be grateful in some ways. At least I’ve left some kind of a legacy, which was my driving motivation from the start. Don’t worry, I will tell you everything, and I’ll be a lot more detailed than what you read on the internet. But, before we start, just want to say how important honesty is to me. A real connection can only exist between truth and desire. Distrust just breaks relationships, and I promise never to lie to you.
So here is some truth. In my life, I fell in love many times. It was easy, really. Had a knack for seeing the good in people, and I could forgive most flaws. Plus, falling in love was so much fun! It was exciting getting to know people, trying to see them as themselves.
Additionally, I had this pesky habit of helping people fall in love with me. I think my genuine curiosity about their lives made them feel seen. It made them feel less alone. I always enjoyed reading people, and I could always pick up on subtle cues that would tell me a lot about how men were feeling and what they were thinking. Another truth, I get great joy from being an object of desire. There is a power in love that I relished. I always did my best to wield that power with care and concern. Clearly, I shouldn’t have played with hearts.
Suppose I should start with how I realised I had these superpowers to begin with. In fact, it was YOU, Art Rick, that first alerted me to my talents.
I call him ‘Art Rick’ because you’d be surprised how many ‘Dicks’ I’ve known. In order to keep them all straight, I had to give them little nicknames, but Art Rick is no ordinary ‘Dick’. He is a brilliant tinkerer and thinker. You’re welcome! Strangely, we can’t remember how we met, which just illustrates how it doesn't matter. I prefer to think of Art Rick as always being with me, like some bearded artistic conscience constantly whispering ideas in my head. In 2010, I LOVED spending afternoons with Rick. Mostly we would get high and talk about art. It was fun getting to know each other. Sometimes we watched TV, and sometimes we listened to music. Whatever we did, it was never much, but it always felt like a lot.
On one of those hazy afternoons, he told me of my power. He said, “You’ve got some magic.” I asked him to explain. “I’ve been watching you.” He continued. “You have a way with men. They love you too quickly.”
Thinking that maybe he was referring to himself, I leaned in and kissed him. Within seconds of my lips touching his lips, his hand made its way up my dress and into my panties, as if the kiss had been an invitation to my whole body. I sat back from him, his hand still in my knickers, and looked at him quizzically. He realised I was a little shocked by his straight-to-pussy approach. Rick shrugged and said, “What? I like vaginas.”
Politely, I asked him, “Would you like to have sex with my vagina?” He responded, “No.” and removed his hand from my underwear. He stood up, adjusted his erection and went to grab more weed. I took a minute to try and understand what had just happened. The series of events made me chuckle.
“Do you ever wonder how you will die?” he asked as he returned with a loaded bowl. I took a hit from the pipe and pondered. "A crime of passion, I am sure," I said sarcastically. Rick has a superpower, too, the power to surprise!
It was also Art Rick who encouraged me to conduct the interviews. He suggested it as a way to hone my skills. So, for the sake of discovery and art-making, I started having afternoon conversations with many men. They would come to my studio and talk about whatever they wanted. It was amazing how therapeutic a conversation could be! Some of my subjects would talk about their partners or their parents. Some would discuss the stress of their lives, hopes, and dreams. But it wasn’t all get-to-know-you. For some men, these interviews were also a game. Many men I invited for these chats thought sex was a possibility, if not the goal, but I had made a rule for myself, no sex, just chat.
Honestly, I found the tension from unactioned desires to be exhilarating, and a few of my muses really liked to play. It was Mr Jones who wanted to play the most. I call him Mr Jones, not because he was old, but because the formality helped me maintain control. I often give nicknames when I want to preserve power or anonymity.
Mr Jones was helplessly cool. Tall and clean-shaven, he was the footballer next door. Jones had been an only child, and his handsomeness had made sure all of his dreams had already come true. He is a perfect example of privilege and was by far the most arrogant man I ever met. Mr Jones wasn’t sitting in my studio because he wanted to pose for a portrait. No, he was there for the conquest, and it drove him crazy that I wouldn’t fuck him.
Mr Jones came over every week for months. He would sit in my orange armchair and tell me how he would masturbate thinking about me. In one particular session, he told me how deep he imagined putting his cock in my throat. He said, “I want you gagging on my erection. I want to watch your eyes water as you choke.” Listening to him made my nipples erect, but I tried to conceal my arousal. Then, Mr Jones stood up and approached my chair. “Please kindly remind me of the rules,” he said as he advanced. “You are not allowed to touch me,” I said firmly. He leaned down and held his face close to my ear. Without contact, he whispered, “Do you think you could stop me?” I didn’t flinch, and his closeness had given me goosebumps. “I like your games,” he said as he stood up right. He took a few steps back and flopped into his seat. He leaned back relaxed, his legs apart and his right arm propped on the back of the chair. The outline of his thick cock laid aside his left thigh. I could tell Mr Jones was extremely well hung. He looked at my stiff nipples when he licked his lips and said, “I will fuck you one day.” He sounded convincing. Mr Jones was indeed sexy, and he was making my underwear soaked, but I had made up my mind. Besides, the only way Mr Jones was going to love me forever, was if he never got his way.
It wasn’t too long after that I stopped having my interviews entirely. Stopped partly because I was losing interest but mostly because I had met Neils. After that, I didn’t want to talk to anyone else. Neils is...well… gorgeous! He was a perfect ‘10’ a decade ago, and not much has changed. He is vain enough to keep his body in perfect working order but not so obsessed to be one of those muscly mirror-hogging narcissists. Neils’ slim athletic figure is punctuated by a gorgeous head of hair, probably one of his proudest traits. In addition to his flowing locks, Neils usually has a lazy beard, something that exists because he doesn’t like shaving or beards. Just as well, a full beard would hide too much of his perfect smile.
Besides his good looks, one thing you should know about Neils is that Neils feels emotions in a tremendous way. He isn’t necessarily explosive, but his feelings can consume him. However, Neil’s emotions aren’t particularly complicated. He is straightforward to read as he keeps everything at the surface. Rather liked that about Neils. Neils was never a mystery. Like all men, he wasn't perfect, and he often wasn’t sure where to place his emotions, but Neils is kind and thoughtful at his core. Truthfully, I believed Neils was a good man.
Neils and I met in the random generator of internet introductions known as Chat Roulette. Don’t judge me; it was an experimental two thousand and ten. By the time we had arrived in that virtual space, the site was almost entirely infected with aggressive unsolicited male genitalia. Somehow in that murkiness, I found his smiling face, his big heart. Found a soul mate of sorts. The kind of soulmate that can only be born from the internet. We shared lots in those early days: our thoughts, hopes, and histories.
I loved when Neils and I talked, but I liked it when we played even more. One day, when we had some free time, I set up my camera to be sure to find the best angles. I perfected the scene and staged my bed. The lighting was bright enough to show the details of my curvy body but still warm enough to evoke some mood. I needed it to be perfect. Wanted to be sure Neils would hold my memory in his mind long after our chat ended.
My laptop was ringing; Neils was calling.
Once the video call connected, I flashed him a coy smile and pretended to be a little shy for the camera. I knew he would love it! I bit my bottom lip and let one shoulder of my black silk robe slide down, exposing the just top of my right breast. “Oops,” I said coyly. Just enough to tease him. He let out a sigh, “oooeff”, and he tried to control himself. He stared at me, covering his smile with his hand. He had it bad, and he was letting me know. I stared back at him, appreciating the anticipation. But, we didn’t waste much time. I could see his right hand was just out of view. From his movements, I could tell he was clutching his transitioning cock. So, I rocked back on my bottom and brought my toes to the camera. I wiggled my freshly manicured piggies in perfect view. Neils loves feet! Neils loves my feet! Neils let out another sigh. Then, I said, “I want you to fuck me and cum on my toes. Let me know when you are ready.” He nodded in agreement.
I sat upright again. This time, stretching my legs either side of the camera, I exposed a pristine view of my wet pussy. The robe fell even further, now exposing my entire right breast. This time he bit his lip.
“I love how naughty you are,” he said with breathiness.
“Imagine how naughty I would be if I could touch you,” I said. Neils sat on the edge of his chair, leaning closer to the screen, closer to me. He tugged himself a bit faster as he watched me play with my clit.
He said, “I want to put my mouth on you so bad. I want to take my time licking you until you cum.” I licked my fingers and then pushed them slowly inside of me. Imagined his tongue gently flicking my bean. Imagined him within. I closed my eyes and lost myself in this pleasure.
Then, from his noises, I could tell he was getting very excited watching me, so I crossed my legs. I sat up and adjusted the camera to show just my face and said, “I am desperate for your cock.” He stood and let his loose jeans fall to his knees. He posed and flexed his abs as he displayed his more significant than average penis. His beautiful member! Thin but mighty and 21cm rock hard. I LOVED watching him stroke it. I leaned into the camera and opened my mouth as if to invite him in. I clutched my breast and touched myself. He took off his shirt and touched his left nipple while his right hand held the rhythm. I kept him here for a minute, rolling my tongue a bit and showing him how hungry I was for him.
Now that he had regained some control. I laid back, showing myself to him again. This time I grabbed my vibrator. I pressed it to my clit and let him watch and listen as I moaned with pleasure. “Fuck me, you are sexy!” he said. I watched him as he watched me. I loved the way he looked at me, with so much desire and just a hint of torture. He told me he wouldn’t last long, and I brought my legs together and bent my knees so my feet were front and centre. I continued to press my vibrator against my pussy, my closed legs holding it firmly against my button. My abs contracted to keep my head just high enough to watch him cum. His excitement made me excited. A few seconds later, he exploded. I, too, orgasmed, dreaming of his seed all over my toes. Tingling, my body was flush, and the room smelled of sex.
I sat up, clutching a pillow, and brought the screen closer to me. Adjusted my garment to cover myself. After Neils had finished tidying up his desk, he sat back down, pulling up his jeans. He left his trousers open, and himself exposed. I had a good long look at his cock, and I thought it would be a tragedy if I never got to fuck him.
But it couldn’t last. While I felt spending time with Neils online made me feel excited and brave, Neils was not courageous, and he ran from our first opportunity. I was not mad or hurt by this. He could not help himself. I never felt bad for having my affections for him. I was proud of my choice and understood why he hadn’t chosen me. Deep down, we knew our world wasn’t real. That reaching out and touching was something we could only talk about. We knew it then, and I thought we knew it ten years later when we finally reconnected.
A lot had changed in the ten years that passed, but I always thought of Neils. Anything Dutch would remind me of him. At the grocery buying gouda, bam Neils on the brain! At the gallery looking at Hals, there's Neils again! He popped in and out of my mind repeatedly over our decade apart. To me, he was always a “one that got away.” I hoped he was happy.
Then, in 2020, a decade later and eight months into a global pandemic, it happened.
Kornelis_D86: “Hi Jane, It’s Neils. Do you remember me? I am so glad I found you on Instagram. I love that you are still making art!”
I supposed the memory of me had lasted longer than expected. It was all innocent enough in the beginning. “Oh my! Of course, I remember you. How long has it been?” and “Wow! What are you up to? How is your family?” It wasn’t long before it turned into “I remember how naughty you were.” and “What do you look like ten years gone?” Swapping pictures turned into sexy pictures, which turned into video chats. We found a little routine, and it became easy to spend some virtual time together once again. Some days we would be sexy, dreaming of ways we would meet, daydreaming of him removing my underwear with his teeth. And some days, we were sweet, “What kind of ice cream do you like? Do you snore?” It all felt very ‘make-believe’, but in our virtual reality, a connection existed.
I communicated this connection with my husband, James. As I said, a lot had changed in those ten years. I had stopped trying to unravel the mysteries of horny men, and I had gotten married. James and I married in 2015. We met in the usual way, in a pub. It was Mr Jones that introduced us. We were freshly free from all entanglements, and we matched well. James was a very logical sort. He thought clearly and took his time to appreciate every problem. He was also incredibly creative and had a mind like no one else.
After five years of happy marriage and with much hesitation, I told James of the other man. James and I had always discussed openness in our relationship in an academic sense, but now I was ready to test the theories. I explained how Neils had expressed a renewed interest. Told him that I liked the attention, and it turned me on. Even showed James some sexy photos that our exchanges had inspired.
James found it all completely arousing, and we immediately reconfirmed our feelings for each other in a marital way. We had a quiet but forceful kind of sex. No dirty talk. It was deep and slow, punctuated by guttural grunts and moans. Neither of us was in a hurry. Lying on my back, I watched how James enjoyed sex. I admired his body as he moved in and out of me. He had aged well over our five years. He was slim, tall and covered in tattoos like most musicians. You would have thought he was much younger than 45 years old. I loved being with an older, wiser man.
Time had also allowed James and me much sexual practice. So, when I got close to orgasm, James always knew exactly where to press, where to lick, and how to move. He could always send me into orbit. After James expertly executed the Jane combo of pleasure, I was a helpless puddle lying in our sheets. I let out a lil giggle, the sort of uncontrollable action that indicated my total gratification. A few moments later, while my legs were still twitching from my body's release, James completed himself on my chest. He then kissed me on my forehead and said, “I am glad you feel so good.” He meant it.
And like that, the thoughts in my head became comfortable accommodating three instead of two, and the pandemic gave me time/opportunity to spend my afternoons in bed lost in fantasy. I would dream of one of them, either of them, both of them. The idea of all three of us together was the most exciting!
They were always both there in my mind, fucking me every way I could imagine. I know loving them both made me better at loving them individually. By sharing me, they got the best of me. I could fall apart with Neils and then be decisive for James. I could use the lessons I learned with James to help Neils find more joy. This was the happiest I could feel trapped in my house. Despite the global crisis, my life felt complete. I painted, I wrote, I sang, I cooked, I fucked, and I came. It was a good life. I don’t think I could have stayed there forever, but I could have stayed there longer. Unfortunately, the truth is, the three of us signalled the beginning of my end, but more on that later; I promised you and Art Rick all the details, so let’s continue with 2020 when I was happily lost in a daydream.
Chapter 2: The Pandemic will be available once sales meet 0.5 ETH.
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Art Rick has advised me to include a bit about the pandemic itself as if you didn’t already know. But, here it goes. 2020-2022 will forever be known as the longest decade! As someone who lived it, I can assure you that the two years felt like an eternity. Fear of sickness from a novel virus caused the world to halt. People rioted, there was much chaos, and it was terribly unfriendly outside. The masses had no choice but to hide in their homes, only braving the wilderness in protest.
Meanwhile, governments tried to figure out what the fuck to do. For many, it was challenging and frightening. The monotony of daily life trapped at home was more than some could bear. Mental health was a significant concern.
By summer 2020, James and I had started to feel fatigued. Everything seemed unsurprising and dull. I remember one hot summer morning, I grabbed my mug from the drying rack and poured some fresh coffee. I stared at that stupid mug on the counter for what seemed like several minutes, like somehow staring would make it less orange or more interesting. I wanted it to change into something, anything. It was the same damn mug with the same damn coffee that I had drunk every fucking day for the last three months, and I just couldn’t do it again. I took a breath. In and out. Then poured the coffee down the sink before joining James on the balcony.
I found James sitting in the sun shirtless. He was enjoying the breeze off the water from the canal below. Our sixth-floor apartment had a great view. It was a lovely place to live. Looking down at the boats, ducks and people on the path always reassured me that we were still part of a community, even while isolating. But, our boarded-up local, The Something Clever, was a stark reminder that times had changed.
Society may have had to remain socially distant, but I could still touch James. On that morning, he was covered in white streaks from unabsorbed sunblock, so I rubbed his neck and back until the lotion disappeared.
He looked cool in his sunglasses, and I took my usual seat beside him.
“Thanks!” He said, “No, coffee?” noticing I didn’t have my mug.
“Too hot today”, I said.
He nodded. “It’s hot. At least we get the breeze.”
Sigh. We’ve had this conversation so many times. I didn’t engage, and I did poorly at disguising my annoyance. James got the message and grabbed his phone. I didn’t blame him. I was bored of myself too. “It’s too fucking hot in the sun,” I said. “I’m going to the studio, where it’s cooler.”
Worried, James followed after me.
“Are you alright, Jane?” he asked.
“Fine,” I said, opening my large studio windows.
“Do you want to have sex?” he asked clinically.
“No. I don’t want to fucking have sex.” I snapped. “What’s the point? It's all the same! Everything. Everyday. I can’t take it anymore! The world is ending, and nothing seems to matter!” I was definitely in a mood. James moved to console me, but I held my arms out, declining his embrace, “It’s too fucking hot for cuddles!”
“I have an idea!” he proclaimed, and James left me fiddling with paints and canvases, pretending I would do anything but pout. After a minute, he returned from the lounge with a tower fan and a bowl of ice. He moved a stool a few feet from me and placed the bowl upon it. Then, he positioned the fan so that the chill from the ice would float in the breeze. I wasn’t wearing much on this hot day, so the cool blast felt soothing on my exposed skin.
“Better?” James asked, and he turned to leave me.
It was. “Wait, gimme a kiss,” I said cutely, wanting to reward his thoughtful gesture. I put my lips together, and James leaned in for a peck, but I planted a smacker. I could tell he was momentarily surprised, but he quickly leaned into it. James was a great kisser.
“The windows are still open,” James said modestly. He never was the exhibitionist.
“Forget the fucking windows,” I said commandingly, “and take off your shorts.” James paused for a moment, conflicted between modesty and horniness, but ultimately he complied. He slipped his athletic shorts down and kicked them off with his bare feet. I admired him as he stood naked in my studio. I walked around him, taking him all in, but my gaze made him self-conscious, and he moved to cover his limp cock with his hands. I gently flicked his hands away, indicating my displeasure. James adjusted himself and stood upright, this time his hands at his side. He looked proud and sexy.
I began running my fingers on his body as I circled him, starting with his left pec and biceps. Then, across his back. He began to say something, but I cut him off, shaking my finger against him, saying ‘no-no no’. He silenced, and I went to face him. I slowly leaned in and kissed his neck ever so lightly. He let out a sigh, and I breathed in the scent of his sunscreen.
Next, I grabbed a cube from the bowl. When the ice first touched James’s chest, he shuttered and shivered, so I stomped my foot firmly, and he understood my command. He composed himself and prepared for the ice again. This time, I placed it at his navel and held it there. James didn’t flinch as the ice began to melt from my hand, dripping down to his cock. The chill caused his balls to retract, but the excitement sent blood to his organ.
I continued my rotations, dragging the ice leisurely across his buttocks and hips. The control was arousing me. By the time I was standing in front of him again, he was fully erect, and the cube wholly melted. Then, I wrapped my cold hand around his shaft, and he let out a gasp from the shock. I rubbed him a bit, and then I got on my knees and warmed him with my mouth. The fan felt amazing, blowing cold air as I sucked him to fruition. “Shall I return the favour?” He asked gratefully. I thought for a minute, “No, thank you. I want that coffee now.”
That’s when it happened. That’s when things changed. As I brewed fresh coffee, I heard the unmistakable chime.
Kornelis_D86: “Hi Jane, It’s Neils. Do you remember me?
Well, this was something new! My heart beat faster. Was it him? After all this time. Surely not. I was excited, but I didn’t answer right away. I wasn’t sure I wanted to engage, not after the last time. Honestly, I wish I hadn’t messaged him back, but I know why I did. I was bored, stir-crazy and worried about losing my mind. I was delusional too. I was certain Neils would just be a friend. Like I said in the beginning, it was all innocent enough, and then it wasn’t.
I never lied to Neils. I continually expressed how much I cared for James. After all, I was married to him, and I made it very clear from the start that I wanted it to stay that way. It blew Neils’s mind that James and I could be so open with each other. Neils was not so honest. The woman who is (for all intents and purposes) his wife did not know about us. Neither did his six-year-old daughter. I know. I know. I also worry about ‘Wife’ and ‘Little Girl’ (especially their privacy). But, these were his choices, and the more I thought about it, the more security I began to feel.
I realised Neils had these anchors holding him in one place. It meant I could easily keep James and Neils compartmentalised. James in real life. Neils in my mind. Neils could also feel secure. My love and happiness in London meant there was no risk of his charade falling apart. Besides, after what happened last time, if Neils and I were ever to meet, Neils would have to come to me.
I hadn’t intended to include this, but Rick has pointed out that it's important for context. So, here is what happened when Neils and I tried to meet for the first time in 2010.
In the before times when Neils and I were still young and available, Neils invited me to The Netherlands, where he lives. We’d been chatting for several months, and I felt confident about meeting in person. I bought a plane ticket just as we had discussed. The plan was for Neils to meet me in Amsterdam for a few days of play. We were both still at university then, so a weekend trip was all we could manage. I was so excited on the short flight! What anticipation! What adventure! I had to remind myself to breathe the whole way there. As soon as the plane landed, I switched on my phone to get instructions for our rendezvous. I had a message waiting for me,
Neils: I can’t. I’m sorry.
That was it. That was all he said. I tried calling. I messaged like a crazy woman with no reply. Eventually, I got a taxi to what would have been our hotel and spent the weekend getting to know pain and rejection. I hoped he would join me. I hoped he would find the courage. He didn’t. I wish there was a sexy hotel story for you here, but sadly there’s not one this time. Clearly, Neils could resist me then.
After that, I got back on a plane to London. I got an email a few days later trying to explain. Something about being “afraid of perfection” or some rubbish like that; he was a coward and valued the fantasy too much. I never replied, and that’s how it ended a decade ago. I might not have been prepared for heartbreak the first time, but I was undoubtedly guarding my heart the second. I thought Neils was just going to be a fun familiar way to pass the pandemic. It took more than six months of calls, texts and video chats before I was ready to entertain the idea of Neils being more serious.
Christmas marked the shift.
The chaos of a mid-pandemic family Christmas meant Neils couldn’t meet online, which was fine with me. Christmases, just me and James, were always wonderful. I liked making a massive deal of the holiday as the 25th is also James’s birthday. My husband loved sharing the day as it meant everyone was happy and not fussing over him. He also had a childlike appreciation for Christmas trees and insisted we have one in our bedroom.
Mmmmmm. That Christmas eve, James and I decided to open our presents early. We were lounging on our bed, me wearing an oversize hoodie, no bra, no panties, and my favourite fuzzy Christmas socks! James looked fit in his festive jammies. He also wore a stupid elf hat that he had bought from the pound shop the Christmas prior. James was sexy in all lighting, but twinkly fairy lights had an extraordinary effect on him.
“I always wanted to make it with an elf,” I said, hoping he might like the fantasy.
“I’m not just any elf,” He said, falling into character.
“Oh?” Surprise, surprise James wanted to play.
“I am the head elf,” James said assertively. “While Father Christmas delivers all the toys, I am in charge of the workshop.”
“Oh, my, Mr….?”
“Tinselbottom.” He said proudly.
I tried not to break, but I couldn’t help but giggle, “Oh my, Mr Tinselbottom! What a big responsibility you have.”
“Yes, I take my role very seriously. I must ensure everyone is happy on Christmas!”
“Well, I am afraid I am not happy, Mr Tinselbottom, Sir.”
Now I had James’s attention. “My toy seems to be broken,” I said sadly, pouting my lip and lifting my oversized jumper. I revealed my clean-shaven pussy decked with a festive red bow painted on my pubis. A fun present, just for James.
This time he giggled, “Well, I insist on repairing this toy by hand,” and he went to work. I enjoyed the escape as he played with me on our bed. Talented guitarists always do know what to do with their fingers. “Madam, I can’t find anything wrong with this gift,” he said as he gazed at my wetness glistening in the tree's light.
“I’m going to need a better look,” he continued and then placed his mouth on me and licked me. I caressed his elf-ly ears, moaning while he ate my Christmas cookie. Father Christmas would have been proud of Tinselbottom indeed! Santa’s head elf had ensured my joyful Christmas.
After I had caught my breath, I prepared to reciprocate. “Thanks, Jane, but I’d rather open presents.” James eagerly grabbed a small box from under the tree as I fetched a conspicuous item from under the bed. James consistently loved being corny, so I knew he would relish another opportunity to do a bit. As I had hoped, he looked at the present and feigned confusion. “Hmm, what could this be?” He shook it gently. “I wonder. I wonder.” Its shape was unmistakable. It was clearly a wrapped ukulele. James could always be so adorable. “Thanks, babe! I love it!” he exclaimed as he liberated the instrument from its paper.
Next, it was my turn. I opened a small box to find a fantastic handcrafted ceramic coffee mug. It was a lovely piece of art with excellent utility, but not what I expected. “I noticed you seem tired of the old one,” he remarked “Thought you might like something a little different.”
James always was quite thoughtful. It was a perfect present, and remembering James playing that ukulele while I drank coffee from that mug are happy memories.
Conversely, Neils’s holiday was not as relaxing. He was unavailable for most of December. I was excited when we were finally able to video chat in the New Year. I couldn’t wait to see him, swap stories and hear about his Christmas.
“What’s wrong?” I asked once the video connected. His face said he was upset or hiding something.
“Nothing,” he lied.
“Okay,” I said flatly. I figured he’d tell me whatever it was whenever he was ready. I smiled at him. “How was your Christmas?” I asked.
“You don’t have to pretend you care.” Neils sometimes could be dramatic.
“Of course, I care. Please tell me what’s wrong.” Now it seemed clear he needed me to pull it out of him.
“It’s just... your Christmas pictures...looking at them on Instagram… I don’t know. I guess it just made it real, for me.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You have a husband, and I am one of those... house wreckers.”
“I think you mean homewrecker.”
“Neils, you’re a man with a wife and child. You are not considered the homewrecker. I am.”
“No, I make my own decisions,” he said, defending himself.
“As, do I. We have talked about this before. What’s really wrong?”
“It's your Christmas pictures.” He repeated.
“Yeah, you said that. What about them?”
“You just look so happy.”
“I am happy,” I confirmed.
“I’m glad.” He said sadly.
“Are you happy?” I asked him.
“I think so. I love my little girl. I am proud that I am her Dad.”
“I just want so much of you, Jane.”
“Mmm, I want you too,” I said in the voice I use in play.
“No, not like that. I want Christmas.” He sounded serious.
“I don’t understand,” I said. I needed him to lay it out for me.
“I want YOUR Christmas.”
“Well, you can’t have my Christmas, Silly. And I can’t have yours, but we can share them now. How was your holiday?” I asked again with earnestness.
“The little girl got sick. She had an ear ‘h’.”
“Do you mean earache?”
“Yeah, that. She had a fever and cried through the night. We all spent Christmas day sick, sleeping in bed.”
“See, our Christmases weren't so different. I was up late on Christmas eve too, and I also spent most of Christmas day in bed.” I had a big grin, but Neils wasn’t amused.
“I would have preferred Christmas in bed with you,” he said in his voice for play.
“What present would you have gotten me?” I asked while adjusting myself in the chair to ensure I looked suitable for the camera.
“Some perfume and a spanking, you were bad this year.” he teased.
“I know I am always on the naughty list,” wanting to play along.
Neils sat back in his chair and let out a heavy sign. There was something else.
“I don’t want to spank you.” he said, “I want to make you breakfast. I want to share a bottle of wine with you. I want to drive you in my car.”
“Oooo. I would love to suck your dick in your car,” trying to distract him.
“No, stop it. I’m serious. I want to come to London.”
“Yeah, baby, if you come to London, I will fuck you in your car.” Trying one last time to play.
“I mean it, Jane. I’m falling in love with you.” This time his voice was different. It was small but with immense emotion. It was the most serious I had ever heard Neils. I couldn’t breathe.
“Don’t say that. Please, don’t say that.” it was too much. It had been ten years since he had said it before.
“I want to come to London. I have to meet you.” He seemed decided.
“What about all the stuff you said before? What if we don’t like each other when we meet in real life? What if the sex is terrible?”
“That’s not going to happen, Jane. It will be amazing, and then we will always want to be together!”
“That’s worse!” I exclaimed. “You can’t leave your daughter, and I won’t leave James. It would make being apart so much harder.” This time, he was going to have to convince me.
“We could make trips, little getaways.” He suggested.
“I would love for YOU to take a trip. It’s your turn, remember.” I’m realising now that probably sounded like a dare.
As expected, Neils wasn’t keen on telling Wife about me. So he needed a way we could meet in secrecy. This was fine with me. I was confident then that he would likely find the task too complicated and probably give up entirely. I certainly wasn’t going to have any expectations of Neils this time around. I wanted whatever he could give and nothing more. I was pretty shocked when, a few months later, Neils had a plan.
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