He had spent the night unpacking, putting away some of his meager belongings in his meager apartment
He had spent the night unpacking, putting away some of his meager belongings in his meager apartment. Sheryl has been kind enough to pack some essentials for him - clothes, etc - and the apartment already came with some other necessities; it was basically furnished, there was a set of cheap plates and silverware. Cooking utensils, some pots and pans.But now he lay down, exhausted, on the poor excuse for a mattress in the corner of the place that served as a bedroom. The lights were out and all that remained was him and the low, constant buzz that came from the walls. He picked up his phone to find that Melissa, his Office Manager, had just texted him…Immediately his blood ran both hot and cold, struck suddenly by the memories of the day, how submissive he had acted in front of her…his employee, in his office. But he was also struck by recollections of her cleavage in that pink sweater, her ass in those high-waisted pants. How tall she’d been in those eight-inch heels. He’d already jerked off to her twice today - first immediately after the meeting in the men’s room, once again right after leaving work early. And now, like Pavlov’s dog, he felt himself hardening in his thin cotton pajama shorts, just from seeing her name on a text.Should I reply? He asked himself, considering it would probably be best not to, to try to show some more resolve, prove something to himself, at the very least. He was not her lap-dog, at her beck and call.He pushed his phone away, onto the cheap nightstand, and lay there. He fought against the urge to put his hand into his pants, and turned onto his side. Within a minute, though, he heard the buzz, another text coming through:He knew he should just silence it, or turn his phone off. Instead, he found himself out of bed, at the kitchenette sink, pouring a glass of flinty water. Moonlight fell across his thin hands through the small adjacent window; he shivered, looking skeletal. On his return, another message from Melissa:Wait what? He thought, suddenly perplexed, What’s Sheryl doing, talking with Melissa? He sat himself up in bed, considered texting his wife. He hadn’t heard from her since Sunday, when she’d kicked him out of the house. Is she honestly concerned about me? Despite his confusion, the thought gave him hope that maybe…it’s fixable.Or she’s just fucking with you.That was certainly likely, he concluded, but he still held hope that his marriage could be salvaged. Settling his head back on his thin pillow, he knew that if there was any chance of getting back together with Sheryl, talking with the woman whose bikini pictures had been found on his phone was not the way to do it.More time passed, tossing and turning and struggling not to-