Her Online Addiction Read online

  “Ok... yes,” I reluctantly confess, and I know from the heat in my face I’m bright crimson red. You know that awkward moment when you desperately want to appear cool? So, I epically failed. Not well played, Trinity.

  “Well, you look...” he pauses seemingly searching, “You look like you belong in my bed.” He shoots me a cheeky smirk and glances over my body, then back to my face. He leans in and brushes a stray stand of my hair off my face and tucks it in behind my ear. I stop breathing…

  “Pity we didn’t christen it though.” He chuckles, “You were so fucked up, Baby-Cakes.” Ugh, Baby-Cakes! I am taken aback at the intimate way he touches me, so tender. We didn’t have sex, well thank god. I’ve thought about having sex with him so many times, in my mind it was already real, but fantasies aren’t meant to cross into reality. There really would be a monumentally huge expectation of outstanding sexual prowess given our history. I want to at least be conscious enough to rock his fucking world and deliver on all the promise of our flirtatious endeavours. The smile slowly leaves his face, and he seems to be looking right into me, I feel exposed and vulnerable, and self-conscious of my disgraceful post inebriated appearance.

  “The shower is through to the left past the bed, your clothes are clean on the counter in there. Well-” he smirks at me again, “All except your bra,” he snickers looking at it.

  “Why did you leave my bra?” I mean he went to the effort of stripping me naked, maybe, collecting and washing my garments anyhow, why not throw it in?

  “I wasn’t sure how to wash it,” he says simply with a little shrug, “Or retrieve it without disturbing you.” That half-cocked smile is a heart breaker.

  “Oh,” I nod, “Cool.” Of course, he didn’t want to ruin it, obviously he has enough girl experience to know that despite his being ten years younger. I follow up with “Thanks.” and he smiles and nods, stands and exits the room.

  Ok, time to get my shit together and redeem my appearance and dignity. If I had my bag, I’d be ok. Where the hell is my bag? I keep a small stash of toiletries in there, a mini deodorant, lip gloss, a bronzer that I use as eye shadow and blush in case of emergencies, an eyeliner, a mini mascara and a small comb. As much as I’m not into brands or too much fluff, I do try to look my best. There is hand sanitizer due to my ‘thing’ about hygiene, and a few other small things for just in case! I like to stay organised when it’s possible.

  Suddenly Derek leans back half across the bedroom door “Your bag is in there too, Trinity. Use any towel, they’re all clean. When you’re done, we’ll have some lunch.” He winks at me and is gone in a blink. I breathe out, unaware that I’d been holding my breath again. Why does he bring this reaction out in me? I’m usually cool, calm and collected for god sakes, I reiterate to myself! Well, usually. I’m little miss confidence to the outside world, maybe not always on the inside, but damned if I don’t work hard on hiding it! Fake it till you make it! I sit up in bed still clutching the sheets, how ridiculous, he has seen me stripped and very intimate and I’m clinging to the sheets as if I can salvage any pride! Way too late I tell myself.

  ~ Chapter 2 ~

  Online Games

  This guy has been my yummy little crush on the side for just over twelve months now. I tried to forget him so many times, break off contact thinking it was just something flirty and absurd, nothing that would ever materialise. No expectations or strings. A sexting buddy. My online addiction. Online, yet here I am. Naked in his room.

  When you meet randomly in the cyber-world, how much can you really invest into it? It wasn’t like I went on some dating site, no. I was minding my own business, while gaming online in a multi-player, first-person shooter.

  Sport isn’t exactly available 24/7 and so being an online gamer has become part of my stress release and my escape from the world into an almost alternative reality. I’ve made some terrific online friends through gaming, we get together in our virtual world with our headsets, sharing our life stuff, talking crap, having a laugh and blowing shit up. That’s how we do. I can’t exist without gaming now.

  One Saturday afternoon, during a battlefield 3 session, and it must be said, I was on fire, I get a message saying *Good Game, Dude*. Dude? My Gamer Tag is ‘x_QueenAnarchy_x’. Okay the fact that it has Queen in it should represent the fact that I’m a chick. I found it amusing enough though, so I sent back a message saying *Thanks, you too*.

  Shortly after that I received a friend request from him. Okay, he sounds polite and a good sport, considering I whooped him in the previous game. No creepy pervert vibes thus far. I can’t deal with those types. So, without hesitation I accept it. We exchange a few more texts that are very ‘knuckle-bump’. He references me as Dude in all of them. Funny. I think I should tell him my name, so he realises I’m not actually a ‘Dude’. He tells me he calls everyone dude, even his Mum, and that his name is Derek. I finish with a polite, *we should have a game again soon* text, then make my exit.

  A few days later I get a game request from this Derek to join him. I send a *sorry, can’t, I’m not playing that game* message back with a winky face emoticon to indicate no hard feelings. He replies *I could join your game* with a smiley face. I reply *really sorry, I’m with friends, I can’t ditch them, we just started playing* with another winky. You can give any bad news text with a winky I figure.

  Then his reply text was a cheeky little number stating that I’m a pervert, constantly winking at him! What!? Me? Holy shit, did he just say that? Guys crack onto me all the time, but me being accused of being a pervert. Me! Pervert? ... Was bold and hot as fuck!!! I message back saying *I might be weird, crazy or kinky, but not a pervert*. Kinky. That got his attention! Now he wants to know more. I think I offered him a spanking for being so rude. Then he says *what if I’m fat? You still wanna spank me?* in his next text. *Sure* I say, *light switches, no probs* and add a poke my tongue out face emoticon.

  There is something about him, something that lures me in, I don’t quite understand what it is, but I’m curious. And I’m never curious when gaming. Then the next text I get has a photo attached. Holy shit, he’s ridiculously attractive! It’s unexpected. He is doing a goofy pose which cracks me up immediately. I’ve had pictures sent by guys before, no big deal, not interested. That’s not why I get on. But this guy, wow, I’m instantly shy, and grinning like a fool, it’s embarrassing to me even though no one else can see my reactions behind my screen which is my buffer, I never react like that. I am typically aloof despite being polite and friendly, mostly. I look away but go back to look at it so many times. He is giving me the thumbs up. The photo is black and white, but I can see his hair is very dark as well as his eyes. He is wearing a beanie and singlet top, which shows off full sleeve tattoos. He isn’t as muscled as the guys I usually go for, but there is something there and it takes me by surprise. But he looks way too young, I’d guess 10 years younger than my (at the time) 30. Typically, I’ve only gone for older guys. But damn he’s fine! I am a sucker for tall, dark, handsome and tattoos.

  I reply *U sure r PHAT* to which he responds *You’re in big trouble, Missy, I know what PH fat means!* Uh-oh. He’s right and my face flushes. These texts are becoming flirty, and I want to stop, I’m crossing my own boundaries here after all. I send a text saying he looks so young and that I’m an old lady and not sure we can be friends. He tells me he is 20, Sweet Jesus! I consider lying, but eventually I fess to my age, cringing anticipating the reaction. Surprisingly he tells me he has dated someone my age, and he doesn’t care about age.

  He asks for my picture in return, for which I make a bunch of excuses why I can’t, but in the end, I agonise over which one I have makes me look the best and send it. I’m no stranger to younger guys hitting on me, I’m just never interested. Never. He responds back with how beautiful he thinks I am. My face heats up again and my grin starts hurting my cheeks. This very young man, who is totally winning me over, thinks I’m beautiful. I can’t help but wonder if I’m being buttered up for more
. I should walk away from this, delete him. Some random guy, I’m acting like a teenager with a first crush, it’s dumb. We can’t be friends, but my curiosity is whipped up and have a million questions for him now, but I decide not to ask any, act cool for Christ sakes, Trinity!

  Our friendship progresses over the days and weeks and in the end, he pressures me for more revealing photos, which eventually I give in to and send. Gulp! I don’t do this! And yet, I pluck out my phone camera and take a picture of me groping my lush breast, bra on, and a sexy little bra it was, all pink and grey imitation leopard spots, making the girls look mighty fine. I drape some of my long dark hair down around me, thinking it looks more ‘artistic’ and less trashy. He likes it, well, they are tits, so duh! Of course, he would like it. But he comments that there is too much clothing hiding a pretty girl. Well shit!

  Then he sends a picture! I nervously open it and am looking at a shot of his midriff, a line of dark hair trailing into his boxer briefs, and a very well-endowed package, barely being concealed by the briefs. Holy crap! I don’t want to look, or I am a pervert, but I can’t stop myself either, I cover my face and peek out through my fingers giving out soft, girly squeals of please don’t make me look, take pity on the innocent, Ha! I’m thinking about this guy’s equipment, this stranger from god knows where. I send him back a message of shock, but I think this only encourages him along. The next picture I get is minus the boxer briefs and he is erect. I think I might have heart failure, right here, right now! Crash cart, someone bring the crash cart… It’s not the first time I’ve been cock-bombed, but it is the first time I’ve enjoyed it, not that I want to admit this.

  Mr Hotness might just be wearing me down. I try hard to play it cool and not expose my feelings, but I fold to his requests over the days and weeks, and we end up flirting, teasing and sexting, all the while exchanging hot and heavy voice messages and photos that are way too intimate for someone you have never met in the flesh! He has a knack for getting me to tell him very intimate things about myself, his wit and humour are so addictive, and he asks me things like what type of sex I enjoy, what positions? I’m a little kinky, sometimes rough and hard. Toys? Sure. How I like to be touched, what drives me crazy. The more I disclose, the more his curiosity builds, his hunger for details makes me squirm in my panties. I am totally in conflict between loving and hating this thing we do.

  I implode mentally at one point, not wanting him to strip my soul naked and in my panic, I go to inadvertently sabotage this by acting wounded and a victim of being inappropriately pressured, because I feel my tightly held control slipping through my fingertips and it ‘does my head in’ somewhat. He responds sounding angry, but it’s very hard to tell tone through text. I guess I assume for the most part I have pissed him off, and it’s done, so naturally I say my goodbyes because I can’t give him what he wants. To which he only responds, “You didn’t think I’d give up on you that easily, did you?” Annnnnnnnd I can’t quit him!

  I gradually progress from cleavage and pantie shots to sending pictures of me naked and in the act of self-pleasure. We both build up scenarios through texts of what we “are” doing to each other as if we are having sex together. A come buddy. I always make sure to crop my face out of any picture, for my own protection and privacy, after all, I don’t want them turning up over Facebook or anything where my family might see them. So, as this goes on, I tell myself it means nothing to me, harmless fun, just like a fuck buddy but for solo activity. Let’s just call each other inspiration for when you need a ‘release’ sexually and you are alone. No one will ever know. ‘Our Dirty little secret’ he tells me.

  I feel consumed by him; his words caress my mind in soft licks of desire and fiery yearning for what can never be. All too quickly extinguished by the fact he then runs so hot and cold, all ‘let’s make each other come one minute telling me I’m stunning and how much he wants to be inside me, then nothing out of him for weeks. I convince myself I don’t care at all, it means nothing, but like an addict I’m in denial of wanting his attention and affection. He does things to me I’m not willing to admit or don’t know how to articulate. Maybe it’s the thrill of the game? I feel so conflicted. He runs through my thoughts so often and yet, without ever having met this person until now. Why can’t I just drop it? I want to message him every day, but I resist the urge, so that he is always the first to message me. Ha! I have control I tell myself. Lord knows my sanity hinges on hanging onto some control. His intensity levels when I am under his attentions fall nothing short of hypnotic. I’m an emotional captive and my desire for his sweet pillow talk make my hormones soar, I want another hit of him because he’s my drug of choice, but then he’s gone and he leaves an absence that shatters the peace inside of my solitary soul when all is quiet in my life, and I’m left enduring the withdrawal symptoms of his absence. See? Craziness!

  I see him online and I get no messages, and chinks of my ego slowly plummet away from me. What do I care? He’s just some random, a no one. It means nothing. We have both been dating and fucking other people regardless of this thing we do, so what do I care? I hate that I feel this way. I am in danger of opening my big mouth and lashing out at his ego to chase him away because that’s what I do. I’m not the hearts and flowers, commitment type. I’m working on it, it’s my goal in life to overcome my phobias so I can settle down into a steady, functioning, healthy relationship. But this isn’t the guy for me. I know that. He scares me on some level, and yet I’m ten years older, despite this he is very driven to dominate me. He lures me into his web by being sweet and respectful and asking for my time in ways that make me melt, then he flips a switch to alpha, bossy and greedy, and I am too caught up in getting my next fix to ever dig myself out. He pushes all my buttons and I’m afraid he knows it. Dangerous for me in every way. I need control, I must have it, or otherwise I become irrational.

  It suddenly dawns on me I’m at his place. We live in different states though. Fuck-me-sideways! Am I in a different state? Oh, this can’t be happening! Alarm bells are ringing, and I feel the sick panic rising inside of me. Get a grip girl! Deep breaths! I stand quickly on the bed with a wobble and grab my bra from the fan overhead. I step down carefully aware that I’m feeling unwell, tender limbs which I am grateful are finally cooperating with me now! My head is a heavy, muddled mess, I feel bewildered and hope a shower and food will cut through the mystery of my missing nocturnal adventures and pull a shard of memory back into my languid brain.

  I wrap the rest of the sheet around me and head to the doorway near the bed head, silver sheet trailing behind me. I push it open to find a mostly white bathroom with a strip of black tiles lining horizontally around the top, and small black octagonal tiles spotted through the same white shaped ones on the floor. It’s small, and neat and clean. I am kind of impressed. Being young and male, I wasn’t sure what state I would find it in. I was relieved. I hit the light switch and shut the door behind me. Oh boy, time to see the damage. I move in front of the mirror and sink, take a long slow breath and gaze at myself. Well! I don’t know how, but I managed to not look as bad as I felt. I almost can’t believe it, no panda eyes and no knots in my hair, my eyes are a bit red and I look not so ‘with it’ but other than that... Fist pump!

  My long dark brown hair looks slightly wavy and a bit like it’s been sex-messed, but still looks decent. I always straighten it, I like it sleek and shiny, but it’s held up ok. I look a little pale, but a bit of emergency makeup will fix that. It dawns on me; I’m not actually wearing last night’s make up. I grip the sink and bow my head down, closing my eyes I rack my mind, surely, I was wearing makeup? What is the last thing I remember? I remember being out with my friends. Friday night drinks after work.

  It was a tough week though, and we decided to hit the piss Friday night, dancing, drinking, laughing about the expression on Loman’s face while I ripped him a new one, talking shit, being silly and unwinding. Yes, I remember all that! OK. Alyssa and I headed home after work and got rea
dy, and she brought a cab past my small one-bedroom apartment affectionately nicknamed the ‘shoe box’, to pick me up. I have my dark hair out and straightened silky smooth, I give my hazel brown eyes a Smokey black smoulder and finish with a nude lip gloss. I knew it, I knew I was wearing make up! I look up into Derek’s mirror, I’m not imagining it gone, so I must have removed it.

  I look beside the sink and my stuff is sitting there neatly folded. My distressed, fitted bootleg jeans, man, am I a jeans kinda girl! I have so many pairs. I have decent curves, hips and a large bust, but my ass looks pretty amazing in jeans thanks to my athletic build, I have solid thighs and fairly broad shoulders. Guys mostly find me attractive, I do well, tits or ass, I certainly have both. I have tanned skin that easily goes olive during summer though the older I get I’m starting to get freckles on my shoulders. I’ve been told my eyes are very alluring, they look Egyptian or islander I get told. I don’t know how they would figure that, but they are almond shaped and hooded. My lips are full and well defined. I have my fingers and toes adorned with black nail polish and kept shortish and well maintained. Typing is easier I find if not using claws and I couldn't care less about trends. I wear what I like.

  I don’t struggle to hook up with guys, but my personality is unexpected. I am a tomboy, I guess. I play sports, video games and can easily stick it to the guys. I’m highly competitive; I play anything to win but am a good sport too. My likes are unusual; I like heavy metal, alternative, grunge and hard rock and rock music. Reading is massive in my life too. I am intelligent and have wisdom beyond my years due to missing out on my childhood somewhat but have retained a fun side that borderlines on crazy. Maturity is optional. I’m a massive animal lover and will help anyone in need. Socially I mix very well, I have a loud laugh and have a wicked sense of humour. I love horror movies and paranormal creepy stuff intrigues me. I’m not everyone’s cut of tea, but I’m happy with who I am. I am an alpha personality, a leader, I’m not sure I was born this way, but more perhaps it was learned as a way to survive life. Control freak and hygiene issues, bordering on germ-a-phobe. Almost. My affinity with clean eating, no chemicals and alternative medicine might make me hippy like? Bohemian maybe? Not all the way, more like hippy- ‘light’. I am full of paradoxes though, a crazy bundle of warm and cold. I often hear how I’m ‘different’ to most girls… I like this a lot! I’m comfortable being different.