for Lily Thai
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While browsing around pornhub.com, I came across an actress who looked exactly like the co-worker I flirt with. She wants to fuck me. She’s married. I’ve trying to fuck her. I don’t care about her marriage. She won’t cheat on hubby. Round and round it goes.
We make out in my office, a lot. She grabbed my cock in the lunchroom one morning. She just reached into my boxers and grabbed it. When will this be inside me? She moaned. She kissed me. She turned and walked out the door.
We never talked about this. It happened over and over again. She almost jerked me off at an party once. We were an intense scene.
Then I found her face on an actress on my computer. These two women were twins. They must have been separated at birth. It was uncanny. And the male actor had an impressive dick.
I had no problem imagining that it was my dick sliding into my screaming co-worker. This wasn’t fiction. These were home movies. That’s me slapping her face with my penis. It was awesome. I jerked off four times a day for months after this find.
I found out the actresses name. I researched her. I watched all of her movies. I exploded to all of her moans. We were lovers. She had to leave me. But I had recorded all of our fucking. I was reliving our lovemaking sessions over and over again. It was like I never lost you—my love—my whore. I printed out pictures of her face and came on them. It felt awesome. It was perverted. It was filthy. It was fantasy. Get over it.
It made me feel better. It helped me clear my heads. It made it easier to tell my co-worker to get some counseling, to work on her marriage, to not risk her family over a cliché work fling. Fucking her in my imagination did all that for me.
Long live porn.
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