Page 5

5

Maybe This’ll Help

Janelle

It was just a fuck.

A nasty, filthy, back-blown-out fuck in the bathroom of a club I shouldn’t have even been at that night. That’s what I kept tellin’ myself.

I didn’t love him. I didn’t even know him.

Fontaine Wells was a mistake. A beautiful, chocolate, demon of a mistake, but a mistake nonetheless.

So I tried to fix it the only way I knew how—by fuckin’ my husband.

I rode his dick like I was auditionin’ for my own redemption. Eyes shut tight, thinkin’ maybe if I moaned loud enough, gripped his shoulders tight enough, I could erase the memory of Fontaine’s voice from my head. But it ain’t work.

My pussy knew the difference.

My body knew what it missed.

Still, I rode that man like I was tryin’ to convince myself I was faithful. Tried to drown Fontaine’s name in weak moans and wedding rings. But when I came—it was from a place my husband ain’t never touched. And that was the realest part.

I laid next to him afterward, chest heaving, feelin’ dirty. Not ‘cause I cheated. But because it ain’t feel like cheatin’.

It felt like pretendin’.