Page 4 of Right Number, Wrong Man

COLT

The woman I’ve pretended not to love for the past sixteen years accidentally sends me dirty videos and I threaten to call the police on her.

Good job, Colt .

Why couldn’t I react like a normal guy and send a dick pic back? Anything would’ve been better than this.

My military training taught me to keep a cool head in the most stressful situations, including being pinned down by enemy fire. But seeing pussy makes me lose my mind like a virgin choirboy.

Only it ain’t just any pussy.

It’s the most beautiful, perfect, heavenly pussy on this godforsaken earth and it so happens to belong to the woman who ought to be wearing my wedding ring.

When I turned on Mike’s phone cause Momma asked me to look for old Christmas pictures, I didn’t expect to have my world thrown off its axis.

I canceled my brother’s contract, but there must’ve been an error at the phone company.

And I don’t even try to guess why Hailey is sending these kinds of videos to Mike’s number in the first place.

Why and how doesn’t matter—not to my aching heart and not to the raging boner throbbing against my zipper.

I’m catapulted back to Halloween night twelve years ago and my chest cracks.

Hailey doesn’t know that the man beneath the mask was me, that I took her virginity. She thought it was my brother, who she crushed on.

Just like she doesn’t know it’s me getting those videos now. She thinks I’m a random stranger who happened to get this number by chance.

Hailey didn’t mean for me to see these clips, but exactly like on Halloween, I take whatever scraps of her I can get.

It’s pitiful.

Horny and sad is a dangerous combination. I’m delirious. At this rate, I might develop some weird psychological disorder. Therapists will have a field day, laughing about me at the water cooler.

Check out this guy! He gets grief boners!

I sit on the bed with the proverbial angel and devil perched on my shoulders, my eyes glued to the still video preview. Damn, Hailey looks like a goddess wrapped in pink lace, the light throwing soft shadows across her divine body and accentuating every curve.

That tight waist I wanna wrap my hands around and hips I wanna dig my fingers into. A round ass I wanna smack. Perky tits I wanna palm and nipples I wanna pinch.

I shouldn’t watch this video. I’ll be in so much trouble if I give in and watch her fuck herself with—Aaaand there goes my finger pressing play.

Hailey’s chest heaves as she teases her clit with the vibrator before taking off her panties. In one thrust, she slides the toy deep into her glistening cunt, her hole stretching around the shaft. Moans trickle from her lips and her eyes roll.

I can’t control myself.

In a trance, I open my belt buckle and undo my jeans. I reach into my boxers and pull out my hard dick, tracing the metal rungs of my Jacob’s Ladder on the underside. When I reach the head, my thumb draws around the vertical apadravya piercing through it.

Would she like my jewelry?

I stroke faster, wishing it was my cock impaling her instead of a toy.

Hailey moans and her features twist in pleasure as she orgasms. My balls tighten when her cunt flutters around the vibrator and pressure shoots up my length.

Thick ropes of cum spurt over my hand and the bed and the floor and my pants and—worst of all—over the goddamn phone.

Instant post-nut clarity hits me like a brick to the face. My hand falls from my cock.

The phone is drenched in cum and I can’t have it break before I’ve watched all her videos. Does splashproof include semen? I should look that up online.

With my pants around my ankles, I waddle to the bathroom and wipe off the phone with a stack of tissues. Once I check that all the buttons and the touchscreen still work, I throw my clothes in the laundry and wash myself.

I scowl at my reflection in the mirror over the sink.

What have I done?

I ain’t a man of many vices. I don’t smoke often and I don’t gamble. I do enjoy a glass of bourbon, but I only have one serious, lifelong addiction:

Hailey.

I went through years of excruciating withdrawal and it felt like fucking dying. Eventually, I convinced myself I could live without her, but that craving for her— for her smile, for her voice, for her touch—it’s always in the back of my mind, waiting for me to slip up.

Once an addict, always an addict.

Seeing the raw lust on her angelic face, her sweet lips parting with moans—it got me high and buzzing, but I’m coming down fast.

My burning need for her never died. I starved the flames, but the embers remained, and this moment of weakness was enough to stoke the tiny spark into a roaring fire in my chest.

Only it doesn’t light me up.

It’s devouring me.

I rewind the video and pause at the beginning.

Even if I didn’t see her face, I would recognize that tattoo anywhere. It’s a tribute to her favorite slasher movies, the Wraithface Chronicles and its main character’s weapon, a big kitchen knife.

She likes to show it off at the Retro Reel , too. It gets customers talking, and chatty customers buy more popcorn and drinks, which is great for business, but I despise when men talk to her. When she smiles at them.

I don’t give a damn that she’s just doing her job and being friendly. It makes me want to take each of these bastards on a trip to the basement of my hunting cabin outside of town. Five minutes alone with me and my tools and they’ll regret the day they first came into this world.

I have a much bigger problem now, though, and it ain’t the ridiculous number of tissues needed to wipe my cum explosion off various spots in my bedroom.

How am I gonna look into Hailey’s face at work tomorrow without losing my shit?

More importantly, how will I stop myself from bending her over the concession stand?

If she gives me lip again, I’m done. Arguing with her feels like foreplay. The mouthier she gets, the more I want to stuff my cock between her glossy lips to shut her up.

For Hailey, working at the Retro Reel is a dream. Her eyes light up when we get new movies and she takes spare posters home instead of throwing them away. On slow nights when we have empty seats I let her watch the screenings, too.

She doesn’t know it, but I didn’t just buy the place cause it was conveniently across from her apartment and as a passive investment. I bought it cause I knew she’d love it. I always planned to give her the reins when I re-enlist.

But for me, working with her has been the sweetest torture.

I smell her fruity shampoo and raspberry perfume every time I pass by. I hear her laugh. I watch her scroll on her phone while she chews on her lip. I see when she sneaks a handful of popcorn, but I pretend not to notice.

My heart feels like it’s exploding.

Calm. Keep calm , I tell myself.

I’m set to leave town at the end of summer. That’s just a few weeks. Surely I can keep it together until then?

I grab my own cell from the nightstand and punch in the hotline number for the phone company. After explaining my issue with Mike’s account not being canceled and spending an unacceptable amount of time on hold, the customer service lady gives an apologetic chuckle.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” she croons. “It seems there was an error in our system. The number you referred to has been added to your account as a family package instead of being disconnected. Would you like to cancel now?”

“Hell no!” I cough, taking a deep breath. “I mean, no, thank you, ma’am. Please leave everything as it is."

The woman says something else about a limited time offer for 5G coverage, but I can’t hear her over the ringing in my ears and hang up.

An error, hmm ?

I stumble to bed and my head hits the pillow like a boulder, restless sleep bringing back memories of Halloween twelve years ago.