Turning the Page

I had just broken up with my girlfriend of two years. I spent a couple of weeks moping around the house, thinking that I had lost my last chance for love, my last chance for happiness, and perhaps most importantly, my last chance for sex. Everything around the house reminded me of Kimberly. My room was littered with homemade picture frames, stuffed animals that I won for her at a fair, and worst of all, soiled bras and underwear from our last night together.

Even my roommate Steve reminded me of Kimberly. Steve and Kimberly worked together and it was Kim's idea that I moved out of my parent's house and into Steve's house. We had lived together now for nearly a year and had some great times. Steve had helped to open my eyes to a lot of new experiences. We went to concerts of fun new bands, threw great parties at our perpetual bachelor pad, and the first time that I smoked pot was with Steve, who was as giddy as a school girl to teach me the ins and outs of getting high.

As I mentioned, Kimberly was the main reason that I lived with Steve. Her campus dorm room was only ten minutes away from my new place. I figured that the close proximity would bring us closer together, enriching our relationship. In reality, it only bred resentment as we failed to meet each other's expectations. I was never going to be the prototypical male that enjoyed the things that she enjoyed and she was never going to be the type of girlfriend who understood the needs of a 22-year-old male. We had broken up a couple of times for a matter of days before, and gotten back together. This time, though, we both knew it would be different. We couldn't keep convincing each other that we had anything in common.

Two weeks after we broke up I was a nervous wreck. I hadn't seen her since we broke it off telephone style, and now she just called to say she was going to stop by after her night class to talk and pick up a few things. I paced around our tiny apartment playing various scenarios in my head. Our dog Orpheus and cat Thor both sat on the couch and stared at me. What if she said she wanted to try to work things out again? I would tell her not this time, I decided. I had taken her back before and it only led to heartache. I wished that Steve wasn't at work. I didn't want to be alone when she got here. I wished that one of Steve's annoying friends would stop by so Kimberly would feel awkward and wouldn't stay long. My palms were sweating and I felt dizzy.

Suddenly the door swung open (no one ever knocked). There was Kimberly with a big smile on her face. Figures she would be smiling, I thought, nothing really seemed to bother her. "Why hello," she yelled out to me.

"Hey what's up?" I tried to talk and act casually, like I wasn't pacing and muttering nervously for the last hour.

"You look great!" she continued on in her faux exited tone. She walked over to me and reached out her arms. I reluctantly accepted her embrace, not knowing if I should have or not. We had hugged countless times before the last two years, but this was the first since the break up. She still felt soft. She still had the same feel. Her breasts still pressed against my sternum. Her warmth still radiated from her body to mine. Despite all this, it was different. We broke our embrace after a few moments and I kissed her on the forehead.

"There," I thought. A kiss on the forehead isn't too intimate, but doesn't make me look scared to touch you either. God I'm so smart sometimes.

"Can I sit down?" she asked. Why not, I thought. Even if I said no, you would just go ahead and do whatever the hell you wanted anyways. I was disappointed to learn that she looked good too. She didn't get dressed up or anything, but she was a beautiful girl, and the more I saw her over the last two years, the more beautiful I believed she became. "I still want us to be friends," she started after she plopped down on the futon across from me.

I listened to her talk for a half and hour. I didn't say much; I didn't feel like anything I would say could add to the situation. Kimberly always needed to be talking, however, any silence was an uncomfortable one. She talked about how much the last two years meant to her and she hoped we would remain close. I stopped listening after a while and started daydreaming about the last time we had sex in my apartment. She snuck out from a weekend orientation she had on campus and drove to my place at 3 in the morning. She woke me up by sticking her tongue in my mouth and grabbing my crotch simultaneously. There's something about doing it in the middle of the night that brings out the lust. That night was probably the roughest and kinkiest sex we had ever had. A week later, I still had scratches on my back to prove it.

My daydreaming had made me hard. I shifted on the couch so my dick would stick up in my pants and Kimberly might not notice. I caught her eyes glancing down, she knew. She got up to leave and we hugged again. I was still hard from my daydream. I pressed myself a little tighter against her, and slightly grinded my member against her hip. She breathed a little heavy, and blushed. I wanted to say, "Let's fuck just one last time, for memories," but I was too scared. Even now, with nothing to lose, I couldn't bring myself to objectify her completely.

She rubbed my back and said; "I'll see you later. Call me, you have my number." Before I could protest, she slipped out the screen door quietly and into the night and out of my life. I hadn't been this angry with her since she told me she cheated on me. How could she leave me horny like this? I was all alone, with no outlet for my unrelenting sexual energy.

"Aaaah," I screamed, and knocked over a stack of books. I didn't know if I was mad at her for leaving just now, mad at her for wasting two years of my life, or mad at myself for not fucking her in the living room just now. I stomped into my bedroom desperately searching for a release. I flung open my dresser drawers. I scavenged through my magazine collection looking for a picture that I stashed there a few months ago. "Where is it?" I thought. I knew that I put it here so no one could accidentally come across it and cause embarrassment for Kimberly or me. "Eureka!" I felt the sharp edges of the photo mixed in with the smooth edges of a July 2001 Sports Illustrated. I pulled out a picture of Kimberly. I took the picture on my twenty-first birthday. I was drunk as hell, and she posed for me. She wore a tight fitting tank top that said "hustler" on it. We bought that shirt together when we visited a sex shop. She was also wearing panties bearing the same name, and a knitted cap. She had one hand on her hip, and the other dangling at her side. She made a sexy face for me as I took the picture.

With the ultimate object of my desire now in my possession, I yanked down my shorts and boxers with my free hand. Now standing in my bedroom completely naked with the door still wide open I started vigorously whacking off with my right hand while my left hand held the corner of the picture. I masturbated like this for a couple of minutes, several times stopping moments before I spurted my load. In the corner of my eye I spotted Kimberly's panties. Either she forgot to pick them up tonight or she wanted to leave them here for me. I lunged over to pick them up and laid down on my bed. Feeling no shame in my horniest state, I brought the pink cotton panties to my face and breathed in. I kept doing this while still staring at the picture and whacking off. The stale smell was enough to remind me of Kimberly's sopping wet vagina.

Within seconds I was cumming. I didn't put anything in front of my cock, or make any attempt to control my cum. Several spurts shot into the air and landed on my stomach on the way down. Several more on the bed. The last one landed on the picture covering Kimberly's body. After I stopped convulsing, I felt more guilty and disgusting than I ever had before. I pulled up my pants, and cleaned up the cum. I stared at the picture at the edge of the bed and thought about what to do with it. I wouldn't be able to completely clean off the traces of my cum from Kimberly's figure. I wondered how mentally healthy it was to be whacking off to pictures of my now ex girlfriend anyways. I crumpled up the picture, ripped it into several pieces, opened the window and threw it out. Time to turn the page.