Part of me hoped she’d choose the leaving option so I wouldn’t have to keep looking at her in that dress and struggling to keep my dick in check, but she didn’t put me out of my misery. Weeks ago, when I finally accepted the fact that she wasn’t going away, I promised myself I wouldn’t go anywhere near her. I’m not that self-destructive. But on days when she walks in wearing tight black dresses and my work boots, I wonder how long I can keep that promise.
