Your GF Loves Your Best Friend But You Won't Leave Her

You did it.

You didn’t mean to be a menace.

You swear you value her privacy. Her boundaries. Her livelihood. It’s why you had to know. It wasn’t a choice in your mind, it was a must. You needed to look through her phone. You needed to know.

Only the worst types of boyfriends do this kind of thing. Lurking, sleuthing, invading. It’s not like she talks to you about these kinds of things, or anything for that matter. You’ve been reconsidering if you even fall under the term “boyfriend” anymore. You chalk it up to subjectivity in order to sleep at night.

There’s something about her, you couldn’t quite put your finger on it, she’s been weirdly… happier. Full of life. Laughs at her phone all the time. You’ve never seen her smile like this around you before. There was something different about her like she had a hole filled in her life, literally and figuratively, and you needed to know the details.

So you looked.

It was almost as if she had left the opportunity open for you. Her passcode was so easy to memorize, never mind the fact that she left her phone unlocked (just for you?) all the time. It was almost as if she was begging you to know.

She wanted this.

Who are you to pass up the opportunity to know your own girlfriend better?

You know how they say look and you will find? Well you found. And it hurt so bad it almost felt… good. Between her and her waspy best friend, a woman you hated simply because she was always in the know of how pathetic your relationship was, privy to every detail, every one of your shortcomings, your girlfriend had written essays, novels about a man. Things that you had never heard her utter from her mouth, not even once. You didn’t even know she could write like this, that she was capable of having these feelings inside of her. The depth. The raw emotion. The sheer wanting. This wasn’t just dedicated to any man though… this was about your best friend.

You’re not stupid… bur sometimes for your own self-preservation it’s easier to play dumb. To act like what you dread most isn’t playing out right before your eyes. You knew the second he entered the picture there was a shift in her. Suddenly she wanted to tag along when you would hang out with your friends, when in the past she’d pray for the days you’d leave her alone to do whatever it was she did when she lovingly banished you from the apartment. The way she’d laugh at his jokes, like she wasn’t the same person who’d stare at you blankly whenever you would feign a sense of humor around her. The way she’d volunteer her interests to him in ways you’d never heard her speak to you about her passions before. You learned so much about her from conversations between her and another man. Your best friend. You almost started taking pleasure in bringing her along, and in a weird fucked up way, found the relationship between you three to be a source of… intimacy. You know this all sounds so fucking pathetic but you can’t bring yourself to do anything about it. You’ve grown comfortable in the web of deceit and lies they’ve lazily spun for you.

Nothing could quell your desire to keep knowing. Soon being around them for their surface-level desires jus wasn’t enough. What did they talk about when you weren’t around? You could tell the way he smiled at her that he was keeping a hundred, thousand secrets for her. Like there was something much more beautiful between them that you weren’t allowed to be a part of. The curiosity drove you to near madness. You tried so hard to be good but you just couldn’t stop yourself. You opened up the conversation between the two of them.

And so you lay, teary-eyed and encrusted with your own nut all over your legs after reading the endless back and forth between the two people that were supposed to mean the most to you in your sad, pathetic life. What beautiful words she spoke. How endearing he was. It made you nauseous and horny all at the same time. It was the first time in a long time you had felt for something so deeply. You had your options: you could break up with her, you could cut his dick off, you could tell all of their friends (your only social circle), but all of this would end up further embarrassing you. So you keep reading and you don’t stop.

The thing is, it wasn’t even anything she said to him directly that made you want to curl up into a ball and never see the light of day again. No, it was the things she couldn’t bear to tell him that made you want to die. It was the things that made her feel shy, and vulnerable, this same woman who you thought never had a single fear, scared to be completely open with this man, your best friend. Her deepest, darkest thoughts she reserved only for HER waspy know-it-all best friend, the nail in the coffin that sealed your hopes of ever having a normal, loving relationship with the woman that was supposed to be yours.

When she told her best friend that she thinks of his face when she fucks you, the blood drains from your face and goes straight to your dick. Your brain wants to die but your dick feels more alive than it’s ever been. What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re never able to get it up like this when she’s on top of you, attempting to ride the pathetic appendage you’ve tried so hard to control but can never manage to take the reigns on. It had a mind of it’s own and it chooses to be hard at the thought of her thinking of him. So fucking pathetic.

How could you break up with her, knowing what you know now? Understanding that this is the only way you’ll ever truly be able to feel anything, your place as a trusty stead to her while she fucks her white knight: your best friend. You can’t even be mad at him. All you do is get erect. Blush like a fucking idiot. It’s almost as if you get harder for him than you do for her. Shut up, brain.

It’s easier to play dumb. To act like you don’t know what the fuck is going on when you know exactly what she’s thinking about when she cums. Not you. Him. Only him. You were just a tool to get to who she really wants, and if you’re gauging how upset you are based on how hard it’s made you, you’re not really mad now, are you?