Odessa on Roger

The truth about Roger is that he sincerely believes that his shit don’t stink. News flash, Darling, your shit smelled exactly like that of just about any other man. Sure, you were attractive. Yes, he had an incredibly hot body and a perfectly proportioned package. Indeed, he was an amazingly skilled lover. He could sing better than Sinatra. He could make me orgasm on the dance floor. Yes, yes, and yes.

Goddess knows he damn sure knew all of that.

Roger’s biggest fan is and always was always Roger himself.

He’s got some damn nerve to whine about me cheating on him. Hello, he was a married forty year old man who bedded a sixteen year old girl. I have no illusions that I was his first, nor his last. Him having a wife at home entitled me to look elsewhere on occasion.

Really? Was I supposed to sit there all alone in that miserable tiny Florida apartment while he was off in New Jersey twiddling his thumbs of working out this so-called divorce? A girl has needs. Urges. Desires.

Up until the day he dumped me a little over two years after our fun filled tryst, I always picked him first. I always would have went to him first. Always. At least until I fell for my Beloved. Then it was, adios, Roger and hello true love.

Funny how Roger claims he loved me when he is absolutely right that I was nothing more to him than a pretty accessory. I was his pretty red haired eye candy that he toted out when he needed to impress his peers and fans. He loved me about as much as he loved that pretty gold belt he wore around his waist as world champion. Oh, wait, he did love being the champion. I believe my Beloved referred to him at the time as a, “Belt Mark”. Maybe he was an Odessa Mark as well.

Don’t get me wrong, it was fun while it lasted, and I was always up for an occasional return roll in the hay. It’s just, don’t go making declarations of love when I know exactly what you did. The whole world will know it soon enough.

If you would like to check out a couple of tales of our sordid triangle of lust please give the following stories a whirl:

Under My Skin

The Lady Is Tramp

 

 

 

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