Sassy's Love Triangle

Sassy’s boyfriend lives three time zones away. At night she lies awake, naked, pressing her thighs together while he talks to her in a soft voice over the phone. The miles between them sit like a stone in her belly. Her favorite toy—bright pink, expensive, used to do the job—now sits in the drawer with dead batteries. One afternoon she calls her friend, pacing in the kitchen, lower belly tight, voice low and irritated. “I’m climbing the walls,” she says. “I don’t want to cheat, but I can’t turn it off.” Her friend doesn’t miss a beat. “Picture him coming through the door right now. Smell his skin, the mix of airport and flight. He grabs you hard, pushes your back against the fridge, spreads you with two fingers and lets you feel how wet you already are. He teases—doesn’t give it to you yet. He watches. You shake. When he finally fucks you you’re loud enough the neighbors hear, and the second you come you know it won’t be enough.” Sassy exhales hard through her nose, thighs trembling against the cabinet edge. “I’m trying not to think about any of that,” she says. Her friend laughs once, short. “Then stop calling me while you’re horny.”