Wild Things
Copyright© 2024 by afrsed
Chapter 15: Corruption and craving
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 15: Corruption and craving - Torn apart from her boyfriend due to fate, Claire attempts to rebuild her life, constantly pulled towards the bad influence lurking next door. This is a story of corruption, dark desires, and cuckolding.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Blackmail Coercion Consensual Drunk/Drugged NonConsensual Reluctant Heterosexual Fiction Cheating Cuckold BDSM DomSub MaleDom Humiliation Rough Sadistic Anal Sex First Masturbation Oral Sex Voyeurism AI Generated
The couch springs creaked as he stood. His footsteps were uneven, punctuated by the rustle of fabric as he shoved his shorts down. Claire focused on a water stain bleeding through the ceiling plaster above the bed, its edges feathering out like a Rorschach blot. Her thighs trembled slightly as she widened her stance, the stretch pulling at tender muscles.
A warm palm slapped against her ass cheek once, twice, leaving stinging heat in its wake. Claire’s fingernails dug into the mattress cover, her body rocking forward with each impact. She heard Gary spit into his palm, the wet sound loud in the stagnant air between them. His fingers probed her roughly, testing her readiness, and Claire exhaled sharply through her nose when one slid in to the knuckle without resistance.
The bathroom door locked with a quiet click, the only defiance Alex could afford after his mother’s pointed remarks about “open door policies” and “nothing to hide.” The shower ran to mask any suspicious sounds, steam curling around his hunched shoulders as he perched on the closed toilet lid. His phone glowed unnaturally bright against the tiles, casting jagged shadows up his forearms where goosebumps prickled despite the humid heat.
Cuckfinder900’s last message stared back at him: She’s fucking someone else right now. You know it. Alex’s thumb hovered over the keyboard, nail bitten down to the quick. The shower spray pounded against the plastic curtain, drowning out the sound of his shaky exhale as he typed: How do you know?
The backspace key clicked louder than usual under Alex’s thumb, seven precise taps to erase the damning question. His reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror looked gaunt under the bathroom’s fluorescent glare, the shadows under his eyes bluish like old bruises. Steam fogged the glass in uneven patches as he retyped slower this time, each letter a deliberate press: How do I know that’s happening at all? She’s in another town and I can’t go.
The shower’s spray hit the tiles at an angle that sent ricocheting droplets onto his phone screen. Alex wiped it against his thigh, smearing the water into oily streaks that distorted the forum’s garish red banner. Three dots pulsed mockingly, Cuckfinder900 typing a response Alex already knew would carve itself into his sternum like a dull knife.
The reply came back fast, too fast, like the guy had been waiting with his finger hovering over the send button just to twist the knife deeper: Can’t go meet her? No money for it? Lmao, you’re not even a real boyfriend, you’re her pity project. The words glowed malignant under the bathroom’s humming fluorescents. Alex’s thumbs cramped around the phone, tendons standing out like guitar strings tuned too tight. Steam condensed on the screen, blurring the letters until they looked like they were bleeding.
He wiped it clean with a jerky motion, thumb smearing the condensation in a wide arc. The shower’s spray had gone lukewarm, needling his shoulders with uneven pressure. His teeth ground together hard enough to make his jaw ache. Fuck you, he typed, then deleted. I’ve fucked her in plenty of places, he tried instead, fingers jamming the keys. Small lies. Another backspace spree, too defensive, too revealing. The plastic toilet seat creaked under his shifting weight.
The phone buzzed again in Alex’s palm, not Cuckfinder900 this time, but his mother’s contact photo flashing up with Dinner’s ready beneath it. He stared at the notification until the screen dimmed, the shower’s spray cooling further against his back. His thumb hovered over the power button, temptation coiling in his gut like a rattler ready to strike. One press. Just one. Silence the taunting glow, the phantom vibrations, the way his pulse jumped every time the screen lit up with anything but Claire’s name.
The shower’s spray turned icy without warning, a final indignity that made Alex flinch so hard his elbow cracked against the tile. He let the phone clatter to the floor, screen-up, where Cuckfinder900’s latest message pulsed like a live wire: Ask her to video chat right now. Bet she won’t pick up.
Gary’s breath was hot against Claire’s ear, his fingers digging into her hips hard enough to leave crescent-shaped welts. “he don’t know when to stop does he?” he asked, thrusting deeper as if punctuating the question. The phone screen dimmed again, then lit up with another buzz, Alex’s desperation vibrating against Gary’s palm.
The mattress springs shrieked beneath Claire’s knees as Gary rocked into her with a grunt, his free hand fumbling to keep Alex’s pleading calls in view. Her cheek pressed against the sour-smelling sheets, her vision tunneling on the water stain overhead, its edges now blurring with each jarring thrust. The phone buzzed again, the vibration skittering across Gary’s thigh where it brushed against hers.
The buzzing stopped. Claire watched the phone’s glow fade from Gary’s grip as he tossed it onto the mattress near her outstretched hand, close enough to touch, far enough that reaching for it would require acknowledging its existence. Her fingers twitched against the damp sheets.
The phone buzzed again, three short bursts against the mattress like a dying insect. Claire counted each vibration through the fabric, her breath syncing with Gary’s ragged grunts above her. His hips stuttered against her ass in uneven rhythm, sweat dripping from his chin onto the small of her back. The screen lit up briefly, casting a blue glow over her splayed fingers before fading to black.
The phone buzzed a fourth time, longer this time, insistent. Claire’s fingers twitched again, nails scraping against the mattress cover. She didn’t reach for it. Gary’s laugh was a hot puff against her shoulder blade, damp with exertion. “Pathetic. Broke up with the guy did you?,” he muttered, thrusting harder as if to emphasize the word. His fingers dug into her hips, leveraging her body like a tool. The phone screen lit up once more, Missed call: Alex, before going dark again.
The phone buzzed again, a final, feeble vibration that barely stirred the mattress fibers. Claire watched it through the curtain of her own sweat-damp hair, her vision fracturing into prismatic slivers with each of Gary’s thrusts. The screen stayed dark this time. No text preview. No caller ID. Just the silent, rectangular weight of abandonment pressing into the stained sheets.
The shower’s pipes groaned as Alex twisted the faucet shut, his breath fogging the mirror in erratic bursts. His phone lay face-up on the sink, dark now, stubbornly silent despite the seventeen missed calls. The towel rasped against his skin like sandpaper as he scrubbed at his arms, the friction turning his forearms pink. A bead of water trailed down his temple, following the same path his thumbnail had dug earlier when Cuckfinder900’s messages had metastasized behind his eyelids.
The thought hit Alex like a gut-punch, sudden, sickening, leaving him hunched over the bathroom sink with his knuckles whitening around the porcelain. His reflection wavered in the steam-fogged mirror, eyes bloodshot as the words echoed in his skull: She didn’t answer. The digital clock on the microwave downstairs had read 11:37 when he’d passed it. Claire used to text him until 2AM, her insomnia scrolling through memes and Wikipedia rabbit holes. Now? His thumb hovered over her contact photo, a candid shot of her laughing with ice cream dripping down her wrist, before swiping up to their last messages. Read. No reply.
The shower dripped behind him, each plink against the tub syncing with the pulsing vein in Alex’s temple. He knew her routines. Knew she hated sleeping before midnight, knew she’d once facetimed him while brushing her teeth just to complain about her woes at finding a job. Now? Radio silence. His thumb mashed against the call button again before he could stop himself, the ringing tone vibrating through his skull like a drill bit. One ring. Two. On the third, his imagination supplied the image, Claire’s phone buzzing facedown on some motel nightstand, the screen glowing beneath a tangle of discarded clothes while a stranger’s hands...
Alex killed the call with a jerk of his wrist. The phone slipped from his sweaty grip, clattering against the tiles near his discarded boxers. He stared at it, breath coming in sharp bursts through his nose. The screen lit up with a notification, not Claire, but Cuckfinder900’s latest taunt: She’s getting railed right now and look at you, you’re probably jerking off in your mom’s bathroom. His stomach lurched. The truth of it coiled around his ribs like barbed wire, his own arousal straining against his towel, betraying him as thoroughly as Claire’s silence.
The phone buzzed against Claire’s thigh where Gary had shoved it, not Alex this time, but Vincent’s name flashing across the screen like a warning. Gary’s rhythm stuttered as he craned to see, his grip tightening on her hips. “Fuck,” he panted, “you’re popular tonight.” His next thrust knocked the phone onto the floor with a plastic clatter, screen-up where Claire could see Vincent’s text preview: We are expecting you back before midnight Claire.
The phone screen dimmed, then died, Vincent’s message lingering like a ghost in Claire’s peripheral vision. Gary’s fingers dug into her hips hard enough to leave bruises that would bloom purple by morning. His thrusts lost their rhythm, becoming erratic as his attention fractured between Claire’s body and the discarded phone. “You gonna answer Daddy?” he sneered, the words slurred with exertion.
The phone screen flashed alive again, Vincent’s follow-up text lighting up the grimy floorboards with clinical brightness: Don’t keep us waiting. Claire’s breath hitched, her fingers curling into the mattress as Gary’s hips snapped forward with renewed force, his laughter vibrating against her spine.
Claire’s fingers trembled as they closed around the phone, the cold metal edge biting into her palm. She lifted it slowly, pressing the damp screen to her ear. “I told mom I’m at Rachel’s,” she whispered, the lie thick on her tongue.
Gary stilled behind her, his hips pausing mid-thrust. Claire felt the hot drip of precum slide down the small of her back as he ground himself against her without entering, the swollen head of his cock dragging through slick that wasn’t entirely his own. The phone’s speaker crackled, Vincent’s exhale sharp enough to cut through the ambient noise of Amanda’s television in the background.
“You do know the phone we gave you has location sensors. Right?” Vincent’s voice mirrored her whisper, a serpentine hiss that slithered down her spine. The mattress creaked as Gary shifted his weight, his free hand sliding up to clamp over Claire’s mouth. His fingers smelled of sweat and the onion rings they’d eaten hours ago.
Claire’s nostrils flared against Gary’s palm and she hastened to put the phone to he ear as Vincent continued, each word measured and soft like a blade being unsheathed slowly: “I don’t expect our toys to be out playing without permission.” A pause, the distant clink of glass against glass as Amanda poured herself another drink in the other room. “Get your ass back in here before I have to come find you.”
The call disconnected with a quiet click. Gary removed his hand from Claire’s mouth, his fingers leaving damp prints on her cheek where they’d pressed too hard. She could taste salt and the ghost of his fingerprints on her lips. The phone screen dimmed, then went black, reflecting nothing but the water stain on the ceiling and Claire’s own hollow-eyed stare.
The phone slipped from Claire’s fingers, bouncing once on the mattress before landing screen-up, a black mirror reflecting Gary’s smirk back at her. He exhaled through his nose, a sound like steam escaping a radiator, and pulled out of her with an obscenely wet noise. Claire didn’t move. Didn’t cover herself. Just stared at the water stain overhead as Gary’s sweat dripped onto the small of her back, tracing the same path Vincent’s belt had taken last month.
“I need to go,” Claire said, her voice flat and hollow against the mattress. The words tasted like wet cardboard in her mouth. “Can you drop me off?”
Gary’s fingers stilled on her hip, his thumb pressing into a fresh bruise. The silence stretched between them, thick with the scent of sweat and the metallic tang of old blood where his nails had broken skin. Outside, a car alarm wailed three streets over, short bursts of noise that synced with the throbbing between Claire’s legs.
“Thought you didn’t have a place to stay? Daddy’s in town for his baby girl?” Gary quipped, his dick popping back inside her with a wet squelch that made Claire’s stomach lurch. He wasn’t willing to let go when he was so close, she could feel the twitch of his cock pulsing inside her, the way his hips stuttered forward like a faulty piston. His fingers dug into the bruises on her hips, leveraging her body backward onto him as if she were nothing more than a fleshlight with a heartbeat.
“Please, I need to be back before he comes looking, “ Claire’s words were drowned out mid-sentence by Gary’s hand clamping over her mouth, his fingers digging into her jaw hard enough to make her teeth ache. He stilled inside her, his breath hot and ragged against the nape of her neck. “You’re such a fucking cocktease,” he growled, the words vibrating through her spine as his hips jerked forward without warning, forcing a muffled whimper from her throat.
Alex’s phone buzzed against the bathroom tiles, three sharp vibrations that sent it skittering toward the drain. Cuckfinder900’s message glared up at him like a spotlight on a prison yard: Didn’t answer did she? The words pulsed in time with Alex’s jugular. His thumb hovered over the screen, casting a wavering shadow over the next line: They don’t answer when they’re face down, pointing their asses up in the air and waiting.
The shower’s last droplets pattered against his shoulders as he crouched to retrieve the phone, his knees popping like dry twigs. Steam curled around his wrists when he typed Fuck off, then erased it, too weak, too transparent. His reflection in the fogged mirror looked gaunt, lips peeling back from gritted teeth as Cuckfinder900’s next volley landed: You do badly want to find out what she’s up to. Don’t you?
Alex’s thumbs cramped around the phone. The truth coiled in his gut like barbed wire, his own erection tenting the towel at his hips, betraying him as thoroughly as Claire’s silence. He inhaled through his nose, catching the sour tang of his own sweat beneath the soap’s artificial citrus. Outside the bathroom door, his mother’s slippered feet shuffled across the linoleum, three steps, a pause, three steps back. Waiting.
The phone buzzed again. Alex flipped it face-down against his thigh, but not before catching the preview: it might not be that bad either, maybe shes just giving him the good old blowie. His pulse jumped, a traitorous throb beneath his ribs. He pictured Claire’s mouth stretched around some faceless dick, her hair tangled in another man’s fingers, the image crystal clear despite never having seen her give head. His towel tightened.
Alex’s fingers trembled over the screen, the reply sending before he could second-guess the impulse: So what do you want me to do? The three dots pulsed immediately, Cuckfinder900 typing with the eagerness of a vulture spotting fresh carrion.
The reply came back like a gut-punch: you could give up on her. Find another. Someone who will wait a few months before she repeats the cycle. The words burned through Alex’s retinas, imprinting themselves on the backs of his eyelids when he blinked. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard, half-formed rebuttals dying before they could take shape. A droplet from his damp hair splashed onto the screen, warping Cuckfinder900’s avatar into a grotesque leer.
Alex’s phone screen blurred as another droplet hit the glass, this one warmer, saltier. He blinked hard, realizing only then that his vision had gone watery. The words you haven’t ever fucked someone pulsed like a fresh bruise under his sternum. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard, the tendons in his wrists standing out like suspension cables.
Cuckfinder900’s next message arrived in three rapid-fire bursts: You don’t even know where to begin do you?
Alex exhaled through his nose, a sharp, whistling sound that fogged the screen. His reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror looked hollow-cheeked, the shadows under his eyes purpling like week-old contusions. The shower’s last droplets traced icy paths down his spine as he typed Fuck you with trembling fingers, then erased it. Too juvenile. Too revealing.
The phone buzzed again before he could formulate a better response.
Beginner’s guide:
Three dots pulsed. Alex’s thumbnail found the crescent-shaped indentation it had left earlier in his palm. The reply unfurled like a noose:
The phone screen lit up with a grotesque gleam in the dim bathroom light, Cuckfinder900’s latest message scrolling horizontally like a ticker tape of degradation: Step one: admit she doesn’t want you. Step two: get hard thinking about why. Alex’s thumb spasmed against the power button, killing the screen mid-scroll. The sudden darkness left him staring at his own reflection in the black mirror of the phone’s surface, a distorted face with lips peeled back from clenched teeth.
The phone buzzed against Claire’s thigh, Vincent’s text vibrating through the mattress springs like a live wire. Gary’s grip tightened on her hips, his fingers sinking into bruises already purpling beneath the skin. Claire stared at the ceiling’s water stain, its edges blurring with each shallow breath she took. The phone screen lit up again, Vincent’s message glowing against the sheets: You have twenty minutes.
Gary’s hips jerked forward one final time, his groan muffled against Claire’s shoulder blade as warmth flooded her insides. She felt it, the pulsing, the wet spill, the way his fingers dug into her hips like he was trying to fuse their skeletons together. Her own body clenched around him in a traitorous spasm, drawing another ragged curse from his lips as he emptied himself completely.
The moment Gary pulled out, Claire felt the rush of warmth between her thighs, another violation her body refused to reject. She didn’t move, didn’t wipe herself, just let it trickle down her inner thighs while Gary patted her ass with a wet smack. His zipper’s metallic whine cut through the silence as he tucked himself away, already reaching for the half-empty beer bottle sweating on the nightstand.
“Better hurry, don’t keep daddy waiting,” Gary smirked, wiping his hands on the towel still draped around Claire’s shoulders. The damp fabric clung to her collarbones as she remained kneeling on the mattress, fingers pressing into the indentations his knees had left in the cheap foam.
“I ... I don’t have money for the bus back.” Claire’s whisper barely stirred the stale air between them. Her thighs stuck together with a tacky pull when she shifted, part sweat, part Gary, part the remnants of whatever had spilled from her own gushing wetness.
The phone buzzed in Alex’s hand like a live grenade, Cuckfinder900’s latest message detonating across the screen: Step 3: Learn to listen for her lies. His thumbnail dug into the power button, but the words had already seared into his retinas, She’ll put up a facade. A mask. Prim and proper on the surface, but underneath?
Gary exhaled through his nose, a derisive puff of air that smelled of stale beer and nicotine. His fingers trailed down Claire’s spine, stopping just above the curve of her ass where someone’s belt had left its last raised welt. “Should’ve thought of that before spreading your legs in this part of town,” he murmured, his thumb pressing into the fresh bruise blooming along her hipbone. The mattress springs groaned as he stood, his shadow swallowing Claire’s hunched form whole.
The bathroom tiles bit into Alex’s kneecaps as he crouched over his phone, his reflection warping in the puddle of condensation beneath him. Cuckfinder900’s latest message pulsed like an open wound: She’s trained you well, jumping when she snaps her fingers, whimpering when she withholds. You can’t wait for her messages to pop off in the morning. Gonna send her a good morning text, wait ten hours for her to reply like a good boy? His thumb hovered over the keyboard, tendons standing rigid beneath sweat-slick skin. The reply came unbidden, She hasn’t answered me for a while, sent before he could choke it back.
Claire’s fingers curled into the mattress, the fabric tearing slightly under her nails as Gary’s footsteps retreated toward the dresser. The sound of coins clinking made her stomach twist, the metallic jingle somehow more humiliating than the wetness cooling between her thighs. He tossed a handful of cash and change onto the bedspread beside her hip, the quarters rolling toward her stomach before settling against a fresh bruise.
Claire stared at the coins glinting against her skin, quarters and dimes catching the dim light from Gary’s bedside lamp. They felt cold against the heat of her stomach, the metal edges pressing into fresh bruises. She didn’t reach for them. Just watched as one rolled into the hollow of her navel, balancing there precariously like a grotesque parody of a coin toss deciding her fate.
Had she just been ... paid? Was she now a whore? The thought slithered through Claire’s mind as the quarter in her navel caught the light, flashing silver like Vincent’s belt buckle the night he’d first, no. She blinked, and the coin became just a coin again, sticky with her sweat. Gary’s shadow loomed over her as he zipped his jeans, the sound obscenely loud in the silence.
“You gonna take that or what?” Gary nudged the remaining coins with his toe, sending one spinning off the mattress. It hit the floor with a dull clink, rolling under the dresser where cockroaches probably nested. Claire’s throat tightened. The weight of the quarters against her stomach felt heavier than the cum leaking down her thighs.
The quarter tumbled from Claire’s navel when she finally sat up, landing between her thighs with a muted clink. Gary smirked as she reached for her discarded panties, the lace torn at the waistband from when Gary had yanked them aside hours earlier. She didn’t look at him as she dressed, didn’t acknowledge the way his gaze lingered on the darkening fingerprints around her hips. The coins stuck to her damp skin when she scooped them up, their edges biting into her palm as she clenched her fist.
The door clicked shut before Claire could answer, Gary’s silhouette disappearing behind the peephole’s fisheye lens. Night air bit into her bare arms, raising gooseflesh where Gary’s sweat had cooled against her skin. The quarters in her pocket pressed into her thigh through the thin fabric of her borrowed sweatpants, Gary’s parting gift, tossed at her chest when she’d hesitated at the threshold.
Alex’s thumbs hovered over the cracked screen, the bathroom’s fluorescent light turning his ragged cuticles into pale crescent moons. The cursor blinked accusingly, she’s not anything like you described, his unfinished message suspended between truth and desperation. He exhaled sharply through his nose, watching his breath fog the glass before erasing the words one jerky tap at a time.
The phone buzzed before he could type again, Cuckfinder900’s reply appearing like a spider unfurling from its web: You think she cries for you? Fucks herself thinking of you? The words pulsed in time with Alex’s jugular. His thumb hovered over the keyboard, trembling above the letters that spelled out she used to. The admission would be weaponized instantly, he could already see the mocking response forming in the three bouncing dots.
Outside the bathroom, his mother’s slippered feet paused outside the door. A knuckle rapped lightly against the wood, once, twice, before her voice seeped through the cheap hollow-core barrier: “Alex? Dinner’s getting cold, I’m about to head to sleep.”
The phone screen pulsed in Alex’s grip, Cuckfinder900’s latest message unfurling like a venomous tongue: What if I could find that out for you? The three dots danced beneath the text, taunting him with whatever filth was being crafted next. Alex’s thumb hovered over the power button, his reflection in the black mirror of the screen looking gaunt, hollow-eyed, a stranger wearing his face.
A second message slithered into view: I have methods. Connections. Ways to know what your sweet Claire is really up to. The words coiled around Alex’s windpipe, squeezing until his breath came in shallow hitches. His mother knocked again, three sharp raps that made the bathroom door tremble in its frame. “Alex? I’m calling your father if you don’t answer.”
“Coming!” Alex shouted as he glanced at the mobile. The screen pulsed again, Cuckfinder900’s latest message oozing into view: Give me her number. I’ll know within the hour. His thumb spasmed over the power button, killing the screen mid-sentence. The reflection staring back at him in the black mirror looked feral, eyes bloodshot, lips chapped from biting back responses. He couldn’t trust a stranger. No. He couldn’t. Could he?
The bathroom light flickered as Alex’s thumbs hovered over the screen, his pulse hammering against the phone’s edge where Cuckfinder900’s last message still burned: Give me her number. I’ll know within the hour. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple, tracing the same path it had when Claire last kissed him goodbye at the train station three months ago. His fingers trembled as he typed I don’t even know you, then erased it. Too weak. Too transparent.
Alex’s finger hovered over the send button, the tendons in his wrist standing out like piano wires. The screen’s glow painted his bitten cuticles an eerie blue in the dark bathroom. I don’t even know you stared back at him, the letters vibrating slightly with each tremor in his hands. A drop of sweat fell from his chin onto the screen, warping the words into illegible streaks before evaporating.
The phone screen pulsed with Cuckfinder900’s latest message, the letters burning into Alex’s retinas: Wanna meet? I’ll show you what I can do for you. Don’t chicken out boy. The words dripped with the same mocking condescension Vincent used when he’d cornered Claire at that party last fall, back when Alex still believed he could protect her. His thumb hovered over the keyboard, trembling above the letters that spelled out fuck you, but another knock at the bathroom door scattered his thoughts.
The quarter in Claire’s pocket dug into her thigh with every limping step as she neared the bus stop, its weight absurd against the lightness of Gary’s final insult, Don’t spend it all in one place. The streetlight above her flickered, casting her shadow long and wavering across the cracked pavement like a thing barely tethered to this world. Vincent’s twenty-minute deadline had dwindled to seven, and the night air smelled of rotting garbage from the overflowing dumpster three feet away.
The bus seat’s vinyl stuck to Claire’s thighs, still tacky with Gary’s release, as she pressed her forehead against the vibrating window. The quarters in her pocket dug deeper with each lurch of the vehicle, their edges leaving crescents in her skin through the thin fabric. Vincent’s last text pulsed against her hip like a second heartbeat: 5 min. The streetlights strobed across her face, illuminating the smear of Gary’s saliva drying at the corner of her mouth.
The bus’s brakes screeched as Claire’s stop approached, two blocks early, but she couldn’t risk Vincent seeing her climb off looking like this. Standing near the curb, Claire’s thumb hovered over Alex’s name in her contacts, the screen’s glow painting her bitten nails blue in the laundromat’s sterile light. She’d scrubbed her skin raw in the bathroom sink before leaving, but Gary’s fingerprints still lingered beneath the surface like ink stains. The message draft read why won’t you stop?, four words that could’ve been peeled from her ribs with how deeply they’d lodged there. She deleted it. Rewrote it. Why do you keep calling? Closer, but still not the right question. The real one slithered behind her teeth: Why do you still want me when I can’t stand my own skin?