A Dream Come True Ch. 03 - Sex Stories

A Dream Come True Ch. 03

... at her. "And that's bullshit, Emma, and you know it! Every man you've ever dated has dumped you, cheated on you, or used you." He ticked off a finger for each example he came up with. "Remember that Russian guy that you only knew for three months? The one that proposed to you and you accepted without hesitation? Where was the Emma that sits before me now, the one with a better head on her shoulders, master of her own fuckin' destiny, capable of making all the right decisions and never ever being wrong?"

"Fuck you." She mumbled, barely able to be heard over even the low drone of the TV behind him, looking away from him. Her brows were furrowed in something akin to anger, and she seemed equal parts infuriated and sad. "At least I've had people that care about me." She turned her gaze back to him. "All you do is fuck women and work in that dead end job! How many women actually give a shit about you, Mike? Huh? How many women genuinely love you? Shit, give me the name of even one person!"

That stung. He frowned, not just simply because she was right, but also because he had thought that she loved him, or at least cared about him. His own eyebrows furrowed now, and he struggled to find the words for a few moments. He was genuinely at a loss, not just on what to say, but also on how to feel.

"I thought you did, at the very least. That like, if no-one else in my life gave a shit, at least you did. Guess I was wrong." Mike didn't want to stay there anymore, at least, not ...

... while Emma was there. He didn't have anywhere he could immediately think to go, but that didn't stop him from grabbing his keys, throwing on his sandals, and turning to leave. "You can stay as long as you want." Worse than actually leaving Emma behind was the fact that she didn't even try to stop him. He climbed into his vehicle and drove. It was one of those kinds of drives where he felt like he was on auto-pilot while lost in thought, and he wasn't sure how long he'd driven before his thoughts caught up to him.

Mike had remembered that his parents still had their old childhood home that was left largely unused most of the time, a place he had the keys to. It wasn't a spectacularly large home, but it'd at least give him a place to stay for a while. Driving there took longer than he'd hoped it would, but soon, he pulled into the driveway and climbed out of his vehicle. It was exactly as he remembered it growing up: a one-story family home in a generally boring cul de sac, surrounded by similarly designed homes that were all almost indistinguishable from one another, besides the occasional negligible design difference on the outside.

His parent's summer home was painted a sunny kind of yellow, with the weird brown clay tiled rooftop, and the yard was neatly trimmed. No decorations could be found, and that was largely because of the HOA of the neighborhood demanding it, stifling any kind of creativity or originality that might set the homes apart. The only thing that stood ...