Still, Mom let me get away with it. She let me check her out for the longest time yet and when I was finished and stepped back, I thought that Mom's nipples looked more stimulated than when I had started but I couldn't be sure because Mom closed her nightgown quickly. When she leaned forward to kiss me, she whispered, "I guess I'm ready for your father, now." Those words reverberated around my skull for hours that night, 'ready for your father now'. Was she teasing me? I pictured her presenting her stiff nipples to my father, nipples I had prepared, the lucky bastard. I strained my ears for the sound of love-making but I didn't hear anything definitive which both pleased and disappointed me. Eventually, I satisfied myself by rubbing my dick until I spilled my seed in my shorts. ---------------------------------------The next day, Mom wore the old designer jeans again, topped by a loose shirt. The shirt had been buttoned right up until Dad left for work but when Mom returned from. The only thing in the world was Phoebe, quietly moaning beneath me.It wasn’t Phoebe though. She didn’t exist the same way Kat didn’t exist.The only thing about her that existed was the game.I realised that when I woke up the next morning, my wallet lying next to me where she’d been.She didn’t care about the car, or the wallet, or me.She cared about the game.And Kat always won the game.Kat became my muse.She was the voice in the back of my head, the person I spoke to when it was quiet, and I was alone.Her email address became my diary.I know it sounds a little sad, but she was my best friend. The first person I’d turn to if I needed advice and the only one I’d share my inner thoughts and feeling with.Sometimes I felt like a twenty-eight-year-old with a fucking imaginary friend.Don’t get me wrong though, she was a friend.She wrote back.Not as much as I wrote her, and she never shared her thoughts or actions. Hell, she never talked about herself, but somehow, she always knew just what to.
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