Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS writer.
This is not my story and I do feel a bit guilty I‘m compelled to tell it at every opportunity. It’s cringe-worthy! Do you like uncomfortable stories? Maybe this doesn’t take the cake but I like telling it for the looks of unpleasant shock and disgust it generates. So here goes. Sorry Annalisa, it doesn’t change the fact you are a home wrecking slut.
About three months ago my old high school buddies Brian and Chris came to Sydney where I was living at the time to launch a new video-editing program their company is flogging throughout Australia. They booked out a double story, bluestone bar in Surry Hills and served free booze to hundreds of industry guys. Guys that promised to be in contact on Monday to buy some gear off them after the hangovers had subsided. Brian and Chris took the opportunity to book a penthouse in the Meriton in the World Tower for the private after party. Of course I was invited, they were my long time friends from Melbourne, I wanted to hang out, drink free booze and meet some guys. It worked for them too, they wanted me around as a pretty face in a room full of flirty, horny, drunk men.
Brian and Chris are both married. Brian has been for about ten years and has two lovely kids. Chris has been married for about three years and is expecting his first baby early next year. Both wonderfully devoted family guys, dedicated and committed to their families. But Brian has always complained of feeling disconnected to his wife, Annalisa. What a stupid fucking name is has and she is the type of person who will correct you if you use just Anna or just Lisa.
“Oh, I prefer Annalisa honey.” She would gush if anyone got it wrong. All this emphasis did was make everyone roll their eyes when they added on the lisa part.
Brian has felt anxiety and depression in regards to her perceived infidelity and spent thousands of dollars and hundreds of hours in counseling sessions where she would hold his hand and sob,
“Baby, I love you. Nothing can ever come between us. Look at our beautiful children, look at our wonderful house, our trips. We have everything why would you ruin this with all your doubt. I am one hundred percent committed to you and I have no idea how to convince my baby otherwise.”
Brian complained of this to me over coffees and lunch for almost a decade and it was honestly getting to the point if I heard “something’s not right,” one more fucking time I was going to lose my shit. I am seriously sick of hearing about his anxiety and depression and not a way I choose to spend my afternoons. To be honest it makes me want to avoid him. But he is a beloved friend and I will reluctantly be their for him… I suppose. Honestly, It’s getting harder to bear. I am only human.
Anyway, this story is about Annalisa and Brian, not me. The next morning after the launch party I woke up way too early with the sun shining into my luxury penthouse room on the 77th floor overlooking the city. I would say from my bed the view was amazing but to be honest at first, all I saw was sky and planes flying into Sydney’s Kingford Smith in the distance. I hadn’t the foresight in my drunken stupor the night before to close the blinds. But the glare woke me and my throbbing dehydrated brain from all the boutique 9% Moon Dog beer Chris insisted everyone drank.
As I lurched out of the bed and fumbled around the penthouse opening doors I eventually found the bathroom. It smelt like lavender, the towels were fluffy and freshly folded and all that was about to change the moment I lifted the toilet seat and began spewing into the bowl, under the seat and on the floor. Of all the places I’ve deposited the contents of the night before drinks, this would have to be the most pleasant. On the counter reflected in the spotless mirror were about three bottles of water for $4 each and even though there was a glass on the counter and a basin fitted correctly with a tap, I ripped off the lid and gulped down my luxury water. Living the high-life, I was.
I closed the door behind me, fingers crossed no one would notice the fowl stench I’d left behind before looking down the hall and living room with zero recollection of which room I’d come from or how I’d gotten there in the first place. I made a silent vow to myself this is the last time I drink alcohol and at almost 40 it is hardly becoming of a woman to sleep in her party dress, stockings and a full face of makeup. No wonder I am still single.
I opened one door that I assumed I’d come out of, to see sitting on the side of the bed Brian sitting hunched over, face in hands sobbing. This was not any old sob, his large 6ft2 frame was heaving and drops of snot were dripping through his fingers onto the floor. I ran over to the bed and put both my hands around his torso and we fell onto the king sized bed in an embrace. He lay there in my arms catatonic for about twenty minutes. I said nothing to him, not wanting to hear anything awful that my brain was assuming. My hangover was already wreaking havoc on my brain, this was not time for bad news. Had his children been injured? Was Annalisa dead? Is he bankrupt? Does he have cancer? I didn’t want to ask, but I knew at some point he was going to have to speak.
“You don’t have to tell me what’s happened? But, you do have to tell me if you want me to cancel your appointments today and organize your flights back to Melbourne.”
I’m not even a PA for him, I was just hoping I could concern myself with those details instead of having to listen to whatever trauma he was facing. I need to process too, you know. I was in no state for heavy shit right now.
“That fucking slut. I knew it, I’ve known for years she is a fucked up, sadistic whorebag that is just using me for my money. She fucked me and I am fucking going to destroy her.”
That was when I let go of him and sat up straight. This was a side of Brian I hadn’t seen, and I thought I was about to find myself defending her yet again for the millionth time.
“She loves you Brian, she is the mother of your two beautiful kids. We all have stress and feel distant at times. You have to have faith in her. Please don’t do this anymore.”
It was at that point he reached down to the floor, opened up his notebook and put it on my lap, screen pointing at my face. What I saw confused me. It was a picture of her torso to her upper thighs, large plump tits, one of which cupped by a kneading hand, somewhat shapely abdomen, kneeling with her legs apart and her fingers buried deep into her … well, you get the idea.
“Far out – WOW. Too sexy? A lot of guys, er… husbands, would be turned on by such an adventurous wife.”
“Look again, Amber”
I didn’t want to, I already felt uncomfortable. Of course, I’ve sent nudie pictures to boyfriends and things like that. Snapchat is a great app for that purpose. But, I don’t want to see private sexy pictures that are meant for someone else in this case.
‘Fucking look again!”
I reluctantly did and this time on closer inspection in the corner was a picture, much smaller of another torso. A male torso with a long, hard, black cock in
it’s hands. Clearly, Brian is anglo and not his cock and suddenly it dawned on me this was a screenshot of a Skype chat. I pushed the computer away from me like that cock in the picture was about to spray me with unrequited cum.
“I don’t understand what you are showing me. What is that..? Do I even want to know…? It’s not fucking right that I can see Annalisa’s body like that. It’s not right to show that shit to people.”
Brian was sobbing harder now.
“I did the wrong thing. Yesterday, morning before the taxi collected me I put a keylog on her computer. I know it’s wrong, but I knew something wasn’t right.”
“What does a keylog do Brian?” I was stumped, scratching my head, feeling nauseous.
“It recorded every key she pressed, every sentence and every paragraph, every click and takes periodic screen shots of her computer, collated it all and sent it to me as an email this morning.”
My heart was pounding,
“And this is what you found?”
My mind was racing, had she done the wrong thing? Is that technically an affair? Did she know the guy? Is Brian a cunt for putting that keything on her computer?
“The moment I left the fucking house, that bitch logged onto dozens of chat rooms, she told random men she wanted to “cam”. She had a fucking marathon. One after another – non fucking stop. I didn’t read all of it but just from the pictures alone, she webcam fucked about eight or nine guys, probably more. A fucking marathon! How many times does the bitch have to get off in one night? I want to fuck, but she doesn’t want me, she wants to finger herself with these headless torsos.”
“Eight or Nine guys since last night?” That seemed excessive to me, what woman wants to cum that many times.
We sat in stunned silence for ages. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. After a lot of contemplation at some point it made me think that this is not really an affair but some sort of compulsion. Maybe it’s a symptom of a bigger problem. She doesn’t look like the kinky type. She sews for goodness sakes!
I booked Brian’s flight back home to Melbourne. That night he told her he was going to leave her and moved in with his mum. He left the kids with her.
I wanted to take the time to talk to her about what happened but couldn’t move past the thought that I had seen a picture of her fingering herself.
She killed herself about a week later.
I’m sorry Annalisa. Maybe this story isn’t about you anymore. I have to tell everyone because I’m dealing with the loss of you. I am so fucking mad with you, but I suppose I love you and miss you more. Maybe this is your legacy. A shit one but too bad.
Love Amber.