Caught in a Chase

26 - Ready To Blow

I have a much thicker skin now than I use to, but shit people say still bothers me more than it should. And talking shit combined with betrayal makes me crazy angry. How do some people not understand fucking loyalty?

I had been boiling with rage all day, keeping it contained for the most part. Although the studio would need at least one new chair.

I texted Chelsea several times hours ago and hadn't received a reply yet. Why the fuck were we back to this? As soon as I got home I collapsed on the couch and called her.

"Hello?"

She sounded out of breath. Not answering my texts and now breathing hard on top of everything else set my anger lose.

"Where the fuck have you been?"

"What?" Chelsea asked.

"Ya too busy to text me back?"

"Remember there's a three hour time difference between us," she said.

"I know that! So what?"

"It's a little after 5:00 pm here, I just got home from work. I was in meetings all afternoon and didn't have my phone. I'm sorry, I couldn't return your texts."

I felt bad for being a dick, but couldn't stop myself. All the day's anger was spilling out.

"Yeah, I guess the guys at work are more important 'cause I'm so far away."

"That's not true."

"How many have asked you out?" I asked, my insecurities running rampant.

There was silence on the line.

"How many?" I yelled. She'd better not lie to me. I knew it was at least one.

"One," she said finally.

"Great. So you're only fucking around on me with one dude. Well that's alright then. Not a total slut yet."

Seemed like I'd had this same conversation so many times over the years. I angrily waited for Chelsea to explode and start accusing me of cheating on her. I was ready for the familiar battle.

"How was your day?" she asked.

"What?"

"Your day, how did it go?" she asked.

"It sucked," I snarled. "Don't change the fucking subject."

"Why did it suck?"

"Fucking bastard's using me," I muttered.

In the end, I wound up telling her about the talented new artist I'd signed a while ago. He seemed cool, I'd featured on a few of his songs and we had his debut album almost finished. But a friend in the industry had called to say the guy was trashing me, planned to use my fame to make his own name. Even sent me cell phone video of the guy going off on me. The betrayal stung.

"Fuck. Can't believe I let the guy use me like that!" I swore.

"That isn't on you," Chelsea said.

"Of course it is!" I yelled.

"No, it isn't. Just because you put it all on your shoulders doesn't make it yours to carry."

"I fucked up," I said.

"How? By giving a new artist a chance? Helping with his debut album? What exactly did you fuck up? Nothing. He's the prick who fucked up. Don't take responsibility for his shitty actions. It's not on you."

I thought about that. She was right, he'd fucked up. I hadn't actually done anything wrong. But I still felt bad.

"I feel bad," I sighed.

"Then feel because he was a dick to you. But it's not your fault he's a dick. You can't make someone not a dick if they're a dick."

"I can dick someone, but I can't undick someone," I nodded, scribbling down the words in my notebook on the coffee table. 

"And he might have betrayed you, but I haven't," Chelsea said softly. "I turned down the guy at work who asked me out. And I'm sorry I couldn't return your texts today when you were having such a bad day."

I closed my eyes and felt like a complete asshole. "Sorry. I shouldn't have taken my shit out on you."

"If I was there, I'd happily let you take it out on my ass," she laughed. "But it's not quite the same on the phone."

"Yeah. I wish you were here," I said and changed the subject before I said more. "How was your day?"

"Ugh. A lot of hand-holding and negotiating with a department to make sure they comply with the City's legal obligations," she sighed.

"Sounds fun," I said, half listening as I wondered about the guy.

"Nope. Just listening to myself say things like 'I see your point however' makes me want to kick my own ass," she laughed.

"Who's the guy?" I asked. "The one that asked you out?"

She hesitated before asking, "Does it matter?"

"Not really. Just curious about the competition," I said, trying to keep my tone light.

"He works in the Communications department. He's funny, we joke around and occasionally go for lunch. That's it."

"I guess he has a college degree," I muttered.

Why was I asking about this today, of all days? Like I needed to feel stupider after being duped by that new artist.

Chelsea never made a big deal of her various degrees but I was aware of the immense gap between us, never having finished the ninth grade. It was a huge source of insecurity for me. The thought of this guy sniffing around and being better suited to Chelsea wasn't helping.

"Yes. Can't remember in what though," she said. "Not that it matters."

"Yeah right," I snorted.

"Intelligence is more important than education Marshall," she said.

"Same difference," I said.

"They're hugely different! Education is degrees and other pieces of paper. Intelligence is the capacity for understanding and applying knowledge," Chelsea explained. "Take you for example. Are you educated? No. Are you intelligent? Absolutely. You don't accomplish all that you have in life without being very intelligent."

"I suppose..." I said, but inside I was riding high. I hadn't been called intelligent very often in my life.

"And he's not your competition. You don't have any," she laughed. "I'm so crazy about you no one else even registers."

"Good. Because you're mine," I growled, her words easing my jealousy somewhat. "He better keep his hands off you."

"What are you wearing?" she asked suddenly, lightening the mood.

"I think I'm suppose to ask you that," I laughed.

"Then the answer's about to be almost nothing. I need to change out of work clothes into some jeans. Hold on, I'm going to put the phone down for a sec."

"No! Just take off your work clothes."

"Why?" she asked.

"Cause I need some textual relations, some phonication," I said.

"How long have you been waiting to use those?" she laughed.

"They're good, right?"

I got up and headed to my bedroom, closing the door. I tugged my sweat pants and boxers down before lying back on the bed.

"What are you wearing right now?" I asked as I gave my semi-hard dick a pull.

"Bra and panties. The light blue matching ones you like."

"Take off the bra," I ordered.

"Okay bra is off," Chelsea said. "And I'm lying down on my bed."

"Good. Lick your fingers and then pinch your nipple. Hard. Pretend it's my mouth."

"It's a poor substitute for you," she murmured as she did.

"Happy to hear that," I smiled. "Reach between your legs. Are you wet?"

"Don't even need to check. When you talk in that lower tone of voice I'm always wet," she sighed.

That inflated my male ego and hardened my dick. I continued to stroking myself as I pictured her.

"Take off your panties."

"Okay. I'm naked and really wishing you were here," she whispered.

"Me too baby," I said and I ran my tongue over my lips. "Are you touching yourself?"

"Yes," she said. "Are you?"

"Yes," I said. "Move your fingers faster and tell me what you wish I was doing to ya."

I heard her breathing get heavy.

"Many things... The sexy, dirty things you say turn me on so much. I love the way you feel moving inside me, especially from behind. And your tongue on my clit blows my mind."

I was getting close.

"I'm rock hard and wishin' I was sliding into that sweet pussy. Are you close baby?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"I want you to pinch your clit and imagine me using my teeth. Imma make you feel so good next time I see you. Hit that pussy so hard you feel me for days afterwards, every time you move."

"Marshall! I ..." she gasped and then moaned.

I pictured her cumming and groaned as I exploded in my hand.

"Mmmmm," Chelsea sighed and I imagined her smiling and curling onto her side, as she usually did.

"I wish you were here with me. I miss you," I whispered, feeling like a pussy.

"Me too," she said. "But I'll see you soon."

"Yeah not soon enough," I growled, looking down at my hand. "I gotta clean up."

"Okay. Thanks for the happy ending."

"Anytime," I smiled. "Good night."

I hung up the phone and cleaned myself off, feeling a million times better than I had all day.