Sexting with Jamie Pt. 01

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“Hey. I’m bored.” The last thing I had expected today was this message. Jamie. God, how long had it been since we had spoken? At least two years, but probably longer than that. The last time I had spoken to Jamie in person had been to tell him I was seeing someone, Michael. Jamie and I had been on and off all through our twenties. I broke things off the last time just short of my thirtieth birthday. In the time we had known each other we had both dated other people, some serious and some not so much. But we always respected each other’s relationships and would back off from messaging often when we weren’t single. Jamie and I were never destined to be a couple. We had tried twice but we wanted such different things that it was unfair to each other to keep up the pretence.

Even when we first met, I knew I wanted to get married and have kids. Jamie knew he wanted to party, fuck, and live as close to a rock and roll lifestyle as he could. Jamie and I had the same kind of nerdy interests and that fuelled the friendship side of our relationship. We could talk into the small hours about Game of Thrones or debate our favourite character from a whole wealth of fantasy novels. We shared a lot of superficial interests but disagreed on the fundamental things that make a relationship. I was an atheist, he was a northern Irish catholic, though not practicing. He loved party drugs and tripping off his ass with his friends, I was more of three drinks and I’m done kind of girl. But we were both sexually adventurous and trusted each other. We would talk for hours about fantasies and things we wanted to try. Some things we did try, but most were left unchecked on our long list of fantasies.

I had been dating Michael for about a month when I told Jamie I couldn’t see him anymore. Things were starting to get serious with us and it felt dishonest to still be texting Jamie too. He was completely understanding and wished me well. For the first few months of my relationship with Michael we would exchange the occasional friendly message to talk about something we both liked but those faded out after a while. I figured Jamie must have realised things with Michael had gotten serious so just stopped texting. So, when I got his message today, I was more than a little taken aback.

“Hey. I’m bored.” I debated for a long time whether I should or shouldn’t reply to him. I knew what this meant, I had read this text hundreds of times before. It was our shorthand way of checking if the other was still involved or if they were single again. I had just gotten back from a holiday with Michael, and it had been one of the worst weekends I could ever remember. Almost every part of our relationship had been called into question and I doubted there was any way for us to come back really, truly from the fight that had been the climax of our holiday.

“Hey. Me too.” I felt utterly and completely alone. My confidence was at the lowest ebb it had ever been in my life despite the fact I had lost at least three dress sizes in the time I had been with Michael. I had gone from overweight to a stomach which was now flat with defined abs, my legs and arms were lean and toned. My double D tits had miraculously stayed no matter how much weight I had lost, and my ass was tight and perky. My blonde hair tumbled in waves to the middle of my back now and I had noticed more men checking me out. I felt healthier than I ever had, and I wore tight, revealing clothes to live up to what Michael repeatedly told me he found attractive. I felt so uncomfortable in these clothes, like the weren’t really me. When I wasn’t going to see Michael that day I lived in comfy jeans, band t-shirts and converse. That was me, the real me, not the constructed barbie doll I felt in the tight red mini dress I still wore after getting home from Michael’s house. None of it had worked anyway. The thinner I got the more strained our relationship grew and the less interest he had in me.

“Someone as sexy as you should never be bored ??” My heart fluttered; I couldn’t remember the last time I felt sexy. I desperately wanted to feel desirable to Michael. I would have done absolutely anything to try and save our relationship. The first couple of years had been good. Our sex life started slow but bloomed eventually. But about 6 months ago that had all changed.

“I don’t feel very sexy these days.” It was true. I had almost no confidence left now, not after the constant comments on my weight, my intelligence, my personality. I already knew I should stop this conversation. My mental state was at such a low point that any kind of affection was a dangerous carrot to dangle in front of me.

“Is your boyfriend not satisfying you?” Tell the truth? Or lie and say we had broken up? The last time Michael had even gotten hard was over six months ago. It was then he told me that he would find me attractive if I wore tight clothes. I did. He called me an embarrassment, emphasised how disgusting he found my flabby stomach and shouted that it was no wonder he could never illegal bahis get hard when I was there or even when he thought about me. I was devastated, no-one wants to know that their boyfriend doesn’t think they’re sexy. No-one wants to have their own biggest insecurities projected back at them from someone they care about. After that fight I had dedicated my free time to losing weight.

“No. He said I’m too fat and a disappointment so he can’t get hard for me.” I was crying, I hadn’t realised until a tear dripped onto the screen of my phone. I couldn’t work out how we had gotten here. Outside of the bedroom our relationship was great. We got on really well and shared a lot of hobbies. We got on well with each other’s families, we were always laughing and relaxed. We were both nerds, both loved video games and sci-fi and fantasy movies. On paper we were the perfect couple. He shared my outlook on life, he wanted marriage and a family and was happy to stay at home or hang out with friends at the weekend instead of spending that precious free time out getting drunk. He was everything I had thought I wanted, and more attractive than anyone who had been interested in me in the past. Tall, slender, blond hair and dark blue eyes. He was quiet and thoughtful, creative, and very driven when it came to his art. When we first met, he seemed like the answer to all my longing to settle down.

“What a cunt. You’re the sexist woman I’ve ever met. You shouldn’t let him treat you like that.” I found this hard to accept. After everything Michael had said to me, I was all but convinced I was the problem, not him. After all, it was perfectly reasonable to want your partner to look good, it was normal to argue and feel differently about thing. And was that worth giving up the security I thought he offered? Until now I had been willing to bend myself to breaking point to meet his needs and desires. But something about talking to Jamie, someone who had known me before Michael, who had found me attractive in my skinny jeans and Metallica t-shirt, inspired me. It became suddenly and overwhelmingly apparent that I wasn’t myself, not the Ellie that Jamie remembered, or the one I saw in my own head when I thought about myself. I barely recognised myself when I looked in the mirror anymore, these clothes weren’t me, the makeup wasn’t me. Maybe, just maybe I wasn’t the problem. Maybe it was Michael, with all his expectations, all the things he didn’t like about me and all the criticisms.

“I’ve done everything I can think of to keep him happy, to be attractive and better but it’s just never enough.” Why was I letting him make me feel like this? When I really thought about it, he didn’t offer me much in the relationship. All the work came from me, I changed for him, I gave up things I enjoyed or wanted to do to fit around his schedule. I drove miles every Friday after teaching all week to a different city to see him. He rarely, if ever, did the same to see me. I spent my weekends in his flat with him and his flatmate. When I hung out with my friends, he didn’t make the effort to come. They told me they liked him, but I began to wonder if that was perhaps only to spare my feelings. Should I have to change myself this much, so much that I didn’t recognise myself anymore? And for what? When his lease had ended, he chose to move in with his friend instead of me, he consistently took jobs that meant we were rarely in the same city, he told his family every little problem about our relationship. I had overheard him on the phone to his mother while we had been on holiday and that had been the final catalyst, the last tiny straw that had been enough to make me snap and start the argument. He was telling her about how he just couldn’t get hard looking at me, how I thought I must have been a slut before we met because I made such a big deal about sex being important. As I sat alone in my flat, in a dress I felt suffocated in I knew with perfect certainty that I could never spend my life with this man. No matter what I changed or did we were never going to be a good fit.

“You’re enough just how you are, if he can’t see that he’s an idiot.” Of all the people to text today. Jamie couldn’t be more different than Michael, on such a simple and fundamental level as well as on those more obvious, superficial levels. His hair was dark, not black but not far off. His eyes were almost the colour of caramel, a strange shade between brown and hazel. He was maybe an inch or two taller than I was but was broad shouldered and stocky. He had never had a bad word to say about anyone in all the time I knew him. Nothing ever seemed to get him down, he saw the best in everyone even when it was hard to see. Where Michael could be cold and quiet, Jamie was warm and quick to laugh. His sense of humour dry, self-deprecating, and sarcastic. He was one of the few people in my life who never missed my obscure references. Though Michael and I were interested in the same general types of things he found it difficult to talk about abstract ideas. He illegal bahis siteleri tended to fall back on repeating observations and opinions he had read on the internet. God, I missed that easy, simple feeling of enjoying spending time with someone.

“Thank you. I needed to hear that, things are bad with Michael and I think I want it to be over.” Until I typed that message and sent it, I hadn’t quite realised how true this was. I was aware the fight was bad; I had finally said a lot of the things I had been keeping inside and had called him out on his lack of interest in me sexually. I knew it was a sore spot and had lost count of the number of times I had woken up to him jacking off in bed next to me. The first time that happened I asked if I could help, if he wanted me to join in. He had agreed and I took him in my mouth. His cock was rock solid when I started and stayed hard as I sucked his length, licking up his shaft and closing my lips around his head. Our sex life had dwindled to missionary once a month just after our first anniversary. I took the chance to spice things up and climbed on top of him. I guided him into my sopping pussy, taking his entire 7 inches inside me as I sighed happily. God, I had missed cock. We were at almost two months now with nothing more that fingering and the occasional blowjob he allowed me to give him. But almost as soon as I was on top of him, he went limp. That was when he first told me I was too fat, he couldn’t enjoy sex while he was worried, I was going to crush him. Even then I wasn’t big enough to crush him, I was a little on the chubby side but nothing insane. After that I lost what little confidence I still had in my body and felt too insecure to initiate often. Whenever I did though he couldn’t get hard. But every time, without fail, I would wake up to him jacking his cock, or a couple of times cumming on my back. I don’t know if he never noticed, or just didn’t care that I would cry myself back to sleep after these instances. Whenever I tried to talk about it in the morning, he would deny that it had ever happened and insist that I must have been dreaming.

“What happened? I’m here if you need to talk.” I told him everything, down to how unattractive I felt, to Michael not being able to get hard. We talked for hours about how long it had been going on, and what he had told me about why. Jamie was insistent that I was gorgeous, and he was an idiot. And I was flattered. More than I should have been considering I was still in a relationship. But it was obvious he meant what he said and that he still found me attractive, or at least had still found me attractive when we had last been in contact. A tiny glimmer of my confidence and sense of humour was beginning to come back the longer we talked. The more Jamie replied, the more he made me laugh and feel like myself the more I realised how much I had missed being this person. I missed not worrying about every word I said, I missed not feeling so self-conscious. I realised I missed feeling relaxed and at ease; it devastated me more than a little to realise that I couldn’t remember the last time I had spent time with Michael and felt even a fraction as relaxed as I did now, texting with someone I hadn’t seen in almost 3 years.

“I’ve missed you Jamie, I can’t begin to tell you how much you’ve cheered me up already.” I was smiling for what felt like the first time in months. I began to feel that long forgotten anticipation as I waited for each of his replies. A part of me already knew that things were going to progress from here.

“Good. I’m really glad you’re feeling a bit better. I’ve really missed you too.” Butterflies fluttered in the pit of my stomach as a familiar wetness spread between my legs. I couldn’t help but let my mind wander back to all the nights we had sexted, sending pictures and flirty, detailed messages back and forth. I missed that too, missed how sexy and powerful I felt every time I saw how hard my messages made him.

“You know what else I miss?” I had already decided where the rest of this evening was going before I sent that message. Fuck Michael. Fuck feeling fat and ugly and undesirable. Even if it was just for one night I wanted, no I needed, to feel sexy, wanted and worth something.

“Hmm, what do you miss?”

“Seeing how hard I make you. I miss how wet you make me when you tell me what you want to do to me. I miss fingering myself and sending you pictures. I miss being naughty with you so much.” My panties were damp as my free hand absently caressed a soft, full breast through the flimsy fabric of the red sun dress.

“He’ll never find out about it from me. I’m game if you are ??” Yes! This was exactly what I wanted. A part of me had been nervous Jamie would refuse, knowing I still had a boyfriend, but I should have known him better.

“Oh, I’m game baby. I’m gently stroking my tits through my dress already.” My nipples now stood pert, hard little spots under the tight cotton.

“Let me see this dress, I want to know what you’ll canlı bahis siteleri be taking off for me.” I stood and made my way to my bedroom where I snapped a full body selfie in the floor length mirror opposite my bed and sent it before I had a chance to second guess or talk myself out of anything.

“Fuck me Ellie, you look amazing. I’ve missed seeing those amazing tits so much. Mmm, you make me so hard.” Already I felt more sexy, more desirable than I had in a long time. Deep in my mind guilt niggled, told me that I was wrong, a slut but feeling like a slut only made my pussy wetter. The small spark Jamie had awakened with his message had ignited into a fire fuelled by my desire for him and his for me. I was about to ask him to prove how hard I was making him, but he followed up before I had a chance. He sent me a photo of himself from the waist down, the large bulge straining against his jeans was blatantly obvious.

“You really are hard.” The small part of me created by Michael’s cruel words and lack of interest had somehow still been sure Jamie would reject me too and the relief that flooded me was intense. Almost enough to set me to crying again. Instead, it made me bolder, chased away any remnants of doubt or guilt about what we were doing. I fully gave myself over to my desire for Jamie, admitted to myself that all I wanted right now was to tell him to take those jeans off and show me that beautiful, thick cock that I knew lurked beneath.

“I’m always hard when I think about you. That’s never changed even when we aren’t talking. Your pictures are my go-to when I’m horny. Seeing you looking so hot just has me doubly hard.” I was smiling widely for what felt like the first time in a year. I hadn’t even noticed my free hand had now snuck its way under the neckline of my dress to tease and stroke each nipple in turn.

“You do look very uncomfortable in those jeans ??” I no longer cared that this was cheating I needed to feel sexy and wanted and Jamie was ready and willing to do that for me then I was willing to cheat on Michael to get it. If I was honest then I knew the relationship was over. If he had cared at all he wouldn’t have let me leave the way he did. He would have been in touch, sent a message or checked in. For all I knew he was doing the exact same thing I was right now.

“Babe, you have no idea. Any suggestions?” Fuck, I was wet now, I could feel it soaking into my panties. I wanted to see his cock so badly, I wanted to bury my fingers in my slit for him, wanted to ride a dildo as I imagined his cock spreading my pussy wide.

“Take them off and let me see how big and hard you are for me.” He obliged happily, the next photo showing his 10 inches standing fully engorged as his fingers snaked around the shaft. I had forgotten just how beautiful his cock was. My small hands hand never been able to close around the girth of him. Veins stood out, well defined as the wound, and wove up his shaft. His foreskin was pulled back exposing the slightly slick, red head that had probed my pussy so many times.

“Does that make your tight little pussy wet?” Instead of typing a response I lay on my bed and let the skirt of my dress fall onto my stomach, exposing the massive wet patch on my lacy white panties.

“I’m dripping for you Jamie.” I imagined his smile as he thought about what was under those panties and felt myself grow even slicker. I was desperate to touch my clit, to slide a finger inside me. But I waited, I loved being submissive for Jamie, following every order he gave me. I trusted him so implicitly that I never questioned anything he requested when we talked, or in person in all the time I had known him. That trust came flooding back as I waited desperately for his response.

“Fuck I want to be inside you. Get those panties off and show me how wet you are.” I did as he asked and filmed a video for him. I took my time spreading my pussy lips wide so he could see them glistening for him. I wanted him so badly. I took every ounce of willpower I still held onto not to tell him to come over.

“I want your cock so bad right now.” I did. I knew I would let him fuck me if he asked. But I also knew Jamie and that he would not force me to cheat, not fully. I was glad of that. He could have had me, and he knew it, but he was a good guy and wouldn’t. Not unless I initiated. Just as he had waited for me to initiate this.

“It wants you too. Rub that gorgeous clit for me. Tease yourself.” I filmed as I circled my clit slowly, occasionally dipping my finger ever so slowly down my slick slit to coat it in my wetness before returning to rubbing my clit again. My head swam as I felt the pleasure build. When I stopped filming and sent the video, I had to stop touching myself. I wasn’t ready to cum yet and didn’t want to risk the possibility of how much I might regret this after I came.

“Holy shit, you’re so wet, it’s so fucking hot. Get 2 fingers inside you. I want to see you fingerfuck yourself for me” Another video, slowly I pressed two fingers into my eager pussy, spreading them wide to stretch my tight hole. I built up speed until I was moaning hard, sighing his name as I fingered myself for him. The slopping sound my pussy made each time I buried my fingers made me even wetter.

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