Lo came home from work late that night.  I had already eaten dinner and was lying on the couch engaging in my favorite illicit pastime while Lo’s away, watching “SMILF.”  She walked in just as Frankie Shaw was engaging in a self-pleasure solo session, which isn’t all that coincidental, given how often she does that in the show.  (Since Frankie Shaw writes and directs the series, I think that she secretly wishes to be a porn star.) 

            Lo stood next to the couch looking down at me, judging hard. 

            “What?”

            “You know what,” she said, accusatorily. 

            “I was just. . .”

            “I don’t care what you were just.  Turn it off.  If you want to see a sexy woman engaged in sex-for-one, then get in the bedroom.  I’ll be there filling my snatch full of fun.”

            I shut off the episode and met Lo in the bedroom where she was on the bed, legs spread, dildos laid out next to her like a surgeon’s tray of scalpels, forceps, and clamps.  She had her phone in her left hand.

            “What’s that?” I asked.

            “I call it my ‘in box.’  It likes to be filled.”

            I didn’t know if she meant what she was looking at on her phone or her beautiful mons pubis, which at the moment she was about to penetrate with her long, red, double-ended dildo.  

            I removed my clothes and sat in the bed next to her, vying for her attention.  She was busy reading something.  I inquired. 

            “I’m reading about my friend and blogger, Nero Black.  His wife caught him about to masturbate.”

            “Oh really?”

            “Yeah,” she said, easing the dildo into her tight taco.  “His wife loves to read erotica and masturbate, but she never lets him get in on the goods.”

            “How does he know her reading habits?”

            “He has access to her Kindle subscription and sees what she downloads.”

            “Oh.”

            “And he’s hard-up as a result.”

            “I bet you find that an open invitation to flirt.”

            “Who wouldn’t?  Anyhow, the other night he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his pants and boxers around his ankles, his phone in one hand and his cock in the other, when she unexpectedly walked into the bedroom.”

            “Uh-oh.  And?”

            “And she ignored him!  She acted like she didn’t even see it.”

            “And that gets you off?”

            “No, what gets me off is imagining that the porn she reads is our blog and that the porn he was about to wank to was my photos.”

            She dropped the phone and lay on her back to continue the fantasy.   

“Did you ever get caught?” I asked her.

“Caught?  Doing what?”

“You know, jillin’ it.”

“No.”

“Never?”

“No.”

“Not by any of your previous boyfriends?”

“Look, it’s not something I hide.  If they found me jillin’ off, then I kept on going.  So it’s not like ‘getting caught.’  It’s more like putting on a show.”

And put on a show she did, without ever offering to provide me with any sweet relief.  Punishment for my “infidelity” watching Frankie Shaw.