Pigs Ch. 02

Chapter 1

"Hey"

The message appeared on his phone from an unrecognized number. Within seconds, he replied "who's this?"

"It's me puta"

He would call her. Then he changed his mind and just texted her.

"Excuse me miss may I ask a question please?" - he followed protocol because it would have stood out too much if he hadn't, and this way was smoother. Fortunately this was text, so she wouldn't see that he was impatient and unhappy.

"Yep," she replied.

"Did you give him my phone number?," he asked

"Yes I told him to talk directly to you," she replied

"About what????," he asked, incredulous as to what possible reasonable motive could exist for such a thing.

"It's some shit about the shirts, they messed up something, ask him, I'm busy now," she instructed.

A long pause followed.

"Are you still busy maam?," he inquired, still not satisfied but not wanting to anger her.

"Actually yes. I'm with Sarah we're shopping," she answered several long minutes later.

He dared not bother her again for the time being. She had already stated twice that she was busy. He tried to distract himself. His attention kept going back to the time. He would give her 2 hours, he decided. The hardest part was the last half hour, and the last five minutes were even harder. Then he wrote again.

He did not want to offend her but he had to resolve this situation.

"Are you still busy now?," he finally asked.

The app indicated that she had seen that message, but no answer arrived.

So he continued. "Did he say what they messed up?"

"He didn't tell you?" she now replied and asked.

"I haven't answered yet" he confessed.

"What's the problem now you asked to do something for him," she asked adding an angry emoji

Actually he always ended up having to ask to do whatever she really wanted him to do, so that it would be 'his idea'.

"I did pick up his shirts and I'm sorry if there was a problem but can you tell me what to do please, can they be fixed? Can he give them to you when you go to class and I can take them back to the shop?," he proposed, seeking an out.

"First of all if you did everything perfect I would not give your number right?" she pointed out, placing the blame on him.

He felt the need to explain why he had taken the clothes to a dry cleaner, rather than wash and iron them himself.

"I took them to a place because I am not good at ironing and I didn't want to do crap...," he defended himself, hoping his good intentions would be exculpatory.

She didn't answer for a few minutes.

"Hello?" he prompted her.

"Ok but I don't like when you are lazy," she scolded him.

The burden continued to be on him to deal with the situation.

"Fix your mistake and don't bother me until then. I'm turning off my phone," she said merciless, ending the conversation.

Hiding never worked with her. Sensing that the decision was final and any attempt at stalling or objecting would be unsuccessful, and may possibly lead to more distancing and rejection, he decided to suck it up.

He barely felt the chastity device anymore, except when he sat down or stood up. He sat down on the bed causing that slightly unpleasant sensation of a hard object pushing and rubbing against his upper thighs.

To circumvent the embarrassment, he decided to keep this very dry and professional.

"Oh hello... was there a problem with the dry cleaning?," he mustered some courage and finally wrote back to Edwardo.

Soon after he received an image attachment, which had in it the photo of a brown stain on the sleeve of a white shirt.

I say "in it" because the image was not the photo itself, but rather the screenshot of a conversation in which the photo was contained. The conversation was with Samantha.

It read:

"WTF?!?!?!?"

After that was the photo of the stain, sent by him.

"OMG what is that," Samantha had answered.

"Puta fucked up my shirt what else does it look like to you," he replied.

"I'm so sorry... I'm sure he'll get it fixed or he will buy a new one for you," Sam continued.

"Got this in Lima it's Alvarez Calderon," he explained, most likely implying that replacing it would not be possible.

On the top of that chat screenshot, likely from a previous day, the bottom half of Samantha's last message was still visible. Though he could not read it, there were two heart emojis at the end.

They seemed to be getting along fine and all of a sudden he flipped out at her for some stupid stain. Men really are pigs as she says, he thought. Then he thought of the other perspective. They seemed to be getting along fine until he fucked it up. He felt guilty.

So he reiterated Samantha's apology, which should have come from him instead.

"I'm sorry, perhaps I can take it back to the shop, it may be something that can be removed easily," he offered, now in his conscientious problem-solving mode, almost forgetting he was talking to the chad Şerifali Escort that was banging his girlfriend. The chad that could talk to her any way he wanted, and make her horny in the process, whereas she expected from him a platonic, reverent, obsequious demeanor.

That difference, coupled with his mental image of the clean, smooth, hyper-muscular idol that had come from Peru on a modeling job and had become quite popular, even ending up on local TV featured as the 'star coach' at Yoga