On Imaginary Friends

I had an imaginary friend once. He was pretty cool. We’d hang out together, just kicking it or whatever, bullshitting and drinking and smoking weed. He was into whatever I was into and we had some great times together.

But that’s all over now.

Last night I came home early from work to find him in bed with my wife.

I should have beat his ass, I know. But I was so shocked and heartbroken that I just sort of stood there with my mouth hanging open while they finished the job, completely unaware of my presence.

He came all over her face, in a way that she would never let me do. It wasn’t until he rolled off of her, still moaning in ecstasy, that they spotted me.

My wife came to tears immediately, her eyes wide with fear, his imaginary cum dripping from her chin. He began stammering, saying “it’s not what it looks like,” but I wasn’t buying it. I saw the whole thing. I told him to get the fuck out of my house and sent the wife packing with him.

Son of a bitch.

Goes to show you, you can’t trust anyone.

I sometimes lye awake at night wishing I had kicked his imaginary ass, but I’m sort of glad that I didn’t resort to violence. I don’t know, it’s all so confusing; just a turmoil of conflicting emotions churning inside of me.

Do you think I handled this right?

I mean, what would you have done?