Status: In Progress

Genre: Erotica


Status: In Progress

Genre: Erotica


When you're accused of being the "other woman"... and you're NOT!


When you're accused of being the "other woman"... and you're NOT!


Submitted: June 06, 2016

A A A | A A A


Submitted: June 06, 2016



There she goes again, posing.

It's SO annoying.

But, my God, she looks good in those shorts.

I continue to work through my set. Trying to ignore her but everytime I look up, I catch her glaring at me.

Did I run over her dog or something?

I turn my back. 

Carl spots me as I start bench pressing. He tells me she's still staring, still shooting me daggers.

This has been going on for weeks.

Maybe it's about Carl? Does she like him? If she bothered to ask around she'd soon find out he's not my type.

I really dislike her but when she sits at the Inner/Outer thigh machine and I'm watching her opening and closing her legs... it makes me entertain certain thoughts. 

UGH!!! It pisses me off that a bitch like her is getting under my skin!!

I put my headphones on, turn up the volume and try to blank her out.

"Good work out." Carl says, as we we head for the locker room. "I'll see you tomorrow babe" and he slaps me on the ass.  Typical DUDE.  I watch him walk away.  The guy has no neck.  He's all muscle and swagger and yet he's still the big teddy bear that all the girls fall for.

It's about Carl. Has to be right?

I get to the locker room and peel the wet clothes of my body.  I feel statisfied as always, muscles aching.

I head into the shower. The warm jets of water cascade over my skin, soothing me as I listen to the three women on my left chat loudly about their spin class. 

When I'm done, I grab my towel and start rubbing my hair dry as I walk out.

"Watch it...!"

I drop the towel to my shoulders. I've almost bumped into the bitch from hell.

"What's your problem?" I ask her, blood boiling in my veins. "I didn't touch you for Christ sake."

"What's my problem?" she repeats back to me.  Her face flushed red with anger.

"Yes, that's what I asked."

I'm about ready to punch her!!!

She smacks her lips at me. "Pfft, you really have no fucking clue do you?" she says, standing there bare ass naked with her hands on her hips.

I feel my temper starting to bubble up.

The three women behind me were now completely silent.  No doubt they're waiting to see where this confrontation is going.

I look at super bitch from ground up. She's hot, there's no doubt about that and now I'm even more annoyed.

What the actual fuck? I'm checking her out???

Disgusted with myself, I side step Godzilla and head for my locker.

"Don't walk away from she..." she calls after me.  I can hear footsteps behind me and I realise she's following me.

I get to my locker, open the door and drop my towel onto the bench.

"Look, I don't know you. I don't know what your issue is but if you'd care to explain, I'd be happy to hear you out." I said, my back to her, trying to remain calm, at least on the surface.

In my mind I'm playing out the ridiculousness of this scene.  Two women, naked, in a locker room, about to throw down over some grievance or another. 

This is the stuff soap opera's are made of.... !!!!

"You're Emma Channing right?" she asks as if she already knows the answer.

"Yes." I reply.

"You DJ at all the Girl Bar events?" again... more of a statement than a question.

I turn to face her. 

"Yes." waiting for the punchline at this point.

"You're also the bitch who likes to fuck other peoples girlfriends."


I didn't see her hand until it was making contact with my face.

I fell back into the open locker door. A second jolt of pain shot though me as my shoulder blade made contact with the sharp edge.  I didn't know whether to hold my face or try to feel my back for blood.  Disorientated and shocked at the same time, I managed to get out a "HUH?".

"Don't play the inncocent with me...." she ranted. Her words jumbled up in my head as I found myself trying to remember who I'd been with recently that could possibly be her girlfriend. 

It was never my style to fool around with women who were already invovled. My sore cheek and shoulder were a painful reminder of exactly WHY I never go there.

"Who are you talking about?" I asked as I restored myself to an upright and less vulnerable position. The urge to slap her back was receeding and something more akin to pity was taking it's place.  I'd been exactly where she is in the past.  Being cheated on HURTS. It cuts deep and leaves you doubting yourself, feeling insecure and stupid for ignoring all the signs.

A crowd had gathered at the end of row. At least 7 women and all of them staring intently at us both. I wanted to get dressed.  Being naked was making me feel judged on way too many levels. I looked over at my towel and wondered if I could reach for it without being too obvious but the angry, yelling woman stood firmly between me and the bench.  I decided not to move, instead crossing my arms in pathetic attempt at covering up.

"I'm talking about Rachel you fucking bitch! Rachel Morrison." she yelled. 

I noticed a vein on her left temple.  It was buldging out so far it looked like it might expolde at any moment.  I wanted to tell her to calm down but I knew it would only make things worse so I bit my tongue, litteraly and tasted my own blood in my mouth. 

I had no idea who she talking about.  NONE.  I didn't recognise the name at all.

"I'm so sorry but I don't recognise the name..." I said, trying to convey sincerity in my words without antagonising her further.

"Oh that's just fucking perfect!! You screw around so often that you can't even remember their names?" she had just moved beyond angry and into a scene from psycho.

The crowd of onlookers was still growing.

I wished the ground would open up and swallow me whole.

She was describing Rachel in a high pitched yell that was painful on the ears. 

I heard...

"Blonde, 5"6, tennis player (as if I'd fuck a stranger and have time to ask what sports she's into??) full sleeve tatt on her left arm...."

Still nothing, no flashes of recognition. Nothing even remotely familar.

"Are you sure it was me? I swear it doesn't ring any bells".  I was being honest.  If I had been with this Rachel person, I'd remember something. 

"YES, oh my fucking GOD, she told me it was you!!!" she screamed, in such a high pitched tone that if there'd been any glass within 15 meters, it would have shattered into a thousand tiny pieces.

A little voice in the back of my head began whsipering to me.  "You're being set up here girl!" and I had to say it was making sense. Wouldn't be the first time I'd been named in some fanstasy affair. The problem now was trying to get her to accept that as a possibility. 

"Look, I'm really sorry but it never happened.  I have no idea who Rachel is.  Maybe if you tell me which event this was supposed to be taking place at? I can explain what I did that night. I'll tell you who I was with and in the very least I can give you some names. You can ask them yourself ok? You don't have to take my word for it." I suggested, trying to be reasonable.

She stood in front of me, not saying a word for what seemed like an eternity.  I could sense the confusion in her. She looked so upset and I knew exactly what she was going though.

I was about to ask her again if she wanted names, something...anything when she threw her arms up in the air.  Instinctively, I stepped to the left. There was no way in hell I was taking another slap for something I hadn't done. She flinched as I moved.  I could see she was expecting me to lash out at her.

"Oh fuck this and fuck you...!" she said as she turned and stormed off.

I took a deep breath and moved to sit on the bench.

"Show's over ladies." I said sharply to the numerous onlookers.  They dispursed and vanished behind the lockers.

"Well that's going to keep them all entertained for a while..." I muttered to myself. I needed to find this Rachel person and ask her what the fuck she was thinking, naming me in her relationship drama. 

I grabbed my gym bag and rummaged around for my phone.

Its time to make a call and so I dialled the one person I knew who was likely to know what the fuck was going on.


**To be continued


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