I went home on a Friday night where I might have normally hoped for a passionate love-making evening.
Instead, she was preparing for another date. Again.
I looked at her for four seconds in the doorway to the bathroom and dropped my forehead against the frame. I turned away.
She called out. ‘Don’t you want to help me choose what to wear?’
I was out of her sight and just shook my head. I answered, ‘Just wear something slutty with no panties.’
‘Is… it all right… if I bring him back here?’
This just keeps getting worse. ‘I don’t care.’ If she was going to be a slut, she was going to be one and I was powerless to stop her. No amount of reason or persuasion was going to keep her legs closed.
I went into the second bedroom and slammed the door. I wasn’t hungry, I wasn’t interested in talk, and after cumming in the restroom was decidedly not feeling turned on – that infamous male disinterest in sex or cuddling after cumming.
Several minutes later I heard the floor creak and stop at the door. Her voice came through, normal and hopeful, ‘I love you.’
Get the fuck out.
She waited for a few seconds, then left the apartment. She had sounded just like any other time the previous five and a half weeks. How had I missed her deception?
Had the entire marriage been a lie? Why was I getting the brunt of her obsession with this formerly married man?
If I had been expected to accept him coming back into her life, why hadn’t she told me that she would spread for him? But, she had told me. At least as much that she had been consumed by him.
I had thought she meant it was over when she told me she had stopped seeing him – a week before we met.
Had I been foolish? Blind?
She really had appeared to fall in love with me. The heat and need to be with each other had been an anxiety neither of us could ignore.
A month before the wedding, we had rented the apartment. It had been a relief to us both. Yes, we definitely had loved each other.
But now?
I still loved her; I was just very hurt and knew that it was over. It made me want to hate women. Or maybe just Alissa. I wanted to see Sawyer shove his cock so far down her throat that she gagged.
And then pull out and cum on her face. Ejaculate all over my wife’s eager face. I could get a video of it and watch her take load after load on replay.
Cheating slut.
I went to the liquor store and grabbed a bottle of Tequila. If I was going to be alone, I might as well have some fun.
The young guy behind the counter winked at me.
Fuck off, gay boy. I took my glass friend home.
I hated my apartment. I hated our front door. I hated the key in my fist.
I had no more closed the second bedroom door and changed into my sleep pants when the front door opened. I heard her voice, so I knew she was talking to Sawyer.
Footsteps creaked past my door and the door to our bedroom shut quietly.
I opened the Tequila and swigged. I capped it and dropped onto the single bed that had been mine at my parents’ house. I covered my eyes with my arm and wished I was anywhere but here.
My wife was in the next room with some other man doing sexual things with him she should only be doing with me. The injustice of it all ground at my bones until I was gritting my teeth.
I was her husband, not him. I was thoroughly disgusted.
The slut was probably spread and naked right now, doing her best to give Sawyer a baby.
Fuck her.
I don’t know when I did, but I drifted to sleep and tossed fitfully as I dreamt of her taking his loads on her face and in her hair.
At some point during the night, I awoke to a tentative knock on my door. I had a throbbing erection and I turned over away from the door. I didn’t feel like talking about how great Sawyer was and how special it was to have him visit.
