Enticed, Used, Discarded

Warning: explicit language and situations.

She looked at me with simmering eyes, burrowing into my soul. I looked away, lest the passion rise within me and I alienate her again. She has been clear; I am not permitted to want her, to desire her, to even think about desire for her.

But she caught my eye and captured my gaze. Her forehead wrinkled prettily.

“Do you like me?” she asked in a small voice.

I hardly dared to speak. “I do. Very much.”

She reached out and touched my hand, sending intense shocks through my whole being. I shivered softly with delight.

For days she continued to capture my attention, reaching out to me, flaunting her body, turning me on and then leaving again. She undressed casually before me, showing me her body and inflaming me beyond sensibility. Once she emerged from the washroom clad only in a pink G-string, and allowed me to feast my eyes on her for a long time before disappearing again.

Occasionally she even kissed me.

I so feared to respond. Mad with desire, I still knew that the wrong word, the wrong look, the wrong touch would offend her greatly. Years upon years of harsh experience have taught me this. Now even more so, merely the fact that I desire is grounds for total rejection. I can’t understand why she tempts me like this. She is my wife, but she rejects even the idea that we are married. She deliberately inflames arousal, but the inevitable wrong response results in total rejection. I live in fear, because the wrong move on my part is punished in ways that brutalise my soul.

And then she was kissing me passionately, pressing her body against me. I angled my body so that she would not feel my painful erection, but she wriggled against me --- and it --- insistently.

“Put your hand on my ass,” she breathed. I complied, and she moaned into my mouth.

She continued taking what she wanted from me, giving explicit instructions for my actions. I remained in fear; this would only continue if I did exactly what she wanted, when she wanted it, how she wanted it, whether she told me so or not.

“Let’s go downstairs and fuck,” she said.

So we did.

I suggested some lubrication; she rejected the idea. I suggested giving her oral; she rejected that too. She just wanted hard, fast, missionary-style fucking. And she wanted it now.

It was over all too soon.

I wanted to collapse beside her and hold her in my arms. She permitted it for a few minutes, but not for long. I continued to attempt to be affectionate and attentive, but she was increasingly aloof. She complained about being sore, because she was insufficiently lubricated.

The next day, she said, “I don’t want to sleep with you; I don’t want hugs or kisses; I don’t want anything. I want us to behave like just friends.”

I wrote some poetry to her; I copied out some classic love poems; I put together some romantic song lyrics. She said, “I can deal with you if you can just be friends. I can’t handle the emotional baggage.”

She’s preparing to go to New York in two weeks. She wants to act as though she were entirely single. She knows how to pick up men in the bars; she had plenty of practice while we were apart. She knows how to have one-night stands. She knows how to use people for her own gratification. She’s proud of ending her monogamous record while we were separated; she considers extramarital sex essential to her growth as a person.

I fell in love with someone when we were married. But I never did that. I just fell in love. I’ve still only had sex with one person in my life.

I have a lot to give, romantically, sexually, intellectually. But she doesn’t want it. She just wants someone to buy her things, take her for dinner, pay bills, and obey her whims and feel honoured to do so.

I hurt. She could have me, just by reaching out her hand, if she wanted me.

But she doesn’t seem to want me at all.

The reason I fell in love with the Other Woman is that she made me feel powerful and wonderful, like I could do no wrong, like a god.

My wife still makes me feel like a complete and total failure.

In six weeks she will return. I wonder if she’ll want me by then.