Though it was a beautiful sunny Tuesday evening in April of 1992, it was to be a very dark day for me...
Returning home from work, I pulled into our subdivision of large brick homes. Gold beams of sunlight shown through the trees onto the carefully manicured lawns.
I pulled into our garage and went into the house. I hugged my two children and I kissed my wife. She was stunning. A lingerie model. 5'9", 36-24-36, beautiful breasts, amazing ass, long athletic legs, long dark hair, and full red lips.
I had met her 10 years before. We had sex on the third date. Two years later we were married.
We had built a big home in the suburbs. We had two beautiful children. And she and I had sex every night. It was basic vanilla sex, but we
always had simultaneous orgasms. I was a happy man.
But recently, the frequency of sex had diminished. We had started arguing about money. It got to the point where I felt that I couldn't do anything right. I didn't know what was wrong. I asked her to sit on the couch with me. I pleaded with her to tell me what was wrong. She simply replied: “I want a divorce and you
get the kids. I’m moving out.” I was floored. I asked her to explain why, but she refused.
Later that evening I was in my den. Behind me was a wall full of Mechanical Engineering text books from my undergrad, and ElectricalEngineering books from my Masters. Before me was a large solid oak
desk that my parents had given me for a house warming present. They were to be the only things that I would walk away with after the divorce.
I picked up the phone to make a call. I heard my wife on the extension in the bedroom telling her sister about the man she had been fucking for the last two months.
I quietly set the phone back down and I went out my front door to sit on the steps. I stared into the lawn. It felt like I had been punched in the nose and my heart ripped out. It hurt like Hell. I had treated her like a queen. I was a good provider. We had good sex. Why?
The house went up for sale. The kids and I moved into an apartment. Every other weekend the kids went to her apartment. Sometimes on the weekends that I had the kids, I’d get a baby sitter and I’d go out to the night clubs with a buddy from work. One night I saw her there. She was with the guy she’d been
fucking. They were all over each other. It was disgusting. He was a classic Bad Boy. Or more precisely, a machismo asshole. And he had all the smooth moves.
On a weekend that my wife had the kids, I went to the night clubs and I saw that guy there. He was with another woman. He was doing to her what he had done to my wife. He was startled when he turned to find me standing right in front of him. I assured him that I was not there to kill him, but simply to ask him something. I asked him what he had done right and I had done wrong.
Perhaps out of fear for his life, or perhaps to brag, he started telling me everything. He spoke in terms of examples. For educational purposes, I have distilled the morals of the examples here:
Then he said: “I'm glad you’re not the jealous type.” I responded with: “If I were, you would not be here.” He ran, because where he comes from, such matters are dealt with in very violent ways. The following week I had to drop off some papers at my wife’s apartment. As I was about to knock on her door, I heard her and him having sex inside. She sounded like she was enjoying it a lot more than she had enjoyed it with me. I listened until I heard her come very vocally, and then I slid the papers under the door and left. Never again would a Bad Boy steal a woman away from me, and never again would a woman be anything less than completely fulfilled and breathless after sex with me.
Returning home from work, I pulled into our subdivision of large brick homes. Gold beams of sunlight shown through the trees onto the carefully manicured lawns.
I pulled into our garage and went into the house. I hugged my two children and I kissed my wife. She was stunning. A lingerie model. 5'9", 36-24-36, beautiful breasts, amazing ass, long athletic legs, long dark hair, and full red lips.
I had met her 10 years before. We had sex on the third date. Two years later we were married.
We had built a big home in the suburbs. We had two beautiful children. And she and I had sex every night. It was basic vanilla sex, but we
always had simultaneous orgasms. I was a happy man.
But recently, the frequency of sex had diminished. We had started arguing about money. It got to the point where I felt that I couldn't do anything right. I didn't know what was wrong. I asked her to sit on the couch with me. I pleaded with her to tell me what was wrong. She simply replied: “I want a divorce and you
get the kids. I’m moving out.” I was floored. I asked her to explain why, but she refused.
Later that evening I was in my den. Behind me was a wall full of Mechanical Engineering text books from my undergrad, and ElectricalEngineering books from my Masters. Before me was a large solid oak
desk that my parents had given me for a house warming present. They were to be the only things that I would walk away with after the divorce.
I picked up the phone to make a call. I heard my wife on the extension in the bedroom telling her sister about the man she had been fucking for the last two months.
I quietly set the phone back down and I went out my front door to sit on the steps. I stared into the lawn. It felt like I had been punched in the nose and my heart ripped out. It hurt like Hell. I had treated her like a queen. I was a good provider. We had good sex. Why?
The house went up for sale. The kids and I moved into an apartment. Every other weekend the kids went to her apartment. Sometimes on the weekends that I had the kids, I’d get a baby sitter and I’d go out to the night clubs with a buddy from work. One night I saw her there. She was with the guy she’d been
fucking. They were all over each other. It was disgusting. He was a classic Bad Boy. Or more precisely, a machismo asshole. And he had all the smooth moves.
On a weekend that my wife had the kids, I went to the night clubs and I saw that guy there. He was with another woman. He was doing to her what he had done to my wife. He was startled when he turned to find me standing right in front of him. I assured him that I was not there to kill him, but simply to ask him something. I asked him what he had done right and I had done wrong.
Perhaps out of fear for his life, or perhaps to brag, he started telling me everything. He spoke in terms of examples. For educational purposes, I have distilled the morals of the examples here:
- · Find out what she needs and give it to her.
- · Women need constant reassurance, but at the same time, constant doubt.
- · Never let her think she "has" you.
- · She must always be jealous of you.
- · Always remain interesting and challenging to her.
- · Always keep strife in the relationship.
- · Be possessive of her. She must feel "owned."
- · Never let her look at another man.
- · Keep other men away from her.
- · Show her more excitement than any other man has.
- · Sexually fulfill her, and then some.
- · Never let her feel she fully satisfies you.
- · Know her weaknesses and play them when needed.
Then he said: “I'm glad you’re not the jealous type.” I responded with: “If I were, you would not be here.” He ran, because where he comes from, such matters are dealt with in very violent ways. The following week I had to drop off some papers at my wife’s apartment. As I was about to knock on her door, I heard her and him having sex inside. She sounded like she was enjoying it a lot more than she had enjoyed it with me. I listened until I heard her come very vocally, and then I slid the papers under the door and left. Never again would a Bad Boy steal a woman away from me, and never again would a woman be anything less than completely fulfilled and breathless after sex with me.
...... ....... ....... To Be Continued....
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