abuse, broken heart, control, dating, relations, feelings, depression, divorce, escort, sugar, violence

Fairy-Tale with Violence


She had a noble face with high cheekbones and pale complexion. Dark eyes and long black hair in contrast to ideally clean white skin gave that magical look that enchanted everyone. Girls fought for her friendship, guys throw houses, businesses, and families at her feet. She had memberships at almost every elite country club and ski resort. She confidently carried her exceptional status turning the nose up at others who were unlucky enough to work daily to pay the bills.

Once a month she wore professional make up early in the morning. “I had to see my make-up artist prior leaving my house, need to cover up the bruises”, – a light shrug of sculptured shoulders and a stunning laughter. Her glowing skin looked almost snow white under layers of concealers and a make-up foundation.

First two days are the worst for the black eye, hard to hide even for my visagiste, and she is a real professional; I wear dark glasses, – on such days she wore them day and night. Everyone followed the trend after seeing her in brandy sunnies at one of private sports event.  – I had to accompany my husband right after we argued. Sunnies are my saviors when make-up does not help.   – Her voice was melodious; the manners were sweet and slightly condescending.

And you were not even allowed to stay home and heal after he beat the crap out of you,  – she shuddered at my curiosity, my response was too vulgar and direct for her upper-class mindset.

Technically I could, but he would have taken his hooker instead, and I …., – she paused to sip some cappuccino, – I am fighting to save the family. We have kids.

– Good luck,  – I could feel her pain behind thick layers of make-up and seemingly nonchalant IT-girl demeanor.

Her lifestyle was a dream for every struggling girl forced to work to raise kids. She neither killed herself 40 hours a week nor spent sleepless nights when the children got sick. Her husband provided enough, she had money.

I feel safe home. We are rarely by ourselves. Our kids, sitters, cleaners, his mom and friends…. I have enough time and space to do what I want without him around.

 – How do you guys find time to fight?

 – Well, – she took a deep breath and tucked shiny locks of hair behind the ears, – two weeks ago he found out I cheated on him with his friend and got furious.   

But you’ve been in bruises for over 3 years now…

 – And?  – her voice suddenly lost the usual lazy carelessness, – my life is noone’s business. We have a happy marriage, a very happy marriage.    

Her gestures were suggestive of “everything is fine, my life is a life-long dream, unachievable for losers like you”. The whole world was at her feet, her life was a perfect fairy-tale for every poor girl from a low-income community.  The abusive part of the happy-ending story was thoroughly camouflage behind tons of make-up and prescribed anti-depressants and mood-stabilizers.

She went through long and desperate years of jumping from penis to penis prior getting the marital proposal from her husband. The door into the world of signature clubs and luxury resorts opened, she acquired careless demeanor and refined manners sinking her veneer teeth and well-manicured claws into the lifestyle she had been craving for all her life. Domestic violence was never an issue; she would die for the right to keep the place in the niche of wealth and prestige.

Her husband finally left and froze her bank accounts. She was kicked out of the house with nothing; his attorneys filed for the full custody of their children.

 – I do not know what to do, he took everything, I do not even have a vehicle, – her voice was usually calm when she called me from the local crisis center where she was brought by the police after overdosing on her sleep medications.

Do you believe in God? – it was the only response that came to my mind.

I actually do, – her laughter was sweet-sounding. I knew she was feeling better.

Her husband was there with five bodyguards when I came to visit her in the hospital.

How is she doing, is she ok?  – he was worried, I assured him that she was fine. For the first time in my life I met someone surrounded by hired protection services. One of guys looked hot, I gave him a smile and blushed when he smiled back.

She was discharged that day, beautifully pale and sensuously fragile like a China doll, her back was straight, her head was up. I saw him helping her into the car, they left quietly and quickly.

The divorce was cancelled, she went to Switzerland for 6 months to treat the diagnosed depression.

When she came back she was fresh and rested.

You look really good,  – I was glad to see her happy.

I am not sure if I told you, – her smile was stunning, her postures were magnetic, –  I found a new make-up girl, and she does miracles. I finally have someone who knows how to mask all my bruises.  





divorce, Emy, feelings, his wife, love

When The Wish Comes True

We get punished by the fulfillment of our wishes.
It was about 11 pm when Greg stopped by. I gave him a hug feeling his fatigue through the ugly scrubs, hospital smells, and dispassionate demeanor.  


          Emy left, it is over now.  


          She will be back.


          We are divorcing Vixen.


          Get some rest


I heard him walking into the bathroom and turning on the shower.


I imagined him leaving Emy so many times, that it got old. First, I dreamed that he would be on his own, and we would spend more than 2 nights a week, then I was hopeful that he lived with her just for their kids, and they would divorce once the boys get older. Then I got jealous and helpless watching him go after our lunch quickies. It took me over 3 years to accept that he loves her, and they will always be together. I learned to be happy for him. And now he is telling me his marriage is over, and instead of going home, he is using my shower. He was violating my boundaries; it was annoying.  


They were married for 15 years; 7 years of which Greg and I were together. Emy cleaned, cooked, raised the boys, and diligently took sleeping pills after family sex. “Benzos help her fall asleep, Vixen, she gets so anxious with the kids, and the bills”, – I kept nodding faking interest and compassion.  
Having Greg in my life once or twice a week was magical. When he disappeared for a month or two, I felt down. Every time he came back, we fucked our brains out, which added emotional fireworks to our lives. I quietly smiled at his “you are saving my marriage, Vixen”. Somehow, he got from me what he was unable to get from Emy; and Emy kept giving him something I was unable to give. His work stressed him out all the time, Emy and I gave him a relief; our triangle seemed to work fine, just fine.


I heard his “Where is shampoo, luv” and went into the bathroom. Our shower sex was terribly uncomfortable, I was gripping the walls trying to maintain my balance in the slippery shampoo and soap.   


I needed intimacy and privacy; Greg gave me both. He loved me with his hard cock: quietly and aggressively. It was perfect: no words and no drama.


I had trouble falling asleep that night. “It has always been Emy’s job to cope with his shitty attitudes, mood swings, and endless hookups during night shifts. I have fun, she has the rest.  If she lives, I may end up doing the routine bullshit…” – the thought was even more awkward than our sex in the shower.
Greg texted me the next morning “no divorce, she is back, last night was amazing”. The wish to be with him 24/7 did not come true. I felt relieved and ready to make breakfast.