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.  
Emy, feelings, love

Time For a Change

Greg texted early this morning. “Happy Easter, honey.” I woke up, stretched, and smiled. It was the time to shower, get dressed and go to church. My son was excited to see his dad, I was excited to see his dad. I knew Greg would be there. The sun was shining, the wind was blowing, the ocean looked greyish and choppy, as we were hurrying along the waterfront to the Easter service.

The church was busy, I took my son to the nursery, entered the auditorium, and saw Greg. He was with his wife and the kids. The boys looked annoyed and restless, devoid of the iPhones. Emy was overweight and exhausted as usual. I waved hello as I was coming closer. I sat down near him. Emy on his right, I am on his left. He grabbed my hand, our fingers were intertwined, I closed my eyes feeling aroused. I knew Emy was watching. My mind was empty, no remorse, no guilt, no concerns for her feelings. She is his wife, I am his mistress, he is the father of my child, I am in love.

  
        I love your dress, – she tried to maintain the poker face. Her voice sounded polite and calm.

I gave her a quiet smile. I was happy, I was sitting next to the man of my dreams; the best Easter present ever.

As we were leaving the church, she asked if I will be willing to join her for lunch. I felt pain in her voice.

          Greg and the kids won’t be there. You can stop by if you like, – she was almost sobbing.

          Why are you doing it to yourself? – my question caught her off balance, she started crying. I hurriedly looked around. No one was watching us. People were too busy putting their kids into family vans.  – He cheats on you, it bothers you, why do you tolerate this?

          He loves me.

          But it causes you pain.

          He does not love you, Vixen. He uses you when he wants, but at the end of the day he comes home.

          But you are the one who suffers. Why do you put up with it?

She sniffled, I gave her a tissue.

          I can’t just walk away from my marriage. You do not understand, you have no principles.

          Sounds like your principles cause you lots of pain, my dear, – I gave her another tissue, her tears bothered me. I hate watching people cry.

          I have to keep face for our children, for our community, for my parents, for our careers, – she was desperately persuading herself to continue swallowing Greg’s disrespect with Irish coffee and a fake smile.

          Your boys are in boarding school most of the time. You rarely see them these days. Your community only cares about money.

          But if I walk away, it will mean that I lost, and you won

          Who cares?

          You

          I don’t. 

That afternoon, we had a nice lunch in one of waterfront restaurants downtown. It was warm and windy. I felt the sea water splashes on my skin. Greg was with our kids, I was free and happy. Emy was usually inflexible and possessive. She hated losing, she would rather live five, ten, fifteen years in a loveless marriage than admit to the fact that it is over. Stuck within the win-lose paradigm, enslaved by the public opinion, and tied by the social norms, she was constantly confusing love with the need to satisfy her ego and societal demands, and she suffered blaming me for everything. 
I could not change her attitude. All I could do was to change myself. I felt it was the time, the time for a meaningful change, for my change.  

Emy, psycho, Rick

Psychopath, Rick, His House


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The second time I met Rick was in Jacksonville. My company sent me for training, which was long and boring. The hotel I was staying smelled like the combination of laundry detergent and pool chlorine. The guests next door were drunk and loud. As soon as I opened the door to the terrace, the smell of weed hit me in the face. The thought of staying in through the evening was horrifying. I recalled Rick had a house in Jacksonville. Our first meeting was bad. He freaked me out with his weird statements about knocking me up, and I ran away. I was scared, Greg was pissed. Rick was his friend, and I was rude and hysterical. I should have called the receptionist and complained about bad smells and partying behind the wall; but I figured having dinner with Greg’s friend would be more fun. That psychiatrist was nuts during that fishing tournament in Saint Pete, but I decided to give him a second chance. Actually, I decided to give myself a second chance, I needed a company for that evening, I felt tired, forgotten, and lonely.
 
He immediately responded to my “Hey, how are you doing?” and said he was glad I gave him a call.
          Vixen, I thought you forgot about me and moved on, where are you?
 We chatted about heavy Friday traffic, work stress, and weather. He seemed to be happy I had no plans for the evening and invited me to dinner. I gave him the address of the hotel, and met him in the lobby.  
 
Vixen, I am glad you are here. You have been on my mind since that tournament, sorry I was busy, I did not get a chance to call you, long hours, I was swamped – I quietly smiled to his blah, blah, blah. He did not call, because he was not interested. Obviously, something went wrong for him that Friday night, and I was his chance to get lucky at the end of the day.
He was polite and pleasant at the dinner table. He did not not sound like nuts, not at all. He talked about research and his postdoc students, I pretended I was interested.
When the dinner was over, he asked about my plans for the rest of the evening. I shrugged my shoulders. He had dark eyes and a white smile. He was very tall, athletic and knowledgeable of statistics. I was planning to go back to my room and run SPSS for my research proposal. Multiple regression and boy push-ups, packing the suitcase and trying to get some sleep prior going back home was on my to-do list.
 
          My house is not far from here, would you like to come over?
I suddenly remembered Jim’s words, “this guy is weird, his obsession with knocking up women is freaking dangerous, stay away” and thought Jim was jealous. He hated losing, and he was losing me to Greg all the time. Rick was Greg’s friend, no wonder why he could not stand the guy.
 
          Do you want to come to my place?  – Rick got persistent, I was ready to return to the hotel.
          I do not think it is a good idea
          Why? – he had something in common with Jim, same deep penetrating look, same hypnotic demeanor, same reluctance to accept no. Guys like this turned me on.
          Because I do not know you, going to a stranger may be dangerous. You work with severe mental cases, you should know better.  
          I am not a stranger to you, we saw each other before. You know Greg and Emy, actually, they are my best friends.
          I am tired, – I was not into going to his place. Sending mixed signals and giving fake hopes to fuck was fun, but I was not going to get laid after flirting.
          Come on, your hotel stinks, we will chat, and I will take you back
          I do not fuck on a first date
          As you wish, – suddenly, his voice got carelessly sexless. His hotness was gone, I felt like I was speaking to a girlfriend.
          What shall we do if we do not fuck?
          I will show you my new house, Greg said you like fish tanks, I have homegrown coral reefs.
 
His vehicle was new and expensive. I complimented his driving, he laughed and put his hand on my knee. Of course he lied about living close to the hotel. After 30 minutes of driving, we finally turned into his driveway. I got out shivering; it was chilly, dark, and late. I knew there were no fish tanks as soon as I saw the outside of his house. The house looked dark, very dark. Red sea coral reefs require lighting that I would see from the street. He lied again.
 
He is a psycho, it is not normal to tell a girl you just met you want to knock her up. If you can’t see that then you have issues ”. Jim’s words in my heard got louder as I came to the front door.
He let me in and turned on the light in the living room. I slightly nodded to his “I gotta make a phone call, make yourself comfortable”, he went upstairs, I looked around. The house was new, huge, and inhospitable, I felt lost trying to find a restroom when I saw that door. I lost count of rooms, everything looked, felt, and smelled new, brand spanking new, dark, and demonic; everything about that place seemed to be reflective of Rick’s gloomily polite personality. That door I ran into flipping switches and not seeing any fish tanks (Rick was a liar, which did not surprise me much at that point), but that door freaked me out.  It was almost destroyed, ripped like a feathered pillow. It looked like someone repeatedly stabbed it with a knife. I shuddered at the contrast between the quiet cleanliness of the house and the badly damaged plywood and hurried back turning the lights off on my way to the living-room.
 
Rick was still upstairs when I reached out for my iPhone. “Hey Emy, what is Rick’s address in Jacksonville? I may stop by to say hi” She responded almost immediately, I knew she was hopeful I will hook up with that psycho and forget about Greg.  As soon as I had the address, I contacted taxi services, and slid the iPhone into my handbag.  
 
He finally got off the phone, came downstairs, and handed me water with ice.
          I see no fish tanks here, – I still saw that stabbed door in front of me as I was talking to him; my voice was surprisingly dispassionate, I felt weird.
          I forgot, I have them in Boca.
          I should go than. There is no point for me to be here.
          Why? Greg said you are fun and submissive
          Greg lied, – I shifted my gaze to the front door and saw the taxi lights through the fiberglass.  – I gotta go, my taxi is here.
          What happened when I was on the phone? – he looked surprised and disappointed.
          I did not see any fish tanks, there is no point for me to stay here
          You know, – the tone of his voice froze me as I was pushing the heavy front door. – I never understood Greg. You are very averagely looking and anorexic. Bye slut, – he flipped from calm to hysterical within seconds. I felt happy the cab was waiting outside.
 
I entered my hotel room and broke in tears; coming into a stranger’s household was carelessly stupid. The torn-up door was still on my mind, it was still freaking me out. Whoever ripped it had issues, serious mental issues.
 
The next morning started with a text from Emy. She was curious if I was with Rick the night before. I responded “it went well” and started packing my suitcase getting ready to leave.  
Emy, feelings, his wife, love, sex

Sex with My Greg


The ding of a text message withdrew me from the boredom of factor analysis. I put aside the textbook, reached out for my iPhone, and glanced at the screen. “I am horny, come over now”. Greg’s straightforwardness was bluntly concise.  
 
He was watching me from the porch as I was parking. I got out of the vehicle, our eyes met. I felt helplessly fragile, weak, and small under his heavy look. A bunny and a python. My heart was pounding as he dispassionately waved me inside. I quietly followed him. The house was cold and quiet as usual. I never felt the presence of Emy or their kids here; dresses in the closet room and the Monopoly board game on the coffee table did not seem to be suggestive of anything.   
        
    Where is your wife?
   In Atlanta with the boys
  Why aren’t you guys together for the Valentines’ day?
  They are in Atlanta
 
I kept giggling as he was dragging me upstairs. I was a carton puppet, very light, and extremely unimportant. Every time he f*cked me, I felt like melting, dissolving, and entirely disappearing. My Greg, cold reptilian eyes, uneven teeth, and a slight smell of rotten meat from his mouth. I felt his stubble rubbing my skin like sandpaper. He was cold and inattentive; his cock was firm and hot; that cold and hot contrast felt like a crazy roller-coaster ride I was addicted to. He pushed my legs up over his shoulders to get a deeper penetration. He was too big for me, intimacy with him was painful and sweaty. I kept trying to refocus from the pain to watching the bedroom. Surreal pictures and huge fish tanks added to the coldness of the interior. His cock was the only warm thing about this house. I could feel him through his cock, and the feeling was fantastic. I knew as soon as he pulls out, we will entirely disconnect, and I will be smacked by the ruthlessness of his introversion. Sex with him was the only link between us, it balanced out his reasoning and my psychosis.      
        
       Pull out before you come
      No
      Please
      No – He roared ejaculating inside. I looked around searching for the AC remote. I wanted to raise the room temperature; the bedroom felt freezing, his semen would not keep me warm for a long time.
          
        Please get on the pill
      No
      You are your worst enemy, Vixen
      If you knock me up, I will at least qualify for some state help with housing
      Stop it, I give you money all the time
      Whatever, – I wanted to get out of his house, it was too big, too artificial, too clean.
      You should stay, I want you here all night 
    
      I shook my heard. The factor analysis was waiting. I wanted to leave my presence in his bed and in his heart, but I knew he will take care of the mess, and everything will be surgically clean again as soon as I am gone.  
Emy, feelings, love

Our Love Affair, His Wife, and My Non-Grata Experience


I do not know who told Emy about me and Greg. But someone surely did; she threw a tantrum and threatened to turn my life into a nightmare. I shrugged my shoulders at her “You and your son will end up moving, you will never be welcome here any longer”. I quietly left their house that day. Their house, redolent with Greg’s ideal cleanliness and the weirdness of surreal photos in the hall was actually his house, I never felt her presence here, she was suppressed like everyone else who ever dealt with his psychopathy. He was genius, she was jealous, he did not care, she suffered, he had no problems, she was unable to put up with his mistresses.
          Get out, – she was screaming, I could not care less. I loved him, I had his kid, her pain was her problem.
          Bye Emy

What does it mean to be unwelcome in a small town, where everyone knows him and his wife? The first couple of months were kinda uncomfortable. That Sunday I felt weird in church under the sternness of unsmiling faces. People kept turning their heads as I was leaving, my son started crying as I was picking him up from the church child care. The sitter gave me a cold look to my usual “thank you”. I was way too pagan to attend a Christian church, but Greg went there with his sons, watching him during the Sunday service made me happy for the rest of the day. I kept going ignoring people’s quiet hostility, and absence of their fake “how are you this Sunday?” bullshit. Gradually, everything went back to normal, people started smiling and hugging me again.

I kept complaining about the found poop on my doorstep until the landlord took care of it. I filed a bunch of reports over the knifed tires, the corps had to patrol our area more often, and Greg helped me pay for the tire replacement. The neighbors got bored and ended up leaving me alone. I resumed playing the piano during the season, the hotel management had to rehire me to entertain the guests, since hiring a professional piano player was too expensive. Our administrative assistant stopped calling me a witch as soon as I complained about harassment.

After 6 months of silence, Emy invited me for lunch. My lies about her weight loss put a big smile on her face. Greg and I stopped hiding in cheap hotels, and I was happy to inhale the dark surrealism of his house again.

          My poor little Vixen, – I felt empathy and concern in Heather’s voice as I was telling her about my non-grata experience.   
          I had no choice, I could not leave the town. He lives here, and I am his mistress.