Matrimony Jail Is Better Than Being Homeless On The Streets

Sick and broke I went home to heal and get well. The man next door paid attention to me, too much attention and he got in my pants. After I was well, had gained back the 20 pounds I had lost, the man came after me and hauled me back home, not by the hair but as far as I was concerned it was. Back home, he announced to my parents that he would take me off their hands. My father stood and slapped him on the back and told him to take me right then and there. Thanks Dad.

My first year in matrimony jail was a joke, he had a sweet number two on the side. He always had her, he just brought her home one night. Sorry, I forgot he said. Forgot he was married? Either drop her, or I'm walking out, and my father's not going to pay for this house! I felt sorry for her, I really did. Not him, her. If I wasn't married I might have dated her, the sex had to be better.

I am not a proud wife. I'm not a happy wife. I'm not a loving wife. But I'm his wife and my Dad will cut me off if I leave. I'm not going back to the streets. Been there done that. Matrimony jail is a hundred times better. At least I know who I'm getting laid by.