Purgatory

After her first pregnancy, my wife began losing interest not only in sex, but in passion. Looking back, I’m sure she was suffering from post-partum depression, but at the time, all I could see was her rejection of me. One night it was a headache, the next her neck hurt, after that her back hurt, it was too early or it was too late, or the kids might hear us. It was always something. I bought her flowers, chocolates, diamond bracelets and pendants, but nothing seemed to work in reuniting us. Nights without sex, quickly became weeks, then months, until our marriage began coming apart at the seams. We were no longer man and wife, but more like siblings or roomies. It wasn’t only the lack of sex, but our intimacy was dying. I suggested we seek marital counseling, but she refused, repeatedly claiming there was nothing wrong with our marriage, even though it was collapsing on top of us. After the first couple of years, I began losing interest, looking elsewhere for the love, the laughter, the intimacy, the pillow talk.

I became addicted to porn, to hook-ups with hookers, with women I met in Yahoo Chatrooms and on craigslist. Women who were likewise trapped in sexless unions, women who were tired of sleeping alone, women that were tired of masturbating and wanted the feel of a man in their beds.

Natalie was a divorcee´. She was a large woman, as tall as I was at six feet, large pendulous breasts, killer hips and a soft large ass that drove me crazy. Natalie was a living, breathing, fucking erogenous zone. I could make her cum simply rolling her nipples between my forefinger and thumb, or by kissing them, or by licking them. And when I would eat her pussy, she would moan in orgiastic pleasure, jerking her head left and right and raising her hips so that her pussy would meet my thrusting lips and tongue and mouth. She would ride my cock like a rodeo cowboy riding a bronkin’ bronco, cumming again and again before I would fill her thick lipped hairy pussy with my cum. I never walked away from her bed. I crawled away. . .

Natalie owned her own small real estate company, and could pretty much make her own hours, as could I. She served me her pungent tasting pussy and asshole mornings and afternoons, and I ate my fill. We would fuck in every position that she knew and she knew a helluvalot more positions than I knew, and that’s a fact. She was the teacher and I was her loving student and I learned more about sex in our time together than I’d learned in my 45 years of life.

I was in love with Natalie and she was in love with me. She was free to love who she wanted to love, but I was tied to my wife in marriage. Eventually, I decided to divorce my wife and marry Natalie and embark on a grand adventure with her, not caring if someone we knew saw us.

I talked with a couple of divorce lawyers and neither of them seemed enamored with my plans. Both urged me not to divorce my wife, and if I did, not to marry Natalie, who they variously viewed as a floozie or a home wrecker. They urged me to think this through, not to act irrationally, as if marrying the woman that you were crazy about, who you were compatible with, passionate about, craving for, was the act of an irrational man.

Natalie increasingly pressured me to initiate divorce proceedings so that we could live out our dream together. But I just couldn’t do it. I kept putting it off, thinking that I would scrounge up the courage to do it, but I never could.

In the end, I thought of my wife, how humiliating a divorce would be. And what it would do to my children, and to my parents who would never understand such an act of betrayal. In the end, Natalie sensed my failure to act for what it was and put an end to our relationship in a telephone call where she stated what was obvious to her and her friends, but not to me: If I had truly fallen out of love with my wife, I would have divorced her and married Natalie.

Suddenly, our love affair over, I found myself back in the predicament that I’d been in before having met Natalie: a sexless, unpassionate marriage where my wife and I lived together like brother and sister. It wasn’t like sex and passion would ever return to our life together. That was not in the cruel cards that fate had dealt us.

It’s been almost six years. The only sex that I have is flying solo. I sit in the darkness of our now empty home, with my wife asleep in her bedroom, watching endless hours of porn and slapping my cock back and forth until I joyously cum.

Sometimes life has a way of tossing curve balls at us. I could never have imagined that this once sensual woman would ever lose her passion for me or that the love we shared would devolve into this endless purgatory, with memories of our passion, now fading, and fading fast.