AN OPEN LETTER TO MY WIFE
Sandy, if you are reading this, I’m dead. You may be asking, “Why am I waiting till now to bring these things up?” The answer is, for many years I loved you so much, I didn’t want to lose you and finally, when love died, we still fit together like a comfortable old shoe and I didn’t want to lose what little of your love I had left.
Sooo….where do I start? Why not at the beginning? You may be saying to yourself, “Why tell me all this, doesn’t he think I remember?” Maybe you do, but to be truthful, it seems to me you forgot a lot of what I’m, going to remind you of.
When we met, it was love at first sight for me, but I realize it took you a lot longer to fall under the spell of my manly charms. When I asked you for a date, I knew you had a regular stable of guys you spread your favor upon, but you said yes, and added me to that list. I was walking on water. We hit it off and over the next few months I moved up on your list of favorites until finally we were exclusive.
Even my friends warning me about the problems of an average guy falling for a beauty queen ten years my junior, did nothing to discourage me. When we went out, be it just a movie or dinner and dancing, I was proud to have a beauty, such as you, hanging on my arm. I still fondly remember the times we’d be out dancing and some young stud your age asked you for the next dance and how you’d always refuse.
After we’d got to know each other really good, I once asked you why you always turned them down and your reply was, “Yours is the only cock I want rubbing up against me.” I’m sure those words were sincere the first years–the years when our babies, Megan and Tommy were born and grew up in a loving home with two loving parents.
It was also during that time my Uncle Charlie died and left me, his only heir, ‘Carolina Shipping,’ which was at that time one of the biggest trucking companies in the tristate area. Yeah, I probably spent too much time at work, but I tried to be with you and the kids as much as I could and still keep the company prosperous, and you gotta admit, I was successful; only if you measure success in terms of the material things our family had.
At this stage in life, I realize they came at a cost to our family’s closeness and happiness and those lost years and opportunities to create family memories can never be recovered.
Do you ever think about how things were those years? I often do, especially now since this damn disease has gotten so bad that thinking and banging on this dang keyboard are about all I can do. If you don’t already, I hope you’ll have an opportunity to give it some thought after you read this letter.
Let me state here and now, “I was not the clueless cuck you thought I was; I just weighed all the pros and cons and decided I’d rather keep what you were offering me than to blow up our family’s world.
%%%%%
So where do I start? If you remember the London trip I took about three years after I first started having ED troubles. At that time we were into a few years of you being frustrated a lot more times than you were satisfied after we had sex. You always tried to assure me it didn’t matter, but I’ll never forget how embarrassing it was for my dick to quit right in the middle of the battle.
You were so sincere and acted so normal that I almost convinced myself you really were okay with the way things were going; that is until the day I came home from the London trip early and tried to surprise you. I was the one who got surprised.
No, I had no idea you were even home; it wasn’t time for you to be off work yet and since I took a cab from the airport I had no idea how many cars were in our garage, and so I wasn’t trying to sneak in the house.
I just opened the door and walked in thinking I had plenty of time to fix dinner for us; until I was blasted by that wall of music. I knew right then you were home early also, but I thought it might be a good thing– maybe now you wouldn’t be too tired and we could at least cuddle and fool around a bit after dinner; after all, it had been a long time–too damn long.
You had that crazy, wild West African music, from the movie about the missionary wife that took part in the native’s fertility rites without her husband’s knowledge, playing so loud it’s a wonder the neighbors didn’t call the law.
‘Wow! Things are looking up,’ I thought, ‘Every time we play that music she gets hot as a firecracker. Wonder how she knew I’d be home early enough to play around tonight?’
As I headed to the bedroom to tell you to turn the darn thing down.it still hadn’t dawned on me that there was no way you could have been including me in your plans. Stepping into the bedroom door you hadn’t bothered to close, I was treated to a picture of you, and the man I immediately recognized as your old boyfriend, locked in a sixty-nine.
Thinking back I guess I was shocked–I mean there I was, watching my very own porn show, except this was in real life–my life–and I didn’t enjoy it and yet in some strange way I was fascinated by the sight of you sucking on a cock while obviously enjoying what that fellow’s tongue was doing to your pussy. In those fleeting moments my mind was awhirl with thoughts of the many times I’d tried to get you to do exactly what I was witnessing only to be told, “that kind’a stuff is nasty.”
I didn’t know what to do; part of me wanted to get my old 12 gauge and blow both your asses to kingdom come; however that thought didn’t last long, for I had no desire to spend time in prison.
One thing I was sure of though, you were going to pay for your dishonesty of pretending you didn’t want sex. Crap! It wasn’t that you didn’t want sex–you just didn’t want it with me; and I’m the one you vowed the better or worse–the in sickness or in health, thing.
*************
An unbiased reader would probably say, “What the heck does he expect; if he isn’t meeting her needs, naturally she’s going to look elsewhere.” At first blush I even understand that, but this thing was a long time coming and we had plenty of time to perfect other means to satisfy you. Heck! We’ve both watched flicks where two women brought each other off with just their fingers and tongues–not a cock in the room.
Okay, so maybe I couldn’t have done as a good a job, not at first, anyway, but you don’t know what I could have done because you didn’t give me a chance to try. That one thing has haunted my thoughts more than anything else since that day.
Of course in the beginning my little solider only failed to stand up and be counted once in a while and when it did I tried to make up for the shortfall with my tongue and fingers but you’d have none of that. “It’s nasty,” you’d say. “Nothing but queers do stuff like that,” you insisted and nothing I could do or say would change your mind, and God forbid I suggest I could still enjoy it if you got me off with your mouth. No amount of persuasion could convince you that a climax on a half hard cock was better for a guy than no climax at all. EVEN THINKING ABOUT ALL THOSE TIMES YOU PUSHED ME AWAY AS I TRIED TO DO EXACTLY WHAT I SAW YOUR BOYFRIEND DOING JUST PISSES ME OFF!