This story contain’s sexual content, violence, coarse language and consumption of alcohol it is rated R and 18+
Rude Awakening (Waking Up Jayla)
I’ve been living under a haze for five years. Asleep even though I’m awake. I have no control over my life and that’s okay right? Maybe. I need to wake up before I lose everything. However, it’s easier to sleep.
Things fell apart quickly, or maybe it was slowly? I’m not even sure when it started but when I realized my husband and I had fallen into a plutonic relationship of not bothering, I had to try something.
Every night after work for at least three years, he went to the gym. He’d come home, mumble a greeting and head right up to the shower. He hated public showers. Tonight I wanted to do something spontaneous. See if I can’t get his attention. If I let him go up the stairs, he’d shower, turn on his computer, maybe come down for dinner and then go right back up to his computer. If he bothered to stay home. More often than not, he’d go over to a buddy’s house or out with the ‘guys’.
I ran my hands through my long straight blonde hair and peeked out the window as my husband Paul’s car rolled up the driveway. I licked my bright red stained lips as he got out of his Mazda. I checked and double-checked that my sexy red lingerie was in place and hugging my curves in all the right ways. I held my breath, pushed my B-cups to strain against the fabric and waited in front of the stairs.
The door opened and closed without Paul even looking my way. His black hair was mussy and his shirt was un-tucked. That meant he was tired and wanted his space.
“Hey babe.” His usual bored tone oozed out of his mouth. “Long day, need a shower and I have work to do.”
I pushed down the anger of his blind dismissal. I stepped in front of my husband. I’m not sure what sparked my determination to rekindle our lost passion, but I had to try.
“Just a moment Paul.” I purred the words.
He finally looked at me in my red lace panties and matching see through Babydoll. I was a knock-out collaboration of all his favourite sexy things. I put my arms around his neck and kissed him. When we first dated he was a mediocre kisser, it was never his thing. He used to make up for it with hugs, massage’s and groping. Used to.
Paul pulled back and sighed heavily. “I said I need a shower and have work to do.”
“What the…” I bit my tongue to stop the imminent fight.
I could do nothing to curb the hurt on my face. I did myself up to look hot and paid a good amount for the outfit.
“Look babe, I’m sorry it’s been a long day.”
Something deep inside reached out with desperation. He was outright rejecting me and it hurt. I reached and pushed his workout shorts down. I took his flaccid penis in my hand and tried to stroke it to life.
“All the more reason to relax before you shut yourself in the study.” I suppose passive aggressive was not the best choice to spark our sagging passion.
“I said I’m tired.” His tone was angry and words clipped.
I dropped to my knees and decided to do something I know he loved and something I haven’t don’t in far too long. I planned to suck him until he’s hard. This is how it always was with Paul; I had to work to make him happy.
Before he could object further, I put my mouth around the soft supple flesh.
Hindsight would put a much different tone on that don’t. It had been a warning, a plea. The second my tongue explored the tip and its ridges I backed off. I recognized that taste. It’s been a long time, but one never forgets the distinct flavour of pussy. Only I know that wasn’t mine.
“What the fuck!” I jumped up and ran to the kitchen. I was more disgusted in that moment than furious. I rinsed my mouth out and stood at the sink calming my breath and racing heart. I turned to see him standing in the doorway. No shame, no guilt and no love on his face.
“How long?” That was the best I could do.
He shrugged so nonchalantly I could hear my life shattering. “A while.”
“Who?” I grabbed a glass and filled it with water.
“You don’t know this one.”
I dropped the glass in the sink and it broke. “This one?” I spun around. That implied I knew one or possibly more of his others. “How many?”
“Does it matter?”
I took a deep and non-effective breath. “Yes Paul if fucking matters. How many whores have you slept with unprotected while I had no damned idea? God it’s disgusting! To think…” I wanted to throw up and actually gagged.
“Twelve… no thirteen if you count Delilah.”
My sister. I could barely breathe and I covered my face. Not for tears, they were not coming to the emotion party just yet. Paul still stood there as if he’d done nothing wrong.
“Why aren’t you screaming at me?” Paul asked.
Good question. Maybe part of me knew? No. I honestly didn’t think so. Then I realized and my stomach burned. It felt as if my entire world just came tumbling down and shattered at my feet clad in sexy black heels.
“Because Paul I don’t love you anymore.”
“Did you ever?” He asked.
“Of course. Did you?”
Paul shook his head no and I reached a shaking hand to the chair. I managed to sit before I fell down.
“Wh-Why did you marry me Paul?”
It was strange, it felt as if this confrontation was a long time coming. He was so calm and collected. I was a jumbled mess and I’m certain I’m not processing this well. The storm of breakdown and total heartbreak is on the horizon and there’s nowhere to run and hide.
“You got knocked up remember? Not that you could even do that right. You got fat and you’re boring. I liked our living arrangement and you were an okay wife. Lousy in bed so I found other lovers.”
“You mean you liked my money and housekeeping.” My tears did start then. It sucked to be told you’re lousy in bed, unloved and basically worthless.
“I’ll pack a bag and go to a hotel.”
“No.” I shook my head. “Don’t bother to pack just one. Take your time and pack it all because you’re never coming back.”
“I’ll call my lawyer.” He said it matter of fact and left me alone in the kitchen to cry. I couldn’t even begin to describe in that moment all the horrid things I thought and felt.
One would think that a five-year marriage falling apart in such a strange yet cliché way would destroy a person. It didn’t. It scarred but didn’t destroy me.
Now a year later, and finally divorced, I was getting ready for a blind date. I’ve seen his picture yes, met… no. My friend Ona set us up. A co-worker that I think she has a crush on.
I looked in the mirror at my slimmer self. I’m still a little curvy and sexy in my opinion.
“Well Jayla, your first date as a newly single woman.”
I’ve been on a few dates since I found out my husband was a serial cheater, but none have even sparked my interest. I don’t think I’m ready to trust yet. But I wished I was.
To be continued…
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Next Chapter: One Too Many