Page 193 of Dirty Discipline, Vol. 2

Traditional Love by Alta Hensley

Chapter One

I knew what I was going to walk in to. I knew, and yet I continued on. It was like one of those horror movies where you internally scream at the girl for being so stupid as she is about to be murdered in the most gruesome of ways. I was that stupid girl.

I suppose that deep down this incident was inevitable. Not that I was excusing what was before me, but I understood it. A wife should never have to walk in on her husband having sex with another woman, but I wasn’t surprised by it. I should be mad, devastated, hurt, and destroyed. I should be shaking with fury wanting to kill the woman who was wildly riding my husband. I should scream or throw something at them. Shouldn’t I? Then why was I simply watching this woman give my husband pleasure? I watched with a morbid fascination, a sickness really.

She raised her ass slowly and then pushed down with a driving force. He, of course, just sat back and enjoyed the ride. She seductively grabbed her breasts with each hand and began to rub and slightly pinch her nipples. She separated her luscious lips to let out a soft moan and angled her back to position his cock to reach just the right spot. Her creamy white skin glistened, and her wild hair cascaded down her back. She lowered her pink manicured finger to her dripping wet pussy and swirled it around her engorged clit. Her moan became louder, and her breathing became ragged. She rode his languid body with intense passion, thrusting herself down onto his ready cock, encompassing him with her soaking wet pussy. She worked unaided on her approaching peak.

She really was gorgeous, and she was doing an excellent job giving ecstasy to my selfish husband. She seemed to be doing all the work. It was erotic, sensual, sexual…but not because of him. By his moans and his tightly squeezed eyes, I could see he was close to orgasm. Of course he was close to orgasm. He was always close to orgasm. I actually felt sorry for this woman because it was very likely he’d be finished long before she had her needs met. And with that thought, I decided to do to him what he so often did to me, and soon to this woman. I was going to stop them before he could reach completion.

There I was, standing in the doorway of the bedroom I once shared with my husband, watching him have lousy sex with another woman, and I was actually smiling. I crossed my arms smugly and leaned against the doorjamb. Very calmly, I cleared my throat. My husband jumped up in surprise, and the woman quickly covered herself with a sheet. I actually got quite a bit of amusement in their embarrassment.

“Jesus, Neely! What the fuck! How long have you been standing there?” He reached for a blanket to cover up. I found this funny. It wasn’t like I didn’t know what he looked like naked.

I smiled at him and the traumatized woman. I didn’t say a single word to either. I turned around and slowly walked out of the house, my house, for the last time.

This was what I needed. I needed to know for sure that I was making the right decision. Leaving my husband wasn’t something I took lightly. I believed in the vows I took. I believed in happily ever after. When I walked down the aisle in my ridiculously priced dress, on my absurdly priced wedding day, I truly believed we would grow old together. But I couldn’t have happily ever after if I wasn’t happy now. Seeing my husband have sex with someone else only gave me the closure I so desperately needed. I could move on, knowing that he had. He had been the first to step out. Betrayal in a way. So the guilt of ending our marriage could be on him…right?

My husband didn’t want the divorce, or so he said. He wanted me, he cried for me, and he begged me. But what he never did was fight for me. His sensitivity and his gentle soul was everything I thought I needed until I realized that it made him seem weak. I had no respect for this man. He was highly intelligent and extremely kind, but it was never enough. I wanted something more—for him to be stronger somehow. Our relationship was at war and I wanted—no needed—a warrior to battle for us.

The sex was average. Average wasn’t bad, but it also wasn’t good. It got to a point that having sex was like a chore or duty. It lacked passion and fire. We lacked excitement and desire. Two years of marriage and we no longer had sex. I was to blame as well, because I gave nothing. I couldn’t find anything to give. Have you heard the term “limp noodle,” or “dead fish?” It was fair to say that was me.

So we separated. I left and got a place temporarily to decide what was next. A furnished apartment became my home. For months I lived amongst belongings that weren’t my own. I slept in a bed that others had slept in, watched a television that didn’t truly belong to me and received mail in a mailbox that would only be for a short time. He called, he visited, and he cried. I didn’t. My heart had grown cold. Emotions, feelings, any form of love lacked in my impassive heart.

I came to the house today to come to an agreement. I could no longer stay in the limbo between marriage and divorce. Apparently, based on what I walked in on, he couldn’t either. He was ready to move on as well. Almost a year of separation was enough for both of us. He moved on, and so should I.

So yes, a woman should never have to see her husband having sex with another woman. But it allowed me to release my guilt somewhat. Seeing him naked beneath another woman allowed me to close the door. Today told me that the marriage was indeed over. That it had been over for a very long time. I could move on and not look back. I could accept the job offer I got back in my hometown and start over. I could move home and be surrounded by my closest friends and try to fix my broken life.

I got offered the job I’d wanted, as a program director for a non-profit. It finally seemed as if my luck might be changing, and I couldn’t help but be a little hopeful. After today, I decided it was time to start letting my friends know I was returning home…for good.

I quickly called Coley, my best friend since high school. We managed to always stay in contact, even if we both lived in different states or countries. Coley had always been my constant. She was one of those girls who spoke her mind freely…sometimes a little too freely. She was spontaneous, fun and lived life to the fullest. She was a free spirit and let nothing get her down. She, too, had just recently returned home after writing stories in a café in Prague. Only Coley could have the courage to travel to the countries she did. She traveled with a one-way ticket and no real plan as to when she’d be returning. I loved Coley more than anything and couldn’t wait to tell her that I’d be seeing her in just a week.

I hurriedly dialed her number and was disappointed to hear, “Hey, it’s Coley. You know what to do.” Beep.

“Coley, it’s me, Neely. I have excellent news! Call me as soon as you can.”

My next call was to Coley’s older brother, Caine. Caine meant more to me than any man alive. He had always been the protective older “brother” to me, as well as to Coley. He was just as strong in his actions as he was in his physique. He loved with an intensity which could be annoying to a troublesome teenager, but was desired as an adult. I loved Caine, as a friend, or at least that was how we always kept it. Caine and Coley were the only family I had left, and I’m pretty sure Caine and Coley felt the same about me.

My mom had died three years ago from colon cancer after a long and painful battle. It was Caine who held me as I sobbed for days. It was Coley and Caine who helped me through one of the darkest moments in my life. My father was never in the picture, so it was just me and my mom, and when my mom died, I was alone.

Coley and Caine were no novices when it came to death and grieving either. They had lost their parents in a horrible car accident two days before our high school graduation. The driver had somehow lost control of the car on a mountain pass and it went over the cliff. I can still remember how devastating the tragedy was. I stood at the gravesite holding hands with Caine and Coley, sobbing as their parents were lowered into the ground.

I paced the kitchen as the phone rang, hoping I could catch Caine. I could never really be sure of his ever-changing firefighting schedule.

“Hello,” Caine’s deep voice echoed. It always amazed me how, even over the phone, Caine seemed so strong and powerful.

“Caine, it’s me, Neely. I have fantastic news! I’m moving home. I’m moving back to you guys! I just got offered a job today, and I start in a week.” I spoke so fast and so loud I’m sure Caine had to pull the phone back away from his ear. “I’m moving forward with the divorce.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. How are you holding up?”

“Surprisingly well. This has been a long time coming. I just needed something to make me take the plunge.” I paused for a long moment. “I guess you could say I got the closure I needed today.”

“You deserve to be happy.”

“I know. I just need to keep telling myself that.”

“I’m really happy you’re coming home to us. Does Coley know yet?”

---