Ohne Dich

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Without you.
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Living without you is hell for me. I know that, is it my fault we are not together now? I don't think so.

You left me on the 08/08/08 I remember it well, I will never forget the date, how could I? Your fortieth birthday, the day you had told me on the first day we met. One of your little quirks was always telling everyone you would be forty on the 08/08/08, you did it all the time, even to those that already knew. Yes you left me then, you stayed in the same house, the same bed, but only now do I realise that was when you were gone.

Before then, up till the seventh, everybody that knew us as a couple were jealous of what we had. We had permanent smiles whenever we were together, people remarked how our eyes lit up whenever the other walked into the room, many attested to hearing us making love, yes I remember that, how could I forget that passion, often twice a day even after twenty five years together. Yes often twice a day until that birthday.

It was a Friday remember. As always, on your birthday I would take the day off, especially if I was working lates or nights, if I was on earlies I would take the day after off. I would have the house ready, with your gifts waiting for you when you got home, a meal prepared and I would treat you like a queen, often starting with a long lovemaking session as soon as you were home and always ending with one.

I remember how worried I was when you were late home, the first time I tried to ring and you phone rang then went to voicemail, I thought you were driving, unable to answer. Half hour later when I tried to call you again, your phone just went straight to voicemail.

Dinner was ruined by the time you were two hours late, I was frantic, I called your parents, your sister, the police and all the local hospitals, all our friends. No one knew where you were, or could be.

It was just before ten when you pulled up outside, I was so relieved, I hurriedly sent a text to all those that I had worried telling them you were home. You were singing as you opened the door, do you remember?

Yes you were singing, until you smelled the ruined dinner, turned and saw me rushing to you with tears streaming.

Can you remember what you said to me? Can you?

Any other birthday you would have apologised, you would have been repentant, you would have been sorry and loving. Then again every other birthday you were home on time. It was our tradition.

But what did you say to me?

"Why are you home already?" as though you had no idea, and the look on your face should have told me everything. It didn't, I trusted you.

I was hurt when you told me you had already eaten, that you had dinner with some colleagues. You did say colleagues, not colleague. You then went and showered, alone, refusing my company. I heard you singing again, you had a long shower, even then I thought nothing of it as I waited patiently for you to come back down, and I thought we could start to celebrate your birthday.

I heard you finish you shower, I heard you go to our bedroom, I heard the creaking of our bed, I assumed you were putting on some sexy clothes, when you were a long time coming I thought I would find you ready to play. Imagine my surprise when I got upstairs and saw you, yes you have to imagine my surprise. You didn't see it, you were asleep.

I say surprise, actually it was anger I felt. Was I right to be angry, tell me I had spent two hours shopping for the best ingredients for your special meal and another six hours preparing it. At seven o'clock it was perfectly cooked and ready to serve of course even though I tried to save it come nine o'clock it was dried out, not fit to eat.

I have watched you sleep many many nights since we first got together, you had always looked happy, secure and satisfied, a glow on your cheeks accentuating your beautifully red lips, that night was no different.

I left you to sleep, I cleaned up the kitchen, threw out the dinner and washed up. I fell asleep watching some dodgy horror flick on the telly with a bottle of whiskey for company.

Yes I was hungover when you came down in the morning, yes you were polite when you opened your presents, if you can call a sisterly hug and a peck on the cheek polite. You still offered no excuse, justification or apology for either making me worry half to death or causing me pain, in fact you were, if anything hostile. When I asked why you got angry, do you remember throwing that crystal statuette I had made for you. Eight hundred quid smashed because I asked why you were behaving that way.

Even though we went from the epitome of a loving couple, making love at least ten times a week, to never. Literally overnight, I had faith in you, in us. Even though we had shared everything, until you got home that fateful evening I was oblivious to what had happened, what you were doing. It wasn't till my birthday, three months later, I really suspected we had a serious problem.

Tradition again, every year since we got together you had woken me with a blowjob and breakfast in bed, every year you had made me feel so loved, so pleased to have spent another year of my life together.

I remember waking, you weren't in bed, why I was surprised, I don't really know, we hadn't made love since you became forty, the only time we cuddled was if we woke that way, we hardly ever spoke to one another any more, but I was a fool, I still loved you. If I am honest, I still do. That was why I was clutching for straws that weren't there, refusing to see what was obvious.

I hadn't wanted anything from you giftwise, even waking up to no blowjob, no breakfast would have been fine. What I wanted was my love back, your love. I was on lates again, when I got up and found you had left for work, I cried. There was no card, no present, nothing telling me that you had remembered it was my birthday. Was that because you had forgotten or that you didn't care anymore.

Still I hoped, I even convinced myself that I had got the day wrong, then the post came, cards from friends, family, including yours, If your birthday had made me feel bad, this was even worse.

I hoped you were planning something, something to make up to me, something special. I had booked the day off, I thought it would be nice to meet you for lunch.

I was waiting at the traffic lights, you know the ones, by your works car park when I saw you leave the building, you ran to his car with a smile that used to be for me, a smile I had not seen since it fell from your face on your fortieth.

I can't blame him for not knowing I followed you, after all he didn't know me from Adam. You couldn't have known I followed you to his house, how could you have seen me with your head buried in his lap. I suppose you could have noticed me directly behind you when you lifted your head and you both ran to his front door and you couldn't have known I was on the other side of the door as he thrust vigorously into you up against it. I don't even think you noticed me, distraught and bawling my eyes out in my car when you returned to his.

That evening, when you returned to his house I had no idea you would. I only wanted to speak to him, honest. Just tell him you were mine and keep away from you. That was truly my intention, but when I walked in and saw you fucking him, bouncing up and down on him and you saw me. There was no shame, in fact you looked happy that I had found you fucking that cunt, you giggled and said, I will never forget those words and the contempt contained with them. "Look darling, dipshits come to watch."

I didn't mean to hurt you, really I didn't, I didn't care about him when I kicked his head, apart from I would have liked him to suffer and I regret the last time I touched your warm flesh. Even then all your eyes showed me was contempt. Perhaps if you had talked to me, told me why you stopped loving me I might have moved on, we might have both been happy, but it was not to be.

So here I am looking at your new home. I hope you are happy together, I was happy with you, I really was.

The bubbles had finally stopped, the lake surface was now calm. Joe turned and started the long walk back to his car, he could report her missing tomorrow.

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  • COMMENTS
53 Comments
arnowolarnowol11 days ago

I had fun, but not until I read the last section.

5*****!

CtwistedpairCtwistedpair3 months ago

I was an abused husband. Frequent were the times that I wished that I could do something. I'm too smart for that. She lives in Grizzly Bear country now. Maybe a Grizz will eat her.....poor bear though.

AngelRiderAngelRider8 months ago

Yet another incel fantasy. Are there horrible women in the world who abuse their spouses emotionally, psychologically and sometimes physically? Of course, and I am as revolted by them too. But that's not this. No, this is a story about entitlement. This douchbag is angry because his wife cheated on him after 25 years together. More than that, she was apparently hit with a slut ray because she was perfect until the day before her birthday.

So, my question is why any supposed loving husband would immediately turn into this ridiculous display of violent douchbaggery instead of questioning if perhaps his wife had a psychological or organic illness which caused her sudden personality change? Again, 1 day.

No need to answer, I already told you. Entitlement. We have one side and shock of all shock, the husband is perfect (well except for being a murderer) The only excuse is the woman is treacherous because she is woman. It's the common theme in this story, in the others he writes and all the other mysogenistic he man women haters who write the exact same stories and themes.

Small dick energy doesn't come close.

francemanfrancemanalmost 3 years ago

well done. entertaining.

Thank you for sharing.

etchiboyetchiboyabout 3 years ago
BTB...

...all the way, baby!!!

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