Suspicious Mind

She told me of her slut life before me,
it didn’t matter at the time,
because I fell in love with her during our first joining.

At first our love life
was frequent and exciting.
We couldn’t get enough of each other.

We traveled to Charleston, and
to her boss’ home,
to make love in water beds.

Lovemaking took place in Sesquicentennial Park.
In my office in the doggie position.
Behind an old Baptist church in the boondocks.

I loved the female superior position,
with me embedded in her pussy
because I could fondle and suck on her magnificent breasts.

This position and actions
brought her to numerous ballistic orgasms,
but she never told me how good they were.

One night she went to bed without me.
I was surprised, shocked, and disappointed
I remember because she cut me off.

I never again heard her tell me how good I was.
The compliments, she once gave me, ceased.
At no other time did she ask if I wanted to fool around.

Why did she want me?
Did I remind her of her grandfather?
Was I as kind and gentle as he?

I don’t know why she wanted me?
Among all of the others. I know I didn’t have the largest cock,
and wasn’t the best lovemaker.

I asked her once more why she wanted me?
Her response was, I was kind, gentle, and loving.
There was no mention of desire or love.

She did tell me I was her best lover, twice over
but, why did she cut me off?
There was a contradiction, I couldn’t understand.

I wasn’t able to please her
when we lived together
or after we married, I was devastated.

I felt inadequate,
I was unable able to please my wife sexually,
while I was satisfying myself.

She was so soft, smooth, sweet.
My hands gently caressed her back
causing her to giggle when I ran a finger up her ass.

My hands molded to the sides of her breasts,
and my thumbs would brush both nipples
before my mouth enclosed the tip of a melon.

With the roof of my mouth and the back of my front teeth,
I would pressure her nub, as my tongue circled her teat,
and I would pull slowly away to end, prematurely, my delight.

There was no reaction, so I didn’t know
if she had enjoyed herself or not.
I was devastated. I felt inadequate. What was I to do?

I believed she was satisfied by someone else.
She claimed she’d never looked at another man,
but I wondered about the beer bottles I discovered.

After returning from a trip.
I found four empty beer bottles in the wastebasket
and none in the refrigerator. She was thirsty for a beer she said.

I didn’t believe her, because she seldom drinks.
but I didn’t call her on it.
However, I believed she had slept with the shop teacher.

That’s the only situation I believe she cheated.
All the rest are figments of my imagination.
I wondered what she was doing when she was gone when I was gone.

Too much time away and unaccounted for
added to my suspicions, but I only had conjectures
which could have been wrong.

Many times, I didn’t know where she was,
or who she was with,
or what she was doing.

We still made love, infrequently, spasmodically,
and she didn’t indicate that I satisfied her.
I don’t know if I was able to give her an orgasm.

I do remember several times
when she was sitting on me in the female superior position,
and I sucked on both nipples at the same time, she went ballistic.

Something’s when I folded cloths, I would pick up a pair of her panties.
As I folded them into neat rectangular shapes,
I wondered how often someone other than me had removed them?

The same is true of her bras.
They were large to accommodate her breasts.
How many times had one of her partners taken them off?

When I was outside, sometimes
I would hear a small plane flying overhead, and
my thought turned to the piolets she’s fucked.

I’ve spent almost forty years
wondering what I did wrong
and suffered not knowing.

I would lie in bed waiting, hurting, waiting, hurting.
She would be in her nightgown,
and when she came into the bedroom

long after I had fallen asleep.
She would turn off the light on the table next to me,
and would soon be sound asleep with no thoughts of my needs.

I confess, I caused myself to suffer. My stomach was always upset,
because I was afraid to ask, and my mind turned to her
need to feel like a woman, to lead a slut life.

Why couldn’t I accept her claim and be sane?
Why did the thoughts of her many lovers continue to return?
Why can’t I forget and forgive?

Why don’t I just ask her for what I want,
and get on with the rest of our lives together?
I am afraid. I am afraid. I am afraid.

Why can’t I forget and forgive?
Why did I continue to be a coward?
Why did I continue to suffer?

What did I have to do to solve my dilemma?
Did I need to pray or put my thoughts on paper?
Would it have done any good?

I hurt not knowing
I was afraid to ask, still, am
Why did I continue to suffer?

I don’t know!
I don’t know!
I didn’t know!