Buyer's Remorse

I was angry and I was hurt. Mostly I was horny. I'd waited for a year, had given up a rewarding and fulfilling sex life. Yeah, I had felt like a piece of meat, but I also had to admit that in retrospect, it was a great feeling! Much better than the despair I felt now, looking at my foreseeable future. I began lashing at out Riley and at her family. I mocked them when I couldn't avoid them. I should have just left, but I loved Riley and knew there had to be a way around this. But my anger wasn't helping me find it.

Riley looked hurt whenever I lashed out at her. Verbally, never physically. She would try to calm me, but that only set me off with her explanation of how it was "God's plan" for us and how we must abide by his laws so we can be together in paradise.

"Paradise!" I'd yell. "I had 'paradise' with a hundred co-eds! I gave that up for this hell on earth with you!"

Riley burst into tears and ran into our bedroom, slamming and locking the door behind her. It eventually made me realize that she did love me, but really thought that this was the way life was supposed to be. That we should live in sacrifice to obtain an eternity together in Heaven.

God, that made me sick. Her parents had really screwed her up.

I tried for several weeks to get us into therapy, but my wife refused. She didn't refuse me anything -- even when I hurt her and was angry with her, she still acquest to sex on Saturday. Taco Tuesday, Sex Saturday! I'd plow her hard with fury and the wrath of the righteous and roll off in disgust. Disgust with her religion and disgust with my weakness in allowing her to control our relationship. I kept telling myself I should leave the bitch.

But I didn't see her as a bitch. Outside of the marital bed, she was a loving, beautiful wife. She'd leap to do things to make me happy; she seemed to understand my soul. That's what I saw in her when we dated. It was still there when we were married. How the hell could I love someone so fully when she would hardly let me touch her?

When she refused therapy, I took the only option left to me. I didn't think it would work. I thought I'd be appealing to the likely cause of the whole mess. But where else could I go? I set up a marriage counselling session with my wife's minister.

My feeling that the session would be an exercise in futility was only increased with my wife's excited, jubilant agreement when I told her about our appointment. She threw herself into my arms and planted kisses all over my face, shouting, "Yes, yes!" between kisses. Depression set in as I realized she was sure that the minister would be able to convert me to her beliefs.

We met with the Reverend Mr. Heuchler on Saturday, in his stuffy office. A layer of dust covered everything in his office, except notably on the chairs facing his desk. I could see where parishioners' asses had wiped the leather seats clean and where they hadn't. The reverend himself seemed none too clean. He had a strong body odor and his cassock had evidence of several meals on it. His bushy beard also contained bits of his previous meals. I wondered if sex on Saturdays went with "June is bath month". I don't think he bathed any more often. I tried not to breathe too deeply or through my nose.

My wife allowed me to state my case first, so I explained how my wife mistakenly thought that sex was an act that shouldn't be enjoyed, how she limited it to once weekly and believed that touching her erogenous zones was going to lead us all to Hell on an express train! Mr. Heuchler pursed his lips, put his hands together as in prayer and bounced his fingers on his nose as he listened intently to me.

When I was done, Riley began to speak, but the minister raised his palm to stop her. "I think we should pray on this and ask for God to provide enlightenment." He pushed back his chair and knelt on the floor. Riley fell to her knees to join him.

I looked at them, thinking what bullshit was this? But I desperately wanted Riley to achieve some real enlightenment, so I slowly lowered myself, mentally as well as physically, to join them in prayer.

"Oh, Lord" began the Reverend in a loud voice, "Look down on us and with your Grace, take pity on this poor couple who come looking for your enlightenment. Reach into their hearts, minds and souls and allow them to see your glorious plan. Help them find peace in your grace. Help this poor sinner see the error of his ways of debauchery and sexual exhibitionism...."

What the fuck! I was on my feet before I realized I hadn't just thought that. I yelled it. My wife and the Reverend Asshole Mr. Heuchler were staring at me as if I had just taken a dump on their altar. "Are you fucking crazy? You are nuts. I'm out of here."

And I left. I was in the car and halfway home before I realized I'd left Riley on her knees in the minister's office. "Fuck her," I thought. "She can pray for a ride home."

Needless to say, Saturday was not sex night. Riley probably would have gone along with it, despite her disappointment in me and in my blasphemy. Blasphemy! Apparently, that was one of the choicer words Heuchler had to say about me after I left. But her duty was to procreate, even with a blasphemer. It was God's Great Plan, after all.

But I couldn't do it. I vibrated with outrage and irritation at my wife, her minister, and their beliefs. Before her mother had driven her home, I had made up my mind to separate from this disaster of a marriage. My first step had been to move my things into our guest room.

Riley begged me not to do that. She begged me to stay with her. She loved me. She said that as if it would explain everything and would make everything okay. I looked at her, shook my head and closed the guest room door. As I fell asleep, I could hear her weeping in our marriage bed.

But I didn't leave. I didn't get a lawyer. I didn't begin a divorce or even the annulment that I thought any reasonable authority would grant me. I just couldn't pull the pin. I stayed in the guest room, but outside of the bedroom, our lives continued.

Then one of Riley's college friends became engaged and invited us to a party to celebrate her engagement to an SAE brother. The party was held at the SAE house and when we arrived it seemed to me to be no different from a regular frat party. Her friend greeted us enthusiastically, giving us a big hug at the door.

The frat party environment, the nubile bodies in abundance, the smell of the bride-to-be's perfume, and the feeling of her breast pressed into me, dredged up memories that had an immediate effect on me. My penis stiffed, so hard it hurt. I held my coat over my erection, hoping to hide it. Between missing even the limited sex my wife allowed for the last few weeks and the seeming unlimited availability of pussy at this party crystalized my resolved. I was leaving my wife.

I sat back on the dayroom couch, next to my wife. I was smiling at her for the first time in weeks. She smiled back and snuggled next to me. I believe that she thought I was finally seeing the light. Little did she know that I had seen the light, just not her heavenly light.

Along with her sexual beliefs, my wife's religion precluded drinking alcohol as well. When she got thirsty at that frat party posing as an engagement party, she opted for the punch rather than the beer that was freely flowing. I smiled, knowing, as did everyone else, that the punch was spiked. Of course, it was. This was a frat party. But thinking about it, my wife had never been to a frat party, so was unaware of the spiking.

I encouraged her thirst by feeding her the salty peanuts and chips that were available and by refilling her cup whenever it was emptied. I could tell that the punch was having an effect, as she voiced her shock at what was going on at her friend's party. Debauchery, she began proclaiming. Wantonness, clearly against God's Plan!

When she tried to stand and couldn't, I picked her up and carried her to an open bedroom. I laid her on the bed, and she reached up and caressed my face. I reached down and caressed her breast. She closed her eyes and quietly moaned. Encouraged by that, I unbuttoned her dress and pulled it off. Soon I had her naked. I finally got to caress those beautiful breasts and got to squeeze that perfect ass.

She luxuriated in her drunken stupor and my caresses. I reached between her legs and felt more moisture than in all our previous couplings combined. I moved down her body, using my tongue in all the ways Wanda had taught me. Finally, I got to taste my wife's juices.

Riley finally had that come to Jesus moment I wanted for her, and when the people in the hallway opened the door to see who was being murdered, I smiled at them and returned to my holy work. Yes, my holy work. Riley was finally converted to my religion, screaming over and over, "oh, my God, oh my God, OH MY GOD!"

When I finally entered her, she climaxed so tightly I could hardly move. It was possibly the most rewarding sex that I had ever had.

I thought that it was fitting. My marriage began with the worst sex in the world and was ending with the best. Yes, ending. I'd had enough of the crazy. It was time to get out.

I left Riley sleeping naked on the frat's bed. I went home and packed. I left my wedding ring on top of her family Bible, on the kitchen table.