"Laima made some calls, and now the whole town is excited about tomorrow, at least the women. The cheater still doesn't know he's racing tomorrow. His wife wants to surprise him. I don't think he'll be a man after the race. I gave Laima your size information, and they found an old outfit at the museum that will fit you.
"The reason I'm doing this is the same reason I never divorced you, Vito. You are a good father, and I love you, even though you've done so much to destroy that love. After you're cured, I won't ever have to feel humiliated again. The children won't know about anything unless you tell them, so we can continue our marriage. Maybe you'll divorce me after tomorrow, but at least if we stay together, I'm pretty certain you'll never cheat again.
"See, Laima told me that men from the village know that moving away doesn't revent them from being in the race. And tomorrow, you'll become an honorary citizen. If I can prove you cheated again, the women will find a way to get you back here for another race. It sounds like cloak and dagger stuff. Laima said it wouldn't happen until there was another cheater for you to race, but in the past, the local women have raised whatever was necessary to pay people who guarantee delivery of a former resident for the race. She said that for the second race, I would probably want to slow you down like the angry wife on the tape did to that poor big man.
"Yes, Vito, I don't intend to castrate you tomorrow. In fact, I'm ready to spend the rest of the day and night making love as many times as you want, so you won't be stimulated by the sheath right away and get some good laps in before you have to put on that heavy leather jacket. And I'm only going to use the vibrating wand a couple of times, just to see how it works.
"I told Laima not to make the twine that cuts off the circulation too tight, and she promised me. I trust her, but you know me. I can be too trusting, like I was with you. She told me that this has been the hottest summer in history and tomorrow may set a record and that she couldn't be responsible if the twine dried too fast. I hope that wasn't her apology in advance. I have an idea that she and her friends would love to see you emasculated.
"She's a member of a girls club that studies the old ways. She introduced me to them when we were making plans, and the other four girls look as voluptuous as she does. They are really excited because they will be dressing and fitting you tomorrow since I don't know how to do it, and they showed me what they will be wearing to the race. They are flimsy sun outfits that barely cover anything, and when they sweat, you will be able to see right through them. I think they hope you'll be so stimulated by looking at them that you'll come quickly once the race starts, so they can put the heavy leather coat on you right away and slow you down.
"But that's not my plan. So, it's your call. We can make love and desensitize you for tomorrow, although you have to decide whether that might tire you and slow you down. Or, you can leave and spend the night alone in another room with the farmers watching. Or, I can cuddle with you and get you to stop crying like that. You are really crying hard, and if you don't stop soon, it could dehydrate you, and that could affect you in the race.
"Laima told me that once the race starts, I can't stop it even if I wanted to. But I know you are in pretty good shape, and I'm sure you're going to make it to the hospital before it's too late.
"If for some reason you don't, I've resolved it in my mind. I will continue to love you for better or worse, and I will never cheat on you, even if I'm sexually frustrated. Laima said that every woman in town now owns a digital video camera and will be out filming tomorrow, and that I'll get copies of everything. I found myself getting very excited when I watched the old video before and again when I saw it with you. I'll admit it to you. I came at least once each time. So, those videos of you will help satisfy me, even if you choose not to.
"When I told Laima my concerns about your attitude if you were castrated and that I was afraid you would divorce me, she said that the wife of the big man threatened to show the video to some of her husband's former girlfriends who worked with him in the big city down the road. After that, he would do whatever she told him. I thought about what you'd do if I threatened to show it to your secretary and the others you slept with at your office. Everybody in the company would soon know you had no balls.
"Would you still leave me? Or would you agree to explore new ways of pleasure with me? I've sometimes thought that maybe you were going outside of our marriage because our sex life was too tame. Some of my girlfriends have told me about sites on the Internet where they can watch women doing things to men. I never thought I'd be interested, but after the way I responded to that video, I'm going to ask my friends to tell me where the sites are. If you're no longer able to satisfy me in the usual ways, maybe you'd let me do some of those things to you in return for keeping your secret.
"There, I think I really scared you with that one. I'm sorry. I guess I'm just trying to pay you back for some of the things you've put me through. You know how much I love your big, ugly thing. The harder you pound me, the more times I come. I don't want to give that up unless I have to. So, I'm going to be cheering for you to win the race and not lose your manhood.
"So what do you say? Shall we make love? Shall I try to comfort you like a mommy and get my baby to stop crying? Do you want to leave? Since you're the one who qualified for the race, it's your call."
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Would you leave me?
"Would you still leave me? Or would you agree to explore new ways of pleasure with me? I've sometimes thought that maybe you were going outside of our marriage because our sex life was too tame. Some of my girlfriends have told me about..."
"What are you doing?" she asked, as I got up and headed to the bathroom.
"I think you set this all up," I said through the choked back tears of my barely contained rage.
"And if I did?," she asked, with defiance in her voice.
"Just this." I said, as I slipped in behind her with the shower curtain rod and pressed it firmly to her throat as I further explained, while she tried in vain to signal for help.
"The race isn't going to happen for me tomorrow, because the injured party--you--have to be there for many of the procedures...but you won't be there, because today is your last day on Earth."
She sputtered and struggled as I looked at her horror-stricken face in the full length mirror on the back of the hotel room door. She realized she had misjudged me then. A mistake she was not destined to learn from, as it turned out.
With that, I administered the coup de gras, and snuffed my loving wife/conniving bitch from existence.
While it was true that I had constantly been a philanderer during our marriage, it could never be said that I wasn't a dedicated and devoted husband.
Yes, it's true that the women at the office were familiar with my amorous advances, but that was because of the blue ball syndrome I was constantly afflicted with by the refusal of my wife to engage in sexual activity more than once every two weeks.
At first I tried romancing her with flowers, and date nights, and cuddling on the patio furniture while reading her poetry from her favourite authors. Then I tried working around the house to pick up on the slack so that she would have more time for me and more energy, by doing more daily chores around the house that she usually took care of. Still no luck, as she remained staid as ever.
At that point, I pulled out all the stops and built a gazebo/shaded deck for her, and planted gardens and shrubs around it to be her very own Shangri-La, but once again, it did not improve my bedroom prospects.
As a last ditch effort, I explained to my wife that a man has certain, regular sexual needs, which was one of the many reasons why I had married her in the first place. But as this seemed to fall on deaf ears, I pulled out all the stops, and suggested we seek counseling, because, I told her, "I don't know how long I can take this."
She just laughed at me when I said this, turning on her heels, saying, "Oh suck it up buttercup! It's not that bad."
And that began my philandering ways.
I was very discreet, but my wife became suspicious when I stopped pestering her for sex just weeks after she laughed in my face about my very real problem.
It was at this point that she decided to pay a private investigator to find out if I was having and affair.
What she found, was that it wasn't really an affair I was having, as such, but a series of sexual encounters I was having with the single women in my workplace, who agreed to be my friends with benefits.
And they were just that--friends. They didn't make demands on me outside of the workplace, and they never threatened my devotion to my wife. They were just fuck-buddies helping me through my difficulties at home.
It didn't hurt that I was handsome and charming, nor that I had a healthy and rigid eight-inch member that was capable of multiple intercourse in quick succession.
And so, I was caught, and my wife confronted me. We had a big discussion (shouting match by her,) and she threatened divorce. I shook my head and quietly asked, "Why?"
Through her almost apoplectic sputter, she fumed, "You ask me WHY!!?"
"Yeah, why?", I said. "I haven't neglected you, I still romance you and take you out for date nights no less than before. I still pull my weight around the house, freeing up time for you. I still work out in the yard to make you the envy of the neighborhood wives who want husbands just like me who devote every moment at home to them. And to top it all off, I don't even annoy you anymore by nagging you for sex all the time. What more do you want from me?"
"I never complained when you asked me for sex all the time!", she sputtered.
"Well, you never complained, but it never got me anywhere with you either," I responded.
"I liked it when you constantly pestered me for sex, though," she muttered.
"WHAT!", I asked, not believing my ears.
"I like it when you paid so much attention to me," she said through tear-blurred eyes.
"Then why wouldn't you have sex with me?"
Because I got all I needed when you stroked my ego by constantly asking, I guess."
"But you wouldn't make love to me?"
"No, that would have made you less attentive, and I would have felt unloved," she responded, choking slightly on her tears at this point.
I just sat there shaking my head at her. "So how's that working for you now?", I asked, sarcasm dripping from my voice.
"I want to start over again, and I want you to stop seeing those women at work."
Making a long story short, I agreed to try to make it work, and things in my life returned to the way they had been earlier in my life...with no exceptions.
She still wouldn't make love more than once a fortnight, no matter how many stops I pulled out.
That being the case, I began my encounters with the foxes at work, only this time, I made sure to keep pestering my wife for favors at home as well.
About a year later, merely on a whim, my wife hired a P.I. again, and once again, she called me on my behavior.
"You're cheating again!", she screamed at me.
"Yes," I answered quietly.
"Why are you doing this to me?" she wailed.
"I'm not," I said, matter of factly.
"What the fuck do you mean, "I'm not?" she said sarcastically with a face screwed up in pain.
"I'm not doing this to you, you are." I do everything around here expected of a model husband and then some. I am always attentive and devoted to you, but what does that get me? Sex twice a month! A hooker is a hell of a lot cheaper, and a hell of a lot less work."
"Then why don't you divorce me you asshole!", she screamed.
"Because I love you."
"How could you, and still be doing THIS!" she said, as she indicated the audio recordings contained on the memory stick given her by the P.I.'s office.
"Ever notice that I never stick with just one woman?, I asked.
"SO?"
It's because I don't want to get attached to anyone,...but I still need sex, and in order to keep my sanity and remain happy I with you, I get my needs filled elsewhere, because you refuse to help me with them, as you're supposed to."
"Where does it say I'm supposed to do that?!" she looked at me accusingly.
"Check the marriage vows," I answered, and then turned away, leaving her there with her jaw agape as I headed for the refuge of the golf course.
It was shortly after this conversation that my wife--who I had truly loved dearly--suggested we take a trip she said she'd won, to the little town we were now visiting.
Now it made sense. She HAD set me up. All with the nefarious intentions of gelding me! That was not going to happen.
When I was done working with the shower curtain rod, I couldn't fail to notice, ironically, how her splotchy face looked so remarkably like the blackened balls of the runners she had described earlier in her grainy video.
Shaking my head, I thought about how lucky it was that I hand insisted not only on a first floor hotel room, but also on one where I could park the car just outside the room.
Gathering all my things, I took one last look around, and remarked to the corpse on the bed, "You know, I did love you. But I think you thought love was ownership, and I'm nobody's slave." "Goodbye."
With that, I broke out the window of the hotel room and effected my escape before the dumb farmers could react.
Video evidence in hand, I beat it out of town before they could do anything to stop me.
When I returned home, I waited a day or two before I informed the Police that my wife had gone missing.
It seems the denizens of that little town were none too eager to see their crimes plastered all over the news, and so, letting sleeping dogs lie, they buried my wife in an unmarked grave in one of the farmer's fields.
The vote taken about outside cheaters in that town was quickly overturned, and on my end of things the police never did find my wife.
I continue to carry on as always at work, but I don't want to get married again, because I still miss my wife, who in spite of it all, I still love.
I read poetry in her gazebo thinking of her, and I still have a garden that is the envy of all the wives in the neighborhood.
I can't help but think sometimes, "Women! Can't live with them. Can't ..., oh I guess sometimes you can."
Life goes on.more...
Boy was that stupid.
He did what any ex-Navy seal would do. He opened the door and threw her out. Then he got packed and left. When the farmers tried to stop him, he broke arms and legs and left them in a pile on the floor. Turns out she really didn't know her husband that well. He left her and flew home. Filed for divorce and got full custody. She got partial visitation. When a couple of men showed up one day to try and take him back, he killed them both and buried the bodies, with his wife buried next to them. He was never bothered again. End to another stupid Edrider story.more...
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