The Error of Her Ways

I got right by the door and, dancing in spiked high heels, breasts hanging out her bra, teeny G-string panties pulled to the side totally exposing the girl's pudenda and ass hole, bouncing and dancing as she went out of the bar, and drunk as a skunk came Tamara O'Neal/Wilkerson my wife of 2 years.

In her drunken haze she was kissing all the men, groping them and they her, sticking their fingers in her pussy and licking off her juices. She came face to face with me...four inches eyeball to eyeball and started to kiss me, then realized it was me and shrieked, losing her balance and falling backwards caught by some guy before she hit the sidewalk. I looked down and saw she had shaved her pussy, and saw her breasts dangling out of her bra, her hair mussed up, her makeup a wreck and she was so drunk. Her breasts were red from all the pawing, her upper chest and her cheeks flushed from her orgasms and her body was covered with sheen of sweat from all her undulating and dancing and whatever else she was doing. Her nipples were pointing straight into the air, harder than I'd ever seen them.

Quietly, I left. I turned and left. I did not speak, nobody but she and me knew who we each were to each other. I walked back to my car, drove to our little house in Littleton that her parents had bought us, and packed my three bags and suitcases.

I'd gotten the point.

This time I wasn't going to resort to violence. She wasn't worth it and I didn't see her struggling to stop it, I saw her being pleased by other men, and knew that I couldn't please her at all. I saw what I needed to see, it was very painful, indeed. Now, what I needed to do was to begin the process of healing. And, that starts with prayer and self-examination. My realization of what I needed to do was instantaneous.

I went to the mission, downtown, and got a cot. I continued my street ministry and immersed myself in it, forgetting that I even had a wife. I did not seek a divorce and did not care whether she did or not. I brought nothing into the marriage so I really had nothing to take from it. She wanted the marriage and got me to fall in love and go along, and now she wanted to soil it. It was hers to make and to despoil. I saw my job as keeping my heart pliable before the Father and not descending into hate for her.

Honestly, I do feel special about something. I feel that I could have been really hurt. But, I never felt that hurt. It seemed surreal to me, like some Spirit of God was shielding me from pain. I truly had committed my way to God and He is directing my path.

I never heard from Tamara, or her folks. Just as well, I have nothing to say. I am busy and don't have time for that kind of lifestyle. I am glad to be free from it; much as I am sure she is glad to be free from mine.

About 1 1/2 years later, I saw Tamara down by the Pepsi Center in Lower Downtown. She was partying and having a good time. She was still so pretty, and she had guys all over her. It was what she wanted, I had come to realize. A lot of attention and to be the center of everyone's fantasy was her drug of choice. To be with just one simple man wasn't her lifetime goal, she couldn't be satisfied with only one man, when there are so many. It's ok Tammy, I'll still pray for you.

This is my first "loving wives" category story. I do know there is great passion in this genre for many differing outcomes. I remind the reader that this is but a story, it did not happen, there are no real characters like this, which I know of, and I was just making a contribution to Lit. Because I've enjoyed the contributions of so many others in this category for years, I thought I'd try my hand.

-Pultoy