getting a divorce.”
To those words he looked up, but his vision lacked focus. “You don’t even want to try?”
“I’ve been trying for a really long time, Grant. I truly have.” Speaking those words, out loud to him, opened a floodgate inside me. He wanted the truth, there it was. Saying it to his face was pivotal.
It felt like my two halves were being stitched back together into one, like I was taking my heart back.
“Am I really that bad? I don’t get it,” he said, picking at the edge of a place mat my mother had registered for us and we’d received as a wedding gift.
“Grant, it’s more that I shouldn’t have married you in the first place. That was one of my biggest mistakes, because we should have been friends. Not husband and wife.”
I took a heavy breath and smiled through tears that flowed like overfilled ditches during a spring rain. I let them go. In a weird way, I needed him to see them. Deep down I wasn’t a monster; I gained no pleasure out of his despair. But I didn’t love him, not like I vowed I would.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wedding rings and set them on the table. They weren’t mine and I hadn’t earned them to keep.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. Then I left.
Grant and I were over in my mind. More over than when I had sex with Casey the first time in the Ashcroft Hotel. More over than the countless times I’d prayed Casey would turn up in a city I was working in. More over than when I’d cried heartsick tears at our wedding instead of joyous ones. We were done.
The tremendous burden I’d been carrying lessened.
I was closer. I was getting there.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
INCH BY INCH, MINUTE by minute, she was getting closer. I indescribably felt her nearing.
The previous night, the night before we were to leave for Costa Rica, when we’d talked, she’d been slightly quieter. I attributed that to her going over to their house, her husband’s house, her old house, where she used to live. Fuck, I didn’t know what the hell to call it, but she’d gone there to get her things.
I was relieved when she’d let me know her dad and brother were going with her, but I’ll be damned if I didn’t pace the floors all evening. Then I took a walk down to the shed. Then repeated the process hoping it was going all right. It was weird, but I wanted him to be nice to her. I hoped—for her sake—that it went smoothly.
Finally, she sent me a message.
Honeybee: I’m back at Mom and Dad’s. I told him we’re getting a divorce.
My whole body filled with immeasurable joy.
I tried to keep my excitement at bay, but it was like my birthday, Christmas, a benign test result, a hundred-dollar bill on the ground, the first sip of beer on a hot day, and that first inch inside her sweet pussy, good. It was a challenge to keep my wits and be sensitive. The awareness I needed to tread lightly was ever present, but I wanted to scream from a mountain, “I’m so fucking proud of you. You did it. You love me!” But, like the good boy I am, I settled on letting her know I was concerned and that I was there for her.
I was an angel. An angel who couldn’t wait to show that beautiful girl how happy she’d just made me…with my tongue…and maybe a finger or two…and hell, while I was at it, I’d probably give her the biggest orgasm of her life—if I could. Because—you know—she deserved it.
Twice.
A day.
Forever.
It was only the first full week in January and she was taking big steps. Not pussy-foot Blake steps, but real ones. She’d been nudged—no, shoved—into how it was going down, but I didn’t give a rat’s ass. It was going down and I was going to go down on her to commemorate the occasion. Thinking back on it, maybe I really just wanted to eat some pussy and she owned my favorite one.
If I was being a girl about it, I could have admitted feeling something like flutter-bugs, or butterflies, or whatever prissy things chicks claim to feel in
To those words he looked up, but his vision lacked focus. “You don’t even want to try?”
“I’ve been trying for a really long time, Grant. I truly have.” Speaking those words, out loud to him, opened a floodgate inside me. He wanted the truth, there it was. Saying it to his face was pivotal.
It felt like my two halves were being stitched back together into one, like I was taking my heart back.
“Am I really that bad? I don’t get it,” he said, picking at the edge of a place mat my mother had registered for us and we’d received as a wedding gift.
“Grant, it’s more that I shouldn’t have married you in the first place. That was one of my biggest mistakes, because we should have been friends. Not husband and wife.”
I took a heavy breath and smiled through tears that flowed like overfilled ditches during a spring rain. I let them go. In a weird way, I needed him to see them. Deep down I wasn’t a monster; I gained no pleasure out of his despair. But I didn’t love him, not like I vowed I would.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wedding rings and set them on the table. They weren’t mine and I hadn’t earned them to keep.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. Then I left.
Grant and I were over in my mind. More over than when I had sex with Casey the first time in the Ashcroft Hotel. More over than the countless times I’d prayed Casey would turn up in a city I was working in. More over than when I’d cried heartsick tears at our wedding instead of joyous ones. We were done.
The tremendous burden I’d been carrying lessened.
I was closer. I was getting there.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
INCH BY INCH, MINUTE by minute, she was getting closer. I indescribably felt her nearing.
The previous night, the night before we were to leave for Costa Rica, when we’d talked, she’d been slightly quieter. I attributed that to her going over to their house, her husband’s house, her old house, where she used to live. Fuck, I didn’t know what the hell to call it, but she’d gone there to get her things.
I was relieved when she’d let me know her dad and brother were going with her, but I’ll be damned if I didn’t pace the floors all evening. Then I took a walk down to the shed. Then repeated the process hoping it was going all right. It was weird, but I wanted him to be nice to her. I hoped—for her sake—that it went smoothly.
Finally, she sent me a message.
Honeybee: I’m back at Mom and Dad’s. I told him we’re getting a divorce.
My whole body filled with immeasurable joy.
I tried to keep my excitement at bay, but it was like my birthday, Christmas, a benign test result, a hundred-dollar bill on the ground, the first sip of beer on a hot day, and that first inch inside her sweet pussy, good. It was a challenge to keep my wits and be sensitive. The awareness I needed to tread lightly was ever present, but I wanted to scream from a mountain, “I’m so fucking proud of you. You did it. You love me!” But, like the good boy I am, I settled on letting her know I was concerned and that I was there for her.
I was an angel. An angel who couldn’t wait to show that beautiful girl how happy she’d just made me…with my tongue…and maybe a finger or two…and hell, while I was at it, I’d probably give her the biggest orgasm of her life—if I could. Because—you know—she deserved it.
Twice.
A day.
Forever.
It was only the first full week in January and she was taking big steps. Not pussy-foot Blake steps, but real ones. She’d been nudged—no, shoved—into how it was going down, but I didn’t give a rat’s ass. It was going down and I was going to go down on her to commemorate the occasion. Thinking back on it, maybe I really just wanted to eat some pussy and she owned my favorite one.
If I was being a girl about it, I could have admitted feeling something like flutter-bugs, or butterflies, or whatever prissy things chicks claim to feel in
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