Before I married her, I knew Aubrey was a sexual being. It was obvious, from the way she walked to the way she dressed to the way she talked. A petite, 5'6" frame--she couldn't have weighed more than 110 pounds (later, I found out that was exactly what she weighed.) A thin, 25" waist; glorious, high-riding, firm 34C tits; and 36" hips with a small, tight butt. Nipples literally a half-inch in diameter and just as long, which were almost constantly erect. She had to wear padded bras if she wanted to hide those nipples, and she never wore padded bras.
She had sparkling, vivacious, blue-gray eyes, a quick smile, and thin pale lips. Her face was dusted with a smattering of freckles. I fell for her almost the instant I met her. She was the hottest thing I'd ever seen. I was far from the only guy who had noticed her, but I destroyed all the competition. We were married young and lived in a perpetual state of honeymoon for several years.
In bed (we both saved ourselves for marriage,) things were a little different. I've never figured out why, but it turned out that Aubrey had a lot of hangups around sex. She really enjoyed it, of course, and I was certainly no slouch in the lover department. My dick was just a little over average, 6.5 inches or so, and I knew how to use it--I practiced my technique constantly and paid an almost obsessive attention to learning new tricks. I read voraciously and was always on the hunt for new ways to please my lady, my lady to whom I was always faithful.
Something was missing, though. She enjoyed all kinds of different positions, but talking her into oral took a Herculean effort of will. I had to go down on her for weeks (something she always halfheartedly protested, but which apparently felt good anyways) before she'd consent to taking me into her mouth. And even when I was slobbering out what felt like pints of saliva and swirling and teasing her clit, even when I was inserting my tongue as far as it could possibly go into her pussy, she had very little reaction. She was much more into actual penetration. And even though she tried really hard to please me orally, once she made up her mind to do it, it was never great--something was holding her back.
Talking dirty turned her off, too. At the first hint of any dirty words--"cunt," "cock," "fuck," or anything that remotely resembled swearing--Aubrey would switch off like a light bulb. I learned to keep it clean. We could never settle on a pet name for her "vagina," as she insisted on calling it. I'd tell her, "I'm not your OB-GYN. I don't want to call it by its medical name." But she deplored the words "pussy," "cunt," "snatch," and pretty much anything else I could think of. I eventually gave up referring to it at all.
Other times, it was obvious that her mind was on other things during sex. I'd be doing my best moves--moves that had brought her to very real, screaming, mind-blowing orgasms in the past (and yes, I can tell when she's faking)--which now barely registered. Sure, she'd make halfhearted attempts at pretending to be turned on, but it was obvious from the expression in her eyes and the fact that we'd have to use lube 5 minutes in that she wasn't into it. At those times I felt like I was pulling into a service station.
I don't want to give the idea that it was bad, or anything. Sex with Aubrey was generally good. For a long time, it was satisfying. She enjoyed me, and often climaxed, and I enjoyed her and the feeling of her and the sight of her absolutely gorgeous body. I never even noticed anything was off until several years of experience and talking to other guys convinced me that we were missing something.
It was vanilla sex--but I wanted chocolate. Spumoni. Neapolitan. Rocky Road. I wanted all the flavors--and she wanted vanilla. I didn't start out feeling disgruntled, not even disappointed, but it felt like something was missing. And as time went on, my dissatisfaction grew.
This all came to a head after we'd been married for 10 years. Physically, the intervening time barely affected Aubrey at all. Her breasts were ever so slightly less firm--I preferred that look anyways. She was as thin and petite as ever. If she had a couple more tiny wrinkles than before, they were offset by her greater maturity, the further development of her personality, her greater presence of being. She was still the hottest thing I'd ever seen. From the looks she got when we went out, she was still the hottest thing almost any guy had ever seen.
And yet, those strangers didn't know about our "issues." They didn't know that she was aware that I was growing more dissatisfied with her performance in bed every day. They didn't know that she felt terrible about this; and neither did I. I thought she was ignorant of how I felt. On the contrary. She was perfectly aware, but completely unable to do anything about it. She simply lacked the capacity, and the most earnest will in the world to be what I longed for sexually couldn't change things.
I wasn't aware, but my feelings of disappointment were affecting her outlook on life. I don't even know how she found out--but 10 years living with someone creates an almost telepathic bond. She started out feeling surprised; she honestly hadn't even realized that anything was wrong, because for her, nothing was wrong--her sex life was completely fulfilling. Later this surprise gave way to depression over her lack of ability to change, and this in turn gave way to anger. Anger that was always simmering under the surface; anger at me because I didn't find her satisfying, anger at herself for not being able to satisfy me.
This anger affected everything in our relationship, including, of course, our sex life. Now she was even less animated; she dreaded coming to our bed and did it only because it was required of her. I could tell something was wrong, but I had no idea what it was and couldn't have done anything about it even if I'd known.
I had started masturbating when I was a young teenager, and I'd never stopped when we got married. I discovered the wide world of porn early on, too, and a fast Internet connection let me get all I wanted--the net is a bounteous, vast, varied, overflowing cornucopia of every type of pornography anyone could ever imagine. I thought I was doing this in secret; she was never particularly computer-literate, and I had my own computer down in the den. Since we'd started having our intimacy problems, I made use of porn more than ever.
I don't know how she found out, but she did. And she didn't tell me about it for a month after she found out, which gave her plenty of time to find out all about my sexual fantasies from the kind of porn and erotica I was enjoying. She knew that I preferred stories about unfaithful wives. She knew I liked bondage and BSDM videos. She knew I read a prominent forum in the cuckold community. She couldn't have known, but must have guessed, that I fantasized about her having sex with other men, that I imagined her getting banged by large gangs of huge-cocked guys. Of course, it was just fantasy. I'd never have dreamed of subjecting her to something like that in real life.
Eventually, Aubrey confronted me with what she knew. It was the biggest fight of our marriage. She told me she knew about the porn and the erotica. She told me about how she'd seen me wanking when I didn't think she was watching. And she demanded, angrily, tearfully, that I stop.
Something snapped inside of me. All of the disappointment of the past several years, all of the anger towards her that I had hidden even from myself, all of my pent-up sexual frustration, flew to the surface in a way I had no way of expecting, no way of predicting. So she couldn't satisfy me herself, and now she was trying to deny me the only outlet I had? "NO, you FUCKING BITCH," I hissed angrily, "no fucking way." I'd never talked to her that way before and she recoiled as though I'd slapped her in the face. My heart was pounding and the blood was in my ears and face. I was completely out of control, and I wasn't done.
"If you even had a sexual bone in your BODY, if you were capable of pleasing a man in BED, if you had any idea what a fucking DISAPPOINTMENT you are to me, you wouldn't ask me to stop. You'd beg me to keep it up, so that I don't fucking LEAVE you," I screamed. Her eyes were wide with shock, but she was silent. A single tear streamed down her cheek. She gasped a little and I realized I had shocked her into hyperventilating. At the time, I didn't care. "Good bye. You'll be lucky if I ever come back," I said in a cold, hard voice, and walked out the front door.
It was 10PM. Nobody was up in our neighborhood as I stomped out to the car, got in, started it, and tore off down the street. Adrenaline coursed through my veins and I could barely see through my blinding anger. I didn't pay attention to where I was driving, but I realized later that I was going to the place where I'd asked her to marry me, a beautiful spot on the nearby waterfront of the river that ran through our city. I parked and sat in my car, my head in my hands. I was starting to cool off, now, and realize exactly what I'd just done. After a few moments, all of my rage and energy from before was gone. I felt deflated, like an old balloon. I'd talked to the woman I loved in the worst possible way, in a way that you wouldn't address your worst enemy.
I looked over at the bench where I'd sat her when I went down on one knee and presented her with an engagement ring. It was easily visible from where I was parked. My mind cast back to that day, over a decade ago, when we'd been full of so much happiness and hope and possibility and promise.
I sat in my car and cried for an hour. Later I picked up my mobile phone and called her, intending to apologize as best I could and throw myself on her mercy. It was midnight.
"Hello?" Her voice sounded like she'd been crying the entire time since I'd been gone.
"Aubrey, I am so sorry. I can't believe what happened. I can never say the right words to apologize for something like that, but maybe if--"
"Shut up. Just shut up."
"But listen, I'm tryi--"
"I know what you're trying. I can't believe you're trying. After that, I don't know why you'd ever try again."
"Oh honey, oh baby," I said, the panic rising and gripping me by the throat. I felt like I couldn't breathe.
She interrupted again. "We need a break. I don't know if we can be together again. We need a break from each other. I don't want you to come back here for three months. Not for three months, do you hear me? We'll see then!" Her voice rose throughout her speech and was a shrill scream by the end.
