Hello!
So, Dindi is back (and for the last time!)
I don't do this, come back with a story once I'm done with it, but I received A LOT of requests for a Dindi epilogue, so here it is. Specially for you who asked for it.
I'm working on my current story, though my time is much shorter now my Summer break is over. I'll finish that as soon as I'm able. In the meantime, have fun with this.
XOXO,
Nana.
*****
MORENA
The reason why sex is so good?
Being pregnant is bloody awful. AWFUL.
Your body goes bananas. Suddenly you have to pee all the time because there's a foot kicking your bladder. Your tits get enormous -which would be a plus if they didn't hurt like a fiend. Your fingers turn into sausages. Your feet swell. You get fat, weird, moody, unattractive. All that while your husband remains the same. Just the same. Perfect and hot as ever. And that is the worst part.
Watching Travis walk around half, and sometimes completely, naked -because he can't be bothered to wear pants and a shirt when he's home- as I got bigger and bigger each day was torture. It got even worse when I reached that stage where you're not supposed to have sex anymore.
He was wonderful. Lovely. No woman could ever wish for a better husband. Still, it was his fault I got pregnant. Therefore, he had to deal with my bitchiness. And he did. Without complaint. I blamed him for existing. For being a man. For being so ridiculously good-looking and so, so good a man I felt terrible every time my hormones got the best of me.
It was such a relief when I finally gave birth to Marvin almost 4 months ago. Of course the pain had been too absurd to mention, but, oh my god, I had the cutest, most perfect and adorable baby in the world. He looked so much like Travis it was disgusting.
Travis was such a good father I discovered I was, after all, capable of loving him even more. Every night, when Marvin waked us up with his howling, Travis was out of bed and headed for the baby's room before I had time to fully arouse from my sleep. He literally fought me to be the one to change his diapers. Mind you, I'm not crazy about baby poop, but one day out of five Travis and I disputed Marvin's dirty tawny bum.
"Dindi, you have done so much already. Rest now. Let me do this." He'd ague.
"Travis, I don't mind doing it. I'm his
mother
. I have to clean his bum too!" I'd throw back at him.
"No, honey. I can do it."
"But I want to do it, Travis!"
"You did it yesterday!"
"I did it three days ago!"
"You can do it tomorrow." And before I could say more he was halfway done with the diaper changing.
He was the perfect father. The perfect husband. Except he wasn't fulfilling his husbandly obligations to me.
My doctor prohibited sex when I was about 8 months in. Then Marvin was born and I had to go through the obligatory period of postpartum healing. In about six weeks the healing period was over, then Travis and I had had a rather disastrous attempt at having sex again. After that, though, he treated me like a was a leprous. He wouldn't touch me for the world! It was like he was King Midas afraid to touch his beloved and turn her into solid gold.
The night would mark mark the four month anniversary of the last time my husband had dared fuck me. I was about to climb up the bloody walls.
Every time I tried to begin something he would find an excuse to slither away from me, saying he had work to do, someplace to be, that he didn't feel well. This one time he ran from me. He straight out
ran
. I was on my knees all to willing to suck him for all I was worth, but he ran, and locked himself in his damned dark room while I cried, rejected.
What kind of a man runs from a free blowjob?!
We've been married for over two years, and happily so. He never, ever gave me any reason to be dissatisfied with anything in our life together, but now he wouldn't touch me. He was denying me the very thing that had brought us together in the first place. And I, as a woman who had pushed a person out of her body, secretly blamed myself. I knew it wasn't my fault, not really. But I felt as if it were. I felt untouchable, undesirable, neglected. I was beginning to feel a little down, too. Unloved.
He treated me as well as always. He was attentive, lovely, thoughtful, but he didn't seem to want me anymore.
He didn't want me
. And to think the whole reason why I was his wife today was because, once upon a time, he'd wanted me so much, he'd even acted crazy to get me.
My body wasn't the same. Pregnancy changes a woman. Inside and out. I had slightly wider hips now -what should please him-, not to mention much bigger breasts, a trait which was temporary and he wasn't enjoying it while it lasted. But those were good things.
I had countless new stretches which all the almond oil in the world wasn't able to prevent. I've never been too skinny, but not too chubby either. Now my body was somehow rounder, softer. My belly wasn't as flat as it used to be. The woman who looked back at me from the mirror reflection didn't possess the unabated security I used to have. And it was all Travis's fault!
Parenthood is not kind on you. By the end of each day I'm ready to sleep like the dead. Marvin's cries for attention are the only things powerful enough to wake me up once I lay my head on my soft pillow. One rare night, though, a week ago, I awoke around 2 a.m. to find Travis wasn't asleep by my side. At first I thought baby Marvin had woken him, but I dismissed that first assessment. It simply wasn't plausible that Marvin would wake his father and not me. If he had cried I would've woken up too. The little thing grew inside of me. I had an alarm in my head, ready to sound the minute he opened his mouth to let the first cry out.
I dragged my exhausted body to the baby's room. Didn't find Travis there. I checked our bathroom. Didn't find Travis there, either. Then I began to worry. Call it silliness, but my husband used to be a whore. He used to fuck anything that moves before he met me. Then suddenly, he had a wife with a loose vagina with whom he hadn't had any sex in almost four months. That little speaking worm burrowed itself farther into my brain as though it were a juicy apple.
He's gone out. He's out there with some leggy model with a tight pussy who can give him what you haven't given him!
"Shut up!" I said out loud. Clearly the lack of sex was beginning to affect my brain too.
As a husband, Travis had never done a thing to make me distrust him. But then again, before the baby, we had enough sex to leave me sore five out of seven days.
Distantly, I heard a muffled grunt that made my heart jump in my chest. Back in the room, I found the baseball bat George had given me for my last birthday. He'd been mugged a month earlier, and started thinking the whole world was in imminent danger of being robbed too. I had thought it such a useless gift. What would I ever hit with that blasted thing? I certainly wouldn't try to hit a guy with a gun pointed at my face.
Another grunt.
This time my ears were able to locate the sound. It seemed to be coming from downstairs. I went down, stepping on the creaking boards of the old house staircase as lightly as a cat.
Another grunt
. This one unmistakably a male sound coming from the library. My brain, that being the brain of a person who's lately only read fantastical infantile tales, began to work.
What if it is a burglar? What if he's got Travis?
On light feet I approached the library doors. Travis and I had moved out of his loft when I was about 3 months pregnant with Marvin, wanting more space and a garden. That library was my favourite place in the new house. One of the double doors was slightly ajar, although the lights were off.
A burglar wouldn't bother turning on the lights, Morena!
Statuesquely, I stood outside the library listening to the thumping of my heart sound in my ears. My trembling hands were clutching the baseball bat with such force my knuckles were white. I took in a deep breath, mentally counting to three.
One Mississippi, Two Mississippi, Th-
"