Diary of an Obsession
A bored wife looks for excitement & her husband reads about it.
Leo Miller had just read the words that knocked him off his feet. His wife Anastasia was bored with her life. She even quoted Virginia Woolf, a woman who committed suicide, for Christ's sake.
"Life is not a grand adventure, but a series of small, insignificant moments, that love is not a fairy tale, but a fragile, fleeting emotion, that happiness is not a permanent state, but a rare, fleeting glimpse of something we can never hold onto."
Fuck! How depressing?
This news bothered him more than it might have because he'd just watched a clip on YouTube where some fucking expert said 70 percent of divorces were initiated by women who found married life unfulfilling.
To be honest, he was watching this clip because the expert was a British woman who was fucking hot. Now he had this shit in his head. Ana, who is also fucking hot, is bored with her job, her marriage and her life.
He looked over at their wedding picture on the wall. His wife, Ana, was as perfect as a woman could be as far as her husband was concerned. With a regal bearing, she captured the attention of men and women alike. When she spoke, people listened. Her brilliance always shone through.
Men, her husband knew, couldn't keep their eyes off the exquisite face and body. She identified as a ginger, but Leo always thought her hair was more blondish. But it wasn't her hair that intrigued the opposite sex. Instead, it was a face so finely chiseled, her husband often thought her a creation of a Greek sculptor. It was matched by a body that would put any work of marble in the Louvre to shame.
Having been a competitive swimmer as a girl, Ana was carved with the body of an Olympic athlete, highlighted by sleek muscles most prominent in her legs and ass. The cherry on top was a magnificent set of big firm natural 34G boobs unlike any Leo had ever seen.
His wife was also a brilliant and serious young woman, but one encased in the body of a stripper. She had a wonderful playful side with friends and family, and an even better dirty side when alone with her husband. To put it bluntly, Leo had a massive crush on his own wife. He was also quite certain he was not alone.
Ana began keeping a diary during her early teens. Leo had been sneaking peeks at her entries ever since he'd read about the hot young accountant she'd met, which was him. He had become addicted to reading about their growing relationship and especially her descriptions of their early sexual adventures. Rather graphic ones, in fact.
Those descriptions which had once come from her pen as if by firehose, now three years into their marriage, had dwindled to a trickle. Still, they were fun to read when they happened, and Leo was human. He liked to read his wife's version of their sex life. He just didn't want her to ever find out that he had crossed a line and read her private thoughts.
He knew that their passion had cooled. He was well aware of the challenges of adulting. He was dealing with them, too. It was just a huge shock to hear it from Ana.
This new revelation of boredom was not good. Leo could not lose his wife.
So what was he going to do? He was going to up his game, that's what. Be more romantic, be more spontaneous, be more helpful. Just be ... better.
Diary Entry — June 4th
He gave me that look again today — the wolfish one that only He can pull off to such great effect. I was walking from my car to our apartment after work, and He accosted me in the lot where He'd been working on some dirty job or other.
He popped out in front of me wearing those ratty overalls again, and I was shocked at how slovenly He looked with a dirty face and bits of grass in his disheveled gray hair and beard. He was carrying one of those weed wacker things over his shoulder. It made me picture a serf returning from the field with his hand scythe.
He spoke to me again in that low, deep, accented voice that slays me. "Good evening, malyshonuk," He said in that syrupy way reserved just for us ladies, it seems. But I don't think He thinks of me as a lady. He thinks of me as raw meat. Or at least, that's the way He looks at me.
I looked up that word by the way, malyshonuk, and it means "baby girl" or something like that, I think. Maybe that's it's literal meaning, but in Russian everything seems to have a dirtier underlying meaning.
The accent gets me in another way. I feel like a little girl again looking to my Ukrainian grandfather for permission to do something. I am completely frozen like a deer in the headlights. I'm normally a strong, confident woman, but not when an older man with a slavic accent speaks to me. It's weird the effect it has on me.
I gave him a dismissive salutation in return and walked away. No man has ever been so creepy and so tantalizing at the same time. I wish I wasn't attracted to men like that, but the animal magnetism just makes me all creamy. The fact that my family is Ukrainian doesn't help.
And I think He knows it.
——
Leo read the entry in his wife's diary for probably the hundredth time. That was the beginning, he remembered. It was the first mention of Sergei Antonov that his young wife had noted. Reading it now, Leo knew that the absence of a name and the usage of a pronoun was deliberate. Because "He" with a capital H had taken over top billing in her fantasies. Tantalizing? She called him tantalizing. That old fucker?
First she is bored, and now all of a sudden, Ana was writing about being turned on by another man. To make matters worse, it was someone Leo never would have expected to do the job. Sergei was a middle aged loser, a maintenance man at their apartment complex. A man so far beneath her touch that it shocked Leo.
The older Russian immigrant was not good looking or in great shape. Not the kind of guy who should appeal to a beautiful young and promising finance executive on her way to a high level of corporate success.
Leo's heart hammered when he read the passage. He couldn't ask his wife any of the myriad questions that popped into his head, not without revealing that he had been sneaky enough to read her private diary.
Ana had made it very clear when they first started dating that her diaries were never to be touched under penalty of death. Sometimes, Leo wished he had listened, but like Eve with the apple, he was tempted and had to look. He spent a great deal of time making sure he didn't let slip something that he could only have learned in her diaries.
Ana's full set of diaries sat in order by year on the top shelf of her closet. There were only two years with multiple volumes. The first was her freshman year of college and the second was the year she met Leo.
Her husband knew this because he'd read them all — every single one. He knew more about the inner thoughts of his wife than most men. He just had to be very careful never to let her know all that he learned reading them.
For example, Leo knew how Ana lost her virginity to a professor during freshman year of college, as well as her brief experimentation with kissing girls. Which explained the two volumes that year.
He knew about her history of long relationships and her attraction to black athletes and older men which included more than one professor and company executives, but for the most part, was rarely acted upon.
