My eyes not yet ready to open, much too early to be awake on a Sunday morning. Just go back to sleep.
My mind can't stop thinking about last night, our perfect romantic dinner, his despicable behavior. How could I ever forgive him? I take a deep breath, let out a sigh.
Our dinner was so perfect. After, we enjoyed a cocktail, our eyes locked in an enchanted stare, our hands entwined on top of the table, we were rekindling the passion of our first encounters. So magical, our early love so undeniable, our marriage needed a little boost.
Then his eyes drift, sneak a peek at her. Her perky little tits, nipples poking through her blouse. How dare he?
It was our third anniversary, our first romantic date since the birth of our second child. How dare he check out another woman. She was our cocktail server. Sure, she interrupted our perfect moment, pulled his attention from me when she asked if we needed another drink, but he didn't have to look at her, check out for perky little tits.
That slutty bitch was flirting with my husband. He must have done something to get her attention. Did they know each other?
There is no way I am going to get back to sleep. I have been tossing and turning all night. We need to talk about this, fix this.
I roll toward him, my face mere inches from his, I watch him sleep. We went to bed last night without speaking, the first time in our short marriage. I just know he was checking her out, fantasizing about her tight little body. How dare she serve us with her hard little nipples on full display, pushing through her sexy little blouse, they seemed to get harder when he smiled at her. What am I? Chopped liver?
My body looked like that before the babies. All tight and sexy, my breasts full and firm. He used to check me out, ogle my nakedness. I remember the first time he saw my naked breasts; he was speechless. He is a self-proclaimed breast man. I always loved it when he would notice that I wasn't wearing a bra, my breasts freely waying inside my top. Those days are long gone. Now, I wouldn't be caught dead in public without a bra.
We really need to talk, but of course he is sound asleep. He probably doesn't even understand what I was upset about last night. If only he could understand the toll that childbirth takes on a woman. The changes her mind and body undergo as sexiness is replaced by motherhood. I just want him to find me sexy again. Look at me through lust-filled eyes, desire me.
The dim moonlight peaking though the blinds is providing just enough illumination to see his face. He looks so content, a gentle smile on his sleeping face. I love this man so deeply; I can't stay mad at him. Maybe I am overreacting. It sure feels like he still loves me, finds me desirable.
I slide my hand down his stomach in search of his sleeping manhood. I love the feel of it in my hand as it comes alive, swells to my gentle touch, becomes so powerful. He will appreciate the attention; it has been a long time, and make-up sex is always so nice. Even if he was checking out that little bimbo, he still loves me. I feel a smile creep across my face. I am so ready for this, so looking forward to his love.
My hand travels lower, the search suddenly aborted. It doesn't find the soft tender flesh it was in search of, but rather a hard, fully extended marauder, seemingly prepared for conquest. Forgiveness quickly turns to anger. How could he do this to me?
What an ass!
My hand pulls back, my mind races. Why would he be so hard?
He must be dreaming about that little slut, her firm perky breasts, imagining his lips attached to her hard little nipples. I know how much he loves breasts, touching, sucking, nibbling, his mouth is so talented. He probably finds mine too stretched and saggy after breastfeeding two babies. I feel my eyes welling up, my heart sinks. Mine will never look like that again.
I roll over, my back to him. He doesn't deserve me; doesn't deserve my breasts, the pleasure my body has to offer.
Fucking asshole!
My blood boils, my mind begins to question. Does he want to leave me? Does he want to fuck that little whore? Why did he choose that restaurant last night? Was he just rubbing it in my face, trying to embarrass me? It was our anniversary for god's sake. Why would he do that to me? She was probably touching herself, making her nipples hard for him before coming to our table. She wanted me to catch them. What a bitch. What an asshole.
I feel him stir in bed, he rolls onto his side, now facing me, taunting me with his hardness. I imagine his hard dick pointing right at my butt, waiting to encroach.
I don't think so buddy! That thing isn't going anywhere near me. You just keep dreaming about your slutty little girlfriend, her perky little tits, those hard fucking nipples. You certainly won't be touching mine anytime soon.
Maybe I should file for divorce. Then you won't have a penny to your name or a bed to sleep in. Your little slut will drop you for another married man, the little gold-digging bitch. Then you won't have any tits to play with. Serves you right.
My face is flushed with anger, my heart pounding so hard. How could he do this to me? To our babies?