"I don't want to be married anymore; I want to be the slut I always should have been!"
I was just falling into a drunken sleep when my wife of two years said these words and I was jerked rapidly into sobriety and shot up straight in the bed.
"What was that you said?"
"You heard me; I want to live my life as a separate person, free to fuck who I want, when I want!"
"Hang on a minute, what brought this on?"
"You. We haven't made love now for three weeks. You promised me we would tonight. Then you get drunk and are incapable of doing anything!"
I thought a moment. Three weeks? It couldn't be that long, could it?
I had met Samantha a year before we married. Before that I was as happy as a pig in shit playing the field, fucking anyone I fancied who also fancied me -- and luckily there were plenty of them -- but when I first saw her in amongst a group of her friends in a bar in town and looked at her lovely face, laughing at something someone had said, I fell completely and utterly. Somehow I got up the nerve to go over and speak to her and stammering, ask her out. Me, the king of the chat-up, I was like a little boy asking mummy for an ice cream, And no ice cream ever felt or tasted as good as when she said 'yes', mainly I felt to get rid of me.
Over the course of the next three months I gradually got to know her and learnt that she was a committed virgin -- committed in the sense that she had decided that nobody would taste her goodies until he had put a wedding ring on her finger -- that she, at nineteen, was four years younger than me and that she lived with her parents in a house just outside of town.
The next three months were spent wining and dining her and finding that she was utterly determined to stay a virgin until she had a wedding ring on her finger. During that time we became inseparable and I took her everywhere with me, glorifying in my friends reaction to her. I remember when I took her to a football game I was playing in, when one of my team, Dan, kicked the ball straight to an opponent and stood gazing at her as she stood on the sidelines.
"What's up" I asked.
"Look at the form on that" he gasped, "She's got tits to die for and that arse, its dying to be fucked."
"That's Samantha, my girlfriend you are talking about." I said gruffly, not really displeased at his admiration of her.
"Man, if you want to do me a favour, just pass her to me when you get fed up with her." He responded.
Samantha had the same effect on all my friends, although most of them did not put it so crudely. Some made passes at her, but she dismissed them easily whilst not making an enemy of them. Meanwhile I tried my hardest to get her into bed but I was unsuccessful. In the end
I gave in and proposed
and we were married six months later. I was a little bit wary about our first night, wondering if all the time she had spent saying no to men might make her a little frigid, but to my joy she took to sex straight away and our early time together was spent almost exclusively in bed. Certain things she would not do, of course, Anal being one of them, but she was adventurous in bed and always looking for new ways to please me.
Now, although she was still as devastatingly attractive as ever, it seemed like I had taken my eye off of things a little too much. In truth I had wanted to give Samantha all the things I felt she deserved. This house for one, a new little sports car and all the clothes she desired. So I had been working every minute I could to make the money to provide them. Consequently, when I got home I inevitably fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
"Yes, I agree, I have been leaving you alone far too much, but why this? A bit extreme isn't it?"
"Last night and what happened then has focused it in my mind. And when I spoke to Marge this morning, she agreed with me. I need to do all the things I should have done before we got married."