How a wife failed to understand her husband.
My husband worked hard to provide for us. We had no children yet, and since he was only twenty?eight, and I was only twenty?five, we had decided to wait until we were in our early thirties. Our thinking was that we would be more 'set' in life and able to better take care of our kids then.
Well then I messed up my marriage in a very real, painful, and probably unforgivable way. It all started one afternoon. Cleaning my husband's home office, I stumbled across a magazine. It had letters from people. They were very erotic. Mostly they were about the more private aspects of their marriages.
I couldn't believe what some of these people had supposedly done. I read stories about wives having sex with one, two or even larger numbers of strangers. How some husbands had encouraged and even watched or participated in their sexual depravities. I was shocked at first, never realizing that MY husband would have such 'reading' material in his possession.
I found myself reading most of the letters and I guess, trying to understand my husband's motivation for liking this stuff. I also had a curiosity about these people and their relationships. How could a man watch his wife have sex with another man? Why would a woman do such a thing?
After reading most of the stories, I put the magazine back exactly where I had found it. I never mentioned it to my husband. I tried to put those words out of my mind. How some of the women had been so sexually gratified and fulfilled in their slutty behavior was beyond me.
A week later cleaning the den again, I dug out that magazine only to find three more sitting underneath it. His 'collection' was growing. In my curious state of mind, reading them didn't seem like such a bad thing. Perusing through them thoughts came to mind, unbidden, but very stimulating. Soon I was in a very serious way, horny, as I had ever been.
Breaking away from my reading, thinking about the whorish and slutty ways these wives enjoyed themselves had put me into the mood to do something that I hadn't done since High School, that being to masturbate. Which became a great release for the fire inside me.
From that day on, while my husband was at work, his wife read and masturbated. His collection grew to ten magazines. Some of the stories had definite marks of wear and tear. They involved the wife having a group of black men taking her and using her as their personal slut.
My thoughts soon became, after days of reading and fantasizing, that I was one of those women. I was the slut; I was the plaything of all of those huge big blacks. They would use me in so many ways. They took my anal virginity, made me swallow their cum, and they would fuck me in two's and three's for hours on end. They were demanding of me and treated me like their personal whore.
After several weeks the 'need for read' as I thought of it, became an overpowering addiction. Spending as much as two or three hours of my day masturbating, reading, and dreaming of how I could be a good slut too.
There were some benefits to my being addicted to these stories. My husband got sex almost every night, and even though it was only vaginal, well... he was happier than I had seen him. I still wouldn't go down on him, although he had tried to get me to, I would however let him, on occasion, go down on me. He seemed to really like licking and sucking on my pussy even if I was reluctant to let him.
I had been brought up in a very strict and religious house. My father had been a minister and therefore I had a pretty sheltered life. Ted, my husband, took my virginity on our wedding night. I found it to be a 'nice' feeling and even had an orgasm. The pain had been pretty hard for a bit, but by the third night, well, I looked forward to having sex with Ted a lot. I couldn't bring myself to show him how much I liked it though, being so inhibited by my bringing up. I didn't want Ted, my new husband, to think that his wife was a wanton slut.
One night, after dinner, I hinted about his 'collection'. Ted became upset and even a little mad at me.
"Jane, why would you snoop through my desk? You should know that is my private spot. I never go through your vanity or your purse, or even God forbid, your diary. Why would you invade my privacy like this?"
I knew that I had really hurt him. On the other hand, I was miffed that he thought to sneak around and use magazines for sexual relief. Wasn't I, his wife, attractive enough for him? Didn't I turn him on enough? I finally blurted that out.
"Ted, I am your wife. You should be getting turned on by me not some porno magazine. Those stories are, are, well, I can't believe that you would read trash like that."
I had realized towards the end of my barrage at him, that I had been reading that 'trash', I had been masturbating over those stories, I had been fantasizing about those men, I wanted to deep down experience something like that in my life.
"Jane, have you been reading those magazines? Tell me you haven't been reading them too."
Embarrassed, I could only silently look at the floor. Ted took my silence as a positive answer.
"Jane, you don't understand at all. Those magazines are not mine, they are...well who's they are is not important. What is important is the fact that I don't read them and you shouldn't even know about them."
"What do you mean you don't read them Ted? I have seen those parts that are almost worn through the pages where you have been obviously reading them over and over."
My indignance at his claim of those magazines not being his inflamed my temper. How dare he accuse me of doing something bad when HE was the one who had brought them into my house to begin with.
"You just don't understand Jane. I can't tell you any more than that. They...are...not...mine...just drop it. Please?"
We went to bed mad at each other, and for the first time in several weeks we had no sex. My anger was stuck in my head for days afterwards. I still read and masturbated. Ted tried to get me to have sex and I refused.
