This is a tale of secrets; of a woman torn between love, hate, revenge and powerful lust. It is a tale of madness, rage, manipulation and seduction. The questions of who is the seducer and who is the seduced, and who is right and who is wrong, are left ambiguously unanswered. This is my first story ever, so I welcome any feedback. There is not any non-consent in this chapter, it's mostly character building, but there is some sex. I promise there is going to be some pretty intense non-consent later on in the story - it will totally be worth the wait.
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As a woman of twenty-eight who had been married for over five years, Marie was no stranger to desire or resisting temptation, but the ferocity of her instant reaction to this man stunned her temporarily. Looking back upon that moment, she realized every decision she made after that had probably only been a rationalization; she had been hooked since that very first smile.
"I like you," he said with a grin and a hearty laugh, unabashedly showing his pearly white teeth, which were striking against his ebony skin.
The teeth in question were quite straight; one of his front teeth had a small chip. Deep brown eyes framed by gorgeously thick lashes twinkled at her. Marie's heart skipped a beat. Somewhere in the Aether, Cupid put away his bow and laughed.
His words had been a response to her deadpan joke in the college cafeteria just moments earlier. There was a group discussion going on about whether monogamous relationships were truly possible. The debate was getting fierce, with people on both sides of the argument.
Marie was only half-listening; she didn't think these kids knew enough about life and love yet to effectively argue about the subject. She had very strong opinions about the matter, but she wasn't about to share them with near-strangers.So she decided to try to end the debate with a bit of levity.
"The problem is, everyone likes a little strange now and again," Marie had said dryly.
Everyone cracked up, but for Marie there was an unspoken communication between her and the man she'd named "Mr. Pretty-Eyes" in her mind.
"He likes me," she thought.
Mere seconds had passed since his declaration, but time had dilated for Marie while she struggled with her burgeoning lust. There was no mistaking the interest in Mr. Pretty-Eyes look either.
"This is probably going to be trouble, ah, such sweet trouble," Marie thought.
She decided it would be best to smile back but not to reply directly. The conversation had already shifted topics. She said her goodbyes to the group and left for her next class. However, her mind was on anything but literature.She had decided to take advantage of the free schooling offered to her after her discharge from the Navy, but it seemed she would be getting a bit of extracurricular activity going on too.
"I don't even know the man's name, plus I am MARRIED!" she thought.
She felt a moment of guilt, which cooled her ardor somewhat. Her marriage was troubled as it was by her husband Eric's multiple infidelities over the years. He had promised to change, but in her heart she didn't really believe he would; she loved him anyway. Marie had never been an overly jealous woman. She blamed herself partly; she could be cold and harsh sometimes. Also, she felt like her looks were fading and her husband no longer found her attractive. She tried to stay in shape, but genetics and a healthy appetite worked against her.
Later that evening after her shower, Marie looked at her body in the mirror, trying not to feel disheartened. Her workout routine kept her "not-fat," but she was by no means slim. At 5'3, her measurements were 47-34-43. She wore a size 16 and was definitely in the plus-sized category. Each of her breasts must have weighed several pounds and she felt like her ass, though toned from exercise, was ever-widening. Her breasts and hips both had faint, pale stretch marks. Her stomach had a slight roundness to it that no amount of crunches or Pilates seemed to affect. Only when she flexed really hard could she see her abdominal muscles. She was sturdy and brown like mahogany.
Still, she was sure that other men must find her attractive, judging by the attention she received in public.
As she looked at her reflection, an even featured, dark-skinned face stared back. Thick, professionally groomed eyebrows arched over large heavy-lidded eyes framed by lashes so curled, she hardly ever needed to bother with mascara. Her nose was long and straight, a relic of her Native American heritage, as were her high cheekbones. A small, but full, bow-shaped mouth made her face less harsh than it otherwise would have been. Her curly hair brushed her shoulders; when she straightened her hair, it flowed down her back in a thick mane.
Intellectually, she knew she was far from ugly, but at times she felt like no one would ever really love her because she was not thin and white like the girls her husband looked at in pornographic movies.
"Like the girls with whom he cheated on you," a bitter voice in her mind whispered.
There were nights when Marie cried herself to sleep, but she never let her husband see her cry because she saw it as a weakness. Whenever she would confront her husband about his cheating and threaten to divorce him he would cry and beg her to stay. He would woo her,buy her gifts, and be on his very best, most gentlemanly behavior.
For a while, until the next time.
As she stood in the bathroom loosely wrapped in her towel, Marie thought about the Last Time.
The Last Time had ended with her locking herself in the bathroom for hours, crying, screaming and puking. Her heart was shattered into a million pieces; nothing would ever make her whole again. Marie had previously opened up to him about how his cheating made her feel and he had promised to never hurt her again like that. Eric said that she was so closed off, that he didn't even really think she cared about his infrequent flings with other women. After their so-called heart-to-heart, Marie had fully forgiven him and meant it.
But not even three weeks later, she glanced at his phone and saw a message from another woman. Marie then hacked his Facebook and e-mail account and found many incriminating messages. She knew from the content that nothing had happened yet, but the intent was as bad as actually cheating in her eyes. She had truly forgiven her husband for everything in the past, but she had warned Eric if she ever caught him sneaking around again, she would never forgive him.
"I am a fool," she thought, furious with herself.
Of course Eric would never stop cheating on her. She was a fucking doormat, a punching bag, a sniveling weakling. Her self-loathing was so powerful it sent shivers through her body. Her emotional pain was so intense it was manifesting itself physically. Her stomach churned, and she dry-heaved into the toilet. Her body ached and her heart pounded. Then she was struck by the utter hilarity of her situation and she started laughing.
Marie could not take anymore.
Marie seriously thought about going into the kitchen and getting her favorite sharp knife, slitting that motherfucker's throat, and then killing herself. However, she decided that would bring her no satisfaction.
"No one will ever make me feel like this again," she thought bitterly.
Marie laughed harder, and then she abruptly stopped. She washed her face in the sink and fully composed herself. All of her rage, shame and pain had vanished. Somewhere, in the recesses, of her mind she heard a woman wailing, but it was a psychic noise, easily ignored. Something inside her had twisted. She was ruined, but she swore that she would not be alone in her hell.
Marie came out of the bathroom and went into the living room where her husband was sitting on the couch, looking sheepish.
"One day you're going to feel like I feel," Marie said in a monotone voice. She felt hollow inside, strangely light. "I will never fucking forgive you for this."
