Back then I was a very different person to who I am today. I had low self-esteem and no friends. I was subdued and lacked any form of self-assurance. Yet, I was pretty much the perfect, most accommodatingly obliging wife.
From sixteen years old all I wanted was a loving and everlasting marriage—to have the most adoring and protective husband and raise two gorgeous children and grow old together. So by the time he and I met, I honestly thought that is what I would have. That was of course, until the psychopath started to demonstrate his truly deranged side.
Towards the end of '96 I started a job, having just embarked on my new journey after recently splitting from my fiancé of six years. Unfortunately and surprisingly, I had fallen out of love with him. It was the worst feeling I had ever felt in my entire life. We had been together since I was sixteen and still in high school; my first true love. The guy I was sure I would marry and almost did. Not really realising it; or perhaps it was me choosing not to see or accept it; but during our last five months together, it seemed that somewhere along the line the communication had stopped, the laughs had become few, if at all and I wanted to spend time alone rather than be sociable in any way. I tried fighting the feeling from about two months prior to us splitting but I just couldn‘t bring back the love I once felt for him. I was guilt-ridden. Thinking back on it now, he probably would have given me my happy dream of living in wedded bliss. Deservingly however, he eventually found that with someone else. No regrets though. As wonderful as he was, we were not meant to be forever.
I enjoyed the new company and my role. The people were really sociable and I made a few friends over the next year. For once I even liked my boss. Well, let’s just say he was tolerable. I was a Controller of a technical team within a communications company based in a cold, echoing warehouse. Not glamorous in any way and certainly not what I wanted to do as a long-term career but I was a good at it. I dealt with all the engineers; all men. I was one of only three females in the office. Actually, working with a group of guys was really pleasant—no gossiping, bitchiness or backstabbing—satisfyingly refreshing. I’d much rather have an uncouth male colleague shout across the room, “get ya tits out luv”, than deal with a nasty two-faced cowbag!
The guys were always taking the piss and playing jokes which always got me laughing. Work was hard but a good giggle which, these days, after a number of years of working in a variety of companies, with cocks for bosses and two-faced, sniggering, back-stabbing, bullying bitches for colleagues, I’ve learned is pretty darn essential to my sanity. I mean come on, we’re there giving away majority of our time from our very short lives for organisations to make huge profits and for seniority to live financially stress-free ones, whilst dictating how much we’re worth only to receive endless criticism—and not all constructive or beneficial—and the utmost un-appreciation for anything we do. We’re looked at like filth if we dare leave on time or take a lunch break, albeit ten minutes of our legally entitled one hour; our high spirits crumbled;, our dreams made insignificant and all this only to take home just enough money to get us by each month. Yes, sadly this is life but no, I do not accept it. Not now anyway.
It was at my new job that I met the heartless, life-draining, soul-crushing, confidence-sucking, harassing asshole for an ex-husband. A guy who was and probably still is the epitome of a micro mite; an ugly, dirty, creepy and literal skin-crawling parasite! The single equivalent of an entire infestation of demodicosis! A mangey bastarding fuck-head!
Although, it took a fair few years before I’d started to ascertain who he truly was. To this day, I still cannot figure out why or how he lost his demented mind. He went from being absolutely amazing to me, to completely breaking me.
Just one of many evenings we got into a screaming match about something really trivial. We had started to argue a lot about silly insignificant things. I had never before seen such hate and rage in his eyes. Many a time I honestly thought he was going to kill me. I would turn freezing cold from fear and had no idea what was about to happen.
That specific evening he had come over to my apartment for a romantic dinner, unfortunately no food was eaten. Instead he picked an argument with me, yanked me off the sofa, dragged me along the floor from the lounge to the bedroom by my hair gripped firmly in his strangling hands and slapped me across my face. He then took his tool box, of course filled with weighty tools and swung it across my head.
Now from a young age, having been diagnosed with Epilepsy, the last thing an epileptic needs is something as profound as a tool box, or anything for that matter, being whacked across their head possibly triggering an attack. Of course I screamed and begged him to stop, but it was more like a heartless Matador pleading to a pissed off bull in a ring to cuddle up to him. Eventually I managed to struggle out of his grip and run into the kitchen. Although, only god knows what was going through my head at the time. I mean what in the kitchen was going to protect me – a knife? Yes, perhaps, but I wasn’t about to stab my own fiancé.
He stormed through the doorway, abruptly stopping dead in his tracks. It was as if the film of red just cleared from in front of his eyes. Suddenly he was riddled with guilt and turned the anger on himself. He began to walk out the door, but rather than gladly assisting him out with my foot, I panicked and instead, I grabbed his arm as he started to leave. He just shoved me out of his way. He went to pull open the door and again I tried to shut it, but as I did, my arm went through the stained glass and was sliced wide open. It took that moment for him to realise what a mental cock he was being; well that time anyway.
So that’s all I had to do! Sever my arm and bleed everywhere! This whole time, all I needed to have happen was to lose three fingertips and be left with two permanent scars along my arm. How silly of me!
Unfortunately, no lessons were learned that night—not by him and pathetically, not even by me. These types of situations continued, almost becoming the norm. Another night of his momentary relapse, he threw an entire plate of food at my face before storming out. And on a different occasion, he locked me in our apartment where he almost strangled me as I tried to leave.
The biggest regret of my life was marrying that evil bastard. He just had this reckless need for confrontation and I should have picked that up a lot earlier than from when I chose to start noticing it. Damn it, it just grates my butt cheeks thinking of how naive and desperate I was to hold onto someone who wasn’t worth holding onto.
I guess it just goes to show how weak, timid and self-loathing I used to be. Foolishly, I disbelieved that anybody else would love me the way he did, when of course he wasn’t too busy throttling and battering me over the head or smearing my face with mashed potato and fish.
Eventually it got so bad that I tried on more than one occasion to take my own life—even that I couldn’t get right. Thankfully, the experience has taught me to be a lot stronger, more independent and a real ass-kicker.
There isn’t a hope in hell that I’d allow myself to be with a guy as low and as worthless as a vile prick like that. Certainly, if I were that deluded for even a short period of time because, let’s say, the sex was out of this world, well then I’d get what I wanted out of it and in that very brief space of time, I’d most definitely drop him hard to the ground, kick his balls until they were crushed into teeny little rat sized droppings and reduce him to high-pitched girly tears.
Oh god, I’m so worked up now. I need to burn off some of the steam I’ve just built up thinking about that wanker.
I roll out of bed; eyes still closed, and make my way to the bathroom. I tug down my PJs and lower myself onto the posh heated toilet seat to pee. Oh dear, bad hangover belly!
After some rather agonising loo time, I grab a quick shower and change into my workout gear and head to the fitness centre. After all, three days in with great yet extremely naughty food and no exercise will only risk turning me into a whale. Oh hold on. Of course I’ve worked out. Insane sex is counted as a fat-burner isn’t it?! I giggle to myself.
The typical gym goers are there – the stupidly sized grunters in the weights section, the ones who look like they’re about to burst not only a blood vessel but their entire neck. Then there’s the tangoed pigtail girls squeaking in the corner on the stepper. And dear god we have the cougars, or better suited would be wolves, with their pitch black dyed hair, ice pink lip-sticked, eyeliner-drowned, foundation-caked women trying overly hard not to make obvious their hunger for the cute, young personal trainers.
Me, I go to the gym for the reason we’re meant to go to the gym. No time or interest in the surroundings or the people, other than to have a laugh at them after a crappy week at work. I do love a bit of people watching.
In go the earphones and on go the dance tunes whilst I work up a tormenting sweat on the cross trainer. Fuck it hurts! But I want to be thin! Must keep pushing! Push bitch, push.
I close my eyes and lose myself in the music blaring down my vibrating eardrums. A few minutes gone and I re-open them. Slightly dizzy, I notice long icy blonde and dark brown, almost black dreadlocks appear in front of me. The girl wearing them is slim and beautifully trimmed. What the hell is she even in the gym for? Other than to make people like me look like moving mountains! She ascends onto the treadmill. She has the tiniest ass I’ve ever seen. Her entire bum is the size of my one ass cheek! She’s wearing a skimpy gym vest. Her arms are elegantly toned and she has a small dark tattoo on her left shoulder blade. I love tattoos. They’re so sexy. I’ve wanted one for over four years now and still haven’t decided on what exactly I want. I can’t stand having the same as anyone else and I want true meaning behind the ink I’m going to have welded into my skin for life. I can’t quite make it out but it looks like a spider.
Around twenty minutes later she steps down and I’m still killing myself on the cross trainer—sweat dripping everywhere, my face redder than red and my legs are on fucking fire. As she turns around, she wipes her non-existent sweat droplets from her forehead. She’s hot and not in the steamy, over-worked way. She is beautiful and still looks like she could do another 4 hours on there. Not even a pant.
Ooh, what was that about?! I feel my pussy twitch. As she finishes dabbing her face, the towel comes down and her eyes make contact with mine. She gives me a little smile as she climbs off and makes her way to the rowing machine. Ah, friendly little thing ain’t ya? I, of course smile back as I attempt to slow my unattractive wheezing to a dim and less embarrassing puff.
Hmm, the stepper or the rowing machine? Stepper or the rower? I head to the rower. And why shouldn’t I? I place my towel and water on the side, climb on and fasten my feet in. I wipe my glowing face, and as I look in the mirror in front of us and see Dreadlocks looking over at me. Oh god, please face, calm the redness! I look ridiculous. She smiles at me again as she rows back and forth. I look around in case she’s actually smiling at Mr Hot PT Dude standing nearby, but nope, he’s nowhere to be seen. It’s just me, myself and my contemptible reflection radiating back at me.
I start to row and after about six minutes, I give up. She’s still going but I’ve had enough for one night so I make my way to the changing rooms. I’d much rather go back to my room, shower, sit naked on the chaise longue, gulp down a bottle of wine to myself and pass out.
I’m in the changing rooms for all of just a few minutes before Sexy Locks appears; towel wrapped loosely around her neck, water bottle gripped tightly in one hand and the other scraping back her fringe.
“Hi,” I say softly.
Well why shouldn’t I? We’ve been smiling at each other during our workout after all. It would just be an awkward silence otherwise.
“Hey,” she says in a friendly and husky voice.
Oh my god her face and body aren’t her only sexy features. I want to eat her up and become her. Hmm, if only that were possible, I’d be as gorgeous as she was. I laugh inside at the stupidity of my thoughts.
She makes her way over to her locker whilst I’m attempting to open mine. The fucker is stuck. Why am I always the one to get the dodgy supermarket trolley, the smart phone that isn’t so smart and breaks within a month and the lockers that don’t fucking open? I shake and tug at it, albeit it gently and quietly, after all I hardly feel in the mood for being embarrassed in front of the hottest girl I’ve seen in a very long time. It can be pretty intimidating.
“Open you fucking little twerp,” I say under my breath. Unfortunately, she’s one of those decent people who want to help.
Why can’t she just be a beautiful stuck up bitch that keeps to herself? No, of course not! Instead, she makes her way over. I pretend not to notice in my peripheral vision and continue to yank at the piece of shit tin door.
“Would you like some help?” she asks in her sexual porn voice.
“No, I’m good thanks,”
“Are you sure? You look like you’re struggling a tad,”
“Okay, fine, if you can get this door open, I’ll repay you however you want,”
“It’s only a locker. I don’t need repayment of any kind,” she laughs.
“Thanks for the offer though,” she continues.
“Come on, let me at it,” she says as she grips onto the handle.
“You hold onto my waist and pull me. Maybe double the strength will help,” she says exuding positivity.
I do exactly that. God her waist is small and toned. So this is how it feels for a guy when doing it doggy style. My pussy tingles again. Oh shit I’m so bad!
She tugs, I pull her and we go stumbling backwards onto the floor. There’s an echoing laughter as she lifts herself forward and faces me.
“Oh my god are you okay?” she asks. I can’t get any words out, I’m laughing so hard.
“My fucking ass,” I finally manage to spew out as I rub it.
“I’m so sorry! I completely lost grip. Must be the sweat,” she explains.
“It’s fine, don’t worry. Probably not the best idea we could have come up with anyway.”
She stands and helps me to my feet. No word of a lie, a second after getting up we hear a click sound and what do you think that was?! The cheeky fucking locker randomly pops open on its own. The two of us burst into hysterics.
“Well, it looks like I got it open after all,” Dreadlocks giggles.
“It would appear you did and I thank you for that.”
“Well, I guess you did offer to repay me if I got it open for you. So what kind of repayment plan did you have in mind?” she asks as her eyes become sensual little slits in her flawless face.
Holy shit was she flirting with me? I mean, I’m the biggest flirt on the planet, especially with women and generally I can tell these things but she’s completely thrown me off track. She’s far too beautiful for me. Maybe it’s the dizziness caused by the workout or maybe I’m just so horny it’s messing with my mind.
“Well, what were you hoping I’d have to offer?” I tease back.
She looks down at my sweaty chest, then at my nipples poking their way through my vest. Yes, it’s pretty obvious that I’m quite excitable. It’s still just the two of us in the change rooms. It’s Friday and hardly anyone works out on a Friday!
She takes a step closer to me and runs her finger along my chest. I flinch at her touch. I don’t know what her game is so I’m a tad sceptical. But it soon becomes apparent what she wants. So I go with it.
She continues to glide her finger along my chest, then along my collar bone and up the side of my neck. Leaning my head to the side my eyes roll back and my sight is seized by a blinding ecstasy as I take time out to enjoy her caress. As she takes her other hand and does the same on the opposite side, I straighten my head and get lost in her eyes. I move my hand to the back of her neck, under her hair and pull her forward onto my lips. Her mouth is so soft and tender. Her lips are full and voluptuous. They’re lips I could kiss all day long
.
For me, the touch of a woman is just magical. And she triggers almost an electrical current within me. I feel like we’re the only two people on the planet at that moment. The room is spinning and my pussy is aching for her. I lay her down along the length of the wood slated bench in the middle of the room. Her long dreadlocks fall between the slits of timber as she lifts her arms above her head. Her gym vest lifts exposing her flat, toned stomach and hip bones—one of the sexiest areas on a woman. Other than their breasts, thighs and vagina of course. Okay everything about a woman makes me crazy with want.
I kneel down on the floor at the edge of the bench. She’s breathing deeply as she wriggles her waist along the seat as she tries to get her groin closer to me. She wants to touch me. I tease her by breathing my hot breath up along the inside of her legs. She spreads them wider in the hope I make actual contact with her skin. But not yet.
Oh how I love the power. I want to drive her crazy—crazy for me and it’s working. She loses patience and grabs at my hair and pulls my face in. My lips slightly converge with her shorts. They just had to be white, now prominently marked with a fresh lipstick smudge.
I ignore it and continue by pulling away. She lifts her head to look at me with anguish and frustration.
“Stop teasing. I want you now,” she demands.
“You want me do you?” I torment her some more.
“Why do you want me?”
She sits up straight and looks down at me still on my knees.
“You’re so god damn sexy. You’ve turned me on since the first time I saw you.”
“Is it driving you crazy?” I antagonise.
“Yes,” she says in an almost crying voice. God, it really is sending her insane with desire.
“Okay, I’ll give you what you want,” I concede.
After all, I want it just as badly, perhaps even more. I’m just enjoying the control for a while.
Sweet Convictions Page 11