He had my check in his hand and asked the asshole if he wanted to quibble or if he wanted the fucking money. He wanted the fucking money. I love our D...an! A couple months later, the Christmas issue of the alumni newsletter had a front-page picture of the asshole (his face, not his asshole actually) and a story about how the asshole had produced a miracle through his own brilliant and unceasing efforts and bullshit and more bullshit and yadayadayad, and they were breaking ground immediately on. We had been married eighteen months when our sex life nose-dived. Deep down I knew it was not me because I looked after myself kept in shape and still had a part time modeling career.Bit by bit the truth was beginning to dawn on me as when on the few occasions we actually did something physical he wanted me to talk about sex with other men I had met, and he finished off by masturbating as I told a pack of lies.I Googled his conditions and arrived at my husbands fetish, he fantasized when I left. More

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