Suanne Sunny Seeks Sex 1
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Chapter 27, Wife Seeks Rough Affair Then Realizes Bad Boy Is Simply Bad free porn video
After William rushed to cuddle his true love, his abandonment of me to fend for myself, my being trapped behind her car, his ignoring me as he moved her Mercedes, the caught in the act event slowly boiled into an identity crisis which swept over my perception of who I was.
My comparing him to a potato chip lover failed to cure hurt feelings. His lover's shoe was a poisoned dart. The venom where it hit first inflicted shoulder pain but then shifted to my heart and mind. Her, "Bitch, you, you fucking whore," curse echoed within. It all raised the question.
Does anyone love me?
Hubby was attracted to me because I was the innocent, young, exotic Oriental girl next door; inscrutable as he often said. Once married he wanted to trade me, a sex chip to bargain for other women by swinging. Now he’s in love with his business.
Gary? How many girls did he take to Alviso’s train tracks? He was too clever and adept. He brought enough girls to know the time the train came. I wasn’t his different, mysterious, beautiful girl, just his next seduction which went amiss.
Edward changed me, changed me into his Asian fetish sex doll. He only loved his doll creation which he decorated for his sexual whims to play games with. Finding another, he ignored my email birthday greeting. I was his discarded Christmas tree. His true love was his profession and the Asian dolls he created.
Enrico was a turf raider, me his conquest of Asia. He wanted to invade and leave his mark on my husband's property. I was just a piece of ass, rustled and rebranded with his eight-inch branding iron. His pleas when I left, were just attempts to be able to dump me first.
Daryl was interested in art, my body art, not me. We were never close, never talked about love. In fact, we never talked. His love was pottery, pot and hippy friends. I wasn’t even worthy of jealousy. He left untroubled for a pot smoker, surprised I even cared.
Elliot wanted me as a trophy to hang on his seduction pad wall, the Asian doe. He got confused in his quest, unsure he might be losing his touch. He tried to capture me with his marriage proposal. He’d probably would have changed his mind if I’d agreed. Unable to capture me, he reverted to his regular prey, unperturbed. His marriage proposal was a sham to make me another of his hens, like others in his flock, clucking, if selected for his booty call. Afterward, he only called to get my things out of the apartment as he cleaned out the nest for another.
William wanted me simply as weekly sex relief, an easy lay, no commitment, abandoned without a thought when caught, just his discarded Oriental whore.
They wanted sex, not me. Like Mom in Hawaii, they were white men who sexed me, the Asian whore.
I continued mulling over my life and convinced myself, what was not true, was. I was a bitch, whore, worthless, good only for sexing and believed it.
I'm no different than the Asian bar girls dancing naked on a stage, selected by number. My stage is different but like them, I'm called by a number, my phone number. No, they dance for survival, facing the horror of what they must do to survive. Me, I dance because I want on the stage. That's who I am, a dancing whore on the meat market stage.
Convincing myself I was just a sex object, my esteem plummeted to my late teenage years. At least then I had innocence. My esteem reached its nadir.
William’s love is right; I’m a bitch whore, used for screwing then dumped. No man loves me, none ever did.
I sobbed my revised history alone and drank to numb the pain of her virulent, poisoned dart. I got a prescription for sleep, another for anxiety. I drifted into the numbness of drugs.
After a week of wallowing in worthlessness, Paul called at the office. He told me to meet him at Jeeper's in Spanaway, a country-western bar catering to the rowdy, big wheel truck crowd. I told him I’d think about it. He replied there was nothing to think about, to meet him at eight and hung up.
In the evening alone, my husband gone again, drinking wine, numb with prescription drugs, watching banal TV images flicker, thinking of life, a life where no one loved me, at 7:30, I left to meet Paul, to learn who this bold young man was.
He obviously wants to sex me like the others, what’s the difference now?
Meeting at Jeeper's was appropriate. It fit my Tropicana Village roots. Like Erica, I was a country-western bar fly, meeting a young Alpha male.
That’s why Erica and I got along so well; we are alike despite my uppity pretenses.
Hortense
- 19.11.2022
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