I Did It For My HusbandChapter 11 free porn video

But how? I don't have any idea how to end it. I've never contemplated suicide before. Some of the methods I know of are easy to rule out. I don't have any kind of drugs I can take and I don't have money with which to buy them.

I'm reasonably certain that I'm too much of a coward to slit my wrists. I'm still the girl who's deathly afraid of needles. There's no way I could slice myself open. Besides, the sight of blood makes me ill.

I don't have a gun and I've never fired one. But I can't imagine having the guts to shoot myself. It's so violent!

I was interrupted by Gary hollering at me to come out and make his supper. I shut off the water and dried off quickly. I went out to the kitchen and made supper. I think that Gary thought I was still dazed by what happened to me today.

I suppose that's partially true. But for the most part I'm just preoccupied with deciding how best to end it all.

I ate a few bites. But I wasn't hungry. My body hurts too much for me to have an appetite. Jimmie came in after Gary finished eating. I made a plate for him and then I cleaned up the kitchen while he ate.

It was almost ten o'clock before Jimmie finished eating and I put the last of the dishes away. Gary took me to bed. Thankfully he wasn't interested in anything too athletic.

I watched him undress. He placed a large pile of cash on the dresser. He saw me looking at it and smiled. He said, "I think you and me are going to start a new business. This is what your friends gave me for those two movies they ordered. I'm going to have to look into selling them in porn shops or on the internet. I can see where I could make a lot of money out of this."

Gary stretched out on his back and demanded a blowjob. I obeyed instantly. Even now that I know my ordeal is almost over I'm too afraid of him to refuse. After he came in my mouth he rolled over and covered up. I told him I had to go to the bathroom.

I went across the hall and peed. I brushed my teeth and as I was staring at myself in the mirror a warm, pleasant feeling came over me. I suddenly knew what to do. I went back into the bedroom. Jimmie was in his usual place, curled up on the floor in the corner. He has been kept pretty busy today. I guess our old classmates tired him out, too. He's already asleep.

I got into bed with Gary. He didn't even turn over. I listened to him breathing evenly until he began to snore quietly. That's what I was waiting for. I gave him a few more minutes, just to be on the safe side. When I was certain that both of them were sleeping soundly I got up as quietly as I possibly could. I grabbed the cash from the dresser and went out to the kitchen.

I listened for a moment. There were no sounds from the bedroom. I quietly opened the garage door and went to the boxes that contain all of our belongings. I dug out a respectable dress, some of my old conservative, comfortable underwear and a pair of comfortable shoes. I put everything on but the shoes and went back into the kitchen. I picked up the money and tiptoed to the front door. Jimmie's keys hung on a peg there, right beside my purse.

I grabbed my purse and Jimmie's keys and quietly opened the front door. I slipped my shoes on and ran across the yard to our old house. Jimmie's car is still parked in the driveway. It hasn't been started in almost a week. But it has always been reliable and I was sure that it would.

I got in and was just about to start the car when I thought of something. Most of our belongings are still in boxes stacked in the back bedroom. It's silly. It doesn't matter now. But the only thing I own that means anything to me now is the box with the six books by R. Wayne Phillips. I know that Gary will just throw them away now. I couldn't stand the thought of those books ending up in the trash. They've meant too much to me.

I got out of the car and quietly entered our old house. As soon as I stepped inside my senses were assaulted by the strong smell of semen. I suffered through a few minutes of flashbacks of the things that happened to me in this house today. I didn't turn the lights on. I stood inside the front door for a moment while the events of this afternoon ran through my mind like a horrible movie. But then I took a deep breath and reminded myself that it's over now. Soon I'll be at peace.

I finally shook myself and tiptoed to the back bedroom as if I feared that someone might hear me. I grabbed the box with my books and took it out to the car. I know it's silly. I'm never going to read them again. I don't have time. But I can't leave them here. It's as if I'm compelled to save the only thing left in my life to which I have an emotional attachment.

The car started up right away when I turned the key. I backed out of the driveway and drove slowly down the street.

I spent more time looking in the rearview mirror than I did looking out the windshield. But it's late and there isn't much traffic on our street at night so I managed not to hit anything.

I drove to a gas station near the Interstate and filled up the gas tank. After paying for the gas I counted the remainder of the money I stole. Well, I suppose that technically I've stolen it. But I can't help feeling like I earned it.

Gary must not have been charging very much for those DVDs. There was only twelve hundred dollars, mostly in small bills. It isn't a lot, considering what I went through to earn it. But it's enough. In retrospect I suppose it's more than my lousy life is worth now.

In any case it's more money than I'm going to need. I'm not planning on starting a new life. It isn't my intention to find a place to start over. My life is over now so I don't need a lot of money. I just want to get far away from here before I die. I don't want it to end here. I'm not even sure why. But for some reason it's important to me. I need to get away from this town and these people before I die. If I die here, if I'm buried here, my gravestone will serve as nothing but a monument to stupidity.

I drove to the interstate and headed west. I planned to drive all night. I don't want there to be any chance of Gary finding me if he comes after me. But I was just too tired and too sore to be doing that much sitting. I've suffered through too much today. I drove until three in the morning before I pulled off and got a room in a cheap motel.

I was a little nervous. I've never gone into a motel and rented a room before. But I had to wake the clerk up in order to register and I took comfort from the fact that he was so groggy he hardly looked at me. He seemed a little bit put out that I paid in cash. He apparently doesn't get many customers who don't have credit cards. But he finally just shrugged and handed me the key.

I undressed, went to the bathroom and then fell into bed at about three-thirty. I was asleep in seconds. Now that I know my ordeal is over, that I won't suffer any longer, I feel much more relaxed.

I had some strange dreams that night. But at least they didn't include rape and degradation. It was the best night of sleep I've gotten in a very long time.

I wasn't sleeping very well even before Gary took control of my life. There has always been the stress of poverty hanging over my head. I was raised by a single mom who normally had to work at two jobs to make ends meet. A lot of her jobs were temporary and in later years her illness made it hard for her to hold any job.

I had to constantly struggle for enough money to live on after the state put my mother in a nursing home. I was close enough to eighteen by the time she finally had to be committed that I never had to go into the foster care system. But the little bit of public assistance I qualified for just barely allowed me to eat one good meal a day and keep the lights turned on.

There was a brief respite when I married Jimmie. He started out making pretty good money. Our lives seemed to be nearly perfect ... until he stole a fucking five dollar stapler!

Then the money problems started again. And then there was Gary.

I awoke at nine that morning more rested than I've been in a very long time. I took a long, hot shower without worrying about how many people are going to rape me today or how many people will see me naked and grope my vulnerable body while I stand before them helplessly and try to act like whatever they do is just fine with me.

I no longer have to worry about the content of Sheryl's website or about the party that Gary has planned for me this weekend with the bikers. I can relax and look for a nice place to die.

I checked out of my room and got directions to a small diner nearby. I bought a road atlas and ordered a cup of coffee and a bagel. I enjoyed a leisurely breakfast while I studied the large map of all fifty states in the front of the atlas.

I knew where I was going as soon as I looked at the map. I've always wanted to see the Golden Gate Bridge at night. I can make that one dream come true before I end my life. I'll drive across the country at a leisurely pace, stop for a nice meal in the evening and spend the night in a nice motel. If it takes me five or even six days to cross the country I'll still have money in my pocket when I reach the bridge. I'll climb up on the railing, close my eyes, and it will all be over in less than a minute.

I found myself almost looking forward to it!

It did take me six days. I took my time and stopped when I got tired. I stopped at a small shopping center that first morning and bought enough inexpensive clothes to allow me a fresh outfit every day. I bought an overnight bag and some toiletries. It was strangely amusing to know that I'll never have to do laundry again.

I avoided driving through any large cities around rush hour. I've never driven in a large city and all that traffic scares me. I stayed in the nicest motels I could find and ate some wonderful meals on the trip. It was my first, and last, real vacation. I didn't do any sightseeing. I was tempted a couple of times. But even though the trip is turning out to be quite pleasant, I am, after all, on my way to my death. There's only one thing I really want to see before I die.

I studied the road atlas and I planned my arrival so that I could drive across the Golden Gate Bridge late in the evening. I located an observation area on the map that looked like it provided a good place to get a last look at the bridge with San Francisco in the background.

It was a confusing drive for a small town girl. But I really wanted to see the bridge from a distance when it's all lit up at night. That's why I drove across the country instead of driving head on into a bridge abutment at top speed and ending it all that first day.

I came in from the north on I-80, took I-780 and then I-580 to Highway 1. I drove through the outskirts of Sausalito to the Golden Gate National Recreation Area until I came to a place called Golden Gate Bridge Vista Point.

I parked there with the intention of enjoying the view for a little while. When it's time I'll drive across the bridge and park as close as I can on the San Francisco side. I'll leave the car there, enjoy a leisurely walk to a likely place on the bridge and end it all.

I was exhausted when I finally arrived at the overlook. Even late at night the traffic was heavy; heavier than I'm used to anyway. It has been a hectic drive. But it's worth it. The view is breathtaking. There were quite a few cars already there when I arrived. I parked as far from everyone else as I could. I got out and stretched my legs for a few minutes. By the time I returned to the car it had cooled down a little. I sat on the hood of Jimmie's car. I leaned back against the windshield and stared at the bridge without a single thought in my head. No fears, no regrets, just calm. I'm at peace at last. I sat there like that for so long that I lost all track of time.

It occurred to me after a while that even now, even now that I'm here and about to end my life, I'm still not afraid. My miserable life is almost at an end and I'm happy about that.

I stared at the bridge for so long that time kind of got away from me. I wasn't even aware that the parking lot around me had all but emptied out. I was just as oblivious when someone drove in and parked nearby. Well, I was aware of someone parking nearby. But I didn't pay them any mind. The newcomers didn't bother me. I continued to stare at the bridge I've come to think of as my salvation.

It was probably ten minutes after the car pulled up and parked several spaces away from me that a hand holding a bottle of beer appeared in front of my face.

I was startled, but not scared. I smiled and said, "No thanks."

A calm, self assured, gentle masculine voice said, "Go ahead, you look like you could use a drink."

I finally turned to see who was offering me a beer. At first I saw only his eyes. They drew my gaze and were so compelling that at first I couldn't stop staring. Several seconds passed before I widened my view and took in the man.

I found myself reaching out and taking the proffered beer without making the conscious decision to change my mind. And yet once I had it in my hand I felt grateful. I didn't realize it until I held that cold bottle in my hand but I really am kind of thirsty. It has been a long day. A cold beer would be nice.

I smiled and thanked him.

He just smiled.

He didn't talk. He didn't try to hit on me. He didn't say or do any of the foolish things that so many guys do when they see a girl and they want to meet her. He just turned and leaned against the fender of my car and stared at the bridge with me.

When he turned away I suppressed a shiver. Christ he's handsome! If only I'd met him before Gary destroyed me!

The funny thing is that he looks strangely familiar. Of course I don't know him. I can't possibly know him. I don't know anyone who lives in California. But I couldn't think of who in my life he reminds me of. I didn't spend too much time wondering about it, though. It doesn't really matter.

We sipped our beers in silence and somehow, after a while, it started to feel nice to have someone nearby as my life is about to end, even if he is a stranger. We slowly sipped our beers and when the bottles were empty he took my empty bottle from me and went to his car for two more.

We were half way through the second beer when he finally spoke again. He didn't turn to look at me. He gazed out at the brightly illuminated Golden Gate Bridge and in a strong, quiet voice that sent chills down my spine he said, "They've made it nearly impossible to jump now, unless you're an athlete or you've had Special Forces training. You won't be able to just climb over the railing and let go."

HE KNOWS!!

I think I gasped when he spoke. But I didn't say anything.

After a short pause he said, "I first saw the bridge from here six years ago. I came here to see it before I jumped. It's really beautiful, isn't it?"

He turned to look at my shocked face. I found myself nodding.

He glanced down at my beer. Satisfied that I still have half a beer remaining he turned back to the bridge and continued to stare down at it with me in silence.

He didn't speak again. We slowly finished our drinks and he went to his car for refills.

I'm not sure where I got the nerve. I heard myself asking, "What happened? Did the fence stop you?"

He shook his head. There was a long pause and then he said, "I was parked where I'm parked now, sitting on the hood of my old car and staring at the bridge. I was actually looking forward to it. I looked out at the bridge and it comforted me. The pain was about to end. And there suddenly appeared before my eyes a hand holding a cold beer.

"A man handed me a beer and then just leaned up against my car and we drank together in silence for a long time. He knew why I was here. He knew because that was why he first came here several years earlier."

"Did he talk you out of it?" I asked.

He cocked his head to the side thoughtfully for a moment and said, "No. He just kept me company. He stood there and handed me a cold beer every now and then until I felt like talking. I think it made a difference that he understood what I was feeling. He never said any of the stupid things that people say to a person who wants to make the pain stop, forever.

"We talked for a long time. Then he took me for a ride across the bridge. Have you been on it yet?"

I shook my head.

He glanced at me for a moment. I got the feeling he's trying to figure me out. But he didn't ask me anything. He said, "It isn't quite as romantic when you're on it. The view is better from up here. There's also a good view from the other side, down in the park."

I asked, "Do you come here often? Or is that none of my business?"

He shook his head and said, "This is the first time I've been back since that night. That was six years ago tonight. I came here this evening to ... I'm not actually sure why I came to be honest. I felt that I had to. I had to make peace with the past and for some reason I became convinced that I have to do it here.

"As soon as I saw you sitting there I knew you didn't just come here for the view. I can't say how I knew. But in an instant I knew why you had come.

"I live in Nevada now. I have a little place on Lake Tahoe. I have a new life, or at least a running start at one. I've finally put the past behind me."

I know what he's trying to do. He thinks that if he can get me to talk about my problems he can do for me what that man did for him six years ago. Although well intentioned, he doesn't understand that I'm already dead. I've already been destroyed.

He reached out and took my empty beer bottle from my hands. I looked up and saw him looking knowingly into my eyes again.

God! I love his eyes!

He smiled and said, "I know what you're thinking. I'll bet you a beer that I was just as fucked up as you are. I was going to jump off that bridge to be with my fiancé. She was killed on the way to our wedding. I could not be consoled. My life was over."

I felt the tears well up as he told me why he came here to die. It was a horrible tragedy. I don't know if you can compare the things that drove us to this overlook, to that bridge. But I know that despite his own tragic past he can never understand the horrible things that have happened to me. I doubt if any man can.

He went to his car and returned with two more beers. I smiled and said, "Thank you. But if you keep doing this, neither one of us will be able to drive away. I'm not much of a drinker."

He smiled in return and said, "I've spent the night in worse places."

We were silent again for several minutes. I'm determined that I'm not going to tell him why I'm here. It isn't the kind of story you share with someone. Mine is an entirely different kind of tragedy than the one that brought him to this place. How do you tell a man, even a handsome, caring, kind man whom you've just met that you've been destroyed? How does a woman explain to someone that she has just spent most of a week being raped almost constantly? What expression would I see on his face if I told him that I allowed myself to be gang raped by at least fifty men? Would he still stand here and drink beer with me if he learned that I've been fucked by two large mutts, not once but twice?

I don't think so. I would surely see the disgust on his face that I feel for myself. I don't want to see that on this nice man's face. I don't know why it matters, but it does.

That's why I couldn't believe it when, despite all the very good reasons for keeping my mouth shut I heard myself begin to tell him what has happened to me since early childhood when my father left my mother and me alone.

He stood there and stared at the bridge with me and he listened in silence as I told him my entire, miserable life story. I left out the nasty details of course. That shortened the story considerably. But I told him everything. Then I waited for him to turn so that I could see the disgust on his face.

I was shocked when he finally straightened up and turned to face me. His eyes were moist and the look of sympathy on his face was almost overwhelming. He reached out, took my hand and said, "I imagine the last thing you need right now is some strange man touching you. But I feel an irresistible urge to take you in my arms and try to comfort you."

It came as a surprise to me. But at that moment I was shocked to realize that I would love to have his arms around me, holding me and comforting me. I didn't understand it myself. I don't even know his name!

I looked into his eyes and whispered, "How can you even stand to touch me?! They destroyed me. I can't stand myself. I'll never be clean again."

He must have seen the need in me. He put his beer down and he took mine from my hand. He lifted me off the hood of the car as if I was weightless and his strong arms held me so gently. And somehow I felt safe there.

My brain was spinning out of control. Thoughts bounced around in my head like ricocheting bullets. How can any decent man even stand to touch me? How can I feel what I'm feeling about any man at this strange moment? How can I enjoy being held like this after what I've been through? For only a fleeting moment I wondered if maybe I could go on with my life after all. But then I realized that I can never live down the things that I've done or the things that were done to me.

That was when the flood gates opened and I lost control. I held him as if my life depended on it and I cried like a scared little girl.

He didn't say anything stupid. He didn't tell me everything is going to be alright. He didn't say anything trite or condescending. He seemed to know just what not to say.

He held me long after I stopped crying. It felt good. I didn't want him to let go. I felt safe for the first time. It's a feeling I never got when I was with Jimmie. I can't remember ever feeling this way before! Or at least, I can't remember feeling like this since the day my father left us. Life with Jimmie was fun at first. But he was never my protector. He never made me feel as safe as I felt in the arms of this perfect stranger.

It's hard to understand. I know nothing about this man. He could be a serial killer. But I know he isn't. I know he won't hurt me.

I finally whispered, "Thank you. I guess I needed that."

He squeezed me gently and then relaxed his hold. I leaned back and saw the large wet spot on his shirt where my tears had soaked in. I groaned and said, "I'm sorry."

He chuckled and said, "I'm not. You feel nice in my arms."

I looked up and was surprised to see that he looked slightly uncomfortable. He grinned sheepishly and said, "I haven't held a woman in my arms since..."

I've been so caught up in my own tragedy that his has slipped my mind! I gasped and exclaimed, "I'm sorry! I didn't ... I don't want ... oh god! I'm so sorry!"

He shook his head and said, "It's alright. I told you, it felt nice. I was afraid that after what you've been through you'd feel uncomfortable."

I blushed and admitted, "I haven't felt that safe since I was a little girl. There is something about you that is ... comfortable. I feel like I can trust you. I like the way you hold me.

"Oh shit! That sounds awful! You must think I'm..."

He laughed and said, "I think you're very sweet. I'm not sure how I feel about being called comfortable. I don't think anyone has ever called me that before."

We looked at each other for a long moment before he said, "There's something we seem to have overlooked. I just realized that I don't know your name. My name is Ross, by the way."

I like that. Ross. The name fits him. He looks like a Ross. I backed up a step, held out my hand and said, "Hello, Ross. My name is Kendra. It's a pleasure meeting you."

We shook hands and then he lifted me back up onto the hood of my car and set me down effortlessly. After that we talked like two people on a first date getting to know each other. And we listened. We talked about our lives and our feelings. And we talked about hopes and dreams. Well, he did. I no longer have any hopes or dreams.

And suddenly we were watching the sun come up! I never expected to see the sun come up again!

We watched it until it cleared the horizon. But we didn't watch it like you normally watch a sunrise. We didn't look to the east. We watched the light as it began to shine on the bridge and the bay and the buildings of San Francisco.

It was breathtaking. And when the light show was over, Ross said, "I know a great place in town for breakfast. Since you're here you might as well let me show you around."

I didn't even have to think about it! I took my purse from my car and locked it. I started to follow Ross to his car when a thought struck me. I came to a sudden stop. When he turned to see why I stopped I asked, "Where do you suppose that a person intending to jump off the bridge would park?"

I saw the concern on his face. I smiled and said, "I don't know if they'll bother trying to find me. But if the police call Jimmie and tell him they found my car near the bridge it will give them a reason to stop looking sooner. It's my husband's car. I don't even like to drive."

He laughed and said, "Get in and follow me."

I followed him across the bridge and through some narrow, deserted residential streets back to the waterfront park on the San Francisco side. After removing the small box of books in the back seat and my overnight bag I put the keys under the seat and locked the car. I don't really care what happens to it now.

Ross put my box and my overnight bag in his trunk. He saw the rueful look on my face and knew what I was thinking. I have nowhere to go. He smiled and said, "Don't worry. We'll figure something out."

I got in his car. He even held the door for me. I don't know much about cars. The car he's driving looks like nothing more than a large sedan to me. But from the moment I was halfway inside I knew that I've never been in a car like this before. The look, the feel, the smell; this is not the sort of car that belongs to anyone from my social strata. This is pure luxury.

He closed the door and went around to the driver's side. He buckled up and started it and I asked, "What kind of car is this? It's beautiful!"

He seemed uncomfortable with the question. He stared straight ahead and answered, "It's a British car. I have a friend who owns the dealership. He gave me a good deal."

"A Jaguar?" I asked.

He replied, "No. It's a Bentley Mulsanne."

I nodded as if that meant something to me and said, "It's very beautiful."

We drove through the city with Ross pointing out things along the way, landmarks he thought I might find interesting. He finally pulled up in front of a hotel and parked.

He turned to me and sounded slightly nervous when he said, "Don't panic. It isn't what you probably think. I'm staying here. I thought we'd leave the car here and walk a block to the cable car. You can't visit San Francisco and not ride the cable cars."

I smiled wryly and said, "I didn't think you were going to try to get me to go to your room. I can't imagine any man wanting me now."

The doorman was holding my door open. I turned and started to get out when Ross grabbed my arm and pulled me back around to face him. He looked furious!

Before I could ask him what was wrong he hissed, "Don't ever say that again! Don't you even think a horrible thing like that! You're beautiful and desirable and any man in his right mind would want you."

I shook my head sadly and said, "No. Not after they hear what happened to me. Not any man I know."

Before I had time to react his hand went behind my head and he pulled me close. He was kissing me passionately before I had a clue what he was going to do.

I struggled for a moment. But I didn't want to. My struggles were weak and short lived. I've just spent one of the most pleasant evenings of my life with this man. I want him to kiss me. I don't understand why he'd want damaged goods like me. But it felt so nice to be back in his arms again.

This handsome, charming, sensitive yet strong young man has gone a long way toward healing me in just one night! I'm not there yet. But I'm no longer contemplating ending my life. And he somehow accomplished that by just being there, by listening and caring more than anything else.

So I didn't mind at all when he pulled me into his arms and kissed me.

We kissed for a very long time before he looked down at me to see how I felt about it. He saw the tears in my eyes. But he saw my smile and he knew they were tears of happiness. I don't understand him. I know that I've never met another man like him. But I feel my heart growing and pounding loudly in my chest and as if my eyes have been suddenly opened by his kiss I see sunshine all around me. This is a new life. My old life is over. My life began at sunrise this morning.

I buried my face against his neck and sighed loudly. Through my tears I managed to say, "I don't know what the hell is wrong with you. You are definitely not normal. You aren't like any man I've ever met. But if you can stand to kiss a girl like me I'm not ever letting go of you."