February 10, 2010



I'm kind of schizophrenic, I guess, cause today I feel really pretty good. I feel sexy and hot, I want to go put the kids in front of a movie so I can masturbate. I want him. I want him to be home to spend time with me and just have conversations and I want his kisses and his cock. I am afraid of this euphoria because I'm afraid it won't last. But I am enjoying it for now.

I think he told me everything. I mean, everything that matters. I don't know, and I'm not ready to trust, but I hope. Certainly learning about the half-dozen or so other women he's fucked came as a surprise, but I'm not going to tell anyone about those because I don't think they matter. At least, right now I don't. I'm also afraid that I'm not being true to myself—what woman in her right mind could hear her husband, after talking about his lengthy affair with a woman he loves deeply, also tell of six or eight random fucks? And then end the conversation with our own hot sex? Am I crazy?

On the other hand, I don't want to talk myself into being weird just for the sake of it, or convince myself I should still feel awful. I think that the anger and pain are not gone, that they will re-emerge, and I will have to continue to deal with them. I am ready for that—not excited, of course, just ready.

But for now, I feel good.


DsD lives and writes in the raw. Trapped in a cave, she tends her cubs by day and licks her wounds at night.

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