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I met my ex as a 19 year-old young man way back in March of ’78. She became my first real steady girlfriend. We were together a little over two years when she got pregnant. A classic case of two young, stupid fools playing with the fire of unprotected sex. But it happened — and still happens — every day. Take a young girl who puts out easily, add in a hormonal young male, and the result is usually not good. No news there — and no excuses.
We weighed the options and decided to get married in August that same year. Leading up to the wedding, I was warned by a co-worker that I would soon regret marrying this girl. He just happened to be from her “neck of the woods”, knew of her, and claimed she had a bad (okay, he used the word “trampy”) reputation. Again, being young and stupid, I didn’t want to believe it and I bought into her denials.
So the big day comes and we tie the knot. At the reception I get another warning – this time from her cousin’s husband. He says something like, “Don’t even think about cheating on Theresa, ’cause she’s got a lot of relatives in this little town, and they’re gonna be right up your ass watching your every move.” Well, I had no intention of cheating. At the time I believed I did love her, and I wanted to at least try to make it work, especially with a child on the way. He was right about the family, though. We moved into a tiny apartment in her very small, depressing home town, and only a stone’s throw from her parents. Her dad was a blue-collar guy heavily involved in the town politics (and of thought himself a lot more important than he really was). Her mom was a depressing, chain-smoking, chronic whiner. Throw in a bunch of trailer-trash siblings, and welcome to my new life. I remember thinking, “WTF have I gotten myself into?”
In the 5 months between wedding and baby there were some rocky moments, but for the most part we were settling into our new circumstances. We even went to birthing classes and I helped to deliver my boy. I still clearly remember her giving me a teary-eyed “I love you” just moments after she bore him on that January 8, 1980. A few months later, my new bride decides to return to work, but not to her old employer. She applies for and gets a new job with the State of New York (also my employer at the time). Better pay and benefits, but unusual hours – 12 noon to 8pm.
This is where the trouble begins – and very quickly.
Just weeks into her new gig, I begin to notice the age-old, classic clues. She’s becomes more distant. We go to a wedding, and she barely talks to me; won’t dance, etc. She’s paying more attention to how she looks, what she wears. Then one day I get this call from her at work: “Do you mind if I go out with the girls here for a drink? Just for an hour or so? One of them will drop me off at home.” I should point out that, at the time, she did not have a driver’s license. She would take a bus to work (Or so she claimed – I would already be at my job), and I would pick her up at the end of her day.
Soon these calls about co-worker “drinks” became more frequent. It didn’t take long for me to figure something was up, and I confronted her. Remember now, she just popped out our baby and took her wedding vows A MERE 20 WEEKS before. “You’re paranoid!” “You’re imagining things!” “I can’t believe you don’t trust me!” You get the picture. Lie and deny, lie and deny, lie and deny. Still to this day I sometimes just shake my head in disbelief as I think back about how fucking stupid and gullible I was.
Before long, she makes one of her “girl’s night out” requests for a Saturday night. The plot thickens. I reluctantly say okay, but decide to use the opportunity to do a bit of private investigating. I tell her that I too need to go out (to help “paint mom’s kitchen” or some excuse) and, therefore, we will need a sitter. As I’m telling her this she’s putting a little white flower in her hair at the bathroom mirror, something I’ve NEVER seen her do. “What’s with the flower?” I ask. Rather than try to explain that, she rolls her eyes and frustratingly throws it in the trash. As she’s ironing her clothes, the phone rings and she quickly picks it up. I become suspicious of the call because of her one-word responses; “Yes”, “No” (like she’s cluing the caller in that I’m standing right there). I ask “who is that”, reach for the phone, and she immediately hangs up. I think to myself, this whore really thinks I’m an idiot. When the sitter (her sister) arrives, I leave well before the slut does; giving me time to then drive to my mom’s where I rope in my reluctant older brother with my plan: Scope out the house (with his car) to see where she goes upon leaving.
Sure enough, dolled-up slut girl comes out the door, walks a block (So her sister and the neighbors don’t see what a whore is really is), and gets into a car with a male driver. Now while we were waiting, my reluctant pussy brother went on and on about how he didn’t want to “deal with any confrontation”, so it was no surprise that he purposely lost them in traffic shortly after we began to tail them – a missed opportunity that haunts me even today (knowing now where they were headed). So I go home, relieve her sister, and await the slut’s return and explanation. I don’t know why (as I think back on it), but at the time I was not suspecting an office affair. After all, she was only there a few weeks at this point. I suspected maybe it’s an old boyfriend, and she was just using the friends-at-work excuse as a ruse. This would turn out to be naive mistake.
That night I waited on the porch for her return and she eventually is dropped off by the same car/guy. He sees me as I peer out the window and our eyes meet. It’s dark and I can’t really see him clearly, but I see him mouth something to her (about seeing me?) as she climbs out. I move towards the door to confront them and he quickly leaves. She comes in and immediately begins chastising ME for waiting for her on the porch “like I’m a child” (Can you believe this piece of shit?). A verbal battle ensues; new lies spew out of the evil tramp’s face: “That guy is my co-worker’s boyfriend! He’s just being a nice guy and giving me a ride! More lies upon lies to cover yet more lies. When I asked who picked her up, she said….
“I took a cab.” Oops. Gotcha.
“Really?...Hmmm…So…this guy is your FRIEND’S BOYFRIEND when he just dropped you off…and he’s a CAB DRIVER when I SAW YOU GET IN HIS CAR WHEN HE PICKED YOU UP?” Slut girl didn’t see that coming. When caught in her little web a deceit, she did what all liars do. She got all flustered. She got angrier; knocked the salt and pepper shaker from the table in frustration; cursed at me; tried to make it about me; lied some more, etc.
Now, this all happened a very long time ago, and I’m not sure about all of the small details (like the order of incidents, or how this particular battle ended for example). But I do remember at some point deciding that if I was to truly get to the bottom of this, I would need some real, hard evidence of them actually consummating the dirty deed…and my present approach would just make her cover her tracks better. And that hard evidence would come pretty quickly.
A few nights after that drama, while I was in bed and she was sleeping on the couch (no surprise there), she made a big boo boo. I noticed she had left her purse on the kitchen counter, just a few feet outside the bedroom door. Perhaps I’ll find my evidence in there, I thought. So I quietly snatched the purse off the counter and tipped-toed back into the bedroom. Using the faint light of my alarm clock, I thoroughly went through it. What I found was a phone number (no name) on a scrap of paper and….a motel room key. Naturally I instantly was crushed by the implications of these finds, and I fought the sudden rage and urge to confront her right then and there. Instead I got dressed in the dark, put the items in my pocket and climbed out the bedroom window. Why the window and not the door? So she wouldn’t hear me leave (luckily we were on the first floor). Because my car was parked on the street just feet from the window above where she slept, I decided not to take it for fear of waking her. So I instead walk to a pay phone and call my brother-in-law, Jack. He was aware of my suspicions and was also in the hotel/restaurant biz. Maybe with his help we could trace where that motel key came from. He picks me up and we begin our quest. He takes one look at the key chain and knows its origins immediately. How? There was a slogan on it. “Thanks for staying with us.” “That key comes from Howard Johnson’s Motor Lodge,” he says. Again I’m crushed. There is only one location of that chain in our area, and the slut’s best friend “Kathe” is the nighttime clerk. We drive to the motel to see if she’s working that night. At this point I’m ready to murder someone and Jack suggests just he go in first to size up the situation, and I should cool my heals in the car. Turns out she isn’t there, but while he chats with the clerk, I decide to dial that number I found from the parking lot pay phone. Since there is no name with the number, I obviously don’t know who to ask for. So when the male voice answers, I simply say, “Oh, who’s this?” (as if I dialed the wrong number). Now, most people would respond, “Who is THIS? Or, “Who are you looking for?” But this dipshit says “this is Gary…Who’s this?”
Another knife into my chest. Gary is the name of her new boss. She had actually introduced me to him shortly after starting the job. I come right out with it. This is --- ---, so what the fuck are your phone number and a motel key doing in my wife’s purse?” Just like his slut girlfriend, the lies begin. “Oh, I’ve just given her a ride to and from work a few times…” I cut him off. “You are a fucking dead man”, I say and hang up.
Time to head home and start packing. With Jack still in tow, I unlock the door and walk into the apartment. Slut girl is standing there - shell-shocked and looking scared as hell. It’s clear she’s been awake awhile, wondering where I could have gone. “Where have YOU been?” Even with this pathetic attempt at trying to take the offensive, I could see by the look on her slut face, she knew…that I knew. Wherever I just was, I found out.
I dangle the room key in her face. “This look familiar? You fucking whore!” Her response? “I don’t want you to bring your family into our personal life” (Referring to my brother-in-law). Can you believe this douche bag? Then I mention the phone number and the call made to it. Her response? “I need that number (apparently she didn’t have it memorized).” Again, can you ever even imagine a colder, more self-centered slut than this?
Over the next few days the new cover-up lies are spewed about. Despite the hard evidence, there still is no affair. Then there was an affair, but she chickened out of fucking him at the motel because – get this – “she thought about me and the baby.” Then yes, she did fuck him, but, she when she began crying from her guilty conscience, he never “finished”.
I could go on and on, but here are some additional things I would find out about in the following days:
1. She would suck his cock in his car, in the parking lot at work and at their little rondevu bar.
2. Found out she had a partial birth abortion at age 16.
3. Told my sister-in-law that, on the NIGHT BEFORE OUR WEDDING, she met up with an old boyfriend at motel to…talk. But “nothing happened”!
4. A few years later, my then-8 year old son told me he got up in the middle of the night to find his mom sleeping with her landlord (who lived downstairs).
I’m sure you can surmise how this marriage ended up – over with before it really even began. Yes, it was all a very long time ago, but unfortunately I had to deal with the whore for many years after because of our son. And, at times, the memories of that time are still very painful. We both remarried in ’95. I’m quite content today but, just last fall, the ex’s hubby blew his brains out in their bedroom. I tried to tell him back then he was marrying a fucked-up slut, but he didn’t listen. She was probably screwing all of his friends and the entire neighborhood to boot.
So…what’s the moral of MY story? Make sure the person you marry HAS morals.
- God, I am a woman, and I absolutely HATE women. You should hear the shit I have to deal with when it comes to my man's meth head ex. FUCKING CUNTS. KILL THEM ALL. Nattie.
- I feel you brother... the unfortunate thing is that I do believe that my wife has morals but I can see myself stealing this rant in about 5-10 years to use as my own... Im already seeing the signs... distancing herself, going to the "bar" with her "friends", not even sleeping in the same room anymore. oh by the way im 24 and coming up on my 3 year anniversary July 18.... Just like you said: Young Dumb and Full of Cum.
- I went through the young phase with a level head, never let my hormones get the best of me, thank god. Years later I hear horror stories from at least half of my friends that got married.
I thank God that I never did what they did.
Also, young men reading, NEVER marry or date a girl with a reputation of being easy - ESPECIALLY - if the word comes from one of her friends co-worker or relative.
You're going to go through a world of hell for an hour of pleasure. Not worth it.
- hate to say they told you so ...but glad you are out of it today and yes there are slut women out there ,, my (now ex) husband has know quite a few of them just feel lucky she did not give oyu anything ... my ex got crabs ??? married 17 years and he got crabs? ??? anywho -- its a wonderful world out there and there are plenty of good girls you just have to look for us and take it slow .. becasue of the ass-o guys and the sluts that fuck 'em...
- Wow amazing story glad you caught her and are happy now
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