Like dogs leaving their scent on a fire hydrant, the various dudes that had come before me had left their indefinable mark on my wife's face. And in her hair. She hated getting it in the hair, she said.
Why she felt the need to tell me early in our relationship that she had a) been cum'd on by lottsa dudes, and b) had tons of anal sex, I-do-not-know.
I'm not a fucking priest for chrissakes, I said - when I brought it back up four years later.
Back then, after she had confessed to the whole banging-in-the-ass thing, I lied to her and said: "Oh yeah, I've been in some pretty good threesomes, myself." To which she replied, simply: "Yeah... me too." Bitch.
Needless to say, I wasn't investing very much in our relationship during those early days.
Every time we made love, I felt as if I were focusing too heavily on keeping the phantoms of her past lovers out of our bedroom - and out of her ass, and off of her face!
That, and it was the beginning of spring. Spring Fever, and everything, ya know.
I tried to meet other girls; dated a couple of times - once really. But none of, well, the other one, compared to her. Not even close.
Yes, we were now boyfriend and girlfriend. How, you may ask, does a couple commit to not having sex or kissing other people? My girlfriend explained it to me thus:
"I was at a party in the Mile-End and there was like, a whole buncha hot guys, but I didn't even want to go home with any of them."
That was nice.
*to be cont'd.
Jane Austen's FIGHT CLUB
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