To different extents you are all correct. Doll being closest to the mark, followed by Monroe & then LMB.
I was not the most honorable man in those days (nor am I now). I had proposed for all the wrong reasons...She had accepted not because she loved me nor could go her life without me, so...she was settling, herself - and we both were better separated than together.
Melissa was a larger size 6 when I proposed to her, WA...she was also hiding the fact that she enjoyed vomiting her food after she'd eat, in secret. I'm not sure which eating disorder that is...but I wanted no part of that (nor did she after she gained a formal declaration of marriage from me) and at 5'8" and 135 pounds she was not, at a size 8...an aircraft carrier... It was only after she broke the 210 pound barrier and appeared to be eating and slothing her way towards twice that...when I felt I could no longer go on.
And I had tried on several occasions, when she was between 150 and 200 pounds & gaining...to talk to her about why we were not having sexual relations. Every conversation with her weight gain and general lack of enthusiasm towards coming to the gym with me, only resorted in her either getting angrier than hell towards the end (she'd already rolled out the crying flood of tears bullshit many women employ, the first few times I tried the conversation), I simply was not going to get the healthy and slender athletic woman I was initially led to believe, that she was.
So yes, Monroe...& LMB, I was and still am guilty of being a fucking gutless jerk. But there were other extenuating circumstances in that dysfunctional relationship to which I had become aware of over the previous few months - financial in nature as well as her increasing disclosures of the harder drugs she was experimenting with while she and I were apart. I did not want that kind of life which she appeared to be enjoying.
I took the easy way out and got rid of her, and I did not feel all that great about how I did it. But there was a poetic justice to it.
I tell these stories not to attempt to portray myself as a shining example of all the best of a man...but to reveal the flaws, warts and flaking skin. I am not one to be admired, but I am also not one who is a naive and inexperienced fucktard, either.
I'm just a fucktard with other adjectives applicable.
I amused myself with my own rendition of Chopstix, for about 3 minutes. Then I noticed my cat was hungry.
I was 32, she was 28...and had gained about 70 pounds (convert your own kilograms), from when I slid a ring on her finger and had merrily proposed. The wedding date was almost three months way (april 26th), at the time. Okay, so I was unsure..and it was a 15 month long engagement because of my insecurity. Sue me.
I feigned drunkenness (yeah, I know - not hard to do...if you're like me, but it is my story).
She and I had not had sex together since she broached the size (American) 8 level. I never really did enjoy fucking her and she couldn't give head better than I could jerk it..so mark that off the list of her benefits. Her pussy irritated my face with her PH level. I am not making this shit up. I could not shave after cunnilingus with her the night before (ever).
Anyway...
She was horny, and so was he...my best man. I chose him because we were good buds, and because I needed his particular imperfections in character around me, at the time. He was not ever really going to be my best man. But for this - he was perfect.
Divorced for two years, he hadn't gotten laid in nearly three revolutions of the Earth around the Sun. He was 31 and married/divorced twice with two kids. He was a fucking dawg with a conscience.
It was ripe and I set it all up.
They went for a beer run during that year's Super Bowl, whilst I was 'passed out' in the recliner. I was about as passed out as you are now, reading this tripe. One eye closed and one eye barely open was my condition. And it was a poor ploy at best. But...I set the scene and they swallowed the bait.
Two hours later they had not returned and it was a 10 minute trip to the nearest liquor store and I knew that much. I was a celebrating bastard and not because my NFL team won the Super Bowl that year.
He calls me up three days later...to confess. His guilt was eating him up. I absolved him of this. I think I did him a favor when he thought he was doing me one.
"I fucked Melissa when we went for the alcohol run, man."
"I suspected you did, Mike, but don't worry...we're always gonna be best buds."
"Really?"
"No shit, you just saved my fucking life."
"How?"
"I did not want to marry that fat fucking bitch...my gawd, she's a fucking aircraft carrier, dude...But I knew of all people, you'd fuck her."
"Go fuck yourself - you motherfucking asshole."
I killed two birds with one well aimed stone, that week. I have not talked to him since that phone call, nor her...since that evening when I returned to my home and asked her to leave, after confronting her with his confession.
I did have to wait til about April before I found the engagement ring in the front yard of my residence. She'd taken it off and thrown it at me. Hit me in my right cheek too. She was a helluva fast pitch softball player, even in her late 20s and 80 pounds over-fucking-weight. Melissa was aiming for my eye, missed by 3/4's of an inch. Left a final bruise.
I got the ring back though, damn it. Took the diamond out and and gave it to a stripper in 1997 for her belly button. Some other guy is probably fucking her now.
I only wish I could mount these fucking memories on a wall plaque.
Single with an ever-changing number of female-benefit-friendly accomplices. On FB I simply mention: It's Complicated (even though it really isn't).
Kamikaze translated to German is: Sauerkraut & sauteed onions
Volkswagen is to automobiles as Apollo is to moon landings
Shovel spoon loads of ice cream into my mouth, too quickly.
For those and many other reasons, they would be glad to see the war done and their boys come walking up the road. -- Cold Mountain, Charles Frazier.
How she says, after we've just enjoyed Earth shattering sex, before we both fall to sleep, snuggled close together..."Have you fed my cat, yet?"
Hap is a favorite with the ladies as he needs both hands to hold his paddle, appropriately.
This is an example of why I lurve Lushstories
