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Whore: n,

Do I deserve forgiveness when I cannot forgive myself? (Warning: this is NOT a stroke story)


Whore, n: A woman who engages in sexual acts for money: a prostitute; a promiscuous or immoral woman.

He called me a whore. Whether I was or not is a matter of semantics. I was an unfaithful wife, not for money, and not with many, but with one, the one who found me at my weakest. The one who meant less than nothing. He took advantage, as did I. He paid no price, for the indiscretion was financed by me alone. 

I cried and my tears were true. I will not be one of those women who blame it on their husbands when they stray. Robert worked hard, traveled much, and I was alone too often. It was my own emotional frailty that allowed me to forget my vows, to overlook the deep love that I bear for my husband, to indulge in the cheapest of attentions, the momentary respite from loneliness, to enable the failure which cost me so dearly.

Divorce would have been merciful. We stayed together, but Robert forgave me in words alone. I came to understand that where once he saw his love, his partner, his ally, he began to see a thing, an object, a convenience that he does not really know what to do with.

I am the flat, paper definition of a wife.

We have tried to work through it, but I cannot make him love me as before. Can you blame the wine for running out when you yourself have broken the glass?

I was too cowardly to have the tattoo placed on my forehead, where it rightfully belonged. I winced at the sharp pain as the painted woman fashioned the first slanted line of the 'W' on my abdomen. I endured the torment, my modern version of a hair shirt, until she completed the last horizontal line of the 'E'.

Back in my car, I drank again from my half empty bottle of vodka. The worthless woman I had become drove home, drunk.

Naked before myself and my God, I positioned two mirrors so I could clearly read on my stomach what I had made myself into. All those little girl dreams reduced to this one word.

The bottle was full, but there weren't enough pills in the world. I took all that I had, hoping it was enough.



I opened my eyes, and saw not my God, but my arm: bandaged, with a tube running up to an I.V. hanging from my hospital bed. I wept in my own failure as a shadow crossed the wall. Someone was there. Crying, I lifted my head as Robert descended upon me. He dropped his own tears on my cheek as he held me close.

"Oh my God, baby, what did you do?"

"No... no. I killed us. We were beautiful and I killed it. Let me go."

"No, you can't leave me. I love you, baby. Please, please don't leave me. I forgive you, I forgive you."

I reached my free arm around his back, but could not hold him as tightly as he held me.

"How could you love me? How could you ever make love to me again? I'm a whore. I'm just a whore."

"You're not, you're not. Come back to me. I need you so much. I love you."

"Make love to me, Robert. Make love to me like you used to."

I turned my lips towards his. If he did not kiss me, I knew I would complete my destruction when once again left alone. I had not intended to be saved, but I was.

He lightly caressed my lips with his before kissing me savagely, as lovers do. Hungrily, he devoured me, his hands sliding around my neck, cupping my head. He retreated just enough to look into my eyes.

"I love you."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"Me too, baby, I can't lose you,"

"Fuck me Robert, make me your wife again. Fuck me now."

I frantically undid his trousers as he tore his shirt open.

I felt for him, his cock stiffening in my hand, and guided him into me. The feel of my husband as he stretched my pussy open with his advance was more than I could bear. I wept uncontrollably as he fucked me there, in my hospital bed, with the passion of our wedding night. The tears that dripped from the bottom of my chin were made of sorrow, but those dampening my eyes now, of joy.

I wrapped my legs around his back as we kissed, our tears mingling on our cheeks in a wet dance of love rediscovered. Neither he nor I touched my clitoris, but I came. I floated away from my body amid the sweet mix of orgasm and pain, repentance and forgiveness.

He thrust his tongue deep into my mouth as he released his sperm into me, releasing his love back into our union. His seed filled me, as his love once again filled my life.

EPILOGUE

Today, I look down at my belly, swollen with our first child; at my new tattoo: a groom and his bride, kissing at the altar. It covers my shame, and it will never again release the whore that lies beneath.

==

* Author's note: The bottom five comments were given based on the original version of this story. The middle part of this version has been re-written to comply with story content guidelines. If anyone would like to read the original version, please contact me by PM and I will make it available.

 

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