**This story makes a lot more sense if you read Chapter One first. Click my profile for the link to that chapter, and THANKS to everyone who read it-I'm happy and proud that over 10,000 people read the first installment on the first weekend it was posted!
*
"So, Julie...why did you do it?"
That was the question swimming through my head throughout the next day. The more specific questions were "why did I let John use me like a whore?", "why were you so turned on by this?", and most importantly "why have you *already* decided that you'd let John have his way with you again?".
Let's discuss my husband Nate for a moment. He's away working in New York three or four nights a week. When he's home, he's either too busy watching sports on TV, too busy getting drunk, or both. I've accepted that Nate is a functional alcoholic. I've tried to get him to rehab- we have the money and insurance to do so- but he has consistently refused. He has his good points, but his priorities are his job, his possessions, his kids, his sports, and of course, his booze. I've completely fallen off his radar, and I'd guess we've had sex an average of five or six years over the past ten years.
And I've tried so hard to change that! One year for Valentine's Day I bought Nate a pair of handcuffs, with a note saying that tonight, I'd do whatever he wanted. All his wild imagination could muster up was five minutes of missionary-position sex without any foreplay. Those handcuffs have been collecting dust at the bottom of a drawer for years, and serve as a bitter reminder of an awful night. I'm 38 years old- biologically, I am in my sexual prime- but I am stuck in a sexless relationship. As soon as John moved in, something had awakened inside of me.
Back to the present- the day had dragged on as I waited for John to come home. When he finally arrived I knew I would have to muster up all of my courage to go up the stairs and confront him. I had dressed carefully that morning- jeans, a low-cut top that was casual enough to make someone believe that I wasn't "dressing up", and my best matching bra and panties. Taking such time to put my wardrobe so carefully together was an admission onto itself- that despite my being angry with John on some level, I was open to the idea of something else happening that night.
John's car finally pulled up, and I ducked down while watching him through my bedroom window. Thankfully, he was alone. I looked at the clock on my stove, and set the timer for fifteen minutes. I'd planned to read a book until the alarm went off, then I'd go straight upstairs without having a chance to get nervous.
The moment finally arrived and I ran upstairs and knocked on John's door. As he gave me a knowing smile, he invited me in. I sat on the couch, looked directly into his eyes, and told him that I wanted to talk about last night.
He sat back and smiled. "You mean you want to talk about when I squirted my initials onto your face and sent you home?"
I was taken aback, and all of my gameplans and strategies were immediately rendered useless. I quietly asked him why it had to be that way...why he had to make me feel used and degraded.
John gave me a serious look, and thought before he spoke. "I had a date tonight, and cancelled it. I wanted to see if you'd come up. I knew that if you didn't, that you were truly angry. But you're here, and that tells me you want more".
I threw caution to the wind and told him that I indeed wanted more, but it would be nice if I could be treated like a lady and not feel used.
John gave me a stern look. "Julie, you were using me for weeks before last night. You used me for company, and to feel good about yourself".
For whatever reason I wanted to burst into tears and cry on his shoulder- but I knew I that wouldn't be the right move, so I did everything I could to maintain my composure.
