Even before my accident, I was terrified my wife would bitch me. Leah hadn’t cared when I’d discovered her affair. Although I still loved her, it was dawning on me how much my wife just didn’t give a shit about me. I guess the accident sealed my fate. Leah seized her chance and went ahead with the bitching. With me confined to a wheelchair, Leah knew that I posed no threat whatsoever. I had become a prime candidate to be bitched.
I didn’t even know what “bitched” meant until a few months ago. At first I thought it was a misspelling of “ditched”. But here’s the difference. When a woman bitches you, she doesn’t kick you out of the house. She simply stops fucking you and starts fucking alpha men in your bed. You’re so intimidated that you become, a skivvy to taunt and humiliate, their house bitch
Leah was a pretty, plus-sized strawberry-blonde receptionist I’d met while ordering supplies. At the time, I was in charge of a large warehouse in Slough. I’d met her while signing some papers in Hendon. She was dressed in conservative attire but her tight business suit did nothing to hide her, generously-curved body. Another guy in her office warned me that she was “bad news” but I didn’t care. I was smitten, transfixed by her flirty manner and come-to-bed eyes. I asked her for a date.
“Only if you take me somewhere nice” Leah replied primly.
Well, I only took her for drinks and dinner at the Savoy, didn’t I? It cost me a small fortune but it worked. I ended up in her bed that night, and soon we were dating regularly. I’d take her to the best spots in West London, all the time transfixed by her curves, haughty manner and sexy laugh. She was 29, ten years younger than me, and had a strong sexual appetite. I’d spend hours giving her oral after I’d shot my load, she was seemingly insatiable, but I was enjoying the best sex of my life.
She was one of those hot girls that thrive on male attention. She made no secret about the fact that she’d shagged professional footballers, including a well-known striker who’d played for Reading. That was OK as long as she didn’t fuck Arsenal players, I joked, but secretly I was rather unsettled. My sexy new girlfriend was used to moving in very high circles - and to getting her way.
My life started to revolve around my dates with Leah, planning what I’d wear and where to take her. I’d worked hard all my life, never married and had a few grand tucked away, so I was initially able to treat her like a princess. We took a holiday in Ibiza and a city break in Dublin, and dined in the best restaurants in the West End. I almost maxed out my credit cards trying to win her heart.
Leah finally agreed to be my bride when I’d just turned 40 and I felt like I’d won the lottery. My mates were impressed too. “Got to say Harry, for you, life really does begin at forty”, my friend Rick said enviously. I couldn’t believe such a gorgeous woman had accepted my proposition
The first few months of marriage were bliss. I’d bought a nice house near Slough and Leah gave up her office job to become a full time housewife. She was a great cook but also had her quirks. I’ve always been messy, but Leah was a stickler for hygiene. She had me clean the bathroom after my showers and scrub the kitchen after she’d cooked. I didn’t mind, though. Neither did I mind her flirting with other men in the local pubs and clubs. I accepted it as part of her “bubbly” personality. Nothing wrong with a harmless flirt, I told myself.
My idyll was shattered when, during a holiday in the Caribbean, Leah went missing for about five hours. I was so worried I’d called the police, but she showed up at about 4am. She’d been “taken out partying’ to a club in Montego Bay by a bunch of local Jamaicans she’d met by the hotel pool, she said. I noticed that she had a very visible love bite on her lower neck
What the hell is that Leah?” I said.
“What the fuck do you think it is?” my wife replied. “The guys got a bit grabby on the dance floor, that’s all. What’s the big deal? We’re on holiday Harry. Just relax, you miserable old sod.”
Back home I found it harder and harder to relax. Leah seemed to be changing, always criticizing me. She’d had her hair plaited into cornrows on the beach in Jamaica, a temporary thing I’d thought but she’d kept the style back home. She started taking an interest in African and Jamaican imagery, her musical tastes veering to such genres as “drill” and “grind”. While I was working long hours to make ends meet, Leah was often partying in the West End with her girlfriends. After the Jamaican holiday she started going to clubs further afield, in Brighton or London’s East End, and staying out until the following day. According to my wife, on these occasions it was more convenient to stay at a hotel.
“I live my life, I don’t compromise” Leah said after I complained about her increasing absences. “If I want to relax and let my hair down, that’s up to me.”
“If you don’t like it, there’s the door” she added, pointed her painted, bejeweled finger at my front door. “My way or the highway babe”.
In the end I’d had enough. I decided to follow her. I rented a car, and tailed her to some snooty club in Reading. I’d waited outside the entrance until Leah eventually emerged, one of a group of sluttily-dressed women. Like most of her colleagues, Leah was paired up with a black man, his hand round her waist. She glanced over in my direction, and for a moment I thought she had spotted me. But then her muscular, black partner pulled her ass hard into him and started necking her. My wife responded. The bitch was obviously on heat for him, I thought bitterly. They roared off in a BMW convertible, and moments later I’d received a text – “In Brighton tonight babe, staying in hotel. CU tomorrow”
The cheating whore, I thought.
I thought about it for a while, spoke to some friends in confidence, and finally confronted my wife a week later, admitting that I’d followed her. “Leah, why did you tell me you were in Brighton when you were with a black man in Reading?” I said
Instead of being apologetic, however, Leah was angry, indignant even. “Why the fuck were you spying in me Harry?” she said. “Don’t you realize how creepy that is? I feel like my privacy has been violated”
So I was the guilty party? Like my following her was worse than her lies and infidelity, which the bitch didn’t deny. She simply said that her dalliance was ‘no big deal” and suggested I accept a “more open relationship.”
“Fuck off, you’re married to me” I said
“You’re so old fashioned Harry, it was just a bit of fun” my wife replied. ‘You knew before you married me that I do what I like. You always said I deserve the best. Live with it.”
“Piss off Leah, you slut” I shouted, slamming my fist against the wall. God it hurt.
That evening and on subsequent evenings she slept in the spare room. She was often out all night, and when she was home she was icy cold, keeping contact to the bare minimum. She hardly spoke to me, seemingly more interested in her phone or tablet. When she did speak she was cold and dismissive.
“Take the rubbish out” she said one time, pointing to an empty pizza box and a couple of beer cans. “I don’t want to sit in your filth. It’s fucking disgusting in here.” I was distraught.
It was like she begrudged my very presence.
One evening while Leah was in the bathroom, I stole a quick glance at her browsing history and saw that she’d been active on a forum called “Rainbow Loving”. I made a note of the URL and accessed it on my laptop that night. Basically it was a women’s forum dealing with interracial relationships of all kinds. By far the biggest section was devoted to black man-white woman affairs. There were all kinds of subsections, including one entitled “Married Ladies going Black’ – a private forum that I signed up to with a fake email address.
I couldn’t believe some of the comments that were posted on there, I tell you. Most of the members, it seemed, were white ladies who had either left their husbands for black men or were considering doing so. It was like they were all fucking groupies or something. The photos and videos they posted were obscene, big muscular black men with huge cocks accompanied by comments like “mmm..yes please” and “god I want his babies” . There were also lots of links to articles about how interracial relationships were “in vogue” and supposedly “good for race relations.”
I certainly didn’t share the ladies’ enthusiasm for “rainbow loving”. Last year, I recalled, Bob at the warehouse had been ditched by his wife Emily for a black man. At the time we were all aghast at Emily’s behavior. Bob had spotted his wife in a bar together with her black lover, and totally lost it, calling her a gold digging whore before being dropped to the ground by a punch from her new man. Emily had refused to reconcile even though the black man had a “string of fucking girlfriends” as Bob had tearfully put it.
The views expressed on the forum were also very political. One popular view was that as white males were responsible for all the ills of the nation, they deserved “bitching” – a forced, spiteful, sometimes violent cuckolding in the marital home. Really, I never knew women could be that cruel.
Over the next weeks, I started getting obsessed by the forum, astounded that so many women genuinely believed that black men were superior. I saw that one prolific member called Jen4black had started a number of threads. I clicked on her profile and saw that her most viewed thread was entitled “Black Physical Superiority”
“During the time of slavery when the black race was subject to such cruel oppression from the white man, only the strongest black men survived” Jen4black, had posted. “Most black men living in the west today are their descendants. Therefore they are physically superior to white men due to the process of natural selection”
“But what about other things like position and wealth?” another poster, Shell57, had asked.
“It doesn’t really matter how much money the man has” Jen4black wrote. “It’s a man’s strength, assertiveness and lovemaking ability that holds a woman’s primary interest, especially if she’s fertile and wants babies. That’s why there are so many black man / white woman couples.”
“White women are naturally attracted to black men due to their strength, fertility and fucking ability.” Jen4black wrote. “Black men tend to be lean and more muscled, with longer and thicker cocks. Nature has blessed them not only with better bodies but also with greater stamina and rhythm. This means that they can tease a partner, slam into them, grind them with circular strokes, and do whatever they like really.”
I found myself getting repulsed by her words, but aroused at the same time. I shut down the computer, vowing not to visit the forum again. It was just too extreme for my liking. It was sick.
That Sunday night, with Leah supposedly sleeping in the spare room, I went up to bed. From under her door I saw that Leah had her bedside light on. I could hear the faint tap-tap of keystrokes. I went to my bedroom, got into bed, and started looking at the football news on my phone. My team looked certs for relegation.
Then, something drew me back to the forum. I didn’t want to read any more, but I was intrigued by the comments. Surely the views expressed amounted to racism, didn’t they?
There was a new thread entitled “Bitching” started by Jen4black. I clicked on it.
“For me, bitching my abusive former white male partner, watching him being totally dominated by a black man, was a deliciously sensual experience,” Jen4black wrote. “If any ladies want any advice on bitching their husbands I’m here to help. My husband Leonard put up some resistance at first but now he’s very accepting and docile. At the same time I’m having the best sex of my life.”
“How would it happen in practice?” Shell57 asked.
“ Bitching your husband is easier than you think” Jen4black replied. “Normally all it takes is your black lover to come over and tell him the score. If he objects he will be sorted out quickly. Chances are, he’s pale, stale and not much of a male””
“Seriously considering it Jen” another poster, Bestforme33 had replied. “I’m sick of the sight of him. He’s driving me crazy.”
“How do you think your husband would react? Shell57 asked Bestforme33. “I know you’ve talked about it before”
“I doubt he’d make too much trouble” Bestforme33 replied. “We’re sleeping in separate beds at the moment and I want company. I’m done with him.”
“Make your husband grovel LOL ” Shell57 posted, followed by icons of a smiley face and a black fist
“If your man’s up for it I don’t see why not, just do it.” Jen4black said. “Keep us posted babe”
Then something began to niggle me. A horrible thought. It was like someone was tapping me on the shoulder. I began to realize with growing horror that Bestforme33 sounded… just a little bit… like Leah.
Surely not, I thought.
I checked out Bestforme33’s previous postings. I found one thread started by her, dated April 23, the night I had spotted her outside the club. The thread was entitled “Hubby Problem”
“Hub followed me and spotted me with D leaving a club” Bestforme33 had posted . ‘He’s not said anything yet but if he does, what should I say? Bit unsure ladies, any advice?”
“Probably for the best that he saw” Jen4black had advised. “If he says anything just tell him to sit down and back the fuck off. It’s in his own interests.”
“Chances are he’s a coward, most white men are”. Shell57 said. “He’s been spying on you. I think he deserves to be bitched”
“He’s so unhygienic and gross, I can’t stand him” Bestforme33 had posted. “I just don’t need the hassle he brings. I don’t know why I ever married him”
I was flabbergasted. It was like my whole world was collapsing. It was clear, Bestforme33’s must be Leah. The matching dates and circumstances couldn’t be a coincidence.
With growing horror, I clicked back to the current thread entitled “Bitching”.
“We’re sleeping in separate beds at the moment”
“Seriously considering it, I’m sick of the sight of him”
“I want company.”
In hindsight I should have marched into the ungrateful bitch’s room and had it out with her. But to my shame I did nothing, vowing to look at the situation the next day. Before I slept I signed up for email alerts when new posts appeared on the thread.
The next morning at work in the warehouse, I felt the phone in my pocket vibrate. I’d received a thread notification. Bestforme33 had replied to Jen’s comment.
“D says I should do it. Like you say Jen, hub’s gotta know the score. I can stay at D’s villa in Spain while he sorts things. But if it goes down, I kind of want to be there to see what happens you know”
”Jesus!” I thought.
I read it again and almost had a heart attack on the spot. Was Leah really planning on having this “D” round to “sort me out” and “let me know the score”? I was terrified, I tell you. It was true. I started panicking. Fuck, FUCK, I thought. My wife was planning on “bitching” me.
A large part of me still loved Leah. Could I talk her out of it without confessing to spying? Did I really want to win her back? I considered changing the locks to the house, transferring all the funds from her bank account to mine, and cancelling her credit cards. Should I call the police? Arm myself? a taser perhaps? But what if this “D” overpowered me? What then? My heart was racing and I wasn’t thinking straight.
Well, that was the state of my mind that Monday morning when that damn pallet crushed my body. I was so preoccupied with Leah’s posting. I wasn’t paying attention to work at all. I was staring disbelievingly at Leah’s words on my phone while standing way too close to the loading bay.
The idiot fork lift driver braked suddenly, sending a load of heavy pallets onto my body, knocking me sideways and pinning me against a pile of heavy boxes containing machine parts. My right leg felt shattered, the pain in my ribs, hand and wrist was intense. As I glanced sideways I saw my phone light up beside me on the floor, and a message scroll across the top of the screen
“Fucking at home will be awesome with hubby bitched” Jen4blck wrote . I passed out.
I didn’t even know what “bitched” meant until a few months ago. At first I thought it was a misspelling of “ditched”. But here’s the difference. When a woman bitches you, she doesn’t kick you out of the house. She simply stops fucking you and starts fucking alpha men in your bed. You’re so intimidated that you become, a skivvy to taunt and humiliate, their house bitch
Leah was a pretty, plus-sized strawberry-blonde receptionist I’d met while ordering supplies. At the time, I was in charge of a large warehouse in Slough. I’d met her while signing some papers in Hendon. She was dressed in conservative attire but her tight business suit did nothing to hide her, generously-curved body. Another guy in her office warned me that she was “bad news” but I didn’t care. I was smitten, transfixed by her flirty manner and come-to-bed eyes. I asked her for a date.
“Only if you take me somewhere nice” Leah replied primly.
Well, I only took her for drinks and dinner at the Savoy, didn’t I? It cost me a small fortune but it worked. I ended up in her bed that night, and soon we were dating regularly. I’d take her to the best spots in West London, all the time transfixed by her curves, haughty manner and sexy laugh. She was 29, ten years younger than me, and had a strong sexual appetite. I’d spend hours giving her oral after I’d shot my load, she was seemingly insatiable, but I was enjoying the best sex of my life.
She was one of those hot girls that thrive on male attention. She made no secret about the fact that she’d shagged professional footballers, including a well-known striker who’d played for Reading. That was OK as long as she didn’t fuck Arsenal players, I joked, but secretly I was rather unsettled. My sexy new girlfriend was used to moving in very high circles - and to getting her way.
My life started to revolve around my dates with Leah, planning what I’d wear and where to take her. I’d worked hard all my life, never married and had a few grand tucked away, so I was initially able to treat her like a princess. We took a holiday in Ibiza and a city break in Dublin, and dined in the best restaurants in the West End. I almost maxed out my credit cards trying to win her heart.
Leah finally agreed to be my bride when I’d just turned 40 and I felt like I’d won the lottery. My mates were impressed too. “Got to say Harry, for you, life really does begin at forty”, my friend Rick said enviously. I couldn’t believe such a gorgeous woman had accepted my proposition
The first few months of marriage were bliss. I’d bought a nice house near Slough and Leah gave up her office job to become a full time housewife. She was a great cook but also had her quirks. I’ve always been messy, but Leah was a stickler for hygiene. She had me clean the bathroom after my showers and scrub the kitchen after she’d cooked. I didn’t mind, though. Neither did I mind her flirting with other men in the local pubs and clubs. I accepted it as part of her “bubbly” personality. Nothing wrong with a harmless flirt, I told myself.
My idyll was shattered when, during a holiday in the Caribbean, Leah went missing for about five hours. I was so worried I’d called the police, but she showed up at about 4am. She’d been “taken out partying’ to a club in Montego Bay by a bunch of local Jamaicans she’d met by the hotel pool, she said. I noticed that she had a very visible love bite on her lower neck
What the hell is that Leah?” I said.
“What the fuck do you think it is?” my wife replied. “The guys got a bit grabby on the dance floor, that’s all. What’s the big deal? We’re on holiday Harry. Just relax, you miserable old sod.”
Back home I found it harder and harder to relax. Leah seemed to be changing, always criticizing me. She’d had her hair plaited into cornrows on the beach in Jamaica, a temporary thing I’d thought but she’d kept the style back home. She started taking an interest in African and Jamaican imagery, her musical tastes veering to such genres as “drill” and “grind”. While I was working long hours to make ends meet, Leah was often partying in the West End with her girlfriends. After the Jamaican holiday she started going to clubs further afield, in Brighton or London’s East End, and staying out until the following day. According to my wife, on these occasions it was more convenient to stay at a hotel.
“I live my life, I don’t compromise” Leah said after I complained about her increasing absences. “If I want to relax and let my hair down, that’s up to me.”
“If you don’t like it, there’s the door” she added, pointed her painted, bejeweled finger at my front door. “My way or the highway babe”.
In the end I’d had enough. I decided to follow her. I rented a car, and tailed her to some snooty club in Reading. I’d waited outside the entrance until Leah eventually emerged, one of a group of sluttily-dressed women. Like most of her colleagues, Leah was paired up with a black man, his hand round her waist. She glanced over in my direction, and for a moment I thought she had spotted me. But then her muscular, black partner pulled her ass hard into him and started necking her. My wife responded. The bitch was obviously on heat for him, I thought bitterly. They roared off in a BMW convertible, and moments later I’d received a text – “In Brighton tonight babe, staying in hotel. CU tomorrow”
The cheating whore, I thought.
I thought about it for a while, spoke to some friends in confidence, and finally confronted my wife a week later, admitting that I’d followed her. “Leah, why did you tell me you were in Brighton when you were with a black man in Reading?” I said
Instead of being apologetic, however, Leah was angry, indignant even. “Why the fuck were you spying in me Harry?” she said. “Don’t you realize how creepy that is? I feel like my privacy has been violated”
So I was the guilty party? Like my following her was worse than her lies and infidelity, which the bitch didn’t deny. She simply said that her dalliance was ‘no big deal” and suggested I accept a “more open relationship.”
“Fuck off, you’re married to me” I said
“You’re so old fashioned Harry, it was just a bit of fun” my wife replied. ‘You knew before you married me that I do what I like. You always said I deserve the best. Live with it.”
“Piss off Leah, you slut” I shouted, slamming my fist against the wall. God it hurt.
That evening and on subsequent evenings she slept in the spare room. She was often out all night, and when she was home she was icy cold, keeping contact to the bare minimum. She hardly spoke to me, seemingly more interested in her phone or tablet. When she did speak she was cold and dismissive.
“Take the rubbish out” she said one time, pointing to an empty pizza box and a couple of beer cans. “I don’t want to sit in your filth. It’s fucking disgusting in here.” I was distraught.
It was like she begrudged my very presence.
One evening while Leah was in the bathroom, I stole a quick glance at her browsing history and saw that she’d been active on a forum called “Rainbow Loving”. I made a note of the URL and accessed it on my laptop that night. Basically it was a women’s forum dealing with interracial relationships of all kinds. By far the biggest section was devoted to black man-white woman affairs. There were all kinds of subsections, including one entitled “Married Ladies going Black’ – a private forum that I signed up to with a fake email address.
I couldn’t believe some of the comments that were posted on there, I tell you. Most of the members, it seemed, were white ladies who had either left their husbands for black men or were considering doing so. It was like they were all fucking groupies or something. The photos and videos they posted were obscene, big muscular black men with huge cocks accompanied by comments like “mmm..yes please” and “god I want his babies” . There were also lots of links to articles about how interracial relationships were “in vogue” and supposedly “good for race relations.”
I certainly didn’t share the ladies’ enthusiasm for “rainbow loving”. Last year, I recalled, Bob at the warehouse had been ditched by his wife Emily for a black man. At the time we were all aghast at Emily’s behavior. Bob had spotted his wife in a bar together with her black lover, and totally lost it, calling her a gold digging whore before being dropped to the ground by a punch from her new man. Emily had refused to reconcile even though the black man had a “string of fucking girlfriends” as Bob had tearfully put it.
The views expressed on the forum were also very political. One popular view was that as white males were responsible for all the ills of the nation, they deserved “bitching” – a forced, spiteful, sometimes violent cuckolding in the marital home. Really, I never knew women could be that cruel.
Over the next weeks, I started getting obsessed by the forum, astounded that so many women genuinely believed that black men were superior. I saw that one prolific member called Jen4black had started a number of threads. I clicked on her profile and saw that her most viewed thread was entitled “Black Physical Superiority”
“During the time of slavery when the black race was subject to such cruel oppression from the white man, only the strongest black men survived” Jen4black, had posted. “Most black men living in the west today are their descendants. Therefore they are physically superior to white men due to the process of natural selection”
“But what about other things like position and wealth?” another poster, Shell57, had asked.
“It doesn’t really matter how much money the man has” Jen4black wrote. “It’s a man’s strength, assertiveness and lovemaking ability that holds a woman’s primary interest, especially if she’s fertile and wants babies. That’s why there are so many black man / white woman couples.”
“White women are naturally attracted to black men due to their strength, fertility and fucking ability.” Jen4black wrote. “Black men tend to be lean and more muscled, with longer and thicker cocks. Nature has blessed them not only with better bodies but also with greater stamina and rhythm. This means that they can tease a partner, slam into them, grind them with circular strokes, and do whatever they like really.”
I found myself getting repulsed by her words, but aroused at the same time. I shut down the computer, vowing not to visit the forum again. It was just too extreme for my liking. It was sick.
That Sunday night, with Leah supposedly sleeping in the spare room, I went up to bed. From under her door I saw that Leah had her bedside light on. I could hear the faint tap-tap of keystrokes. I went to my bedroom, got into bed, and started looking at the football news on my phone. My team looked certs for relegation.
Then, something drew me back to the forum. I didn’t want to read any more, but I was intrigued by the comments. Surely the views expressed amounted to racism, didn’t they?
There was a new thread entitled “Bitching” started by Jen4black. I clicked on it.
“For me, bitching my abusive former white male partner, watching him being totally dominated by a black man, was a deliciously sensual experience,” Jen4black wrote. “If any ladies want any advice on bitching their husbands I’m here to help. My husband Leonard put up some resistance at first but now he’s very accepting and docile. At the same time I’m having the best sex of my life.”
“How would it happen in practice?” Shell57 asked.
“ Bitching your husband is easier than you think” Jen4black replied. “Normally all it takes is your black lover to come over and tell him the score. If he objects he will be sorted out quickly. Chances are, he’s pale, stale and not much of a male””
“Seriously considering it Jen” another poster, Bestforme33 had replied. “I’m sick of the sight of him. He’s driving me crazy.”
“How do you think your husband would react? Shell57 asked Bestforme33. “I know you’ve talked about it before”
“I doubt he’d make too much trouble” Bestforme33 replied. “We’re sleeping in separate beds at the moment and I want company. I’m done with him.”
“Make your husband grovel LOL ” Shell57 posted, followed by icons of a smiley face and a black fist
“If your man’s up for it I don’t see why not, just do it.” Jen4black said. “Keep us posted babe”
Then something began to niggle me. A horrible thought. It was like someone was tapping me on the shoulder. I began to realize with growing horror that Bestforme33 sounded… just a little bit… like Leah.
Surely not, I thought.
I checked out Bestforme33’s previous postings. I found one thread started by her, dated April 23, the night I had spotted her outside the club. The thread was entitled “Hubby Problem”
“Hub followed me and spotted me with D leaving a club” Bestforme33 had posted . ‘He’s not said anything yet but if he does, what should I say? Bit unsure ladies, any advice?”
“Probably for the best that he saw” Jen4black had advised. “If he says anything just tell him to sit down and back the fuck off. It’s in his own interests.”
“Chances are he’s a coward, most white men are”. Shell57 said. “He’s been spying on you. I think he deserves to be bitched”
“He’s so unhygienic and gross, I can’t stand him” Bestforme33 had posted. “I just don’t need the hassle he brings. I don’t know why I ever married him”
I was flabbergasted. It was like my whole world was collapsing. It was clear, Bestforme33’s must be Leah. The matching dates and circumstances couldn’t be a coincidence.
With growing horror, I clicked back to the current thread entitled “Bitching”.
“We’re sleeping in separate beds at the moment”
“Seriously considering it, I’m sick of the sight of him”
“I want company.”
In hindsight I should have marched into the ungrateful bitch’s room and had it out with her. But to my shame I did nothing, vowing to look at the situation the next day. Before I slept I signed up for email alerts when new posts appeared on the thread.
The next morning at work in the warehouse, I felt the phone in my pocket vibrate. I’d received a thread notification. Bestforme33 had replied to Jen’s comment.
“D says I should do it. Like you say Jen, hub’s gotta know the score. I can stay at D’s villa in Spain while he sorts things. But if it goes down, I kind of want to be there to see what happens you know”
”Jesus!” I thought.
I read it again and almost had a heart attack on the spot. Was Leah really planning on having this “D” round to “sort me out” and “let me know the score”? I was terrified, I tell you. It was true. I started panicking. Fuck, FUCK, I thought. My wife was planning on “bitching” me.
A large part of me still loved Leah. Could I talk her out of it without confessing to spying? Did I really want to win her back? I considered changing the locks to the house, transferring all the funds from her bank account to mine, and cancelling her credit cards. Should I call the police? Arm myself? a taser perhaps? But what if this “D” overpowered me? What then? My heart was racing and I wasn’t thinking straight.
Well, that was the state of my mind that Monday morning when that damn pallet crushed my body. I was so preoccupied with Leah’s posting. I wasn’t paying attention to work at all. I was staring disbelievingly at Leah’s words on my phone while standing way too close to the loading bay.
The idiot fork lift driver braked suddenly, sending a load of heavy pallets onto my body, knocking me sideways and pinning me against a pile of heavy boxes containing machine parts. My right leg felt shattered, the pain in my ribs, hand and wrist was intense. As I glanced sideways I saw my phone light up beside me on the floor, and a message scroll across the top of the screen
“Fucking at home will be awesome with hubby bitched” Jen4blck wrote . I passed out.
- Next: Chapter 02
