dulled his senses with porn and we decided together that the only answer was complete abstention from it. He’d agreed, led me home and just plain pretended to quit. For my part in this whole mess, I had believed him.
Why, why, why did I agree to marry him?
Sooner or later, I would have to go home, face up to what had happened and hear this question from everyone else. But, to admit my second marriage had begun to fail in its first week, all because of what many would consider ‘harmless porn browsing’ would take a lot of courage.
If I decided to call it a day, what would I say to my friends and family? ‘He left me’ or ‘I threw him out’. Which explanation would make me look less like the bad person? Of course, I shouldn’t care less, yet I hated the idea of being judged. I had already asked myself all the questions people were going to have for me.
‘You dumped your husband just for looking at porn? That’s what men do!’
‘How insecure is she ?’
‘Why didn’t you just watch it with him?’
It was going to be hard telling people that porn was my sole reason for giving up on David. They didn’t know what I now suspected to be true: that any chance we had of a normal sex life had been wiped out by his ‘me time’ for six years. Who would go through with a wedding knowing all of this? How could I have been so foolish?
Idiot. It didn’t matter what anyone else thought of me at this moment, no-one could hate me more than I hated myself.
It was safe to assume, from the fact that no-one back home had guessed anything was wrong, that David had gone into hiding so no-one would suspect there was a problem. He’d probably taken a flight back to England and was now holed up in some hotel room to avoid being seen, with a laptop and a phone, wondering which one he fancied the most tonight.
I felt fat and dowdy − the opposite of the ideal, sexy woman men cannot seem to resist. My body was old, old, old.
Damn him. And damn Josephine the Nymphotast, with her beach ball tits and Barbie doll waist, who somehow experiences scream-out-loud pleasure three seconds before Shaved-Arsed, Utility Repairman enters her. (What the bloody hell was a ‘Nymphotast’ anyway?) Damn the ‘call me and cum’ Freeview television babes with their youthful, perfect bodies, who wiggle half-naked on our screens, post watershed, trying to shake free of their own arse cheeks. The same ones I’d caught David watching while I’d been waiting, willing and ready for him in our bed! Because sex sells! Pah! And men are buying as their wives carry on in ignorant bliss. Well, not this wife. Not anymore. If only hindsight was less ‘hind’ and more ‘sight’. Only now could I see how gullible I had been. Only now − after our wedding!
Damn him and damn my self-propelled roll-down bikini pants. (I pulled them back up again.) I had other choices. Who knew? And I choose to hold myself right now. I choose to stop feeling scared, gullible, stupid and afraid of being alone, even though, okay, technically I was on my own and in a foreign land. Is it ever too late to decide to get it right for once? Sod David Dando and sod his lies. I’m staying right here in Greece. I am strong, independent and . . . and . . . something else! I wonder if they have any more of this wine? Moreover, I am going ahead with every one of the fun-filled activities he and I had planned for the next ten days. (Except the scary scuba diving thingy. Bloody Jaws had ruined any enjoyment I’d ever had of swimming in the sea.)
What was I saying? Ah yes, I am strong . I am fierce . I am woman .
Who the hell needs a husband anyway? Even on your honeymoon.
Chapter Two
Please Binnie, I need to speak to you. The sex is a problem, I know. But I’ve changed for you just as I promised. I do desire you. I do!
A fter blocking David’s number on my mobile after this fourteenth text had woken me up, a new message notification appeared on the home screen. I clicked it
Why, why, why did I agree to marry him?
Sooner or later, I would have to go home, face up to what had happened and hear this question from everyone else. But, to admit my second marriage had begun to fail in its first week, all because of what many would consider ‘harmless porn browsing’ would take a lot of courage.
If I decided to call it a day, what would I say to my friends and family? ‘He left me’ or ‘I threw him out’. Which explanation would make me look less like the bad person? Of course, I shouldn’t care less, yet I hated the idea of being judged. I had already asked myself all the questions people were going to have for me.
‘You dumped your husband just for looking at porn? That’s what men do!’
‘How insecure is she ?’
‘Why didn’t you just watch it with him?’
It was going to be hard telling people that porn was my sole reason for giving up on David. They didn’t know what I now suspected to be true: that any chance we had of a normal sex life had been wiped out by his ‘me time’ for six years. Who would go through with a wedding knowing all of this? How could I have been so foolish?
Idiot. It didn’t matter what anyone else thought of me at this moment, no-one could hate me more than I hated myself.
It was safe to assume, from the fact that no-one back home had guessed anything was wrong, that David had gone into hiding so no-one would suspect there was a problem. He’d probably taken a flight back to England and was now holed up in some hotel room to avoid being seen, with a laptop and a phone, wondering which one he fancied the most tonight.
I felt fat and dowdy − the opposite of the ideal, sexy woman men cannot seem to resist. My body was old, old, old.
Damn him. And damn Josephine the Nymphotast, with her beach ball tits and Barbie doll waist, who somehow experiences scream-out-loud pleasure three seconds before Shaved-Arsed, Utility Repairman enters her. (What the bloody hell was a ‘Nymphotast’ anyway?) Damn the ‘call me and cum’ Freeview television babes with their youthful, perfect bodies, who wiggle half-naked on our screens, post watershed, trying to shake free of their own arse cheeks. The same ones I’d caught David watching while I’d been waiting, willing and ready for him in our bed! Because sex sells! Pah! And men are buying as their wives carry on in ignorant bliss. Well, not this wife. Not anymore. If only hindsight was less ‘hind’ and more ‘sight’. Only now could I see how gullible I had been. Only now − after our wedding!
Damn him and damn my self-propelled roll-down bikini pants. (I pulled them back up again.) I had other choices. Who knew? And I choose to hold myself right now. I choose to stop feeling scared, gullible, stupid and afraid of being alone, even though, okay, technically I was on my own and in a foreign land. Is it ever too late to decide to get it right for once? Sod David Dando and sod his lies. I’m staying right here in Greece. I am strong, independent and . . . and . . . something else! I wonder if they have any more of this wine? Moreover, I am going ahead with every one of the fun-filled activities he and I had planned for the next ten days. (Except the scary scuba diving thingy. Bloody Jaws had ruined any enjoyment I’d ever had of swimming in the sea.)
What was I saying? Ah yes, I am strong . I am fierce . I am woman .
Who the hell needs a husband anyway? Even on your honeymoon.
Chapter Two
Please Binnie, I need to speak to you. The sex is a problem, I know. But I’ve changed for you just as I promised. I do desire you. I do!
A fter blocking David’s number on my mobile after this fourteenth text had woken me up, a new message notification appeared on the home screen. I clicked it
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