You suspect your girlfriend and she has been silent for two decades.

Was nothing sacred? I watched her push the wet pillow away. Disgusting woman. She'd been up at least a half an hour after me, drinking wine by herself in front of the damned television. I hated her shows. When she came to bed, she was drooling. I could barely keep from touching her, when she tossed and turned, and I shivered and wanted out of bed. I also wanted out of the marriage and out of the house. I wanted out from underneath her quivering breast, and I wanted a man. It had been twenty years since we got married, and I've been silent for just as long. A man suited my sexual taste better. I guess I should have gotten that out of the way. I'm gay.

There are those minor crimes that our friends commit in our presence that are more or less forgivable. You don't want Jerry to get caught swiping the bag of chips, but you don't feel an extreme guilty feeling, yourself. For those major crimes, you have a more gut reaction to ditch the friend. Like murder, corruption, crimes to humanity and treason to America, things that were unforgivable. She was like that. You had to consider her anti-patriotism, which she made known by announcing that she may "ex-patriate" whenever she wants. Then, the intrigue surrounding the hit men she hired against me. The drug sales, the stolen cheques, everything she involved herself in was likely to be unforgivable.

After two decades of heady danger, thrilling highs and lows that nearly got us locked up forever, we settled down and started re-examining what we really wanted. She wanted a young tennis player. She wanted a fuck boy, a boy toy, something she could paw around the house and get whatever she wanted from him. I meant nothing to her. She was a dry well when it came to me. I wanted something else, too. But just what it was would have her cringing in displeasure. She would finally get her own.

See, I wanted a man. A real timber jock, with a great %ock. I knew where to find him. He was on the cloud, where bots and spammers had to be navigated to find the real meat. I searched in websites for weightlifters, trainers, all kinds of gymnasts and track athletes. I fancied I could tell the gay from the straight, but I guess it didn't matter, anyway. I could convert even the stoutest straight boy. There was just the problem of completely removing the wifey.

I've been thinking of adding a restraining order to my divorce.