The Government Agent’s Wife

I’ve decided to share my story. It’s less about entertainment and more about therapy. Perhaps you can relate…although, in many cases, I hope you can’t. I’ll start at the beginning and end somewhere near the present. Not sure how many posts this will take, so keep an eye out. 

My Beginning

It was a warm, Arizona day, shortly after my 21st birthday. My parents and some friends had taken me and my friend to Vegas to celebrate our milestone birthdays. I was so young to have endured what I had already endured. You see, I was married at the tender age of 19. Not because I was in love, but because I wanted a way out of my parent’s house. 

My parents were good people, strong people, and very savvy, to boot. Every time I tried to move out on my own, they would point out how it just couldn’t be done alone. Well, along came a man who could change all of that. He had family money, a decent job, and he said he loved me. What more could a seriously insecure girl want? I promptly got engaged and the day after our wedding, the abuse began. It started with him berating me, then physically dominating me, squeezing me until I couldn’t breathe, and quickly moved to smothering me with pillows, and repeated rapes. He even went so far as to trick me into believing he wasn’t home and ambushing me. It ended with him raping me, a gun sat on the table that my head hit as he sodomized me.

Had it not been for my parents coming over for dinner that night, I’m not sure what would’ve happened to me. They put what they could of my things in trash bags and moved me back home. Over the coming months, my ex kept baiting me with items of necessity, like my car insurance cards. I went to pick them up from the front porch and he would grab me and sodomize me. I honestly don’t know why I went over there, why I trusted that things like that wouldn’t have happened, but they did…and I’m lucky to be here today to tell my story. 

In the end, he sold all of my childhood belongings, things I held so dear, and that was the end of the girl, I had become a damaged adult by the age of 20. 

I guess it all makes sense that my next relationship, which started when I was 21, would be with a handsome man with policeman aspirations. Of course, I didn’t know it when we first met, but within moments I knew that this man was someone I could trust, and that was a big deal. He achieved his goal of becoming a police officer three months after we started dating in March of 1998, and I thought that we were on our way to a good, long, happy life. 

He moved 100 miles away and we maintained a long distance relationship for two years. Even though he became engulfed in his job and added a level of arrogance to his personality, I still loved him and thought we could make it through anything. Looking back, I guess I loved him enough for the both of us, only to find that that could never last. 

The Adulteress


Continuing to write fiction…one day at a time. 

If I were a different type of person, I could likely find a reason for such treason. I could blame my parents for being too strict, perhaps, in some cosmic sense, I’m to pay for the sins of my father…and maybe even the sins of my mother. But really, the decision to become an adulteress is not a conscious one. It is a vulnerable one. Men and women alike, there are few, if any, who move through affairs with malicious intent. Unlike those devilish “one-night stands,” affairs are a balm to soothe an aching heart, they fill those tiny voids in your heart that you never realized existed. They are an awakening, a realization, in a way. They force you to see your reflection with foreign eyes, the face is familiar, but the thoughts are entirely new. Nothing is sacred anymore, your beliefs, your morals, not gone, only changed. You find yourself asking, “What do you truly hold dear?” Then, you struggle even more, trying to reconcile the person you’ve become…or perhaps always were. 

Then, of course, you get found out. Perhaps through admission, or, more often, you get caught. Either way, the villagers will happily light the pyre beneath your feet, burning you for not adhering to their moral code. Yet as your soul drifts to some new dimension, you discover that the morality preached is seldom righteous. The villagers have their own dirty little secrets, their lives are a lie, and you have become their sacrifice to absolve their own sins. 

It was never a life goal to view relationships as disposable. I soon found myself asking, “When did loyalty become possession?” I was not in love anymore, my marriage had become a contract, my life one of obligation and possession. My shoulders had become weak from carrying so many burdens, sustaining verbal abuse, and floundering through countless failures. It is probably a bit easier to understand that my dalliance was inevitable. A hand was extended, offering to lift my burdens, a heart was offered to fill those spaces that had been recklessly abandoned. I’m sure, as human as you are, you might possibly offer some understanding. 

New Fiction

I’ve decided to start writing again…I don’t really understand why I ever stop. I suppose it’s because it drains me to think about topics and, then weave words that desire to be read. But here I go…again. 

“I am an adulteress.” I repeated this to myself, as I searched the reflection in the mirror for any sign that the woman I once was still existed. In just two short years, the youfulness had dwindled from my eyes, and began to show as a new dullness in both my skin and eyes reflected back to me. Apparently, all of the trials and tribulations I had endured in my first forty years didn’t take nearly the toll that just two years spent in the beautiful turmoil of passion provided. 

I suppose there is still a level of naïveté that demonstrates itself, even at the age of thirty-eight. Looking back, I could equate myself to a child, desperately seeking the comfort, the safe  embrace, only a parent could provide. At the time, I was as lost as a piece of driftwood, carried across the miles of open ocean, with no particular destination. All I wanted was a safe place to rest my weary heart. It was quite pathetic, in retrospect. But somehow, I convinced myself that nothing mattered, no sin too great, for the warm sanctuary of an equally aching heart would heal all indiscretions.