Reassessing My Life - Pt. 1 - Sex Stories

Reassessing My Life - Pt. 1

My ex-wife was a lying, cheating, gold-digging slut.

Some might say that statement lacks nuance. That people are complex. They have desires, dreams, histories, motives, loves and hates. There are reasons that people do the things they do, and reducing them to a short phrase is, well, reductive. And that’s all true. Kim was a person as complex as you or I, with her own wants and needs, with a history that informed who she was and who she wanted to be.

It doesn’t change the fact that she was a lying, cheating, gold-digging slut.

When we met in college, I didn’t have any real reason to suspect, other than that she belonged to a particular sorority; that sorority had a reputation as a popular option for women like Kim, who wanted to major in finding a rich husband with a minor in early childhood education. That wasn’t a dealbreaker for me since my mom had been a stay-at-home mom while my dad built a business. I was perfectly content to have a spouse that wanted to do the same.

And, let’s be fair: I was in a fraternity. Admittedly, I was only in that frat because I was a legacy, and my membership in it was one of several preconditions my father had for paying for my college, but I still engaged in at least a limited form of the debauchery that one expects of being a member of a fraternity. I was far from a virgin when Kim and I started dating, and I wasn’t a hypocrite, so her having a past was not an issue for me, either.

I accepted, to an extent, that she wanted to ...

... marry me for the stability I could provide, even if I was majoring in computer science instead of business, as my father and most of my frat brothers did. That didn’t make her a gold digger, in my eyes. And, yeah, she’d fucked other guys, but as long as she was faithful to me, so what? Even if she had been a slut at one point, she wasn’t once we were exclusive.

If you’ve noticed that I’m making a lot of excuses for why I married her, there’s a reason for that. They were the ones I made to myself as I talked myself into getting serious with Kim. Or, more accurately, as our friends and family tried to convince me we were great together, even as a little voice in my head was asking, “Really? Her? She’s nice and all, but...”

When I went home with her for Thanksgiving, after we’d been dating for a semester, I almost heeded that voice and got out. That’s when I met her sister, Cassandra. Kim was, in many ways, the Platonic ideal of a sorority girl: blonde, big tits, perfect makeup, well-dressed, and undeniably sexy in a “girl next door” sort of way. Former cheerleader. Reasonably smart, but taking care to not make a guy feel threatened by it. And, even when she was being critical, it was always said in the most diplomatic way possible.

Her sister was wildly different, Wednesday Addams all grown up and twice as snarky. Bottle black hair, dressed to distress, piercings and tats, pointedly more intelligent than you. She showed nothing but disdain for me, but I didn’t take it ...