Getting a Divorce

She was at it again, complaining, bitching and berating me. For years I had to listen to my wife Carrie call me every kind of worthless because I don’t earn the money she demanded to live a life style she dreamed of. She quit having sex with me, barely allowing herself to sleep in the same bed and that was only because we didn’t have a separate bedroom. I hadn’t been laid in three years because “You haven’t earned it you lazy bastard! Get a real fucking job and I’ll give you a good fucking job!” was her favorite taunt.

I had a decent job, I earned enough to have to pay taxes every year, not get a refund. We had good cars, a nice home, our clothes were not rags. But Carrie couldn’t wear diamond rings, emerald necklaces or ruby tiaras. She lusted for the trappings of the uber rich and when I couldn’t provide those luxuries she turned mean, spiteful. The only reason she didn’t split from me was she couldn’t find a permanent rich lover. She tried, I know damn well she was fucking other men, men with money. My wife wasn’t a skag, she was a beautiful, sensuous woman and she knew how to use her charms to her advantage. Gradually over time I wanted nothing more than to rid myself of the shrew, to flee, hide in a different city, maybe a different country. The only reason I toughed it out was because of our beautiful sixteen year old daughter Bethany. I couldn’t leave my baby to that bitch alone and I knew I wouldn’t be able to wrest full custody from her mother. If left alone with her I feared my girl would learn too much from the mother, to covet wealth, to drool with greed over baubles and chase after those who could give her those things.

When she was done ripping my nuts off and force feeding me with them she fixed up and left. It was early evening so I knew she wouldn’t be back for several hours. I didn’t bother wondering where she was going or who she was fucking, I was just glad to have her out of the house for a while, I could get some peace, some quiet. It was the best time to get my work done as a freelance writer for several magazines and journals.

It was a real fucking job and I loved it.

I was walking past Beth’s room when I hear her crying, sobbing behind the closed door. I didn’t’ even know she was home. I opened the door to find my girl lying face down on the bed her head cradled on a pillow crying, tears had soaked the cover. “Beth? Beth sweetheart, what’s wrong?” I was concerned.

She rolled over and looked up at me “Mom didn’t know I was home did she dad? I know she can be a bitch sometimes but I never heard her like today. Daddy? Is she always like that when I’m not here?”

I hung my head in shame that I had let things get this far, we tried to keep our shattered marriage from being too obvious but today Carrie had managed to destroy the last illusion. “She was being kind today baby, she left before she started on my bedroom skills.”

“You two still have sex? After what I heard I wouldn’t think so” she sniffled and rubbed her nose on a sleeve.

I should have avoided the question, it wasn’t something I should discuss with my sixteen year old girl, but I told the truth “You mother hasn’t fucked me in over three years, I can tell you the exact day she did, it was your thirteenth birthday. That night we got drunk and screwed half the night but right after that she changed. She started demanding more and better stuff but I could never deliver. About two years ago I found out she was putting out for three different men, getting her trinkets from them, and you know what Beth, by that time I didn’t give a rotten damn.”

Beth sat up and looked at me, confusion mixed with concern in her eyes “Three years?