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Unfaithful

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Offline howardcosell

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Unfaithful
« on: December 10, 2010, 08:09:16 PM »
Unfaithful

I woke up this morning and I know in my heart that my wife is cheating on me. I must tell you; it’s a hell of a new feeling. Your mind drifts from your wedding to the day you met to the first time you suspected she was to your future alone to are your children even yours to the people she’s done it with to her excuses to your children to all this bullshit that she says and you say to all the women you could’ve fucked at work in the classroom if you were like her to all the hurt to come to not even wanting to confront her to not knowing who she is anymore to still loving her to is it even fucking real… it’s a hell of a feeling. I didn’t need anyone to hack her e-mail and send me any of those exchanges she had with that preacher. I don’t need to look at the pictures she posted online of her in that church with him in that “prom pose”… him angling his dick at her butt that she arched her back inward so that it could sit up like the back end of a duck and him holding her sides. I should have known it, but I keep fucking myself over with her. I put her so high above everything and everyone and she isn’t any of those things in those poems I wrote to her, at least, not anymore. I don’t think you know how upset I am right now. Don’t tell me you can relate; don’t sympathize with me; were you ever really my friends to begin with? Maybe you knew… maybe you saw something and didn’t tell me because you didn’t want to get involved or you didn’t want to hurt me or cause trouble… that’s not being my friend.

Denise and I have been married five years and we have two daughters and a son. We’re both 36, but she has another daughter who’s 18 and named Aretha; she’s from another relationship. Denise is 5’8” about 145 lbs, mostly in her breasts, thighs, and butt and she’s got long wavy black hair and she’s got deep brown eyes and light brown skin. Her parents moved here from Cairo, Egypt and I never thought I’d meet someone like her, so beautiful, so exotic, so… what the fuck am I talking about? It’s starting to dawn on me now; sometimes you get so caught up with being with an exotic woman or someone who is physically the woman of your dreams, that you make her the woman of your dreams and her flaws and lack of compassion are invisible to you.

I was so turned off by women here in America; I was young and dumb enough to stereotype all of them, no matter how old, how educated, or what race they were, there were all the same money-grubbing love a dim-witted meathead with a penis and a parachute over a nice guy… and I saw her as my savior. We fell in love, or I did, or maybe she did and she fell out of it… but I was in love and my heart… it’s not something that I just give away anymore. I had given up on all of those girls and I had no desire to be in another relationship unless it was out of convenience. She talked me out of that and I honestly trusted her. Now, I’m sitting here in tears because she gave me the ultimate reminder that I cannot trust anyone. I used to tell her that she saved my life, but I don’t know what life I have now, other than my young children.

Denise has spent much of our marriage in the hospital ill or pregnant. She had a lot of sicknesses, but she got over them and she started getting stronger and stronger and that’s when I noticed a change in her. But you know; I ignored it. I go to church, but she goes to a different church and some young preacher who she met through her brother was counseling her. I didn’t care; I’m a preacher’s son, so if she wanted to go to him and talk about her health or other problems, that was okay with me as long as she told me so that I could do everything in my power to fix them. Sometimes, these meetings would last late into the night and the babies would be wondering where she was, or Aretha would come home from school and I’d tell her where her mother was and she’d just roll her eyes and go to bed or we’d stay up and talk and play with the kids. 

Because she’s been so sick, she can’t work consistently, so my wife claims unemployment benefits, but that only covers so much of our expenses, so I work two jobs and when I’m not working, I’m with the kids. When I’m teaching or when I’m counseling, I don’t know she’s doing. Aretha is in college with tae kwon do on Mondays and Wednesdays and choir on Thursdays, and the babies go to a nursery; Denise stays home and plays on the internet or goes to get mani pedi or whatever. If she needs food or if she feels like making dinner, I’ll pick the stuff up on the way home or on my break, and sometimes when I‘d get home, she would be gone. She used to shop for herself and be more self-sufficient, but she’s spent more time in the gym or on myspace than she has shopping for food for the household. If she shops, it’s for clothes, but she does get the kids clothes; that I can say.

I tell you; it was never this way before she got fully well. Yeah, the preacher thing was probably going on, but she was so much more than this. We’d have so much fun and a lot more talks; everything wouldn’t be about the internet or about going out with her girls or just being depressed. In fact, I was a pretty depressed person, but being married to Denise worked wonders for my positive mind because I have to cheer her up constantly, especially if the kids are running around making noise, being kids and not cheering her up too. I swear, it was never like this; she used to love hanging out with us, but now, she complains about not working, complains about being sick (which I can understand) and complains about being miserable. So, I guess she found her “savior,” a savior who would run out of her hospital room whenever I would show up, a savior who already has a wife and preaches the Word of God just to turn around and ruin the joy of others, a savior who fits every stereotype of the flirtatious, touchy feely reverend who takes unhappy women into his office and does Lord knows what, then preaches against infidelity, savior who only pretends to care about her so that he get screw her, not spending one moment in our house, not donating a dime to buy food, pay a bill, wash a dish, change a diaper, or even mow the fucking lawn. Fuck this guy as he fucks my wife.

Last night, when Aretha came home, I was in tears. The e-mails had been sent to me and I read one between Denise and the preacher. I don’t want to go there but one line he sent her was “when am I going to feel your sexy ass again?” You know what it’s like to type that so close to when it happened? And then, there are other men too, but for some reason, the preacher is the focus of my anger, other than me. How inadequate have I become as a man that she gets sick and gets well, and decides to do this? But it dawns on me as I’m typing this; she’s not the woman I married and maybe, maybe she never was. Maybe I invented qualities in her that never existed and she took all the compliments and gifts and poetry and walked out that door to go fuck somebody else. Aretha came in and saw me, lamenting over the sweet potato pie that I made for Denise, and she knew something was wrong. She still had on her gi from tae kwon do, with her red belt draped over her shoulder.

Aretha- What’s wrong, Dad?

She started calling me “Dad” not too long after Denise and I became engaged. She’s 5’8” 140 lbs growing into her mother‘s figure, but a very conservative dresser and I like that, with sort of lemon blonde hair that is dyed and she wears blue contacts. Her biological father was a very light skinned Black guy and Denise said he was terrible, a cheater, and she told Aretha this and Aretha dyed her hair and changed her eye color to get away from identifying with him and because she thought that if she could pass for White, she’d get a better job and be treated better at school, like that has ever worked, in 2010 or in 1950. Be who you are and if you want to dye your hair or wear different contacts in your eyes, it shouldn‘t be to blend in out of a rejection for what is a part of you. Denise should’ve taught her better or at least, showed her the movie “Imitation of Life,” but I have to remind myself that when I met Denise, she was wearing blue contacts in her eyes. Not to mention, they named her after Aretha Franklin; she told me a lot of the White people she met asked her about her name. I wanted to tell her to take the dye and contacts out and if people don’t like her for who she is, so what? But since I’m not her biological father, we’d only touched on the issue so much, as I felt it might be out of my bounds. Eventually, I planned on having that talk with her.

Me- I don’t want to say, Aretha.

Aretha- Oh come on now; don’t make me play parent to you. Talk to me.

Something about the way she said it… maybe it wasn’t the way she said it. Maybe it was just me not giving a shit anymore. The kids were with their aunt for the night; Denise was out doing whatever. I just told Aretha everything. I expected her to burst into tears; I expected her to yell at me or even attack me, defending her mother who told her that men were all losers like her father; I expected her to run right out the door. But none of that happened. She just looked at me, frowning and showing her dimples, that she got from her mother.

Aretha- I know she did. You know why I keep my hair dyed blonde and my eyes blue? The real reason? I thought about what you said, about me just being who I am and I am proud of who I am… but I keep the dye in because of my mother. She cheated on my father.

Me- What?

Aretha- I did some research of my own. My father wasn’t as bad as she says he was; in fact, I may not even be his biological daughter. She lied to me; she cheated on him and came back a year after I was born to try to tell him that I was his daughter. He knew she had cheated and he needed a paternity test, but she left with me because she knew he wasn’t. Now, I don’t know who my biological father is, but I know who you are and I know that you’re the only father I need.

Me- I don’t know what to say.

Aretha- Just hug me. I am proud of who I am because I know who I am… I just don’t know who I came from.

I held her in my arms and she cried. I felt the softness of her breasts and the firmness of her stomach and I was reminded of Denise and how innocent I thought she was. I held Aretha and we looked into each other’s eyes. This was my daughter; this was a part of Denise that had been affected by a part of me and I felt all the love I felt for Denise as I looked at Aretha. She was a mind betrayed, a heart misled, and a spirit worn out. But on that night, no matter what, I would see to it that from now on, she would be fine because the boundaries weren’t going to be there anymore. This was my little girl. I went to bed and woke up this morning knowing that Denise had cheated on me; the sting is still there, but the more I type about it, the more I’m working through it. I hear noises downstairs; the babies must have been picked up by my sister by now, and Aretha has to be at school. What is Denise doing? I get up and go downstairs and find Denise and Aretha grappling in our den, each with sneers on their faces.

Denise- You better not have told him!

Aretha- I can’t believe you did this again! I can’t believe you put us through this again, you fucking whore!

Denise hears that and stops. Her honey skin turns a shade lighter at her daughter’s remark. Denise is still in her pajamas… Spongebob pajamas, and Aretha is in a black Green Day t-shirt, jeans, and some sandals. Denise hauls off and slaps Aretha’s left cheek hard, staggering her.

Me- Denise, what the hell are you doing?!

Denise- We’re having a mother-daughter discussion, Larry. Don’t get between me and disciplining my daughter.

She had never spoken to me like that… ever. Or maybe she had and I never noticed. But I made my way to the foot of the stairs and found my wife with Aretha in a headlock and Aretha struggling to break free, her shirt coming up in the back and I’m noticing a tattoo of a small dragon on the small of her back that I didn’t notice before and she didn’t tell me about.

Denise- She always tries to beat me, but she can’t. All the tae kwon do lessons and you made red belt. But you couldn’t beat me if I had both hands tied behind my back and still on my hospital bed.

Aretha was struggling in the headlock and Denise kept on taunting her, but Aretha put both her hands on her mother’s forearm, then pried the hold off, facing Denise. The two looked like they were in a waltz position, but Aretha spun with her mother, lifting her up and slamming her on the couch, forcing an “UFFF!!” from Denise as Aretha fell on her butt, huffing and puffing. Denise rolls of the couch as Aretha stands (yes, I know I’ve got past tense/present tense conflicts, but considering my mood, I’m not feeling like fucking adjusting it, okay?) and both of them are tired. I think about stepping in and separating them; that’s what I should do.

Aretha- Stay down.

Denise looks done. She’s sitting down, leaning up against the couch and she nods, extends her arms up to her daughter and Aretha reaches down to pull her to her feet, but when she does, Denise knees her right between the legs, sending Aretha down in a coughing fit with tears running down her face. What kind of woman did I marry to do that to her own daughter? Of course… one who cheats. I don’t understand this… I just don’t understand any of this. Denise grabs Aretha and pulls her up. She elbows Aretha hard in the pit of her stomach, forcing out an “OUUGGHH!!” as the daughter doubles forward; I knew this was a weak point on Aretha because we attended her martial arts classes and tournaments and watched her spar with other girls and seen her get the wind knocked out of her by strikes to her stomach… I always found women fighting to be erotic and sexy, but that’s my daughter. Every time she gets hit, I feel it and I want her to win. Denise scoops her up and tries to drop her on the couch, but ends up dropping her on the carpeted floor in a sidewalk slam. Denise pulls Aretha up by her hair and grabs her by the back of her neck, shoving her face down on one of the pillows of the couch, smothering her. I see the hate in Denise’s eyes and the strength in her actions. My Egyptian queen was assaulting her own daughter, her own flesh and blood, right in front of me and calling it “discipline?”

Denise- Give up, Aretha.

Aretha puts her hands on the couch and shoves hard, forcing her body to slide backwards into Denise and ramming her butt into Denise’s lower abdomen and crotch. Denise is caught off guard and almost falls, but she gets her footing and hits Aretha in the side, forcing an “Ah!” from her daughter as she turns around, placing her left arm on her side and getting hit in the pit of her stomach with a submarine punch, folding forward with an “Ummm!”

Denise- Some red belt you are, kiddo. One belt away from being a black belt and we watch you get beat in sparring by girls who are lower ranked than you are and outfought by your mother who just got out of the hospital. After I get through with you, I’m going to get that orange yellow whatever the hell it is out of your hair and you’re going to start dressing better too.

Denise threw a right hand at Aretha’s head; Aretha blocked it easily with her left and stuns her mother with a left hook to her jaw, forcing out an “unnhh!” then following it up with a digging right hand to Denise’s stomach. I watch my wife’s body jerk with the blow, her eyes close and her cheeks fill with air. When her eyes open and she lets out an “wuuuuggghhh” sound, the wind being forced from her, she’s looking right at me. But she turns and nails Aretha’s liver with a hard left hook, forcing an “Uggghhh!!” from her as Aretha’s face takes on a look of shock and she doubles forward into two hard uppercuts to her stomach, forcing out two loud “OUGH!!” sounds and forcing her shirt up to reveal her round navel, the same as her mother’s, with a tiny, barely noticeable hole right above it… she got it pierced and I didn’t know about that either.

Denise- My kickboxing classes paid off. But then, I was taking you down before I even started.

Aretha was backing up and holding her stomach. Every time she tries to lift her arms, they come back down. She’s winded and hurting, and while she looks beaten, she still looks determined. Denise charges in on her, arms extended, but Aretha throws a perfect straight right into her mother’s solar plexus.

Denise- AUGH!!

Denise clutches the struck area, backing up and looking at Aretha with pain in her eyes, followed by tears. Aretha bounces on her toes, raising her guard even higher. She jumps in and lands two quick strikes to her mother’s face, then jumps back out. She jumps in and lands a left hook right cross to her mother’s cheeks again, then doubles Denise over with an “ULF!!” from a straight right to her stomach, right on her navel, that I’ve licked and kissed many, many times on my way down. Denise is hurting and looking at Aretha with her fist clenched, waiting to get her, but Aretha’s speed is just too much. She’s picking Denise apart with strikes, and though they’re not as hard as Denise’s, they’re hard enough. I’ve seen my daughter break cinder blocks with her fists and feet; I know if she wanted to, she could knock my wife out, but she was clearly holding back and trying to wear her out. Aretha seems to be draining more of the fight out of Denise by simply throwing decoy punches at her head, then hurting her stomach and ribs when she covers up. After about five minutes of this, Denise hasn’t landed a shot and Aretha stops, puts her hands on her hips and wipes the sweat from her brow.

Aretha- You done?

Denise stares at our daughter, who’s eyes are giving away that she’s tired and barely able to stand up straight while Denise is folded over. Denise doesn’t say anything, but her eyes apparently say enough for Aretha to back up and face me. I could end the story right here. The fight is over; Aretha won; Denise the cheating wife lost and maybe, Aretha found her identity. But that’s the problem with reality vs. fantasy. You could say that she liberated me or that she taught her mother a lesson or that she became the woman of the house… but none of that is true, is it? Because I was so angry with Denise and so proud of my new connection to Aretha, I stood there and watched them beat each other up like some voyeur in a www.youtube.com fight video, just because I knew Aretha would beat Denise and because I still didn’t feel right interfering… and yes, I’m the one who pays the bills and yes, this is my house, and no, I didn’t find any of it to be arousing… I’m just lost and pissed off. But where do we go from here? All that anger and frustration has come to the surface and I realize that there’s no way it can stay this way. We can’t just all hug and have breakfast now, can we? The affair is still there; the angst is still there; my anger is still there. I walk to where I’m standing between Denise and Aretha.

Me- Denise, I know you’re cheating on me.

Denise- And you got my own daughter to fight me?

Aretha- No; I fought you on my own. I’m tired of you ruining our lives because you can’t stop being a whore!

Denise- Look who’s talking! I found condoms in your room!

Aretha- Those are for AIDS Awareness, mom. I’ve been passing them out.

Me- She told me about the condoms, Denise.

Aretha- I’m NOTHING like you! How could you do this to Dad? How could you do this to me? And with the reverend? Mom, do know how that looks to the other women at the church? You’re making a fool of us!

I turn and start to the kitchen… I can’t deal with this… I start chugging down glass after glass of iced water because my mouth is so damn dry… then, I turn and see Aretha coming with tears in her eyes, and I see her fall to the floor as Denise tackles her, but Aretha gets to her feet, however, Denise puts her in a full nelson.

Denise- Try to be a fucking hero, huh? Trying to come between me and my man, huh? You can get a red belt, a black belt, be a five star general, but little girl, you are still my daughter and you don’t disrespect me in my house!

I’ve had enough of this shit and I stand, but I move so quickly that I trip over the stool just as Denise lets go of Aretha and brings her arms down, slamming a double fisted shot to Aretha’s stomach, her knuckles digging in on either side of Aretha’s navel and doubling her over with an “OOOUUUGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!” I hate the way that sounds and I get there just as Denise body slams our daughter on the couch and forces a horrible “nnuuuugggghhhh” from her with a double hammer fist right on her navel. Denise yanks Aretha off of the couch by her hair and draws back to punch her again.

Denise- You’re gonna collect your shit right now and get the fuck out of my house.

I grab her fist.

Me- No… you’re going to get out of MY house right now, or else I’m calling the police.

Denise- Larry, what?

Me- Call your preacher friend to come pick you up, because that car you drive is in my name and I’m giving it to Aretha. Fuck you, Denise. Leave.

And when I tell you that is was that easy… it was. Denise was gone and I got a call from her brother asking could he come and pick of some of her things. Nice guy, flamboyantly gay, harmless, no problem. I held Aretha in my arms as she cried. She didn’t go to school that day and I thought of what I was going to tell my babies when I went to get them and they see that Mommy isn’t there when they get home or when they wake up tomorrow morning. The semester’s almost over for Aretha, but I go up to her room and find her with her stuff packed. She says she found an apartment in New Orleans (where she goes to school) and she’s headed there in a few days. I just got to really know her, and now, she’s leaving us, but not yet. And for these last few days we have together, I’m going to be the father she never had, the father I didn’t feel comfortable being. Denise will probably come back; she isn’t wanting a divorce, not with so much against her. I don’t know if I’ll take her back or not. You may say I’d be a fool if I did, but we’ve got young kids and just like ending the story earlier, real life isn’t that simple. I’m going to be connected to her forever. I hope you understand; it doesn’t make the pain hurt any less or my heart any less broken. But when she gets here, Aretha will be waiting and we will sit down and sort this out once and for all. And then, we’ll see what happens.

Be faithful.

The End
"When people walk away from you... let them go. Your destiny is never tied to anyone who leaves you... and it doesn't mean they are bad people. It just means that their part in your story is over."

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Offline ~Rox Erotique~

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Re: Unfaithful
« Reply #1 on: December 10, 2010, 08:44:42 PM »
blew me away

x G x
I'm paranoid and needy. So I think people are talking about me, but not as much as I'd like.

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Offline howardcosell

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Re: Unfaithful
« Reply #2 on: December 10, 2010, 10:03:18 PM »
I know... very difficult piece for me to write, but like one of my writing buddies told me when I e-mailed it to her to see, "your Mother/Daughter catfight stories are different than others." LOLOLOLOLOL!!!! I love my friends; they can make me laugh about the most serious things :D
"When people walk away from you... let them go. Your destiny is never tied to anyone who leaves you... and it doesn't mean they are bad people. It just means that their part in your story is over."

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Offline Marie B.

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Re: Unfaithful
« Reply #3 on: December 11, 2010, 12:51:55 AM »
One can understand why Larry would want to take Denise back.....and why he wouldn't. If he could lay down some conditions that she had to adhere to in order to be allowed back, maybe it could work.


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Offline Kayla

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Re: Unfaithful
« Reply #4 on: December 12, 2010, 11:22:58 AM »
Yeah, Aretha! Was rooting for her!  :D

Hugs
Kayla
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Offline JT Edson

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Re: Unfaithful
« Reply #5 on: December 12, 2010, 05:37:05 PM »
......Wow. This is a great story. Do you write outside of this kind of stuff? I have always enjoyed your catfight stories, but this is different. I read it on a different level and enjoyed it on a different level.

JT

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Offline howardcosell

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Re: Unfaithful
« Reply #6 on: December 12, 2010, 08:30:01 PM »
thanks, guys! Yes, I do write a lot outside of the stuff here, but lately, most of that stuff has been motivational, political, or the stuff I prepare for my students. This story is personal for me on many levels. I'll say that when you're going through something awful, you can't let it stop you from doing what you enjoy. So, I took something awful I was going through and am still going through and used it to write an enjoyable story. It is good therapy lol, and I was really typing my emotions as I was typing the story.
"When people walk away from you... let them go. Your destiny is never tied to anyone who leaves you... and it doesn't mean they are bad people. It just means that their part in your story is over."

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Offline howardcosell

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Re: Unfaithful
« Reply #7 on: December 13, 2010, 10:05:28 PM »
thanks, pete. I used to have this idea that I needed to top myself withevery new story or match, but that leads to being ridiculous and over the top. Now, I just try to be consistent and have fun doing it. This was personal to me and was an emotional write, but it came out well and it entertained folks. I'm happy with that because this site entertains me.
"When people walk away from you... let them go. Your destiny is never tied to anyone who leaves you... and it doesn't mean they are bad people. It just means that their part in your story is over."

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Offline howardcosell

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Re: Unfaithful
« Reply #8 on: December 19, 2010, 03:35:51 AM »
I can't believe that a story done out of sadness could bring positive results. I actually had a bet with a friend of mine on the number of views and settled on 1450 and i won. I am so happy that I'm getting something I've wanted for quite some time. Thank you to all who read!!
"When people walk away from you... let them go. Your destiny is never tied to anyone who leaves you... and it doesn't mean they are bad people. It just means that their part in your story is over."

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Offline Jonica

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Re: Unfaithful
« Reply #9 on: December 21, 2010, 08:12:29 PM »
And you say my output is amazing!  There is no way I could even hope to come up with two stories of the magnitude of the last two of your I just read in a 24 hour period.  You are the master and we all bask in your wake!

:D

J
xoxo
Bad (Bad) Blood (Blood)
The bitch is in her smile.
The lie is on her lips,
Such an evil child.

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Offline howardcosell

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Re: Unfaithful
« Reply #10 on: December 22, 2010, 12:19:11 AM »
shhh!! Don't say that too loudly, Jonica, some 4'11" Canadian New York Giants fan might jump out and... oh, I don't know what she might do ;)

Wow!! Thanks, Jonica!! The pleasure is all mine and coming from someone like you, I'm flat out honored. It's just that the semester is over, so I don't have to teach, and I'm spending time with my family, chasing twin girls around my house who keep snatching candy canes off our Christmas tree and trying to make a toddler understand that he can't eat nothing but freeze pops and French fries all day ;D Plus sometimes, I may do a page of one story and then a page of another, then a page of another and try to knock out three in two days. I figure, I will write what I feel like writing depending on my mood and I'll give myself a lot to choose from. "Wildfire" was started almost a week before I did this story and I finished that one last and did this one in a few hours and immediately did "No Parking On the Dance Floor" and posted them both the same day I started them. In a few weeks, there's no way I'll be able to go like this because I'll be working all of my jobs at full force again.
"When people walk away from you... let them go. Your destiny is never tied to anyone who leaves you... and it doesn't mean they are bad people. It just means that their part in your story is over."

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Offline howardcosell

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Re: Unfaithful
« Reply #11 on: August 17, 2011, 02:54:46 AM »
I'm feeling the mood... I think I'll be doing a follow-up to this soon.
"When people walk away from you... let them go. Your destiny is never tied to anyone who leaves you... and it doesn't mean they are bad people. It just means that their part in your story is over."