An Ode to the Adulterer

You amble out of your dreams; eyelids part to reveal a pale ceiling in the distance ahead. You choke on your conscience. Sounds of muffled breathing torments your physique, the struggle is real, you are drowning in an ocean of guilt, again. It’s just midnight, one hour after you went to bed; maybe you should commit suicide, she will never forgive you, homewrecker. You lost your faithfulness to the grips of unsanctioned sex, fucked another woman a few hours ago, returned home to bouts of sexual pleasure with your wife. It was dessert. You had the entree earlier that very night. Guilt feasts on your conscience, you are dying inside in the darkness, your wife sleeps peacefully, her mind wanders in the corridors of your faithfulness, affection, trust. She bears the look of a happy woman, the look of someone who has everything she could ever hope for, she doesn’t know you are pulling the rug out from under her feet. In darkness, the old feels new, you swallow the guilt, it dissolves in your conscience, but the lights go up, and you choke on the smell of her body splash, smell of your own breath.

In the Old Testament of the Bible, adulterers were stoned to death, sin had no mercy, and if you could loosen the grip of mistakes around your neck finger by finger before it gets tighter, you would. First time is a mistake, second, and a third is premeditated, it is intentional. You are stuck in this chokehold of selfish, demeaning choices. Sleeping with bad women did not spice your life up as you anticipated, it polished the sexual positions, but it was the same selfish thrust, and satisfaction you got from banging your wife. Foolish is the man who thinks his manhood sits in the airy foundations of his libido. A man is not defined by how well he can fuck, or the many women he fucks, maximised manhood has little or nothing to do with sexual gratification.

You gasp for air in the middle of the night, your wife asks, you lie, when she offers a penny for your thoughts, you turn around in the spaces of doubt, you say nothing. You haul loads of deception over your wife, a web of lies that will trap none other than yourself, this is not  hope for change, not even close. Your road to change is as far as the the eye is from the sun, you are a worm, an insect that should just cease to exist.

The second woman, an old fling from the past you renounced, a subordinate in the office, the one you chose to soil your marital bed with is a reflection of yourself and your choices. You throw caution to the mind, repeatedly utter the words, “I am in control. I am in control.” to keep your energizer in check, but that same mind has forgotten that confidence in the human flesh precedes a fall. You have fallen from your wife’s grace and trust, your energizer needs an expiry date, that may mutinize the rule of your thumb-sized cock.



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