Why so cold? I am your wife, and you declared you loved me, standing before a celebrant. It wasn’t really all that long ago.
Are you wishing, yet again, that I was one of those women on the porn site I saw you looking at before? ‘Hot chicks with big tits’, I think it was this time, instead of just me? You didn’t know I saw you, you were so fixated on the screen that you didn’t hear me come up behind you. But I did, and I saw how mesmerized you were by those images of naked women with oversized, artificial breasts looking out from the screen, with come hither looks on their faces as they struck explicit poses. I didn’t have a problem with you looking at porn, but I did with the way you treated me afterwards.
When you shut down the computer, you came to me, and said you wanted to ‘make love’. But that was not what you wanted to do at all, well not with me anyway. Perhaps with some idealized women you had created in your imagination, because I could tell, that it definitely wasn’t me you were thinking of.
I felt your distance from me, I was used to it by now. And when I looked at your face, it was like a blank slate, a tabula rasa, no feeling, no emotion, no connection. And as we ‘made love’, it didn’t matter what I did, what tricks I tried, I could not make even the tiniest mark on the impassive surface of your expressionless face. I could have been anyone. I was no one to you.
So I ended up making it quick, I needed it to be that way, because the feeling of being nothing, made me want to cry. At least one thing I had learned during my time with you was how to make you come, quickly. And after all, wasn’t that ultimately my role in this little charade? I was merely the provider of the orifice, and the tools, to take you where you wanted to go.
Yet you still felt the need to critique me afterwards, as had become your habit. My body and my performance, no matter how hard I tried, never quite seemed to measure up to this ideal in your mind. You didn’t ask me how I was feeling, or care about what the experience had been like for me. It was all about you, and you made it clear I’d fallen short yet again.
And you wonder why I eventually ended up so cold, why the chill set in, and I asked you to leave.
– Judi Reed, 2012