Cheated on my husband 1
Nora's POV
I don’t know what I’ve done wrong. Every night, I lie down on our bed, hoping David will touch me—even just hold me. But he doesn’t. He turns to the other side like I’m not even there. I can’t remember the last time he looked at me with desire, the last time he held my body like it meant something to him. I feel like I’m losing my mind. I’m a woman. I have needs. My body burns every night, not just for sex, but to be loved—to feel like someone still wants me. Sometimes I touch myself, but it only reminds me of how lonely I am. My breasts ache for his touch. My pussy gets wet just thinking about him, but he acts like I don’t exist. I sleep next to a man who makes me feel more alone than when I was single. And it hurts. I looked at myself in the mirror tonight. I stood there, naked, just staring. My breasts are still full, round, beautiful—I know they are. My skin still glows, my body still curves the way it always did. I ran my hands down my waist, touched the soft spot between my thighs, already wet and aching. I asked myself, What is wrong with me? Why doesn’t he want me? What happened to us? I still remember the days he couldn’t keep his hands off me. We would make love for hours. He used to tell me I was the sexiest woman alive. Now I feel like I’m invisible. Tonight, I made a decision. I put on my red night robe—the one he used to love. It’s short, silky, barely covers my ass. I left it untied so that when I walked, it showed the sides of my breasts. My nipples were hard from the cold air and my own hunger. I sprayed the perfume he likes, fixed my hair, and waited. When I heard the door open, my heart skipped. I wanted to believe this time would be different. David walked in, looking exhausted, like always. His suit jacket was off, his white shirt unbuttoned halfway. His chest was out, and it drove me crazy. I couldn’t help it—I wanted him. I needed him. So I walked up to him slowly. “Hey, baby,” I whispered. He barely looked at me. Still, I stood close, opened my robe. My breasts were out, full and soft. I pressed them against his chest, letting him feel me. I kissed him lightly. I touched his stomach, then lower. My body was already reacting, wet and ready. “Please, David,” I said. “I miss you. I need you.” Then came the words that shattered me. “No, Nora. I can’t.” I froze. At first, I thought I heard him wrong. “What?” I asked, confused, embarrassed. “What do you mean?” “I’m tired,” he said, stepping back. “Not tonight, I have been busy all day” I stood there, completely exposed, breasts out, pussy wet, heart wide open—and he turned away. Like I was nothing. Like my body meant nothing. Like I didn’t matter. I pulled my robe shut, my hands shaking. Tears burned in my eyes, but I held them back. It wasn’t just sex. It was rejection. Over and over again. This wasn’t the first time. It’s been months. Months of sleeping next to a man who acts like I disgust him. I cook, I clean, I look good, I stay faithful—and still, nothing. Do you know what it does to a woman’s heart to feel unwanted? To offer everything—your body, your love, your soul—and get silence in return? I went into the bathroom, closed the door, and stared at myself again. My eyes were red, my chest rising and falling with anger and shame. Am I not a woman? Isn’t this body enough? I touched myself again, slowly, not for pleasure—but out of frustration. My pussy was still wet. Hungry. Not just for sex—but for someone to want me. Someone to love me like I deserve. And in that moment, I said it to myself: If he won’t touch me, someone else will. I’m not proud of the thought. I was raised better. I took my vows seriously. But I’m a human being. A woman with feelings, desires, pain. I can’t keep living like this—begging a man to touch me like I’m not his wife. This is not marriage. This is torture. He doesn’t hit me. He doesn’t cheat—at least I don’t think he does. But emotional rejection is its own kind of abuse. And sexless love isn’t love at all. I deserve to feel like a woman. I deserve to feel wanted. So maybe one day, if someone looks at me with desire in their eyes, touches my breasts like they’ve been starving for me, kisses my body like it’s the most beautiful thing they’ve seen—I won’t say no. Maybe I’ll let someone give me what my husband refuses.
