Her freedom walk

An image of a dandelion blowing in the wind, a sign of freedom.

Every step she took echoed the canon-shot-sound of the door softly clicking shut behind her. Freedom! This was her freedom walk.

With every click of her heels, a different image of her twenty-two years of marriage flashed through her mind.

Click.

She found out by accident. Being so busy with their firstborn, she had failed to noticed him returning from work later than before. Not only that, on the weekends he offered to do the grocery shopping, and when he stayed away much longer than she would have, she put it down to him not knowing where to find stuff in the store. Then, one day, as she did the laundry, a smudge of red lipstick made her walls come tumbling down. Everything fell in place, each puzzle piece. He was having an affair.

And he admitted it. Promised it would stop. That was why they moved. Not to the next town, but to hundreds of kilometers to the north, far away from the life they had known. It lasted less than a year before he had an affair with the wife of the neighbour, and they moved again, back to where they came from. Then their second child was born, and the circle started again.

Click.

She was only fourteen when she fell in love with the boy across the street, only one year older than her. Their parents were friends, and she became friends with him and his sister. Twins. They constantly gravitated towards each other, and even though they were never officially a couple, as they grew older, their parents started to talk of marriage.

She started dreaming of it. Being his wife. A lifetime of love. They danced together; folk dancing. And they were good together. They were made for each other. She secretly held her breath, waiting for him to ask her hand in marriage.

He was twenty, she nineteen when he introduced her to his girlfriend. It was like a slap in the face, and out of spite she turned to an attractive young man, whom she married less than a year later. She never stopped loving her first love. He was in her life always. Her heart never fully belonged to her husband.

Click.

Words. Harsh, harsh words. A fight. Another in the long line of fights they had. She couldn’t even remember what the fight was about. Couldn’t remember the things she said. She would never forget the slap. Across her face. It shut her up alright. He immediately apologized. Profusely. Over and over again.

“If you ever lift your hands for me again, I’m gone,” she had hissed.

They moved again, because maybe that could safe their marriage.

Click.

Sunday afternoon sex. Always on Sundays. Always the same. She didn’t want to, but couldn’t refuse. They were working on their marriage, weren’t they? There was a contradiction in what her body and mind wanted. Her mind fought him; her body surrendered. Once he licked and sucked her nipples, and slipped a finger between her folds, she was ready to let him fuck her. And she enjoyed it. Always enjoyed it, until next Sunday she would feel despair again, knowing he would soon tell the kids it’s time for their afternoon nap.

Click.

She stopped as she reached the gate. This would be the last time she walked through it. She had her own home waiting for her. A new life to start. After all these years, she had finally decided it was time to live her life the way she wanted. She wasn’t getting any younger, and she didn’t love him anymore.

It wasn’t all his fault though. Like the cliche said: it takes two to tango. And tangoed she did, albeit not with him. Her boss. She put in much overtime in the past years, and so had her boss. Both accountants, but it wasn’t numbers they were juggling during those hours alone in the office. Their affair was hot and sexy, and he gave her the attention she so craved. He told her she was beautiful. Desirable. She never believed it, because hadn’t she been conditioned to believe that her husband had done her a favor to marry her. That no one else would’ve wanted her.

Still, she enjoyed the attention. Enjoyed the way he fucked her. Hard. Gentle. With passion. He licked her to heights she hadn’t experienced before; pushed her over the deck and fucked her from behind, pulling her hair. He whispered obscenities in her ear when he lay on top of her, gently making love to her. It was him who unlocked the sexual being inside, who made her taste the first bit of freedom; the freedom she was claiming now.

No, she wasn’t going to live with him. He was her boss, and after all, he was married. She had ended their affair just before she ended her marriage. She knew what she wanted: her first love. It’s been a couple of year since she had last spoken to him. And she knew just how to contact him…

She opened the gate, walked through and turned to close it. Standing there, she looked back at the house. The roof, the garden, the windows. Mentally she walked through each room one last time. A curtain moved, and briefly her eyes rested on her soon-to-be ex-husband. A small, sad, apologetic smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

They knew. They both knew this was the right step.

She straightened her shoulders, turned around and started walking towards freedom.

Finally, she was free.

Finally.


Note: A good portion is, but not all of the above is fiction. Much of it was taken from my mom’s life, things she had told me, or things I had witnessed. My parent’s marriage was one of many ups and downs, and after 22 years they decided to each go their own way.
And yes, it was quite challenging writing some of the sexier things, having my mom in mind. I know she was a passionate woman. Let’s just say I’m a chip of the old block…

Another note: My mom really married my father because she was being spiteful towards her first love for having a girlfriend. She refused to show him how much he hard hurt her. All through her life she had contact with him and his twin sister, and when she passed, I had contact with the sister, who told me her brother was totally broken when he learned my mom had passed.

© Rebel’s Notes
Image from Pixabay


MMM Mondays
Erotic Fiction Deluxe

8 thoughts on “Her freedom walk

  1. Fiction based on fact us often the best sort. And while difficult to write, quite healing.
    It does take two to tango, but also, there’s always someone in the lead…. just some food for thought 😉

    1. You’re right, it definitely takes two to tango. They were both to blame, but where my father started being unfaithful early in the marriage, it took my mom many years to follow the lead…

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