Wife, I love you to the core.

page views:1 Publication date:2013-10-18

Everyone has their own experiences, and every couple has their own secrets. Some experiences can't be shared with family and friends, but some secrets are hard to keep quiet about. Especially after reading other netizens' personal stories, I've had this urge for a long time, a feeling that's been stuck in my throat, needing to be expressed. My beloved wife has also repeatedly urged me to leave something behind while we're young, so that when we're old and frail, we can revisit those beautiful memories and emotions together—that we loved, that we weathered storms together, holding hands earnestly, loving each other heart to heart, that we were true to ourselves, and that we were true to everyone who loved us. So, I feel a bit like a well-prepared singer, anticipating the applause when I go on stage.
For someone past thirty, it seems like everything is just beginning.
After several on-again, off-again relationships, like many men, my heart seems to have settled down. I've finally met someone I like and started a serious relationship with a beautiful model. Amidst the envious glances of others, I was completely infatuated, single-mindedly devoted, terrified that the happiness I had finally grasped would slip away.
However, fate played a cruel trick, and things didn't go as planned. My girlfriend's frequent text messages and ambiguous language with her boss caught my attention. Until one day, I knocked on their hotel room door. At that moment, I truly felt what it meant to be struck by lightning. But reason told me that this had nothing to do with the man; as the saying goes, flies don't land on eggs without cracks. The blame lay with my girlfriend. After slapping her in front of that man and calling her a "bitch," I slammed the door and left. Actually, how I wished then she would cry and cling to my clothes, sobbing and saying, "I'm sorry, I was wrong, I can't live without you, don't leave me." If only that, my heart would feel a little better. Ha, alas, she just stood by the bed, crying, without saying a word, only sobbing.
I was frustrated, I was heartbroken, I couldn't accept it; my heart was bleeding.
I felt like an abandoned orphan, having lost my support and hope. Every day, I went to work, came home, and slept like a zombie. I drifted through more than ten days in a daze. She didn't call once, not even a text message. My heart sank completely. I pondered the future, the aftermath, unable to sleep at night. My parents were getting older; I couldn't let them worry about me anymore. I had to do something, I had to pull myself together.
Just then, I received a text message from her, just a few words, but enough to stir my gradually calming heartstrings: "I miss you."
My heart pounded. I told myself, don't panic, stay calm. Who knows what she'll do next? Just as I hesitated, her call came. But I stubbornly refused to answer. I called again and again, stubbornly persisting until dinnertime.
Just as I felt a slight disappointment at the lack of a ring, there was a knock at the door. The three of us were sitting in the living room having dinner. I opened the door casually, and she stood there, crying her eyes out.
My parents busied themselves, offering me a seat, pouring water, and serving rice. I didn't say a word to her, and she didn't say much either, only telling my parents that I was ignoring her and that she was very sad. My parents kept scolding me, telling me not to treat her like that.
After the meal, she came to my room, carefully closed the door, and suddenly knelt before me, begging for my forgiveness. I don't know if it was out of pity or love for her, but I finally couldn't resist her persistent pleas. After a while, we kissed, caressed, washed our genitals, undressed, went to bed, and made love passionately. As I thrust, I told her that I wouldn't let history repeat itself, that there would be no next time. She hummed and told me not to worry, that she would never do anything to betray me again.
But I wasn't at all at ease, and I was always wary of her afterward. My judgment was correct. Less than two months later, just as our relationship was at its peak, I discovered something wrong with her phone and text messages again, this time with the male model she was shooting an advertisement with. I followed her again without making a sound; I had to catch her red-handed again, I had to humiliate her.
But this time, I didn't even have the heart to slap her, let alone humiliate her. I calmly laughed a few times, gently closed the door, and turned to leave.
After that, I vowed never to date another beautiful woman.
Six months later, at a friend's gathering, I met my current wife. Her traditional charm and reserved demeanor deeply attracted me, who had been longing for her.
After we started dating, I grew to love her more and more. Kindness, filial piety, diligence, financial acumen, understanding, and a great sense of style became her defining characteristics. She also had another side that no outsider could ever imagine—her passion in bed. Every time we made love, we had a classic exchange: "Wife, your passion belongs only to me; no other man is allowed to see it." "Husband, I belong only to you; I won't let anyone else even get close!"
After dating for seven months, according to the customs of their hometown in Xinyang, our parents arranged our engagement. Because we hadn't found a place to live yet, both sets of parents pooled their money to buy a house, giving us a permanent place to live.
Just as we were renovating our new house, the devastating news arrived: his father, my future father-in-law, had passed away from pancreatic cancer. From diagnosis to death, only three short months had passed. Since there were no men in their family, I took on all the funeral arrangements without hesitation.
My wife was heartbroken at the loss of her father, crying every day. She would often sit in a daze, and I knew she had a deep affection for her father, so besides comforting her with words, I tried to distract her with sex at night. Perhaps due to her overwhelming grief, her libido was incredibly high during that period. Often, after a blissful moan in bed, before my penis had even withdrawn, my wife would collapse on top of me and sob uncontrollably. I would quietly comfort her while thrusting forcefully until she reached her second orgasm, letting out a sobbing moan. At this point, whether I ejaculated or not, I would lay her flat on the bed, tuck her in, and stay by her side, quietly watching her drift off to sleep, both satisfied and heartbroken.

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Wife, I love you to the core.

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