The Other Side Of love

Lana was on top of me, her gaze heavy with desire, her breathing rhythmic. Her hand stretched out, gripping my neck. I couldn’t keep track of how she moved during s*x; her body was softer than a perfectly ripened banana. She rose and fell, moving like a dancer, swaying with a sensual rhythm that reminded me she was twentyfive years younger than I was. She made me forgot that I was a professor in world class universities, that I had a daughter her age. The secret she held in lovemaking was unmatched. Watching how her breasts, shaped like ripe fruit, pressed and danced against my chest as she struggled to overwhelm me made me marvel at her. She lowered her head, the way she always did, and bit my lips softly not in pain, but in sweetness. Her kisses were endless, and I wished they would never stop. In that intoxicating moment, the bedroom door burst open. Lana and I froze, our eyes wide with terror. At the doorway stood Pauline my wife. She pointed a gun at us, tears streaming down her face. Lana didn’t know who she was; I had lied, telling her I was not married. Naked, Lana quickly pulled a bedsheet over her chest. Pauline fixed her gaze on me and demanded, “Why?” Her voice was thick with grief. I carefully stepped forward, standing between her and Lana. Pauline’s fury flared, and she lowered the gun, pointing it directly at d**k wich was steal wet and started to dry. She asked again, louder this time: “Why?” After writing countless books about economics, I suddenly found myself trapped inside a story about lust, betrayal, and the cruelty of family. My heart pounded in terror because this was no ordinary day it was a turning point in my life, my marriage, and everything I held sacred in teaching and economics. I rushed out of my office, forgetting even to lock it. Driving like a madman, I felt a voice calling me, urging me forward. I wanted to deliver the truth face to face to the woman I loved not over the phone. My emotions were boiling over, blinding me to road signs and signals. All I wanted was to reach home. It was half past eleven when I glanced at my watch. The sun was setting behind the mountains near the hotel where, years ago, I had asked Pauline to marry me. She had said yes, because love burned fiercely between us twenty seven years ago. When I arrived home, the doors were wide open. My heart raced. I hurried to the entrance but paused to steady my breathing before stepping inside. What I saw froze me. Reflected in the glittering mirrors, instead of the golden light of sunset, there was darkness. My wife was on top of another man both of them naked. Her underwear was tied around her wrists, her arms locked around his shoulders. They were lost in pleasure. At first, I thought it was a nightmare. I stepped closer just in time to see the man lift her, laying her on the long couch. My wife begged him to take her harder, louder, desperate for more. His mouth found her breasts, then slid slowly downward, lingering at her navel. His tongue was not merely tasting; it was a tool of exquisite s*x. Her hands tangled in his hair as she moaned. I stood paralyzed like a dead tree, unable to move forward or retreat. My stomach twisted when I recognized the man—Cedric, one of my university students. I took one step forward, but my knees gave way and I collapsed silently to the floor. They didn’t notice me; they were lost in another world. Tears welled in my eyes as rage consumed me. I rose slowly, slipped back to my car, and drove away, her moans echoing in my ears, replacing the happy story I had carried home. Through the car window, I glimpsed her kneeling before him, taking him in her mouth—something she had never done for me in over twenty years of marriage. Rage and grief battled inside me. I reached for my gun, torn between killing her or killing him. I drove aimlessly, leaving behind my wife bent over in doggy style, her cries of pleasure louder than the sound of my car. I didn’t know where I was going. At 17:30, traffic police stopped me in the middle of the highway where I had frozen, haunted by her voice: “Harder… harder… I beg you.” When the police surrounded me, one pointed a gun, the other approached carefully. They told me if I made a wrong move, they would shoot. Death seemed like a mercy, a sweet escape from my torment. I longed for it. But questions gnawed at me: Why had she betrayed me? Why with my student? How long had this been going on? They cuffed me and took me to the station. I told them my name: “Professor Doctor Felix.” It was true I was a respected economist, author of many books. They fined me, seized my driving license, and told me they would keep it for seven days. I left in silence, fear gnawing at me. I considered calling my son, Frederick, but remembered children see their fathers as pillars of strength, not as broken men. The night swallowed me as I wandered the streets, my grief unbearable. On the roadside, I saw men my age walking happily with their wives. I wondered why their joy was not mine. I asked the night where I could find happiness again, but no answer came. My steps carried me into a bar. I ordered every drink I could, desperate to drown my sorrow. I wanted to get drunk enough that my actions would be blamed on alcohol, not on me. After four glasses of cocktails, I watched couples dancing and kissing passionately. Behind me, a young man slid his fingers between a woman’s thighs as they kissed. Her moans pierced my ears, echoing with my wife’s voice. Fury consumed me I lashed out and fought them. I was beaten, thrown out, dismissed as nothing but a drunk madman. No one cared that I was a professor. I managed to sneak out with a bottle, clutching it like salvation. The cold night air couldn’t cool the fire of grief inside me. I staggered, shouting to strangers that I was a professor, naming the books I had written, insisting I had changed lives with my economic theories. But the alcohol soon replaced grief with numbness, and my legs betrayed me. Then I saw headlights racing toward me. Instead of stepping aside, I stood firm, laughing bitterly. As the cars approached, I leapt into their path, calling for death, begging it to end my suffering.