I hope you all can help me.
I’m here today to talk about my ex- husband. Technically we’re still married, I guess. He’s just not been around for a while.
I don’t really know how to explain all of this, so I guess I’ll just start from the beginning.
At first, things were pretty normal. Like a lot of other couples, we met in college. Our freshman English class, in fact. We worked on a project together and really hit it off. Started dating after that.
We partied a lot. Had a lot of fun together in the early days. When we got married after graduation, I thought things would just unfold naturally, and this would be the path of my life. We’d buy a house with a picket fence, have 2.5 kids, and get a golden retriever.
I never suspected there was anything abnormal about him at all.
The time period right after we got married was some of the happiest of my life. We moved into this cute little cottage house in town. We planted flowers, painted the inside, and worked to clean it up and make it our own. Things were good then.
But life can’t stay easy forever.
Everything changed when I got this phone call from his mother late one evening. I remember feeling my heart drop when she told me the news.
His father had passed away from a heart attack.
My husband didn’t take the news well. For someone so naturally calm and collected he really lost it. I’m not making light of it, of course. Death is a big deal, for anyone.
I did my best to comfort him. We sat up late together, drinking bourbon and talking about his dad. I tried to be supportive and just listen. But apparently I wasn’t listening close enough.
When he said things would change, I just nodded.
When he said he thought he had more time, I thought he meant with his father.
When he said he needed to be alone, I assumed he needed space to process things.
When he said he was cursed with family problems, I just assumed he meant family responsibilities.
I didn’t understand then. He was trying to tell me, but I didn’t get it at all.
After that night, things changed between us. It was like there was a secret, or some unspoken rift. In hindsight, I think he regretted opening up to me while he was drunk.
He started spending a lot of time alone in the spare bedroom after the funeral. I never bothered him, but I was curious. Honestly, I was a little hurt by the whole situation. I felt excluded. I thought a death in the family would have brought us closer together, but for whatever reason his grief put a wedge between us. He was barely present anymore, just a sullen, mopey shell of his former self.
I hated that. I wanted my husband back. The fun version.
So one night I decided I’d had enough of his shit and I was taking matters into my own hands. I found the key in the kitchen drawer and barged into the spare bedroom.
He was startled. “You shouldn’t be in here.”
I don’t know what I expected- nothing crazy was going on in there. He was drinking, and watching TV. I definitely could have been invited.
I told him I was lonely. I missed him. The real him. I lifted up the bottom of my dress to reveal a complete lack of underwear.
I really hoped that would cheer him up. And honestly, it did. His whole face lit up. I think we had both been needing some together, because things got heated pretty fast.
He hadn’t had much interest in sex since the funeral, but that night was different. He seemed hungry for it, almost.
I’m not complaining- I enjoyed myself. That tongue was everywhere. I just laid back and let it happen. I could feel his fingernails digging into my thighs as waves of heat washed over me.
But that’s when I realized something was off. It took me a minute to put it together in my serotonin laced brain fog, but it finally connected.
He didn’t have pointy fingernails.
I lifted my head, opened my eyes, and immediately knew I had made a mistake.
It was him alright, but it wasn’t the version that I knew.
Everything about him had changed.
His short hair had grown long and glossy, long enough that he had to tuck it behind his ears. His complexion had darkened some, and his fingernails were long and blackened.
I tried to ignore the two sharp horns that had erupted from the top of his head.
When he noticed me looking him over he grinned slowly, revealing rows of beautiful, pointy white teeth. He licked his lips with a sharp tongue, and his normally sweet brown eyes gleamed with a dark hunger that made me feel very uncomfortable.
I was in shock. Whatever secrets he’d had, this was the last thing I’d expected. I didn’t know what this was, but I knew I was in over my head, especially when I noticed what this little “transformation” had done to his cock.
I tried to squirm away. I really did.
But I didn’t get very far.
Let me just state for the record- we’d always had a good sex life. This was just an incident. An anomaly. The next day he sat me down and explained why it couldn’t happen again.
He told me it was dangerous. That he had no control. That he could have killed me.
I didn’t care. I begged and pleaded for more.
Here’s the thing. Once you’ve had demonic sex, you’re not satisfied with anything else. All it took was that one little evening together and I was hooked. I spent all my alone time fantasizing about how those hands would hold me, how that tongue would fly over my entire body, and how that cock would literally take me to an astral plane. I had never been fucked like that.
But while I wanted to enthusiastically revisit his demonic self, he was uncomfortable with the whole thing. If I had thought there was a rift between us before, there definitely was one after that. He became wary and guarded now that I knew his secret.
The secret of what he really inherited from his father.
I tried to ask him about it, I really did. What did it mean? How and why did it happen to him? Why was his family cursed? He wouldn’t tell me anything. I think he was afraid- of what we had done, and what could have gone wrong. I already knew too much.
I thought things would get better. I hoped he would come to his senses, and share that side of himself with me. It would be our secret, not just his. I was starving for another taste of his dark side, and I would have done anything to justify it.
But no matter what I did he wouldn’t give in. I could see the sadness in his eyes when I would try and bring it up. He became withdrawn and fearful. I wasn’t, because I was addicted. Deep down I think I knew the risks, but that knowledge did nothing to keep me from wanting it.
It wasn’t long after that that I came home to an empty house. He walked out, just like that. The note he left gave nothing away, just apologized for entangling me in the situation and hoping that I understood why he had to go.
It’s been months now without a word from him, and I have no idea where he’s gone. I’ve tried to talk to his mother, but if she knows anything, she’s not letting on.
That’s where I’m hoping you can help me. If anyone has any idea where he’s gone, please help me contact him. We need to talk.
We have some.. unfinished business. Like the baby I’m about to have? Not to mention the mortgage payments..
I think the little guy will have at least thirty good years before he has to deal with his dark side, but I want him to be prepared when the time comes..