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My husband Adam was the sort of man that, from all outward appearances, was an upstanding ambitious person. Our company was a joint venture of our fathers and when we were old enough, we were encouraged to marry like some kind of medieval ritual that would bind the empire together. Despite growing up together, we were both so guarded that by the time we were wed, we still didn't really know each other.

I always thought he was handsome with his black hair and gray eyes. He was a put together sort, dressed to kill in his power suits and when he was casual, it was only the finest designers that adorned his fit frame. Though we began our wedded life with a goodly amount of physical action, it waned quickly and I could never really figure out why.

Communication was not a strong point of our relationship. We spent all day talking to other people and couldn't seem to bring up anything of importance at home. Over the course of months and then years, I allowed our relationship to devolve into a routine of waving as the other person left and being on his arm when he needed to show solidarity. Beyond that, we were friendly strangers living under the same massive roof.

Finally, I couldn't handle it anymore and just last month, I burst into his study and caught him jerking off. He looked at me sheepishly, holding his softening prick in his right hand and the department store catalog in the left. ...

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