The following I decided to post because I seem to have projected myself as anti-cuckolding. I am not anti-cuckolding, but events in my life have taught me how important some things we take for granted are when we chase our fantasies.
This isn't a cuckolding fetish story, but elements are shared between the two, but removed from the sexual contexts that this forum represents.
It is inspired by true events and the principle is true, but the story line is fiction to protect identities and because I have difficulties dealing with what happened some times.
A few years ago, my dad was dying from cancer. There was nothing that could be done to save him and it was a matter of time. I was also having deep relationship issues. Matters of intimacy and just starting a family together with my fiancé. We already had two kids, but there was always conflicts over moving together. When and where, not if.
I was working hard at the time and sending money to my parents to help. Around Christmass, a couple of big bills came in and they almost lost the house. It meant I had to cancel plans for seeing my fiancé and kids that year. She was pissed off.
The following summer, it was time to fly to my dad's bed side. My fiancé blew up in my face, demanding I do not go, issuing an ultimatum. If I went to see my dad, she would leave me. We fought and I though she backed down. On the day at the airport in Atlanta, she told me via sms to fuck off right before I boarded the plane. I tried to get her to retract what she said; I took it to mean she reissued the ultimatum. She never replied.
At the hospital, my dad laid there, frail, thin and weak. Years of drinking took a toll on his kidneys and now cancer was finishing him off. My mom and dad never really were affectionate with each other. I remember the fights. The screaming would keep me up. I always wondered why she didn't divorce him.
But there she was now, by his side, holding his hand. He didn't want to die alone and my mom wasn't the type to say anyone deserved to die alone nor allow it. He was different, entering the maw of death. They didn't fight.
Outside of the hospital room, I talked with my mom. She said dad didn't deserve a single bit of compassion or affection. But she wouldn't leave him anyways. But she told me, that while he laid there one day, he reached up and gently carressed her face. This brought her to tears, because this was the first compassion he has shown her that she can remember. He never took her to movies and rarely to dinner. He just wasn't the type. Yet, on his way out, he showed her something she hasn't seen most of her life; affection. This is something they denied each other for decades and made them both bitter.
He died a couple of weeks later. It ended 60 years of a very sad story of very little love. But I always wonder, what kept her by his bed side if she hated him so?They hurt each other s o often, yet still...
This isn't a cuckolding fetish story, but elements are shared between the two, but removed from the sexual contexts that this forum represents.
It is inspired by true events and the principle is true, but the story line is fiction to protect identities and because I have difficulties dealing with what happened some times.
A few years ago, my dad was dying from cancer. There was nothing that could be done to save him and it was a matter of time. I was also having deep relationship issues. Matters of intimacy and just starting a family together with my fiancé. We already had two kids, but there was always conflicts over moving together. When and where, not if.
I was working hard at the time and sending money to my parents to help. Around Christmass, a couple of big bills came in and they almost lost the house. It meant I had to cancel plans for seeing my fiancé and kids that year. She was pissed off.
The following summer, it was time to fly to my dad's bed side. My fiancé blew up in my face, demanding I do not go, issuing an ultimatum. If I went to see my dad, she would leave me. We fought and I though she backed down. On the day at the airport in Atlanta, she told me via sms to fuck off right before I boarded the plane. I tried to get her to retract what she said; I took it to mean she reissued the ultimatum. She never replied.
At the hospital, my dad laid there, frail, thin and weak. Years of drinking took a toll on his kidneys and now cancer was finishing him off. My mom and dad never really were affectionate with each other. I remember the fights. The screaming would keep me up. I always wondered why she didn't divorce him.
But there she was now, by his side, holding his hand. He didn't want to die alone and my mom wasn't the type to say anyone deserved to die alone nor allow it. He was different, entering the maw of death. They didn't fight.
Outside of the hospital room, I talked with my mom. She said dad didn't deserve a single bit of compassion or affection. But she wouldn't leave him anyways. But she told me, that while he laid there one day, he reached up and gently carressed her face. This brought her to tears, because this was the first compassion he has shown her that she can remember. He never took her to movies and rarely to dinner. He just wasn't the type. Yet, on his way out, he showed her something she hasn't seen most of her life; affection. This is something they denied each other for decades and made them both bitter.
He died a couple of weeks later. It ended 60 years of a very sad story of very little love. But I always wonder, what kept her by his bed side if she hated him so?They hurt each other s o often, yet still...
