Dear Jessica,

It's been three weeks since we last met, three weeks since our last lovemaking. I know you've been trying to reach me, I see your missed calls and numerous messages. I intentionally chose not to reply them. Yes, I did. I am not doing that because I have somehow stopped loving you; I still love you with everything I have. That is not going to change.

I am leaving you, Jessica, that's the truth. And I'm leaving you for a man. Now, I know what you're thinking—what is he giving me that you can't?—but I have made up my mind. Our love can never be; it is an unholy union.

I still remember the first day we met, it will always be etched in my memory. I'd been with a mirror between my legs, looking at the strange fold of flesh that is a part of my body; one that seemed to make many men leer at me. I'd been in awe of the might of such a part of me, and also disgusted that my worth as a woman had been reduced by it.

Without warning you slid your finger into me. I'd cried out in pain because nothing had gone inside me before. I tried to pry your finger out of me, but you'd been insistent, refusing to budge. Then you started going back and forth—pushing your finger in and out of me—while stroking the taut bud of flesh above.

I'd wanted to cry out of pleasure when I got to the peak of the waves of pleasure, but I did not want any of my siblings to barge into my room and see us. So I'd muffled my cries with my pillow, all the while shaking from the wonder of it.

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https://www.thezenpens.com/2020/04/17/an-unholy-union/