Page 20 of Cursing My Cheating Husband

The future stretched ahead of me, vast and full of possibility. Beyond securing my divorce, I had a whole world of adventures ahead.

CHAPTER 10

MADDOX

Ieyed the attractive redhead sitting at the hotel bar, shuddering at what I found myself reduced to. And in such a short time. It had only been four nights since this curse struck me.

The backdrop for my mortification could not have been sleeker or more modern. Behind the redhead, floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a spectacular nighttime cityscape, perfectly offset by the atmospheric mood lighting inside. This hotel certainly earned its rep as the best in town.

I couldn’t believe this was the setting for what I was about to do.

But it was par for the course now. The few days since I last saw Callie had been nothing but one brutal humiliation after another. All of which played on a loop continuously in my mind.

I was sure Callie would love to see me now. Miserable and panicked, choking with disgust at myself.

Tonight would be my fourth attempt to break this curse, and the last three attempts could not have gone worse.

My first night in the hotel, I’d texted Chelsea, the hottest of my recent hookups (outside of Gwen). It hadn’t been long since I’d seen her, so obviously she was still desperately hoping to get with me again.

She’d come right over, but it hadn’t been long until she was storming out, ranting at the top of her lungs about how deeply insulted she was by my failure to get it up for her. So many guests came out of their rooms to investigate and laugh as she broadcast my disgrace to the whole building.

Reflecting on that degrading failure the next day, I concluded the problem might have been that Chelsea was as ravenous out of the gate as Gwen. She was on me the minute I opened the door. Normally, I would’ve been all for it, but with my confidence this shaken… maybe I needed a warm-up period. Someone who wouldn’t apply such pressure to perform the instant she crossed the threshold.

So, my mind had then gone to Jana. She was a crazily uninhibited punk, with wild hair dyed electric blue and two full arm sleeves of tattoos. Most importantly, she was a true exhibitionist. She loved having me watch her striptease as foreplay. Before, that had felt like a frustratingly slow lead-up to the main event, but for my current situation… I was sure stroking myself while watching her dance seductively around the room would get me ready for action.

Twenty minutes into her performance, Jana was ready to move on, and I kept asking her for five more minutes, as I tugged futilely at my soft cock, hidden from view by the table I sat at.

An hour into her dance, she finally snapped, ranting about how she had come over to get fucked, not to be stared at by some creep masturbating under a table: if all I’d wanted was a stripper, I should just pay one, she’d been dancing so long her feet hurt, I could get bent, and so on.

Her exit was another loud, screaming spectacle that drew many snickering guests out of their rooms, two nights in a row now.

Reflecting on these double failures, I came up with another approach: novelty. That’s what my dick needed. The thrill of someone totally new! So the third night, I went out and easily picked up a curvy brunette with great tits and a luscious ass. She was just below my usual minimum attractiveness level, but I was in a hurry. I didn’t even have to ask her name before she agreed to come back to my room with me.

But soon she too was barging out. Even harsher than Chelsea and Jana, who only yelled in rage, Curvy Brunette was also laughing hysterically as she went. “Your dick doesn’t know what to do with a real woman, does it?” Her booming, boisterous laughter carried from the hall long after the door had slammed behind her.

And that brought us to tonight. As I reflected on all these debasements, I realized there was only one tactic left to try.

I had to pay for it. Working through the curse was going to take more time than a regular partner had patience. Money was the only way to get someone to stick it out as long as it took.

And that is how I found myself reduced to this. Sitting in the corner of the hotel bar, eyeing one of the obvious prostitutes who found her jobs here.

Every fiber of my being fought against this. It had never even crossed my mind to hire a prostitute before this. I’d gone to strip clubs and paid for lap dances, but that experience was more about hanging out with the guys, and it was only a lap dance. To pay for actual sex… the whole idea repulsed me, and why would a man like myself ever need to? There had always been more than enough eager partners whenever I got horny.

But that was exactly what made this so devastating, wasn’t it? My shoulders slumped as the weight of it settled on me: I wasn’t that man anymore. I probably wasn’t any kind of man anymore.

The redheaded prostitute hadn’t so much as glanced my way. I followed her eyeline and saw she was scoping out some gone-to-seed businessmen in their 50s at the other end of the bar. Gross sweat stains marked their ill-fitting polo shirts. One of them had food caught in his mustache and kept adjusting himself while making loud, braying laughs at his own jokes.

These guys were the usual customer for this woman. I was so ashamed to be joining their company.

I stood up before I could talk myself out of it. Each step toward the bar felt like wading through quicksand. The woman noticed me approaching (of course she did, that was her job) and her professional smile clicked into place like a mask.

Up close, I could see the calculation in her face as she assessed me. I was younger than her usual clientele, better looking, better dressed. She was probably wondering what was wrong with me. Join the club, sweetheart.

“You looking for a good time tonight?” she asked.

I couldn’t speak. I only nodded.

“Sure, honey,” she said, and the transaction had begun. “I’m Scarlett.”