How much I love my wife

As I lay in bed I remembered the good times... When I first met the woman who would become my wife; how beautiful she looked on our wedding day; her laugh; her sensitive soul. And, not to be forgotten, her own beautiful breasts, which, though she would not let me look at or touch them as much as I would like, were still mine in a very real way.

In our darkened room I turned to look at her sleeping form, lit only by the faint light that made it through our blinds from the streetlight outside our window. She was so tender-hearted, so fragile. How could I think of betraying her?

Quite simply, I couldn't. I loved her so much. None of what I thought of as her failings were her fault or, really, all that serious. Her poor self image, inability to exercise, and depression could all be easily traced to her cheating first husband, autoimmune disorder, and stressful workplace.

I knew that, as hard as it may be in the present, I had found true love. That was not something that I could jeopardize for a little short-sighted pleasure-seeking. Even if we were to divorce, there was no guarantee anything would ever happen with Eloise. I knew from years of experience that the same women who love to tease and be admired by men are the least likely to want to settle down.

I decided to put Eloise out of my mind. How could I have ever have considered hurting my dear wife in such a way? I vowed to rededicate myself to learning more about my wife, to doting on her and showing my love to her each day, in small and big ways, whenever possible.

Contented with my lot, and knowing that I had found a lasting love, something that I had once despaired of ever finding, I drifted off to sleep knowing that my happiness in my marriage was all a matter of perspective... and that I had the will and the ability to direct my perspective in the direction that I wished.

And, as I wished to be happy with my wife... I was.