May 5th. I am sure that is a day that many of you celebrate along with people all across the world. It is a time for dancing and music and explosions of culture! For me, it would have been better suited to be Día de los Muertos because the happy Cinco de Mayo, was the day I almost joined those honored and remembered. I must warn you, this may get graphic, and it may make you feel a certain way. To those that this affects in such a manner, I apologize ahead of time and ask, please, to do me a favor. Do not feel bad for me, I am here, and I got out. Also, do not waste anger on those that are better left forgotten to time. They are not worth the energy. That being said, proceed with caution because this could trigger you.

I was in a long, fourteen-year marriage with a terrible person who was four years older than me. At first, he was charming and seemed to be spot on, in every level with me when it came to outlook on life, future plans, and the type of lifestyle we wanted. I thought...for a brief time, that he was the perfect one for me. Boy was I wrong! I, admittedly, should have seen the warning signs. He literally stalked me; following my school bus to my job, sitting there for my entire shift trying to convince me to come home with him, then staying until I closed and following me to my driveway before continuing on his way. Young, and on my own, 16-year-old me, who had a terrible idea of what healthy love was, thought: 

           Hmmm...maybe he should be given a shot...look how much effort he has put in to try and get my time and attention! 

Ha! I can laugh at that now. We were all naive once. At any rate, he hooked me in and I hadn't had the best experiences in life up to that point. My mother was a hard-core drug addict that would do anything for her next fix, and my dad had a penchant for children. This led to him selling me out as a young teen. I was groomed and I know it, but I have learned how to not let it rule me. I broke the victim mentality and refused to let it break me. I do my best to take the negatives in my life and turn them into motivating positives...or at the very least, learning experiences. Because of my past, I was desperate for some sort of connection. A feeling of love...from somewhere...anywhere. He gave that to me. At least, for a while.

I ended up pregnant very quickly into our relationship despite using multiple methods of birth control. A year into it and we were both young parents. Not long after, he decided to join the military. They insisted we get married and next thing I know, we get carted off to the literal other side of the country. Months and months of training later, he came home briefly before a deployment. We got pregnant again during that time. Things still seemed okay, but I could tell he was not the same. 

When he returned from deployment, they changed his station and we had to move again. As soon as our second child was born, he turned into somebody I didn't know. He got memberships to dating sites, told people I was dead, and that his mother had our children. He used what he knew of my life story and tried to get pity sex out of it by saying it was his own. He started belittling me and degrading me in every way he could. He was searching for ways to make homemade roofies and other...horrible things. He refused to let me get my license or have a job. I wasn't allowed to go anywhere when he was at work, and I didn't have a phone, nor did I have anyone to call if I did. We lived in a newly developing subdivision that was in the middle of a desert with nothing around for miles. Even the military base was 45 minutes away. Shortly after he came back, his mother came to get our girls for what was supposed to be a few weeks for a visit out of state to celebrate a cousin's birthday. It ended up being months and she literally ransomed my children back to me. She is a despicable person and I disliked the sneakiness I felt exuding from her from the second I met her...the apple doesn't fall far from the tree they say. 

As soon as she left with my girls...things hit their worst. Looking back, I know he drugged me. I had missing bits of time and I know he wanted to do things to me, sexually, that I was not comfortable with at the age of 20. I had not yet made peace with my past and I knew it would end badly for me...but that was when I learned that to him, no didn't matter, and he was willing to take my life if it meant pleasing himself. I didnt get those memories back until much, MUCH later, however. I woke up in the hospital hours later with slits in both wrists and my neck slashed. The story was that I did it to myself. This landed me instantly in a crisis center for 3 days...and nobody to call but him when my mandatory 72 hour hold was up. He forced me to apologize to him, and BEG him to come and get me. I knew it then, that something was wrong and that I would have to go back to make sure I could get my girls back from his mother and escape with them. I was NOT going to leave without them.

When we got home, he told me a myriad of things to try and shock me and break me down. He went on this long-winded speech about how he slept with one of his coworkers that he had been fantasizing about and how he longed to strangle the life out of someone and watch the life essence in their eyes fade out to nothing. This is something I NEVER forgot. I didn't react. Something inside of me told me to not act shocked, hurt...or anything. It was probably a good idea.

Fast forward to an escape plan. He had started making me and the children sit in the car, in the parking lot, at his unit on base during his work day. I became a recognizable and regular face up there. At first, people thought it strange, but eventually, they just came to accept it. We became like family. I cooked for everyone and I guess for the first time I felt like I belonged somewhere. We were included, even allowed to help with some of the tasks and duties that needed done! My girls literally became honorary baby Gunfighters! Certificates and all! I ended up getting more awards than my husband did during his entire career in the military. I started getting comfortable and for a while, he lulled me into this false sense of safety, but I never forgot. He made sure that I knew if I stepped out of line, the children would get the worst of it. I wasn't going to let him hurt my babies so I behaved. I was still planning. After several months of hiding scraps of change and hours of filling out surveys that paid out in Amazon gift cards, I bought a few prepaid Visa's and as soon as I got them, I snuck away from the car on a day my husband was at the range, and went to the office of his Command Sergeant Major and refused to leave without him letting me speak. I spilled everything out to him. The growing suspicion about how I ended up in the hospital, the threats, the abuse, and the plan. I begged for help escaping. He promised he would help, asked me to tell no one of our meeting while he tried to dig up information and sent me on my way feeling relieved but terrified. Two weeks later, my husband got orders for another permanent change of station, on the recommendation of the same guy I just talked to. The day before we left, that CSM told my husband everything. Had he not needed me to drive the vehicle to follow him down, I would not be here today. Thanks for the help. I appreciate that, Mr. CSM! "Family first", my ass!

Fast forward again, several years later. Plan number...I forget which one this was. I had tried to escape so many times at this point, I lost count. My husband had started getting close with one of the neighbors. He didn't allow me to sit up at work with him anymore because he didn't want a repeat of what happened before. I, was confined to the garage. In order to keep up appearances with this neighbor, I was supposed to slap a smile on and entertain these folks at their house during dinners and game nights. I will admit. It was nice for a little bit. Eventually, it just annoyed me. I had been isolated for so long, being around people exhausted me. I couldn't stand how disgusting people were to one another. How fake they all came off. They just...rubbed me the wrong way. I couldn't bring myself to desire to be a part of the human race because my outlook was that humans...were like a plague on the planet. A virus. Toxic to everything they encountered, especially each other, bending and twisting and warping it all until it, too, becomes toxic. One of the nights we were next door, my husband decided to go home early due to a headache but insisted I stay. I thought it was weird because he never allowed that, but figured screw it, I will take the opportunity to see if I could quietly talk to the wife. Maybe she would be more willing to help me plan than one of the enlisted ranks. I asked her not to say anything to anyone. Of course, she excused herself to the bathroom, told her husband, and brought him back out with her. At first, I clammed up. He spent considerable time convincing me it was okay to talk to him. He was 3 ranks higher than my husband, nearing a 4th, and he had done a good job...I spilled it all out there. He, too, promised he would help. His version of "helping" was running straight to my husband, and telling him everything that I said and giving him advice on how to make me look crazy so he could take custody of the kids and just have me committed. Right on neighbor! Way to be a wonderful E6 class act! 

My husband didnt react immediately...which was the scariest thing in my life. I knew he was plotting, but I didn't know what, or when he would enact it. It nearly drove me insane living life waiting for that other shoe to drop, knowing wrath was coming. That fear of looming doom, and the certainty of looking over your shoulder, hoping to catch glimpse of the knife before feeling it pierce your back. He was acting incredibly sweet. He no longer forced me into the garage, but I preferred to be out there anyways. One day, after several weeks of this honey-sweet performance, he calls me out of the garage and tells me to sit in front of his computer. He held me there, eyes unable to close, and forced me to watch a woman get beheaded for making an escape attempt from her husband. I remember so vividly how she stared at him. The smug look on her face was one I knew. She had finally won. She was getting her peace. Not a sound escaped her lips. She just stared him down, unblinking, defiant to the end, refusing to show fear or demean herself by begging. It wasn't until her head hit the sand with a thud beside her that he let go of the sides of my face. He spun me around in the chair and wouldn't let me up. I was smiling and didn't know it. He wanted me to be afraid. All it did, as horrible as the experience was, was show me how things were going to end. I knew. I knew one day that he would see me look at him the same way. He told me if I tried to leave again...that is what would happen to me. I chuckled at him and before I could catch myself, I asked him what he would do with the girls with me gone. He told me he would kill them in front of me first. The smile went away in an instant, and fear flashed through my whole body. 

I didn't sleep...or do anything else, for ten days. I hear the world record is eleven. It is strange to hear the things inside of your brain audibly snapping after the first few days. How after a while of not moving or eating, you no longer have a need to. How the body functions seem to completely stop when you are in a state of shock. No need for nicotine as a full-time smoker, no need for a bathroom, or a drink...no need to even blink. A completely catatonic state. The only thing I could focus on was trying to get out and how I would do it because, now, it wasn't just my head on the literal chopping block. I had to play chess, not checkers.

Fast forward to the end of his military career and with it, came another shift in his behavior. Without the threat of corporal punishment and prison time in Leavenworth, he got so much worse. He took to keeping me in a shed, completely isolated from my children except when it was time to cook and clean. I had to prepare them daily for his arrival home, get them to avoid him if he was having a bad day, etc. His temper was explosive and they were old enough to start seeing it for themselves. Not wanting to traumatize them, in a way, I taught them to toe the line and it breaks my heart to say it, but walk on eggshells around him. The things we aren't proud of, that we do to survive. 

Now with us back where we started, he had family around. We were expected to show face at family functions. I kept my secrets. None of them called a single time in the decade plus that we were gone. I didn't trust anyone, least of all, them. These family functions did serve as a purpose of meeting people outside of the family though. Some of them would stop by during the day, find me in the shed, set up like living quarters, and they thought it was odd. My husband started invading my space. Bringing himself out there 'to be with me so we could let the kids have the house since it was such a tiny place'. People didn't find it so odd after such an explanation anymore. 

He started spiraling. His drinking increased. He started dabbling in drugs, trying to convince me to do it with him. If I was weaker, I would have, but thanks to my past, I refused to go down that road and put my children through what I had gone through with my own mother. His temper was always apparent and I had to keep the children away as much as possible. I encouraged them to join after-school activities, go hang out with friends and stay the night elsewhere as much as possible. I wanted them to experience life...see what normal was supposed to be like. He didn't have a problem with it either because he always thought of them as a bother. The more they were gone, the better it was for him in his opinion. I, frankly, didn't give one giant F-bomb about him or his feelings. I just knew the less they were home, the easier it was going to be to get us out of there. 

I should probably mention, throughout our marriage, we were known to take people in when they were struggling. For him, reason was so he could appear like a savior and boost his own egotistical needs. For me, it gave a minor reprieve from my own torment. He would forego toying with me in order to come off as a good guy. A young woman came to stay with us. She had a son, less than a year old and her and the child's father were violent with each other. They lived with his parents and they were all alcoholics except for her. The house was absolutely filthy and NO place for a baby. I quickly became attached to the kid. My husband quickly became attached to her. He made no effort to hide it. From the basement of a new home, I watched. I absorbed. I learned the game he was playing, the rules he wrote, and how to beat him. Seeing it from an outside perspective; watching him with someone else and seeing how much of a chameleon he was...taught me SO much! 

I found her often trying to imitate me. People that knew us for a while even mentioned it to me...how strange it was that she was changing her entire personality, looks, and more to fit...me. She coveted what I had and despite my multiple attempted warnings...well...again, we were all naive once, and he was already a master of his game. She really didn't have a chance. Before long, they were having a full-blown affair behind my back, as if I "didn't know" and I wasn't going to stay silent anymore. I started making jokes. One morning I was so bold as to ask him if he waited for her to brush her teeth before finding out what her lips tasted like. I knew everything he was doing. He swore up and down I was spying on him and I was the one that was controlling. I didn't have to spy. Remember that I said I figured out his game? He was luring her in as if putting her under a spell, and I was waking up from years of being put under one. He became incredibly predictable. I knew what he was going to do before even he did. Years of being trained to anticipate what was going to happen and what his needs were in order to avoid upset taught me a lot. 

He started poisoning me with Miracle Grow plant food sticks. How? By dissolving them in my coffee. Yes, it tasted weird, but I laid it to changing brands of coffee along with having a new industrial coffee pot. In case you didn't know, the plant sticks have arsenic among other harmful chemicals in them. At the start of moving her in, I had topped 300 pounds. 10 months later, I was under 100. I was sick but not succumbing. I found out later, they planned my death together. 

Fast forward after a lot of drama, and she is now moved out because he caught her cheating on him. He was doing the "yo-yo" thing with her at that point. Creating the ever-lasting trauma bonds by cycling pain than love; rinse, repeat. I stopped caring what he was doing entirely. He kept doing things trying to hurt me, and I gave him an ultimatum. The last straw was when he crushed our youngest by dropping out of a father-daughter dance that he had promised he would attend. She worked hard and bought the tickets with her own money just to hear him tell her "I'm just not that kind of dad!" merely fifteen minutes before they were to arrive. Thankfully, her sister is amazing, she went in their dad's place and she spread the word to some of the dads there. Many dads danced with her that night!!! Giant thank you to all of them! While they enjoyed the dance, I told him I was done playing his game. It was time for him to play mine or get lost. I was getting better. I was healing and making changes to myself. He could either come along, improve and grow himself; be the dad he should be and the husband he needed to be or there wasn't room in my life for him when I got to the end of where I was going. He no longer controlled me by fear. 

Uh-oh! Time to switch tactics. Pity. He wanted pity. Of all emotions that one can have for another person, I find pity to be the most insulting. I always have. My whole life I have seen it time and again, you tell people your story, and it's always the same look. It doesn't matter what face it is on, you can see it. I hate that look. I hate that people see me and view me as something that needs pity. Pity is something that should be reserved for the worst types of people. Pity him? No, pity isn't what he got. He got nothing but that honey-sweet nonchalant, "it is what it is" response. He actually screamed at me because I wasn't angry. He said he needed me to be angry so he could respond the way he wanted to respond and I just laughed at him. I told him the same knife, going in the same wound, over a long period of time eventually leaves a hole so large, the knife is no longer felt when stabbed with it, so he needed to quit his whining about it. It wasn't going to change.

Just a few short days later, he had a hand wrapped around my neck, squeezing the life from me. Remember that look I described earlier? The one on the face of the woman who got beheaded? How I knew, one day, that's how things would end for me? He got his wish. I locked my eyes onto his. I wanted him to watch. I wanted him to see my smug grin and I hoped that every time he closed his eyes, there mine would be, haunting him. Just as all the darkness was closing in around me and I felt my limbs get heavy and numb, he let go. I have never in my life, been as angry as I was in that moment. He had seriously just denied me my peace, but he did finally give me undeniable proof that I could contact authorities over. My neck was bruised and he had squeezed it so hard that he pinched skin leaving white hot streaks that took no color at all. I knew now...I had him. 

Fast forward some more. I couldn't be alone and I had met a guy about a year and a half before everything went down. He had been around a lot near the end of it all. He was really the only friend I had and he refused to leave me alone. I didn't even have to ask, nor would I have, but we knew my husband would come back and try to finish what he started. He did. The day before I was supposed to testify against him, and the morning of. Thankfully the guy friend was with me and my husband was definitely intimidated by him so he turned right around and left as quickly as he showed up. Despite everything, he only got 30 days in jail and 1.5 years probation. They gave him an additional 90 days for trying to hack my accounts online while out on bond.

I had a Protection Order that the cops weren't enforcing. One thing I didnt count on, was the fact that this was such a small town and his family was well known enough...and the judicial system was full with enough crooked people, that he got away with stalking me, all over the state of Michigan. His family members, my neighbors, even random people on the internet he told sob stories to...all keeping tabs on me for his sake. I got sick of him causing chaos in my life. Covid made finding housing hard enough and he was cutting off opportunities before I even had a chance to grasp at them. He got me fired from several jobs, some of his family members made several threats to people effectively blocking my ability to rent within the area. There is a stipulation to our divorce limiting me to the state, but considering everything that me and my babies went through, we ran. All of our social media accounts were deleted and I am working on changing our names. We are currently in hiding now, trying to put our lives together. I know what his goal is. He wants to make me think life with him was easier. He wants me to believe that there is no better alternative. He wants to try to break me and force me into such a destitute position that I think there is no other option than to go back to him. Not. Happening.  

The guy friend? I am sure you can imagine well enough on your own, but things between he and I heated up rather quickly. High stress situations tend to come hand in hand with impulsive decisions. After 14 years of sex with the same selfish person, I had the time of my life! The more we were around each other, the more we had sex. The more we had sex, the more open we became about ourselves and what our kinks were. The more secrets we spilled, the closer we grew and the cycle repeats. One of his, was panties. His journey of discovery is not my story to tell, but he introduced me into this world and I fell in love with it. I fell in love with the reaction; how a simple piece of fabric could be such a turn on that it made him ravenous with hunger for my body and the pleasure he would gain from having it. God! How I longed to be put on that pedestal with hands worshipping my body, touching every crevasse, every curve, mouth and throbbing, erect penis both dripping. Anticipation building until being told he could touch my pussy through my panties, maybe bury his face between my legs just inhaling my sweet scent through them, letting his nose rub just hard enough to allow the wetness from between my lips to soak into the fabric covering them. He was not partial to a type of fabric or style of panty, but he wanted to be able to see the outlines and shape perfectly. It was all about the fit and appearance of them on me, and me through them...and the puffier they made my pussy look, the better!

He also introduced me to pussy pumps, and it is another thing that I very quickly learned to enjoy! We bought a small one at first but it didn't seem to make much difference because of how meaty I am to begin with, so we bought a much larger one. I LOVE how sensitive it makes me and how it jiggles like a bowl of jello sending enjoyable little vibrations through me in quick waves. I absolutely love the feeling of a silky fabric on my puffy pussy! There is something so beautiful about how my lips lay open and spill out of the sides of my panties.

We would go out and drive the dirt roads in the middle of the woods and get lost just so we could be alone without worry of being followed. We did it so often that the pump and an enormous stash of panties to choose from were always on hand in the truck. He would drive for hours, me in the passenger seat, pussy out in the sun, being pumped until it filled the entire cup even after the seal was broken and there was no more suction. It would take days to lose its puffiness...and a few days more to lose soreness. As much as I enjoyed all of this with him, circumstances with my situation have driven he and I in different directions at the moment. We still talk and there is a definite emotional connection there, however, staying alive and hidden is more important. 

Fast forward to now. I cannot shake this newfound desire to share my scent! I absolutely adore the idea of having my panties used in all manner of ways. Put them over your face and inhale deeply as you stroke. Wrap them in your jerking hand and blow a load all over my dirty gusset! Put them on and wear them yourself to feel close to me! Stuff them in your mouth, taste me and use them to stifle your moans of ecstasy using the pictures I sent you while wearing them. Hang them from your rearview mirror and display them to remind yourself how naughty we are...like a dirty little secret. 

It has been two years since I almost died. That was my end. Happening on THIS wonderful SP community, was honestly the best thing because it is my beginning! I get to enjoy what I love, and I get to make money to help keep us hidden...which is incredibly important...but the PEOPLE HERE! I have gotten the opportunity now to speak to many of you, and I am absolutely BLOWN AWAY by the beauty of respect shown and the ease of ability to say no here, which is pretty hard for someone like me to do, so THAT, in and of itself, deserves a huge THANK YOU. The genuine connection with all different sorts of people from all around the world, that I see, and get to experience as well, is definitely what will keep me here. It is about more than money. It is about being able to enjoy the freedom of what brings us all here, without judgment, or shame. It is about the people, all of us, individually, or as a group, coming together to make this the experience what it has been for me! You all have given me extra reason to smile when I wake up! You have all become an integral part of my daily life now, and I hope to start building friendships and connections that are long-lasting. Happy fetish hunting fun everyone!