Michelle and I married each other in September 1989. I was 19; she was 20. In hindsight we had absolutely zero business getting married at such a young age. But we thought we had the world figured out and had gone through all the changes life had in store for us. We both came from very religious families, so cohabitation wasn’t an option for us, as neither of us was looking to get disowned by our respective families.
I’m sure most people thought the marriage would implode within a couple of years. We proved them wrong. We made it to August or September of 1994 before we started thinking about divorce. Our sex life had become humdrum a couple of years earlier. We thought opening up our marriage would bring back some of the excitement we had lost. I don’t think it was responsible for our marriage ending. If anything it extended our marriage by a couple of years.
In October of 1995 Michelle and I had a long discussion about the state of our relationship and what we each wanted. We decided that we were better off being good friends than being spouses. If we wanted to have any chance of salvaging a friendship out of the crumbling remains of our marriage we needed to divorce and go our separate ways.
A few weeks before this discussion took place we had signed an early renewal of the lease on our two-bedroom apartment. I moved into the guest bedroom and Michelle and I were roommates for a little over a year. She had started seeing someone and spent most weekends at his place. I was seeing someone as well and she stayed with me about every other weekend and an occasional weeknight.
In late-October 1995, Michelle took one of her friends up on an offer to share a townhome. She moved out the first Saturday in November. The night before I was in my bedroom reading. Michelle knocked on the door and asked if I was alone. I told her I was and that she could come in. She opened the door, and for the first time in about fifteen months I saw Michelle nude. She walked over to me, took my hand, and led me to her bedroom.
What followed was one of the most intense sexual encounters I’ve experienced. At times we were very rough with each other, no doubt fueled by the frustration and resentment we had built up towards each other during the prior months. There were also moments that were very tender and intimate, as if we were trying to rediscover the spark that initially attracted us to each other.
Something that loomed over the entire encounter was the knowledge that this was the last hurrah. We would likely never see each other naked again. And it was more unlikely that we would ever engage in another sexual act together. This was the unofficial *farewell* to our marriage.
After a particularly intimate moment we were laying on the bed wrapped in each other’s arms. I decided to explore her entire body for one last time. I kissed and licked my way across her body, head to toe, front and back.
While kissing and licking my way up her left arm the pattern of her breathing changed to the shorter breaths indicative of arousal. She flinched when my tongue traced a path near the pit of her arm. I stopped and she told me to keep licking there. She said it felt really good. So I resumed. She became more aroused. I started licking and nibbling on the pit of her arm as if it were her pussy.
And then it happened. Her rapid breathing became gasps. She inhaled deeply as her entire body became tense. Her back arched and she grabbed a fistful of bed sheet in each hand, as if she were afraid she would float up into the air when her orgasm hit.
And hit it did. She cried out as her body thrashed and bucked. She had always had intense orgasms, but rarely this forceful. Afterwards we laid next to each other. Not wrapped in each other’s arms like earlier. We were on our backs beside each other. Together physically, but alone with our thoughts. I knew that was probably the end. The last time I would touch her like that. The last time I would experience the spectacle of her orgasm.
She got up, got dressed, then went downstairs to finish packing the assorted items that would be contained in a couple of boxes marked “miscellaneous.” It would be several months before our marriage legally ended in divorce. But she and I both know it actually ended the evening of the first Friday of November 1995, with one last orgasm.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/62as7w/mf_one_last_orgasm_melancholy_story_my_first_post
Was it the right choice, in the end?