Nunc Pro Tunc: a Latin Revenge

by LoveRider

Copyright© 2013 by LoveRider

Incest Story: A cheating wife. A sweet revenge. A Latin phrase. God has his ways.

Caution: This Incest Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Cheating   Incest   Brother   Sister   .

Cogito ergo sum. I think; therefore, I am. A well known latin phrase. But can we apply the concept in reverse- that is: I don't think, therefore I am not.

That is, if a person doesn't think, do they exist at all? If a person doesn't exist, does the responsibility for their actions reasonably rest on their shoulder. Logically, if something doesn't exist, it can't be held responsible for actions occurring while it doesn't exist. So if a person doesn't think, and thus does not exist, does the responsibility for their actions rest on their shoulders?

If we accepted that not thinking implies non-existence, then not thinking, ipso facto, is non responsibility. This is logically accurate, obviously.

But so is the following concept: All men are elephants. Socrates is a man. Therefore, Socrates is an elephant. The logic is flawless, but one of the premises for that logic is bughouse. Therefore, the conclusion is logical and wrong.

It is with that in mind that I, some years ago, confronted my wife's insistence that since she didn't think vis a vis her cheating on me, she as a conscious entity did not exist while cheating on me, and therefore is not responsible for her actions. I agree, so long as Socrates is an elephant. Unfortunately for the cheating skank, he wasn't an elephant. Sorry, dear.

When we met, I loved my wife very dearly. We made fast friends, and at the time we shared many similar concepts. We quickly fell in love- with who we were then. Of course, then was at age 12. For some crazy reason, we maintained the relationship through High School, had sex in our senior year without protection, and, uh, well my son was the result.

The result of my son is that both my parents arranged what would have been, were we poor, a shot gun wedding. But we weren't poor, so it was more of a "listen, dickwads, if you two want to stay in our wills, you are going to get married ... you follow?"

Yeah, I follow.

So we were married. By that point, though, we were already starting to grow up. And change. Drift apart. Drift? More like racing boats at full throttle shooting away from each other.

I went out into the world of penny-ante retail, that being the flea market. She continued through college. While she was in college she appreciated what I did for a living, since it brought in a large amount of money.

But when she graduated from medical school as a doctor, she started making more money then me. And so she wanted me to go back to school, get a degree, and get a 'respectable' job. I'd rather receive an enema using nitric acid.

I enjoy what I do. Its hard work, but it keeps me away from my wife on weekends and on several days of the week. And keeps me home to spend time with my son, and now daughter. So I liked it.

Of course, by the time she graduated medical school and started practicing as a doctor, some years had gone past. Jacob was 8, and Megan was 3, when she started working as an internist at the local hospital. Jacob was 12, and Megan was 7, when she started making more money than me as a private practitioner.

And of course, we were both 30 years old at that point. Which was when the "quit the job you love so our new neighbors can stop looking down their noses at your truck" nonsense started. Never mind that I had been the one that paid for the house. We can forget details like that.

I had built up a sizable business. She might make more than me, but it wasn't by much. I enjoyed the work I did, and the neighbors, in the odd event that they actually cared about anything but the big diesel engine starting up early in the morning, could go commit an anatomical impossibility.

I steadfastly refused to drop my business, and so she steadfastly refused to have sex with me. No big deal. It went on like this for several years, until Jacob was 17, Megan was 12, and the two of us were 35. No sex for five years? Well, the alternative was having sex with a nag that I had stopped caring about some years ago.

No, that's not true. I cared about her- you can't live with someone for over 17 years and not care about them. I just didn't like her, and didn't find her physically attractive anymore. Partly because she wasn't. And partly because she was a total bitch trying to pussy-whip me into submission. I'll give up the pussy before I submit to a woman- or anyone else for that matter.

Then came our 18th wedding anniversary, and she came home from work the night before and started practically raping me. Not that I was objecting, mind you. But it wasn't a mutual idea at all. And I was deeply confused.

I held my confusion even after we found out she was pregnant. I guess what happened just didn't occur to me. Until the baby was born. Then I knew

Let me explain how I knew, briefly. We came from a slightly inbred eastern-european Jewish ghetto. We both had brown eyes, black hair, pale skin, Jew noses, and so on. And the baby? It had blue eyes. But I put that to rest for a bit, since all kinds of babies have blue eyes.

Sarah, as we called the baby, quickly grew like a weed- but by the time of our 20th wedding anniversary, I knew she wasn't mine. She still had blue eyes, she had blonde hair, a stubby nose, and small ears. Not mine. No way.

I had a DNA test done, without Rivka's knowledge. Which confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt the truth- Sarah wasn't my kid. Period, end of discussion.

I called my best friend growing up, a guy named Ted, who happened to be a lawyer. He drew up divorce papers, based on martial infidelity. It gave me 50% of our liquid assets plus my business. She got 50% of the liquid assets plus the house.

I walked into her office, barged in on a patient visit, which made her go sub-orbital. I placed down the DNA tests as she fumed.

"See this?" I asked.


"Shut up," I interrupted, "It shows that Sarah isn't mine." She shut up.

"What?" she asked.

"Don't bother," I said, "It doesn't work on me. Also, this paper is a divorce petition that I think is more than fair. You have been served."

"What?!" she asked.

"I really must be going," I said. And left.

The rest of the sordid details aren't important. We eventually settled for irreconcilable differences, despite her fascinating legal/logical perspective, at the ratio I had laid out earlier. She got the kids- which is fine, because after they reached teenagehood, I decided that I really liked children- but only in a white wine sauce.

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