Reflexions on marriage and ‘true love’


It’s amazing how many silly decisions I’ve made in such short time —even after living a very well-adjusted life up until that point, always based on rationality, patience and strategy. I am a fierce, cold-blooded and iron-hearted businesswoman, but that man, in that moment, reduced me to a woman of silly dreams and fantasies, and I cannot place on his shoulders all the blame for our relationship to have gone asunder.

A few months ago, we celebrated our four-year divorce anniversary, which led me to ponder about the nature of our passion and these concepts society has for the so-called ‘true love.’

I’m not a skeptic, let alone a resentful woman, but I like to think of myself, yes, as equal measures idealistic and realistic, with one foot always firm on the ground while the other is deeply rooted on the heart.

I feel the happiest I’ve ever been, and I can say that, if my marriage was indeed a foolish decision, then my divorce was one of the most sensible decisions of my life, yielding very positive outcomes to all parties involved.

I reckon, though, that few couples are so lucky as we were.

I think I and my ex are the world’s happiest divorcees. Besides that, I also believe I’m at the highest point of my career, so I’m able to reflect about my past tribulations with the ease of a warrior who marched into the fight and won.

I know, of course, that many women cannot say the same, for our experiences are always so different. Nonetheless I still hope this message gets to some of them, for its themes don’t rely on professional or romantic achievements to be understood.

Part two: the odds of love

On the surface, I could describe ‘love’ as simply that: meeting someone, feeling attraction for them, chatting, fucking, getting to know them more deeply, spending more time by their side and then reaching that level of intimacy, you know, when we want to share our lives together for some time, maybe forever, and even bring a baby boy or girl to this world, if the passion is so intense.

I don’t discard the possibility of a couple —like a few I know myself— spending the rest of their lives happily together.

Still, I think that this vision of romantic love —which is the one most of us have in mind— is extremely improbable, and all the less feasible as the years go by.

People, after all, are so different from one another that I think this ‘happily-ever-after’ shenanigan does not withstand the inevitable build-up of disappointments and resentments. One mishap here and another misgiving there, okay, these can go by unnoticed, but just you wait for three or more years of conflicting schedules and differing personalities, and then tell me if this love is really so idealistic and perfect as once their lovebirds thought.

I don’t believe so. Again, I reckon it’s totally possible for to people two meet and remain loyal and caring to each other for the rest of their lives, but I also think that’s highly unlikely.

Today, after some personal and concrete life experiences on the matter, every time I hear someone talking about ‘marriage for life’, it’s as if I’d heard a financial analyst recommending lottery bets as an investment strategy.

It just doesn’t make sense, folks! Yes, once in a while someone hits the jackpot, but you cannot structure your whole life around such probabilities, can you?

Part three: a modern marriage

My romance with my ex-husband more or less followed these lines, though with some important differences. The main one is that, from the very beginning, not once did I think that we would be ‘loyal’ to one another all the time —at least not forever.

For a while, yes, we wouldn’t have eyes for anybody else, but after a couple of years, even just a handful of months, I thought it was inevitable that our eyes would start wandering around.

Our model would be of an open marriage: a ‘no-strings-attached’ relationship, yes, but also meant to last forever, under the condition that we would be the only strong links of this union: he was allowed to have other affairs as much as I was allowed to have my own, but only he would remain my ‘King’, as well as only I would remain his ‘Queen’.

I would never have kids from anybody else but him, as well as he would never have kids from any other woman; nor would we promise our hearts to other people or share with them our most intimate secrets.

A very rational arrangement firmly grounded on reality. What did I say about myself, after all? One foot on the ground, the other on the heart.

But everything ended up being less ideal than what I had predicted.

Part four: some words about my man

When I met him, I was on a business trip throughout Eastern Europe, consulting with tourism experts on the countries where I wanted to expand my ventures.

As soon as I laid my eyes on that gorgeous male, in the midst of a business gala, I knew he was a very special someone: tall, dark-haired, ungodly wide shoulders, chiseled face, deep voice and domineering demeanor… oh, you know! The whole package that screams ‘sex beast’!

We chatted. We had fun. Sooner than later, we both knew I’d be on his bed that very night. I didn’t even play too many games with him during flirting, for I knew how competitive the playfield was between me and the many other (beautiful) ladies on that party.

I remember how intoxicated I felt by his scent, and barely had any idea of how hammered I’d be by all his essence in the following months.

For those who follow my books, it must be no shock that I’m kinda turned on by Alphas, right? I mean, every woman is, but I have way less scruples in admitting that in public. I’ve been called ‘whore’ and ‘slut’ one too many times (outside the bed, I mean, which is NOT sexy), yes, but this kind of petty behavior doesn’t bother me a bit.

The simple truth is that Alphas make me go craaaazy, and my dream —like that of many a woman— had always been to marry and tame one of them, to make him mine and nobody else’s!

Well, that hunk was more Alpha than any Alpha I had ever met… or even imagined! Seriously, he was soooo hooot that I thought one of my fantasies had become real! What a tasty-ass male meat!

So tall, wealthy and physically imposing (‘daddy-bear’ body, he had), not to mention exotic; one of those Eastern European businessmen with thick layers of mystery around them, hiding spicy secrets beneath their austere faces and steely gazes!

We married seven months after we met, having I basically begged him to put a ring on me. In hindsight, it was a miracle that he had accepted so soon. He must really have liked my personality, of course, as well as my Carnival-ready, thick fitness-goddess, sexually-exuberant Latino body, for I had no doubt that many other beauties surely abounded on his garden.

He also was a little bit rustic, the kind of man nobody swears will ever get married. Thinking about it, he did have a whole George Clooney vibe to him: a man who spent his life enjoying all the wonders of the world until getting to a certain age and finally settling down with his princess, his ‘chosen one.’

Maybe that’s why he said ‘yes.’ The fact that I had framed the whole agreement as very rational and pressure-free definitely helped, too: since the very beginning I told him he’d have all the freedom to meet as many women as he pleased, so long as I, in exchange, got all the emotional (and sexual, aaand financial) support an Alpha-female would expect from her virile husband stud.

Attention, money, safety, comfort, and above all… kids.

Part five: motherly instincts

That’s right: kids. For that was a man who makes our biological clocks fire off and gets us all hasty, you know, to grab the opportunity before it expires!

Like any woman, yes, I’d always wanted kids, but never thought I’d actually find someone worth having babies with.

Because of some really silly train-of-thought, I’ve put on my mind that I’d only be able to raise a kid if I were formally, I mean, legally married to my man —which today I recognize as a foolish lie.

At the time, of course, I was an easily impressed young woman, staggered by everything my man had to offer, so I gave into the silly fantasies, lowered my guards and believed in my romantic delusions and sweet sensual thoughts.

How silly, huh, we ladies can be! Gee-sus! I, who always thought myself so smart and rational… oh, how silly! How silly we can be, huh, once in a while!

Part six: the touch of a Man

Not that, in the first months, things were going badly. Far from it!

I and my fiancée sealed our pact in one of the most historic and exclusive churches of his country, a World Heritage Site rented by our weights in gold, and his apartment was even located besides a super famous government district of his country,[1] recognized on postcards all over the world!

One month and a half later, guess who was pregnant! Guess who was going to have a healthy, strong, wonderful child from that man who was both paradise and perdition, deity and demon all in one?

Guessed right: little me! Fierce and proud Tiger Momma next to my strong, equally proud Daddy!

It was in these moments I got surprised, in fact, by how deeply gentle my husband could be.

People have this stereotype, you know, that Alpha males —especially those hailing from ‘traditional countries’— are all mafioso-like cocky-type of scoundrels…

…and there’s a bit of truth to that, I grant it. My husband did in fact look like someone who made his fortune breaking some necks at the service of some political magnate or something.

But be cool, be cool: everything in life has its exceptions and, to the best of my knowledge, my ex’s businesses have always been completely legal.

But his whole demeanor, you know, could raise some flags! ‘A good man must be a wall behind which a woman can take shelter’, was a saying of his people, and all men in his country were really raised to be precisely that —true impenetrable fortresses of ice: strong, tough, mean-looking and uninviting, rarely giving out smiles to those who didn’t deserve them, and even quite challenging when it came to being seduced by other ladies.

Contrary to what I had got used to on my birth country or, to a lesser extent, on neighboring countries  like Argentina and Colombia, the men of his country are very grave and discreet, the kind who rarely make silly jokes or even laugh in an attention-grabbing way.

This supermasculine gravitas never failed to leave me all moist and wet down there, and sex with that Alpha god truly opened new dimensions of love, passion and pleasure for me!

‘Outstanding’ would be an understatement! My experience on the sheets with that man was… supernatural!

It’s precisely because of this that ’til this day my jaw drops whenever I remember the contrast between his tough exterior and the sweet, charming, elegant, and delicate character! A sweet personality that revealed itself so clearly every time he held our baby in his hands and embraced him, covered him with kisses and sometimes looked at me, filled with passion and tenderness, and said:

‘Look at the wonderful child we’ve made, my bunny.'[2]

With scenes like that, how couldn’t I think that our romance would last forever??

Part seven: it didn’t

Yeah, it didn’t. It wasn’t any one spectacular episode that defined our separation, however; our love was, instead, like a giant bonfire: many strong and impressive flames at first, but that went dimming and dying out as time went on.

Theoretically, both I and my husband had the freedom to meet (and fuck) anyone we liked, but on practice it was obvious this situation wouldn’t be balanced for long.

Sooner or later, inevitably, someone had to give in; and that someone, in that marriage, was me.

Except for in the last few months of our union, when the divorced loomed over our heads, I never really felt the urge of meeting anybody. In fact, I had fallen under the illusion that a monogamous pairing (i.e., a marriage with exclusive, absolute loyalty, something very Catholic, really) was not only possible, but even desirable for us both —despite it having been me who promised the exact opposite!

Must be a woman’s nature. It may be that we get so easily attached!

Or maybe not. Maybe it was just my fault.

Whatever it was, the truth is that I had always been ‘faithful,’ whereas he… not so much.

My husband had always spent a lot of time away from home thanks on his work, as he owned his own company and had contracts all throughout Europe, so he never exactly had time to be a “househusband”. Yes, that I already knew.

As I also knew, of course, that on these business trips he’d meet many other women, and that these women, being mostly young affluent Slavic girls, would probably all be irresistibly sensual to him.

For if you think Eastern European Alphas are sexy, just you wait until you meet Slavic women! Actually, it’s one of the world’s most common stereotypes: that women from Eastern Europe are all beautiful and well-raised, the world’s best ladies to marry.

It’s so prevalent, in fact, there is a whole tourism industry built around this cultural trait.

Trust me, I know. 😉

I may publish a whole post about this in the future. For the time being, however, I’ll only say that Slavic women —at least those from middle-class or higher— are indeed tall, thin, incredibly well-groomed and well-dressed, modest and discreet, quite passive (some would say submissive) and well-educated, taught from early on to be good ‘housewives’ and to leave all the ‘difficult tasks’ to their husbands.

In summary: a deeply traditional, conservative society. Feminists go crazy!

And so do women like me, who know that competition is always fierce. Seriously, those people have holy water for blood, so beautiful that they are!

Part eight: fundamental differences

It was clear, therefore, that my husband would be ‘fooling around’ a few times —or maybe many times—, though this didn’t bother me much on the first months.

This reality, however, sure became a thorn on my thumb after a few years, especially as our kid was growing up. I became more intrusive on his affairs, trying to see if his heart was still on the right place:

‘Hey, love.’


‘You’re seeing somebody else?’

And I felt him getting slightly annoyed, as those things we had agreed early on that to be left private, with no one minding the other partner’s businesses.

‘You take issue with that, bunny girl?’

That was already the answer I feared!

‘I just wanna know if you’re… having fun… if all is cool between us, if it’s…’

‘I am quite happy, love, and I hope you are too.’

‘Can I know how many women you’re seeing? Is it more than one?’

‘Mmm… I rather not talk about these things, love.’

Curses! It was more than one, that son of a b…!


‘Hey, bunny, are you bothered?’

I was true to my word. I had promised him, after all, that I’d never lie, especially in matters so important such as that.

‘A little bit.’

‘Well… what do you think I can do to alleviate this pain?’

We fucked so many times and so intensely after conversations like these, which always managed to dispel a bit of my fears, but never all of them completely.

I could see that his heart was moving far away from our home; I don’t know if it ever went to another woman —probably not, given that he didn’t marry anyone else, nor had kids (that I know of) with any other—, but I knew for sure it was no longer at the core of our family.

Not just romantically, but also professionally, our family life gradually stopped pleasing him. While I had sold my first company to have more time for the family, he couldn’t wait for a chance to escape it and invest his time on his businesses.

Judging by only that, the difference is quite obvious, isn’t it?

Maybe these are natural and irreconcilable differences between the sexes, or maybe they’re just particular differences between our personalities. I don’t know. What matters is that they created a rift which inevitably led us to apathy, and this apathy inevitably led us to divorce.

There was no fight, no drama. Just a sincere and melancholic understanding that ‘sadly, it’s over.’

We fucked so savagely on the night he had ‘the talk’ with me! Seriously. I think that had been our most formidable fuck yet, as well as the last memorable moment of our engaged lives: nothing that came before or after could compare to that whole weekend we spent breaking each other’s hearts and then immediately reconciling with frantic lovemaking beneath the sheets!

We wrecked a good amount of rooms before arriving at a consensus and giving each other goodbye kisses on our tired, dried-out cheeks.

It was unbelievably romantic and profoundly melancholic. Four months later, the last of the divorce papers had been signed. All the dreams I had nurtured about that passion were over. In just a few strokes of a pen, they were all blown away like leaves to the wind.

I cried for some three days before getting my act together. For a whole month, I confess I had fallen into depression: I was still functional, yes, but at the same time my mood was atrocious. I felt I was going to die, while also knowing that, as great as it seemed to be, that pain would eventually go away.

And I hated myself for thinking like that, as if all my romance and my passion hadn’t been worth a damn; as if our relationship had been so weak that just a few months of recovery would be enough to sweep them under the rug.

Part nine: a modern divorce

It wasn’t either of two extremes: I did recover, yes, but my perception of love remained as strong as ever. My man still existed and remained a big part of my life, though no longer as a husband, not even as a frequent lover.

Everything a man can do to help his wife in a divorce, he did it and went so much beyond! Nobody got anybody’s wealth, for we had signed a prenup,[3] yet he still agreed to pay me much more than what the law demanded, and even left me his first apartment —that one neighboring the famous ‘postcard district’ of his country!

Financially, he was a godsend; emotionally, a true angel, so gentle and quick that he handled all the process. I hear about women who, even when fully backed by the law, spend years on the justice just trying to get a single cent from their worthless exes, and there was I receiving way more than what my honey-bum was legally obliged to pay!

And mind you that I am a Brazilian-born, thick-bodied Latino lady, not one of those ‘pure’ Slavic girls most of these rugged European men like, so I don’t doubt that, if my husband wished to f#ck me in the metaphorical ass, rich and powerful as he was, he could have done it without breaking a sweat.

I mean… what a man! Men like him are the kind we swear don’t exist anymore! Seriously: what a great freaking mum he must have had to have raised such an incredible son!

And that’s not all. My man may have stopped being a husband, but he didn’t stop being a father; even though only seasonally, he decided to keep supporting our kid, teaching him to also be a strong man and to have a firm moral compass and very masculine upbringing.

He, he! It’s complicated to describe this arrangement of ours. My son [REDACTED]

[Hey, darlings, a quick announcement: I had to redact some paragraphs from this post because it turns out that they revealed far too much about my life, and that’s a risk I cannot take right now.

Three paragraphs here have been taken out. I’m sorry, my loves, but I’ve got to take care of my image / personal life.

I hope you all understand. Cheers! ❤ ]

Conclusion: true love, updated

After all of this, therefore, I reflect on the issue of ‘true love’ and realize how the notions society builds around it are generally so limited.

To me, what I and my ex-husband feel for one another not only is ‘true love’, but it’s a love much ‘truer’ and stronger than that of most couples I’ve met in life —people who spent over twenty or thirty years together, but being miserable and incredibly apathetic in their lives.

People who sacrificed their dreams and their ambitions for a blasé existence and a semi-dysfunctional family; parents whose kids are filled with traumas and a whole lot of mental baggage, and families who time after time find themselves involved in the most fearsome fights one can imagine.

All in the name of a silly idea that certainly doesn’t apply anymore to many couples nowadays, let alone all of mankind.

This idea that ‘true love’ must be restricted to the same two people and, worse still, bind them forever, eliminating any and all possibility for experimentation and discovery amongst other different kinds of folks… oh, please! In some other times, okay, that might have been valid, but nowadays this simply no longer works!

Anyway. Last month me and my husband met here in Latam. We went out on dates, we kissed, we made sweet love, and after some cozy and romantic time together, I once again kissed him goodbye…


[Hey, darlings, a quick announcement: I had to redact some paragraphs from this post because it turns out that they revealed far too much about my life, and that’s a risk I cannot take right now.

Three paragraphs here have been taken out. I’m sorry, my loves, but I’ve got to take care of my image / personal life.

I hope you all understand. Cheers! ❤ ]

Frankly, if that can’t be considered ‘true love’, I don’t know what else can.

[1] Think of the Three Powers Plaza, in Brasilia, or the National Mall, in Washington D.C.

[2] ‘Bunny’! I loved how he called me that! It was a common way men of his land referred to their loved ones. It’s sooo cuuute!

[3] A demand from him that I quickly accepted.

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