Men were just My Plaything

In the third year of our marriage, Darren Clark shared the sensual photos I sent him in his friends' group chat.

"Enjoy together." He wrote.

By the time I discovered it, it was too late to retract.

In retaliation, I posted a picture of his short genitals on a public platform with the caption that "Hey everyone, is my husband's thing big enough?"

01

In the third year of our marriage, I excitedly went to the mall and bought a little outfit, blushing as I returned home.

Looking at my reflection, I thought I was like a blooming and perfectly ripe flower, and I couldn't help but mutter to myself, "I'm drop-dead gorgeous."

I snapped a couple of photos and sent them to Darren, using a sweet, coquettish voice to remind him, "Sweetie, make sure to come home early tonight~"

After sending the message, I changed out of the outfit and went to the kitchen to prepare dinner, my mind filled with thoughts of his surprised expression when he returned. So much so that I missed his text.

He said, "Honey, something urgent came up tonight. Go to bed without me."

02

Sometimes, a woman's intuition was just that strong.

Darren tiptoed in from outside, the bathroom light flickering on and off.

I closed my eyes, and turned my back to him, the thin blanket outlining my figure.

All he had to do was put his hand on me, gently lift the blanket, and he would find the "surprise" waiting for him.

Unfortunately, he wasn't that lucky.

He turned his back to me, and I couldn't even feel his warmth.

I heard him take off his glasses and place them on the nightstand, followed by a particularly weary sigh.

In no time, his breathing became steady.

His phone, tucked under the pillow, suddenly flashed and then quickly went dark.

So, I unlocked Darren's phone.

03

Messages from his friends' group chat popped up one by one, "Darren, you're a lucky guy."

"When are you bringing your wife out?"

"Honestly, even after three years of cooking at home, she still looks like a young girl."

"Darren, retract it."

I scrolled up to see the photo I had privately sent him, which he forwarded at 3:06 PM.

I glanced at my phone, and I had sent it to him at 3:06 PM too.

As if on cue, another message popped up.

"I miss you."

Their chat history was empty, with only this fresh message.

I clicked on the cute avatar, and her profile picture seemed to be her own photo. With a bun hairstyle, she was flying a kite, looking youthful and vibrant against the light.

I turned my back to Darren and quickly browsed through.

Tonight, she posted, "At this moment, you're here, and I love you."

The accompanying picture showed her lying in a man's arms.

To the unknowing, it indeed looked like a happy couple.

Even in sleep, the man was tightly holding her hand.

But, the man was wearing the wedding ring I bought.

Below this post there was a comment.

It was from the same friend who said Darren was "a lucky guy" in the group chat earlier, and he commented under the girl's post that "You are happy again, Darren."

The girl replied with a shy emoji.

04

I remained remarkably calm throughout, perhaps because I had anticipated this day.

Otherwise, why hadn't Darren touched me in six months?

Otherwise, why did I go buy that little lingerie today?

I chuckled coldly, stubbornly unwilling to give in even though my heart ached, masochistically saving screenshots of their loving posts.

Before logging out, I even remembered to mark the chat window as unread and restore the app to its original order.

But as I locked the screen, I stared at the photo of us on the grass, laughing in our wedding attire, and was still momentarily dazed.

Darren, who spun me around on the lawn, was truly handsome.

But Darren, who now privately shared my photos with his friends, was truly disgusting.

I would double the damage he had done to me. Then I opened the hottest public platform, edited the post, adding countless tags to draw attention.

From elderly people to elementary school students, I was sorry that your eyes were all about to see something unsightly.

05

The picture was one he had sent me before when he asked me to check out a small bump on his private parts.

Darren was extremely concerned about his image. For such private matters, he would rather seek reassurance from online doctors than personally go to a hospital.

I captioned it, "Hey everyone, is my husband's thing big enough?"

Of course, I made sure to block him from seeing it.

As the post went live, a wave of vengeful satisfaction washed over me.

Tears streaming down, I closed my eyes in exhaustion, letting memories flood in.

I was Darren's senior in college, having met him during a freshman welcome event during my junior year.

Back then, Darren stood in the middle of the road, head down, looking lost amidst the bustling crowd.

"Hey, boy? What are you daydreaming about in the middle of the road?" I waved a hand in front of him.

"You're in the history department, right? Your building is over there."

I looked up, meeting his gaze, and was struck by the clarity in his eyes.

I was so attracted by him that I boldly said, "Our campus is huge! Add me on social media, and if you have any questions, just ask me."

With that, I flipped my ponytail and ran off.

That day, I added over thirty fresh-faced juniors.

That night's dreams were fresh and brimming with hormones.

06

The next morning, I woke up with dark circles under my eyes and, as usual, prepared breakfast for Darren.

By the time he brushed his teeth and washed his face, the soup should be just finished for him.

But unlike my usual frantic breakfast preparations, today I was unhurried, so much so that Darren had already tied his tie by the time I served the steaming soup.

And I added mushroom, which he despised.

As expected, I saw his eyebrows knit together deeply, and he picked up and put down the spoon.

He stood up, "I'm not eating."

I continued making my sandwich, my back to him, without responding.

He added, "Let's hire a maid."

I replied, "Sure."

He was taken aback.

Everyone knew that I, Cathy Clark, loved Darren deeply.

To what extent?

I handled everything at home personally, never delegating to others.

What had changed?

07

After Darren left, I contacted Andrew.

He was the friend in the group chat who told Darren to "retract."

I got a big wave perm, changed into a yellow dress that hugged my waist perfectly.

Spritzing on some popular French perfume, I messaged Andrew, "Are you free? I'm bored."

Within a minute, he was typing, and I quickly retracted the message.

"Oops, sent it to the wrong person." A cheeky emoji.

I watched coldly as his typing status flickered on and off.

Sure enough, half an hour later, Andrew messaged me, "Bored? Let's hang out. I'll come pick you up."

08

"Not going out, making soup for Darren."

In less than five minutes, Darren called, "Honey, let's eat out tonight."

"Where to, darling? I'm making you a nourishing soup."

I replied with a smile, but I was laughing at the comments.

"Lady, what a terrible life you've had all these years?"

"Lady, you can live better... "

"Wow! I thought it was my husband's."

"I'm amazed your husband let you post this, truly shameless."

"Whose little buddy is this?"

...

I hadn't posted on social media in two or three years, and last night's post had quite the reaction. Some sympathized, saying I was being manipulated by my husband. Some were restless, wanting to be a sexual companion. Others, sharing the same plight, offered remedies. And some men, feeling personally attacked, cursed me out.

In short, Darren's private parts had a moment of fame on the social platform for my post.

I replied uniformly, "You all are just jealous. My husband is the most handsome guy of 2017 grade history department of a prestigious University, and he is charming and charismatic. Just let you be jealous."

Then the all-knowing netizens began their debates.