Wanted: Fill & Download for Free

My wife was a prostitute.It all began 8 years ago when I was dumped by my girlfriend.I had just graduated and came to know that my Girlfriend was to marry a rich NRI. He was wealthy as hell. Owned couple of restaurants and petrol pumps in Delhi. Moreover he even owned 5–6 cars, all SUV. It broke my heart to see my girlfriend taking the Pheras with her new hubby. I did attend her wedding, but left soon.2 months down the line I shifted to Mumbai. Got a job, rented an apartment with another guy and tried to move on in my life. I would drink and smoke excessively. I picked up the habit of sitting in this Ladies Bars. I was lost in a world between reality and chaos. I did not know what I was going to do in my life. I was brought up by a single mother who had died during my college days. My grandfather and grandmother took care of my further education then. I was lonely and I was lost. I was a heavy drinker and smoker and I couldn't focus on work due to my ex girlfriend. I visited brothels, and slept with prostitutes. I was in a verge of destroying myself.One morning when I woke, I saw the prostitute cleaning my house and wash the utensils. It was unnatural. I was shocked. I asked her what was she doing to which she replied that she thought my room needed cleanliness as it was too dirty. She had already done the utensils and was cooking for me. I did not know what to say or express. She left soon after and I was numb.Like usually I went to work, while returning I bought some booze and snacks. But what stuck me is the prostitute who was cleaning my house.Anyways, I called my pimp and asked him to send the same girl. He agreed and within the next hour she was at my doorstep. She was smiling. I did not want to have sex that day. I just wanted her company. Maybe because I was feeling to lonely. I called her in and we watched a movie. We spoke about each other. She was hiding something from me. Never told me but I could sense it. We slept together the whole night and we didn't do it. Maybe I was getting attracted towards her.The next morning the same thing happened. She was cleaning and cooking. She gave the curtains and mat to the laundry man. My room started looking more livable. She got rid of all the empty alcohol bottles too. She left and I felt something missing. I had noted down her number. I thought of calling her up but didn't have the courage.One Sunday morning I finally took the courage to call her. I asked her if she was free that day as I was thinking of going for a movie. She agreed and we met at Bandran that whole day we enjoyed. I never looked at her as a prostitute then. But more as a friend. I was sceptical whether what I was doing was right or wrong. I never had the courage to ask her why was she chose prostitution as a profession.We started meeting every Sundays. It would be fun. As if my life was being coloured again. We were something. We couldn't stay without meeting each other. Our small talks turned into late night conversations. I had stopped drinking and smoking, almost cut down by 70%.On an instance, I remember we were sitting at Marine drive. Her head was on my shoulder. We were talking when she suddenly started weeping.“Rohit” - she continued“Rohit, I don't want to live that life again. I could see tears dropping from her eyes. Rohit I'm not that person. I want to live a simple life and do something. I want someone who loves me from the deepest of his heart.The last line struck me. Because it was the same thing my ex girlfriend had told me many yet ago.i didn't know what to say. I hugged her and spent rest of the evening near the shore.I didn't call her the next day. I didn't reply to her texts. I didn't pick her calls. She must have called a thousand times. I was afraid, afraid to be dumped again. I had heard the same words from the person who I loved the most but dumped me for a richer guy. I didn't know what to tell her. I was afraid.Post one week she came to my house. She was angry. She thought I was doing this because she was prostitute. That wasn't the truth. I was afraid.But I anyhow appeased her. I hugged her. I was in love with her. We cried on each other's shoulders.After 6 months or so I went to her native place in West Bengal wherewe tied the knot. I shifted to Pune and today we are living a very happy life.For me or any man, remember it shouldn't matter if the woman is a virgin or not, everyone has gone through something that has made them what they're today. What matters is 2 hearts and a clean soul.Thanks you for reading.

My three-year-old daughter peed on me while I was talking to a friend.She fell asleep in my arms, and before I realized what was happening, a spurt of warm, acrid-smelling urine doused my shirt.She didn’t even apologize.I didn’t have another shirt with me and I couldn’t go back home because we had other plans, so I ended up spending the whole day out in the city smelling like piss.My three-year-old son jumped and stomped on my eye once while I was lying down. I couldn’t see for about twenty minutes.Go figure.My seven-year-old son asked his entire school if they wanted to see my dick. I had teachers and parents looking at me as if I’m some kind of sexual predator.I don’t know why he did that.What I do know is that I must have cleaned hundreds and hundreds of pounds of shit in my life. Runny shit, rock-hard shit, shit with undigested pieces of corn.Any kind of shit you can think of.From butts, floors, back yards—and a whole bunch of other surfaces.I’ve also spent tens of thousands of dollars on everything from diapers to wipes to organic apples that end up rotten and hidden behind potted plants with only one bite eaten out of them.Up to a certain age, kids are like gremlin Neanderthals that have evolved to look cute enough so that you feel compelled to take care of them even as they beat you, overwhelm you with bodily excretions, and demand every single moment of your waking attention.My intimate relationship with my wife has taken a big hit.I’ve suffered from sleep deprivation and depression over the challenges of parenting.I’ve spent countless hours worrying my heart out whenever one of my kids was sick or not doing well.Now, it’s tempting to turn this into a sappy, heart-tugging answer by talking about the first time I let go of the bike’s handle and my son whooshed down the road, balancing on his own, screaming with joy. Or the time my daughter came up to me, told me she loved me more than anything in the world, and hugged me tightly. Or how easy it is for me to make my youngest son break out in peals of laughter, and how his smile keeps radiating in my heart long after it fades from his face.But the truth is that having kids is fucking hard.You can separate from a significant other, but your children are linked to you by a bond of blood that cannot be severed.On the whole, I don’t regret having kids, but there have definitely been times when I wished I were free from that heaviest of burdens and responsibilities—being a parent.I know it’s made me a better person by showing me where I am impatient, where I withdraw my love, where I can be more compassionate.It’s brought the deepest and ugliest scars of my own upbringing, and provided me with the opportunity to work through them toward healing.The integration I’ve done as a result has transferred beautifully to all other areas of my life.And I am immensely grateful for how humbling and rewarding it is to be a father.But whenever someone says, “I don’t know if I want kids,” I tell them—I totally get it.

Warning!This answer contains graphic images.Respect for this man…