When Heather and Charles moved to the New Jersey suburbs in preparation to start a family, their sex life took a nose dive. Not only were there no longer any more nights out at a new bar or lounge that ended in drunken sex, they rarely had any sex at all. Both of them were working so many hours at their jobs while trying to save money, they usually came home at nine or ten o'clock at night, ordered delivery and then passed out in the middle of a movie before they woke up and did it all over again.
But one day, Heather needed to look something up online and Charles' laptop just happened to be sitting there. When she started to type in the name of the website she had planned on going to, her jaw nearly dropped when the browsing history on the computer revealed a hundred different porno sites. It wasn't even like there were one or two porno sites mixed in with all the regular sites that her husband visited. It was more like there were one or two regular sites mixed in with hundreds of different porno sites. Charles strolled out of the bathroom to see his wife at his computer.
"What the hell is this?" Heather asked him.
"What are you doing on my computer?" her husband responded, trying to deflect his guilt by answering a question with a question.
"You have a million porno sites on your computer. You have some kind of addiction or something?" she asked him incredulously.
"No, I don't have an addiction," he tried to explain. "I just use them for distraction when I need to take a break from work."
She moved her head forward toward him and held out her palms in reaction. "What? Do you take a break like every 30 seconds?"
"It's not like that," he said, trying to make it seem like it was totally normal. "It's just porn."
"Charles, we never even have sex anymore. I thought we were just both taking a break from sex but you obviously haven't stopped fucking your cyber sluts for one minute," she yelled at him before storming off to their bedroom and slamming the door.
"Heather! Heather!" he yelled to no avail. He just shook his head, knowing the hopeless position he was now in.
For the next week, he slept on the couch. She would glare at him at the breakfast table and eat dinner before she came home. He couldn't believe how she was reacting to this. Obviously, he didn't understand women and their need to feel desired, he figured.
It wasn't until the next week, after a full breakfast of total silence that Heather suddenly said something to him. "I want to make one," she said.
"Make one what?" he asked totally confused.
"A porno," she stated matter-of-factly.
"What? What do you mean?"
"I want to make a porno with the two of us," she told him. Charles did a double take, not sure she was serious until he looked at her for a second time and saw that look of conviction in her eyes.
"You're serious?" he confirmed. She nodded yes and he knew once she had her mind set on something, she didn't stop until she saw it through to the end. But the first thought in Charles' mind was that she was not the kind of woman you would see in a porno. Yes, they had a little kinky sex here and there, but this was his wife.
"You're just being immature," she argued after he shook his head. "You're just like all guys. You think a woman is either a virgin or a whore."
"What do you mean? I obviously know you're not a virgin," he exclaimed.
But she was determined. "I already bought a camera. We both have tomorrow off," she told him before picking up her plate and walking away from the kitchen table. He just sat there, turning his fork around and around.
The next day, he got out of the shower to discover his wife was already gone. She had left a note on the kitchen counter next to the new video camera saying she had gone to the mall to buy a "ho outfit." Charles couldn't help but laugh. He spent the morning lounging around the house, watching TV and waiting for his wife's phone call. Although the idea of videotaping his wife in a porno turned him on when he thought about it very briefly, he wasn't so sure about seeing her in some kind of full-on porn role. This is the future mother of his children, he told himself. And mothers just don't want to have sex the way porn actresses do, the voice inside his head told him.
He got the call from his wife late into the morning. She told him to meet her in on the main shopping strip in a neighboring town that was about 20 miles away. Apparently, she wanted to make sure that no one she knew saw her. With an uneasy feeling in his stomach about what to expect, he told her he would be right there.
Charles was driving slowly down the street on which Laura had told him to meet her, reading the address numbers until he came to the right one. He had arrived quicker than expected so he was taking his time looking around at the shops and the people on the street. He hated the fact that even though he was about to meet his wife, he couldn't help but check out the women all decked out in their weekend shopping outfits. He followed the various women, staring in particular at one woman with a pair of tight white pants and enormous heals.
"What kind of woman would wear clothes like that?" he started to ask himself. She turned around and saw that her eyes were layered in dark eye shadow and her lips painted a deep shade of dark red. Her hair was pulled back in one of those cheap plastic hair things. She looked like some dirty Italian slut you would find in a ghetto mall, he surmised. "I'd like to make a porno with her," he said out loud to himself before his phone rang. It was his wife calling.
"Hey, I'm here," he told her.
"I know. I see you," Laura responded.
Charles looked around to try and spot his wife, peering up and down the sidewalk. "Where you at? I don't see you," he told her.
"I'm right in front you, stupid," she told him.
