This is a very different story from anything I've tried before. I'm sure I'm shitty at describing things from a man's point of view—talk about a lack of experience!—but I wanted to give it a try. I also wanted to try writing in the second-person and in the present tense.
SO: My apologies in advance for awkwardnesses, but I hope this gives some of my great male fans something to sink their, er, teeth into fantasy-wise. I'd really love to get suggestions for how to write a story like this better.
I am still knocked out by the very kind comments I get, and really would like to give the guys who read me something to enjoy.
As always, thanks for reading and...come hard!
KABB
==================================================
"Hi George," you say to the guard at the gate to your neighborhood.
"Welcome home, sir," he replies, "I bet you're glad to be done with the week."
"Same shit, different day," you reply sarcastically. He chuckles and waves as you head toward the big house up on the hill. As you near it the swimming pool looks inviting, but you decide you're too tired for a swim.
You pull into the garage, exhausted from another long day at the office and from sitting for an hour in terrible traffic. You enter your beautiful house and head to the family room, tossing off your jacket and plopping onto the rich, leather sofa. You just want to have some dinner and relax.
Of course, she's not home. She's never home. You know she's a high-powered attorney who's been been crazy busy at work, but it's getting really hard to take. You might as well be living alone—except that if you were, you could go out and party--or just hire a hooker for the night. To make matters worse, she's been too tired for sex for over a month. You decide that you'd rather be lonely as a bachelor than as a married man.
You take the remote control and absent-mindedly flip through the channels. The game isn't on yet, so you just surf.
She'll be home soon, and then it will start: two hours of listening to the same shit about her lousy job that you've heard every day for the last year. It must do her some good, but it's killing you. At least you can decompress for a bit before the onslaught begins. And maybe she'll drink herself into a stupor and you'll be able to catch the end of the game.
An infomercial for the "Miracle Bra" catches your eye, and after a few minutes of looking at tits, you're considering getting a pay-per-view porno and jacking off. Just as you're about to hit "order," you hear the garage door—so you hit "exit" instead and turn off the TV. Back to the salt mines.
She comes in, and with one glance you can tell she's had a shitty day. She drops her briefcase and kicks off her shoes. Without even looking at you, she goes into the kitchen.
"Want a glass of wine?" she asks, rummaging through the cupboard.
"No, thanks," you reply. You don't need any wine. Not yet, anyway.
She comes into the family room and plops into a chair facing you. She's beat, but one look reminds you why you married her.
She is a driven, comparative athlete who became a lawyer and worked her way to the top. Even after a few years have passed, though, she's breathtakingly beautiful. Even a hard day can't take away the fact that she could be a model.
Her long blonde hair flows around her delicate face, and her blue eyes sparkle. She's wearing a Balenciaga suit that drapes perfectly over her slender body, accentuating the fullness of her breasts. A beautiful pearl necklace adorns her graceful neck. Her makeup is perfect--just on the slightly sexy side of business wear.
She smiles, and her face lights up. You feel yourself falling in love all over again.
"I made a decision today," she announces.
"Did you finally quit your job?" you ask. The two of you have talked about that for a while now. You need her income to afford the house, but the job is killing her—and your marriage. On the other hand, partnerships in big law firms aren't easy to come by, nor are high six-figure incomes. And a month on the Cote d'Azur can make up for a lot--even if she's on the phone half the time.
"No. And I'm not going to," she says simply. "You know I have never quit anything and I'm not going to start now. I love our house and our lifestyle and I want to keep them. And it's worth putting up with the shit that I have to deal with—at least until something better comes along."
"So you've decided," you say, looking directly at her. She looks straight back at you. She doesn't ever back down from a challenge.
"Yeah. But that's not the decision I made today," she replies, taking a swig of wine. You look at her questioningly, so she continues.
"I've been a pretty shitty wife the last couple of months. That changes. Starting now," she says, her eyes never looking away from your gaze.
You keep looking at her, not sure where this is going.
