I raised my eyebrows without thinking. For a second there, she actually looked good – sort of like how she used to.
She barely glanced at me. "Shall we?" Her smile was for Leo.
I shut the door after them, breathing a sigh of relief. Now I can think.
I sat in my recliner and relaxed, determined to discover where things had gone amiss with Caitlyn. I reclined a bit and stared at the ceiling.
There were three certainties in my life: I was handsome; I had a big cock; and my hair was the envy of most. Women always talked about hair and cocks and how cute a guy was. I was all those. So what had been Caitlyn's issue? She should've been wet for me every second of every day. She should've been naked at my desk, on her knees offering blowjobs and begging for attention.
And then when I gave it to her and she liked it, she should've been addicted immediately. Looks, hair, and cock - I had it all. There was no way she should be resisting me. Had I lacked something else? Not shown her enough interest? My job limited what I could do, what could she expect?
I gave it to her just like she needed, hard and fast over my desk with her hair gripped in my fist. How could she not be totally enslaved to me now?
I began hardening at the memory of her perfect pussy. Her luscious little body had been made for my cock. Our sex had been superbly satisfying. I took out my dick and began stroking it to her memory.
So what was with her? Had I read her wrong? Maybe she was a lesbian; so many women these days no longer wanted men.
That must be it; Caitlyn's a tongue-sister. She must hate men for their brutal sexuality. But aren't most men now metrosexuals and effeminate? If my hair was longer, would she like me better because I would look more like a woman?
I was hard, recalling how beautiful our sex had been. How wonderful and fulfilling. Couldn't she feel that?
I stroked faster, wanting my hand movement to bring her back and make her see her error. Dammit, Caitlyn, you were supposed to be mine. What's wrong with you? You could've moved in here right after Frannie left. We couldn't been together, fucking like rabid animals, forever. The perfect wife and the purest life.
I looked over at the couch, wishing Caitlyn would've been here to be on that sofa, moaning and begging for more from me.
But, instead of me and the perfect girl, it had been Leo and my wife that had used that couch. Images of them rose within me at the memory. They had shared what I so desperately needed with Caitlyn. Blonde and beautiful, it should've been the girl getting fucked by me on that couch. It should've been Caitlyn moaning with lust as I ate her, except that with Caitlyn it was about her pussy and the ramming it required by my cock. No, it should have been the girl beneath me squirming as Frannie had, driven to pleasure by my cock instead of my wife by Leo's shaft.
Frannie had looked so surprised and peaceful as she was pleasured – her distasteful looks softened in satisfaction.
I stroked, wishing for what obviously now couldn't be – not with Caitlyn being lezzy.
I remembered that satisfied look on Frannie's face from when we were going out together and were newly married. I shook my head. Why couldn't Caitlyn have given me that look? Our lives would have launched off with a bang on the path of success. Instead, it had been Frannie.
My shaft was hard and throbbing with anger.
No, I was denied. I had but a taste of what life could've been with Caitlyn. Now all I have is memories of Frannie enjoying me as the girl should have.
I grumbled out loud to the empty apartment. "No, not the one I love, but Frannie. Frannie enjoyed my cock. At least she got that right." Memories of heavy sex with her flashed through my mind – the feel of her pussy and the passionate moans. She had been good, even if not the perfect woman.
But, at least she's out having fun with Leo. Thank god he came along to occupy her and take her off my nerves. With her having fun, getting dated and fucked after, at least she wouldn't have me to blame. In fact, she should be thanking me.
As far as I was concerned, Leo could fuck her senseless. My hand stroked harder on my erection. "Go ahead, Leo. Fuck her all you want. Maybe she could use a little happiness in her life. Take her, even, if it would make both of you happy." Then I can be alone…
~ ~ ~
My wife didn't come home that night. I didn't care; I was busy sleeping. But awakening a few times in my room I realized I hadn't heard the door on the other side of the wall. I rolled over and went to sleep each time.
Morning was me making breakfast alone. So this is what it will be like? I can get used to this. I was making oatmeal when the door opened and a rushing Frannie blew into the apartment. She spared me not a word.
Oh yeah, hi to you, too.
I heard her run the shower in the bathroom and thump around for clothes faster than I'd ever heard. Glancing at the clock, I knew she'd be late for work.
I set out a cup of coffee for her that would be cool enough to drink when she came out; there wasn't time to eat.
When she did come out, looking refreshed but hurried, I indicated the cup. "Coffee for you."
A quick glance from her seemed soft, but then she dismissed me. "Thanks." She gulped it down and put the cup in the dishwasher. "Late…"
I watched her go. Leo, you bad boy.
~ ~ ~
Leo leaned on the wall outside, toying with a cigarette.
I tossed the shreddings and nodded to him.
He was lifting an unlit cigarette with shaking hands and placing it in his mouth. Just as quickly, he snatched it out and lowered it. His eyes were glazed. "This is tougher than I thought."
"Trying to quit?"
His nod was herky-jerky.
I said, "Why not try cutting back instead of quitting cold turkey?"
He looked at me with haunted eyes that told me he desperately wanted to but dared not. "I can't. I need to quit."
I made a face. "For Frannie?"
"Look, guy, I know you hate her and all—"
I was offended. "Hate her? I don't hate her."
"Not according to her. Anyway—"
"She thinks I hate her?" What?
"Yeah, for like several years now."
"Nonsense."
"She seems to think so. Says you can't stand the sight of her."
I leaned against the wall next to him, feeling all philosophical, and stared off over the roofs of the housing tract behind our strip mall. "Nah, not like that. I just prefer blondes."
He grunted. "She's a beautiful woman."
I shrugged. "If you say so."
He shook his head. "I can't believe you, dude. I'd be so lucky if she was mine…" Something went unsaid.
I looked at him. "What?"
He pursed his lips. "She, um, mentioned leaving you."
I looked back over the housing tract. "If that's what she wants, not a problem with me."
"Well, I'll be glad to step in…"
My thoughts drifted, finding at last what I wanted: freedom. I could do whatever I wanted in the apartment. I could live the life I always wanted… Except not with Caitlyn. Maybe another blonde…
"You two were a horrible match-up."
At that, I quirked my mouth in irritation. "It wasn't that bad…"
"Oh come on. I've never seen a guy hate his wife more than you. Were you drunk when you got married or something? Forced?"
I was shaking my head. "Nah. It was nice at first. Maybe not the best it could be if she was blonde, but we had fun times."
He shook his head with more emphasis than I had mine. "You can be such a dick, dude."
I turned my head to him and frowned. "What? I don't always take that as a compliment."
Leo gave me a suffering look. "I didn't intend it as one."
"Then what are you going on about?"
"You're so superficial all you can see is blonde?"
Superficial? "What the fuck?"
"Tell me I'm wrong."
"You're wrong."
Leo coughed, fiddling with the cigarette
in angry moves. "So it's all great and shit, but because she's not blonde, you hate her. Tell me that's not superficial as all fuck."
I blinked several times, trying to figure which silly point to dissect and dismantle.
He didn't give me the opportunity. "She deserves way the fuck better than you. Just saying."
I laughed, instantly relieved that he had presented an argument I could easily eradicate. I had the bigger dick, the better hair and probably better looks. "Oh, like who? You?"
He thrust his chin up. "Yeah, like me."
"Do you even know what she likes?"
"I can learn."
"I've got years on you. What does she like in her coffee? Do you know?"
"What's that got to do with anything? You don't want her."
I drew breath to refute, but knew I couldn't. I knew I was trying to score man-points, but not getting any. Simple fact was, he was right. Despite the fun we had experienced early on, my boner-for-blondes attitude eventually won out. I said airily, "Hey, whatever works."
He nodded. "And that's why she'll be leaving you. At least you'll both be happy."
A return to happiness… But Frannie and I had been happy before. Laughing and living, we had learned each other so completely that we fit together like two matched puzzle pieces. What had happened to that happiness? Had it really all evaporated because I couldn't handle having a brunette instead of a blonde?
Leo mumbled, "You're a cold-hearted bastard, Wolf. You treated her like total garbage."
Have I? I rather viewed the deterioration of our marriage as a gradual easing that spared her hurt. I could safely wither the fun we had until she wanted to leave and we would part as easily as two slices of cold pie. "I cared…"
Leo laughed loud.
I did. Or I would've just handed her papers while we were happy. I sighed. Was the man right? Had my slow method made it worse?
CHAPTER 8
I texted my wife.
Me: Should I make dinner?
Francine: for you…going to Leo's
That made things easy: less to cook, less mess.
Later, at home in the kitchen making my dinner, she came into the apartment and dropped her purse.
She leaned and stretched – her move to settle nerves and relieve stress. "Sometimes I hate my work."
I grinned. "Did they move Blaire with her BO problem back over to you?"
She blew out a harsh breath. "Yes." Her face wore a look of disgust.
"You should take her out back and hose her down like a bad dog."
She giggled. "I wish. Well, I need to get ready."
I watched her vanish down the hall. I felt bad for her; Blaire had made her life hell at work for two years until Frannie had successfully maneuvered a change in desk and office arrangements and finally separated the offensive woman from her.
I paused my stirring of soup. Am I another Blaire to her? Was Leo telling the truth? Does she really think I hate her?
I went back to stirring, then switched off the burner. I poured the soup into my bowl and sat.
Certainly she doesn't think so. I've dealt with her perfectly, I'm certain of that.
She came out a half hour later, freshly showered. She sounded disgusted. "It's almost as if her stink clings. Makes my skin crawl."
I looked up at her from my recliner. Freshly made up with just a hint here and there of lipstick and eyeliner, she looked more than familiar. "You look nice."
She was shaking her head and then stopped, giving me a look as if I had emitted a foul odor. "What?"
I pursed my lips. "You look nice."
She coughed.
I cleared my throat. "I was wondering…"
She sat on the edge of the couch. "Hmm?"
It was a little conversational tradition we had that indicated to each other that we wanted to talk seriously.
I said, "I haven't been hell to you like Blaire, have I?" I was confident her answer would be no.
She coughed again in surprise. "Why is this coming up now?"
"Leo said you'd be leaving; I was just wondering if our parting was easy."
"Easy? Easy?" She leaned toward me, looking at me with focus. "I'm wondering why we didn't part sooner. Yes, if you want to call it that, you've been hell to me."
I was floored.
She shook her head. "Living with someone that hates you isn't at the top of any woman's bucket list."
"I don't hate you—"
Her raucous laughter was sharp and derisive. "Oh, please."
"I'm serious."
She scowled at me and sighed. I could see the look of resignation on her face that said she knew I was being honest. She looked so vulnerable sitting alone on the couch that I got up and went to sit next to her.
She leaned back from me, giving me a suspicious look.
I said, "I really want you to know that if you've thought that, it isn't the case."
She coughed.
I pursed my lips. "I'm sorry."
"You're what?" The tone of disbelief speared my soul.
"Frannie." I placed my hand on her soft knee. "I'm sorry. I never meant for you to think I hated you."
Her eyebrows drew down. "Ignoring me day after day for years… Exactly what was I supposed to think?"
I removed my hand and shrugged. "I guess I was trying to make it easy for you to decide to leave."
Her pained look of confusion was followed by a shake of her head. "I was here for you and us every day. I made you meals, did your laundry—"
"I know, and you were wonderful doing it. I'm sorry you think that way."
She stood. "I need to get out of here."
I remained quiet.
She shook her head. "I think divorce is the right thing to do; I'll start it."
I didn't want it to end on a bad note like this. "I didn't want to make you unhappy."
She put a fist to her hip and her voice shook. "The most happiness you've given me these last few years is pushing me onto Leo." Water was in her eyes.
"Well… I did something right?" I felt helpless and ashamed.
She turned abruptly and stomped from the room. She came out later and scooped up her purse. She did not look at me.
I saw the hurt in her face and it stabbed at my shame, over and over. "Hey…"
She didn't turn to me. "What?"
"You really do look nice. Leo's getting something special."
The slam of the door was my answer.
~ ~ ~
Staring at the monitor for hours and seeing Caitlyn go about her duties gave me much time to think. Had I built up egotistical expectations based on what I wanted the girl to be? Maybe I would ask Leo about that.
I checked the clock; he would be out there in another twenty-five minutes.
Could I have been so wrong about the girl? I had never read women so wrong before… I could sense changes in Frannie's mood perfectly; what had gone wrong with Caitlyn? Was I blinded by hair color? Was she really a tongue-sister or was she turned off that I was married? Or was she telling the truth that she had just been curious and once was enough? Had she not liked my method? My technique?
Frannie used to love my technique – said it was the best she'd ever had. Why didn't Caitlyn see it that way? Were women so completely different that something stunning to one can be stale to another?
I leaned back in my chair, averting my eyes from Caitlyn's ass. Frannie and I really clicked in the beginning. She loved being with me, so I know I'm not deficient. I glanced back at the monitor. So Caitlyn is different. Wants something else. Maybe something more effeminate? And I'm not effeminate. I can't be what she wants; I can only be the alpha-male I am.
I sighed. In all the stories, the alpha male knows everything, is cock-sure, and never makes a mistake. Here I was, alpha-male out the ass, and totally stupefied and wrong on everything.
I had veered from something satisfying and comfortable in my mind and life to something where the familiarity had given way to my fantasies of a bl
onde.
I glanced at the monitor, looking at the back of her head. Would Caitlyn have melded to me as perfectly as Frannie had? Other than begging for my cock, would she really have been otherwise… I leaned forward suddenly, heart skipping a beat or two.
~ ~ ~
I emptied my trash out back, though I didn't have any shredding today. It just gave me an excuse to stand around and talk to Leo.
I nodded at him and motioned to his unlit cigarette. "How's that going?"
His look was haunted. "Like dragging my ballsack over a mile of broken glass."
I chuckled, but turned serious and cleared my throat. "Hey, um…"
He looked at me curiously.
I realized I was using the little tradition with him that I had with Frannie. I chuckled again and shook my head. "I wanted to ask your opinion on something."
"Yeah?"
"Do you think I'm egotistical?" I wanted to hear his denial.
He barked a laugh. "Are you serious?"
"Yeah…"
"Egotistical? No."
I let out a silent sigh of total relief. I knew I was right.
He wasn't done. "No, you're like a total egomaniac – make the North Korean leader look like a shy guy."
I coughed, chuckled, and snorted. It came out in a strangled mixture of noise. "What?"
"Hey, dude, no offense; you asked. So, just saying." He waved his cigarette around.
What does Frannie see in you? Is it just you have brown hair and are thus a better match? Is that about as stupid as me thinking my blonde hair required a blonde woman?
CHAPTER 9
I was at home making dinner for two. I didn't know if she would be home or not and I didn't trust myself to text her. In truth, I felt as if I was in the womb of confusion. What had went so drastically wrong with my life that had turned me from enjoying Frannie as a wife – even if we had married for convenience – to despising her presence?
Was it really her misshapen lips? Were they really misshapen? Or was I so familiar with them that they had annoyed me into thinking they were malformed? Were her tits really too flat and large? Would they be any different if they were pointier? Hung more? Rode higher? I shook my head.
Frannie's Affair and Awakening Page 4
