by Matt Tims
“I was trying to do my job!” Ashley huffed, rolling her eyes in the family room entrance.
“Prancing around some pervert’s house dressed like a whore is your job now?” asked Jen.
“God, this is so unfair!” Ashley huffed.
“Grounded!” Jen announced. “One week!”
Ashley’s jaw dropped. “For what!? This is such bullshit!”
“Two weeks!” Jen exclaimed.
Ashley was stunned. “I didn’t even do anything!”
“You swore,” Jen informed her. “Keep it up and it’ll be three.”
“But you swear all the time!” Ashley shouted, throwing her hands into the air in frustration. “What the hell, Mom!?”
Jen took a step closer to Ashley, lowering her voice to a growl. “I can swear all I want because this is my fuckin’ house, and you’ll live by my fuckin’ rules. And if you have a fuckin’ problem with that, then you can spend the rest of the fuckin’ year in your fuckin’ room.”
Ashley turned her head to the side and screamed, “Ahhhhhhhhhh!!!”
“Three weeks!” Jen loudly declared as her daughter hiked into the kitchen and stomped to the stairs. “Go ahead and say something else! I’ll make it a month!”
She listened to Ashley’s angry footsteps climb the steps, the sound of her bedroom door slamming shut ending the chaos that had just ensued. She couldn’t believe it, but she needed her husband. She desperately needed Tom.
10:22 PM.
Headlights appeared through the windows while Jen sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. For the first time in at least a decade, she was impatiently anticipating the arrival of the man she once loved. Heavy footsteps trudged into the kitchen a minute later.
“Oh, hey,” Tom said.
“Sit down,” Jen told him, not in the mood for small talk. “There’s something you need to hear.”
Tom took a seat across the table from his wife. “Is something wrong?”
Something was wrong alright. Something was wrong with their sex life, their marriage, and their lack of love for each other, but there was no point in having that discussion now. It was time to talk about Ashley.
“Our new neighbor hired Ashley to clean his house.”
Tom nodded. “Okay.”
“And I went over there today to check on her,” Jen said.
Tom continued to look on, confused by whatever point was attempting to be made.
“She was dressed like a french maid,” she revealed.
He didn’t react.
“Like a slutty french maid,” Jen clarified herself, expecting a more passionate reaction from him. “Her butt was practically hanging out, and half her breasts were exposed. It was ridiculous!”
“He made her wear this?”
“Not exactly…” she faintly answered.
“Not exactly?” he asked. “What does that mean?”
“No, he didn’t make her wear it,” she huffed. “But he told her there was a cleaning outfit upstairs. He pretty much coerced her!”
“How’d he coerced her?” Tom inquired.
“By implying that a maid costume was part of the job!” Jen yelled.
His confusion had yet to dissipate. “But he never said it was, right?”
Jen was stunned. He seriously wasn’t coming to her defense on this? Aren’t husbands always supposed to have their wife’s backs? She couldn’t even get support on the issue of Ashley dressing like a slut for their dickhead neighbor?
“Honey, Ashley’s a grown woman,” he said. “She isn’t a child. If she decides to dress a certain way, then that’s her decision.”
“Why are you siding with him!?”
“Siding with who?” he asked.
“Our asshole neighbor!” she shouted. “You’re taking his side!”
“I’m not taking anyone’s side,” Tom calmly told her. “I just don’t think it’s right to get mad at our daughter for making her own decisions.”
“She’s your daughter, Thomas!” Jen tried to point out the obvious, running her hands through her hair in frustration. “You’re supposed to protect her!”
“She isn’t a kid anymore, Jen,” he rebutted. “She’s eighteen.”
Jen sighed, “Unfuckinbelievable…”
“Do you have to swear all the time?” he asked. “It comes off so trashy.”
She began to seethe. That’s what he’d decided to take a stance on? “Trashy? Trashy!? The neighbor had our daughter parading around his house like a fuckin’ whore, but I’m the trashy one!?”
“What do you want me to do, Jen? Go fight the guy?” he sarcastically asked.
“Do something!” she begged. “Protect your daughter!”
“We aren’t cavemen,” Tom rolled his eyes. “We live in a civilized society. Our daughter made a decision, and it’s really none of our business.”
She couldn’t even find the words to respond. How had she’d been so wrong? She was positive that Tom would come to his family’s defense; but once again, he’d let her down.
“Are we done here?” he questioned.
She nodded, depressed and defeated.
He hopped out of his seat and disappeared into the basement.
Jen continued to sit in her chair and stare at the oven off in the distance. She couldn’t even get her husband’s support on this. Not only did she run their household and take care of everything, but now it was her sole responsibility to look out for their daughter as well? What exactly was the point of being married to Tom? He couldn’t even make her cum! The least he should be able to do was look after his own child! She just wanted to scream.
Well, it was all on her now. She had to play the role of dad as well. She needed to go confront this piece of shit who’d moved in next door before he did something else to Ashley.
Chapter 6 – Guidance
One Week Later. 6:24 PM.
Jen was a mess. She had no idea how to approach the next door neighbor; and to make matters worse, Ashley hadn’t spoken to her in a week. A divorce would most likely be in her future if this was a sign of things to come after her daughter went off to college. She was so lonely. There was no one to talk to or gossip with. Her life had become a boring routine which consisted of going to work, hitting the gym a few days a week, and finally coming home to an empty house.
She’d almost texted Anthony a handful of times over the past seven days—including sending him a picture of her taking the majority of her long purple dildo down her throat. Sure, it looked ridiculous when she viewed the image, but she just wanted to impress someone. Was it bad that she wanted someone to be thinking about her? What was so taboo about desiring a powerful man to call her a good girl after following an order? Was there anything wrong with being submissive?
Not only were none of her personal desires being met, but she still had to go next door and tell this asshole what the deal was. That was the job of a man! It was something her husband should’ve already done! God, everything was so frustrating!
It finally came to her: keep it simple. She would go next door and ring the doorbell, tell Ryan she’d call the cops if he ever talked to Ashley again, and come back home. Oh, and she would get an apology too. That’s for damn sure! She grabbed her winter coat and headed out the door.
Be firm. Be demanding. Tell this asshole how it’s going to be! You’re the one in charge, not this creepy pervert. You’re a strong, brave, independent woman. Show this dickhead that you deserve just as much respect as any man!
Jen rang the doorbell and her heart swiftly fluttered.
Ryan answered the door in only a pair of orange athletic shorts. A noticeable sweat dripped down his toned, lean, shirtless body as he used a towel to dry off his thick brown hair. Ashley was right about him having abs—abs and veins. Thick, prominent veins ran down his arms and biceps, only emphasized by his chiseled and muscular chest. He was perfect.
“Jen?”
She snapped to attention, flustered and blushing. “Um…h-hi-hey
.”
The businessman smiled before taking a step to the side. “Come on in. It’s cold out there.”
She quickly scurried into his house and stood on the gray entryway rug.
“Just finished a workout downstairs,” he told her, shutting the door and making his way into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.
She kicked off her shoes and followed him into the kitchen. “I wanted to talk to you.”
He filled a clear glass with water and leaned against the edge of the marble countertop, waiting for her to divulge whatever was on her mind.
“I would like an apology,” she said.
Ryan finished his long sip before glancing in her direction. “An apology?”
“Yes, an apology.”
“For what?” he asked, clearly amused from what he was hearing.
“For the way you took advantage of my daughter,” she told him.
He walked over to the table and took a seat, pointing to the chair next to him for his guest to sit. “Take a seat.”
Jen followed his order.
“How about you tell me what’s really going on?” he said.
“Excuse me?” she asked.
“With you,” he specified. “What’s really going on with you?”
“This isn’t about me,” she said. “It’s about my daughter.”
“When was the last time someone talked about you?”
This wasn’t the conversation she’d expected to be having. “What?”
“With your husband, or your daughter, or your friends,” he said, his hand resting calmly next to his glass of water. “When was the last time the conversation was about you?”
Jen thought to herself for a few moments before shrugging her shoulders.
“Remember last week when I told you that you needed guidance?” he questioned.
She nodded, those words causing her skin to tingle once more. This man possessed an arrogance that she’d never been privy to before, but there was something warm and captivating about him at the same time. She was experiencing a cavalcade of emotions.
“Here we are, a week after you stormed out of my house, furious at me over what your daughter was wearing,” he said. “Yet your husband never confronted me and now you’re here, sitting at my kitchen table, asking for an apology.”
“Which I still want,” she said, her eyes refusing to shy away from the stud whose body still had her a bit flustered. She was successfully hiding her lust.
Ryan let out a soft, almost arrogant laugh after taking another sip of water. “I’m not going to apologize to you.”
“Why not?”
“You think you want an apology?” he asked with a slight grin.
“I know I want one,” she nodded confidently.
Ryan slowly shook his head. “Jen, you don’t have the slightest clue as to what you want.”
Her eyebrows perked up.
“And you want to know why?” he asked.
She waited for him to reveal the answer.
“Because you don’t have anyone guiding you,” he said. “Are you familiar with the concept of hypergamy?”
She shook her head no.
“Hypergamy is the notion that people are always in pursuit of the wealthiest, best-looking, highest status person they can attain—whether they’re married or not,” he filled her in. “It can be wealth, looks, status, or power, but people are always looking to trade up. Especially women.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Jen replied dismissively, rolling her eyes in the process.
“Is it?”
“Yeah, what about love, loyalty, respect, and children?” she voiced her thoughts. “Those mean a lot more than money and looks.”
Ryan silently agreed with a nod. “Absolutely. It’s a rather outdated concept, isn’t it? You’re a working woman with a good job,” he stated while holding out his hand to acknowledge her presence. “You’re not some housewife without an education or the ability to support herself.”
“So, what’s your point then?” she questioned harshly.
“My point is while women have shifted their desires and what they value in men as we’ve progressed as a society, some things can’t be changed.”
Her brow furrowed. “Like what?”
“Your primal urges,” he answered.
“My primal urges?” she laughed, not sure as to why she was still entertaining his nonsense.
Ryan took another sip of water before setting his glass down on the table again, still shirtless. “You see, Jen, all women want the same thing.”
“And what’s that, Mr. Know-It-All?” she inquired.
“To submit to a man she deems better than herself.”
Jen audibly gasped. What in the world had he just said to her? “That’s the most sexist thing I’ve ever heard!”
“Is it?” he asked, the calm tone to his voice never swaying. “You’re not attracted to men you deem better than you?”
“Better than me? And what qualifies a man as better than me?”
“It’s different for every woman,” Ryan announced. “For some it’s success. For others it’s power, or intelligence, or sense of humor, or physical prowess. No woman has the same list of things that makes her tick, but every woman has something that gets her going. Every woman gets off on the idea of submitting to a man whom she looks up to.”
“This is asinine,” she groaned.
“What type of man do you fantasize about?”
She wasn’t about to answer that. “That’s none of your business.”
He pointed his finger at her and smirked. “My point exactly.”
“What point?” she asked, not following.
“The answer wasn’t your husband,” he remarked. “Because like most women, you aren’t with a man you look up to.”
She shook her head, doing her best to show him that he wasn’t getting under her skin. “You don’t know the first thing about my husband.”
“Is he unpredictable, Jen? Does he keep you guessing? Do you feed off his drive and ambition?”
She peered down at the table.
“Not everyone can make six figures,” he went on. “Not everyone can have seven percent body fat or an amazing personality. Some men are just men. Average Joe’s, if you will. They aren’t particularly creative, intelligent, or good-looking; but every man—every real man—has drive. He wants to better himself. He desires to push himself. Whether it be his career, in the gym, with his hobbies, or whatever motivates him. Women see that, and they want a piece of it. They want part of a man who will take them along on a ride. They want to feed off his intensity and motivation. Jen, every woman wants a man like that. A man she can brag to her friends about. A man she looks up to the way she looked up to her father when she was a little girl.
“You’re delusional,” she said with a dismissive chuckle, glancing back toward the entranceway.
He lightly laughed as he leaned back in his chair with a confident smile. “The first door on your right when you walk upstairs is my bedroom. You’ll find a maid outfit in the closet.”
Her head snapped back to the table in an instant. She stared him stone-faced for close to thirty seconds. Slowly but surely, she began to crack until her roaring laughter filled the kitchen. “Oh my God, you can’t be serious!”
Ryan continue to gaze at her with the same self-assured look he had from the moment she’d stepped inside his house.
“You think—” she laughed, barely able to speak. “You think I’m going to clean your house!? Oh my God!”
He took another sip of water, tranquil as ever.
“You’re too much!” she continued to laugh before standing up and starting for the door. Suddenly, she stopped.
Eight Minutes Later.
She found herself standing in front of her neighbor’s upstairs bathroom mirror, adjusting her french maid outfit to show as much cleavage as possible. As good as she looked, the appearance of disbelief was vividly planted on her face. How’d this happ
en? Why didn’t she just walk out the front door? Why didn’t she leave his house and forget all about their ridiculous conversation? Why did she stop, journey upstairs without saying a word, and retrieve the maid outfit from his closet? And it was the same outfit she’d freaked out about Ashley wearing just a week ago! It was the very reason that her daughter was still grounded! She was such a hypocrite; but more importantly, why did all of this make her feel so good?
Was Ryan right? Were her primal urges something that she couldn’t control? Her neighbor was correct about one thing, and that was the fact that she didn’t look up to her husband in the least. In fact, she looked down on him, and she’d been beating herself up for being married to a man like Tom.
Her “soulmate” behaved like a child. He didn’t even remotely resemble the type of guy she used to dream of being with. Isn’t that what every woman wants? No matter how old they get, every female desires a strong male figure in their life. Someone who can lead and protect them. Someone they can look up to and respect. Someone who pushes them to better their own lives. Tom didn’t do that, but Ryan did.
Was it his house? Or maybe it was his success? Or what about his body? Yeah, his body definitely had something to do with it. She respected men who cared about their own health and well-being, but there was something more—something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
It was his confidence. She fed off it. The way he explained his thought process to her in such a calm, efficient demeanor was charming. He didn’t talk down to her, but he never showed a hint of weakness. Every speed bump she tossed in his way was smoothly bypassed. It was like his voice had a hold over her; and as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror, she finally realized something.
She was desperate for his approval.
One Hour Later.
She placed the last of her neighbor’s workout clothes in the basket next to the dryer after folding them. Over the past sixty minutes, Jen had vacuumed, swept, dusted, ironed Ryan’s work clothes, and folded the large load of laundry that had been sitting in the dryer machine; and each time she completed a task, she strutted toward the next one with a bounce in her step. Why? She couldn’t explain it. It just felt nice doing things for a man. She wanted Ryan to look at her with a sense of approval and to see her as an equal; but at the same time, she didn’t want to be his peer. She needed him to be better than her. He was right. She was seeking the approval of a real man.
