tagIncest/TabooI Blame It All On My Wife

I Blame It All On My Wife

byPariahSolo©

AKA Don't Stand Too Close to Me

My wife is perverted, sadly not in a sexual way. I call her perversion the 'Flowers in the Attic' syndrome, but a co-worker explained to me that description wasn't entirely accurate because while my wife was interested in secrets that families, especially prominent families kept, she is more interested in families that practice the various 'cides' in life; fratricide, patricide, matricide and any other ones that involves family murdering family she can find.

When we were first dating, she kept this secret obsession of hers from me and only told me on our wedding night. I was to rue the day, well it was actually night she told me this because for our honeymoon we were taking a driving tour of the bed and breakfasts in New England, a journey in which she was incredibly excited about completing she had said when we were making our wedding plans. She told me that first night because the bed and breakfast we were staying in was the site of a grisly murder. That first night, I laid in bed by myself in disbelief while my darling newlywed wife spent the next six hours exploring the home we had intruded upon, looking for whatever clues or sights she was interested in.

We did not consummate our wedding vows until the fourth night when a storm precipitated that we stop at a local motel early to avoid a washed out back road.

Sadly, it has been that way ever since. Oh, we settled down in our roles as husband and wife easily enough. We have had plenty of good times and our share of bad. That first year sex was phenomenal; the only time my wife denied my urges for her was during her monthly cycle or when we would go on vacation, which we did a lot; a long weekend here and a long weekend there. Each time to visit the site of another macabre location she had found out about or had an inkling to visit. With those visits, my wife was just too busy for her always randy husband.

Yes, apparently like most marriages sex in our spousal bed did not hold up as strong as my wife's obsession. After the first year we slowed to sex about once a week instead of every day or two. A year or so later and it was once every two weeks and then three weeks. By our fifth year we reached our lowest plateau; we didn't have sex for over nine months and it wasn't because my wife was pregnant. She hates the idea of having rug-rats; always piping off about how if she ever had kids she would definitely kill them. No, my wife is too selfish to have kids.

At one time I thought I wanted kids but after my fifth year as a math teacher at the middle school; I have become quite content with visiting my siblings whenever they have a new baby around. Much easier for me to get my 'baby fix' and get to keep my sanity, too.

My frustrations with our marriage lead us to going to counseling, which my wife reluctantly agreed to. Agreed to with the stipulation that we could not talk about her obsession; it seems my wife was a tad embarrassed with her favorite pastime. She has her select friends and of course the occupants (if any) of the residences we visit, but to everyone else, she puts up a façade of a dreary life of a bored working wife. After our third visit, I figured because of the boundaries my wife was insisting on enforcing, the counseling was a lost cause so when she offered the peace pipe of giving more action in the horizontal bump arena, I signed on and we never went back.

She kept her word about the sex; sort of. We do it now about once a month, normally a week after her cycle ends when she is the horniest. It is good sex, real good, just not enough. So I do what those husbands in my situation that doesn't have the moral fiber of someone willing to act like a priest; well a legit priest. You know the type this should enter the pearly gates after they leave this plain of existence. Shirley there is one or two of them out there? I surf porn. God Bless the creation of the internet and Al Gore too.

I used to have a nice porn collection on VHS and magazines. The wife would bitch at me a little but all I had to do is ask if she wanted to go to the bedroom so she could do her 'wifely duties' to shut her up. If I happen to be in a real pissy mood I would slam her about her own kinky obsession. That would get her running to her attic office in a huff, slamming every door along the way. I would have to sleep on the couch for a couple of days but I tend to get better sleep on the couch anyway. During the wintertime the wife's feet are like ice cubes and she insists on intertwining them with my legs. Frigid bitch my wife is.

So again we are on our way to a new locale and a new family murder site. I tried to get out of going on the trips but between the coke bottle glasses my wife wears and her piss poor night vision (yes, I am kinky, I love the way she looks in them), her subpar, well let's be honest, her crappy driving skills and the begging she does before each trip, I always seem to buckle under and agree to chauffeur her ever enlarging ass around.

That is not true, her ass isn't expanding, her ass is by far her best physical feature, it has such a curve to it, and it just begs to be squeezed. Sadly it is not fair game for spankings and fucking because that would, you know, hurt. Bitch. No her butt is still pleasing to the eyes, but her belly isn't. It doesn't hang down to her knees but it does stick out farther than her hand sized boobies. Her boobies are unique though. I have never seen any other like them; even on the internet. Her nipples are inverted. So of course she is very self conscious of them. They work fine, if she is horny or more often, cold, they puff up and stick out real nice. Yes, my wife has innie nipples vice outies. Deal with it. I like them just fine thank you.

We arrive at the Conrad Bed and Breakfast just before 5pm, enough time to get settled in our room and go down for dinner. There is some real perks for me to go on these trips. Home cooked meals definitely rank up there. I barely know how to heat water and the wife; she is good for burning water. Terribly cooks, both of us. So we eat out a lot or eat frozen pre-made meals. But when we travel? Nothing but the best home cooked meals for us. Yum!

As soon as the meal is consumed the wife disappears and I don't think nothing of it. Another perk from all of our travels is that I get to see all of the local sights, specifically the architecture. Why is that important to a math teacher you ask? Simple, I have a degree in architecture, not teaching. When the wife and I moved to that po-dunk town that we call home in Pennsylvania, it was under the pretense of me getting a job in an architect firm there. Well, our timing sucked and that firm shut its doors the week we arrived. So did we move back to Virginia? Oh, no, the wife found out about multiple murders and secrets in the surrounding hills and we just had to stay. Besides, her new job as a CPA was still there for her to go to.

After confirming that there was no jobs for me as an architect, I sat on my ass for a couple of weeks before boredom set, more rotten timing because that is when school was getting ready to start up and the middle school needed a substitute math teacher. By the end of the first quarter I was brought on full time and have been there ever since. And yet I still dabble in the architect biz; not because it is in my blood. Drawing the plans for doors and windows is boring shit, but I do have my own dreams. I want to build the perfect house, well I prefect for me, so while the wife is gallivanting around I go look at old houses, maybe take a picture or two for reference when I get back to the house and my auto-Cad program.

One trick I learned in our travels was to call the local realtors, in the small towns we constantly seem to visit there is one or at most two realtors. I give them a song and dance about possibly looking to buy one of their quaint houses for sale and they are all too eager to take me on a tour. I quickly learned which realtor knew about the wares they were pushing by asking about one subject: molding. Those that knew molding generally knew about all of the other small intricate questions I would follow with. If they didn't know molding, I wouldn't ask much and try to give them a vibe that they were blowing smoke up my ass.

The two mornings after our arrival and the wife actually joined me for breakfast. There are times where her subject matter will totally engross her even to the point where she will stop eating. It used to worry and bug me until I decided to see just how long she could be enticed. On that trip she must have found a gold vein because for three days she didn't come back to the B&B. Yes, I was worried. Jealous too. When she finally made an appearance she immediately waylaid me like her mouth was a machine gun. None stop did the words rapidly flow from her mouth. The dutiful husband that I am, I tuned her out. She was fine.

She joined us because she was frustrated. There was a murder/suicide with she was sure a dark secret behind it but she struck out. No one in this small burg was speaking to her. This wasn't the first time she had struck out trying to track down one of her killers but normally there is always some busy body who just loves to gossip; not so this town. No one will even acknowledge that something violent like a murder even happened, let alone give out the ghastly details. When the phone in the hallway rang, my wife looked up expectantly; as was her practice, she was handing out cards from the B&B telling everyone she could be reached there.

When the proprietor spoke out my last name, I couldn't help but smile in glee as my wife slunked down into her chair; that will teach the childish thing to think she was a 'modern woman' and didn't need to take my last name. Hell, the silly goose didn't even hyphenate it. Score one for the home team. I too gave out the B&B business card. Just one, to the local realtor whose fake blonde hair and her fake tits were matched by her fake knowledge of the houses she was pimping.

"Mr. Meadows?"

"Yes, speaking."

"I just got a call from a local who needs to sell her house quick and I immediately thought of you."

"Excellent. What time can I see it?"

"Well, that is the problem; would next weekend be good for you?" Uh, no you stupid bitch, I am only in town for one more day, I told you that already.

"Not really, I leave tomorrow. I don't know when I will be back this way."

"But this house is really worth it!" Then why does she want to sell her house quick?

"Sorry, today or tomorrow morning, that is your limit."

"But I am going out of town tonight; I have an appointment in Whitherspoon." And that means what to me your vaporous whore?

"Do you have to be there when I see the house?" Not that you know anything about architecture, let alone molding.

"Uhmmm." She hemmed and hawed for a few more minutes before asking if she could call me back.

I had just finished my second plate of Banana Foster on a Raft, damn good food but I knew I would pay for it later when the golden moron called back.

"Mr. Meadow, I talked to Mrs. Maloney and she agreed that you could come by this evening when she returns home."

"Evening? Don't you think the dark would impede my view of the house?" Of course you don't, you flaxen hazed bimbette.

"I am sorry Mr. Meadow's but that is when she will be returning back to her domicile today." Ohh, was that your big word for the day? Let me guess, you have a calendar on your desk that has the 'word of the day', don't cha'? "And she leaves early in the morning herself, so tomorrow is out, I am afraid." Wow, you were able to add two plus two? Brilliant!

"Well, I do have a couple of places that was recommended I give a look, so yeah, tonight is fine. What time is she home?"

"She said that anytime after 9pm would be fine."

"Okay, tell her I will be there."

After Ms. Know-nothing gave me the address, I went to go look at a Victorian that wasn't up for sale but maintained a public garden next to it. I figure no one would yell at me for looking more at the building than the flowers. Maybe I can worm my way into the house with a bathroom break. In a lot of older houses, the molding in their bathrooms is first rate.

I was not happy with the sunset at 7:55pm, no city lights made this town dark. I knew I wasn't going to be able to see shit on the outside of the house, so I went hoping it had some decent molding.

When I knocked on that door, I got no reply. There was a light on in the back of the ground floor and at least three lights on upstairs but no one deemed to answer my call. The house was a simple A frame on the side of a hill. I was sure it was picturesque and maybe I would swing by on the way out of town in the morning to see it. The front porch seemed nice, I just wished they would have left the front porch light on so I could get a good look!

In my frustration I hammered on the door one more time, figuring I would wait a minute, two at max before going back to my B&B for some of her delicious smelling apple crumb pie. As I was about to turn away from the door, I saw movement in the light from the back room, so I knocked again. After two dead bolts, the door cracked open.

"Yes?"

"Mrs. Maloney?"

"Who wants to know?"

"My name is Gerry Meadow's; I had an appointment setup with your realtor for me to see the house tonight."

"Oh shit. I mean, er, I am sorry."

"That is okay."

"I had a real rough day and all I wanted to do is soak in the hot tub and I completely forgot about your appointment."

I smiled, nodding, "I completely understand Mrs. Maloney. Perhaps we should cancel?" I really wasn't that keen on seeing the house anyway.

"No, please. I am sorry. Now is as good as any to see the house." With that she threw open the door and reached forward to grab my hand, apparently afraid I was going to run off. Even with just the dim light from the back room, I could make out that she was in a robe and she had her hair rapped in a towel. Well, if she was eager, I could make the most of if. Sometimes I felt like a ham lying to people because I wanted to see the inside of their house, but mostly I didn't care. Tonight was definitely a case of the latter.

"Well, if you insist. Do you think we could start with the porch?"

"The porch?"

"Yes, could you possibly turn on the light?"

"Oh, I am sorry, but the light is burnt out and since my husband died there has been no one to do the odd jobs around the house like replacing a burned out bulb."

"I can understand that, how about the front room then?"

Mrs. Maloney flipped the master switch and the over head light blared on. Blinking, I entered the A Frame house but not before checking out the front porch. Yes, it was very nice, except for the porch light that hung from the ceiling. Burnt out? No, shattered? By a rock? Definitely. Why did she lie? She really must be desperate to sell.

The front room was actually a great room dividing in three by two partition walls, one in the form of a book shelf four feet high that bisected the long room in half, separating the huge front sitting room; TV room really but however there was no TV, the TV case was empty. The second partition was a hung dry wall that split the back half of the room in the middle along the long axis of the great room to separate the dining room with the living room. Someone (not always the current resident) did this to break the two rooms apart but it was a mistake because the living room held a massive fire place that took up the entire back wall. When I looked into the dining room it was obvious that side covered up the slate stones of the fire place on the other side of the partition wall. Definitely a shame.

I, like always, ignored the furniture and concentrated on the building itself. Rustic, stained wood paneling, probably pine, except for the slate fireplace and drywall in the dining room. What was our friendly neighborhood retail tramp thinking? There is nothing special about this house.

When I went to examine the slate fireplace; a true piece of work, but out of place in this simple A Frame and its stained pine, Mrs. Maloney excused herself to get comfortable so I was surprised that when she returned, she was still wearing her burgundy robe and only the towel on her head was gone allowing her still damp blond air (this one not from a bottle) to hang limply on her shoulders. This was my first good look at her and while she wasn't drop dead gorgeous her face was not with out merit.

And then she lit up. Gahh, I won't be here long. Call me a prude or a priss, I don't fucking care but smoking is disgusting. Nothing cool about staining your teeth and fingernails brown or your clothes reeking of the evil stench. Thanks to the cartons and cartons that my mother smoked, if I am in a smoke filled area I will start to gag. So you still think it is funny, my dear old mom to blow smoke in my face? Oh that is right, you can't answer because the smoke took your lungs from you. You didn't have a living will dear old mom so when it was my decision if we should continue to pay for you to be kept alive by an iron lung I had no regrets in saying no. Pissed my siblings off but I didn't care and I was the eldest. Yay me for being the first born.

I must of made a face because Mrs. Maloney quickly stamped the fag out (yes, the wife had to visit some of the killers in the English countryside too and ever since then I take great joy in calling those nasty tobacco aroma makers fags, especially to my neighbors. I had to stop using that term at the middle school when I went up on sexual harassment charges, charges which were dropped I might add).

"Sorry, one of my vices. Stressful days like this and they really do help." And I don't care you weak willed floozy.

"Thank you any way. Now, the rest of the house?" I inquired because the sooner I was out of here the better.

"Yes, this way is the kitchen and stair well that leads to the bedrooms upstairs and the basement."

"And how many bathrooms does it have?"

"Only one but it is basement..." The basement? Who the fuck puts the only bathroom in the basement? I guess I can forget about the molding there. "But it is a really nice bathroom. It has a hot tub and everything."

In the kitchen I was again disappointed, while the kitchen was very functional, it maintained the rustic look as the rest of the house and implemented none of the modern conveniences I was hoping to see. By this time Mrs. Maloney was flipping on all of the light switches which included the back porch and the prominent hot tub on its pedestal.

"Uhmm, you said there was a hot tub downstairs?"

"Yes, we have two of them." Alll-righty.

The stairway was a thing of beauty; metal slats circling up and down a central pole while the walls were more of the slate stone as the fire place. Rustic? Yes, but I liked the way it looked. Without thinking I pulled out my camera and heard a deep gasp from Mrs. Maloney behind me.

"Is there something amiss?"

"No one said anything about pictures being taken!"

"I am sorry, I should have asked, but this stairwell is a thing of beauty and I wanted to take a picture to show my wife." When she didn't relax her pose, I put the camera away and looked again at the stairway to memorize as much as possible.

Mrs. Maloney took me upstairs to a landing that had closets and cabinets on both sides of the wall before emptying into an open bedroom, whose bed which was occupied.

"MOM!"

"Jezebel, don't yell. We have guest."

The girl in the bed had a very startled look on her face as she yanked the blanket up to her neck. I promptly ignored the girl; one thing my teaching at a middle school taught me was that with girls in an awkward situation, ignoring the girl promotes the awkwardness away. The room was the same as downstairs, rustic looking pine paneling. Opposite of the walls with the doors the outside walls had windows installed vertically into the angled roof. Instead of protruding out from the roof, the windows protruded inward with the interior walls built to line up with the windows, this alleviated much of the lost space due to the walls being angled steeply but also cut down on the size of the room, which was less than half of the width of the rooms downstairs.

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byPariahSolo© 10 comments/ 64905 views/ 9 favorites

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