Author's Note: Although this story is set in my familiar North Florida universe in the recent past and has links to most of my other stories including When We Were Married, it is a complete stand alone piece. I hope the pace and mood of this one represents a break with WWWM, but WWWM 5A should be posting within two to three days. As always, I hope readers enjoy it.
Most of the times the bad things that are coming your way aren't really surprises. Oh, you can tell yourself that you were caught off guard, but if you look back, you can almost always realize there were signs, indications of something bad heading your way. You just didn't want to realize it -- or deal with it.
Tiffany and I -- I'm Bruce Davis -- had been married for 9 years when this story occurred, back in 2006. I'd like to say they were perfect years of marital contentment as we raised our two daughters, who were six and eight at the time that our marriage crashed and burned.
But they weren't. Like most real marriages, we had our ups and downs.
We had gotten married in a perfect storm of lust and young love just after graduating from the University of Florida. We'd met at a fraternity party. I was the frat boy and she the sorority hottie. She likes to tell everybody we dated for two weeks before anything happened. But really....
We had found an empty room upstairs. It was covered in coats and wraps and other crap, but it was empty. I pushed her in ahead of me and enjoyed the view of her tight ass in a skintight pair of shorts twitching ahead of me. When she turned to face me twin apples caught in a blue pullover attracted my eyes and hands.
"Did I say you could do that?" when she came up for breath after another record breaking kiss.
"Are you saying I can't?"
"I didn't say that. But you're moving awfully fast. I just met you an hour ago. You're going to think I'm the sluttiest tramp in the world."
"Oh, God, I hope so," I said as I caught both nipples in my hands and squeezed. She closed her eyes and moaned until I filled her mouth with my tongue again. We went over on the bed and I couldn't believe her small hand was already molded to my cock which was throbbing with every beat of my heart.
She pulled back so she could look me in the eye.
"I shouldn't do this, Bruce. God knows I want to. I don't know why. I haven't been able to take my eyes off you since I saw you. Do you believe in love at first sight?"
I'm not a total idiot so of course I said, "Yes," but then my conscience got to me.
"I don't know, Tiffany. It's an easy line for a guy to say, but all I can honestly tell you is that I haven't been able to take my eyes off you. Normally I'd be staring at Delores' tits, but I can't even tell you what she was wearing tonight."
She looked down at the nipples popping out through the pullover.
"She is so much bigger than me. I really don't have that much up top. Are you sure you wouldn't rather be-"
I bent down and bit her right nipple through her fabric and told her honestly, "Right now there isn't anyplace else in the world I'd rather be."
That went double fifteen minutes later when my exploding cock was nestled deep inside her pussy which seemed to be running at 135 degrees Fahrenheit. I'd had to work for five minutes to get it in there.
She wasn't the tightest pussy in the world, but she had to be right up there in the top 15 or 20. She told me later she wasn't a virgin when we did it, but Jesus, her two lovers must have had cigarette-sized dicks.
I thought she was having a fit when I told her I was getting ready to come into my condom, but it just turned out that when she was excited she had very, very intense orgasms. Like eyes-rolling, fingernails embedded in my flesh, teeth buried in my lower lips -- orgasms.
I think I really fell in love with her when she went down, pulled my condom off, and started to lick my dick clean. She said she'd never done anything that dirty with her other boyfriends, but she wanted to do it with me. And she liked it.
We dated for two years until I graduated with a degree in English literature and she with a degree in Business Administration. That should have given me a good heads up that this would not be a marriage made in heaven.
I liked books and movies and writing and game playing. She was a by-the-numbers business type that loved working deals, figuring how to make money and planning what to do with the money when she got it.
Her mother hated me, which I should have expected. But her mother was a head case. She had married a good looking, big dicked salesman type out of college and suffered through ten years of his screwing every pussy that he got within reach of until one day he walked in and told her he was leaving her and eight-year-old Tiffany because he had found the love of his life: a cocktail waitress working at a bar in Orlando.
He left Tiffany's mother with a mortgage-laden house, a car that lasted two months before making its way to the junkyard, two strains of sexual diseases, a $5,000 Visa card debt, $20,000 in other assorted debts, and a broken heart.
She had bounced around until she found -- eventually -- a position as a secretary which led to a paralegal position at Martin, Devon, Bailey and Bartley in Jacksonville. The lawyers there liked her --so much so that the word I heard was that before she'd been there two years she'd fucked every attorney, aide, investigator and even a few delivery guys.
I guess after having been saddled with an asshole who really didn't appreciate her pussy for a decade, finding a whole building full of men who really, really did appreciate her tits and ass did wonders for her ego and temperament. She really wasn't a bad looking woman.
But while she fucked and sucked with great abandon, she trusted no one who had their sex organs on the outside of their body. And she'd raised Tiffany to hold the same opinions.
Sex was fine. Love was fine. But you keep your own bank account, you have your own money, you keep it so you can walk away at any time and survive on your own without the prick who'd been giving you his prick.
I picked up on the lack of trust early on in our dating life, but I understood where her mother was coming from and tried to reassure her that I was a different kind of man. I would never leave Tiffany in the lurch.
Didn't matter. Especially when after graduating I decided teaching was not what I wanted to do. I wanted to write. The Great American Novel no less. And I needed time and freedom to do that.
So I found myself working at a Blockbuster store in Orange Park, Florida, a little bedroom community south of Jacksonville where both Tiffany and I had grown up.
Tiffany, of course, went to work in a real estate development firm that built some of the highest dollar combination golf/country club/yachting properties on the Northeast Florida coast.
Through the years she advanced from a junior associate to one of the highest paid people who wasn't an owner. She handled sales, public relations, government relations, investor relations -- relations in general.
Old, old, old story. I was still working in a Blockbuster, albeit working my way up to store manager by choice and a regional troubleshooter when hell broke out at any of the Blockbusters within a 50 mile radius of Jacksonville.
I had tried to write the Great American Novel nine times. I'd actually finished it once and was up to 123 rejects. I was beginning to be a little dejected.
Tiffany was pulling down ten times my monthly salary, in salary alone not even mentioning stock options and other perks, driving a brand new 2006 Lexus, wearing clothes that you had to fly to Atlanta or New York to buy.
Despite that, I paid the home mortgage, which alone wiped out 60 percent of my monthly income. I paid the electric, the telephone bill, satellite, etc.
Tiffany kindly paid for the gas for every vehicle that she drove, not my 1994 Volkswagen Beetle which was big enough only for me and one passenger so every family trip was made in one of her vehicles -- either the Lexus or her personal Land Rover new Range Rover Sport SUV or a company one she had whenever she wanted it.
Why did we live that way?
Because there was no money that was 'ours.' Her income and her savings were hers. Always had been from the time we married. We had separate checking and savings accounts. One of the biggest fights we ever had, one that almost wrecked us in the first six months of our marriage, was her insistence that I NOT be on her bank accounts.
We almost didn't' get married at all when her mother had one of her asshole boyfriend lawyers draw up a pre-nup that said I couldn't' touch any money she brought into the marriage or made while we were married, but that my income would be joint. Of course, a guppy would have starved on my income, but I drew the line on that. No pre-nups And after a few months the subject just went away.
But she wouldn't yield on separate monies for the two of us. And that enraged me.
"You don't trust me? You don't fucking trust me? You think I will steal your goddamned money, you miserable bitch."
I had been a little upset when she explained to me that I would NEVER be on a joint account with her. Common bills like the house and utilities were my responsibility as husband. Clothing, food, trips, entertainment, the kids' education, all the extras were hers. But her money was hers. She would never try to get on my accounts.
It still upset me.
"Okay you miserable bitch. I tried. I tried. I honestly tried to live with your crazy ass ideas and your crazy ass mother. I bent over backwards until I broke my back. But this is the end. Go fuck yourself, or better yet go to Martin, Devon, Bailey and Bartley and I'm sure you'll find plenty of hard dicks to fuck you. Your mom will probably share, like the true slut she is."
I barely managed to avoid having my brains smashed by a piece of wedding china from one of her mom's rich lawyer boyfriends as I stalked out. She followed me out cursing a blue streak and doing her best to send me to the ER using more china.
I was sorely tempted to go back, but I'd never touched her in anger and even while she was royally pissing me off, the trouble was that I still loved her crazy ass.
We held out a week. We met at a neutral bar, made some hurtful comments to each other about how childish the other was, and barely made it my car before I was inside her and she was bruising my lips and trying to pull my cock out by the roots with her cunt. We took makeup sex to ridiculous new levels.
But I couldn't break her insistence that our money be kept separate. Her money was hers. Always would be.
I could see us old and gray together. I'd barely have enough money to buy some gruel for my morning breakfast in the servants quarters outside the big house where Tiffany lived with her mother and our children.
So I pinched pennies and the only new clothes I could afford were those that Tiffany bought for me when I had to attend one of her business functions and she didn't want to be embarrassed by my cheap, old clothing.
You ask, why the hell did I stick around? I was working my ass off, watching my pennies while my wife had a net worth of well over a million dollars. Actually between two and three million.
You didn't hold her in your arms, your dick inside her furnace of a pussy while she screamed at you to fill her up with your seed....actually she said hot cum.
You didn't hold her on the nights after a visit with her mother, or on Father's Day, when she buried her head against your chest and her tears couldn't be stopped while she tried to heal the wound her fucking poor excuse of a father had left in her heart.
She didn't smile at you in the dunes at St. Augustine Beach as she hit you in the face with a chunk of ice cream and ran shouting at your daughters to get away before the ice cream monster caught them all. She didn't cover your face with kisses when you brought her down in the dunes and your little daughters piled on you to rescue their mother from the ice cream monster.
That is a little of what we had. It wasn't perfect. Far from it. And I think I knew deep down that someday it would all come crashing down on my head.
We didn't have a marriage in the sense that my mother and father, before he died, would have recognized. We lived together and had a relationship and had kids, but it wasn't permanent. It never could be. And I wondered sometimes if deep down Tiffany knew that.
We had a good marriage, in a lot of ways, except that it wasn't a marriage.
The world crashed down on my head in June of 2006.
Kaitlyn and Kristen ran into the house where I was seated in my office working on my tenth Great American Novel. Tiffany had picked them up from her mother's house and was walking in behind them.
"Daddy, daddy, I'm going to go surfing with Uncle Stephen."
Eight-year-old Kaitlyn ran up to me and hugged me saying, "And I'm going to learn how to dance the hula. Grandma told me she'd take me to a school on the Big Island where they teach you. We'll be there for a month, so we'll have plenty of time to learn."
"Oh," I said, wondering what I'd missed out on. "That sounds like fun. Where are we going?"
"Oh, we're going to Hawaii," Kaitlyn said. "I wish you could go too."
"Mommy said you had to work. I wish you could get off and come with us. Mommy is going to be lonely without you there."
I looked up at Tiffany and just stared at her but she wouldn't drop her eyes. She wasn't going to be embarrassed.
"So we -- that is you and the girls -- are going to Hawaii for a month and I'm staying home to work, dear. Do I understand? When did all this come up?"
"Several members of the firm booked a hotel on Oahu and have planned a month worth of activities. We've had a great year and the owners are coming along and helping with the expenses. The girls are out of school and Mom was able to get away from the law firm."
"And Uncle Stephen? Would that be Stephen Middleton?"
She just stared back at me.
"Yes. He decided to take his vacation with us. Us all."
"Adjoining rooms? Is he staying in your hotel?"
"The same hotel. Yes. We're all staying there. Not adjoining rooms. Try to behave like an adult. It's a group vacation."
"Which I'm not a member of?"
"The firm is paying a lot of the expenses, but they're not made of money. They're not paying for spouses. Anybody who wants a spouse has to come up with the money to cover them."
I leaned back in my swivel chair and told the girls, "Go play. Mommy and I have to talk for a minute. Give me a kiss."
They did and when they'd left I said, "Well how much will we have to come up with? And it would have been nice if you'd given me some heads up. I don't know how I'll be able to free up a month away from work."
She kept staring at me with an unreadable expression. Looking back, I hope it was guilt.
"I don't think you'll have to worry about that. I expect you'll be staying here."
I couldn't believe what I'd just heard.
"You don't think I'll be going?"
She sat down on the edge of my desk and looked down at me. Her hair was cut short and she wore a scoop neck blouse and a blue dress that showed off her fantastic legs.
"I had the costs expensed out. It would cost $8,000 for you to come with us. Can you afford that?"
I said the words out loud to make sure I hadn't completely lost it.
"You're saying I can't go unless I come up with $8,000 of MY money to pay for the trip?"
"It's really only fair, Bruce. This is partially business and partially personal. You know the rules we've set up. You should be responsible for your share of the costs."
"I thought that YOUR money was for entertainment, family outings and the like. This doesn't qualify?"
She finally looked down at her feet, which she was tapping gently on the tiled floor of the office.
"Bruce, this is more business than personal, except for the girls, and mother will be there for them."
"And don't forget Uncle Stephen. He'll be along to take care of the girls. Is that all he'll be taking care of?"
She glared at me.
"You jealous asshole. You know there's nothing going on with Stephen. He's just a friend. A good friend. It's nice to be able to talk business sometimes with somebody who-"
"Is your equal, Tiffany? Not a clueless loser like your husband? You enjoy his company. Have you found out if his cock is as big as the secretaries say?"
Her eyes narrowed?
"Where the hell..."
"You don't think I ever hear any of the gossip about the guy? I have been to some company outings. I've heard the woman buzzing about him. I know he's gone through most of the secretaries and he's considered hot shit by the married and unmarried women of the company. You ever checked out his equipment?"
She would have caught me across the face, but I knew her temper and I've taken karate for 15 years. I caught her hand in mid-air.
"You sorry bastard. I've never cheated on you. Although, God knows, why I haven't I couldn't tell you. You want to know why you're not going with us, Bruce? The real reason?"
"I knew you couldn't come up with $8,000. You know that's pocket change to me. I could pay your way and never even notice it. But why should I? You're my husband. I make $300,000 a year in a bad year. You make barely $40,000.
"You're not stupid. You could have gotten a real job, with a real company. Where I wouldn't be ashamed every time somebody asks me what my husband does. A video store manager? For God's sake. I'm ashamed of you, Bruce, and I hate being ashamed of you.
"I'm going to leave your ass behind because I want to rub your nose in the fact that you've let me down, and you're letting your daughters down. I want you to develop some balls, go get a decent job and, for God's sake, let this adolescent dream of writing the Great American novel go to hell.
"The way it is now, I'm the man in this damned family. I'm the dominant one, and that's not natural."
She gave me a look and I knew something bad was coming.
"You asked me if Stephen has a dick as big as the girls say. Yeah, he does. I've seen him in a bathing suit and he is hung. God he is hung.
"There was a time last summer...on that trip to the beach you didn't take. He caught me behind the dunes. He put my hand on that monster and made me jerk him once or twice. Of course, I slapped his face and tried to dropkick his balls back into his abdomen. He didn't try again.
"But, God help me, I wanted to jerk him off. I wanted to suck him off. I wanted to spread my legs and let him spear me with it. Because I like him. And I respect him.
"He's a man. He may be an aggressive asshole, but he's a man. If I didn't love you, at least a little bit still, I would have let him take me in the dunes."
She stood up and smoothed down her skirt.
"I'm not going to fuck him this trip. I don't plan to anyway. I want you to think about that. Because if things don't change, if you don't change, there's going to come a day when he puts my hand on that monster and I won't take it away."
I stared at her and knew this day had been a long time coming. We didn't have a marriage. We had a partnership and I wasn't keeping up my end of the bargain.
I had known and sensed her waning respect for me. Even our sex wasn't as hot as it had been. How could it? How could a woman be really turned on by a man she didn't respect as a man?
I let her walk away and we didn't say another word to each other for the remainder of the day. I worked on my computer until late and she was already asleep when I entered our bedroom.
She was up before me the next morning. I found her drinking coffee at a table set on our covered back porch. The house edged some woods and there were days you could see deer from the table. There were none today. I grabbed a cup and sat down beside her.