Agreeing with My Wife

First off, thank you for reading, voting and commenting on my stories.

This story grew a lot more than I originally expected it to. I, also, couldn't figure out how to break it up into chapters, so I decided to publish it as one big, short story. (I think it still counts a short story.) I probably could have cut some aspects of the story out, but I wanted to flesh out the characters more. If you are looking for the incest, this is a long, slow burn to get there. There is sex throughout the story, though. I hope you enjoy it.

I was made aware of a couple characters getting swapped inexplicably so I made some minor revisions to correct my mistakes.

All characters depicted having sex are over 18.

My name is Mark. I have chestnut hair I keep cut short with hazel eyes. I stand at a solid 6'1" and, for the most part, have been lucky enough to keep the fat off weighing 225 lbs. in muscle. I am now 41 years old and an addict, albeit sober for 12 years. For many years, I was a despicable man. My ex-wife was on the wrong side of many drunken outbursts. I was a degenerate gambler on top of it.

On the night she left me, I came home from a disappointing night. I had made a three team parlay bet. The unlikely scenarios had played out in my favor. Who would have thought those two teams would both upset the top two teams on the same night? But then the one game that was a sure-thing also ended with an upset. One that I had not bet on. That was a huge loss for me. So I had stopped off at the bar for a drink. But a stop at the bar never ended with just one drink. By the time I had gotten home, it was well past yesterday and into the early morning of tomorrow. Of course, I was not quiet entering into the house.

My wife, awake and angry, yelled at me, "Where the fuck have you been? Do you know what time it is?"

"Shut up, you cunt. I have a headache and can't take your shit this early," I scream at her.

She marches up to me and shoves me, "You can't even get the fucking groceries I asked you to get! Did you even think about it?"

Fuck. I knew there was something, but that bet was too good to pass up. "No, I forgot okay? It was a hard day and I needed to blow off some steam."

"Fine. I'll go and get the groceries in a few hours since you can't do the simplest tasks," she says as she puts her hand out. "Just give me the money I gave you."

"I don't have it anymore."

"You blew it gambling again? All of it?!?" She turned around and to this day I never heard the rest of what she muttered. It was definitely deprecating. It was, also, probably true.

It also blew past my threshold of my tolerance. I shoved her. Hard. Against the wall. I clenched my fist and swung a mighty blow at the back of her head. Missing her by scant inches and punching a hole in the wall. Luckily for me, missing a stud and hitting only drywall. "You fucking bitch. All you ever do is nag and belittle me. No wonder I have to drink so much." I stalked off to the bed and crashed.

The next morning—same morning?--I woke up with a splitting headache and a sore hand. I pulled myself out of the bed, placed my feet on the ground and my head in my hands. Fuck I screwed up again.I stood up and stumbled into the shower of the en suite. I never noticed the open drawers with nary a thing in them, nor the closet with half the clothes missing, nor the quiet solitude of the small house I lived in with my wife—up to that point, anyway.

I heard no word from my wife. A few days later, I was served divorce papers. I never saw my wife—ex-wife—again. I tried to contact her over the years. To apologize. I did learn she had moved back up to Michigan. Once I found out where, it was relatively easy to find where she lived, but I never went up there. She made it abundantly clear she was never going to forgive me.

I found out, during the divorce proceedings, that she had had two miscarriages which may or may not have been my fault, but I am willing to take the blame for either way. It was also revealed that she was two months pregnant. I found out when my daughter was born, but was also informed there was no father's name on the birth certificate.

I tried to send my daughter gifts for her birthdays and Christmas. Every time those gifts were promptly returned. I would then return them to the stores and proceed to the nearest bar and drink away my pathetic life. By the end, I had convinced myself it wasn't my fault if my wife (I still delusionally thought I could convince her to take me back and thus the ex- part was temporary) wasn't willing to forgive me.

Now I wish I could say that her leaving me was the wake-up call I needed to get sober and stop gambling. But that's not how it went. It took me 6 years after my wife left me to seek help for my addictions—6 years for my drinking and another 2 for my gambling.

Near my one-year of sobriety, I again tried to contact my ex-wife. I sent her a letter. A very long letter with a cashier's check. She never filed for child support. So I had no legal reason to do what I did, but I had enough co-workers that had to pay child support and I gathered a rough estimate of what the court mandates for compensation. Not knowing my ex's financial situation I put what I felt was fair—it was on the heftier side of what many of my coworkers were paying. Part of the steps of any support groups is to own up to your mistakes and shortcomings and to try to make amends to those we had wronged. My ex wanted nothing to do with me nor give me any absolution. Which, if I am being honest with myself, I don't blame her. So my only recourse was this act. I have no idea what she did with the letter or the money, but on a monthly basis I sent her the same check (more if I got a raise, but never less). I never received either back so presumably she read the letter and used the money, but she never responded.

With no contact from her—and knowing full well that gifts to my daughter would never be accepted—I started a tradition. I opened up a bank account for my daughter and every birthday and Christmas instead of trying to send her gifts I deposited money into her account. My entire Christmas bonuses, income tax returns, all went into her account. I even deposited money any time I stood outside a bar tempted to go inside for one drink. And not the piddly amounts put into swear jars. I knew what one drink would equal and if I was tempted to go inside I wanted it to hurt so it was usually half my check that went into my daughter's account on those occasions. It didn't take me long—a year, maybe—before I stopped doing that on a regular basis.

Eventually, I became a serviceable member of society. I was a construction worker, but soon found myself wanting more security so I opened up my own construction company. It was a smaller company, but we did well. My current wife, Alice, works as an architect. We met because a client of hers was building a subdivision and her other contractors were busy. So she found my information and gave me a call. We had a good working relationship, but I wasn't going to be asking her out any time soon.

One day, I got a call from her about an office event. She needed a cover because a coworker of hers was hopelessly infatuated with her and she was not interested in dating in the office. I thought a night where I could talk with other members of her firm would be a good business decision so I accepted. I hadn't really known her all that well. I knew she was nice, but we always kept it professional between us. She was about 5'8" with long dark brown hair and ice blue eyes. If I had to guess, she was about 125 lbs. She didn't have large breasts, probably 32B, but she knew how to accentuate her assets. I found out she was 28 years old making her five years younger than me.

I was unexpected by how delightful Alice was. While I was able to talk with other of the firm's architects and to get my little company on their radar, I spent the vast majority of my time with Alice. When the event was done, I drove her to her place and asked if she wanted to go out just the two of us. Which she accepted.

Eventually, we married. She knew most of my sordid past, including my daughter and the payments I sent her mother. She knew of my family—or as much as I knew anyway since my father left my mom at a very young age and I had no recollection of him. My mother, however, disowned me due to my drinking, gambling and domestic abuse to my ex-wife. She died a couple years after my divorce and while I went to the funeral, I could tell I was not welcome. (Like I said, I was a very despicable man.) My wife's family was a very loving household growing up, but shortly after she graduated college she and her parents were hit by a drunk driver. Only she survived. During her surgery after the crash, the damage done to her abdomen needed surgery which led to her being infertile.

The wedding was a small intimate affair consisting mainly of her friends. We moved into a nice two-bedroom house with a full unfinished basement. The second bedroom was converted into an office. The bedroom had no en suite bathroom, but the basement did already have a second bathroom installed—the only thing that was done in the basement before we bought the house. With neither of us having siblings and with no chance of children, we didn't need more than this for a comfortable life. We did renovate the basement into an area to entertain guests. Although, the bathroom was little more than functional. We lived contentedly for the past 6 years. Until I heard my ex-wife had passed away.

"Look I don't think it'd be appropriate for me to show up at her funeral or the reception. Shouldn't I just send her a letter of condolence?" We had been arguing on how to send my daughter the money I had been stashing in her account for an hour or more at this point. My wife was insistent on going in person. I was, I feel understandably, hesitant. I had no idea whether my daughter even knew of my existence.

"She deserves a right to know who you are, why you weren't in her life, why a stranger has this much money saved for her, and a chance—if she wants it—to get to know you! I mean she just lost her only family member and could use all the help she can get, if she wants it." My wife has been adamant in her stance.

I mean I get it. We both came from very extreme backgrounds. She lost her parents and had no one to turn to for help, much like my daughter now. Of course, my wife would be standing up trying to get me, her father, to give a damn. But you see my point, right? My ex had wanted nothing to do with me, and rightly so. Did this feeling extend to my daughter? I wish I had just acquiesced to my wife's authority, but rather I got up from the table and stretched. This session had last a good hour, hour and a half, and I was tired.

"I'm going out," I stated.

"Right now?!? Where?," Alice demanded.

"Right now, probably going to find a meeting. I need to clear my head." Deep down I knew she was right. There was just a lot of emotions boiling up in me and I really needed some fresh set of eyes. Maybe I can get some clarity from people who are going through the same things as me. I walked up behind her and lowered my face to the top of her head. "I love you, but I think I just need a bit of time to think it all over." I kissed the top of her head and headed to the door.

Sighing, "Be safe," she called over her shoulder.

I found a meeting pretty quickly. I don't go as often as I probably should, but when things get too rough for me to handle or I don't want to burden my wife too much I will search one out. This seems like a perfect reason to me. As I was walking, there's a meeting close by and it was a nice evening, I saw a couple with a late teen or maybe even young 20 year old. They weren't doing anything noteworthy just spending time with each other. Smiles on their faces. There are always moments like this that effect me randomly. Wondering what it would have been like, not as I was but as I am now. Would I have been a good father? I didn't really have anything to compare it to. I stopped and stared at this family. How would my daughter turn out without her mother? Who would she turn to? Would she turn to alcohol? Drugs? Sighing, I started walking again towards the meeting. I was going to share tonight. I was going to implore the wisdom of my peers, but deep down I knew. My wife was right.

When I finally got home, my wife was in bed. She had to get to work earlier than I did so she often went to bed before me. I went to the bathroom, washed my face and changed out of my clothes. Crawling into bed with my wife, she instinctively turned her back to me as I slipped in behind her. Wrapping my arms around her, I kissed her between her shoulder blades.

"How was the meeting?" No judgment. No hostility. God, I love this woman.

"It was really good. I was able to come to terms with my situation. I know, that sounds selfish considering what she is going through."

She let out a little chuckle, "Just a bit. So what have you decided?"

"That you were right."

She turned her head and looked at me over her shoulder. "Wouldn't it just be easier if you always knew this? Instead of having to learn it every time we have a disagreement?" She just looked at me and smiled.

I leaned in and took her mouth with my own. She hummed contentedly as I kissed my wife. Pulling back, I responded, "Perhaps. But I've always been a slow learner."

She turned away from me, but scooched in closer to me and patted my arm. "It's a good thing you're so pretty, then," she giggled.

I woke up, as I often do, before my wife. Yes, she goes to sleep before me, but I wake up before her. We've worked out a nice system for the mornings. I get up, go drain my bladder and work on breakfast. Usually it's nothing fancy, unless we have time like the weekends, but there is the matter of coffee. My wife is barely functional without her caffeine fix. And the growing phase where I woke up after her did not please her when I took the liberty to relieve myself while she took a shower.

Greeting my wife, freshly showered, with a steaming mug of her breakfast elixir, I got a good morning kiss and a smile. "Aw, my sweet savior." As she inhaled the aroma of her pick-me-up. No, she was not talking about me in that instance. She took a long sip as she savored the drink. Holding the mug with both hands to feel it's warmth, she finally addressed me with words, "So what's the plan?" Just like her to switch gears into business mode.

"I really haven't had much time to think about it. But it's not far. Well, that far." It was about 4 hours from Indianapolis, IN to Wyoming, MI. The funeral and reception were going to be on Wednesday. "There isn't really anything pressing on my end. Well, nothing that Tony and Alex couldn't take care of. I am not sure I want to go to the viewing or funeral, though." She looked at me with a tilted head. "My ex wanted nothing to do with me after the divorce. I kinda feel like I should respect those wishes in death." That seemed to make sense to her as she slowly nodded and kept sipping her coffee. "What about you? It was your decision after all. Are you going to come with me?"

She extricated herself from me and went to refill her mug. "I was thinking I should go with you. If you were going to go, that is. I already e-mailed the boss that I was going to come in today to make sure everything on my end was in order so I could take the rest of the week off. He understood." When she turned back to me she was beaming an award winning smile at me.

"When were you able to send out an e-mail?"

"Last night. After you left." Her smile never waned when she informed of this.

"Wait, you did this before I had agreed with you?" She simply nodded with her pleased smile on her face. I took a step towards her.

"And why, pray tell, would you do something like that?" I took another step.

"Do you really think you know me so well that you know when I will just kowtow to your demands?" Another step from me and another nod from her.

I finally reached her. I grabbed her and lifted her up on the counter top, without spilling a drop of her precious potion because that would quite literally be the death of me, and planted a firm, passionate kiss upon her lips. I really wanted to express how much I loved my wife, but unfortunately we didn't have that much time. She wrapped her legs around my waist, her coffee mug pressed firmly between us as the steam from the mug wafting over our faces almost as hot as the kiss I was bestowing upon my wife. Interrupted by an annoying trill from some electronic device I just wanted to chuck at the nearest wall, but alas we can't destroy our cell phones carelessly.

"Shit. I still have to get changed." Alice slipped to the floor, I helped ease her off the counter. Now holding the mug with one hand, her other hand came to rest squarely on my bulge that was forming. "Save this for later." She leaned up for a quick peck on the lips and she scampered off to the bedroom to change.

It was later than usual for her to get home tonight. Which oddly, wasn't unusual at all as she is often working later at least a few times a month. I get home roughly at the same time every day, depending on whether I am at a site or at the office, which is invariably before she even leaves the office. So I am the one that will start dinner, which I enjoy doing. Ever since I stopped drinking, I needed something to do to distract me and cooking did it for me. If she is going to be late, she will usually call me and give me a heads up. On occasions, such as this one, she will lose track of time and forget. It wasn't until she got into her car that I finally got a call.

"Sorry. So sorry. I just left the office. My boss had me go over some things for Patrick to be aware of, but he was busy most of the day and we weren't able to meet up until about an hour ago. I'll be home shortly, though," she said this frantically.

"It's fine, babe. I get it. Inopportune excursion. Just drive safe. The meal will be ready when you get home. Love ya."

"Love you, too." Click.

A few minutes later, the door opens up and then slams shut. "I'll be right out. Just gotta change."

"Take your time, sweetie. I'm not going anywhere."

Once changed out of her work attire. She emerges wearing a night outfit with satin loose fitting pants and a matching camisole. Around the house, she doesn't wear a bra. She bolts straight for me and gives me a hug and kiss. Breaking the kiss, she looks at the dinner spread, "This looks delicious. Smells delicious, too. You know, you don't have to wait for me to eat, right?"

"I know. And if you hadn't called, or you were any later, I might have eaten already." I tightened the hug. "But the best parts of my day are spent with you. So a late dinner is a small inconvenience I can tolerate."

"You say the sweetest things," she says as she sits down to eat. "But you are already getting lucky tonight, mister," she finishes just as the morsel enters her mouth. We eat our meal while talking about our respective days. It's a light week for me, so not much to say. I do mention that the viewing is tomorrow night with the funeral and reception on Wednesday. Since we aren't going to either the viewing or funeral, we can sleep in tomorrow and drive up and get a hotel room.

"I do want to go to the bank tomorrow. Pick up something that shows the amount of her account that's been saved. Would be nice to have something other than a bank statement, though, but not sure how to do that."

"Just get a card. Write something nice in it and fold the statement inside. No need to overthink it."