Aristippus - Ginger's Story

He didn't come to bed that night, and I probably wouldn't have let him sleep with me if he had. He must have slept on the couch. But the next morning, as I opened the bedroom door, I was pleasantly surprised by what I found. The apartment was neat and orderly, the dishes were done, and the leftovers, including my dinner from the night before, were all safely put away in the refrigerator.

Daniel had apparently already left for the day. There were two doors to our bathroom, so he didn't have to enter our bedroom to use it. And I guess he just put on the same clothes that he'd worn the day before. The Mr. Coffee was still on, and the squatty glass pot was half full of hot coffee. Taking my cup from the still warm dishwasher, I filled it to the brim before snapping off the power switch. As I swirled the cup with 1% milk and a little Sweet'N Low, I theorized that in Daniel's mind, being nice to me was his version of an apology. As it kept him from having to say, 'I'm sorry.'

Over the next several months, Daniel continued to be much sweeter to me. He actually started doing some of the housework. Not much mind you, but more than he had ever done before. We went out on dates occasionally. We even took a little mini-vacation to San Diego and Tajuana when he had a long weekend off. That was where he actually proposed to me. As we were eating at a San Diego Bay seafood restaurant. He slid a small gift box across the table to me, and just before our dessert was served, Daniel leaned across the table and taking my hand, said, "Ginger, will you marry me?"

Opening the box, it was a diamond ring. Not a big one, mind you, but still a very nice diamond solitaire. I simply froze. In my stunned silence, a thousand images flashed through my brain. Like an instructor's PowerPoint presentation out of control, images of the first time that I had laid eyes on Daniel. Images of us flirting, and our first kiss. That horribly embarrassing event at the movie theater. Making out in his car, the first time we had sex, my mother catching us. Our apartment - and then Daniel striking me.

"Yes," I said. "Yes, Daniel, I will marry you." What was I supposed to say? It was in a public place. And ever since the incident, as I called it, he had been much more romantic, as well as more domestic. However, that seed of doubt had already been planted in the back of my mind. Back at our hotel room that night, we had what I would call Honeymoon Sex. And then the following morning, as we walked along a nearly deserted beach, I gave him a blow job as he laid back on the sand. I guess the old adage is true, If you want your dick sucked, buy her a diamond.

When we returned to our apartment, we looked at the calendar to select a date for the wedding. However, as excited as I was about making our living arrangement official and presumably permanent, there was an obvious elephant in the room. "Daniel," I said with a serious tone to my voice. A little surprised by my sudden change in demeanor. Daniel looked up at me, but didn't say anything. "Daniel, I'm very excited about the prospect of spending the rest of my life with you. But there is one thing we have to get settled." He was now looking me straight in the eyes and nodded his understanding.

"Daniel," I said for the third time. "You may never, never, never hit me again. Not under any circumstances. Not for any reason. Do you understand?" He nodded yes again. "Say it Daniel; you must say it."

"Yes, I understand. Ginger, I understand - but...."

"There is no but, Daniel. There is never a but! You must agree - or the answer is no."

There was a long silence, as we stared at each other, eyes locked in a silent plea for understanding and agreement. "Yes, Ginger. I understand. There is no hitting. No physical contact in anger. Never again."

I wanted an apology, but I slowly realized that this was all I was going to get. I debated with myself for several moments, trying to decide whether to push the issue. Or to accept what I had. Slowly I stood up and pushed my chair back. Placing my hands on the table, I leaned over and kissed Daniel on the lips. It was less than what I wanted, but it was something. And at that point, I had accepted it.

Daniel had given up on school and was working full-time. He worked for a company that installed and maintained computer systems for business clients. Primarily for law firms and doctors' offices, that's why my parents constantly peppered him with questions when we came over for dinner or for family events. And he had been given a promotion and was making more money. I was due to graduate in about six weeks. I had not found a full-time job yet. So, we decided on the weekend after my graduation ceremony.

My parents were pleased to hear of our pending nuptials, but I don't think either of them were actually excited. I didn't want the Big White Wedding, and at least they were pleased with that. It was held at the Annandale Country Club, where several of the law partners from Mom's office were members. And they also arranged for one of the LA Superior Court Judges to officiate. After some negotiations, Mom and Dad agreed on sixty guests. I was hoping for a few more, but the country club was expensive. And even though they liked Daniel, I don't think they wanted to pay for a fairytale Cinderella Ball, if Daniel was no Prince Charming.

We didn't leave for a Honeymoon immediately after the wedding. I had sent out about three dozen resumes, and I was hoping for at least a couple of interviews. Finally, I received an invitation to one of my dream employers. They will remain nameless, but it was a major retailer. They operated about thirteen hundred outlets, under six different brand names, with stores throughout the US and Canada, primarily in suburban malls. When I read the email, I was so excited that I almost peed my pants. And as the corporate office is in LA, Daniel and I would not have to move. I was so excited.

Going to the interview, I was as nervous as a whore in church. And even though I was shaking like a leaf, the interview went well. Two weeks later, I was offered a job. I texted Daniel, and he seemed as excited as me. When he got home that night, he walked in with a huge bouquet of flowers and a bottle of Champagne. We didn't even have dinner that night. We drank the Champagne and ate cheese and crackers, before heading to the bedroom for Honeymoon Sex all over again.

When I met with HR for my orientation, or onboarding, as they call it now, I was informed that I didn't need to report for work until the first of the month, which was more than two weeks away. Apparently, there was going to be a three-week training class, and the next one didn't start until the first of the month. So, as Daniel got home, I told him the good news, and we started planning a mini-honeymoon.

I had lived in California since I was seven years old, but I had never driven the Pacific Coast Highway, California 1, all the way from Santa Monica to San Francisco. So, Daniel and I pulled out a map and planned our driving vacation. It was so exciting, and I think we both felt the same. We didn't have much money, but we had credit cards. And even though we had lived together for two and a half years, and we had already been married for two months. This really felt like the beginning of our married life together.

We actually joined the Pacific Coast Highway in Ventura, and then worked our way up to Santa Barbara, the Crown Jewel of the Spanish Missions. And I could see why, the city was absolutely beautiful. We checked into a small motel not far from the beach. And after dinner and a short walk on the beach to watch the sunset. We returned to our motel room and fucked our brains out. The next morning, I was actually sore. But it was a good sore, and I loved it.

From there, we headed up the coast past San Luis Obispo, to San Simeon, where we stopped to tour the Hearst Castle. The castle was impressive, and it is hard to believe how anyone could ever accumulate that much wealth. But there are probably a dozen high-tech billionaires in Silicon Valley, that have done just that.

From there, we entered the Big Sur Country. I don't know why it took me so long to get up this way. The scenery is absolutely breathtaking. I simply cannot think of words to describe it. The highway, usually only two lanes, dips and weaves up and over the mountains along the coast. Sometimes a thousand feet or more above the beach below. And sometimes, it drops all the way down to within twenty feet of the water. It was at one of these drops, where we stopped at Pfeifer Beach. It was mid-week, and the beach was almost deserted. Walking the beach, it wasn't hard to find a deserted cove for a quick skinny dip. But oh my God, was the water ever cold.

My nipples were so hard that I think they could have cut diamonds. But the cold surf did not have the same effect on poor Daniel's pecker. It looked like a tiny mushroom, and it took almost five minutes of hard sucking just to get it hard enough so that he could fuck me on the sand. I might add, it was very romantic, but we both got sand into places that should never have sand in them, and I don't think we will ever make love on the beach again.

We found the cutest little cabins at the Big Sur Campground, and after long showers and a quick dinner, we retreated to our cozy bed for another night of knockout sex. Without the sand and fear of being discovered. Not that we really cared; we were young and on our honeymoon. I'm sure any Park Ranger would have understood that.

The next day we slowly continued our drive north, through Carmel-By-The-Sea, and Monterey, before finally arriving in San Francisco that night. We found a small mid-priced motel not too far from Fisherman's Warf. And for the next three days and four nights, we saw everything, did everything, and literally maxed out every credit card we had. Most of the trip was spontaneous and foolish, and crazy. And it was the best time I'd ever had in my life.

We took Interstate 5 back to LA and home. And as we no longer had the use of our credit cards, we barely made it. But we didn't care. Luckily, my mom gave us a thousand dollars, so we could make it until I got my first paycheck. But she was honestly happy for us, as she could see the love for each other in our eyes.

For the next year or so, things went pretty well. I was extremely happy with my job. And though there was a little travel, it wasn't much. And Daniel was also doing well. That was until we decided we needed a bigger place. Or, more precisely, a nicer place. We were still living in the same apartment that Daniel was sharing with his cousin when we first met. It was student housing, and not very nice student housing at that. It also wasn't that convenient for either one of us, so when our lease was up, it was time to start looking for something new. I can't tell you how hard it is to find anything decent in LA that two young newlyweds can afford.

Six months later, we were still looking, which meant our current apartment was on a month-to-month rental at an additional $250 per month. Now, this was putting a strain on our budget, as well as our nerves. Eventually, we found a place in Flintridge, but the rent was almost twice what we had been used to paying. And the daily commute only got worse for both of us. I don't even know why we moved. It was certainly a nice place and in a much nicer area of the valley. But it put so many unplanned stresses on our lives, that looking back, I realize now that it was a mistake.

Another year went by. I had gotten a small raise, but Daniel had not. Our budget was maxed out, and trying to pay down our credit cards proved to be almost impossible. And that meant that there was no room for emergencies, vacations, or extras of any kind. We both drove to work every day and silently stressed over what would happen if one of our cars broke down. Or if the price of gas doubled - which in California is always possible.

Daniel was getting moody again. The issue of when and where to have sex was ever pressing. For some reason, Daniel believed that a marriage license, was a license for sex on demand. I had switched from the pill to a birth control implant. I was already feeling that I didn't want to have children with Daniel. And I should have taken that as a sign, but stupidly, I didn't. And my doctor warned me of the usual side effects. Most of them, including headaches, backaches, and diminished sex drive, never materialized. But she also cautioned that, at least for the first year, my periods might become irregular. Now that did happen. I do not like to have sex during my period. I'm sorry, but it's messy, unromantic, and jeez, even the maid deserves a week off occasionally.

Daniel did not understand this. To him, it made little difference. When he was being sweet, he'd give me a pass. But if he was in one of his moods - then no. He was entitled, and I would just have to accommodate him.

It was a Friday night, and I was on about the third day of my period. Daniel got home late, say maybe eight o'clock. But he had not called or texted. I had already eaten, and his dinner was on a plate in the microwave. I could tell he'd been drinking when he opened the door. Which wasn't unheard of, but it was rare.

I didn't want to start a fight, but I was curious why he hadn't at least called. "Daniel," I said calmly. "I've already eaten, and your dinner is in the microwave." So far, so good.

I could hear him banging around in the kitchen, and finally, the microwave ding. He brought the plate from the oven to the dining room table, and I guess it was hot, as he was holding it with a kitchen towel. But as he set it down, he must have burned himself. "God damn," he screamed. "God, Mother Fucker Damn!"

I was sitting on the couch watching TV, and I guess I could have gotten up to help him. But I knew he was in a bad mood, so I didn't want to do anything to set him off. I hated this situation, but he wasn't always this irritable. Sometimes he was very sweet and funny to be around. But as our financial situation got tighter and tighter, his moods were more common and sadly, much darker.

Without getting up, I said, "Sweetie, can I help you?"

He never answered. He just sat there eating his rewarmed dinner by himself. Cursing and muttering under his breath. My back was to him, but I heard him drop the dishes in the sink and start to walk away. "Daniel, can you put those in the dishwasher - please," I said as nicely as I could, without sounding condescending.

"Only if you'll suck my dick," he said defiantly

He had really never said anything like that before. And I was surprised. I turned around to look at him to see if he was kidding. But apparently, he was not.

"Daniel, I'm on my period. I told you that last night," I said as calmly as I could.

He didn't say anything, but stomped out of the kitchen to the bedroom. It wasn't even nine o'clock yet, but I could hear him in the shower, and I assumed that would probably soothe his nerves and hopefully wash out whatever bug had crawled up his butt.

I went ahead and cleaned up the kitchen and started the dishwasher. By then, it was a little after nine, and walking into the bedroom, there was Daniel sprawled out in the middle of the bed. Stark naked and lying flat on his back. His eyes were closed, and I thought that maybe he was already asleep. So, I went into the bathroom and got ready for bed. Returning to the bedroom, I was wearing my usual nightgown. It was my long nightshirt, which generally meant we were not having sex tonight.

As I was walking around the room, turning off the lights, Daniel opened one eye, and said, "Hey, why are you wearing that? I told you I wanted to fuck."

"Daniel, I'm on my period; you knew that," I said calmly. He opened both eyes and just stared at me. "Roll to your side. I'll spoon with you and take care of that problem." Pumping a loosely closed fist, indicating that I was willing to give him a handjob. In the past, this diversion had always worked.

He complied, and as I snuggled up to him, I reached over his hips and found Little Daniel already hard and in need of some TLC. I slowly stroked him for maybe two minutes. When suddenly, Daniel pulled away from me and hopped up onto his knees. Then grabbing me by the waist, he wrenched me into the doggy position and quickly repositioned himself between my legs.

As he tried to enter me, I protested, "I'm on my period, Daniel. You can't do that." But that only temporarily delayed him. As he continued to hold me with one hand, he fished for the string to my tampon with the other. And as soon as he found it, he yanked the tampon from my body and simply dropped it on the white sheet below us. Daniel then immediately returned to trying to enter me.

"No, Daniel," I cried. But that did not dissuade him. I was bone dry, and Daniel made no attempt to add lubrication to either me or himself. Once he was in me, my natural vaginal secretions added a little, but it still felt like I was being fucked by a corn cob.

When he finished, he pulled out of me and slapped my ass. Then rolling over, he wrapped himself in the top sheet like some sort of cocoon. I sprang from the bed and raced to the living room, slamming the bedroom door behind me. I curled up on the couch in the fetal position and cried myself to sleep.

The next morning, I was awakened as Daniel opened the bedroom door and walked into the living room. I was still curled up on the couch, with only an Afghan over me. Daniel had on blue jeans, but no shirt or shoes. He didn't say a word as he passed me and walked into the kitchen. I didn't move or make a sound, as I was still as mad as I was hurt.

He banged around in the kitchen for a few minutes as he opened drawers and cupboards and slammed them closed. I opened both eyes and stared at him while he got out a cereal bowl, spoon, milk, and then a box of Cap'N Crunch. Every day for breakfast, Daniel eats the most God-awful children's cereal. Usually, Cap'N Crunch, which is the worst. And sometimes, he'll eat two or three bowls a day.

As he poured the cereal into the bowl, suddenly he yelled, "God damn!" He slammed the empty box into the trash can and returned to rummaging through the cupboards. "Ginger," he yelled. "Did you buy any more cereal?"

With my head still flat on the couch, I answered, "I didn't know you were out."

He slapped the cupboard door shut and stomped into the living room. Standing just feet from the couch, yelled, "God damn it, Ginger! There is never any fucking food in this house. What do you expect me to eat?"

I sat up and said calmly, "Daniel, I didn't know you were out of cereal. Let me come look." I then stood up and tried to walk around him.

But he wouldn't move; in fact, he deliberately blocked my way. I stopped and just stared at him until he raised his hands and hit me squarely on my shoulders, just above my breasts, with two open palms. When I didn't fall backward and tried to stand my ground, Daniel raised his open palms to hit me again. I instinctively raised my arms to defend myself. As Daniel struck, he didn't hit my shoulders. His hands made contact with my crossed arms as I tried to cover my face, knocking the back of my hand into my lip.

Instantly I tasted blood, and when I pulled my hand from my lip to see if I was bleeding, he hit me again and again, until I fell backward onto the couch. Then standing over me, like some crazed animal, he raised his arm as if to strike me - but he didn't. With his face red with anger, he screamed, "You fucking bitch, you can't even buy fucking groceries."

Daniel had never called me a bitch before, and he was now scaring the hell out of me. I slid off the couch and ran to the kitchen to get my phone. Grabbing my phone, I held it up, and said, "Daniel, get out. Get out, or I'll call the cops."