tagLoving WivesDear John

Dear John

byMatt Moreau©



She arrived at Emmett J. Carlson high school on the third day of classes, and on that day I fell madly in love with her. Love at first sight? Don't tell me that there's no such thing! Oh, and didn't I say? Today is the third day of classes I alluded to. I closed the distance between us with as much confidence as I could muster and tapped her on her shoulder.

"Hi, I'm Sam," I said.

"Huh? Who?" she said.

"Sam, Sam Bradshaw: one of the captains on the football team; I play wide-out. Oh, and I'm your future husband," I said.

"Oh really? I mean a proposal even before our first date?" she said.

"I like to be on top of things. No procrastinator me," I said.

"Hmm, well, you are handsome, sort of. Okay, you can pick me up after school. I like pizza, so does that work for you?" she said. "But oh, as for the marriage thing, don't be counting on that one."

"Oh, okay," I said. "I'll meet you in the quad at 3:00, and I've got a car. Okay?"

"Good," she said.

The next six hours were a trial for sure, pure hell actually. But the bell releasing us from academic incarceration did finally ring, and we were outta there.


The ride to Milano's was quiet. Well, I was still confident, but maybe not as confident as I had been earlier in the day. I pulled into the parking lot and ran around to her side of the car to help her out. She snickered her surprise that I was being such a gentleman.

"Let's get a table kinda in the back if that's all right with you," I said.

"Sure, okay," she said. I chose a booth next to a window; well, the view of the road traffic was at least somewhat more romantic than the view of the foot traffic.

"So Mister Bradshaw, you fell madly in love with me as soon as you saw me, that about it?" She said.

"Pretty much," I said. "You don't know me at all, I understand that, but I promise you that I will do my best to be your very obedient boyfriend and really your eventual hubby."

"Boy you are smitten!" she said. "Kinda scary actually. Lighten up a little okay. We can date. Like I said you are a cute guy, and I dig it that you are planning to obey me, but too fast is a bit of a turnoff. Okay?"

"Yes, for sure, you got it," I said. "Oh, but one thing . . ."

"Hmm?" she said.

"Your name, I still don't know it," I said. She laughed.

"Right, my bad.

"Abigail Williams, age 18, senior, straight-A student, dad's a master-mechanic; mom's a housewife, just arrived in state, used to live in Illinois. I'm looking to hook up with a guy with a future and who is willing to work hard to get it. I really mean that; I am not into couch potatoes or party boy losers; I want to be very clear about that from the gitgo. So, am I clear, and are you that guy?" she said.

"Absolutely I'm that guy," I said. "Okay. And like I said before, I'm Sam Bradshaw, also 18, senior, mostly As and Bs, an all-league jock, mom's deceased, Dad's an insurance salesman, lived here in Arizona my whole life; looking to hook up with a goddess, and I don't have to ask if you fit the bill because you clearly do."

"A goddess, huh," she said. "Look, Sam, Yes I'm pretty, I know it. I know it and I flaunt it because it's fun. But there's a whole lot more to being a person than looks alone. I hope you get that. I will undoubtedly disappoint you in the future and you me as well. That is if in fact we do have any kind of a future ahead of us."

The pizza we'd ordered almost as soon as we'd gotten our seats arrived and interrupted us: straight cheese.

"So, you're one of those straight-A nerds?" I said. She gave me a look the basic element of which was "how dare you" stereotype me!

"No, no," I said, realizing my faux pas, "I meant that as a complement."

"Yeah right," she said.

"No really. For me the definition of a nerd is he or she for whom the rest of the world will one day work!" I said.

"Hmm, nice save," she said.

We ate and talked for a while and made a date for the following Saturday: dinner and a movie. And then there were a few dozen more dates and then we graduated.


Our wedding was held at Saint Genevieve's. We were 18 and "we'd only just begun" as the lyric went. There were upwards of 250 people in attendance.

I did have a job at Ames Brothers Transport; I was part of the maintenance crew. We did clean up, minor electrical, plumbing when called upon, and just about anything the drivers and the loaders didn't do. The pay was shit, but the gig itself wasn't bad, and I got along good with my coworkers.

Yeah I had a job, but one that wasn't all that appreciated by my wife. A fact that she very often took pains to make abundantly clear to me.

I was a wannabe techie, problem seemed to be that without a degree in something, getting a job in my favorite field wasn't happening, well, so far it hadn't. And then it was two years since our hook up, and one year since we tied the knot.


"Don't worry; I'll sign on for a couple of extra shifts. Arnold always needs guys to cover for the lazy bums who never show up. We'll be fine," I said.

"Sam, you need to get a serious job. Maintenance for a warehouse isn't going to cut it forever. We just can't keep going on like we have," said Abigail. "We've been married for over a year, you need to reach your potential. You promised me. If you don't do something pretty soon, husband mine, I'm going to divorce your pretty pink butt and find a guy who can support my very high maintenance self! Got it!" she said, she was smirking, but she did expect me to get my butt in gear.

"Honey, Abby, I'll take care of things. Give me a few days without going off on me, and I'll get it done. Okay?" he said. She nodded. But it was a nod with narrowed eyes.

"Okay, I love you Sam, and I know you love me; and I'm not going to divorce you, but I am going to nag you into living up to your potential. You can count on that. We do need to get to a place where we can see light at the end of the tunnel," she said.

"I know, and you're right. And, you're right about something else, goddess mine, I do love you more than my life. I'll do better. From now on my number two priority will be finding a better job," he said.

"Good," she said, "but number two?"

"Well yeah," I said, as if I were confused that she didn't get it. "You're number one."

"Oh," she said, and smiled.


I didn't want to do it, but there seemed to be no choice. I gave my dad a call. He was going to be my fallback position if I couldn't find a better job than the one that I had. Selling insurance was the absolutely last thing I wanted to do. But, I'd do it to save my marriage. That and only that was a reason for me to be visiting Aaron Bradshaw, sales agent for Lacy Insurance brokers on this particular fall afternoon.

I pulled into the driveway, parked, and sat still for a moment. He didn't know why I was coming though I had called to let him know I was coming. I figured he might be reasonably happy about my reason once he did find out. He'd wanted me to join him at his firm where he did fairly well overall: $45K or $50K annual: way better than I did with my job. Yeah he'd wanted me to join him, but he'd given up asking. He was going to be more than surprised by my qualified change of heart.

"Son," he said, opening the door smiling. "Glad you called? What's up?"

Over the next hour plus and two cups of coffee I let him in on my predicament.

"So basically, you're saying that unless you find a job doing techie soon, you'll be asking me to get you on at Lacy Inc." he said.

"That's about the size of it dad. I know I can do the job for you guys. I probably should have talked to you before, but well this just came up," I said.

"Meaning that Abby put the screws to you," he said.

"Pretty much. She's been on me to find something better. Me working at pretty much minimum at maintenance is putting a crimp in our home life," I said.

"Okay, son, I can get you on. But do me one favor. If you do sign on, you sign on for the long haul. I don't want them to think that I'm using them for some kind of short term solution to a family problem," he said.

"You got it dad. I should be able to let you know in a couple of weeks most," I said. He nodded.

We talked a bit longer then parted company me to shop for a job him back to the Dodger game on TV.


"I don't know Harriet. He is a very hard worker but an almost hopelessly ineffective one. The man just doesn't seem to get it that he has the potential for doing a whole lot better. I'm the woman. I'm supposed to inspire the little shit. I need to get him off and on somehow," said Abigail.

"Look, Abby, you've got a good guy. When you're a hundred years old you'll still be a sex object to him. Do you have any idea how rare that is?" said Harriet.

"Yes, I'm fully aware of everything you say. And the man is a hard worker. As a matter of fact he just got himself a second job, if that's what you want to call it," said Abby.

"What! He's working two jobs now! Doing what?" said Harriet Bridger.

"Security at the Milford Building: it's part time: midnight to 6:00 A.M. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday," said Abby. Her friend sank back into her seat.

"I can see false pride doesn't enter into his choice of career goals. Still, the man cannot be considered a deadbeat by any wild-ass stretch of the imagination," said Harriet.

"No, I have to give him that. He's not afraid to get his hands dirty. But, do you know, the man is actually good with computers; he actually learned a lot about that kind of stuff in high school and on his own since we graduated. If he'd just sign up to go to community college he could maybe get himself a career in that kind of thing. I mean you know?" she said.

"Well, encourage him to do that then," said Harriet. "Of course working two jobs might make college a non-starter."

"I have encouraged him! But all he says is that college and him don't mix. It's very frustrating," said Abby. "But at least with him working two jobs the bills will be a little more on time than has been the case lately. Of course our sex life is going to be shit, not that it's been all that fucking wonderful lately in any event."

"Oh boy, I see a serious storm of stuff on the horizon with you feeling the way you do," said Harriet.

"Yes, well it's hard to argue with you there," said Abby. "But no, I love the guy, and I'm sticking with him, but I do have to do something to get him off and on."


Tuesday, well tonight I'd get some sleep: just have to work eight hours today. Tomorrow not so much, tomorrow it'll be fourteen hours.

"Your home on time," said Abby.

"Yes, yes, short day," I said.

"Well, for goodness sakes come on in. I have a little snack prepared for you," she said, "for my hard working man." I smiled. I sure did love this woman. She was all any man could possibly want.

She led me by my company supplied shirt collar down the hall to our bedroom. Entering she told me strip and lie down on the bed. I did as she commanded me. Oh, and I was smiling. I sure didn't have to guess what kind of snack she'd a minute before alluded to.

"Play with yourself," she said. My smile evaporated.

"Huh? What? I thought that . . ." I started.

"Don't worry, just do as you're told, okay," she said. I nodded and began playing with myself. While I did as she told me, she shucked her panties, but left the yellow sun dress she was wearing on. She kept her eyes on me the whole time.

I was close to cumming. I didn't want to cum, not yet. I wanted to cum inside of her.

"I want to see you squirt," she said. "Hurry up." Once again, I did as she said, reluctantly. I began actually bucking as I came and came and came again. I'd squirted all right, halfway across the bed and onto the front of her dress. She smiled.

"Okay?" I said.

"Yes, good, now you should be able to last a while instead of doing your usual two minute drill," she said.

She joined me on the bed. She squatted on her knees straddling my chest her butt to my face and began playing with my five and a half inch squirt gun. It took some minutes, but my cock was soon once again at full mast.

Satisfied with her success, she backed up and sat on my face. "Now, bring me off with your tongue."

"Yes, ma'am," I said. Her clit was right over my mouth and I did my best to torture it. My nose was flat against her anus the whole time, and I was so turned on by the smell of her that I was afraid that I might cum prematurely—again.

She began to shudder as she was overcome by a shattering orgasm. She fell forward, and rested for a moment or two. She spun around and made to impale herself on my still steel hard cock.

"Now, big boy, you need to fuck this girl and make her cum with your dick," she said.

I began slowly but after a couple of minutes of that I sped up and she helped out by playing with her clit while I rammed her from beneath. It took me a good eight to ten minutes, but she made it and so did I, again.

She rolled off of me gasping for breath. I thought that was fair, so was I.

We rested for a few minutes and she surprised me, no shocked me, by swiveling and taking my shrunken penis in her mouth intent on raising the dead. I'd cum twice, but she was determined to make it a hat trick.

Satisfied with her progress, she switched, rolled over on her tummy, and smiled at me. "From the rear, stud, now!"

I was hard again, but could I cum again. I'd done it in the past but not often and number three was always a challenge.

I rolled on top of her and used my knee to spread her wide. She cooperated in the effort.

I didn't need to lubricate her; the sea of cum I'd unloaded inside of her vagina made her more than ready for the finale.

I slipped into her and bottomed out in a single thrust. I screwed her for some minutes, I don't know how many; I was totally concentrating on not having a heart attack from all of my exertion. I felt her stiffen. I unloaded but a minute or so after her.

I collapsed on her back. She didn't even try to dislodge me. But I did finally roll off of her and onto my back. If I'd been breathing hard before, I was gasping now.

"Good for you?" I said.

"The best in a long time," she said. "Don't forget the formula."

"Promise!" I said, "for sure I promise."

We slept. Dinner was forgotten. I'd have to sleep longer before going to work tomorrow, that was a sure bet. Oh yeah.


Thinking about it after the fact, Abby's interest in having demanded a really hard core evening of sex—and she was the one making demands—was kinda surprising. After all of the serious pressure over the weekend to get me to finding a better job, her ebullient mood didn't quite fit. But, she was a sexual person and we did do good when we did do it. So in hindsight maybe it was not so surprising after all. The one result from my side of things was the reality that I was becoming hyper-motivated to get out there and do some furious job hunting.


Job searching was the focus of the moment. Still, I was feeling good, yeah working my ass off with two jobs, but on some level feeling real good regardless. And in actuality, for all of her hyperventilating about me getting better situated, better career-wise, she was feeling good too. Yes, she was still hot for me to get a better job, one that wouldn't keep me out to all hours like the two I had were doing, and I was working on that. I was good with computers my lack of college notwithstanding; I'd be getting me a job sooner or later. That was my goal: to work with computers and tech in general.

I hadn't told her, not explicitly, but I had been looking and looking hard. I'd made what seemed like a hundred calls and half that many in-person interviews over the past year, but nada. I needed a resume if not a college degree and I had neither.

My day job was maintenance for Ames Brothers Transport, Monday through Friday 9:00 to 5:00. My second job was easier, a security gig at the Milford Building watching monitors on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday midnight to 6:00 A.M. And, with my getting the second job, I'd let my dad know that he didn't have to go to bat for me.

Still, my biggest problem, apart from trying to find a better job, was my lack of time with my wife. She appreciated my work ethic well enough but did not appreciate my work hours. And, she'd made it more than clear that she wasn't exactly happy with my job choices either.

On the rare occasion, and it was rare anymore, that we went out with friends, I could see that she was loath to hear other women talk about their husbands' jobs or say very much about mine. Janitor and security guard just didn't sound as sexy as assistant store manager or insurance salesman or what have you. She wanted me in a suit and tie, oh, and making twice the money that I was even with two jobs. Did her attitude bother me? Of course it did. A man wants to believe that his woman is proud of him, and, the fact was she wasn't proud of me. Being good looking, and I was that, was just not good enough, not for my woman.

At any rate, pulling down $26K take home annual was getting us by. Sometimes things got a little thin, but we did have a nice two bedroom apartment and two three years-old cars: hers a Civic mine a Silverado pickup both '93s. But I was sure things would be getting better. I just had to be patient and I was.


Traffic was bad, but I was enduring. I turned the corner onto our street and sighed. Our place was just a quarter mile ahead. I slowed, and arriving, pulled into the resident lot. Her car was not in its usual place. She had to be shopping for groceries. She was always home when I got home from work. I parked and strode inside the complex to our place.

I headed for the bathroom: forty cups of coffee per day had their downside; okay well it seemed like forty.

I peed, splashed water on my face and made a mental note to be extra nice to the woman tonight. I had plans, after dinner plans. I was hornier than a truck load of rabbits.

I heard the back door slam. She was home. I smiled. She almost bumped into me as I turned the corner into the kitchen.

"Whoa, you're home," she said.

"As usual," I said, glancing up at the clock for support.

"Yes, yes of course," she said. She looked, something, stressed, something.

"Abby?" I said. She sighed. She looked up at me and didn't smile.

"Sam, we're pregnant. I just got back from the doctor's. It's for sure," she said. I hadn't had a clue that she even might be. I sat down at the kitchenette table.

"Okay, great," I said, my look not as calm as my words, not nearly so, I was sure of that. "Do we know what . . . "

"No, not yet, but soon," she said.

"Honey, you don't seem as happy as I thought you'd be if we ever . . ." I started.

"It's going to be expensive, Sam. I guess I'm going to have to get a job, and working at the same time I'm—growing—well . . ." she said.

"No, I'll get a better job. I haven't told you, but I've been looking real hard. Nothing yet, but I will be pushing it now for sure. You will not work and that's that," I said.

She sighed, shook her head. "Sam, you say you've been looking real hard, but no luck so far? What . . .?"

"Yes, I've been trying to get a job doing something with computers. But now, with us being pregnant, I'll be looking for anything that pays better not just computers only," I said. "There're jobs out there, and I won't be settling for any minimum wage shit either. We'll be fine, and it won't be long either. Okay?"

"Okay," she said. She looked concerned, but at least she was cutting me some slack on the pressure which did surprise me.

I knew that I could again ask my dad for a job doing what he was doing, but I really had a hard time imagining myself selling insurance. But, what the hey, he made twice what I did working my two jobs. I could do it if I had to. Abby knew it too, and up to now had never pressured me to try it. She knew, as well as I did that sales was not my thing. But now, only making more money was important not the how.

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byMatt Moreau© 171 comments/ 60896 views/ 46 favorites

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