Just Four Leather Jacket Tassels!

Chapter 1-

My name is Brandon Slim and guess I can be introduced as the one time friendly neighbor of Paul and Paulette Morris. I am a wealthy engineer, and an architect, by profession. And I happened to have turned forty just the u'dder day.

I became wealthy and successful, don't let the Chicago in me fool you! Born and raised here, I was a tough young South Sider who fought his way up that ol' totem pole so I could have something to brag about someday. Only a handful of us ach'ally managed to bust out of the neighborhood.

For many a year I lived in total peace and harmony in my pretty house, which I happened to have designed myself. It can be found in the suburb of La Grange in the fine state of Illinois, the Land of Lincoln. I lived in that house with my precious wife Eny, a former fashion model. And with our adopted daughter, Emilia. Honest to Gaad, we had peace.

That is, until I discovered that the Christian samaritan down the street, my best friend Paul, the devout Protestant, was putting his dick into my lovely thirty (at the time) year old wife Eny. It's pronounced E-h-n-a-i by the way; and she's thirty-two currently.

That's right, my friends! Better yet still, he had 'da nerve to have the affair with my precious wife in a t'reesome with his own wife! He's a married man. Married to a young lady named Paulette Sanz-Morris. They're a cute couple known among all 'dere friends here as "the Pauls."

Paul Morris, my forty-four year old neighbor down the street is a famous larger than life country/folkie vocalist known within the industry for his hunky musculature and thick country accent. To the outside world, Paul is a strapping, all-American Texas gentleman and a born charmer who settled down in Illinois.

To me, he's a complete hypocrite. I guess this can be expected from a man like that, but that doesn't mean it was any less devastating for me.

As a young man in East Texas, the child-like innocence of Paul's singing voice was often compared to the singing of a robin. He is said to have sung beautifully for his church choir once.

Eventually, Paul began sneaking away from home with the help of his two younger bru'dders Toby and Jackson to busk at local pubs. His bru'dders often joined him on stage lending Paul some back-up vocals, tenor banjo and a little accordion. They got noticed by a talent agent looking for authentic folkie and country acts.

His angelic voice soon got his whole family outta' poverty in Texas because Paul made it inta' the country scene in Nashville and everybody got to move.

Unbeknownst to everyone around him though Paul set his sights on becoming a helicopter pilot for the Marine Corps moving cargo and going on search and rescue missions like his fa'dder had once done.

Shockingly, after tendin' to family matters, Paul ended up quittin' music to lend his support to the most controversial war in modern history...that thing called Operation Iraqi Freedom.

He wanted a military career no matter what. It is rumored that Paul lost someone close to him in that hotly debated war; a mysterious lady-friend he met in the military. The accident happened during the combat operation which was fated to end his service in the military...the bloody battle of Fallujah.

But despite Paul's military career ending on such a disappointing sour note, it met with an honorable discharge that soon got him back inta' making music. He started gettin' noticed by the industry again after reintegrating inta' society. Paul's voice had not only matured but had gotten' deeper and twangy as ever.

His solo career continued to blossom beautifully in Nashville until an opportunistic silver-tongued manager recruited Paul inta' his Chicago label with a promise of more mainstream fame and fortune.

Lucky for him, Paul's war-fatigued hard edge allowed for the composition of some amazing lyrics for a new record. Most of the songs were written with Paul holding a harmonica whilst sitting alone on a special short wooden bench from his childhood.

Paul and I bonded shortly after he relocated to La Grange. We both used the same dentist at the time. It was very difficult not to like him. He was so friggin' modest, interesting and friendly. We were also both bachelors hoping to meet the right lady at the time. But now back to my falling out with him...

Since news travels fast, it was a'chally more humiliating to be cuckolded by someone well known like that. By a fake friend, you know? My own wife had slept with my best friend.

At least I can say it now. Accepting it was painful to say 'da least. It was some true to life pain! But I kept a stiff upper lip and made lemonade out of lemons. Isn't that what you're supposed to do?

I swallowed my pride and decided to attempt to take the high-road of forgiveness. Honest to Gaad! No good to live life as a petty child and scold 'da heavens over your misfortunes in life. I had to overcome a very difficult and dark time in my life and it wasn't the first time I did that. It came to pass as time heals all wounds.

Cried over many a shoulder. Got drunk with many a nice bartender, or stranger, because my two best friends had back-stabbed me.

Went to church more than usual to ta'wk to my priest. Went to plenty o' local Bears and Bulls games and gambled away money on some of 'em. Somethin' I never used to do! Anything to escape and get my mind off of t'ings. I saw a lot of plays and read tons of books.

Also made less money than ever. My career was goin' t'ru a humiliating dry spell because I didn't have the energy to keep my investors happy anymore. Many of 'em walked away from me. It was no fun. I gave up for a little while.

Owed various people a ton of money.

Slowly. I paid off all my friggin' debts and found new investors. Slowly. I dug myself out of that deep hole. Time led me to think about her so much...my u'dder half. Every day as things carried onward for us both. I realized I still loved my wife after all. We had been married for ten years.

She was a friggin' runway model of Icelandic parentage for God's sake! Not just any ordinary young girl working at Starbucks. But just to give you an idea of what my wife Eny looks like and the loss I had to deal with:

If Linda Evangelista and Cara Delevingne's genes just happened to be genetically hacked, spliced and synthesized using the latest IVF technology to create this perfectly holy specimen fated to be the future of the waifish catwalk model.

....a creature with splendid champagne blonde locks, chiseled hollow cheeks, intense piercing eyes of the scarcest turquoise, the narrowest waist you'd ever seen, tear-drop shaped little breasts, a heavenly labia that surrounds you in bliss and light once you adjust to her Icelandic towering stems, and finally, a lanky, sweet "A" shaped caboose that the fashion industry spoiled rotten.

....from her master-tailor father on down...This creation would surely be named Enysiobhán Chloë Vilhjalmsson, or Eny for short.

Now, of course, Eny was just a retired cat-walk model sellin' real estate in our little town. And not so spoiled, except by me.

But all joking aside, both our hearts had drawn very close in the years following our very traditional Catholic wedding with steamy honeymoon in Hawaii included. I always tended to fall in love real hard. It's apart of my Scorpio nature. We always love that way.

As much as I tried to hate her I realized I still loved my little "pixie-bug," as I liked to call her!

Of course I still loved her! Hows could I not after all the amazin' moments we shared over time; then exchanging vows on top those pure moments of love. She was still cherished. My family also missed her to death and missed our daughter Emilia even more.

Admittedly, I decided I was partly willin' to forgive her. It was a real conundrum but I was leaning in that direction on one hand.

On the u'dder hand she had placed me in the darkest place imaginable both as an intimate partner and as her husband. If our lives remained that way for very long I was certainly willing to end everything.

One more betrayal would be it. That was where I would draw the friggin' line. Taking me for granted was serious enough. Betraying me more than once would be the real dealbreaker!

The reason why I am convinced she still loves, and needs me too, is 'cause I feel that my wife would go insane without me. And Emilia, our adopted daughter, would certainly suffer too. Besides, I am 'da only one my wife respects and trusts. The only one who had 'da patience to study and write 'da thesis on her.

Like a formula in my mind on how to love this particular rare and beautiful specimen, and maybe u'dders like her. Having money that could afford her helped, of course; I'm not gonna' lie. You see, I had been chasing gorgeous women all my life. Eny was, by far, the most amazing creature of the fairer sex that I had ever known.

I had helped her t'ru a nervous breakdown in her native New York. Eny was pretty much a functioning heroin junkie before she met me, albeit a rich one. She learned the hard way that all that glitters ain't gold. Not even her family was there to help when she needed 'em. I was.

I rescued her and brought her here to live in Illinois. She cleaned up because I got her inta' all the right rehab programs, as well as inta' all the right social Chicago circles.

Soon she was loyal to all the major Illinois sports teams, far away from from da' New York ones! That, I believe, helped cure her for good of course..wink..wink. She managed to return to college and to find anu'dder career path in real estate.

Life was pretty good after that, for 'da both of us. It got far better after Emilia was added to our equation. But....Let me get to her affair with 'da Morrises now.

It started when her friendship with Paulette Morris, the professional dancer/ballerina and part-time actress who lives just down 'da street evolved inta' somethin' more substantial. Apparently the friendship turned inta' a little amorous lesbian affair.

Paulette is Paul Morris' thirty-four year old bride, like I said. And the woman who was destined to become my sweet little revenge concubine in time. My little paramour.

Let us press the pause button here for a moment...Paulette Morris, now 'da early stages of a pregnancy is carrying Paul's second child. Paulette felt so guilty about what happened with Eny and her husband 'dat I was taken in.

The Morrises refused to let me move inta' a hotel room after I was kicked out of the 'da house by my wife. They did this for me because 'dey knew I was temporarily broke and because Paul had been my friend well before ei'dder of us had even met our wives. But how did I end up in de'r house you might ask?

Bullet-point one. Yours truly exploded when I found out about that aforementioned affair. Especially once I discovered that the Eny/Paulette situationship had evolved inta' a ménage à trois situation which included my best friend's cock and a pie eating contest!! No baking was ever reported by the way!!

I decided to angrily confront Eny about everything at her real estate agency the following day and scared 'da living crap out of everybody within earshot with my tenor, Pavarotti-like yellin' and screamin'. By the end of it my baritone sounds were gone and I found myself shrieking and screeching like a friggin' soprano!

I had broken down and was pretty much sobbing laboriously as I punched my fists inta' walls, kicked in chairs and flipped over tables. I cried like never before in my life in front of 'em, and her. She had argued back in earnest, of course, because my wife has more fierce rebel spirit in her than Chief Crazy Horse!

Bullet-point two. Yours truly almost got arrested during said argument; and I was banished from my own house with a court order, unable to see my own kid.

Result: I was the male who got cheated on, so Paul Morris agreed to take me into his home. Go figure.

She cheats, "moi" gets 'da punishment! I lose my family.

Long story short, my wife's unfaithfulness culminated in me havin' to move inta' the neighbors' basement. The same people she cheated on me with. Could life get any better, ladies and gentleman?

Women always get sympathy, boys and girls. And I had to accept that simple double-standard rule even if I was right....away from my own home. Having to bear 'da troubles she brought inta' my life.

I came to accept 'daat about myself with some resentment...Apparently, I was no friggin' alpha.

My wife Eny now lives in our house with our daughter until I can be let back in. Until matters can get resolved. Here I was broke, facing a possible divorce...Barely keepin' up with all the payments on the house and with everything else. All like a friggin' beast of burden!

Everyone cheats in life. Honest to Gaad! Why!

Don't let 'dem tell you any different.

Sometimes 'dough when you harm a good man, actions have consequences. You see...

Al'dough I always had a crush on Paul's wife, I never imagined I would make a move on her, never. But de're I was...contemplating 'daat.

To make matters worse, both of us have kids. 'Da Morrises have t'ree, so far. Eny and I only have Emilia as of yet.

I was lonely. I'll admit, I was lonely! She was pregnant. Could I have made myself inta' any less of a douchebag?

But you don't even have a clear pi'chr of what I am ta'wking about, do you? Why I am apologizing in advance.

I was pissed. A self-professed alpha-male like Paul is really not immune to gettin' taken down and left twisting in the wind....See, I had set out to prove 'daat just because you can be an alpha-lunk doesn't mean that you have to be.

Because bein' an alpha is a constant battle for dominance with 'da u'dder members in the pack. One wrong move and you're not da' big bad wolf anymore! Better to be your own wolf-pack and take care of business, I say.

As big a male barnacle as I was, I knew it wasn't because I couldn't be like Paul Morris....Reasoning? I guess I just always had a major erection for...a big problem with... aut'ority. Such a big problem that I never wanted to inhabit such a role. Bein' an alpha entails lots of responsibility, my friends. You can't just do whatever you want all 'da time.

I was more comfortable being the evasive mysterious one, the underdog.

Alphas got size but 'dey represent 'da type of people who live at da' gyms, enforce 'da rules and love 'de're mu'dders. They were expected to be the pillars in society and always be visible in one way or anu'dder. To protect da' innocents of society.

Everyone had forgotten that Brandon Slim was a Greek-American kid from Lakeview, Canaryville and Lincoln Park. Even myself. Just a kid from mostly 'da Southside of Chicago. I had ac'hally even Americanized my name from Leptospoulos to Slim after earning my M. Arch and beginning to work as an principal architect in 'da Windy City.

I changed my name so's I could find investors willing to write the checks to build my stru'chres an' become a shooting star architect here in Chicago. I t'ought it was a smart move! Anything just to get out! I dreaded ever havin' to return to da' Southside slums just to run ano'dder diner 'dere like my fa'dder.

I didn't get to where I was playing by 'da friggin' rules or by bein' an alter boy. I hustled my way inta' 'da prep schools I needed, and later targeted 'da Ivy League from riding

motorcycles past rainy back-alleys with friends, as well as snortin' lines of coke off waitresses breasts that my Greek father hired for late shifts at da' diner.

I was consorting with mobster imitators while I still had zits on my face, and gettin' those bank loans I needed to impress all the right people.

To people's faces I was a mystery and I only opened my heart to a select few. I was ac'hally born five days before Halloween and my personality was always as much a Scorpio as 'dey come.

T'ru 'da years I was 'da type of man who worked long hours and always attacked his fears ra'dder than run from 'dem. Always of the mind that to fight a monster you have to become a monster.

I had let myself become lazy after marriage, and I put on a few extra pounds, honest to Gaad! I went from bein' quite a notorious lone-wolf sigma, to slippin' down that ol' totem pole again at middle-age. I had gotten' sloppy, my friends. I was more than down to prove this fact to Paul Morris. I wasn't gonna' stand for it.

...And so

I a'chally nailed his wife in her feathered slippers and pajamas one morning in 'de're basement. It was a'chally on Halloween morning of last year.

She was five months pregnant with 'dere first child. Was 'da hottest fuck I ever had in my life, ladies and gentlemen. I did it because I just about had it with how horny and miserable I was over my friggin' life. Honest to Gaaad, I was!

That was about a year ago. Paulette Morris claims that it was all an accident and she had sex with me outta' pity in a moment of passion. I'm convinced that's bullshit, my friends.

Now Paulette happens to be pregnant again, and in her first trimester, both Paul's. Neitd'er child is mine, just in case you wonderin'.

You see, I happen to know it wasn't a one time lay outta' pity. She wasn't just caught up in the friggin' moment. I know that because Paulette and I had a brief encounter only just the u'dder morning on a movin' peak train out of our little town.

I found her hidin' in an empty car on the Metra shuttle. She had been on her way to da' unemployment office because the Morrises had run inta' hard times just like I had.

That day I had her sweet lil' butt and her thighs out on the screaming train. Only she screamed louder! I had hiked her skirt around her sweet little thighs and masturbated her to near death 'til she came on 'da leather seats. Nobody but a few bums oglin' us nearby. A true Chicagoan romance. A masterpiece. Her heart will be mine soon. All of her will be.

What follows is the Chicago story of how I stole a married man's wife and how she fell in love with me. This mysterious Greek-American boy she grew up with but vaguely knew.

Chapter 1.2-

The alarm sounded.

After wakin' up, showerin', and brushin' my teeth I walked upstairs from the basement where I was living. Walked whilst whistling a melancholy tune to myself.

Anu'dder day in this underground threshold of mine! In this depressing cage. I was starting to feel like some old sordid weirdo exile by then...out of sorts with the world. Paradise had been lost.

But soon I was hearin' 'da sounds of the happy family living right above me; complete with 'dere happy golden retriever named Burbank.

The couple upstairs, my neighbors 'da Morrises, were laughin'. It had been two years and a half like I said; of living with 'dem. The t'ree kids of 'ders, were always entertaining, by the way. Chaos everywhere but a very, very loving environment.

I swear that that was 'da one thing that kept my spirits up while living in this house. The laughter and the singing of d'ere children is what kept me sane! It was like swallowing an aspirin during the worse headache of your life.

Made me wonder why crazy things happen in life. Some people just have to always be in 'da moment, I guess. But in appreciating what 'dey already got, 'dey have to ruin everyt'ing for u'dder people...take 'dere cake and eat it too!

The newest member in 'da family, a daughter named Mary-Shenoa, was quite a little charmer by the way. Much like Paul Morris, Mary-Shenoa was always singing and in high spirits. A true Sagittarian just like her dad. Even at barely the age of almost one.

It looked like Shenoa had been just fed on her high chair by her mu'dder. I noticed that the beautiful Paulette was busy pickin' up laundry around the house to wash later.

The cute twins 'dey had were a'chally from Paulette's previous marriage and 'dey were there too! They looked more like 'dere real fa'dder who was African-American and one of Paul's greatest rivals in the blues and country scene 'dey were apart of.