One For the Road Ch. 01

Tilting the can further back I drank the last of it and stifled a belch on the back of my hand. "Fucking good, Jimmy."

I walked into the TV room once more, kicked off my boots and shed my jacket; leaving both of them near the love seat. I then went into the bathroom and let loose a stream into the bowl, sighing in relief as I dumped my bladder. Little Jimmy was feeling a bit thick as I shook him off and then rinsed my hands in the sink. "Maybe Myra'll be up for a little midnight action, hey buddy?" I asked my cock. I imagined he pulsed in response which was all the inspiration I needed.

On the way to the bedroom I detoured to my boys' room and peeked in. John was lying on the top of his blankets, one arm wrapped around his stuffed red Lightning McQueen. I tiptoed in and folded the back of his blanket over his sleeping form and gave him a kiss on his forehead. "G'night, champ," I whispered as I turned to the other bed.

Joel was on his back, snoring softly as he looked upward with his eyes closed. I inched closer and gave my other son a goodnight kiss as well, smiling when I saw he had one of my old baseball hats under his pillow. "G'night, son," I said, rubbing his blond hair.

Back in the hall I went to my bedroom and stripped off my shirt and pants. I looked at myself in the mirror, the light of the moon illuminating my form. I was big, damned big. 6' 4" according to my license and I had the same broad chest, back, and shoulders that all the men in my family had. My dad and uncles were also fat as hell; big rounded bellies that looked like they were going to pop it you stuck them with a pin. But that wasn't me, I wasn't going to let that happen. I sucked in my gut and smiled to see the faint rippling of muscles still stood out from my midsection.

My legs were thick and my biceps were too. I was also pretty hairy, a mix of orangey-red and light brown hair that curled across my flesh like a wiry carpet. I grinned at my reflection and skinned my boxers down to my ankles, flicking them into the open hamper with a well-placed ankle toss. Little Jimmy was certainly feeling thicker tonight and I gave him a playful squeeze and pull.

I turned to the bed and pulled the top blanket back to reveal my sleeping wife. Myra was lying on her side facing away from me, an oversized tee shirt of mine as her nightshirt. Her hair was bound up in a loose braid, thin wispy brown strands sticking up from the movement of the blanket. The bottom cheeks of her ass were looking out at me, a bit wider than they were in high school but still enough to get Little Jimmy's attention stirring.

I slipped into bed, spooning behind her and pressing my surging manhood against the cleft of her backside. She stirred in her sleep and I took that as a sign that she was feeling some rampening desire. I slid my one hand across her shoulder and around her front, cupping her right breast in my large hand; fingers wrapping into the fabric of the shirt and pressing her tit tight against her ribcage.

"M'wha?" she mumbled, turning her head sleepily to look over her shoulder. I pressed my hips forward and then leaned into her face, my tongue spearing through the unsuspecting barrier of her lips as I shifted myself upward. I grabbed her chest tighter and pulled her to me and I slid my hips back and pushed my prick back along the crack of her ass.

"Hey, babes," I said huskily, licking her cheek and nibbling on her earlobe. "You up for a little play?"

"James?" she asked, her eyes blinking rapidly in the dark of the bedroom. "What the hell? Are you drunk?"

"Yeah, babes. On the thought of you." I slid my hand across to her other tit and rolled her nipple under the shirt.

"God damn it, Jimmy. It's after 12 fucking thirty!" She tried to shove my hand away but I held on to the nubbin of her tit a little tighter and felt the flesh of her breast compress.

"Yeah, babes. Fucking is right." I leaned in and tried to kiss her again but she rolled her head to the side and sighed in frustration. Her elbow shoved into my gut and I could feel her trying to wriggle out of my grasp. All this served to excite me and cause Little Jimmy to reach full mast.

She held one arm under my neck and tried to keep me from getting closer. "Damn it, James. You smell like a brewery. And it's late. Get off." She hunched her hips and pushed but being less than half my weight, failed to budge me.

I slid one thigh between hers and just let the pressure force her legs open. "Come on, Myra," I ignored her forearm barring me and let my greater strength push it away. My face came down and I pressed my lips against the hollow of her neck as my second leg made its way between hers. My prick was pulsing and hot, warmly pressing insistently against her mound as I nibbled on the skin over her throat. "You know you want it."

"Jimmy. Jim. James. Really, enough now." She was panting and I knew it was with need as I spread her legs open and reached down to guide Little Jimmy to her waiting hole. I rubbed the head up and down her crevice, my skin sticking to hers as I sought to reach her moist center currently hidden within. "Jim!" her voice became strident as I tried to press home, my passage blocked by the sheer friction of our two sexes battering against each other. "James, please not now. I'm not ready."

"Oh, Myra," I slid one hand under her night shirt and manhandled her bare breast. "I am, babes. Let's get you ready." I pulled my hand free, cupped it under my mouth, and spit a beery wad into my palm. I then rubbed it liberally all over my shaft, ending my jacking by running my wet fingers up the center of her pussy. "Ahh," I said as I repositioned myself. "Much better, babes."

"Jimmy, please. Let's not...ooof!" she gasped as I dropped the crown of my cock through the dry and cloying gates of her pussy and let my hips fall against her. I pulled back a tiny bit and let my body fall down again, gaining a further cockhold into my wife's body. "Ugh!" she groaned, her strength failing to push me back any more as her arm fell away to her side. "Oh God, James."

"Yeah, babes," I cooed, pushing Little Jimmy in and out of my wife; slowly getting deeper and deeper. I heard her panting and knew it was with need and within a few minutes, I could feel my pubes pressing against her. "Better, huh Myra?"

She had her head turned to the side and her eyes closed. She was grunting with each of my vigorous thrusts, and it looked like tears were running from the corner of her eyes down the sides of her face. She didn't answer me, I assumed it was because she was so caught up in the moment.

My pace increased as I thrust in and out, deep and long. It was odd, but the longer I fucked my wife and the closer I came to cumming, the harder it was for me to keep my erection. I had to concentrate harder and really push and slam my cock in and out, my lips pulled back into a rictus grin. There it was, a faint tickle at the base of my spine, slowly radiating out and down my shaft. "Yeah, babes. Hold on."

I grabbed Myra by the shoulders now and really let myself go. I could hear my breath whistling in and out of my lungs coupled with the silent gasps my wife made every few seconds as our bodies connected again and again. The pressure built up throughout the back of my balls and then it finally let fee and I could feel Little Jimmy doing his victory dance.

"Yeah! Myra! Oh fuck, yeah!" I thrust hard twice and then once more, spending every bit of juice I had to my wife's waiting pussy. I pulled back a fourth time and let myself slide forward again, just in case there was another one still in there. It was pretty hot and wet now in Myra's pussy and I could feel the sides of Little Jimmy were a little chafed. "Oh, babes. That was great!"

I fell off of her and let my cock pop free. Rolling onto my back I stared up at the ceiling and smiled, my vision clouding as exhaustion finally claimed me. Only the faint shaking of the bed as Myra quivered let me know that she must have been satisfied. With a grin on my lips I thought that I had a pretty damned decent day and then fell asleep.

I awoke to the sound of the alarm blaring, jarring and jangling against my nerves. I fumbled backwards and gave the clock a hard smack, smashing every button I could find until it stopped beeping. I pulled myself up and gave a deep stretch. Ah fuck, my shoulder was hurting. The events of last night came back to me slowly as I scratched the dried mess around my crotch and I remembered the fight at the bar. I glanced to the side of the bed and even though it was messed up, Myra wasn't there. "Where the hell are you?" I muttered as I got up and staggered to the hallway.

I made my way to the bathroom and pulled the shower curtain aside. I turned on the water and climbed in, feeling the warmth slowly ease into my skin. "Gotta fix the hot water heater," I reminded myself, grinning because I've been reminding myself to do this since the winter. I gave myself a fast scrub with the washcloth and let the last of the suds rinse away before getting out. I toweled off and then wrapped it around my waist and padded to the kitchen.

I plucked out a couple hard boiled eggs and some bread and butter, toasting myself a pair of slices. I followed this up with some milk and Bud light, drinking a glass of one and then a can of the other. By the time the toaster popped up and I was finishing my breakfast I was feeling more like my old self.

I figured I had fifteen minutes or so to finish getting ready so I walked back towards the bedroom, still looking for Myra. I found her sleeping in John's bed, clad now in a pair of fleece pajama bottoms and a robe. "Huh," I muttered as I walked in to wake her. "She must have taken a shower last night."

I shook her by her shoulder, her eyes fluttering open and looking about until she focused on me. It was odd, but I don't think she was happy to see me. "Babes. What are you doing in here? John have a nightmare or something?"

Her lips pursed and she gave a faint breathy sigh before folding herself in half and getting out of bed. I stepped back to give her room to slip by me and she stopped, staring at me sniffing the air. "Jesus, James. It's 6:30 in the morning."

"What?" I asked in a mock whisper, not sure what was up her ass. She looked disgusted as she stepped past and turned towards our bedroom. I followed, dropping the towel on the back of the hamper and started getting dressed. "What's fucking wrong with you?"

"Damn it, James. You came home drunk last night."

"I wasn't drunk."

"How do you know? Did you take a breathalyzer?"

I slipped on a pair of Dockers and grit my teeth. "Don't start this shit again, Myra. I'm not a fucking drunk."

"James, please. You drink every night."

"No I don't."

"Honey, please. You do. And you came home last night after hanging out with that loser, Tim, and decided to try and rape me."

I scowled. "Tim isn't a loser. He's my best friend." I slipped on a flannel shirt and buttoned it up. "And I didn't rape you. You're my wife and you were enjoying it, too."

"Jesus, James. You really have no idea." She sat on the bed folding one leg under the other. "I didn't enjoy it. At all. I asked you to stop so many times and I'm surprised I wasn't bleeding you were screwing me dry."

"You're shitting me."

"James. You have to stop with the drinking. You're 26 and you have two sons who love you." She looked at me, her eyes growing soft. "It was sort of fun in high school, but we can't keep living like this. The house is falling apart and you spend so much money and time on beer that you're just not in our lives anymore."

I laced up my Timberland's and shook my head. "See, Myra. Here we go, same fucking song and dance. I'm not a drunk, I'm big and strong and muscular and I can suck down a 12 pack and it doesn't affect me. You want to see a drunk? Go to Kresler's Grocery and see Old Hank sleeping outside by the dumpster. That's a fucking drunk. Not me! I've got a wife, two kids, a job, a car, and this place. Drunks don't have that."

"Look at yourself, James. You came to bed smelling like beer. You woke up and you smell like beer. It looks like you got into a fight last night. Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Did you get into a fight last night?"

I laughed. "It wasn't much of one, I can tell you that."

She slapped the bed with her palm, not smiling. "Damn it! You had a drunken brawl! What if you had been picked up and went to jail? What about us? Your sons? Me? This shit hole we're living in? Your job? What about all that?"

"Don't play that shit on me, Myra!" I shouted, my ire building. "Don't be a fucking martyr. Okay? You want me to cut back? Fine, I'll cut back. Happy! What else you want from me? My other nut?!"

"I love you, don't you get it. But this has only gotten worse over the years and I don't know how to get you to understand."

I was growing exasperated. "What's there to understand? I said I'd moderate my shit, got it? So let it go! I'm not a drunk, I'm your husband and I deserve better than to be accused like this."

"And we deserve better than you've been doing, James."

"Fuck this, Myra," I grabbed my keys and made my way out. "Thanks for ruining my fucking day. Hope you're happy!" Storming out of the house I was going to slam the door but didn't want to wake up John or Joel so I let it close softly behind. I started my Charger, rolled out of the driveway and started my trip to Florence Building Supply.

"Drunk. Me. Fucking don't know what she's talking about." I mused quietly as I drove on, thinking about other real drunks I know. There was Old Hank of course, but there was also my Uncle Patrick. He was a real Irish lush. Broke his ankle once stepping out of a moving car. My Aunt Sharon was an alcoholic, fucked up liver and still sips whiskey. Her eyes were a rheumy mess of cataracts but she was a harridan at family get togethers if you didn't keep her in her cups.

Those are alcoholics, not me. I have a job and a life. I take care of my shit and I deserve to blow off a little steam now and again if I need to. Who the hell does she think she is?

I was in a foul mood when I pulled into the parking lot off of Jericho Turnpike and parked my Charger. I was feeling a bit pent up and maybe jittery, my pulse was thready as I got out of my Dodge and locked the door. "Fuck, Jimmy, pull it together," I thought as I licked my lips, the memory of the beer I had this morning reigniting on my tongue. "Damn it, Myra. You put that crap in my head."

I walked passed a number of contractors already lined up and ready to load up. There were two groups of them, the business owners and small company guys who looked like you or me or anyone, and their help which looked like they came from every Latin American country south of Mexico. The two groups chatted amongst themselves and like any other typical day, tried to ignore the other set.

"Hey Doug," I called out as I walked in, going to the nearest system and clocking myself in for the day. My boss was with the driver, the two of them going over today's deliveries and most likely jostling the order about. It was always a crap shoot since every contractor wanted their shit delivered by 9 and to hell with any other crew the needed work. Coupled with the distance the driver had to go from the yard here in Huntington and how many different jobs we can get on the truck, even a couple of minutes screw up could cascade out of control and fuck up the rest of the day.

"Jimmy. Strapping on the Destano load snapped. Cinch it back together and load up truck two."

That was Doug, never a nice thing to say, no chit chatting, no attempt to even fake giving a crap. Just do, do, do. "Got it." I walked through the yard doors and slung my ass up into the Yale forklift, starting the diesel engine and buckling myself in. The lift was behaving well today as I revved the motor up and lifted the forks. Once free from the ground I put it into gear and trundled my way out of the shed and across the lumber yard.

I waved to a couple of my buddies as I drove along, trying to keep my thoughts on my job and not on Myra and her bitching. As I approached the finished area I could see the load of half inch OSB for Destano Builders had busted the right strap. I eased under the dryer, slid home until the fork cage bumped the boards, and lifted it clear, taking it to the strapping cart.

As I worked the feeder and cinched the load back into place, all I could think of was that it had been some time since I remember Myra being really happy. In fact, I might have been a bit ashamed that I couldn't really remember the place or date. Were we at a restaurant? I think so, someplace on the water. Maybe Freeport? There's the Nautical Mile there, lots of seafood places. Bringing the Destano load back to its place to be delivered I figured that what Myra needed was a nice night out.

This realization had me feeling pretty good as the morning burned along. The two delivery trucks came back roughly every 45 minutes for the first part of the day and then every hour or so after that. In between the down time I drove my Yale around the yard and gathered up whatever orders we needed to ship out tomorrow morning. It was a bit mindless some days but that suited me fine. Didn't want to get dragged into some conversation with whoever while I was wrestling with some home life crap.

When the coffee truck drove up I was feeling famished and sauntered over to see what was available. "Hey, Jimmy," Scott, the 'roach coach' owner offered.

"Yo, Scott." I grabbed a Muscle Milk and a buttered roll. "This'll do."

"Four dollars."

"Fucking kidding me?" I pulled out my wallet and handed over the money. "It's a roll and some milk."

Scott shrugged, already moving on to Wallace, the heavy fat guy that worked inside in the window department. "What are you gonna do, huh?"

I ate my meal and seeing that I had a few minutes left, I called up Bracco's Clam and Oyster Bar and set up a reservation for Myra and I tonight at 7. It wasn't always needed, especially during the middle of the week, but I wanted to make her happy for a change and this seemed like a good idea. I then gave her mom a ring and waited for her to get on the phone.

" 'Lo?" she answered.

"Steph, it's me, Jimmy."

"Jimmy," I could tell by her voice that she'd rather I fell off a bridge and died, but for Myra I'd keep my opinion of the miserable bitch quiet. "What do you need?"

"I need a favor. Want to take Myra out to Bracco's and looking to know if you'd babysit J & J for us tonight."

"Oh!" She perked up a bit; always good to know she can see her grandkids to make her feel better. "Sure. What time you want me over?"

"How's 6:30?"

"Will do. See you then." As I was about to hang up, I heard her ask, "Say Jimmy?"

"Yeah, Stephanie?"

"You taking care of my daughter?"

"I am," I replied, getting my nuts twisted a bit. I didn't like anyone questioning my ability as a husband or a father. "Why? You hear something I didn't?"

"No. Just feel like Myra's not happy lately every time I talk to her."

"Nope. We're fine."

I could hear her sigh on the other end. "Ok, Jimmy. I'll see you tonight."

I hung up without saying anything else, my gut twisting inside of itself. What the fuck was that? I know Stephanie wasn't my fucking friend but I've been a good husband and father and didn't need her snide assed comments or probing questions. Shoving my phone back in my pocket I climbed back on my forklift and finished up my day.

I was on the road leaving Huntington by 4:30 and fought my way south through horrible rush hour traffic. My baby was unable to stretch her legs so we settled on listening to Pink Floyd as we idled along, her rumbling engine sounding like a lion's growl. I was feeling jumpy and tired at the same time and was really hoping to get home before 5 for a change to spend some time playing with my boys.