Slut Wife - Libido Liberated Pt. 01

"Leticia that is the 3rd time this week. I'm sorry but I must let you go."

"No, please don't!" I implored my boss. "I'm so sorry. It won't happen again."

"That is what you say every time. That was the 3rd time this week and it is only Wednesday. I sympathize Leti, but this obviously isn't within your control."

"No please no. I'll do anything." I pleaded loudly and pathetically with him as he walked towards his office, and I chased behind.

"Please, please, please." I continued, literally dropping to my knees.

"No. Don't do this to me Leti. It isn't fair. You can pick up your final cheque tomorrow."

I slowly got to my feet weeping, exhausted and broken. I tried to pull myself together and muster the strength to gather my things and leave while trying to retain some shred of pride after this humiliating display. But there was no pride left. I knew the other employees felt sympathy for me, but I just felt pathetic.

As I walked down the street towards the 'L' train station rage boiled inside of me. My idiot husband had sabotaged our meagre living once again. He had drunk dialled the jewelry store where I worked and insisted on talking to me right away because he couldn't find his pain medication. It took me 10 minutes to talk his drunk ass through how to find it while my customer waited. I didn't blame my boss.

It wasn't bad enough that he hadn't worked in the 3 years since the accident, he sabotaged my efforts to earn a living for us at every turn. Pedro had never been the brightest bulb. Up until three years ago he worked reasonably consistently. It was low paying manual labour jobs with no security or upward mobility, but as long as we both worked we could keep afloat. Then he had an accident at work. It was his fault. He clearly violated safety rules goofing around like a careless idiot and it was all caught on the security cameras in the warehouse where he worked so there was no insurance. His back was injured, and he lost one leg below the knee. He is still mobile, but he is severely restricted in the manual labour that he can do and shows no initiative towards or aptitude for other prospects.

Fortunately, I still had my looks. I am a petite curvy Latina with supple hips, big breasts, full lips, sparkling brown eyes and long chestnut brown hair. I don't have a lot of skills, but I am pretty and personable, so I never have a problem getting customer service jobs. The job at the jewelry shop was a good one. I was a commissioned salesperson, and I was making decent money, but it didn't last long enough to make any headway. The job before that I got fired because I took off too much time to take Pedro to medical appointments -- like the jeweler that employer was patient with me, but a receptionist who isn't at reception half the time isn't much use.

A sense of despair was setting in. We were already way behind on the rent. I was ashamed of the fact that I knew exactly how long we could hang on and appeal our eviction because I had done it so many times. If I hadn't lost my job at the jewelry store, I could have caught up some of the back rent and possibly begged for more time. Lots of cleavage, a tight skirt and high heels would skate us through another month. But without that job we would be out on our ass in a couple weeks. I was wrestling with whether I should prioritize scrambling for another job or another place to live.

I wasn't happy even before Pedro's accident. I had been thinking that maybe having a kid would lift my spirits and compensate for my disappointing marriage. Thank goodness we didn't do that.

When I got home, he was passed out from the booze and pain killers. I wanted to scream at him and tell him how much of a useless asshole he was. I wanted to beg him to please -- if he couldn't be helpful -- at least stop being a burden. But it had all been said before and I didn't even want to look at him. I had two glasses of cheap wine and went to bed early.

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The next day the weather was lovely, so I put on my favourite sundress. It has a low-cut front and a short hemline which shows off my assets. With a high wedge sandal, I felt like a knock-out.

"Is that so your boss can get a good view of your tits?" Whined Pedro who had always struggled with jealousy. It irritates me, but I do dress provocatively and I am flirty, so it is not surprising.

"No, you drunken asshole. I got fired yesterday because of your little stunt. Now it is a certainty we will be thrown out of here by the end of the month, so I am going to find a new place. My tits, as you so graciously put it, are the only thing we have going for us."

"What he can't fire you for that. That is wrongful dismissal. We should fight this!"

"What we? It'll be me. You'll be on that couch. And fight it with what money and resources you idiot? Besides he was right. My presence there was disrupting his business."

"It is probably a racial thing. It is because you are a Chicano. That fucking Gringo."

"No. It is because you are a fucking idiot."

"Why are you sticking up for him? What, you like that Gringo?"

"Ya. The man is almost 70 years old. He is a nice guy and was a good boss who put up with way more bullshit from you than most people would. But really this is all about me wanting to suck his dick and him being a Gringo." I screamed at him before slamming the door behind me.

In a way, Pedro's jealousy wasn't entirely misplaced, but as usual he had everything a bit backwards. I wasn't lusting after my 70-year-old ex-boss, but he lusted after me and I was ok with that. He was never inappropriate with me and frankly had never asked anything of me, much less demanded it. I took it upon myself to wear tight skirts, high heels and low-cut blouses as well as flirt with him regularly. He appreciated it graciously and respectfully. It was the closest thing that I had to a means of maintaining minimal job security. But the truth is I liked the attention of men and always had.

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I couldn't really understand my feelings towards Pedro at this time. Obviously, I was angry with him. I was also incredibly anxious about our situation and unhappy with my life. But on some level, I knew he was having a tough go of it as well. When I write these words I wonder, why didn't I just divorce him? Was I not truly out of love with him? Was it Catholic guilt? Did I know that he would be destitute without me and just couldn't live with that? Who knows, but that wasn't something I considered at the time. I focussed on putting a roof over our heads.

Pedro knew that my outfit was designed to get what I want with sex appeal. I had effectively played on male desires since I was a teenager. I was good at using my looks to manipulate men and I enjoyed doing it. I had been sexually frustrated since I was a teenager. Catholic guilt and a high sex drive don't go well together. I was constantly pushing up against the limit of what was deemed acceptable, titillating my desires without ever satisfying them.

Now I needed to distract or charm some landlord enough to convince him not to ask for a last month deposit and not do a credit check. Pedro knew what I was up to. I think he found it scintillating and upsetting at the same time.

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By noon on my 2nd day of pounding the pavement I had come close to succeeding a couple times, but it was starting to feel like my luck had finally run out. I might not be able to flirt my way out of this mess. What happened next really brought that home.

I was scheduled to look at a rental unit at 1:00 on a Friday. It was in a great building and a nice neighbourhood. It was a large furnished two-bedroom unit, which was perfect. Pedro slept in a special bed for his back and he was always a restless sleeper, so I had taken to sleeping in a separate room. Our sex life was very limited since the injury anyway. The unit was way out of our price range at $2,800. Apartment hunting was such a regular and gloomy exercise for me that I liked to sprinkle in a few that were out of reach just to give myself a pick me up -- kind of like window shopping for things that I know I can't afford.

I was supposed to meet a leasing agent, but instead the owner of the building showed up. When he came into the room, I was optimistic because I could see the way that he was sizing me up and he appeared to be about my age. When he got closer, I recognized him.

"Darren? Darren Booth? Is that you?" I enthused suddenly hopeful that an old connection might be about to pull my ass out of the fire.

"Yes." He answered pensively until the light went on. "Leticia Ramirez."

"Yes." I gushed almost too enthusiastically as I rushed to throw my arms around him.

We hugged for a moment, but I could tell that he wasn't quite as enthusiastic as I was, but then he wasn't the one on the cusp of homelessness either.

We reminisced awkwardly for a moment. Just long enough to find out that he was single and had been quite successful (in addition to inheriting quite a sum of money) in the 15 years since we last saw each other. He didn't seem too keen to share and I was in no hurry to embellish my own sad story. Also I wanted to avoid any talk of my marriage as that would dilute any chance that I might use my sex appeal to get through this.

Of course, the apartment was perfect and clearly out of my price range. I was fumbling a bit with my usual flirtation. When I put my hand on his arm and batted my eyelashes he pulled back and asked if I was interested in the place.

"I...I am, but it is out of my price range. Things are tight right now, but I expect them to open up very soon." I lied.

"What do you mean? Do you not have enough for the last month's rent?" He asked with empathy.

"No, I don't. I'd be a bit short on the first month's rent as well." I said sheepishly but stepping towards him -- more in desperation than confidence -- with one last push to use my sex appeal. "Is there anything I could do to convince you to let me take the unit and give me a few weeks grace?" I asked again putting my hand on his arm. I was applying my best coquettish approach which usually worked, but Darren seemed immune to it.

"Leti you are still gorgeous, but I had quite enough cock tease the last time we dated." He said as he stepped back. "Let me know if your situation changes."

Then it all came flooding back. My face was suddenly flush, and a new realization smacked me right in the face. I couldn't get out of there fast enough.

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Darren and I had dated when we were both 19 years old shortly after my libido went into overdrive. But I was raised in a very conservative Catholic family. I was expected to wait until marriage, and I was expected to marry a Mexican Catholic boy.

I was deeply attracted to Darren and at first, he was equally passionate about me. Within a few weeks he had gotten to 3rd base. Having him finger my pussy and eat me out is a highlight among all the guys I had dated before or since. But to remain loyal to my family's wishes I held him up at 3rd base. I wouldn't let him fuck me and I wouldn't give him a blowjob or even a hand job. Meanwhile I never introduced him to my family. Nevertheless, he treated me well and seemed to thoroughly enjoy his time on 3rd base. But then it stopped. One day I was nagging at him about being late picking me up because he was with his friends. He told me to back off then broke up with me the next day. I didn't really see the whole picture at the time. I reasoned that he shouldn't be so sensitive to my complaint and much as I wanted to patch things up, I had always known that we could never go farther anyways. I just let it drift away and put it in the great memories part of my mind.

In that moment when he told me he'd had enough cock tease the last time we dated I saw it all differently. He had been patient and loving and not at all pushy even as I knew full well that I would never fuck him since I was saving myself for marriage and my father would never allow me to marry Darren. I had strung him along. I had been a cock tease. I had been unwilling to introduce him to my family. Something about that day when I was nagging him must have clicked over in his mind. He put up with it all but nagging him like the wife or girlfriend while not being willing to put out or even share him with my family was a step too far.

Back in those teen years I used to tell myself that the way I handled boyfriends like Darren was all about being a good Catholic girl. I was virtuous. I had clung to that notion ever since. But the reality is that there was a selfishness to my behaviour. I knew Catholic girls who were truly devote who never let a guy past 1st base. I knew others who refrained from vaginal penetration but engaged in other sexual activities as part of a two-way street. If they wanted their boyfriend to finger their pussy or eat them out, they would at least give him a hand job. Some would give the guy a blowjob or even take it up the ass. Truth is that I wanted to think I was one of the first type -- the really devote girl who never went past 1st base. But I had a burning lust and temptation would get the better of me. Then once I got what I wanted I never really allowed for the fact that the guy might feel the same way. I couldn't abide by the standards I set for myself, but I insisted that the boys did, and I could enforce it by simply refusing to touch them.

Darren was my happy memory, but I wasn't his. Suddenly I saw this as a link in the chain of events that had led my life to where it was at the time. After Darren I dated exclusively Mexican Catholic guys to avoid taking shit from my father. There is no shortage of handsome masculine Mexican men in the world, but not in my tiny world (at that time) of church and the children of my parent's friends. There were two short-lived relationships and then Pedro. He was the son of one of my father's work friends. I never had a burning passion for him, but we got along well enough. I just let my father steer us towards marriage.

Ironically, after having saved myself for marriage my sex life went downhill. Pedro talks a big game with all the machismo, but reality is that he is a premature ejaculator with a little dick and an aversion to eating pussy. He is one of those guys who complains about my lack of interest in sex without ever even considering that I am brimming with lust, but he is just a lousy lover.

A few years after the wedding my father died of a heart attack. Being the misogynist old school guy that he is he left what little money he had to my mother and my brother -- in his little mind he had done right by me when he found me a husband. A husband who is a profoundly mediocre man and who's primary qualification is his ethnicity and religion.

My brother quickly blew his money on poorly conceived business plans. I love my brother, but he is a lot like my father -- a big talker with little follow through and an unlimited capacity to blame others for his troubles.

My mother mourned for a few months then ran off to California with another man. She soon dropped him and went through a series of men. I hate to say it, but I think that mom was enjoying finally being fucked properly (Dad was a lot like Pedro). Eventually she settled down with an older gentleman who treats her like a queen. She doesn't have much money, but she seems to be happier now.

Pedro and I had moved to Chicago because he got a job there. His parents died 5 years later. We continued to struggle until the accident when we went from struggling to barely surviving.

As I rode the 'L' train home thinking about Darren I was suddenly flooded with the memories of my father ranting about the evils of me dating Darren because he was a "Gringo". Memories of his bigotry, blaming all his ills on his ethnicity but never on himself. I even remember him telling Pedro later about how glad he was that I had found a good Mexican Catholic boy and how he hated that old boyfriend Darren -- a boy he had never even met who's only sin was dating his daughter and being a gringo. It was better that I never did invite Darren home to be exposed to that abuse. But it was me who led him on and misled him, never telling him that we would never be together, and my father would never accept him.

I am making my father sound like a terrible stereotype. Reality is that subtle bigotry towards gringos and not so subtle misogyny do exist in the Mexican community, but those things don't define us any more so than the negative stereotypes of any community. My father was a weak-minded man, a bigot and a misogynist and he put those fucked up values ahead of his family. He wasn't representative of my beloved Mexican community. He wasn't that way because he was Mexican. But he was that way and that has a lot to do with why I am where I am.

I didn't much like being referred to as a cock tease, but I was suddenly brutally aware that it was true. It was all part of what I had become because I couldn't stand up to my father.

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When I got home, I was despondent. Pedro asked me how it went, and I told him I had not succeeded. For whatever reason I told him about Darren -- not all the history but that I had met a guy I used to date, but the apartment was too expensive.

"Was it that guy Darren?"

"Yes. How did you guess?"

"Well, I figured it was some rich white prick. Your Dad fucking hated him. He probably thinks his apartment is too good for us."

"My Dad never met him. He hated him because he is white. My Dad was an asshole."

"I bet he liked getting an eyeful of those titties, didn't he?"

"Pffft. Ya, ya. I did a striptease for him." I mumbled as I started towards the bedroom.

"Don't talk to me that way."

"What are you going to do about it?" I growled pushing him aside before leaving the room. Pedro was a big talker and not much more. When he was fully healthy, he might have threatened me with violence in this situation. Now all I would have to do is kick him in the right spot and he would fall like a sack of potatoes.

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Later that night I lay in bed wondering what my life would have been like if I'd had the courage to defy my father. What would it have been like if I had married Darren or even just not married Pedro? Then it got more erotic. What if I'd had sex with Darren? After all that time together, I didn't even know what his cock was like. How is it that now in my mid-30s I'd only ever had decent sexual experiences with two men, neither of whom is my husband? Although I had never fucked Darren, he gave me an abundance of orgasms with cunnilingus and the year before Pedro's accident I'd had a brief affair with my boss at the time. What kind of sex life would I have in the future? Pedro had never been much of a lover and now that he was injured, he was close to useless. It was only reasonable that I would have affairs. Maybe if I proved to Darren that I am not a cock tease anymore I could put a roof over our heads and get laid properly.

It wasn't lost on me that trading sex for rent was the same as trading sex for money which makes me a whore. But I figured that if I was fucking somebody that I wanted to fuck maybe it was ok. Besides trying to be a good catholic girl hadn't worked out too well so maybe going the other direction wasn't such a bad idea. I was rushing headlong towards a future that might be foolish, but it cast aside all the small mindedness and oppressive thinking that had led me to the terrible place I found myself.