Tassels - A Wild Tail or Two Ch. 01

Tassels: A Wild Tail or Two

A New Tassels Series

By: RicharDickensAlcoxxx

I hated taking that fuckin' Metra line...but what choice did I have? When my car broke down and my wife refused ta' let me near 'da house again I was pretty much screwed!! This all happened on my fortieth birt'day, if you can believe all that, my friends!

All alone in a friggin' car dealership at eight in 'da morning, honest ta Gaad!

Before I get into all of that unfortunate business, let me introduce myself properly as registered architect and civil engineer from Chicago, Brandon H. Slim, at your service.

I work as a partner in my very own burgeoning architectural firm, I live in the suburbs of La Grange, I love 'da Bears and I am married ta' a beautiful woman. To a thirty-two year old ex-fashion model from New York named Eny Vilhjalmsson. And did I mention I happen to love 'da Bears???

The only son of Greek immigrants, I decided to shorten and westernize my name to Slim from Leptospoulos soon after I finished college. I couldn't consider myself a Greek God at all, being that I am rather short standing at 5'6" and a bit heavy set, but still pretty damn solid.

T'ere was a short time when I did a little boxing at college, a time that I was quite athletic. But ultimately, I decided that it really wasn't for me. Too accident prone ta' be honest! And punches to 'da head aren't good.

When women are younger 't'ey want the abs, and the muscles, and the hotness. But t'ose kind of men are usually very shallow and as empty headed as a Ken Carson doll. Women often find 'da men look great, but have no substance.

Then 't'ey see these little fat men that make 'em laugh, think, feel and, oh yes, cum. All in an unselfish way as opposed to the other men (yes! I said it). And before 't'ey know it, 't'ey are deeply in love with the man that makes t'em feel whole.

Because 't'ey can see past his looks to 'da defining beauty inside him. Plus 't'ey can have real conversations with him. A bit of money doesn't hurt much either! It's bad, I know! I don't mean ta' show off that I have a bit of money!! But money is fucking sexy to a woman!

I was this big guy in school, not ugly, but a big boy. Then as I got older, and still a big boy, these cute girls wanted to date me all of a sudden. This when before 'dose same gals only wanted 'da muscled up jocks and regular guys sized guys.

Then I lost weight somehow. Not sure how, except for maybe 'da boxing. I really didn't change anything for a long, long time, and I met my wife after years of searchin' and just datin' different women. I met her t'rough a friend. Then I gained back a lot of weight I can't get rid of now.

Trying ta' diet, but I know she is still madly in love with me deep down. As I am with her. Because I make her laugh, can talk to her about anything, and make her feel loved, wanted, cared for. etc.

My wife Eny is beautiful. A bit flat-chested, but beautiful. She has these piercing turquoise eyes, an incredibly rare color! In her heyday she had been described as a cross between Linda Evangelista and Cara Delavigne. That doesn't even come close! Not bad, 'dough because I was the lucky gentleman that she married.

I guess one thing that did contribute to Eny and t'ose o'dder gals falling in love with me was my huge Scorpio energy, I'm a sensualist. If anything I am a soulful person too 'dough.

Also, my very deep, heavenly (am told), and trustworthy big blue eyes t'at I was born with. I also happen to have a long and thick mane of dark-brown hair which I grew out at my sides. When I have kept it long in the past women have told me that I look like a "cuddly" Russel Crowe. So I keep it like t'at all 'da time now.

As the senior partner of my firm, and since I happen to own it, I can get away with having my locks growin' past the shoulders of my Italian suits every day.

Don't let da' Chicago accent fool ya'. I have been told 't'at I should be put in a museum because of the way I talk by my friends, but there is so much more to me than meets the eye.

Ald'ough I grew up blue-collar strutin' da' streets of Lake View and Lincoln Park; I was charming da' pants off of my prep school teachers; an' later, college admission recruiters with my architectural designs from a ripe age. Ever since I discovered that I was born pretty much a math genius with the gift of gab.

'Da old man is proud of me evend'ough I changed my last name. Now 'da old man can drive mom around in a Bentley Continental GT for his troubles.

It payed off in the end havin' to raise a dreamer like me who locked himself in his room with his computers and his sketches all day long rather than help him wait tables at the diner, or play at "pinners" out on the front stoops with 'da u'dder neighborhood men.

I told him and mom I would be building my stru'chres all around America and made it happen. But now let me get to 'da thing I love ta' talk about second in 'da world u'dder than designing stru'chres and beautiful buildings....loving very beautiful women...with all my heart.

My best friend Paul is 'da exception ta' what I was sayin' before because he possesses looks, brains and loads of talent -of 'da musical variety. Sadly, it was Paul that almost destroyed my relationship with my ex model wife because she had an affair with him.

That woman can be as cold as she is beautiful. But what woman can a'chally resist a successful and handsome musician? Musicians are 'da top tier type of men who receive marriage proposals rather than 'da 'udder way around!

Paul's singing voice has been described as similar to that of Eddie Vedder's from Pearl Jam, and I can only imagine the type of female attention that Eddie gets.

Paul, a now forty-four year old contemporary folk singer and harmonica player charmed her cotton panties right off her. Off my f-u-c-k-i-n-g wife! Honest ta Gaaad! He's a real t'rough and t'rough, but fashionable, Texas man built like Rock Hudson in "Giant" with a face that is a cross between Paul Walker and John Wayne.

I woulda' confronted him bein' trained as a boxer in my youth. But coming from East Texas, he's no stranger ta' scraps and ta' street fights. So I didn't take chances. I saw what happens ta' men in the ring. Paul is a true beast that could probably go for twelve rounds easy. No thank you ladies and gentleman.

As soon as I figured it all out 'dough, I became absolutely enraged. I lost it. After threatening him over da' phone, I ran ta' my wife's real estate agency the next day like a child, an' embarrassed her.

I addressed both the betrayal and indirectly cried and pleaded for her love again. I felt myself became like a baby, begging deeply for his mother's love and attention. Because without a mother's warmth, we die. In the process I also pre'ddy much scared 'da hell out of everybody within ear-shot in the other offices.

I do love my wife very much but I am a Scorpio man born in late October. We like ta' get crazy!!! This is the reason why she won't let me move back to 'da house.

Apparently, ta' add to my troubles, her philandering Icelandic father Jon and one of her bro'dders are in Illinois from New York City. And they are stayin' at my house to help raise our only daughter Emilia. Our daughter is adopted.

Not only did Paul Morris have an affair with my wife Eny. But ta' make matters worse, I suspect that it was a t'reesome with Eny and with his wife Paulette. I am still in deep denial about it but I will get to that soon enough as well.

It was a double betrayal! Here I t'ought these things aren't supposed to happen ta' loyal fans of 'da Bears, da' Bulls and da' Blackhawks! I am anything if not loyal to my wife an' ta' everything else!

As Chicagoans we show up ta' wakes, funerals, baptisms, our wives and our teams! Her backstabbing was painful as fuck. And I have to admit it changed me for the worst, my friends. The asp of betrayal bit me pretty bad that day, and I could feel the venom flowing t'rough my veins killing me a little every day after that.

I became a petty man, I couldn't help myself. I now feel like a completely different person than a year and a half ago. More cynical and more bitter. I'm a sweet man by nature, but that whole experience felt like a sharp blade was tearing inta' my guts, honest ta' Gaad!

After that I couldn't do much aside from work. And work, I did, because whenever I went outside for any fun, I could barely walk straight. My heart was broken.

I mean, I used to attribute my love for my wife, and ta' sports, to my father's love for my mother and also ta' his rabid fandom of 'da same Chicago athletic organizations that I adore. It has been more than a year that my wife and I are separated. Too fuckin' long!

I woulda' given anything. Hell, I woulda' even given away a seat at the box at Soldier Field Stadium to get back home with my wife and daughter again. At least until the morning of my fortieth birt'day. I'll tell you's exactly what happened.

Chapter 1.2

I could have used replacement car that morning since the dealership was out of loaners. My old Jeep in 'da garage was perfect to get me to work that day, I didn't bo'der. My wife had made it clear she was pissed. Even a bicycle from 'da garage would have served me, but I stayed away.

I am a well off man. I had ta' be; it added to my charm when I snagged former models and beautiful women like my wife in the past from places like New York City and Los Angeles. Her name is at'chually pronounced Eh-NAI if you are wondering, my friends.

With an exotic name like that, you better believe she is a tall, gorgeous and healthy young lady. They have to be tall to look confident modeling elegant clothing on those bodies. I can't believe how much I still care for her.

So, I left my barely functioning car at 'da Jaguar dealer's that morning and rushed to 'da train station like a maniac to get ta' work. I still loved her so much that I didn't want to go near 'da house. I didn't want to trouble or upset her.

Now, I should make it clear that she struggles with a chronic nervous condition. A disorder that I didn't want to exacerbate. I often find myself wondering if that is all a ruse. I know it is not. Subtlety in life is everything, my friends!

Ta' my astonishment 'dough, as I waited for my train to get me out of 'da suburbs of LaGrange and into Union Station; I saw a pair of legs out on the platform that could only belong to one person...none other than Paulette Morris!

'Dose towering sensual legs of hers could not be be mistaken. It was her! And I knew why she was here.

Paulette is my best friend Paul's wife. We had already made love once since I separated from my wife. 'Da astonishing part of this story is that I had been living with the couple and their kids at the time, and I still am.

Paulette had taken pity on me after 'da cheating scandal with my wife and her husband. Because I was completely heartbroken, Paulette allowed me to move into t'eir basement until my wife started to feel better. We were all working together to fix this for the sake of the kids, even the big alpha-lunk, Paul.

I guess, in part, Paulette had given herself to me out of pity and compassion. Maybe I was wrong...Could I be mistaken?

After all she let me make love to her in 'da basement with her husband not having a clue. She also happened to be in 'da second trimester of a pregnancy at 'da time.

Naughty me, but can ya' blame me trying to bed a woman with her looks again as soon as I spotted her at 'da train station? I was missing my wife and I was feeling as vulnerable as a frightened little lost puppy. All I had to distract me during this difficult time in my life was my job! I had lost my wife!

Paulette had been avoiding me since our last encounter some time ago but there was something new here. I could feel it. A new energy, shall we say.

Their baby had been born and now Paulette was in the early stages of a new pregnancy, carrying Paul's second child. She hardly showed it yet because she was still in the first trimester.

But that fresh new mommy glow on her skin could not be denied. When some ladies become pregnant, their skin looks radiant. It's from all the hormones their bodies produce to make that beautiful child. That glow lasts a couple of months postpartum.

Sadly, Paul hardly wanted to even go near her when she was pregnant, but not me. Paulette was especially irresistible to me in this condition. I guess t'e only real reason Paul didn't suspect anything was happening before was because his wife was five months pregnant then.

Now here she was again: touch-starved, expecting, and lonely. And all mine. Paul didn't think women were attractive when 't'ey were pregnant. Even a beautiful woman. Like the great Elvis Presley, Paul Morris had "mommy issues."

I mean, Paulette is a voluptuous brunette that could give Monica Bellucci and Katy Perry a run for t'eir money.

My wife Eny is a svelte, and youthful, and elegant lady; she's just very sexy. But Paulette possesses a certain ja-ne-sais-quoi femme fatale and ephemeral quality about her. In a sense, even when Paulette speaks, she is sex. You could say her voice is delicate, sweet and nymph-like.

This is a crude way of describing my wife's beauty but, say, if 't'ey were cartoons and Eny was Minnie Mouse or Olive Oyl (Because of Eny's skinny body, personality and because of her love of classic cartoons, Disney or otherwise, we often compared her to them)....

Given that, Paulette would certainly be compared to cartoons like Betty Boop, Jessica Rabbit. Or, better yet, Veronica Lodge from the Archie comics!! And might I add, Paulette is also quite an agile dancer!

Having performed with every amazing company ballet group in Chicago by 'da time she was twenty-one; Paulette was thirty-four now and still looked like a babe.

And there she was, my best friend's gorgeous wife was wandering around 'da station all by herself. She wore' an above knee-length beige dress that morning, carrying a few bags and her raincoat over her shoulder with her hand. I couldn't help myself as I returned to what had been my favorite hobby, as of late...

Being a guest in her house, I indulged in studying 'da divine curves of her small, chunky ass all the time. It was a little big for a former ballerina, and plumply heart-shaped.

She also had on these tan platform heels as 'da hems of her dress slightly blew against her thighs in the Illinois sun. Her dress was patterned all over with lilies. 'Da plunging v-neck on that fuckin' dress of hers made this busty li'l heart-breaker look like a real knockout.

But lately there had been something a little cheap about Paulette. Pregnant women do become more beautiful but not on the days when they are tired and stressed, or when their husbands are treating them like shit.

She had dyed her chocolate brown locks, a delicious velvety mane, ta' a cheap and trailer-park sultry blonde base color to please him. I heard him imply to her that maybe he would be more in the mood for romance if she became a blonde for him.

Paulette was very sad and depressed lately over Paul's problems. She walked around with this chopped hair and fallen bangs almost covering her pretty face. Still, her high cheek bones and slightly upturned nose gave this little lady a very classy look from up close, especially when she smiled.

She had once been this charming dance instructor and part-time model/actress known by studio executives for her tight hourglass body, luscious long legs, chocolate brown -or sometimes black ash- elegant hair, and candle-wax-like ivory skin. But this "expensive brunette" was now unemployed.

Paulette and her husband Paul were not responsible people and she had breached her contract so much that her agency and management had promptly dropped her.

Oh, I knew why she was here, alright...Of course she wanted to save money but there was ano'dder reason I will get into in a moment.

When she was pregnant the first time she had to break a major contract. And now just when she just started back, looking for jobs, she had gotten pregnant again. She had a wonderful job set to begin as a dance and photography double when she discovered that she was pregnant again. What a disaster that was.

Of course she was probably on her way to apply for unemployment benefits with the state of Illinois... I was well aware that Paul had ta' sell one of his trucks recently just to make ends meet. With t'ree kids already and da' new baby on the way, money was pretty tight.

That morning, past all 'da commotion with the kids at breakfast in the house, she had discussed something serious with Paul. Very serious. If they did not plan for the future they would face serious debt. As usual, Paul had become very touchy on 'da subject of his money.

Listening ta' a young couple like that argue is very unpleasant. Paul is a little older than me, and as I mentioned, is in one of 'da hardest, most stressful professions in 'da world, recording artist.

Apparently, from what I could remember about that morning, Paul's record company had been slow in bringing him his returns right away. Really slow, I guess. Paul owed tons of people money and 'da couple had blown his entire advance. 'T'ey now had to wait until the royalties kicked in.

As I understood it, 'da advance from his new album would have to be paid back from the sales before any royalties could be claimed. The sales had been really good, so t'ey would be okay. Eventually.

I quietly decided at that moment that I had to try and woo her once our train had pulled in. I had to. I just had to. A Scorpio man doesn't give up easily.

I just held onta' my tie and started following her sinewy back and smooth gams once 'da doors of 'da train popped open.

I almost lost her several times because there were so many people around and I didn't want ta' get caught. Following that sweet ass that just kept wiggling in front of my eyes as she walked inside that train wasn't very difficult.

It was difficult to concentrate on following anything much else! But odd'er men in the train sneaking in hard leers at her body was definitely bo'ddering me.

She got pretty far away from me at times, but I gained on her every single time. Just follow the prize little buckaroo! We were both street-wise people who knew how ta' walk around a big city regardless of conditions...

Just two people deftly snaking past hungry t'rongs of Chicago straphangers in da' morning. I kind of got a good feeling of what it felt like ta' be in her head.

I mean, a sense of who she was comfortable wit', as she passed seated passengers talking, various people gripping 'da overhead train straps, 'udder people leaning on 'da doors, and 'dose multitasking with 'dare devices, or eating sam'miches.

I found myself wondering why exactly she chose ta' make her way to the last train car as each connective door kept slammin' right in my face and her frame kept disappearing into the gangways once again. All that fancy foot-work ta' end up deep inside 'da back of the train!

All the suited-up work-force folks, like myself, kept cluttering inta' the front up cars. I kept wondering why someone would move th't far back as 'da train picked up speed and kept chugging its way inta' the dirty Windy City from 'da suburbs.

Crossing over from 'da penultimate car, I saw that this was 'da loneliest car indeed. The last cars along the way had been gettin' emptier and emptier. Very much so. All the people were drying up. It was the last of the peak trains.

T'ere were just a few migrant workers and some down-and-out vagabonds scattered about inside this last car. This is where t'ese kinds of people had ended up on 'da train. Was she just anod'er outcast or did she just like her privacy?

'Dere where smelly winos drinking and arguing about their favorite Christmas songs close to the back. She had confessed to me once that she felt comfortable with people on 'da margins of society.