Until #$&%@ Do Us Part Literally Ch. 02

"I'm Bob," he said holding out his hand.

Bob? Someone who looks like him shouldn't be named Bob. Someone who looked like him should be named Brad, Zach, Hunter, Luke, Jake, Adam, Alex, or Ryan. Nonetheless his lack of having a hot name, he had a hot body. Nonetheless his lack of having a hot name, he had a handsome face.

I imagined party favors, wine glasses, towels, and wedding invitations with the names Bob and Sue engraved on them. Only, I hated the name Sue. Blaming Johnny Cash for that, I hated that song. All my brothers fault for teaching me how to throw and catch a football, how to hit a baseball, and how to shoot a basketball, the kids used to tease me because I was such a Tomboy and so athletic. Before I had tits, because I was so tall and skinny, the kids in the neighborhood used to call me a Boy Named Sue.

In my freshman, sophomore, and junior years of high school, I ran indoor track, outdoor track, and cross country track. I would have run track in my senior year but I dropped out of high school in my junior year, a much longer story than this story. Able to beat the boys at anything, running, hitting, shooting, and throwing, the only way they could get back at me was calling me A Boy Named Sue. In hindsight, I suspect the boys wanted to get me fighting mad so that they could roll around the ground while wrestling with me. Even later in life, still hating the name Sue, I always preferred Susan.

"Susan," I said shaking his white gloved hand. A big day for Boston with the Red Sox winning the World Series after not winning one in eighty-six, long, frustrating years, he was in his dress uniform. "Pleased to meet you, Bob. Thank you for coming to my rescue."

'Oh, yeah, definitely,' I thought, 'he can lift my leg any time he wants.'

With him becoming an undercover cop shortly after we were married, after that, the only time I ever saw him in uniform was at a policeman's funeral. With him working dangerous duty, as if he had turned on a switch that severed his emotions, he suddenly, dramatically, and drastically changed. Not the same man, he did some things that he wasn't proud of doing. He did plenty of things he didn't tell me about.

Then, one day, when he had been drinking, he told me some of what he's done. With me safe as long as I stayed married to him, when I threatened to leave him and file for divorce after he not only hit me but beat on me several times was when he threatened to kill me. Good while it lasted, the romance was officially over and before I was dead, it was time for me to leave.

* * * * *

With his arm still around my waist, I never wanted him to let go of me. Kiss me Bob, I imagined saying to him. Hold me, Bob, and never let me go. Touch me, Bob, I imagine giving him permission to feel me while kissing me. May I touch you? May I feel your cock Bob? All of this went through my mind in a nanosecond after he pulled my heel out of the sewer.

Only, too short-lived, our romance wasn't meant to be. He placed a higher importance on his job and on his career than he did on me. I was baggage. I was his attachment. I was a witness.

Holding him back from doing all that he wanted and needed to do, I was dead weight. I was in the way of him fleeing if he felt the heat. He placed a higher importance on making money for things that people paid him to do that they didn't have the balls to do themselves. I'm glad that part of my life is over. I'm glad I survived him to write my stories.

THE END

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