Katie (yourhuckleberry) wrote,

Above & Beyond the Call..........

**********This one was met with a LOT of criticism when I first posted it, and I can see why. It needs a lot of work. I would write this story very differently if I rewrote it today. I simply was not myself back then, and I saw my entire life through the eyes of a victim. I'll fix this one up someday...cut out the whining and some of the sarcasm*******************

Above and Beyond the Call of Booty
I was married to Doug for seven years. For the first two years after our youngest son was born, (which, due to some seriously bad timing, was also the first two years of our marriage,) all the pleasure and pain of being a stay at home mom were mine. I was a kick-ass little wifey. I woke up at 5AM to pack Doug's lunch and take a shower so I'd be nice and fresh when I went into the bedroom to wake him up. Then, time to cook his breakfast and get the coffee brewing. Once Doug was off to work, I woke the kids, made their breakfast, cleaned them up and headed out to the library or the park. Sometimes we'd visit with others in the trailer park who had kids, or go grocery shopping, and THOSE were the exciting times!
Then we'd head back to the house for lunch, and I'd spend the rest of the afternoon cleaning and getting supper ready. It was actually almost fun for the first few months, but what I didn't realize was that I was slowly turning into a spaz. Everything I did had to be perfect. I could spot a dust bunny under a couch from ten paces, and the baby rarely had the satisfaction of completing a B.M. before I whipped his diaper off. Supper usually involved much chopping of vegetables and simmering of sauces, the only exception being when I was deathly ill.
Doug would come home from work at night, order the kids into the bedroom to play, mix a drink, light a smoke, and slump into the chair which is where he would remain for the rest of the night. I followed behind him, opening windows to let the smoke out. I brought his supper to him in the living room, played with the kids, did the dishes, and got the boys bathed and tucked into bed. Finally, when it was MY time to wind down, I'd flop on the couch and watch the tube. On a good night, I'd get 10 full minutes of couch time before Doug started groping at my boobs. He ALWAYS started with the boobs! I'd push him away, "Doug, I just wanna lay here and watch this show, okay? I'm totally beat tonight." He'd persist until I got up and left the room. Since I felt it necessary to have a valid reason to remove myself from the confines of "BoobieGropeSofa," I sometimes ended up taking way too many showers. At this point, he'd sit and sulk and drink himself into a stupor. Then he'd come and find me, no matter where I was hiding, and try to woo me into getting my freak on. Like this, "Supper was really good, but not as good as YOU," or "You look so fuckin hot tonight!" I knew damn well I still had meat grissle in my teeth and a quarter inch layer of grease on my face, and sweatpants never turned him on BEFORE.... I simply do not have the words to describe the thrill I felt, the sheer flutter of excitement from knowing I was a mere heartbeat away from rum-laden saliva all over my neck, gas being passed FAR too close to my face, and ten fabulous seconds of the 'ol in-and-out.
I stayed home with the kids because they needed me there, and we couldn't have afforded daycare anyway. I busted my ass to make things comfortable and to lift everyone's spirits. I'm pretty sure living in a trailer park depresed even the kids. I was also acutely aware of who was "bringing home the bacon." I didn't go to work and punch a clock everyday like Doug did, but it was looking like a pretty damn good idea. His day started at 8 and ended at 5, while my day never really ended OR began. I was on call 24/7. I was insanely jealous.
Time ticked on, as it always does, and I grew more and more resentful. The sound of the alarm clock at 5AM made me want to cry, and eventually, I arranged things so that I was already IN the shower when Doug got home from work. I handled my resentment in a reasonable fashion, though, by inflicting passive aggression upon everyone who crossed my path. "No, Hun, it's okay. You've been working alllll day long, and I've just been sitting around the house watching TV. You GO to the bar, and don't worry about me! Just make sure you give me a call when you're too drunk to drive home, okay? And see if any of the guys need a ride, too."
Before too long, I realized that the more I gave, the more he took. There wasn't going to be any fair play, or some fantastic turn of events that would let ME go to the bar. My life already sucked donkey balls, and it was only getting worse.
After two years of living in the lap of trailer park luxury, I insisted on finding a job. I didn't have to twist Doug's arm too hard, though, because our finances were a mess. I picked up a waitressing gig at a local restaurant, and it was good to get away. However, coming home at night made me wish I'd never left the house. The kids were hungry, as it was way too easy for Doug to lose track of time, (hey, that Internet porn'll break even the STRONGEST man!) all the doors and windows were shut tight to seal in every savory puff of cigarette smoke, the baby had a turd the size of Mount Rushmore poking out from underneath his diaper, and the dishes threatened to topple over every time I walked by too fast.
For a few weeks, I was able to ride that "new job high" into the wee hours of the morning to get things cleaned up at home, but eventually, I was just too tired, and I decided I wasn't going to do a damn thing after work. I was going to drink rum and watch TV and that couch was gonna get to know my ass all too well! I had begged and pleaded with Doug to help me out, and he wasn't budging, so screw it all! My fresh new attitude lasted for two whole days. Things just simply HAD to be done, so I did them. But this time, I did them with a vengance. I literally snarled at Doug, and when he started in with his oh-so-suave seduction techniques, I pulled the "Hustler" out from under the mattress, threw it at him. "Knock yourself out, Dickface," was the kindest thing I said to him for months.
Then, one magical evening, I came home from work to the shock of a lifetime. The kids were fed, clean, and sleeping soundly in their beds. Supper was being kept warm for me in the oven, the dishes were washed and put away, the carpet was vacuumed, the floor was washed, the garbage had been taken out, and there were a dozen red roses in a brand-new crystal vase on the kitchen table. My eyebrows were shocked up to the middle of my forehead, and I was unable to speak. Tears welled in my eyes, and I thought, "Finally, he understands! He's appreciated me and everything I do for our family all along, and now he's showing me exactly how he feels!"
I was estatic. I was overcome with feelings of love for my man, and I hummed a happy tune to myself as I peeled off my sweaty work clothes and stepped into the shower. I took my time lathering myself up with my favorite coco butter body wash. I washed, I rinsed, I even repeated. Life was finally coming along, and me and my man were going to be together forever!
Doug sat at the kitchen table with me, asking me questions about my night at work. I was all too happy to answer them all at length, and Doug and I had a few genuine laughs about the misshaps I'd survived that night. It was so unbelievably GOOD to come home from work, and just TALK!
After I finished eating and my tummy was full, I started feeling the sleepy after-effects of a hard night's work. I grabbed my comforter from the bedroom, and settled in on the couch to read my book. Doug made me a cup of hot cocoa, and massaged my aching feet. I closed my eyes and rested my head on the arm of the couch, enjoying this pampering I was receiving to the fullest. I was going to sleep like a baby tonight!
I crawled into bed, snuggling deep into the freshly washed sheets and blankets, and blissfully dozed off into never never land. Some time later, I felt Doug climbing in next to me. He snuggled up behind me and stroked my arm with his fingertips. "I love you so much, Sweetie," I murmured, "thank you for tonight. You have no idea how much this means to me."
"You're more than welcome, Hun," he responded, "you deserve to come home to this every night." He planted a soft, sweet kiss on my cheek as I slipped away into a deep, dreamless sleep.
I was awakened to the feel of my shorts being yanked down to my knees, and a hard cock pushing it's way in between my ass cheeks. "Doug! What the hell are you doing!"
"I'm fucking ya."
"Oh sorry. I'm MAKING LOVE to ya."
"Doug. I was sleeping..."
"Well, can you think of a better way to wake up?"
"Hmmm..with my tongue nailed to the bumper of a speeding bus?"
He pushed me away from him then, and lit up a smoke. "What the fuck is your problem, Katie? I did everything you wanted me to do, and you STILL won't fuck me!" I felt sick to my stomach. "You only did what you did tonight to get me to have sex with you?!"
"Well, yeah," he said, "why else would I bust my ass like that? I'm tired when I get home from work!"
"Then go to sleep," I snarled as I grabbed my pillow and stomped off to the living room to sleep on the couch.
Over the next few weeks, Doug worked on modifying his plans to "get a piece of ass around here." When I came home from work, maybe one or two things would be done, or he might ask me how work was, or make me a cup of cocoa, but he didn't do all of them on the same night. When he finally realized that these tactics only pissed me off more, he decided that strip clubs were the solution. He'd make me jealous, and then WATCH OUT, BABY! I'd be allll over him like white on rice!
Doug and I have been divorced for almost two years, and all I really want is for any man reading this story right now, to search deep within his soul. FIND that tender place, FEEL the love, and RISE! Rise above and beyond the call of booty!
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