He maintained the kind of job that kicked his ass every day but kept the bills paid, the kind where nonsense words like paradigm and synergy were tossed around like wisdom. He was The Boss, and all day long he was expected to tell people what to do through a thin bullshit smile that fooled no one. They gave him the same bullshit smile back. It was all a hustle.
When he came home at night with the life sucked out of him, all he wanted was a beer and some quiet. He didn't expect the whole evening to himself, just long enough to recharge his batteries a little bit. A little time to shake the stink of being The Boss, to forget all the awful buzzwords and hideous faces.
But she wouldn't have it. Always right away with what color should we paint the guest room or should we plant azaleas next to the driveway or shaking her ass. Always shaking her ass. "Just let me have some quiet, for Christ sake," he said. "I don't want to make any more decisions. I don't want to do anything for anybody."
"You won't even get out of that chair to fuck me?" She purred, and she brushed against him.
"Baby, I've been fucked all day."
She stomped into the bedroom and fired up the computer. "You can't keep taking me for granted, Les. If you won't appreciate me somebody else will," she yelled.
"One less thing for me to worry about," Les said, and he took a big pull off his beer. Same shit, different night.
***
Weeks turned into months, the job grinding him during the day and the wife piling on at night. Everybody wanted a piece of him, a decision, an order, an instruction. Les started cutting out early in the afternoons and hitting the Panama for a couple of quick shots just so that he could face her.
Wednesday afternoon rolled around. The bar's doors were locked. Les shook the doors, knocked, cupped his hands and peered through the windows. Pete, the day bartender, waved, unlocked the door.
"What's up, Les?"
"You tell me."
"Broken pipe. Water all over the place."
"What time you going to open?"
"Don't know, still waiting on the plumber."
"What am I supposed to do?"
"Don't know, man. Go back to work."
Fuck that, Les thought. He jumped back into the big European sedan and pointed it toward the nightmare of a gated community he called home.
***
The house was quiet. He tossed his keys onto the low table by the door and walked to the kitchen for a beer. That's when he heard them, the first quick breaths - sh, sh, sh. He felt the blood rush to his crotch, the linen front of his slacks tighten.
Les walked quietly toward the bedroom door. She hadn't closed it. He pressed himself against the hallway wall like a spy in a bad movie and peeked around the corner. She squinted, jaw clinched, shoulders moving rhythmically. He wanted to see her hands, her fingers taking charge of her sex, but he couldn't get her body into his sightline without moving in front of the doorway.
He slipped the cellphone out of his pocket and pressed record, then held it outstretched for a few seconds. His hands shook when he pressed play. It had been a long time since he saw her body as an object of desire: the flush of red that burst like flame across her chest when she was turned on, the soft curve of her breasts; the arc of her ribcage and the gentle slope to her deep navel. When they were dating he used to stick his finger in there until she giggled and slapped at his hand.
And on downward he followed her lean arms to her...head. A man's head bobbed between her legs, her palms on his temples, fingers absentmindedly stroking his hair. Les's stomach iced over. His heart beat quickly, and in the other room the quick breaths kept coming - sh, sh, sh. "You're so fucking good," she said to him.
Les sat on the floor of the hallway for a moment, unsure what to do. He looked at his erection pushing hard against his work slacks, a dark stain forming where his penis involuntarily leaked. He quietly opened his fly and his cock burst out, red and angry. He rubbed the clear pre-ejaculate on his hard shaft and gripped it hard.
Sh. Sh. Sh. "I love how you eat my pussy."
Sh. Sh. Sh. "I love how you take charge. Make me yours..."
Nothing but the buzz in his head and the sensation in his cock mattered. He closed his eyes and gave in to the feeling. Time stopped.
"Who the fuck are you?" Les opened his eyes. His wife's friend stood in the doorway nude, muscular calves at Les's eye level. He followed the legs upward, past the menacing erection and the chiseled torso. The man's face still glistened with his wife's juices.
