When Heather and Charles moved to the New Jersey suburbs in preparation to start a family, their sex life took a nose dive. Not only were there no longer any more nights out at a new bar or lounge that ended in drunken sex, they rarely had any sex at all. Both of them were working so many hours at their jobs while trying to save money, they usually came home at nine or ten o'clock at night, ordered delivery and then passed out in the middle of a movie before they woke up and did it all over again.
But one day, Heather needed to look something up online and Charles' laptop just happened to be sitting there. When she started to type in the name of the website she had planned on going to, her jaw nearly dropped when the browsing history on the computer revealed a hundred different porno sites. It wasn't even like there were one or two porno sites mixed in with all the regular sites that her husband visited. It was more like there were one or two regular sites mixed in with hundreds of different porno sites. Charles strolled out of the bathroom to see his wife at his computer.
"What the hell is this?" Heather asked him.
"What are you doing on my computer?" her husband responded, trying to deflect his guilt by answering a question with a question.
"You have a million porno sites on your computer. You have some kind of addiction or something?" she asked him incredulously.
"No, I don't have an addiction," he tried to explain. "I just use them for distraction when I need to take a break from work."
She moved her head forward toward him and held out her palms in reaction. "What? Do you take a break like every 30 seconds?"
"It's not like that," he said, trying to make it seem like it was totally normal. "It's just porn."
"Charles, we never even have sex anymore. I thought we were just both taking a break from sex but you obviously haven't stopped fucking your cyber sluts for one minute," she yelled at him before storming off to their bedroom and slamming the door.
"Heather! Heather!" he yelled to no avail. He just shook his head, knowing the hopeless position he was now in.
For the next week, he slept on the couch. She would glare at him at the breakfast table and eat dinner before she came home. He couldn't believe how she was reacting to this. Obviously, he didn't understand women and their need to feel desired, he figured.
It wasn't until the next week, after a full breakfast of total silence that Heather suddenly said something to him. "I want to make one," she said.
"Make one what?" he asked totally confused.
"A porno," she stated matter-of-factly.
"What? What do you mean?"
"I want to make a porno with the two of us," she told him. Charles did a double take, not sure she was serious until he looked at her for a second time and saw that look of conviction in her eyes.
"You're serious?" he confirmed. She nodded yes and he knew once she had her mind set on something, she didn't stop until she saw it through to the end. But the first thought in Charles' mind was that she was not the kind of woman you would see in a porno. Yes, they had a little kinky sex here and there, but this was his wife.
"You're just being immature," she argued after he shook his head. "You're just like all guys. You think a woman is either a virgin or a whore."
"What do you mean? I obviously know you're not a virgin," he exclaimed.
But she was determined. "I already bought a camera. We both have tomorrow off," she told him before picking up her plate and walking away from the kitchen table. He just sat there, turning his fork around and around.
The next day, he got out of the shower to discover his wife was already gone. She had left a note on the kitchen counter next to the new video camera saying she had gone to the mall to buy a "ho outfit." Charles couldn't help but laugh. He spent the morning lounging around the house, watching TV and waiting for his wife's phone call. Although the idea of videotaping his wife in a porno turned him on when he thought about it very briefly, he wasn't so sure about seeing her in some kind of full-on porn role. This is the future mother of his children, he told himself. And mothers just don't want to have sex the way porn actresses do, the voice inside his head told him.
He got the call from his wife late into the morning. She told him to meet her in on the main shopping strip in a neighboring town that was about 20 miles away. Apparently, she wanted to make sure that no one she knew saw her. With an uneasy feeling in his stomach about what to expect, he told her he would be right there.
Charles was driving slowly down the street on which Laura had told him to meet her, reading the address numbers until he came to the right one. He had arrived quicker than expected so he was taking his time looking around at the shops and the people on the street. He hated the fact that even though he was about to meet his wife, he couldn't help but check out the women all decked out in their weekend shopping outfits. He followed the various women, staring in particular at one woman with a pair of tight white pants and enormous heals.
"What kind of woman would wear clothes like that?" he started to ask himself. She turned around and saw that her eyes were layered in dark eye shadow and her lips painted a deep shade of dark red. Her hair was pulled back in one of those cheap plastic hair things. She looked like some dirty Italian slut you would find in a ghetto mall, he surmised. "I'd like to make a porno with her," he said out loud to himself before his phone rang. It was his wife calling.
"Hey, I'm here," he told her.
"I know. I see you," Laura responded.
Charles looked around to try and spot his wife, peering up and down the sidewalk. "Where you at? I don't see you," he told her.
"I'm right in front you, stupid," she told him.
He kept looking around but he didn't see his wife anywhere. He went from woman to woman but none of them were his wife. Oh no, he thought. This little tramp that he was checking out was walking toward his car. The last thing he needed was his wife catching him chatting with some random slut. He jerked his head around to frantically find his wife but he thought he might just have been in the wrong place after all. And now this woman was standing right outside his window.
"I can't see you anywhere honey, but just for the record, there is some slutty girl next to my car door who I never even looked at, I swear."
"Charles, I saw you look at her."
"I didn't, I swear. Ok, maybe for a second, but that's it," he confessed.
Then there was a knock on the window of his car. He looked up.
"Roll the window down, stupid. I'm the slutty girl," his wife told him.
He froze in shock when he looked into her eyes. He could hardly recognize her. She really did look like one of those mall whores. He rolled down the window to talk to her.
"What do you think?" she asked him, turning to each side to show off her new get-up. All her husband could do was shake his head. But before he even said anything, his wife was ready to go.
"Come on. Get the camera and let's go. You can follow me like they do with the porno girls," she told him with a flirtatious smile on her face. Then she reached into her purse, took out a key and tossed it on her husband's lap. "It's for a room down at that hotel at the end of the block."
Charles was still in a state of disbelief as to how much his wife had gotten into this. He took the hotel key and the camera, and then got out of the car. His wife was already strolling down the shopping boulevard. He didn't really want to be seen videotaping his slutty looking wife in public so he took his jacket and wrapped it around the camera to hide it.
"Here we go," he said aloud to himself.
He got about 10 feet behind his wife with the camera hidden underneath his arm and wrapped snuggly in the jacket. As he got the hang of walking and holding the camera steady, he was able to enjoy the video streaming into the viewfinder. This wasn't such a bad idea, he thought. Looking at his wife in the video was like looking at another woman, especially with how she was dressed. Her white pants were so thin and tight, it was like she was hardly even wearing anything. And from what he could tell, he didn't think she was even wearing any panties. The material clung to every curve and crevasse of her body. Every guy that passed would turn to get a look.
Charles followed her for a while, sometimes from far away and sometimes from up close. He wanted to make sure to get some good footage for when he would watch this later. At the end of the block, his wife turned the corner, moving out of sight of the camera. He quickly followed her path, racing around the corner only to find her standing there looking at him.
"Are you videotaping me?" she asked him defiantly.
He couldn't help but smile at her. "Well, yes, I am. I couldn't help it with that sexy little outfit you have on," he told her.