I hated the stupid whore, but shit, she was sexy.
She was sporting a high ponytail, and that black hair, pulled tight against her head, shined to where it knotted at a pink rubber band, and then it shot out from there and fell down her back to her shoulder blades. I wanted to grab her by it and drag her ass out of there.
I can't believe I'm married to that dumb ass cunt.
She was over playing pool with a jackass in a red and white striped blazer. The second the douche walked into the bar with his little friends, I wanted to beat his ass. Who wears a jacket like that? Hey, everyone, look at me! Look how fucking hilarious I am in my queer blazer!
And, there's my dipshit wife, flirting and playing pool with him and his friends—they all had the sense to dress like normal fucking people.
Fuck, she looked good, though. Her too tight white tee shirt made those tits just launch out her chest. And her waist--what guy likes a chick's waist? I don't know, but I liked hers. So skinny, and then her hips rolled out, and even though she was wearing a jean skirt, anyone looking at her knew the ass under there was out of this world.
And it was. I saw Mr. Candycane Coat glaring at it when she bent over the table for a shot. Her big tits squashed against the green felt.
She did it on purpose. Stupid bitch. She'd done it before. She wants to be looked at. She wants to be fought over. She was drunk and dumb. I knew she'd pick that fuckhead, too. The coat. She knew Mr. Candy Blazer would piss me off. I was pretty fucking lit, myself.
Then, I saw him put his cue between his legs, look over at his happy little posse, and pretend to jack off with the stick while he watched her shoot. They snickered.
I set my Bud Light down and walked over. Candy Ass saw me and quit his little show. I looked like trouble, and fuckin-a, I was.
He was just walking around the corner of the table towards me, his hands up. Maybe he was saying, "Easy, easy" or "Hey, I'm sorry" or something. I didn't listen. Buffy—that was my wife—had a hand on her hip; she looked at me like I was some hunk of garbage that made the whole bar reek.
I leaped, put my hands on the corner of the table across from Candy Ass, brought my knees up to my chest and fucking blasted the dude with two feet into his gut.
The guy fucking careened backward. He slammed into the table behind him, knocking it over and sending drinks flying everywhere. Buffy gasped.
My friends were racing to catch up with me, but I landed on my feet, laughing at Candy Ass. Fuck, I launched him. People yelled and shrieked, and Candy Ass couldn't get back up.
"Come on, Buffy. Let's go," I said, still chuckling.
"You're a fucking asshole," she yelled. She walked over to Candy Ass.
I had forgotten about his friends.
Someone tackled me, and I about flew into Buffy. I landed on my shoulder, rolled on my back, and I flipped the guy.
I was over him and about to pummel his fucking face when some other dude kicked me in the back of the head.
I blacked out.
When I came around, my friends were carrying me out of the bar. I hollered and twisted, but they had me, laughing. I gave up and started chuckling, too. Shit, my head hurt.
Buffy and the wives of my two friends followed behind us. They were all drunk and pissy: I got us kicked out of a bar. Again.
My friend drove us home and dropped us off. I invited everyone in, but it was late.
When I shut the door behind us, Buffy rounded on me. "You're a fucking jerk."
"Come on, Buffy."
"Why did you fight that guy? He was fun."
"He was a dick. You didn't see him behind you."
"He was nice."
"He was a fag."
"You didn't even talk to him."
"So, go fuck him, you fucking cunt."
She stepped forward and slapped me. I laughed. She turned away, and I pantsed and shoved her. With her skirt around her ankles, she tripped and skidded on the carpet of our family room.
She rolled on her back and screamed, "Fuck you!"
"Come on, Buffy." She hiked up her skirt, and I ogled her panties. "Fuck, look at that pussy."
"You're not getting any."
I walked up to her and I said, "Not now, but pretty fucking soon."
She kicked me, going for my nuts, but I was ready. I deflected it and pulled her close. "Get your dirty fucking hands off me!" she hollered.
I laughed, and then she got me good. She stuck her fingers up my nose. Buffy was quick, and her long fingernails dug into the skin of my nostrils. I let her go and yelled, "Ah! Shit!"
She smiled. I was holding my nose, my eyes turned red, and tears streamed out. "Oh, look, my crybaby husband."
"Fuck off, Buffy. That hurt."
"Did your wife kick your ass again?" she asked.
I shot into her legs and picked her up, still a little blinded by the pain and my puffy red eyes. I knew enough about where I was in the house, though, to drop on the couch and lay her across my lap.
I ripped up her skirt, yanked down her panties, and fucking smacked the shit out of her fat little ass. I got her about four times before I shrieked. Yeah, me.
She had seized my leg and bit right into my calf—really fucking hard. I shoved her to the ground and checked out my leg. It was already purple, and through the teeth marks, I saw blood welling up.
"Buffy! Fuck! Look at my leg!"
I peered down at it, and she whacked me over the head with a fat book off the coffee table.
"Shit, Buffy!"
She brought it back for a return blow, but I blocked it. Then, she kicked me in the arm. "I'm kicking your ass!" she yelled.
She went for another kick, and I snatched her leg and yanked her. She fell on her back and, as I was about to climb on top, her other foot, flailing, punted me in the chin.
She started hooting again. I held my jaw. I felt blood on my tongue, and I stuck my finger in there. It came out red. I pulled it out and showed it to her.
She stopped laughing, looked at it, and burst into a new fit.
"Will you fucking settle down, Buffy? I don't want to fight anymore."
"Why? Because you'd lose?"
"No, because I don't want to hurt you."
"You can't, you stupid fucking pussy."