Her New Voice Her Only Husband

Authors note.

~This is the 3rd chapter of their story. Each story/chapter can stand alone from the others. I'll give the husband his voice soon. He's not as weak as you imagined. I hope it gets interesting. I wish I could write it linear, but it's too fun jumping around different points of their lives, watching them grow. This couple isn't real by the way, they only come to life as you follow them.~ Thanks!

*****

I knew I wanted him watching his hands caress wood carving tools at Hartson's Hardware.

He was taking forever to make a choice, as if it was the most important decision he would ever make. Or the last.

I'd never seen anyone pay that much attention to anything in this old store, except me. It's why I've never had to work at anything. I was sexy. Old man Hartson hired me for a reason. Eye candy that didn't have a dress code.

His creaky hardware store was losing customers to the massive 'Do it all by Yourself!' superstore across town. When it broke ground, he knew what was coming, and tried anything to hang on. I guess I'd ride it out too. Maybe he'd leave me something in his will.

I'd never seen this hunk before. He was probably from the campus, here to play football. His body said jock, but the didn't clothes fit. He dressed like a worker.

Maybe he was just some stoner spacing out. I knew what that was like. Damned fun.

I perched behind the register, waiting for a closer look. He'd come to me. They all did, or wanted to. The ones that didn't were just shy, and needed a little prodding to open up. If I ignored them long enough, some of them left me the fuck alone. I knew which ones I wanted. The rest were just part of the fun.

They flirted by pretending they weren't. They might ask me the time, the hours I worked, or if I had a boyfriend, but would never ask me what I wanted.

Out.

It's not like I would've always said yes if they asked, so I answered with my eyes. A dead stare while chewing gum worked wonders. Even the most hopeful looks fell away, not catching on to what I meant, so I'd smile shyly, knowing what they really wanted. Just not the balls to try.

I intimidated them by doing nothing. They would script our next chat as they shuffled away, to hurry home and probably picture us together while beating off. Someday they'd learn to grow into men who knew what they wanted. Me.

Men were the ones who didn't ask.

He was taking forever, and I was getting bored. I filed my nails again.

I jerked a hunting magazine away from the rack, skimming over articles. It was so exhilarating learning where a doe liked to bed down for the night, close to her buck, feeling safe and protected.

I threw it in the trash can.

He kept looking, touching them, while I remained unnoticed. His kind of heaven was something I couldn't visualize or even begin to understand. I wanted what he seen and I began to feel jealous. He should know what he needs.

He couldn't make up his mind, so I made up mine. It was easy for me. I did it all the time.

I sauntered down the aisle and stood close to him, pretending to count stock. My perfume would pull him closer, within my reach, so I could drag him away. I never chased men who wouldn't follow me.

I stood close to him. The effect I have always takes over. It takes little effort on my part and they end up leaving me things. I take what they offer full of delight. This old store had become my hunting ground where working men brought money to spend. I knew what I was. Jewelry they wouldn't wear in their real world.

I was parts of night. No one paraded me in front of their friends or introduced me to parents. When the sun was up, I was something else. Nothing they wanted to keep laying around. I liked finding out who was naughty away from their wives, it's fun making them feel dangerous and sneaky. I got better gifts when I threatened to tell.

My nose twitched and I blinked several times, feeling refreshed. My senses were awakening to some strange clarity as the scent of something real began surrounding me. I fell out of myself, landing hard, hoping that place I no longer believed in was real. Caring.

I stared at everything on him, from his hair to his boots. If he turned to say something I would've run and hid.

He was my age, but ancient and deep. It scared me, and I needed to understand. I wanted to roll him around softly between my hands, studying him intensely. I knew I could fix him.

Wood shavings peeked from rolled up sleeves and sawdust lay trapped beneath hairy forearms. He smelled of fresh cut wood and a clean sweat. Like water.

Everything about him was rough and beautiful. A forest.

I stood by him checking off imaginary boxes on my clip board, watching him roll another tool between rough hands. He studied it closely, oblivious to anything.

Even me.

I stood next to him and forgot what I was trying to do. It was the first time in my life I didn't know how to flirt. I didn't want to anymore. My eyes fell down. I wanted

Something grabbed into me I would never feel again. I realized I'd never fully exist in his world. I would make myself forget this time and time again. I wanted to believe my false truths, to believe he'd always need me. That he'd always keep me around. Not just twisted between hands.

I would only be a tool waiting for a turn. Being turned around and around. He would carve and shred through all the charms I'd hidden myself under and expose how hollow I'd always been. There wasn't much to me anymore and I felt like crying. I wish I could've waited for him.

My soul screamed, wanting him to touch me. I could only say nothing.

I stepped back knowing I was lost here. I had to get away from what I was feeling. My step was genuine. I would go the wrong way for him. I should've sent time in reverse to stay where I was. As far from him as possible, but I couldn't. I was ripping myself away to save him from what I offered and it was hurting me.

He deserved something better. Something solid with edges to hold on to, not empty and used. I would never be able to compete with what he loved.

He loved his work. I loved his hands. And I needed to be part of it.

I kept backing away bewildered and bumped into a floor display I'd set up that morning, knocking it over.

Wooden dowel rods crashed to the floor pinging, clattering, and rolling as I fell trying to save them and I landed atop a scattered pile. It's always dead silent when you're embarrassed.

One kept rolling, reminding me of bowling night, and how most of my attempts always fell into the gutter.

It bumped off of his boot. He looked down for a moment, then back to the tool, turning it gently in his hands, trying to decide if it was for him. He tossed it up spinning. I ignored its flash and watched his hand. He snatched it back to set it on a shelf.

He exhaled slowly, then looked down at me.

The eyes I've never gotten away from penetrated me. I was new.

I was forever linked to him as he seen me. I know he liked it, every man did. My skirt was bunched up around my hips giving him a view of the best peice of pussy in the county.

Everyone loved it. My body was perfect.

The innocent look of concern he offered only made me feel dirty. I realized maybe I wasn't so shallow.

My pussy got wet.

I scrambled to cover myself.

He watched, with one arm across his chest and a dirty fist resting under his chin. I slipped and fell again. That felt real. Everything happening wasn't.

My pleading eyes told him I needed help right now. I wanted him to fuck me here, in the aisle. His hands could fix me, but I didn't know how to ask. I didn't have the guts.

"It looks like you need some help." he reacted finally, as if reading my mind or awaking from a spell.

It was the calmest voice I'd ever heard. It surrounded me, affecting me in ways I'd never known. It was a new sound. I wanted to lay my head against his shoulder and rest my eyes. My life. I needed that. Just listen to him tell me I'm good.

He grabbed the wooden rod, flipping it twice, and came to stand over me, dangling it above my face.

"Here. Grab onto this." he suggested. I would have rather taken his hand, but that choice wasn't offered. It never was. No one has wanted to hold my hand in a long time. They only wanted to put their hands other places.

I clutched to it viciously. He lifted me away from the pile to set me aside like a small child and released me. The rod stayed between my hands.

I stood there pointing it into the air like the baton girl I used to be. But without a smile. I didn't have an audience that cared.

"You should be careful," he warned me "there's much more dangerous things in here that could hurt you." And turned walking away.

His boots vibrated the floor beneath me, stopping only to look over the carving tools for a moment. He continued on, escaping me, towards the door.

"W-Would you lu-lu-luh-like to s-see our seh-seh-selection of gah-guh-goods??" I blurted out. What was I even talking about? And why was I stuttering? I haven't fucking stuttered since I was twelve, seven years ago.

"There's nothing in here I want." he answered, pushing through the door.

I ran after him and slipped on a rod landing hard. It hurt my knees. I jumped back up, kicking wood away, and scrambled to the window, and seen him hop into an old truck. They all looked the same to me, but his was special. It was going to be the one I fucked him in.

He was going to be my husband. I didn't know a thing about him. Only that I would marry him.

He backed up, with an arm hanging out the window, and glanced over his shoulder for a moment to see me pressed up against the glass wanting him, and drove away.