When I read some LW stories I often shout at the characters, "It obvious what's coming" or "Why not do something first". Let's see if the characters realizes that.
The end on this one was done by myself. I'm sorry if it a bit off!!
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My name is Tom, and my wife, Melody, and I have been married for nineteen years. We had met just after finishing college, and have made a good life for ourselves. I am a forensic accountant providing services to insurance companies, businesses, attorneys, and on occasions, the local district attorney and police. My wife works for a local auto-parts warehouse, sourcing parts from around the country for unusual or specialist vehicles.
We have two sons, Dean, seventeen, and John, fifteen. Our lives revolve around our sons and we have brought them up well. As a result of being a full-time taxi driver for our sons, Melody and I have very little time for ourselves. Our sex life is very hit and miss. After John was born, Melody did not want anymore children but she would not go on the pill, would not let me have a vasectomy, would not get her tubes tied and doesn't like condoms. We have, therefore, practiced the rhythm method. Sex started out as a diarized event (when she was safe) and eventually just became something we did occasionally, after a lot of math's, zero spontaneity, and no passion. I'm not complaining, as I love Melody, and sex was something I like but don't need if she didn't want it.
The trouble started out of the blue. I arrived home one night to find the children were both out of the house at different events. When this happened, dinner was usually something quick and simple, as one of us usually had to go to pick them up. If we were not going out, Melody was normally dressed in a T-shirt and leggings in the summer. Tonight, I could smell lamb and roast potatoes, and Melody was dressed in a very sexy summer dress that revealed some cleavage. As I came in, she told me to go change, and that dinner would be ready in twenty minutes.
I changed and came down, noticing that there was a bottle of red wine on the table. I liked wine, but Melody did not drink and I never had a drink on my own. What was surprising was the wine was an Australian Wolf Blass. Melody knew nothing about wine, so chances were someone suggested it. I was about to be ambushed, and I had no inclination as to what about.
We sat down to dinner and she poured me a glass of wine. I ate hungrily, but noticed Melody only picking at her food. This was unusual; she loved lamb chops as much as I did, so I knew something was on her mind.
After I had finished, I took a large drink of wine and said, "Okay, Melody, out with it."
She looked up and replied, "What do you mean?"
I started to laugh, "You have cooked my favorite meal, you have been giving me wine, and you are dressed to impress. You only do that when you are pregnant, or you want something so big, you think I will get mad about it. You can't be pregnant, so what do you want?"
The look on her face was priceless, as she realised I was one step ahead of her. She put down her knife and fork, stood up, and asked, "Can we speak in the living room?"
With that, she turned, and I got up, leaving my wine glass behind, and went into the living room, where she was sitting on the sofa. I took the chair opposite and looked at her. "What is this about?" I asked.
Her first words surprised me, "Why did you not bring in your wine?"
She doesn't like me drinking, at the best of times, and certainly not red wine in the living room, in case I spilled it. I knew this was not going to be good for me. I retorted, "No thanks, I'm beginning to get heartburn because you are acting in a manner that is so unnatural for you, this must be very big and potentially unpleasant for me."
She looked like she was going to be sick then looked at the floor. I sat silently, but I never took my eyes off her.
She started with the words every husband fears, "What would you say if I asked if I could go on a date?"
I didn't take my eyes off her and didn't speak. We sat for what felt like minutes, but was probably no more than seconds, until she lifted her eyes to look at me. My stare must have burnt a hole in her because she looked straight down again.
I replied, "I would ask you where you wanted the divorce papers served on you?" I heard a very sharp intake of breath, and she went to stand. My instant reaction was to scream at the top of my voice, "SIT!"
Her eyes returned to mine and there were tears forming, but I made no move to comfort her or reduce the stress.
My next word was so quiet, it contrasted to the scream, and was all the stronger for it. I just said, "Talk."
Obviously, this had been building, and the stress levels in her were clearly off the chart. She started to sob uncontrollably, and she moved to come over to me. I pointed at the seat she had been in, and said, "Stay."
Waiting for her to calm down, I remained silent. She looked at the floor, while taking an occasional glance at me. I never looked away from her, trying to make my stare burrow into her soul.
Eventually, she got herself under control, and asked "What now?"
With venom in my voice, that even I could hear, I spat, "Spill it, all of it, and do it now."
She started by telling me that a new engineering firm had been opened in our town, and that they specialised in making small runs of car parts, which were no longer in production. They had purchased a wide range of designs from Ford and GM. The owner was a gentleman named Jonathan, and he came to Melody's office to drum up some business. Jonathan had taken her out for lunch, and regaled her with stories of his open marriage, how it had enhanced his marital sex life, and brought new ideas to the marital bed.
I was disgusted by what I heard.
When she had finished I kept my voice as low and as monotone as possible. My first question was, "Have you discussed our marriage and sex life with him?"
She could hardly speak, but I heard a very quiet, "Yes."
This was getting worse, "So, for fifteen years, you have controlled our sex life to make sure you don't get pregnant, but now one man tries to sell you a strange car part, and you spill everything and obviously lead him to think I am boring in bed?!"
Her head shot up and said, "No. No, he just told me stories about things, and it sounded exciting. He asked me to go on a date, and told me how you would be waiting at home to reclaim me, and I loved the idea."
I was flabbergasted at her statement. I shot back, "So clearly, the idea was for you to have sex with him, and you expected to come home and have sex with me before cleaning yourself of him. Do you know how repulsed I am by that idea?"
She started to cry even harder.
I then asked, "Have you already planned this date, and this is me being told I have no choice?"