Author's notes:
This story is loosely (very loosely) based on actual events. I want to thank the person who told me their story and allowed me to write about it with creative license. I'm glad he enjoyed it when he read it.
Now comes the warning. There is no sex in this story. There wasn't a place to put it without making it gratuitous. I know this is an erotic site, but I hate stories that have sex in it just for the sake of having sex. If it adds nothing to the story, why do it? At least, that's my thinking. I apologize to those who do read stories for hot sex scenes, and I hope there are other stories posted today for you.
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I sat on the edge of the cliff overlooking my city like some comic book vigilante. The solitude that I sought in coming here was not to be. I needed silence. I wanted the world to be still - just for a moment - so that I could collect my thoughts. Even up here, I could see the city buzzing. I could feel the vibrancy of its life. Noisy life. Beneath me, the sounds of that vibrancy echoed through the open air as it found me. I couldn't escape it. Only death would provide the silence that I needed.
I could hear the blaring of sirens wailing loudly, as if crying over the fate of an unfortunate victim. Planes rumbled as they tore through the air. Even the invisible animals around me seemed to be in a commotion. The hooting of owls, the howling of coyotes, even the barking house dogs filled the air.
The city lights twinkled in the distance with untold stories. Some of them would be erotic in nature. Others would be violent and messy. There were even stories that would be a combination of both. Quite literally, thousands upon thousands of stories were unfolding at this very moment.
For instance, earlier in the evening, there was a woman who was laying out clothes for a date. She had a vast wardrobe in her obscenely large closet to choose from. She opted for a brand-new cocktail dress that she'd recently bought. She didn't have an event in mind when she bought it. She just saw it, had to have it, and purchased it without a second thought. She often did things like that. The numbers on the price tag were insignificant to her; I doubt she even glanced at it. No matter how much she used her credit card, it was never denied. It was almost like magic; an endless well that never ran dry.
This lucky woman was preparing to look her absolute best. She wanted her date to appreciate her beauty. What woman doesn't want that? She chose her favorite lingerie that would lift her breasts and create cleavage that men loved to stare at. Her $150 perfume was ready to be spritzed in key places to give a subtle, yet intoxicating, aroma.
She took a long, leisurely bath with scented bath salts. Then, she carefully styled her hair and applied her makeup with an artist's precision. After that, she dressed in front of a full-length mirror, making sure that everything was perfect. Her cell phone rang, resulting in a short interruption to the ceremony. She took a quick look at the screen, smiled knowingly, and answered with a throaty, seductive greeting. The conversation was brief, yet it was heavy with suggestive possibilities. When she was done putting herself together, she did one final twirl in the mirror. She liked the reflection that looked back at her, as her confident smile showed. She strolled out of the room with an extra bounce in her step, and headed out into the night.
Why did I give such an exhaustive description of her preparation? Because the meticulous manner in which she prepared for a night out was something that was very odd, considering the fact that her husband was out of town. Could a woman go through all this preparation for a casual rendezvous with friends? Sure, it's possible.
However, it wasn't likely in this case. How do I know? Because I knew this woman, and more importantly, who she was going to see. I understood why she waited until her husband was out of town before she made plans with this person. Her flirty conversation confirmed my worst fears. It opened doors to areas inside of me that I didn't know existed. Angry, hateful areas. It made me sick to my stomach to even think about.
She disgusted me. I loved her with everything I had. I owed her everything. But at the moment, she was all that I hated about women.
I know that I'm not supposed to think that way. Men are taught to respect women. It's our job to love, protect, and cherish them; even to understand them. That might really be too big of a task for most men to accomplish, but we try anyway.
We are taught to put women on a pedestal. Even at an early age, boys are told that girls are sugar and spice, and everything nice. The very first woman we meet is our mother, who gave birth to us. And then we pick a woman to be our life partner who will hopefully give birth to our children. These benevolent actions are supposed to require our reverence. But, if you think about it, the story is incomplete. After all, do they create life on their own? What is an egg without a sperm?
I'll tell you what it isn't. It isn't a baby.
So, what do we "owe" women, really? Respect? Absolutely. The same respect that we should have for people in general. But why is it that so many people feel that we owe them more respect than we owe men. They don't say that in as many words, but society in general places a higher value on women's lives than men's. In sitcoms and comedies about family life, the wives are always these hot, sexy, savvy women who have the unfortunate task of cleaning up after - or fixing the messes of - the bumbling buffoons that they are married to. "Father Knows Best" has been replaced with the likes of "Everybody Loves Raymond" (Not throwing shade on that show. I actually like it. It's just an example).
What does all this mean? It means that we treat the ladies as if everything they do and say is above reproach. What they say is supposed to treated like gospel, even if it isn't right. They are only wrong when they want to admit it (actually, forced to admit it after exhausting all other possibilities). Other times, men are told to keep their mouths shut if they want peace.
Why has questioning women, or holding them responsible for the things that they say or do, become synonymous with misogyny? They do it to us all the time. Why is it that double standards are wrong, unless they are ones that favor the "fairer sex"? When men cheat, they are labeled the worst kind of human. When women cheat, it is often assumed that the husband failed her. When a man hits a woman, he is an abusive asshole who belongs in jail (no need saying I am defending abuse because I sure as hell am not). But if a woman hits a man, we wonder what he did to deserve it. Calling a man a dick is part of pop culture. Calling a woman a cunt is obscene, even when said in response to being called a dick.
Why am I rambling? Do I hate women? Is this the whining monologue of a wronged man who now views the opposite gender with disdain? Am I a misogynist?
Do you see how asking fair questions spirals into being labeled? Before you stop reading and write me off as some woman-hating, anti-feminist asshole, I need to tell you why I'm sitting on this cliff asking these questions.
My entire view on the world was completely destroyed this afternoon. Everything that I was taught as a young man was turned on its head in a matter of minutes. All the things that my parents told me about marriage was a lie. My mom told me lies about what to expect if you treat women well. My dad told me lies about being a real man. They shaped my view of what life should be like once I got married. They were the reason I was sitting on the edge of this cliff, literally and figuratively.
I think I need to go back to the beginning. Maybe then we can understand how I got here; we can see how I came to be standing on this cliff.
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FOUR YEARS AGO
"That's a fine woman you have there, son. Take care of her. Respect her. Be the man that I taught you to be."
My dad beamed with pride as he told me this. He pulled me in for a manly embrace, giving me a stern pat on the back as he did so.
"I will dad. I will."
We stepped back after the brief hug. As we stood in one of the back rooms of the church, dressed in matching tuxedos, we waited for the appointed time to make our way down the aisle to my future. I could hear the excited hub-bub of the crowd in the sanctuary.
"Where's mom?"
He smiled and snickered. "You know your mother. She's barking orders at the bridesmaids, driving everyone crazy. Even the priest got a taste."
A look of concern came across my face. "Dad, please, don't let her drive Tabby crazy. Especially not today. This is about me and her, not about mom. You know how she gets when EVERYTHING has to be perfect."
"Son, relax. Your mom is just excited, and she's trying to make sure that every goes well. She's been dreaming of this moment since she held you in her arms for the first time."
"Dad..."
"Son, look at me." my dad interrupted with a stern voice as he placed both of his hands on my shoulders. He took a deep breath, indicating that he wanted me to do the same. I followed his lead.
"You're nervous. I know what you're going through. I went through it myself. Every man goes through it. If you weren't nervous, I'd be worried."
I nodded to acknowledge what he'd said and took another deep breath.
"Calm down." He continued. "There is nothing that is going to keep Tabby from marrying you. Nothing. She loves the hell out of you. Even your mother can't drive her crazy enough to make her change her mind."
