Author's Notes:
This little story is from me reading the entire line bovine excrement put out by men who say stupid things like "Once a whore, always a whore!" or "All sluts are the same and all women are sluts." ETC, ETC, ETC....
While women are gaining in the cheaters stakes, thus increasing the amount of divorces churning through the court system. They are still lagging way behind the men. The ones that I really find funny are the men who have a wife and a few fuck buddies on the side, but gets all butt hurt when their wife says "Fuck this shit!" and goes out to find some satisfaction for herself, because hubby just isn't getting it done because he's too tired from fucking his other girlfriends.
His usual excuse is that he's a man and needs to sow his oats. But, if the woman does the same thing, "She's just a fucking slut, whore, cunt, bitch... 'Insert you favorite derogatory remark' and needs to be burned at the stake." I mean if you're a real man, you'll go all Jackie Chan on the other mans ass, burn the bitch to the ground, and thump your chest as you go find the sexiest bitch you can find and knock her up, because you're the MAN!
Oh please...!
So, this story, like it or not, is semi-biographical, and used with permission. The names have been changed to protect the guilty and my own ass from a slander suit. Because yes, there is some malice involved.
Not mine of course. Because the third time around the track, I found a winner and we have been together happily for 22 years now. And to be honest, I don't care if my two exes are still lying, cheating, backstabbing, slutty cunts. Their not my problem, and to be truthful, I wish them no ill will. I hope they found happiness. I know I sure did. So, anyway, here is the story of a real loving wife, a bunch of assholes, and the truth about if a slut, whore, or prostitute can become a good housewife.
Enjoy.
Why Are Men So Stupid?
In a bright fluorescently lit I sat still just barely dressed, writing at an old scared desk. All the men and a few of the women's eyes would travel to me automatically, taking in my lush sexy form. I still have light reddish brown hair, full breasts that are tipped with stiff, plump nipples, that were hardly contained by the rich burgundy silk teddy I was still wearing. My hips filled the almost padded chair and my sculpted legs made some of the more ardent observers wonder about where they were joined. Everyone in the room know who I am and think about how lucky my husband had to be, to have someone like me in his bed every night. Now they knew why he's always in a good mood when he came to work. I make sure of it.
Oblivious to my surroundings, I sitting in the uncomfortable chair, I was pensively trying to gather my thoughts to do what I needed to do. 'Shit, I knew Susan was going to make me write this all down. I hope my kids never read this, because they will learn things about mommy that just might shock them. Damn, I wish they'd turn up the frigging heater.' I try and ignore the chill.
These teddies might look hot as hell, but in reality, they are thinner than paper and the slightest breeze will make the bunny noses poke out. But then again, I think that might just be the point. Biting the bullet, I'll try and get this done.
Okay, I know I'm not making much sense, but I'm trying to pull it all together. Going back almost twenty years to remember some of this stuff isn't going to be fun, but necessary I guess. I think the first questions I need to deal with were the hardest.
How did I ever become a whore or prostitute? Was I really one in the first place? Is what I did all those years ago really that wrong?
Yes, once upon a time, I was paid at a place because of my good looks and sexy body. Yes, sex was involved. To be truthful, I was very good at it. Hell, I was a horny young adult, and found out I could make more money in one night of having fun, than working two weeks at "Bob's Biker Bar," with tips.
And yes, my tips were good. But, my feet would be killing me, along with my back, boobs and ass from all the meaty hands grabbing them to earn said tips.
Okay, I guess I have to go back a little farther. I just graduated high school, when I got my acceptance letter from a decent college, but only with a partial scholarship. This of course, was the same day my dad came home and told mom and I that he was moving out to live with his sexretary... err secretary.
So started the summer of the big fight, or divorce or whatever you want to call it. Was it a fight and a Divorce broke out? Anyway, good ole dad baled, and left mom and I basically broke just as I was supposed to start school.
I was lucky I guess. I was good looking enough to get a job at Bob's Bar, but I almost flunked out of school, trying to pay for school.
Then it happened. One of the other girls at Bob's, asked me if I wanted to make some extra money from a bunch of wealthy want-to-be bikers. "What would I have to do?" I asked instantly.
"Fuck their brains out and act like some mean biker bitch. They get off on it, then go home to wifey-poo and deal with the daily grind of their lives." Debbie shrugged it off. "They're clean, and the money's good and comes in handy."
"Damn, I haven't been laid in months. I don't know if it still works." I laughed, thinking it was a joke.
"Shit girl, grab a tube of lube, a spermicidal douche, and a box of he-man rubbers and you're set. I'll let you borrow a leather halter until you can get one, and wear you tightest black jeans and boots. They put their money in a big jar and we split it when they leave."
"You're not joking!" I gasped.
"Fuck no. I know you need the money. I also know you don't want to end up like Lucy, an old biker bitch, trying to get a man. So, what do you think?" She tossed her long hair like good looking girls do.
What did I think? I thought that I needed to pay rent, buy five hundred dollars of books for the next semester, and I didn't have the money to do it. I thought what the hell. I need the money and needed laid, so it might just work.
I made over two thousand dollars on my fist night and I didn't have to fuck anyone unless I really wanted to. Hell, most of the guys there I would've fucked for free anyway. Some of them knew what they were doing, so I got off too. What a deal. I got to have a ton of fun, got laid, and got paid for it too. Yeah, I could do this. It beats the hell out of being on my feet all night serving warm beer to a bunch of old bikers while they maul my tits and ass.
So what, if I had to shower all the sperm off my tits and face. I mean one guy flopped his pecker on the bar stool and I tried to step over it with my hooker boots. I missed and found part of his nut sack. He screamed, shot his wad halfway across the room and gave me a two hundred dollar tip. As a matter of fact the harder I made them work for it, the more money I made. By the nights end, they would be drained dry and happy, and I would be able to pay my rent, buy some decent clothes and still afford my books.
