Russell
One of the lessons about life I've learned is that there are always trade-offs. Take Heather, my wife, for example. The first time I met her I felt like I'd been struck by a lightning bolt. She was so gorgeous that I literally couldn't take my eyes off of her: pretty face, slim, curvy figure, long brunette hair. She was that perfect combination of girl-next-door and men's magazine model, and she just took my breath away. Today, ten years later, I still feel the same way.
But despite being so enticing, Heather is very conservative in bed. It's not that she's frigid, but she's definitely not adventurous. Sex means the missionary position in our bedroom with the lights out on our regular designated nights. She seems to love the act and is always responsive, but someone (her mother?) must have told her that good girls don't act slutty, even with their husbands. So other positions are out, and a blow job is just a dream I used to have. "I could never put that in my mouth!" she exclaimed the first time I proposed it, and she's held strictly to that ever since.
But despite that disappointment, she loves me as much as I love her, so I'm willing to accept that trade-off. A whole lot of love in life can offset a little bit of bland in the bedroom.
Another aspect of Heather's personality is her big heart. Not only is she sweet, loving and caring towards me, she is also compassionate and considerate of others. She's always volunteering for charitable activities, visiting friends who are sick or finding ways to give others a hand. The result is that everyone who knows her is always telling me what a big heart she has, which makes me even prouder of her.
Yet that quality comes with its own trade-off. The downside of having a big heart is that sometimes Heather doesn't know when to stop. I got a good example of this yesterday when I got home from the warehouse I manage and walked in the door, only to hear a harsh yapping and the sound of small claws running across the tile floor. Before I could investigate, Heather came in clutching a squirming ball of furry energy in her arms. "Isn't she cute?" she said sweetly. "This is Lady. I rescued her from the pound."
Now I don't dislike dogs; in fact, I had one when I was a kid. But owning a pet is a big commitment, one that I wasn't eager to make at that point in my life, particularly because Heather and I had been talking about starting a family.
Before I could raise any of those points, the little furry fiend had slipped out of Heather's arms and run across the floor to try to nip at my heel. As I raised my foot to kick it, Heather screamed out, "Don't hurt her!" and grabbed the dog up safely out of my range.
I looked at her dolefully. "Did you have to?" I asked.
Heather looked at me with her best puppy-dog eyes and said, "I had to rescue her β they were going to put her to sleep if I hadn't."
I was tempted to applaud the merits of such an action, but seeing the determination in Heather's eyes, I thought better of it. Against my better judgment, I caved in. "Alright," I said, rolling my eyes, "I guess we can keep her."
With that, Heather deposited the dog on the floor and threw her arms around my neck, kissing me gratefully. "Oh, thank you, Honey. You won't regret it, I know."
At that point, the little part-terrier ran across the room and bit my ankle.
That evening we learned three important facts about Lady. The first was that while she loved Heather, she hated me. Any time I walked into the room, she would growl and bark. The second thing we learned was that any loud noise outside caused her to bark hysterically while running around the room in circles. The third time a car driving down our street set Lady off, Heather looked up at me apologetically. "She just isn't used to living here yet," she said. I rolled my eyes again.
The last thing we learned that night was that Lady wasn't housebroken. By the time I'd done the best I could to clean up the carpet, the atmosphere was pretty chilly in the house.
The next morning I figured that my best bet was to try to sneak out without awakening the dog. To that end, I got up early, skipping making my usual breakfast to avoid any noise. I thought I'd gotten away with it, only to have Lady come barking and biting after me. As I ran for the door, I almost broke my neck skidding on the yellow pool she'd deposited in the hallway. I cursed the dog all the way to the warehouse.
By the time I got home from work that afternoon, I'd almost forgotten the little canine adoptee that had taken up residence in our home, but I was rudely reminded when I walked in the front door. The unmistakable odor of doggy-doo hit my nose, and I looked down to see the pile I'd unwittingly stepped in. Cursing and swearing I pulled off my shoe and went back outside to try to clean the mess off my heel. When I was done I came back inside and repeated the disinfecting procedure on the front hall floor. You can imagine my state of mind by the time I found Heather in the kitchen.
"That dog has got to go!" I shouted at her.
Heather looked at me with a stricken face. "She's still a puppy, she didn't mean anything," she pled, giving me an expression that would melt the heart of a hangman. "Please let her stay."
"Well, maybe," I growled, "but she's got to be trained. We're sending her to obedience school."
"Oh, thank you, honey!" Heather squealed and ran to give me a big kiss. When I felt my wife's breasts press against my chest, my mood changed quickly, and I grabbed for her toned ass.
"Unh, unh, unh," Heather scolded mildly, skipping out of my reach. "Let's save that for Saturday."
My good mood dissipated instantly. "Well, we've got to do something about that dog," I growled.
Then I remembered: "Didn't Sam and Evelyn send their dog to some kind of pet trainer?"
"You're right," Heather replied. "Evelyn said he was really good."
Just then I noticed the sound of a lawnmower, and I looked out the window to see Sam working away on his yard next door. I went outside and flagged him down.
"Hey, Sam, didn't you send your dog to obedience school recently? Was it any help?"