My wife and I are upwardly mobile yuppies living way beyond our means. We are deeply in debt, and our house is too upscale for my salary.
I mention all this because our lifestyle means everything to my wife, as I found out this weekend.
First things first. My name is Steve Andrews and I'm an Ad Agency executive. My wife's name is Tamaran, and she's an exotic dark beauty of Lebanese descent. Tamaran's a petite five feet tall,with coal black eyes and slinky long hair, but her best assets are her huge tanned jugs and a fat middle eastern ass just meant for belly dancing.
Our sex life is ho-hum, and due to extensive travelling on my part we only fuck twice a month.
Tamaran's been known to blow me occasionally when she really wants something expensive.
Anyway, on my last sales call I lost an important file at the airport. As a result, the client dropped our firm. I came home Saturday trying to find a way to tell the boss on Monday.
I was too late. Bad news travels fast. Late Saturday night, my boss Mike came barreling into our driveway like a madman. Banging on the front door, I had no choice but to let him in before he woke the neighborhood, to say nothing of Tamaran who slept blissfully unawares upstairs.
Mike had been drinking, and his huge, hulking frame filled my living room.
"You Cocksucker! You Asshole! You're Fired!" Mike roared, and the vein in his neck pulsed menacingly with every syllable.
"B-boss--let me explain--" I began, before I saw Mike's fist come crashing down on me from the side. Fade to black.
When I began to stir, I was on the floor wrapped around a broken lamp and its cord, and Mike was standing over me, yet talking to someone else - talking to Tamaran!
Tamaran was whispering desperately to Mike, trying to calm him, but the most amazing part of the scene was her outfit.
