“Well, if you want the truth, you’re not exactly the same person I thought I married, either, Rachel. You’ve changed. A lot. And, besides, you lied to me, too.”
“When did I ever lie to you?” Rachel frowned, holding her eyebrow pencil aloft.
“When did you lie?” Ken balled his fists. “YOU MEAN OTHER THAN WHEN YOU FUCKED ANOTHER MAN BEHIND MY BACK????”
Rachel’s shoulders slumped. “Listen, Ken, I’m getting tired of this. I really am. I’m not going through this shit every goddamn time. If you can’t handle it, then maybe we should just—”
“Just what? Get a divorce? The problem would be solved if you’d stop seeing the sonofabitch, but you’re telling me my only choices are to keep putting up with it or get a divorce?”
Rachel adjusted her bangs. “That’s the thing, Ken — the problem wouldn’t be solved.”
“Yes, it would. The problem is, you don’t like me acting jealous when you’re getting ready to see him. If you stop seeing him — boom, problem solved.”
“That’s not what the problem is, Ken. Why do you think …” Her voice trailed off.
“What?” Ken’s face squinched up. “Why do I think what?”
“Nothing.”
“Why do I think WHAT?”
Rachel sighed. “Okay — why do you think I started seeing Trent in the first place? If I stopped seeing him, it wouldn’t solve our problem, Ken. Our problem started a long time before he came along.”
“So, you’re saying the problem … is my … um ….”
“Sneaking around wearing my panties? Never having sex with me? Yes, Ken, that’s a problem. Now, I’m not going through this again. You lied to me. For years.”
“Because I love you, and I didn’t want you … to do what you’re doing now.”
“I love you, too, Ken. But I’m not—”
“Listen, honey, if you’re saying the problem is that I didn’t pay enough attention, then I’ll start. I don’t need to wear … you know, my stuff. We can just make love without any of that. I think you’re sexy, babe. I’m sorry if I didn’t show you, but I really do. You turn me on like crazy. You always have. I’m sorry I wasn’t what you needed me to be. But I can try. Please? Will you please let me try to make it up to you, Rachel? I’m so, so sorry … about everything. Can’t we start over? I would give anything if we could just start over again. Please?”
Rachel grimaced. “Oh, Ken. I’m sorry, honey. It’s way too late for that.”
Ken’s chin dropped to his chest. “I … I …”
“Listen, hon, I love you. I really do — but I’ve got to finish getting ready, okay? We keep going round and round, and we never get anywhere. Now, I’m late.”
With a groan, Ken stomped into the living room and punched on the television. After flipping through a few channels, he landed on MSNBC. Rachel’s humming restarted and it took Ken a minute to recognize the melody as Beyonce’s “Break My Soul.” A picture of Donald Trump flashed on the TV screen. Ken’s ears burned. He gritted his teeth. If his soul wasn’t broken yet, he thought, then it was damn sure getting there.
When she was done primping, Rachel kissed her husband on the forehead and breezed out the door. A split-second after she left, Ken hopped up, dashed across the living room and peeked out the front curtain. He caught a glimpse of his wife’s dark-stockinged legs as she slid into the Honda. Licking her lips, she backed out of the driveway.
Ken hastened to the rec room, where he donned the new teddy he’d bought for himself. He jacked off until well after midnight.
He went to bed after three orgasms, but he hardly slept, which was the norm whenever Rachel spent the night with her boyfriend. The lonesome hubby rousted out of bed at 8:30am to prepare for a 10-6 Saturday shift at The Bean Machine.
With bags under his eyes and leaden spirits, he slogged through a drag-ass day full of headaches. One of the machines malfunctioned. Ken burned his forearm on hot metal. Two baristas called in sick, leaving the crew at half-strength. Worst of all for Ken, just before quitting time, a smug-looking police officer came in and demanded a large coffee and two glazed sinkers without even saying please. Ken filled the order, sneering at the “cops-and-donuts” cliche. He thought long and hard about spitting in the prick’s coffee but decided against it. He didn’t need to lose another job and piss off the missus.
Rachel was kicked back watching TV when Ken limped into the house — and she looked rested and well-fucked, he thought with clenched teeth as he plopped down next to her on the couch.
“Hey.” He shifted on the cushion.
“Hey.” Rachel pressed the mute button. “How was your day?”
“It fucking sucked. I burned the shit out of my arm on the dishwasher.” He showed her the wound.
Rachel winced. “Ow.”
“Yeah. And then, Rhianna and Dave called in sick and Dick-Nose didn’t bring anybody else in, so it was fucking crazy all day. One of the Bunn machines went down — people had to wait on their coffee and were bitching nonstop. And—” Ken almost carped about having to wait on the cop but he stifled himself.
He lumbered to the kitchen and fixed a bowl of Fruity Pebbles before rejoining his wife in the living room. The couple watched TV in silence until Rachel’s show ended and she popped a question out of the blue: “So, you said Sandra was the one who got you into dressing up?”
Ken choked on a mouthful of cereal and milk dribbled down his chin. He wiped it off. “Wha … what?”
“Sandra. She got you into it?”
“Um … why are you asking me this?”
“I don’t know. I was just wondering how it got started, I guess.”
“You never wondered before.”
“Well, I do now. Is that okay?” She shrugged. “I want to know more about it.”
“Um … it’s kinda embarrassing to talk about, to be honest.”
“It’s okay, hon. Go ahead. I think it’ll be good for you to talk about it.”
“Well, um … okay. I, uh, I think I was in first grade when it started. Maybe second grade, but I seem to remember it was first. I know we were still in Rushville. Anyway, one night when Mom wasn’t home, Sandra took me to the basement and … she made me put on her panties and her yellow Easter dress.”
“And you said she was mean to you?”
“Well … yeah. Uh … this is … like, really embarrassing.”
“It’s okay, honey.” Rachel stroked her husband’s hand. “What would she do to you?”
He drew a breath. “Um … well, yeah, she’d make me dance around … and I’d have to clean her bedroom while she hit me with Ol’ Blue, and she’d call me names and stuff.”
“Ol’ Blue?”
“Yeah, that’s what she called this blue plastic thing she’d hit me with.”
“Aw, honey, I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, it hurt. Really bad. But Sandra liked it because it didn’t leave marks, so my mom never found out.”
“OMG. How long did this go on?”
Ken blinked back a tear. “My whole childhood, pretty much. Sandra went to college when I was 14, but even then, she’d do it when she came home for breaks if our mom wasn’t around. I guess it only stopped after Aunt Char left us that money and I moved out.”
“So … because Sandra made you wear her clothes, that turns you on. Do you also get turned on by girls being mean to you like she was?”
“I … I …” Ken squirmed on the couch, wiping his sweaty palms on his pantlegs.
“It’s okay. Do you like that? It’s not that big of a deal. I just want to know.”
Ken squinted. “Rachel, why are you asking me about this all of a sudden?”
“I don’t know, Ken. I just was wondering about it. You’re my husband.”
“But you never cared before. You said it creeped you out.”
“No, Ken, what creeped me out was the idea of you sneaking behind my back and stretching out my panties like some little pervert. All that time I thought you just had low testosterone. When I found out the reason why you weren’t paying attention to me, I’m sorry — it creeped me out.”
“I’m know. I’m sorry I went behind your back. But …”
“But what?”
“Well, if I’d have told you about it back then, you probably would’ve broke up with me.”
“Maybe. There’s really no way to know for sure, is there?” Rachel leaned over and kissed her husband’s ear. “We can’t do anything about the past, honey. All we can do is fix the future.”
For the rest of the evening, Ken ached to ask his wife what she’d meant by that, but he feared what she might say. He wasn’t sure whether he was more afraid that “fixing the future” entailed divorcing him — or if it meant she might start taking a more active role in his sissy sex life.
Rachel dropped the subject, although Ken could think of nothing else as he pretended to watch television with his beloved, faithless bride. He was so out of it he didn’t notice what was playing on the screen.
“Bad boys, bad boys / Whatcha gonna do? / Whatcha gonna do when they come for you …?”
“To Serve and Protect,” Chapter 5
by c.w. cobblestone
Ken raised his right hand while trying to stop the other one from fidgeting.
The bailiff looked him in the eye. “Do you swear or affirm that the testimony you’re about to give is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, under penalty of perjury?”
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